Black Hart

To Kill A King

Chapter 6 - The Shriven Oak

It was a frosty night, for there were no clouds overhead, and Aranon’s face was cold as he sped northwards on the Axewood Road. The horse was not slow, but neither was it a true racer, and he imagined from the moaning Hamman had been doing that he had little chance of catching his horse. Unless, Olidamarra forbid, something happened to Emarill!
Aranon knew this road quite well from his visits to Fimuth, and he soon realised that he was coming very close to Axewood itself. The villages he passed seemed to be coming to life, and the sun was beginning to wake the sleeping world. Farmers were heading out to the fields - it was harvest-time and there was much work to be done. Also, at the roadside, he saw the occasional soldiers' encampment.
The horse was tired at the pace he demanded of it, and he had seen neither hide nor hair of Emarill. At first she had been seen at none of the villages that he came to, but then, as he neared the Axewood cross-roads, a farmer working by the road told of a tall, broad man dressed in black who rode past him on a grey stallion a little over an hour ago.
“An hour's advantage from barely fifteen minutes?!” Aranon thought. “Hamman's horse must be good!”
The next few villages reported similar things, some of them noticing she was a woman, one even described her features well. But she seemed to be getting further and further away.
Aranon had been riding over five hours at full speed, and the horse was shattered. As he reached the Axewood cross-road, he reined the horse in, giving up the chase.
The milestone read only three miles to Axewood Palace.
“The horse is deadbeat,” Aranon thought, shaking his head as he looked into the distance of this beautiful harvest morn. “I see no point in flogging it further, damn!”
Aranon thought of his one-time associate Fimuth. The village of Axewood was a short distance from the Count’s palace. There was no telling how he would react to Aranon’s arrival, as they had not always been on the best of terms. Perhaps he could leave the horse at the Shriven Oak Inn, where he once frequented in the Count’s company. He would not likely be able to sneak in with the horse - the eight-foot high walls would prove a problem for starters.

Reaching the inn was an experience in itself - the small, quiet village of Axewood had taken on most of the features, and all of the smell, of a military encampment. Hundreds of troops were now stationed there, awaiting posting to the north, or recovering before returning south after active service. As he walked the horse in, the innkeeper looked up from the rear door, where he was putting out the rubbish.
"Can I ...Lord Aranon?" he questioned, stepping towards him for a better view of his dusty features. "Lord Aranon! Why it is a pleasure.."
"Shhhh!" Aranon said, putting a finger to his mouth. "I don't want anyone to know - top secret and all that!"
With a smile the innkeep nodded in agreement.
"Of course, of course, what can I do for you," he asked, lowering his voice, as though Iuz himself were in the yard.

