Session One Hundred and Eight - January 18, 2014

Wherein the ongoing story of the FtF campaign may be found ...

Session One Hundred and Eight - January 18, 2014

Postby Matt » Fri Feb 07, 2014 7:05 pm

Larane 21, 732

A Post Script

Sirs Ewen and Baris left their meeting with Sir Prehil deep in thought. Rounding the corner Sir Ewen paused, and as he did so the little adder stepped forth from the shadows. To any who were still out on the street, should there be any, the knight appeared to speak to the darkness itself.

“In the house I just exited there is a woman. She is cousin to Sir Prehil, named Serli; a young woman auburn haired and graceful. She heard things that she should not have. Follow her and report on where she goes and what she does.”

The small woman of the shadows nodded and was lost to view.

The two knights returned to Raven Hall and spent some time discussing the outcome of the earlier meeting with Sir Prehil. The calculating Sir Ewen soon dismissed his liege man Baris and noted the absence of Sir Æomund, who had left the house little since the previous day. Setting aside the matter of his moody knights, he pondered the interference with his powers and what it presaged in regard to his most recent interaction with the Shek Pvar.

Unknown to Sir Ewen, at that moment Sir Æomund had indeed left the house. Taking advantage of the strangely clear night he had retired to a roof in the Eastside. Fingers stained in inks and parchment around him, he was engaged in sketching out the stars and signs of the sky. The opportunity seemed to him a gift from Larani in order to better illuminate his mother’s work on the stars. The clear sky, if it was in fact a blessing from the Lady of Paladins was small succor to the mind of the troubled knight who was wracked by thoughts of the portion he was playing in the panoply of plots of mixed loyalty and treason. The faith of the knight was being tested and not for the last time did he curse the day he was sent to Thay as an agent of the Serekela.

Larane 22, 732

There were many red eyes around the table that morning in Raven Hall. Whether it was from the worries of lordship, faith, or too much ale, each of the knights was troubled by personal matters and by the fact that once again the day was bright and annoyingly clear. Their personal discomfort however, was masked by the general malaise that had descended over Tashal due to the recent uncommon weather.

Sir Ewen barked out orders to those around him.

“Sir Æomund, take a note!”

The knight looked up from his pork sausage to regard his liege lord. He noted the quick arrival and then departure of Mistress Kaelyn at the board and realized that he was going to be saddled with her duties this morning.

“My store of ink and parchment should do at least occasional service to myself.”

The knight of Larani bit back a retort and cleared a space as Walin dropped, from not quite an insubordinate height but close enough, in front of the knight the items he would require to write said note. Sir Æomund thought of responding verbally to that affront of the Chamberlain but held back. Instead he thanked the Shieldmaiden of the Worthy Cause that Lady Thilisa was not present at the board to further augment the dour mood that the weather had brought to all of Tashal.

“Dickon and his men are to prepare immediately and leave as soon as practical for Ternua. They are to occupy the keep under the authority of the writ granted me by the King. There they will await my orders and be prepared to hold the bridge at my pleasure. Add in any additional orders you think pertinent.”

The bearded wandering knight without thinking retorted, “Yes, and I shall include that counter to standard practice both gates should be guarded.”

Sir Ewen broken from his reverie of thought glowered at the knight. When their eyes met however both laughed thinking back to their encounter at the gate of Ternua. The knight of Larani continued, “And a word about dealing with the steward and the priest I think will be worthwhile.”

“Yes, indeed. Once that is done pen a note to my good friend of the House of Curo. I must take special care of who is to be invited to the tournament. My purposes go deeper and in different directions than that of my noble acquaintance. It would not do for the barb directed at my esteemed father-in-law to go astray. Of the 128 slots the following must be reserved; the esteemed knights of my personal retinue …

The sullen, and unnoticed to this point, Sir Baris spoke at once, “Sir Ewen! Do you mean that I Sir Baris will partake?”

“My word, he yet lives and speaks! Yes Sir Baris you and Sir Æomund shall have a spot each as well as one for the champion of the Earl of Vemion, Sir Karsin Ubael the younger, and Sir Sedris Savellce. The others are at the whim of Curo.”

Sir Ewen continued. “When that is done seek out the band of the Blue Boars and negotiate their hiring. I want them in hand, and let it be known about that they are intended for security for an upcoming event I am hosting. Leave it vague to any inquiries, but ensure the excuse has enough truth and plausibility not to arouse suspicion.”

Having dictated his orders, the members of the household go about their business. The day passed uneventfully while the sun, shimmering like a paten in the sky, made its slow progress across the drying island of Harn. Two things only broke the hours in Raven Hall. A note from Sir Prehil requesting a meeting the following day, which was answered too readily, and the report of the little adder.

Cekiya, through her arts, seemingly hidden from the roasting gaze of the sun itself, watched the house as instructed. Through the morning she marked the usual deliveries made to a house of status and marked little of note until close to midday. Close to the hour a woman emerged from the house matching the description given by Sir Ewen. In her company was a man dressed in the manner of servant but otherwise unremarkable.

Following the pair, Cekiya marked traveling up Chelebin Street, taking a right on Aidrik street heading towards Haldan Square. The lady entered the Temple of Larani while her servant departed and headed back towards the square. After a quick debate on whether or not to follow inside, she decided to remain where she was. Slightly shy of an hour the servant returned to the temple, awaiting the departure of the lady some moments later.

Trailing them as they return to their house Cekiya noticed a foppish dandy of a knight meet her in the street and the three entered the house. The rest of the day transpired without seeing the lady emerge again.

Later Cekiya snuck through the kitchen window of Raven Hall and made her report to Sir Ewen.

Kaelyn during this day, had continued in her study of the arcane. Hoping grasp certain principles which might have enabled her to learn the new spell before her, she found herself stymied again, and without the presence of Sir Baris to blame. Perhaps the unyielding and unhidden orb above was the culprit.

Having been employed as a scribe thus far for the day Sir Æomund penned a short note to the physician Sotor. The bearded knight invited him to accompany him to observe the stars while the clear weather held. A response came from the Red Fox and Sir Æomund momentarily regretted extending the invite after having to read three pages of a response – much in verse – before finally mastering his doubt whether the answer was a yes or a no.

The two unlikely companions made their way without event to Eastside and the observatory where Sir Æomund’s parents dwelled.

Sotor bowed upon meeting the mother of the bearded knight.

“Don’t bow to me. I am not the Lady of the Manor!” snapped the aged Layna to the behavior of the physician. The curt response as if on cue heralds the arrival of a curious child – Querine, the niece of the bearded knight.

