Session One Hundred and Eleven - May 17, 2014

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

Session One Hundred and Eleven - May 17, 2014

Postby Matt » Fri Aug 15, 2014 8:13 pm

Agrazhar 4, 732

A fine, foggy Harnic morning. The household of Sir Ewen Ravinargh came together at the breakfast table as always, although there was little of the intrigue that characterized a typical morning. Among the grunts of pass the jam and masticating of bread, Sir Ewen slapped the table and exclaimed “I think I know what she meant by magpie!”

“Huh?” said Sir Baris, paying greater attention to his food than his liege.

“Has anyone seen Sotor?”

“Uh ... no. Surely Kaelyn knows where he is.”

“I handed him the matter of Wybert of Graon and haven’t seen him since,” Kaelyn replied.

As if on cue, Cekiya slipped onto a bench. “Are we going to free the magpie?”

“What got him into a cage?” asked Ewen.

“By being a magpie. He had questions, too many questions. No one could answer them.”

“Who was he questioning?” asked Baris.

“The gate guard.”

“Which gate?”

“The Heru gate,” said Cekiya, toying with a rasher of bacon. “They took him to the big house.”


In the dungeons of Caer Elend, there was no breakfast meeting, certainly no eggs or pork sausage or bacon. To Sotor of Pelanby, this mattered little. He had poetry for his food and drink, and philosophy to steel him against the cruel end Fate had brought him.

“Sotor, what will become of us?” wailed Wybert, in the next cell.

Sotor urged Wybert toward a state of ataraxia, but the man lacked the basic foundation of asceticism; he remained troubled and nervous. For his own part, Sotor willingly accepted his imprisonment. The only real penalty was ignorance, his inability to satisfy his gnawing curiosity about what was happening in Raven Hall and other places. No matter. He imagined in his mind’s eye a tiny bit of morning sunlight within his cell, and tried to find the correct words to frame its beauty.

The door to the dungeon clanked open, and in walked Midal Sarathid, Inquisitor General of Kaldor. Sotor recognized him as the speaker at the previous day’s hanging.

“You must be Sotor of Pelanby,” said the Inquisitor.

“I am, and good morning to you, Inquisitor.”

“It is my understanding that you were creating a public nuisance, disturbing the peace, and interfering with a king’s officer.”

“I was doing nothing of the sort.”

“So you’re pleading innocent?”

“Certainly.”

“Very well. We will hold you until such time as your trial can be scheduled.”

Wybert whimpered. “If you plead guilty, you can pay a small fine and you can leave. You’re not doing me any good here!”

Sotor considered this. It rankled, but he was a practical man, after his own fashion.

“May I send a message from this jail?”

“You may not.”

“Very well, then.”

The Inquisitor left. Sotor sighed and tried to asses his situation. There was still time to change his mind if he necessary.

Meanwhile, in his mystic eye, Sir Ewen had witnessed the end of the conversation, and heard Sotor’s plea. As Wybert shook his head, so did he. He took himself out of the the clairvoyant trance and explained the situation to the table.

“So Sotor spent the last two days trying to get Wybert out of jail, and now he’s in jail?” said Baris.

“Come now, Baris. The man is a scholastic, and peevish as a fishwife.”

“Well, he can be a bit abrasive, but to to me that doesn’t comport with disturbing the peace. That sounds more like taking a barrel of ale down to the Agrikans. Not just a little bit of odd poetry.”

“Do we need to go get him?” said Aeomund.

“Yes,” said Baris.

But there was the matter that, despite having been publicly seen together, Sir Ewen’s name had not be specifically linked with Sotor, and both found that advantageous. How might the connection between the two men be disguised?

“I could go, and say he’s a colleague of my mother,” suggested Aeomund.

“If you please,” said Ewen.

“This may require some money.”

“How much, do you think?” They determined that a sack of a hundred silver pennies should cover all foreseeable expenses.

“Be sure to bring back the residue,” said Ewen.

Breakfast broke up. Kaelyn ensconced herself for further study. Baris pestered the weaponcrafter for his new helmet, urging the craftsman “Be sure to measure my head! Measure my head!” Sir Aeomund left on his appointed task. In Mangai Square, he purchased several scones, and meandered to the castle.

The guard didn’t recognize his face, but could see his position. “Sir Knight?”

“I am Sir Aeomund, here to retrieve a wayward retainer.”

“Is he in the dungeon?”

“Yes.”

“That quack they brought in?”

“Exactly!”

“We shall escort you to the Inquisitor.”