As the innkeeper took his horse, Aranon pulled tight the final buckle on his armour and left the yard. He muttered a prayer to Olidamarra as he passed the gates and, if any had been watching they would have seen his visage change, seeming somewhat shorter, his ears becoming more pointed, features more delicate. But nobody did see this, and he was just another one of the Olvenfolk that were plentiful in this area.
On the way he passed two elves standing by the village well, leaning against it. One of them stood up, grinned and said something to Aranon, presumably in the Olven tongue, which he did not understand.
“Ah shit - bluff time,” he thought.
He returned the smile and rolled his eyes, the elf then tipping his cap in response. They returned to their conversation and seemed none the wiser.
Just after town he left the road, unseen, and sprinted over to the estate wall, leaping up and over it, landing with a crunch on the other side.
“Ouch,” he thought to himself. ”I am too old and too tired!”
Immediately he heard voices from either side, sounding as though they were heading towards him. He recognised them as Olven voices and quickly moved in towards the Palace, through the thick undergrowth and trees, taking care to leave as little trail as possible. The forest became darker as he moved closer towards the Palace itself, but it sounded like the Olven guards were getting closer.
Without pausing he took a magic pebble from its pouch and tossed it away from him - the pebble, which he had readied earlier, shone with a permanent light. Then, choosing the best, darkest shadow he slipped into the darkness as the older priests had taught him in his youth, obscuring himself from the pursuers. He saw the guards - six of them, all elves - coming towards him from the wall. They saw the light, then stopped - one was staring straight at him, and Aranon found himself unconsciously holding his breath. There was a snap of a twig behind them, and the guards started moving off again, swiftly, towards the light.
Aranon laughed to himself. “Hehe, wisdom beats youth again!”
Taking a deep breath, he continued on, listening to their chatter to his right as they mused over the light-pebble. Soon he was close to the lake which stood before Fimuth's 'E'-shaped palace. He could not shake that feeling though that there was someone behind him - he watched and watched, but there was nothing, no-one!
The grounds were not so busy, but there were few guards around, and Aranon reckoned he could at least make it to the main door before being stopped. He slipped out from the bushes, and walked casually along the well-maintained road, acting as though he had always done so and it was his right. As he approached the main door, the two guards, much to his surprise, opened the doors for him without a second thought.
Then, from inside, a stocky gnome stepped out, dressed in the fine clothes of the gentry, with a well-cut greying beard. Clenched in his right eye was a deep red gem that sparkled in the early morning sun.
"Yep, thought it was you!" Thoggin said. "Welcome Aranon, welcome at last! It had been far too long my over-tall friend!"
The gnome extended his short right arm and Aranon raised his automatically. His grip reminded Aranon of Thoggin’s magical strength and he was lost for words. Thoggin peered behind him for a moment, then waved on someone before popping the gemstone into his hand and, thankfully releasing the grip, popped the gem into a belt pouch.
"Invisible Olven spies, Aranon,” Thoggin said as he walked his friend inside the Palace. “They have been following you from the cross-roads! Luckily for you, one of them was Fimuth's own and recognised you, or maybe the leap over the wall would had been made onto a halberd or two! Hahahahaha!"
Aranon had almost forgotten how annoying his hearty Gnomish laugh was, but, tired and far from home it seemed somehow comforting.
"Do you have any companions?" Thoggin continued.
Aranon told him of the others, leaving out the part about Emarill - some things were best left untalked about. Since he knew that Thoggin, once an adventuring companion of his, was now spymaster for the Keoish King, he thought it best not to mention the fact he had been consorting with high-ranking Iuz soldiery. Aranon looked Thoggin up and down, thinking how far the gnome had come since he, Fimuth and the mage Zarn Varnt had rescued him from a tribe of Jebli and a sure fate as their dinner.
"I will arrange rooms for them between the Shriven Oak,” Thoggin told him, “and here, depending on who they are. But you must stay here my friend - there is plenty for you to help us with, and I have a messenger coming in from Fax, due tomorrow morn."
“Fax - Elouera, my daughter!” Aranon thought.
In the chaos of Emarill's departure, he had forgotten her plight. Aranon asked he if there was any news.
"None to give hope, Aranon - Eldredd and Badwall were fallen to the hordes of the Pomarj under Turrosh Mak, and three days ago they were laying siege to Fax itself, although the good Count's walls were holding steady at last account. The Euroz and Jebli were never ones for siege warfare at all! Here's hoping the Count's fleet returns from the Nyr Dyv soon though!"
Thoggin showed him, slightly disheartened, into the Palace proper, and a valet guided him to his sumptuous room. Moments after his head hit the pillow, Aranon was fast asleep, a deep, dreamless sleep...

The journey seemed a bit more comfortable, without the blazing sun, and with the fact that they could all now travel inside Aranon's coach. The villages they passed seemed to be full of life, farmers were working in the fields. At first there were also the occasional soldier's encampment, although later these camps disappeared to be replaced by frequent groups of soldiers travelling the road south. From time to time there was a thud as the wyrmling, whom they now knew was named Grymalkin, landed gracelessly on the carriage roof.
After about four hours travel, Hamman, riding with the driver, opened the door after one of his frequent stops to ask after Aranon or the mystery woman
"One of those soldiers," he said, pointing to a group of infantry in formation at the side of the road. "He was on sentry duty and reckons he saw Aranon about sun-up this morning, near to Axewood itself. He was still riding hard, but the sentry never saw the woman. It sounds like he was fine, but what about her?"
"More and more curiouser,” Mordekei mused. “I had heard of men chasing after woman, however I had always understood this to be something of a metaphor. Does anyone know who she was?”
They all shook their heads.
"In the meantime, let us progress to Axewood, Mordekei pronounced. “Watch for advance guards - given the current situation his lordship is bound to have some out - most likely hidden."