The scholar ignored the retort and continued, “This is a great opportunity madam, I am pleased to be here and afforded such a chance as this. I am Sotor of Pelanby a scholar and a doctor traveling here in the lands of Harn. I enjoy the dance of stars and planets. With such weather as this it will be wonderful to note and observe their passage across the heavens.”

Not deterred the old woman scowled, “It is far too bright for such you condescending dabbler. But go see for yourself and take my son with you. A son I would like to add who has come to gaze at the stars instead of to see the fading light in his father’s own eyes before they pass.”

From the mouth of the child the incessant accusation of dabbler is leveled against the physician, while a not quite inaudible sigh escaped from the knight’s lips.

In a moment the table is set for the two and Sir Æomund indicates a seat for the scholar. “The price of admission I am afraid.”

“Quite all right. I ate earlier, but if the price is to eat again I will pay. I did not know there was an observatory in Tashal. I had heard no mention of it from the others that I have spoken too since arriving in the city. This is marvelous. I was commenting the other day on how clear the night sky has been and what a great opportunity to observe the night sky from Harn that I never intended on being able to do. As you know the weather of the island is not often conducive to the observation of the heavens.”

“Uncle Æomund, does dabbler mean talks a lot?”

The two make quick work of the food offered and quickly downed the small beer as both desired to see to their main aim of observing the night sky. The two made for the roof with the occasional chant of dabbler, dabbler, dabbler following behind them.

The two quickly uncovered the telescope and set about their work. Æomund made notes for his images, and Sotor beheld the Harnic sky in a way he had long desired, but not had the opportunity to enjoy. The seriousness of their business was only marred by the omnipresent Querine and her questions. The bearded knight, not known for his frivolity, was at first quick with his answers, responding in curt yesses and nos.

When the child asked for a closer look at the stars the gruff knight got up and tossed her into the air. To the surprised ears of Sotor it was hard to determine who laughed louder or longer, the knight or the child. With the timbre of the mood changed the physician directed the child to the telescope and the three shared an evening of the uncommonly clear sky of Harn in view of the swirling constellations.

Larane 23, 732

Sotor, accustomed to sleeping little was not fatigued after his long evening in Eastside the night before. Moving to his writing desk he penned a quick thank you note to both Æomund and his mother Layna. Finding himself in a humorous mood he signed the last one as The Dabbler. Chuckling to himself, he made his way downstairs to the common room of the Red Fox. Whistling, he had the feeling that the day was going to be as clear and bright as the previous day. In the common room he already found patrons complaining about the weather and heard one man worrying to another about a rash he was developing from being outside the past two days. Sotor smiled to the goodman, dropped his letters off to be delivered with the innkeeper, and began to reflect on the people of Harn and their reaction to the weather that pleased him, but yet left them in even fouler moods than usual.

The morning did not begin as promising for the residents of Raven Hall or their erstwhile breakfast companion Sir Baris.

“The breakfast is off this morning” opined the mustachioed knight.

The only response to this comment, “So eat more then,” came from Sir Ewen who was in no mood to plumb the depths of Sir Baris’s recent melancholy and was thankful for the lack of mindless chattering at the board this morning. Indeed, the two knights ate alone, Sir Æomund being absent again. He remained in his own chamber working on the sketches and drawings from last night. His stomach growled as the smell of pork sausage filled the house and he began to head downstairs. The thought of being reduced to the level of scribe and message boy again however, stayed his feet and he returned to his work. The lack of a squire of his own was becoming intolerable and not for the last time he cursed the day the Serekela sent him to Thay. A pity Kittiara wasn’t useful in such tasks, but she disliked entering the city anyway. It occurred to Æomund that he ought learn where she abided outside the walls.

Kaelyn too was deep in studies of her own. Her customary irritability at the buffoonery of others was further augmented by the stress of her studies and the unrelenting omnipresence of the sun. She felt close to a breakthrough in her research and was loath to quit with the end so near in sight.

Neither the weather nor the preoccupations of others in any way gainsaid the watch that Cekiya kept upon the house as instructed by the First Knight of Kaldor.

Deep in thought, Sir Baris finally tired of breakfast, slammed his hand on the table and walked out, his irritation trailing behind him. “I have something to do. The proximity of my errand to my breakfast is intolerable.”

The calculating First Knight of Kaldor barely heard the knight as he left. Things were picking up pace again and the trouble he was having utilizing his Deryni skills was occurring at a most inopportune time. Perhaps, he thought, his sister would be able to either illuminate the problem or at least provide a pleasant distraction. Sir Ewen smiled over his steepled fingers and allowed himself a momentary mental interlude.

Sir Baris adjusted his surcoat once more and stared at the door before him. His exit from Raven Hall brought him quickly to his destination and since it was the house next door but one it did not provide ample opportunity for the mustachioed knight to plan his course of action or refine the words he would use. Pulling down on his surcoat for the third time he stepped forward and knocked on the door of Aethal Atan.

The onyx-colored giant opened the door almost immediately as if he had been waiting behind the door for the knight to harness his courage and undertake his mission.

Sir Baris paused before speaking, “I would like to see the master of the house.”

“NO.”

Sir Baris’s mouth opened once and closed.

“No? Is he not in?”

“NO.”

“Please ask him to let me know when he will be available.”

“NO.”

The knight was unwilling to be put off. “How can I go about speaking to him?”

“I TELL.”

“Will you tell him?” asked the knight almost pleadingly.

“NO.”

“Good day then.”

“YES.”

The door then closed on Sir Baris. His thoughts bent upon the swelling Molly inside the house and the prospect of another ruined breakfast again tomorrow spurred the knight to undertake another course of action.

Sir Baris mopped his brow and took note of the burning feeling that was developing on the back of his neck. Disregarding his own personal discomfort and greatly desiring ale, he straightened his surcoat and made determined steps to Balim House.

The two guards at the gate were unimpressed by the arrival of the knight on foot.

“Hello my good man, I am here to see the falconer.”

The guards look at each other, one shrugged to the other and they allow him to pass. The mustachioed knight headed to the manse and knocked loudly upon the door. The door opened to another guard and Baris asked to see the falconer.

“He’s out back with the boids”

Sir Baris, determined that one of his errands prove at least partially successful, is undeterred and seeks out back.

“Ahh Tromath it is I Sir Baris!”

“SHHHH you must watch this.”

The bird takes to the skies and is seen to circle and darts first to ground and then drops to the arm of the falconer depositing a kitten at his feet.

“That’s how we weed them out elsewise we would be crawling with felines. So Sir Baris, do you come with news from she who I admire from afar?”

Sir Baris cleared his throat and for not the last time this morning wiped his brow. The sky was burning.