Instead of the grand staircase, Aeomund was led in a new direction, to a long room filled with benches and tapestries. At the far end stood a dias, with three chairs, a table, and a lectern. At the lectern stood the Inquisitor, arguing a case before the Rekela Dariune. Next to him, a scribe scribbled notes for the records.

The case was typical. Two guildsmen suing for breach of contract. A cellar rented and not used. After about a half-hour, the judge had heard enough. “I must deliberate before I can render judgment.” He and the scribe retired to chambers.

The Inquisitor began chatting with one of the guildsmen. Sir Aeomund approached him.

“Lord Inquisitor, a moment?”

“Yes?”

“I am Sir Aeomund. It has come to my attention that someone with whom I am associated was cast into the dungeon.”

“There are two prisoners at moment.”

“This would be a Continental.”

“Oh, yes ...”

“Amazing. Everyone has the same response.”

“I offered him the chance to the plead guilty, but he declined.”

“He has gazed on celestial bodies, but was cast down to earth. What would he need to do to get out of here?”

“The fine will be a shilling for each charge. But if I see him here again, it will not go so well for him. I release him into your custody.”

“Where can we pay the fine?”

“There’s a clerk right over there.”

Sir Aeomund counted out thirty-six pence, and was given a tally stick in return. “Show that to the jailer.” A guard escorted the knight down to the dungeon, directly below the courtroom. A peephole opened in the stout ironbound door.

“We have an order for the release of a prisoner,” said the escort.

“Are you sure?”

“It is official. The fine has been paid.”

With a grumble, the guard opened the door. Aeomund was taken through the inquiry room, the torture chamber, and so to the cells.

“Sir Aeomund!” said Sotor. “You are a welcome sight!”

“Yes, I’m sure. Thank you for acquainting me with a portion of the castle I had not yet visited.” He noticed that some of the cells had manacles, but not Sotor’s or Wybert’s.

The jailer opened Sotor’s cell.

“Thank you, my good man. Don’t lose heart, Wybert. We’ll get you out of there.”

“The good news is that they’ve worked the kinks out of the gallows,” Aeomund added.

Wybert sobbed.

“Have you been fed?” asked Aeomund, handing Wybert his last scone, but the distraught scholar failed to grasp it. The scone landed in the dirt, but Wybert ate it anyhow.

“Come, Sir Aeomund! There’s no time to lose,” said Sotor.

“Jailer, is it permissible to get food for prisoners?” asked Aeomund.

“I’m sure we could come to an accommodation.”

Sir Aeomund took fourpence from his bag and gave them to feed Wybert, as charity from the Lady of Paladins.

“I’m sure we can get him another scone,” said the jailer with a greasy smile.

Once back on the streets, Sotor quickly explained the story as he has made it out so far. He suspected corruption at the city gate. The body must have been smuggled out of the gate at an odd hour.

“Is all this necessary?” asked Sr Aeomund. “All we need to prove is that Wybert didn’t kill him.”

“But someone must be held to account for the murder. The Peonians refuse to testify that the man died of disease. However ... Sir Aeomund, will you accompany me to inspect a putrescent corpse?”

The knight sighed. “Proceed.”


The two left the city through the Heru Gate. The sergeant who arrested Sotor saw him and made toward him until he spotted Aeomund. He watched in a surly fashion as they passed. Sotor did not gloat, but did keep his head high.

“Good afternoon, Sir Knight,” muttered the guard.

“Good day, although I think I’ve seen the best of it already.”

They went out toward the gibbet midden. As they pass the gibbets, they both saw Woll of Nass, newly put in the cage. Crows abounded; he still had one eye, but not for long. Sir Aeomund noticed Derwyn Verdreth was still there – or what was left of her. What kind of trouble might occur if they took down her body?

“Where is it?” Sir Aeomund asked.

“Follow your nose,” said Sotor.

Away from the gibbet, they found the half-rotted thing Sotor had found the previous day. It was smaller and mostly bones now. Sotor examined the skeleton. Seen at close range, it was clearly human but misaligned. The left arm was missing. The right arm and legs were underneath the rib cage and pelvis, and the skull underneath that.

“The corpse was dismembered,” Sotor said. “Someone sawed off the limbs and rearranged them in the order before us.”

“Would medical students have done this?”

“Never! No honorable member of my profession would ever do such a thing.”

“But we have three stolen bodies! I’m not a genius, but this seems to form a pattern.”

“If any physician wished to engage in dissection, they would petition the local ruling authorities for the corpse of a condemned criminal – such as Woll of Nass over there. No, someone of devilish intent committed this act. Let us discover who.”