After a hot bath, Aranon slipped into fresh clothes - apparently the carriage with the others had arrived. It was past nine in the evening, and the messenger-boy told him that his friends awaited him at the Shriven Oak. Aranon was somewhat surprised that Fimuth himself had not yet visited him, but then again, Thoggin did not mention whether the Count was actually here. On his way down to the inn, Aranon noticed the Keoish royal standard flying in front of the palace - so it was true, the King was in residence at Axewood!
One of the elves from the village well escorted him there - he was a handsome chap, remarkably tall for an elf, and very young-looking.
"I hope my little trick did not upset you my Lord," he said. "What I actually asked you was if you knew what the date was."
He smiled, and Aranon told him that he could, under the circumstances, be forgiven.

Once inside the inn, Aranon quickly spotted the others, who were gathered around a card-game, in which Eloi, Akhan and Hamman were playing. From the coinage in front of them it would seem that Eloi was winning considerably, Akhan had little money left, and Hamman seemed to be losing too.
Aranon joined Bermen at the bar, and was bought a fine Velunan brandy by the ranger.
"I'm celebrating! Look," Bermen said, pointing to the fine flashes on his uniform. "They had me up at a ceremony while you slept, Aranon - they made me a major - what fools!"
They both laughed, then returned their attention to the game. In the corner, by the fire, Mordekei seemed to be enjoying himself, telling boring tales of the Battle of Galden Field to the soldiery around him. The inn was very busy and the roar of banter at times deafening. By the bar an olven bard was playing his lute,strumming a soft, haunting melody that was quite enchanting.
Akhan pushed his last few coins into the pot and said, "Call!"
Eloi turned over his cards to show a pair of aces and a pair of three's.
Akhan stood up and, disgusted, walked pitifully to the bar. A short, wizened man with a beard and a cane, whom Aranon did not previously notice, had suddenly taken his place at the table. Aranon’s jaw dropped as he realised who the ‘man’ was - he had met him twice, and was sure that it was none other than Olidamarra himself!
"Mind if I join in," the old man said, pouring several thousand platinum Grafsmerkke onto the table in front of him.
"I'll take anyone's money, no problem," Eloi said, a smile creeping over his ugly features.
The game was set - five card stud, with wild cards as 'one-eyed jacks and suicide kings'. As they started, Eloi was doing his best to betray nothing. The action heated up, and Hamman and the two other players dropped out. The stakes were raised to a thousand gold Merkke - as he watched, Aranon felt the beads of sweat on his forehead at the thought, and also noticed those on Eloi's.
His nerve broke, and Eloi called, trying desperately trying to seem calm.
The room was silent.
The old man turned his cards to show three aces, king high.
Eloi smiled the victor’s grin, and moved to take the pot, but as he turned his cards and reached out for the cash, the man lifted his cane and brings it down on his outstretched arm.
Recoiling, Eloi grabbed for the dagger at his belt, but quickly,from behind, Aranon stayed his hand. He shook his head softly at Eloi.
The old man pointed to the cards, stonefaced.
"You must beware of one-eyed jacks and suicide Kings, boy," the old man declared. "Things are not always as they seem!"
“The wild-cards!” Akhan laughed. “Eloi forgot the wild-cards!”
The silence continued as the man rose to his feet and poured his winnings into a pouch too small to carry them.
“Old bastard,” Eloi thought. “Still, he's got huge bollocks to pull off a stunt like that. Learn from the masters they say!”
As the old man went to leave, Eloi turned to speak to Aranon, but he was not there. He saw the priest was over near to the door, now speaking to the old man, and got up to go and talk with them both.