“Let me begin, I am thankful for the bird you gave me; it worked out very well. And I did go see her and her name is Molly.”

“Her name is Molly?” swooned the falconer.

The falconer, happy to know the name of the object he desired, didn’t notice right away that Sir Baris in a roundabout way attempting to tell the man that she is, in point of fact, pregnant.

“She is spoken for? Did someone take advantage?”

“I don’t think she was taken advantage of. I mean I haven’t watched her all the time but I guess maybe she could have been. Well what I mean is that I don’t think she thinks she was taken advantage of, or at least if I were her I would hope that I didn’t feel like I was taken advantage of, but in her case I think maybe.”

The falconer tried to work out for himself what exactly the convoluted knight was saying when the two heard another voice behind them.

“I hope you are not trying to steal our falconer Sir Baris.”

Sir Baris turned to find Sir Scina, scion of the House of Dariune, addressing him, and thankful for any distraction suddenly realized that he may find himself in more trouble with Sir Ewen if he is not careful. “Oh no I was talking about birds, he was helping me out.”

The knight shrugged, “Talk to my servants as much as you want; it’s not like they have things to do. When you’re done come in for a drink.”

Sir Baris saw that he had found an escape from the uncomfortable topic with the falconer is relieved, but now worried about what he might say to the heir of Balim.

The falconer stood mute as Sir Baris mumbled thanks, well wishes, and how much he looked forward to a drink.

The two waited for Lord Scina to depart before the falconer continued, “I’ll take your word no one took advantage of her, but I still want to meet her.”

The knight nodded and then made a quick escape to pay his respects and have at least a drink to wash away the hitherto unsuccessful morning.

Despite the fact that Sir Scina entered the house only moments before Sir Baris, the worrisome knight is greeted as though long expected, and that Sir Scina will be informed of his arrival. After a few moments to himself that had no calming effect, Baris saw the scion make his appearance.

“So how is it that you know my falconer?”

“I heard his name mentioned and I am curious about falconry.”

“So it’s not the bird that you gave to Meden Curo?”

Sensing a trap the discomforted knight dithers. “Ohh no. Not that one.”

“I didn’t know that you were so passionate a hunter Sir Baris. We should hunt sometime on the west bank.”

“I love hunting; it’s been far too long.”

Sir Scina, sensing that the knight was both uncomfortable with the line of questioning and in general, decided to press his advantage. “We’ll have to wait for the weather to break. So drink up. Where did you get the bird for Sir Meden if not one of ours?”

Though many in Tashal that day would blame the clear skies for excessive perspiration, the knight of Selepan could not make such a claim. He attempted to parry the querying thrusts of the scion of Balim.

“Oh I misunderstood. Yes, that was the one I gave him. I thought you meant the one I was just looking at.”

“So you gave a Balim bird to a Curo.”

“It’s actually a funny story.”

“I love funny stories.”

“I asked him for advice on getting a bird – I wouldn’t want you to think that I didn’t pay a fair price. I mean … it seemed he had more falcons than he could care for, and I certainly thought I could help out and do a favor for a favor. SO he had mentioned, when we were talking, that there was a maid that he admired from afar. And I knew this maid, so I went to see her, and her situation had changed since the last time I saw her and your falconer is a good man.”

“The excess birds were the falconer’s to do with as he pleased.”

“Oh, so there is no problem.”

“What was the funny part with the bird?”

“Oh well you know, the joke, I forgot the funny part. Well it’s funny because, well I knew the maid he admired.”

“You seem acquainted with a variety of people Sir Baris.”

“We all have our ways of going through life.”

“So you must be close to Sir Meden to give him a bird.”

“Well I accidently insulted him, so it was a gift.”

“DO tell that story.”

Sir Baris had the instant and convincing image of Sir Ewen beating him through the streets of Tashal and grasped for an escape from his current predicament. “Well I was very drunk and I’d rather not talk about it. So, Sir Scina how are you?”

“Balim house is out a bird. I must hear this story,” Scina replied, enjoying himself immensely.

The droplets grew on the knight’s brow as he searched for an answer. “I swore never to speak of it again.”

Reluctantly, Sir Scina realized there would be nothing of any great interest coming from Sir Baris and decided he indeed did have better things to do with the day. “Oh disappointing. Ahh I hear the noon bell. Very well then Sir Baris I wish you a good day.”

“The NOON BELL! Good day to you Sir Scina.” Rising quickly the knight drained his glass and beat a hasty retreat from Balim House and in haste made his way to the meeting with Sirs Ewen, Æomund, and Prehil.


Cekiya meanwhile, unwavering in her duty and task, continued to watch the house in which Lady Serli resided. Silently and keenly she watched the scene of the previous day repeat itself. She had begun to call Serli “Willow.”


Ere Sir Baris departed Balim house in haste, the physician Sotor contemplated the way the weather had been affecting the people of Harn. As he mused over the meaning of this while enjoying the bright cheer of the day, before the wandering gaze of the inquisitive sage a league of loremasters trained in the medical arts bustled and flustered in their unique way directly past the very spot where he sat. No message had arrived for him, but the league was clearly passing through Kald Square on its way to the castle. Without a second thought the physician made to meet them.

“Colleagues.”

One member of the collegiate commune was quick to respond. “I would wish you a good day but this weather is burdensome.”

Sotor, nonplussed, struck to the heart of the matter, “I was waiting for news from you on the patient.”

Another voice from the throng replied, “We know nothing and so are en route to the castle.”

“I shall accompany you then” replied the sage of Chelemby.

The knot of learnéd men quickly made their way to the gate driven by both their curiosity and a desire to escape the petulant sun. The physicians, much to their professional shock and at further risk of exposure to the sun, were turned away by the guards and forbidden entry. They began to speak amongst themselves and harangue the guards.

“I am not surprised by this, but I fear colleagues that where a patient will not hear a physician may not speak.”

“Indeed good Sotor, You there man! Who gave the order?”

A sigh escaped from the man at arms that was audible to all the physicians. Upon their approach the man knew that he would not be spared their collective inquisitive nature and prepared for the worst. “The chamberlain himself did good sirs.”

Sotor snapped his fingers in the air instantly, “Was Sir Fago Rheeder allowed to pass?”

“Yes” said the man’s barely mumbling lips from beneath a red and peeling nose.

“Gentlemen!” declared the scholar of Chelemby, “shall we repair to the Red Fox for wine?”


Much of the rest of the morning was spent in idle chatter amongst the learnéd physicians of Tashal until only Sotor remained. The conversation turned from the patient they desired to see, to the condition of the guard, and the effect of the sun on the people of Tashal who were positively roasting in the uncommon weather. Sotor sprang up, touched seemingly to his feet, and took the stairs two at a time to his writing desk and began to scribble. The words flowed as if from the hand of another and he quickly made several copies of his latest work to hang about the streets of Tashal.