Before him held Sir Ewen one of the invitations to the tournament he was putatively arranging. His name appeared nowhere on it. It proclaimed the first day of the tourney to be the 15th, but enjoined all to gather in Varayne by the 13th. The reason for the gap was not given.

Disgruntled at this usurpation, Ewen went to check that the arrangements for the prizes were coming along. He left for the Ludrain Terrika’s temporary foundry. The area was beginning to thin out, as the merchants concluded their business and prepared for the departing caravan. He found the dwarf over his anvil.

“Any luck locating the armor?”

“Indeed, Sir Ewen. I present to you one fine plate cuirass. I believe I quoted you a value of £10, but, in advance thanks of allowing me to be the weaponcrafter at your tournament, I will extend you a discount: £7.”

Sir Ewen examined the armor. “This will be polished, right?”

“Of course.” Ludrain spat on the armor and brought it a high shine with his beard.

The armor looked fine. They parried over logistics for the tournament.

“I was thinking of heading to Varayne in three or four days,” said the dwarf. “Will that fit your plans?”

“That should be about right. I will send word ahead.”

“I appreciate it. There’s a fine inn, I trust?”

Sir Ewen hedged a bit on the matter.

“Perhaps I’ll lay in a few barrels to be safe.”

“I’ll send word to my bailiff to make sure all is in readiness for your arrival.”


“Sotor, it’s good to see you,” said Sir Baris, and then his voice lowered to an intimate whisper: “I hear prison changes a man.”

“My foundation is so firm as cannot be shaken,” replied Sotor.

Upon their arrival at Raven Hall, Sir Aeomund had demanded a bath and returned the remaining 62d to Sir Ewen, minus tuppence on the scones. Now, having found an errant corpse, they debated what to do about it.

“We should go to the Peonians,” said Sir Aeomund.

“The Peonians have made it abundantly clear they want nothing further to do with the matter,” Sotor shot back.

Cekiya listened for a time, then slipped out while they still argued to watch the gibbets.


Upon evening, the knights departed, and spent the night in debauch. As they staggered back to Raven Hall in the wee hours, Ewen and Aeomund looked up to see one lone light on the third floor: Kaelyn, studying through the night.


Cekiya crouched in the woods in full view of Lady Derwyn and Woll, gone on to sweet death. Waiting, waiting, the worms in her brain squirming, she relished her time in this holy rotplace.

Well after midnight, she heard and then saw a cart come down the road. Small, pulled by a mule. One cloaked figure driving it. The cart drove to the midden and halted. The driver started pulling things out of the back and tossing them on the midden. First an arm, then a leg, then another leg, then an arm, then a head, and then, with effort, the torso.

Cekiya drew her knives.

The driver remounted the cart and made to go back the other way. He pulled over by a gibbet and stopped by Woll of Nass. Producing from under a tarp in the cart a pole, he unhooked the cage and opened it. Woll’s corpse fell limply, missing the cart, bouncing off the side and into the dirt. The driver manhandled Woll into the cart and covered his shame, then headed for the Heru Gate.

Cekiya slipped up next to the cart and jumped inside, hiding herself with the tarp. The driver didn’t notice.

Upon reaching the gate, long since shut for the night, the driver whistled a little tune. The sergeant appeared and the gate opened. The driver handed the corrupt guard a small bag, and drove through.

The driver led the cart down the Heru Road, in the direction of Mangai Square, but turned before that, up and left toward the castle on Myselbane. He drove around the Red Fox, passing the still-ominous gallows, and into an alley. He came to the second house on the right, in front of a large double door. He dismounted, opened the doors, and drove the cart through, into the house. Then he went back to reclose the doors.

Cekiya slipped out and around the cart. A stone wall surrounded the house; packed earth beneath her feet. At far end of the carriage house, a little set of stairs led up to a landing with two doors. On far right, there was a similar staircase going down. Two water barrels sat between those two locations. She hid behind them.

The driver retrieved the corpse, but despite his strength, it was still a burden. He threw Woll over his shoulder, and began to stagger towards the downward staircase. With some shifting, he got the body under the armpits and dragged it down, thumping on each step. Cekiya counted seven thumps, then a pause, a creak as if metal was grinding on metal, then four more thumps.

She slipped down the stairs. There was no railing, but after the passage descended below street level, there was a stone wall on either side. At the bottom she found a door, made of iron bars, swinging open to the left. There was a lock, though she had not heard the teamster use a key. At the bottom of the stairs, there was a stone undercroft with a curved ceiling. Cekiya could see it ran the length of the building, right to left. Part was paced in stone, the rest in wood. On the wood portion sat some crates and barrels. She could see a door open on the far left end, with a light coming from it. After a minute or so, the door closed.