Aranon walked over and, on his way to the door, the old man stopped and gestured at him, taking something from his pocket and offering it to him.
"For you, dear friend," the old man said. "Do you wish it? It will not help, it will not hinder - how it affects you will depend on only you!"
Aranon held out his hand, and Olidamarra handed him the covered gift, smiling
"You have done well by me, favoured son!" he said in an enchantingly soft voice.
As he spoke to Aranon, Eloi had just come within earshot.
“Done well? Son! “
Suddenly it dawned on Eloi that Aranon was standing behind him as he played - was he helping the old man to beat him?
“Bastard!!!”
The old man turned and walked out the front door.
From behind, Mordekei shouted, "Innkeeper! Have ye no music? An Olven air? A musician of any description ?"
Eloi glanced round in surprise - the Olven bard was still playing away.
“Deaf old cunt,” he thought.
Peeling off the purple velvet cloth, Aranon revealed a golden object, circular in shape, about quarter inch thick. There appeared to be a seam in the metal around the circle, and a small hinge on one side. Opposite this hinge there was a large stud, with a smaller button in between the two on the right. Behind the larger stud was attached a ten inch golden chain with a golden bar at the end. There was a soft throbbing feeling coming from the item, and a gentle rhythmic sound, almost hypnotic, emanating from it.
Dit - dat - dit - dat - dit - dat....
Pressing the larger stud, the item opened in two at the hinge, with the front half coming towards him, obviously some sort of cover, the lower half being the working part. Where it met the cover, the item had a small glass window, revealing a white circular face, like that of a sundial, with 12 strange runes in black scattered around its outer edge at 30 degree intervals. From the middle, two pointers, one small, one longer, pointed to the numerals, and a decorative gap in the white face, edged with gold, revealed the item's workings - small, very fine, fast-moving machinery.
...dit - dat - dit - dat - dit - dat...
Aranon pressed the smaller button on the right...
...dit - dat - dit...
All had gone deadly silent....
Aranon looked up just in time to see the scene at the Shriven Oak dissolve and fade away...

When Eloi looked back, Aranon was gone - he took a walk outside, but in the street, which was mostly empty, he saw no trace of either Aranon or the old rogue. He returned to the inn, where Mordekei started pestering him to teach him how to play cards.
“Lamb to the slaughter!” he thought, instantly forgetting Aranon and the old man.
He shrugged, then sat at the table and started dealing the cards.
"But not for money tonight, Mord. I wouldn't want to fleece you on your first night," he said.
He took his seat at the table again, and settled down to drinking and teaching the prat how to play children's' games - without the cash, for he had lost almost everything tonight
Eloi needed to get to one of his stashes fast! After a while, Akhan joined him, seeming cheerier after his losses now that Eloi no longer had his money.
A rich-looking man, in fine clothes, and no doubt a big fat purse, had also entered. Seeming to prefer his own company, he took a bottle of whisky to a booth in the corner on his own. Eloi would, in his impoverished state, gladly have relieved him of his purse, were it not for the missing left arm and nasty facial scar. Coupled with a fancy-looking rapier he carried, it was obvious that the man was a duellist! Hamman and Bermen were talking intently about him at the bar, and, unwisely, were not hiding the fact.