There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is nothing but sunshine,
Though in Kaldor it be darkness there;
Never mind darkened forests, folk of Tashal,
Never mind sodden fields –
Here is a little sunshine,
Whose rays are over all;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where no rain shall fall;
In its unfading face
I hear the bright river hum:
Prithee, my brother, hark to me
In too much sun a roast you’ll be!


The nail drove into the post of Kald Square as the noon bell tolled to the city.

The noon bell chimed throughout the streets of Tashal, and from Eastside to the Kald River the folk of the town were relieved that the day was at least half past. Their collective suffering was not yet over, but at least the sheltering night would soon return.

Galopea’s Feast found the knights Ewen, Prehil, and Æomund already in attendance. The three were remiss to start the official meeting without Sir Baris, both from a desire to not have to start again when the knight did arrive, but to also take the opportunity to voice concern for the knight over his most recent behavior.

Prehil, taking advantage of the tardiness of the knight, opened the deliberations. “By the mournful twisted afterbirth of Ilvir’s children what is wrong with Baris? Æomund, the man is a mess and downright peculiar. We know it’s not lack of ale, but the man is positively ruinous to my humor. I’d rather converse with my wife in a garden than be around him much longer like this.”

“Surely Sir Prehil it has not sunk so far as that?” replied the bemused knight of Larani.

“Damn it man, it’s a figure of speech – who would want to converse with his wife? DO you ever see Ewen talking with his? No, something must be done. Ewen, he’s your man – figure it out!”

“Yes Sir Prehil, he does appear to be out of sorts lately The man sweats from morn till night. I would say he is roasting, but it continues through the night even when in of doors.”

“Eh sweating and acting strange … EWEN! Courtesans! I have seen that look before! Of course! Lack of the company of women is the sure cause of such distress. It must be arranged this very evening!”

Just then a sweating and huffing mustachioed Sir Baris burst upon the scene of Galopea’s Feast.

“Here he is at last. So Baris, anyone we know?”

The knight blanches at the question from the Alderman of Tashal, “Oh uh I mean … no, yes. It was a drink about a bird.”

“By the overflowing bosom of Halea’s Handmaiden – it’s worse than I thought!”

The first knight of Kaldor arched an eyebrow at his erstwhile retainer. “Where did you just come from?”

Sir Baris in such straits was incapable of prevaricating, “The falconer of Balim house.”

“Balim House?”

“Well I promised to introduce him to the maid Molly.”

“The one you slept with when we were over to dinner at Aethal Atan’s?”

“Ewen, what kind of dinners do you go to? Æomund where was I?”

Before the pious knight could respond the conversation turned back to that between lord and vassal.

“Er … well yeah. But it wasn’t in an aggressive way. I mean well I, now see she didn’t care at the time, or at least didn’t protest. Protest that I was taking advantage of her I mean. Sirs she was amiable to the encounter!” Baris crossed his arms in righteousness.

Prehil practically sputtering at this point would not be gainsaid, “Ewen, Baris, Æomund – why didn’t I know about that?”

The calculating knight began to grow bored with the current thrust of the conversation and was more curious as to the summons of Sir Prehil that brought them all together in the first place. “Baris bedded her in the kitchen, because she couldn’t reach the cream.”

“I would think that a maid would have better access to the product of her trade” retorted the pious knight of Larani, apparently believing the girl to have some business with milch livestock.

“I will hear all about this tonight at the courtesans from someone. Now, you three, with me, upstairs to more important things.”

The four knights quickly retired upstairs. The difficulties of Sir Baris lost on the group for the moment in getting down to business while the mustachioed knight pondered his next attempt to absolve himself of growing guilt.

Prehil opened the meeting, “So I have need to relate what has occurred. Meden has left town.”

Sir Ewen looked nonplussed, but his outward demeanor didn’t show his interest in his new found, but unproven ally; the scion of the House Curo. “Unexpectedly?”

“Well no. He has gone back to Gardiren to send forth.”

“He did say he was going to send the invites to the tourney.”

“Yes he did.”

Uncertain at this point why Sir Prehil had summoned the knights Sir Ewen inquired, “And the King?”

“No change. I have been thinking Ewen, we have been focusing all of our attention on Ternua. Is that taken care of by the way?”

“A company of men are en route to secure the keep and hold the bridge. They have already quit the city.”

“If I were a suspicious fellow I would be concerned that you could, with a day’s notice, send a company of armed men to do your bidding and think nothing of it.”

“Well I do have a wealthy wife.”

Prehil, reminded again of his own nuptial state cringed, “but you have to sleep with them.”

Sir Ewen smiled his peculiar smile to Sir Prehil, “Well, now I have an heir. You should think about that yourself.” The meaning of those words meant a far different thing to Sir Ewen then they did to Sir Prehil and he permitted himself a stray thought to the hidden and the open heirs he would himself have.

Prehil frowned, “I have cousins.”

“If this plan works out, would you want one of them to be king?”

Sir Æomund’s question registered immediately in the head of the First Knight of Kaldor. This stray comment was the first time that his pious retainer had commented on the enterprise at hand. Perhaps the knight had found a way to circle the square of his theology and would remain useful after all. The calculating Sir Ewen was quick to pick up the thread of cousins. “What about the matter of your cousin Sir Prehil? The one from yesterday.”

“She will say nothing. Dismiss the thought from your mind as I will vouchsafe for my house. I have been thinking Ewen. Meden keeps saying that the north is secure, but I don’t think so. Concerning the Vikings: I think he dwells overmuch on Gardiren. We do not have Olokand; we never will. We will not gain that rock by any trick or tip that I can think of at present. But what about the bridge at Heru instead? It belongs to Harabor. This leaves the north very much unsecure in my mind.”

The First Knight of Kaldor had personal and martial knowledge of the garrison of Olokand. “What are you concerned about Sir Prehil? Troops from Olokand? There are other choke points in which to contain them.”

The martial mind of the scion of Firith revealed itself as very much the son of the father, “We must control Tashal. It’s the key to the kingdom politically, economically, and militarily. My thought was that the Constable of Heru may be loyal to Thilisa, your wife, more so than Harabor. We scratch his back he will perchance scratch ours.”

“Well Prehil,” for the first time in the meeting the First Knight of Kaldor omitted the honorific by custom applied to the man who was his social superior, “I think you have a good point. What do you know of his family?”

“He has a son, a brother who fought in the tourney last year, and some other family. Thilisa promised him a manor of his own, but she lost her hold on the land and it has so far gone unfulfilled.”