Cekiya didn’t mind: she had been in the darkest of the dark. She moved to the wooden floor and hid behind a crate. After some time, the door opened again, and the cloaked teamster reappeared. He went to the barred door, closed and locked it behind him, and ascended the stairs.

There was a lock on the undercroft door, but he had not bothered to secure it.

Above, Cekiya heard the mule protesting, and she crept to the side door and listened. Hearing nothing threatening, she slipped inside.

Jutting off the cellar was a rectangular stone chamber, with an arched ceiling. A copper brazier lit the room, revealing a large table on which was the late Woll of Nass. A small, well-dressed man, balding, stood hunched over the corpse. Equipment like Kaelyn or Sotor might use filled the rest of the table: urns, jars filled with strange substances. A desk piled high with books and papers. The brazier emitted a noxious vapor. The man was so involved in his work he didn’t notice her.

On the table sat a cage. In it was a cat. The animal seemed listless, leaning against the side of the cage.

The man took a round glass vessel with a thin protruding neck, a tube at the mouth, and attached it to Woll. A fleshy-colored liquid slowly flowed into the vessel from the corpse. After the man had gathered what he could, he placed the vessel on a table off to one side. Here too a jar from the table, triangular, containing a viscous, green substance. Wooden shoots on a tray, which he started inserting on various points into Woll’s body.

Embalmer’s tools, Cekiya realized. That was enough information for now. She shut the door and went to open the bar gate, but the lock did not cooperate with her picks. Cornered, she returned to the chamber. The old man still didn’t notice her. He was pumping the green liquid into Wall’s body with a siphon. So engrossed was he in the task that he paid her no attention until she grabbed him and toppled him to the floor.

“Langar, what do you mean by this?” he sputtered. “Wait, you’re not Langar!”

“Oh no.”

“What’s the meaning of this?”

“You’re going to tell me what’s going on.”

“You’re in my home, and if you do not leave, I’ll call the watch.”

“I know the watch is nowhere near. The only one on watch right now is me – the cat.”

“You’re a cat?”

“The dagger I have to your throat is licked with poison.”

“Oh. What did you want to know again?”

“What are you doing down here with the stolen bodies?”

“Experimenting!”

“For what?”

“If I am successful, none of need ever die again.”

She was shocked at his blasphemy. “But death is beautiful.”

“No, it’s terrible. It takes your loved ones from you.”

She could hardly stand to hear this, and decided to take a different tack. “There’s an innocent man in jail because of your experiments.”

“But that’s wrong!”

“Yes! Are you going to do something about this?”

“Could you take the dagger from my throat? I’m just a doctor. As a physician, I’m dedicated to the preservation of life. If successful, I can revive life.”

At that moment, a Groan came from the table. Woll of Nass sat up.

“It works!” yelled the doctor.

“RRARRGH!” yelled Woll.

The corpse pulled the shoots from his flesh and fled the room.

“We have to stop him!” said the doctor.

“You’re not pleased?”

“I am pleased, but he can’t escape into the streets!”

There was a metallic crashing sound. Cekiya glanced into the cellar room and caught a glimpse of Woll fleeing up the stairs, having just ripped the bar doors from its hinges. She followed, caught him by the carriage house doors, and threw a dagger at him. She scored a light hit in his thigh. He plucked the dagger out, looked at the poison, and pushed on the doors. They crashed off their hinges.

At the Red Fox, Sotor was still awake, writing a letter. He heard a crash in the distance.

I guess the knights might be about, he thought.

Surprisingly fast for a reanimated corpse, the bellowing Woll headed for Kald Square. Cekiya kept after him.

Sotor looked outside. The smell of the green liquid wafted through the warm night. He was mildly dumbfounded to see the late Woll of Nass walking through the street whom he would have thought most incapable of escaping his gibbet, much less perambulating the streets. He blew out his lamp and watched the gruesome thing by moonlight.

Cekiya attacked the monster with her dagger, targeting the key points of circulation, where the shoots had been. She got in a good hit, right on the top of the neck, and his head fell into the dirt. The body shuddered and fell. She quickly retrieved the head. Woll’s body sprawled next to the gallows where it died – again.

Carrying the head before her like a lantern, Cekiya scurried back to the doctor’s house. She found him furiously making notes in the basement chamber. She plunked the head next to his parchment.

“You ruined my experiment,” he accused.

“You ruined my night!”

“What is one night compared to a lifetime?” He picked up a little lock of reddish-blond hair from the desk. “No need ever die again! Now I need another body.”

She considered sending him off to join Woll, but something told her Naveh did not want this one dead at this time.