The noise had started again. Aranon felt nauseous for a second, his eyesight blurring slightly, then all returned to normal.
He was still within the Shriven Oak - but it was darker, and there was nobody else around. Then he noticed a man seated at the card table, his back to Aranon. The man stood up, and turned around, taking three steps towards him, into the light.
He wore a tunic and britches of pastel hues, with a complex array of puffs and slashes, adorned with fine jewellery. Although not too overstated this man was obviously wealthy. He was of average build, his face tanned by many years in the sun, yet obviously not a manual labourer. The clothes were obviously of Baklunish fashion, probably of Ket, but the cape he wore, a dark navy blue, was fixed with a clasp bearing the seal of the Kingdom of Furyondy. And his features were more of his cape than the Baklunish race.
"Aranon," he said in a gruff voice, one which Aranon felt sure he had heard before, but could not remember where. "Do you not know me?"
Aranon saw parts of himself in the man’s features. Slowly, the realisation dawned...
“Father?!”
He nodded.
"My son, I do not expect a warm welcome from you. We met only once when you were young, and I abandoned you and your mother. Unfortunately, you have no option but to hear me out, for that is why you are here. The device you hold, a 'watch' I believe it was called, empowers you at certain times to take advice from the dead. But first you must hear our grievances, and that is what I do now."
“Our? Dead?” thought Aranon. “He said he is dead!”
"Yes, son, dead!” his father said, as though reading his thoughts. “I have been killed. And the truth be told, so has your half-brother, the Chevalier Kh'Marra, Commander of the Knight Patriots in Fax. We must be avenged my son."
Aranon already knew about his brother, but the last he heard of his father, Ambassador Karamic, he was alive and well - although, since Ket, where he had been the Furyondyan ambassador, entered the wars, all that might have, and obviously had, changed. And his brother was killed during the war in battle, so was unlikely, as a Cavalier, to desire vengeance.
"Ahhh, you think your brother died in battle - well you are wrong! We both died at the hand of a dark knight, a fell assassin sent to end our lives. A murderer in the night who slit my throat, and brought down your brother in the heat of his glory with a poisoned dart!"
Karamic slumped into a seat, panting.
"Forgive me - it was not easy being half-dead - until we are avenged we must roam the spirit world, and that is so tiresome my son. Please, I beseech you, avenge our deaths. The one you seek was of the Scarlet Order, sent to punish us for your sins. He was their master assassin, who goes only by the name 'Whisper'.
“You thought your pact with the Brotherhood would last, that deal that you and that elf, Fimuth, made to buy your way out of trouble - but I have news. There is a new force among them - more militant than they already are. They call themselves the Brotherhood of the Knot!"
“The Brotherhood of the Knot! But they were all dead!” Aranon said, his mind spinning.
The Brotherhood of the Knot had been the Slave Lords operating from the Pomarj, sponsored by the Scarlet Brotherhood. A group which he, Fimuth and Zarn, and others defeated many years ago.
“But they are gone, father,” Aranon said. “We finished them, and reconciled our differences with the Brotherhood.”
Karamic shook his head.
"Listen to what I say, son. A new extremist leader has emerged to further their cause, much to the Brotherhood's displeasure, and perhaps the only advantage you will have is that the Brotherhood of the Knot must act in secrecy. For now, at least, for if they grow strong enough they may even challenge the Master of Obedience himself!"
He paused to draw breath.
"That was my plight.” Karamic drew his fringe of hair from his forehead, and pointed there. “Be sure you do not get one of these."
He stepped further into the light and just above the bridge of his nose Aranon saw a small black dot, at first appearing to be a pigment. In the flickering firelight he saw it shimmer and realised what it was - a small, circular piece of obsidian which had been impacted into his father's forehead.
"His sign,” Karamic explained. “Easily missed, but all so poignant. And your reward, my son, is my advice. Return to Oakhart immediately. Your daughter, our lineage, is in danger! Save her Aranon - then find this 'Whisper', and save your brother and me..."

The feeling and blurred eyesight returns as his father fades away, his words drifting...
"...save your brother and me..."
With a shock, the noise of the Shriven Oak return, and he was right back where he left - the 'watch' was still in his hand, but the larger pointer had moved round about sixty degrees. He clicked the cover shut and, covering it in the velvet cloth, placed it in his pouch.
“Weird! “ he thought.
The main door opened, and Thoggin entered, accompanied by a stranger whom Aranon had never seen before - a tall Suel man with the tan skin and freckling of those who lived in the southern jungles of the Amedio. His face was also heavily tattooed with lines and circular patterns, right down to the neckline of his rough hide doublet.
Thoggin scanned the crowded room, the Olven air still pervading the atmosphere, then saw Aranon and walked over to a nearby table, beckoning him and the other party members over.