“We can find some land somewhere for him I am sure. Should things go our way.”

“I believe he is quite comfortable where he is.”

“The prospect of a barony that doesn’t currently exist being created is a long way off.”

“This is true, and I could never promise this myself, but perhaps the husband of the lady who once ruled those lands would have more sway with him.”

“I believe I could undertake this matter personally then. I can be on the road to Heru as soon as convenient.”

Sir Prehil then slapped the table before the knights and changed to subject back to courtesans and inquired further as to Sir Baris’s association with the production and storage of dairy products.

The even progressed as it was destined under the determined course of Sir Prehil. Saving only Sir Ewen, who excused himself to receive a report from the little adder and then drifted through the streets of Tashal to his own diversions at Hag Hall.

Larane 24, 732

With the dawning of a new day the people of Tashal looked with hope to the skies. For the first few moments of the day the clouds reappeared and blanketed the city in its customary hues. The hope of the city soon faded however as the clouds quickly broke up and scattering revealed another cruelly clear day.

Sir Ewen, despite the inauspicious opening of the day found himself in a more talkative mood after his dalliance of the night before.

“Sir Baris, do you think this weather will impact our manors?”

Sir Baris turned his head up quickly from the plate of pork sausage before him, “Our what?”

“Our manors.”

The knight fidgeted at the board and seemingly attempted to look through the walls of Raven Hall to another domicile and the pregnant woman it contained. “Oh yeah, nah they’re fine. These peasants do this all the time. Besides I sent Tora down there.”

“The sun should have no bearing on pork sausage” added the pious knight of Larani. The light hearted comment however was lost upon Sir Baris and he quickly mopped his forehead again and took his leave of Raven Hall. The departure and continued strange behavior of Sir Baris successfully spoiled any chance of a day short of quick tempers.

“Sir Æomund, pen a letter to Heru.” The bearded knight looked around the board at the departure of Sir Baris and noted that yet again Mistress Kaelyn was not there. Again, the knight thought he would be reduced to acting as scribe for his liege lord. The knight thought for a moment, perhaps he too would take up falconry and again inhabit the rookery Sir Baris found to be so effective within Raven Hall.

“I desire to meet with the Constable of Heru on the 26th, two days hence.”

The Laranian knight heard the directions of his liege lord, but the margin of the page was quickly filling up with the sketches of falcons seemingly spreading their wings in tight confines bedecked in scores of fluttering papers.

Sir Ewen seeing that the knight, after a fashion, was making progress with the note rolled his eyes and again wondered at the humor of his retainers of late.

“Milord, did I hear you correctly that you wish to go to Heru?”

“Yes Walin, what of it?”

“Ah yes, well I feel compelled to tell you that I have a cousin in Heru. Perhaps he might be of some assistance to you and your errand there. Though I don’t dare intrude upon your own business, he is a herald, now retired, and may be in a position to assist you.”

Sir Ewen rises from the table. “Yes. Send him a note to expect me.”

Aeomund drafted the letter while flourishing and expounding in the borders on his new found love of fledglings and their sport with books. Looking to the impressive marginalia of the knight now focused on the illumination of a man with a falcon’s head, Ewen continued, “Sir Æomund. When you are quite finished give that to Walin to send with a note of his own.” The calculating First Knight of Kaldor makes to leave but pauses.

“Sir Æomund later I want you to go to the Temple of Larani. I want you to watch for the arrival of Lady Serli, a cousin to Sir Prehil. Observe her and tell me what she does.”

The tone and bearing of his liege lord broke the reverie of the pious knight immediately, and he nodded at the seemingly odd request. “It shall be done.”


The pious knight dithered away the morning setting and laying and then setting and adjusting the garments of his order. He was never lacking in an emblem of his order, but for some reason the Laranian knight felt the need to don the full regalia and unpack the surcoat he had not worn since Olokand and entering into Sir Ewen’s service. This morning the knight was unconcerned about the lack of a squire, the task his liege lord had set him, or the recent unsettling theological questions he had to answer without the aid of Sir Remiu to assist him in puzzling through. He decided that despite the nature of the mission and the weather besetting the city that he would in fact enjoy his visit to the temple and the focal point of his order here in Tashal.

Properly attired, if perhaps slightly overdressed for the eve of Soratir, the bearded knight of Varayne made his way to the Temple of Larani at the behest of his liege lord. He brought with him ink and parchment. He needed a break from drawing the heavens themselves, but still wanted to keep his hand in practice and had thrown himself into bettering his skills at illumination to better pay homage to the intended recipients of the books he was working on.

The temple was not crowded when the knight entered and he found that where possible the streets were vacant of the citizens of Tashal. Cekiya still hidden, marked the passage of the knight and divined that Sir Ewen had sent him to observe what she as yet had not: the affairs of Lady Serli inside the temple.

The knight’s mind cleared as he approached the temple and he thought of his youth in Tashal and the humility he should have felt for having grown up in Balim House despite no connection to the bloodlines and great houses of Kaldor. The humility of the knight however had not yet reached its zenith. That moment was reserved for when he once again beheld the great alabaster statue of the Shieldmaiden of the Worthy Cause, the immense rendering of the Unwilling Warrior that was the jewel of the temple. In that day of clear skies and bright sunlight the colored glass showed the physical representation of the center of his faith in color and light that he had never perceived before. Blood red mail blended with alabaster that seemed to glow of its own accord and illuminate the smaller figures to her right and left and the Knights of Tirith arrayed below. After silent prayer the knight drew forth his paper and began to sketch.

The knight at first was oblivious that the object of the sentinel had come into the temple. The hour of noon had just passed when he saw she who could only be the lady he was sent to observe enter a side chapel with familiar efficiency, there to kneel before the shrine of Saint Ambrathas. Sir Æomund followed discreetly behind and took up a position where he could observe the lady in her devotions. The passage of the knight was arrested by another present in the apse deep in his own devotions: another knight had at some time preceded Sir Æomund.

Sensing the presence of Sir Æomund, the knight waited for his departure, but after several moments grew tired of the congestion of other souls within the apse. The knight rose from his prayers and passed too close to the bearded knight for him to not, in good manners, make a greeting.

“I am Sir Æomund” said the knight to the meticulously groomed and dressed knight.

The knight nodded, “I have heard of you sir, an Erana knight currently here in Tashal. I am Sir Lysat Haeth, Reblena of the temple.”

The two knights made small talk inquiring of mutual acquaintances until Sir Lysat, having equally met his obligation to be cordial turned in another direction.

“Sir Æomund, why is it that you are here?”