“You’re going to get the innocent man out of prison,” she said.

“Of course. I wouldn’t want an innocent man to suffer.”

“Let’s go.”

“The innocent men is in the castle dungeon?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I will go with you. By the way, it appears you bathe regularly. I approve. Bathing is a good thing, particularly when one is dealing with corpses. I use a bit of hyssop, myself.”

Sotor, hearing this trade secret, poked his head out of the window. He did not know this doctor, but did recognize his assailant. “I say, Cekiya, is that you? Marvelous evening for a stroll, isn’t it?”

“We’re getting a head start.”

“Were are you going?”

“To free Wybert.”

“Hang on a moment, if you don’t mind the company.” He scrambled down. “And your friend is ...?”

“He’s a physician. Loves life.”

“I thought I had made the acquaintance of all the doctors in Tashal.”

“He embalms dead people.”

“Well, that’s how you’re supposed to do it. Your name, sir?”

“Morstan of Halsa.”

“Sotor of Pelanby, sir, your colleague, at your service.”

“I’ve heard your name.”

“We do not have time. The sun is rising. We can chat later,” hissed Cekiya.

The trio made their way to the castle. At this hour the gates were closed, with no guard at the wall, only on the parapet.

“Message for Bertie!” called Cekiya.

“Go away!”

She waved the head.

“Wait right there!”

Several guards appeared now, swarming the trio. “Welcome back,” said one to Sotor. “Did you miss us?” The men-at-arms led them in to see the Inquisitor.


Agrazhar 5, 732

Sir Ewen Ravinargh came down to the luscious smells of bacon and eggs. It’s good to be rich, he thought. He surveyed his household, counted those receiving his board, and came up short. Yesterday, Sotor had been missing. Today, Sotor and Cekiya were missing.

Ewen plopped his head in his hand and shook it. He trembled to imagine the disaster those two might conjure up together. He ate to fortify himself, and clairvoyed his little adder.


In Ewen’s mystic eye, he could see the Inquisitor’s chambers at the castle. Midal Sarathid had just arrived. The official took one look at Sotor, Cekiya, and Morstan in a row, and asked his clerk “How much ink do you have?”

Not a good sign.

“Let’s start with you,” Midal said to Cekiya.

“I was walking home, and I happened to witness this man steal a corpse from the gibbets. I followed him, and watched him pay his way at the gate …”

Morstan interrupted. “This woman broke into my home and threatened me! And free the innocent man in the dungeons!”

“Master Halsa, you are speaking out of turn. If this woman has done as you say, she will pay the penalty. For now, keep silent.”

Cekiya continued. “This man’s servant with the cart – Langar, I think his name was – after he dumped a body, he stole the corpse of Woll.” She illustrated this statement by holding up Woll’s still-dripping head.

“Are you suggesting we have body snatching going on?” said Midal.

“Yes. He stole this man from the gibbets, paid money to the guard, and carted him home. He bribed the guards at the Heru Gate.”

“I knew it!” cried Sotor.

“Now I certainly did not break into this man’s home. I rode in. He brought me in on the cart.”

“With the dead man, Woll?”

“Yes. The rest of him is in Kald Square.”

Morstan broke in again. “My lord, I have been working to banish death! If I succeed, none of us need ever die!”

“Master Halsa …”

“I have managed to conquer death! I can reanimate my dead bride!”

“Stop writing,” the Inquisitor ordered his clerk. “Do you know what he’s talking about?”

“He was fondling a woman’s hair down there,” said Cekiya.

Midal looked shocked. “Down where?”

“In his cellar.”

“I see. And you, Master Sotor. I promised you dire consequences if I saw you again.”

“My lord, I am here to see justice – justice for Wybert, justice against the corrupt gate guards, and justice for the medical profession. I have seen tonight with my own eyes Woll of Nass, hanged by the neck until dead, again ambulatory. And I believe, from what my colleague has said, that he has been in the habit of taking dead bodies – such as the late Ubalos of Karnak, sailor and owner of the left arm which Wybert was inspecting when arrested – and performing odd experiments upon them, to the aim of …”

“I gave that sailor a chance at a new life! But it takes time to perfect this!”

“Are you responsible for that death of that sailor?” asked Midal.

“No! I just had my servant acquire the body.”

“From where?”

“I believe from the Peonians.”

“And Wybert of Graon?”

“A fine fellow – a bit long winded.”

“What was his role in all this?”

“He had none.”

The Inquisitor, searching for some iota of order in the chaos, seized on this ray of clarity. “Guard, take Master Halsa into custody. Relieve this strange person of the head. And release Wybert. The rest of you may go.”