"Aranon," he said, before the others had even made it across the room. "It is grave news from Fax. This is Sergeant Dwirin, a scout in the Fax Foreign Legion - he was my eyes and ears on the Wild Coast, and had just returned from there to report."
"I am sorry the new I bring was no good, " Dwirin said, not appearing to notice his grammatical errors. The tattooed man spoke with a lilting tone in his voice, as if the Common tongue did not come naturally.
"Fax holds still, but needs new men for fight. The Count, he was dead, an assassin's blow, and the Pomarj encamp outside our walls to siege us. But to you the new was worse, Lord. The priest Farravel, who had care of your daughter, fled with her for the safety of Greyhawk, but they were turned behind by the scouts in Turrosh Mak's army, and he rode to Oakhart for safety. There was no word from there, but rumours tell of the Pomarj hordes using the Suss forest as their route to the north, and I fear for the safety of all who live there."
Aranon was paralysed with fear, unwilling to ask more for fear of not hearing what was being told.
"I think you must return to Oakhart as soon as possible.” Thoggin said. “If you can, by magic tonight - if not, Zarn Varnt returns to Axewood tomorrow night, I am sure he could teleport some of you there."
Before he could get another word in, Aranon said to Thoggin, "Yes, it is indeed news most black. I concur that we must make for Oakhart as quickly as possible. I have to pray, but first Thoggin I would speak with you alone".
He then motioned Thoggin outside and the pair left the Inn

The Olven bard, at the behest of the soldiery within the bar, had ceased playing the delightful faerie melody, and instead strummed out a despicable 'popular' human tune:
"If thou wouldst be my lover,
First thou shouldst becometh my friend,
Making love, my friend, lasteth forever,
Friendship doth not end,
With a hey-nonny-nonny and a zig-a-zig-ahh...."
Mordekei addressed the party, saying, "Well it appears that in Oakhart our presence is required. I am sure my friend Zarn will be able to teleport at least some of us, and hopefully all."
“This is fucking unbelievable!” thought Eloi.
Rather curtly, Eloi declared, "Why do I get a feeling that things aren't going to get any better than they already are? I don't know about you guys, but I for one am most pissed off at all this 'disappearing', chasing off in the night and these secret conferences that Aranon seems to enjoy so. If we are to be asked to risk our lives for him, he should at least had the decency of letting us know the score!"
Hamman shook his head.
"Eloi, there are some things we do not need to know. Lord Aranon is having a turmoiled time - so long as it does not put us in danger, he has a right to keep his private life private."
"We have all been through much, friends," Eloi continued, "and I am sure that a mutual trust has developed between us, albeit somewhat tentative. Do you not all agree that the time has come for Aranon to share his troubles with us. For in the end the may affect us in the long term."
Akhan, still wearing his foppish hat, pulled on its peak.
"Well for once I agree with Eloi.” he said. “How do we know that we have not been placed in danger by the things we do not know. I have spent more time adventuring with Aranon than any of you, but if I am to risk my life I would like to know exactly what I am risking it for!"
Bermen joined in with the head-shaking.
"Who cares?” he said. “We are adventurers are we not. We don't need to know everything, in fact we thrive off exploring the unknown. Are we old men who need daylight to make our way to the bank with pennies? No - we are heroes. I owe my life to Aranon, and would gladly risk my life for him, and I know that he would never put our lives in danger unnecessarily!"
Sergeant Dwirin remained silent during the discussion, which continued in a similar vein for several minutes.

As he walked out, Aranon saw Eloi giving him a look of disbelief, shaking his head. He had no idea what Eloi’s problem was. Thoggin quickly followed him out.
"What's ailing you my friend, apart from the obvious?" the gnome asked.
He listened intently to Aranon’s story as he related the tale of Emarill, trying to hide his surprise but failing somewhat.
"Well, Aranon, talk about a dark horse!" he mumbled.
Scratching at his well-groomed beard, he said, "Emarill Kyar, eh? Well that explains what happened at the battle - we wondered how you pulled that one off. What to do, then, I suppose that is the question?"
He paced back and forth, silent, for a minute or so.
"You realise I can't protect her, Aranon.” he exclaimed. “Not while she's loose like this. If you could bring her in, I should be able to 'sign her up' like we did with Prince Hamman. But right now she's just one more enemy in the Sheldomar. I don't really know what she is up to. You say she was quite fond of you - perhaps the snub was too much, after she relied on you so. But she cannot go home, and she cannot stay here, so that makes her very dangerous indeed."
Thoggin stopped speaking as two olven soldiers walked past towards the Inn.
"Obviously," he continued, "you cannot do this right now - I will try to trace her in the meantime while you deal with the other problem. But if anyone else gets wind of this and she is captured, she may be summarily executed. I hope for her own sake she is as good as I've heard. Perhaps her father's penchant for cheating death will stand her in good stead. Go back and make arrangements with your friends while I take care of this matter."