The knight did not take the time to ponder on the question or overly dwell on the fact that he was being challenged as to his purpose in the temple of his own faith by another knight. He nodded his head in the direction of the sketch, at this point not his best work and even he knows it.

“I grew up in Tashal, but I have never before seen our Lady in such a way, thus I sought to capture the image. I have failed as you can yourself see, but I thought perhaps from another angle the lady would better guide my pen.”

Sir Æomund attempted then to further the goals of his own errand.

“The woman, who passed you. Was that the cousin of Sir Prehil? She has a Firith’s bearing to her.”

The Reblena it seemed was accustomed to his office and seemed disinclined to waste words, as if they were rationed and at there end would be reduced to silent devotion.

“Yes, Lady Serli Ubael.”

“Do you know her?”

“I know her by the fact she comes here daily. To pray in solitude.”

Sir Æomund was not about to be put off by the Reblena and thought that the best revenge against such a taciturn man would be to keep him talking.

“Can you introduce me? I am acquainted well with the family, but not of the Ubael branch.”

At this request the Reblena apparently buckled at least in his curt speech if in no other way.

“I cannot Sir knight. I do not have the acquaintance to do so. She is strong willed and I would not disturb her in her devotion. I know only that and that she would have been married some time ago though here parents forbade her marriage. The incident was over Sir Koris Harabor, though it is of little matter now I suppose as he is dead.”

With that the knight had reached the end of his allotment of frivolity. He nodded to Sir Æomund and departed. Fortune smiled on the pious knight however because the lady herself was soon done and passed by the knight with parchment in hand.

“Sir Knight.”

Sir Æomund inclined his head to her, “Milady, a good day to you. May you be safe from the blinding light of the sun and avoid roasting. Though the sun does do amazing things with the light through the glass does it not?”

He waved the scribbled ink smeared parchment just enough to call attention to the fact that he was drawing.

“Yes. Quite lovely. Good Day.”

Sir Æomund was observed by Cekiya moments later exiting the temple himself. She took in passing that the knight was ceaselessly twisting a parchment in his hands.


The day passed, bright and bothersome for the people of Tashal. The spirit of inspiration was not however idle in the Gray Lady. Visiting Sotor of Pelanby the day before, it now made an appearance in Raven Hall.

Kaelyn turned over and over the pages before her. She made notes, double-checked, and then checked again. Seemingly summoned from the depths, the lines, shapes, and patterns revealed themselves to her. She had at long last unlocked the secret that she had been engrossed in. A new spell was hers.

Larane 25, 732

The sun had not yet seen fit to turn its gaze from the now dusty streets of Tashal. Most of the inhabitants had begged off the duties of the day, but those of gentle condition and the folk who served them were however not so spared. Soratir had come with the obligation to the faithful and socially compelled to attend the high mass.

The sermon and the morning passed into the haze and foggy recollections of earlier sunlit days when later Sirs Ewen and Æomund would find themselves in the swirl of the gathering at Balim House. Ewen wore the marshalled arms of Caldeth and Ravinargh, as was his right and to the perturbation of his father-in-law, and Æomund, as the day before, was bedecked in the colors and emblems of his order. The location of Sir Baris of the sweaty brow in the place he lurked during Soratir had yet to be revealed.

Sir Æomund accompanied the First Knight of Kaldor on the short walk to Balim House. The knight had been meticulous in his preparations, more so even than the day before. While in his conscious mind, the knight told himself that it was only proper and fitting for a knight of Larani to attend the high holy day of the month in his best form, he was guided by thoughts even he wouldn’t acknowledge or even recognize. Deep in the knight’s heart lay the desire to see once more the Lady Alyce of Melderyn: the motivation behind the knight’s celestial writings and illuminations.

The First Knight of Kaldor arrived at Balim House to see many of the expected faces, and was soon ensconced in the usual trappings and verbal repartee of such events. The calculating knight was not soon to lay aside the threads that he had gathered into his hand and glided through the gathering with Sir Æomund in tow.

“Ah Sir Scina, a pleasure it is to find myself invited to your house. I thank your father for the invitation.”

“Sir Ewen, not at all. I had the pleasure of entertaining Sir Baris yesterday as well. Though I do not see him with you today. It seems only that brave sole survivor of the Silver Caravan is in your train.”

Sir Æomund was not surprised to be so ignored by Sir Scina. He stood instead at the side of his liege lord reminding himself that he had likely spent more time in Balim House than Sir Scina had, and that it was out of thanks for the father if not for social graces that he would again ignore the subtle and not so subtle insults of the scion of Balim.

Sir Ewen knew the relationship between the two knights, but ignored the social snubbing and instead bent the conversation to concerns of his own.

“Yes, well I thank you for personal invite nonetheless. I see that Sir Prehil’s cousin is in attendance. Has she been long in Tashal?”

Sir Æomund, whose thoughts had been bent upon seeing Sir Scina at the end of his lance in the upcoming tournament, was taken from his reverie at the mention of the Sir Prehil’s cousin.

“Ah yes she is. I believe she is over there,” as the knight inclined his head.

The eyes of the three assembled knights drifted to where Lady Serli stood among the guests with her escort, speaking to Lady Alyce. The presence of the two women who had been much in the pious knight’s mind lately was sufficient distraction to unseat the image of a dismounted Sir Scina in the his musings.

The two knights continued to converse, but the bearded knight, despite being in their company, heard nothing that passed between the two except the naming of the dandy knight in the company of Lady Serli, her escort: Sir Tonan Yaronne.

Sir Æomund missed completely the announcement of Maldan Harabor arrival at the gathering, an event that seems to pique the interest of the rest of the guests, including Sir Ewen. The Earl of Balim himself made to greet his erstwhile peer and only marginally concealed the fact that the Earl of Osel had not been invited. As the two drifted away Sir Ewen attempted to listen to what passed between the two but was foiled in his attempt. The unfamiliar distortion still plagued the knight.

The calculating First Knight of Kaldor thought of bending his mind to listen in on the discussion between Lady Serli and Lady Alyce, but instead contrived a better plan.

“Sir Æomund, your charge of yesterday is not yet complete. Find out what those women are talking about.”

The perceptive character of Sir Ewen noticed that his retainer when given this task rose to the occasion faster than any falcon he had seen among a flock of ducks. Sir Æomund left the side of Sir Ewen readily enough, but half way to his quarry he began to wonder what it was he was supposed to do and how he was to entertain two ladies at once. Fate or the guiding hand of Larani saved the flummoxed knight.

“Sir knight! A pleasure to see you, though it appears we are confined to meet only on high holy days since I have arrived in Tashal. Have you met my new friend?” Sir Æomund could not deny the magnetic personality of Lady Alyce and only smiled.