“Is there a reward?” Cekiya asked.

“Don’t push your luck. One more thing, strange young woman. Did you say there was a servant of Halsa?”

“He mistook me for a man called Langar.”

“Guards, arrest this Langar. Ordinarily, I would ask you to be witnesses, but as Master Halsa has essentially confessed, I consider this matter concluded. And Sotor? I still don’t want to see you again.”

“He’s a good doctor,” said Cekiya.

“Not according to the King,” said the Inquisitor.


Cekiya and Sotor returned to Raven Hall in triumph. The next day, Wybert and Marhet of Lak visited the house, expressing deep gratitude to Wybert’s savior: Kaelyn. When Kaelyn denied having anything to do with it, they complimented her on her humility, and declared they were her eternal servants, and would deny her nothing in reward. Wybert vowed never to touch strange body parts, or get involved in any mysteries – unless, naturally, they proved irresistible.

Sotor retired to his room at the Red Fox and began to write an account of the whole affair while his memory was still fresh. In the midst of his efforts, Cail of Tokal arrived.

“Sotor, have you heard about Master Halsa?”

“I have. Quite extraordinary, I must say.”

“He is to be hanged!”

“Hanged? What a waste! For what?”

“They say ‘Unnatural Interference with the Dead!’ Body snatching! His servant Langar is to be hanged along with him.”

“Really? Um … excuse me, Master Cail, I must away.”

Sotor purchased a basket in Mangai Square and went to the various vendors filling it, with pastries both sweet and savory, cured meats, cheese, and other foods that might gladden the heart of one soon to depart this Harn. He took the basket to the castle and informed the guards he was there on a mission of charity. They escorted him to the dungeon.

In the same cell in which he had recently resided sat Halsa, along with Langar, and another fellow who was declaring to the world that his lawyer had done him wrong.

“Halsa, I have brought you some treats to improve your last hours.”

“Give them to Langar. I go to the end most willingly. If I cannot bring my wife back, at least I can go to her.”

“Such a pity it is, to lose such knowledge.”

“Sotor!” said Halsa with hopeful excitement. “Will you carry on my work?”

Sotor was surprised, but immediately seized on the opportunity for such occult knowledge. “Yes! What have you found?”

Halsa reached into his tunic and produced a ring of keys. “Take these. It’s all in my home. My lab is in the undercroft. I give it to you.”

“What is the secret?”

“Do you have paper and ink?”

“Do I breathe and walk upright?”

Halsa took the writing materials through the bars and wrote out a deed of transfer for all his property in Tashal. The house, the cart, the laboratory with its dreadful secrets – all now belonged to Sotor of Pelanby.

A good return for sixpence worth of pastries, thought Sotor. That doesn’t happen on the continent.


After nightfall, Sotor led Marhet and Sir Baris to Halsa’s home. The house lay vacant. After a thorough search, the only sign of (un)life was the resuscitated cat. They descended to the undercroft room. Sotor scooped up the large pile of notes, placed them in Sir Baris’s arms, and said “Take these to the Red Fox, good Sir Knight.” The forbidden knowledge found a home in a locked trunk in Sotor’s rooms.

Before the hanging, Sotor brought Halsa the lock of his wife’s hair, as well as wine packed with soporific power. The mad physician went to the gallows with a dreamy smile on his face. Crowd and Inquisitor alike were keenly disappointed at the lack of panic.

Regulars at the Heru Gate noticed a new sergeant that week. Perhaps the crusade against the Solori had a new recruit. Cekiya made it a point to seek out the new guard and give him a posy.

“Pocket full of posies,” she said, and he nodded nervously.


The affair of the Misaccused Scholar thus ended, the party plunged into preparations for the tournament. Sir Aeomund had any number of things to do before the party departed. He made a request to Prehil that Lady Derwyn Verdreth be taken down from her gibbet, and Prehil agreed. The corpse was placed in the Laranian crypt. That dispensed with, he found himself in need of a squire. It being far too late to actually find one, the Order arranged for Sergeant Yerick to fill the role for the duration. Lastly, he sought a gift for a lady. He settled on an artificial rose, made of silver and black linen by one Haber of Sarlis. Aeomund drew a picture of Serli Ubael and left it for her accompanied by the rose. She received it. That was all he knew.

Deep in correspondence in his office, Ewen looked up to see Sir Rollard. He gestured for the knight to enter.

“Ah feel it is mah duty to inform you, that the Lady Thilisa has requested Ah serve as her champyun in the tournament. Ah must inform you further that Ah have accepted. Ah only hope that Ah may prove worthy of her trust.”