Lady Serli inclined her head, “The good knight and I have already met, but have not been introduced.”

Sir Æomund inclined his head as well, “I would not deny the Lady Alyce the privilege of an introduction.”

The two women smiled. Had Sir Æomund been better versed in social gatherings he would have detected the impression that the two ladies had just been teasing him. Instead, he got the vague sensation he was accustomed to feel when the Pagaelin were near at hand.

“Sir Æomund, I present to you then Lady Serli Ubael.” She bowed to the two and what Sir Æomund could only interpret as a wink was sent in his direction as she turned and moved elsewhere in the crowd.

The bearded knight, at a loss by the departure of Lady Alyce, was salved by having to focus now on only one of the Ladies. “It is a pleasure to be able to meet you formerly. I am aghast that Sir Prehil never told me he had such a devout and lovely cousin.”

Unlike their earlier encounter even the knight realized that his words had some affect on the woman.

“How gallant of you to say so.”

“I wish gallantry were always so easy. For if it is gallantry to attest to your piety and grace the world would be full of knightly men.”

At this comment the lady laughed, but it ended in a genuine smile.

“If I may be bold, you speak better than you draw Sir Æomund.”

At that the knight laughed as well. “Yes, well I can do better than that.”

“I am anxious then to hear what other flattery you have prepared.”

Sir Æomund, was struck suddenly by the speech fairy that had been so vexing to Sir Baris the last few days.

“Well, I was talking about drawing, I mean I have words to say, not that I prepared them, or that I use the same lines. Have you ever traveled to Melderyn?” The knight cursed, and for the first time in many weeks his silent curse was not directed at the Serekela who bound him to Varayne.

“I have in fact been there. I was unlucky in love and so went abroad.”

This was a topic that Sir Æomund was completely unprepared to talk about and so quickly changed the subject.

“Well then, I shall have to tell you a secret so that your time in Tashal will be worthy of your visit. There is to be tournament in Varayne, though the official invites haven’t gone out yet. I was once the baliff of Varayne. Now however, it is in the hands of Sir Ewen the First Knight of Kaldor whom I am happy to serve.”

“Ah, that is good news. I love tournaments. So much like the stories of knights fighting for the virtue of the ladies.”

“It would not be confined to bards and tales for knights to fight for your virtue Lady Serli.”

“Hmm, gallant again Sir knight. Will you be in attendance Sir Æomund?”

“I have the honor of being numbered among the combatants.”

“Then I will be there.”

Sir Æomund noticed nothing further of the soiree.


During the day, Sotor made copies of his latest poem on the folly of fearing the sun, and posted it about the city. Sotor received a response from Sir Fago: We will be in touch if we need you.

Cekiya checked for signs from the hive, but there were none.

Larane 26, 732

As yet another blazing clear day dawned, the people of Tashal began to eye each other warily, convinced everyone around them was taking leave of their senses. The merchants visiting from afar spoke to each other in hushed tones, wondering at the signs of woe visited upon them recently. Between the lack of a Fur Caravan for years now and the calamity of the Silver Caravan, the persistent gaze of the sun could only betide further disasters. Savvy merchants exchanged words to the wise regarding hedging their future endeavors.

At Raven Hall, the breakfast meeting was greeted by all the denizens of the great edifice, and Sotor of Pelanby arrived to welcome.

“Sotor take of my board,” said Sir Ewen. “We are on our way to Heru if you would care to travel with us. The weather is making us restless – I certainly hope this bad weather clears out before the tournament.”

After breakfast, those bound for Heru gathered in the hall. Before leaving, Walin gave directions to his cousin Enabrin Vastair’s house. When ready, they departed via the Heru Gate. Kittiara rejoined the group as they left Tashal. As they rode along, Sir Baris broached a topic that had been much on his mind.

“Sotor you’re a physician. I have heard that without the clouds our bodies are being cooked.”

“Employ the courage of your station. I assure you there is nothing to fear.”

Hearing this, Kaelyn casts a spell but failed to block out the sun.

Æomund later observes Kalas walking beside his horse. “Your squire cannot ride? You have chosen poorly,” he says to Sir Baris before cantering up the line.

The journey to Heru ensues in much this way over the four hour trip. Upon arrival, Sir Ewen inquired of a villager as to the location of the home of Enabrin Vastair. Following the directions, Æomund knocked on the door, and was gratified to learn it was the right house, though less so with the surly welcome of the servant who answered the door.

“Take your horses to the ostler. We have no room for them,” said the servant with obvious irritation.

Sir Æomund turned to Sir Baris. “If only we had a squire for such menial tasks.”

The servant’s directions were vague, but wandering in that direction and asking a few more locals, the ostler was located, by the name of Nadran of Malhorn. “I was just on my way to the tavern,” he said, “but I’m glad I stayed long enough to see such a magnificent horse.” He stroked Iblis’s neck.

Heading back to Enabrin’s house, the party noted it was two stories high, constructed of wattle and daub. Its timbers were solid and well put together. The furnishings were similar, especially the pieces made of oak. Most of the other buildings in Heru were one or two stories, though there were a couple with three stories.

The party was shown to a comfortable hall, and before long, Enabrin Vastair appeared. An old man, he dressed well, his clothing lined with fur.

He greeted the party and offered refreshments. “My steward will bring you drink or I will beat him all the way to the Shem.”

After the servant brought wine and ale, and each was served, there was some small talk. The calculating Sir Ewen soon came to the point. “My chamberlain, Walin of Vastair, your cousin I believe, says you were a herald.”

“I was for many years,” replied Enabrin.

“Do you know Sir Rohn Sarlis?”

“Indeed, we were rivals.”

“How splendid! As am I. I have sparred with him many times.”

“When sparring with Rohn, you must attack him in his weakest point.”

“Which is?”

Enabrin refilled the drinks. “Sir Rohn’s vulnerability is his giant horse’s ass posterior.”

Sir Ewen laughed and asked him if he was able to conduct an introduction with Sir Bereden Pawade, the Constable of Heru.

Sir Æomund, feeling the ale, asked, “Is there pork sausage?”

Sir Ewen glares, and sought to further ply the herald for his aid. He asked about his retirement and learned he spent his time writing. Sir Ewen offered to have a writing desk made for him which Ewen asked Sotor to describe. The physician took the opportunity to explain writing desks in the context of a lengthy history of Chelemby.

Gently breaking in, Ewen said, “Sotor we must have a writing desk made for him and have it sent.”

Enabrin, who had been listening politely – as only an experienced diplomat could – demurs, and said he had no need of a writing desk. Instead, he deflected the conversation and asked if they had seen the town.