Ewen considered the matter. “That raises, Sir Rollard, the question of the security of my lady wife.”

“Ah have thought of that, suh, and have convinced her to transfer her location of confinement to Varayne for the tournament. Ah must tell you, suh, that the Lady Thilisa is not sanguine about the quality of accommodations available at Varayne manuh. And she will require appropriate solitude.”

Sir Ewen, feeling something between anxiety and surprised gratification, replied that he would do whatever was required for Thilisa’s comfort. He said he would send ahead to Lady Afaewynn to make sure she knew Thillsa was coming. “If there’s anything else I can do for my lady wife, feel free to make it known to me.”

“She will want a veruh – a veruh – comfortable wagon. Such a wagon exists at Caldeth House, but it is mah understanding that you may be reticent to request the use of said wagon.”

“As you know, I am under certain strictures regarding my Lady’s father...”

“Ah understand. Ah will speak with the steward and requahsition said wagon.”

Ewen raised an eyebrow, but gave the knight leave to do so.


Agrazhar 12, 732

The party intended to leave on the 11th, but there was much bickering, and the departure was delayed to the 12th. Finally they struck out on the South Road, escorted by Captain Rolloch and Sergeant Denyl. Kaelyn remained behind at Raven Hall.

Kalas spurred his horse down the dusty trail. Both Aeomund and Baris had been training him, and he no long feared he would suddenly find himself looking faceup from the grass. He looked forward to proving his mettle as a squire.

Kittiara joined the party just outside the city walls. She had no interest in participating in the tournament, but wished to study the strange ways of these settled folk.

Thilisa’s elaborately decorated and carefully driven wagon went straight to the manor house upon arrival, where the Lady immediately commandeered the best room.

By the end of the day, the party arrived. On the common, to the northeast of he manor, several large tents had been erected, with no arms visible. To the east, they could see the lists, ready for action. On the fields south of the manner lay several large tents. In the middle of it all stood Ewen’s new tent, with his new arms, next to a very large tent one might assume meant for general feasting. Ewen’s old tent was not in evidence.

The party entered the village to find the reeve and a delegation of villagers waiting to greet them.

“Sir Ewen, Welcome home,” said Bran of Jems, the reeve. “Sir Aeomund, a pleasure to see you again, sir.”

They both acknowledged the welcome, and thanked him.

“How fares the village?” asked Ewen.

“We fare well, Sir Ewen. Lady Afaewynn has proved a good and just bailiff. We the officeholders of the village are delighted that you have chosen to hold this tournament here. We stand ready to assist you in any way we can.”

Ewen nodded soberly. “It is indeed an honor. We shall have many visitors of high station, and I know the town will comport itself in a manner that will give us all pride for many years to come.” His words produced a cheer from the crowd.

Roret of Bennet, inkeeper, stepped forward “My lord, I am already sold out. Sir Meden Curo has commandeered my entire inn.”

Sir Ewen laughed. “Is Lord Curo here?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Perhaps I shall pay him a visit later. What do you need? Is there anyone you have not been able to house?”

“My lord, I just wish to bring this matter to your notice.”

“Have you been reimbursed?”

“Well, yes, my lord, but ... I think that prices are in flux ...”

Aeomund interjected “You should be thankful you’re renting to an earl! Under the circumstances, a ten percent increase would be appropriate. What would require of your lord?”

“I’m very sorry, Sir Aeomund. Er … he’s not an earl yet?”

“Have you met the Earl of Neph?”

“No, sir!”

“And you won’t! This is the closest you get!”

Ewen waited for the exchange to play out and then said to the reeve “If there’s nothing else, my retinue and I will settle in. I wish to see my Lady wife in the manor house.”

“Very good, my lord. There is only one more thing.”

Ewen’s brow wrinkled.

“The amphitheater, my lord. Do we really need to construct ... bleachers?”

“Who suggested this?”

“By order of Sir Meden, my lord.”

“As I have indicated, I shall call upon Sir Meden. Perhaps the topic of the bleachers will be broached at that time.”

All the serfs tugged their forelocks and bowed.

The party rode to the manor house, and on into the courtyard. Ludrain of Terrika stood there.

“Sir Ewen! You didn’t tell me your manor had its own smithy!”

“Of course it has its own smithy,” Ewen said as if this had been obvious all along. “I trust all is well.”

“Splendid! I’ve already worked on several items. This is more than I was hoping for. I was expecting to work with what I could bring, but all I need is right here and your bailiff gave me permission.”

“As instructed.”

“Very coy, Sir Ewen, very coy,” the dwarf said with a smile.