Ewen, not sure where this was going, said, “Yes at the Crooked Leg.”

“Have you met our local silversmith? Elmis of Harabor?”

“I have not,” admited Ewen. “The Harabors seem to be everywhere.”

“Yes, they are both high and low.”

“And the current lord?”

“He is never seen.”

They spoke of Harabors, including the one who was now Earl of Osel, that Ewen was married to Thilisa, her inheritance, and Ewen’s position.

Eventually, it seemed Enabrin decided the party was not a group of charlatans and stopped trying to gauge them. He agreed to help and the party decided to stay at the Red Horse Tavern.

Arriving at that establishment, they learned the proprietor was one Jahmis of Wethona. The place had a feeling of disappointment, apparently from the lack of a tourney at Olokand that year. Apparently, the inn counted on that business for a significant part of their revenue and its absence had been keenly felt in the proprietor’s purse. Thus the party was well taken care of for far less than they would have expected.

Sir Baris’s eye kept being drawn to a stuffed red horse in the common room – could it be the eponymous equine? He reached out involuntarily and stroked the horse. The color was unusual, awesome even.

“Please, please, don’t do that,” blurted Jahmis worriedly. “He was a real horse and his coat is … abrading.”

Bemused, Ewen said, “Æomund, keep an eye on Baris. We don’t want him riding that horse.”

Sotor began to display exceptional taxidermy erudition.

“Yes,” said the innkeeper nervously. “We often cater to the Earl of Balim you know.”

“Have you ever catered to the First Knight of Kaldor? BEHOLD!” said Æomund with some indignance.

While enjoying an impressive repast at the inn, a messenger arrived with a note from Enabrin – the constable would meet with them and that he would advise as soon as he had further information.

Sir Baris was disappointed to learn the inn had no ‘girls.’

Larane 27, 732

At the break of day, each of the travelers peered out their window and reluctantly beheld yet another clear and cloudless day. How long, they wondered, how long? Glumly, the party assembled in the common room, and after desultory conversation over a sumptuous breakfast – it included pork sausage spiced in a way that ought to have elicited paeans from Sirs Æomund and Baris – Kaelyn announced she would seek out the glassworker of whom she had heard. Baris and Sotor decided to accompany her.

Locating the shop, Kaelyn entered. Sir Baris and Sotor were each in turn distracted by the neighboring locksmith and physician. As she looked about, Kaelyn noted panes of clear and also of stained glass. A journeyman, evidently surprised to see a customer, came over and asked he he could be of some assistance. Kaelyn said she was looking for a glass phial with the waters of the Shem in it. The journeyman scowled, and went for the master, Timitris of Malhorn. Greeting him, Kaelyn said she collects samples of water that she has seen. He is skeptical about a phial, and she suggested a paperweight. He asked how long she planned to stay in Heru, and she said it could be sent to Tashal. Though surprised, he nevertheless accepted a down payment, eager to help. Kaelyn left her address, pleased with her purchase.

Meanwhile, Baris went to the Locksmith, and pulled the bellrope on the door. The man who appeared seemed tired and unshaven. Sir Baris introduced himself, and in return the man replied he was Barna of Loun, locksmith. He seemed a little touched, or perhaps just slow. Baris produced his quest key and asks if the locksmith had any information about it. Barna examined it – for quite some time. Eventually, Baris asked him how to find locks that it might fit. Barna, after some incomprehensible mumbling, said, “You’re a knight.”

“Yes, that’s what sir means. It is I Sir baris.”

At the same time, Sotor visited the Physician. He knocked, time passed. “Hello?” he finally ventured.

“Not my office hours,” came a reply from within.

“I’m a fellow surgeon.”

“Then you have no need of surgery.”

Sotor could not argue with this at the moment, but refuses to be deterred. “Yes, can I speak to the surgeon?”

“This is not hour for visits.”

He tried a new tack. “I come bringing collegiate greetings from Tashal.”

“I have no colleagues in Tashal.”

“I was led to believe there was a surgeon in Heru.”

“There is. I am here, now go away!”

Still undeterred, Sotor pressed on. “I’d like to speak to you man to man or doctor to doctor.”

Finally, the door opened. Sotor found himself in a hall with a waiting room. He introduced himself again.

“Dallisen of Curo,” said the surgeon reluctantly.

From that, the conversation devolved to an argument over good practices, and who takes what kind of patients. Eventually, all pretense broke down.

“I am a CURO!”

“I AM A PELANBY!”

“GOOD DAY!”

Later, Baris and Sotor shared their experiences and concluded they are not terribly impressed with the people of Heru so far.

Æomund decided to look around the town on his own, and conducted a survey of the bridge. He had, of course, been over it before, but he had never had the leisure to truly examine it from an engineering perspective. He concluded it would be possible to undermine the bridge, though it would need trained sappers, time, and ideally no one trying to kill them.

As Æomund examined the bridge, a man with a white sash greeted him, and said he need charge no toll. Thanking him, Æomund eyed the bridge gate. Approaching from the river side would be hard even if lightly defended. Yet on the town side one could not defend the crossing at all. At the time, there was but one guard at the gate who challenged Æomund but let him pass. Looking back, Æomund wondered why the bridge was defended only from a northern incursion. Perhaps, he thought, they have yet to construct defenses from a southerly perspective.

Later, when all had returned to the Red Horse, Ewen asked Sotor about sun stroke. Still out of sorts at his encounter with the physician, he inquired of the Curos. Everyone was surprised to find Sotor in this humor. Sir Ewen told him that the Curos are an important family, indeed, that they have had some dealings with them.

Sotor wonders if they were descended from Kings?

Baris spoke up immediately. “No kings have had the surname Curo!”

“Thank you Sir Baris,” replied Sotor.

Concerned that Sotor might not leave things as they were, Ewen warned that interfering with Curo or his distant relatives were not part of his plans. Sotor nods.

That evening, Sotor wrote a satire of the physician and his ineptitude, though leaving out the last name Curo or insults to the familial line. He snuck out to the well to tack it up. There he saw a young lady out in the square. “Another night owl?”

The lady demurred, and asked what brings him out so late.

“Making a statement for a righteous cause.”

“Which diety?”

“Sarajin.”

“How bold, we were just attacked by Vikings. I have trouble sleeping.”

“It doesn’t bother me.” Sotor talked about the sun, the stars, cures for insomnia. She wanted to walk by the river but then decided that Sotor is too strange.
User avatar
Matt
The GM
 
Posts: 2556
Joined: Thu Sep 16, 2004 3:38 pm
Location: Weymouth, MA

Return to The Melderyn Chronicle

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 7 guests

cron