Lady Afaewynn was next in line. “Sir Ewen, welcome home. I must confess that your Lady wife has already taken my chambers. I imagine you will wish to join her.”

“I will call upon my Lady wife and see how she is. You should know that my Lady wife was not intending to attend, but changed her mind. I trust I’ll find her well?”

“You may. She was rather specific in her requirements.”

“She is a lady used to such treatment.”

“Yes, being a countess and all.”

“I’m sure I’ll be so busy that I’ll have scarcely a moment to lay my head upon the pillow.”

“If you need, there is a chamber immediately adjacent that may serve your needs.”

“I wish to not disturb her in her confinement.”

“Very good. I understand our guests may include some great nobles of the realm. Do you wish to accommodate them in the manor house?”

“As you say. Most will have their own pavilions. As they arrive, let us be in close communication as to best accommodate? The social niceties can be perilous.”

“Very good.”

He leaned in and added, for her ears alone: “Understand that should immediate members of the Lady Thilisa’s family arrive, such as my lord father-in-law, I am to be notified immediately. They should not stay in the manor.”

“Very good, my lord.”

Sir Aeomund cornered the bailiff. “What else has Sir Meden Curo been doing? Anything he asks for, you should be asking for Sir Ewen’s assent.

“What about the play?”

“What play?”

“They’re going to put it on tomorrow.”

“Who?”

“It’s supposed to be performed by wonderful acting troupe from Tashal.”


Agrazhar 13, 732

Prehil exploded into Varayne. “Ewen! By Morgath’s inchoate navel! We’ve got this wonderful play! With actors and everything!”

“These are the players who cast aspersions on me?”

“Well, yes. But I vetted the scripts! There won’t be any aspersions, just handfuls of good, tragical stuff!”

“Was this Sir Meden’s idea?”

“Let’s not make that too public. In any event, the curtain raises in about a half-hour. I think we should all go!”

Ewen agreed, but muttered to Aeomund to make sure the Blue Boars were on hand to provide security – or muscle.

The new bleachers were crowded with the great and ignoble alike. Onto the stage limped an actor: Bors of Halle. Ewen’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the man who had slandered him in Minarsas.

“Ladies, gentles, all: our poor players who strut upon the stage bring you:”

THE TRAGICAL AND LAMENTABLE HISTORIE OF ANDASIN IV
By Kistolf of Morla

DRAMATIS PERSONAE:

KING ANDASIN THE FOURTH.
PRINCE ANAFLAS, his brother.
SARKUM, his father.
GARAWE, chamberlain and favorite.

SEREKELA OF KANDAY.

HEROTH. KUSEME.
SELVOS.

FAVORITES.
HERALD.
GURNEY, a murderer.
LORDS, MESSENGERS, SOLDIERS, and ATTENDANTS.

DORTHEA, daughter to HEROTH. LADIES.

ACT ONE
Garawe enters reading a letter, from which Andasin is recalling him from exile now that his mother is dead and he is king. Upon his return, he is made chamberlain, and when the nobles, even Sarkum, object, the king threatens to give Garawe even more offices and titles. The king, Garawe, and the other favorites engage in drinking, singing, and dancing. The nobles agitate for Garawe to be exiled again so that the king can rule with better counsel. Reluctantly, the king agrees.

ACT TWO
Dorthea enters with her father and the serekela who discuss marrying her to the king ‘for the good of him and the realm.’ Dorthea, alone with her ladies, bemoans her fate, confessing she does love the ‘sweet Prince Anaflas.’

ACT THREE
The king, pining in Garawe’s absence, makes war on the nobles, even against the advice of his father and brother, and they reluctantly help him. Prevailing in the field, Andasin triumphantly recalls Garawe.

ACT FOUR
A herald comes before the king, telling him of an invasion by the Thardans. Andasin, refusing to listen, retires with Garawe and the other favorites. Meanwhile, the nobles come to Anaflas and beg him to defend the realm, hinting that perhaps he should be king. Heroth offers him his daughter in marriage and the serekela performs the ceremony.

ACT FIVE
Anaflas and the nobles come before the king and depose him. They leave to fight the Thardans. Garawe is captured by Heroth trying to escape. Heroth turns him over to Sarkum who beheads Garawe. At the same time, the ex-king is taken to Dyrisa and there is murdered by Gurney, an agent of the nobles. The final scene is the herald, alone on stage, telling of a great battle lost against the Thardans in which Anaflas and the nobles perished. If only the king had ruled wisely all this avoided could have been.

After the play concluded, and the cast had taken their bows, a pensive Sir Ewen and company retired for the evening.


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Matt
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