Without Thoggin, Aranon walked back into the Inn and went over to the table where his companions were having a heated discussion. They quietened as he approached.
"Please accept my sympathies regarding your daughter,” Mordekei said. “I will do whatever I can to assist you in her safe return. But if we must leave on the morrow night, what of your lady friend? She will be cast adrift."
Eloi had almost reached boiling point.
“I can't be hacked with all this pussying around,” he thought.
Eloi stood up and said to Aranon, forcibly, "You seem most acquainted with what is happening, perhaps more so than any of us. I for one am fed up with the apparent secrecy, the slipping away at all times without word of explanation as to your whereabouts or activities. If you wish me to aid further in any quest, I would do so gladly. All I ask was for is the truth behind what is going on?"
"Moderation, my friend." Mordekei said to Eloi.
Turning to Aranon the mage continued.
”Lord High Priest, we do not need to know the ins and outs of your position. But if you wish us to be of assistance, it would perhaps be better if you could meet us at least part of the way?"
Mordekei turned to the others, asking, "Are we of a like mind on this?"
They all agreed, and Aranon nodded also.
"Gentlemen,” he told them, “I need not tell you how dark the current situation is. A battle won, enemy forces rallying whilst bands of brigands and worse scour the countries wreaking havoc. However it is best, for our safety, that we discuss such matters in private. Let us retire to my room."
With little said, they arose, and left the inn for Axewood Palace.

On the way to Aranon’s room at the Palace, the only difficulty they encountered was getting Eloi past the guards. They did not seem to like the fact he was a half-orc, but finally they let him through anyway.
"Bermen, check the door please," Aranon requested of the ranger as the last of them trooped into his room.
As he did so, Aranon closed the shutters of his palatial room, and took a walk around the room. He offered the others some wine.
Clearing his throat, Aranon began.
"The young girl was entrusted to my care. A victim of the war and its politics, her family were killed in bloody circumstances - they stood in the way of too many people, but feel not sorry for them, for they played with power and knew the risks attached. Rather they hoped to improve themselves. The girl feels herself responsible, and was in turmoil.”
He took a sip of his wine, then continued.
“Alas I can tell you no more. To do otherwise would place yourselves and her at risk. I now find myself overtaken by events. She has fled, to who knows where, and I find that I must return to Oakhart without delay. I will leave tonight, and will begin the incantation shortly. Bermen and Eloi, I would have you go with me, should you wish. There may be some risk, and chance of gain, however I will recompense you all for your troubles. The others, I request that you await the arrival of Zarn and allow him to employ his magics to the same end. What say you all?"
"I will go with you to Oakhart," Eloi declared. "But how can you expect us to face a peril that we know nothing about? I would rather die by the sword than of ignorance. As for the girl’s peril, it already sounds as if she is in mortal danger. Our further knowledge of the events leading up to this state of affairs cannot cause any more harm than has already befallen her. You either trust us or you don't Aranon, and for that you must yield whatever information that you know. I would rather go into the unknown with men I trust and who trust me."
“It is not her health I fear for, Eloi. It is your own. For now, I beg you just to trust me, I would not keep you in the dark were it not necessary!”.
It was clear from Aranon's tone that he would talk no further on the matter, so Eloi let it go, for the moment. Aranon reached over and joined hands with him and Bermen. Standing there it was apparent that Bermen was apprehensive, but Eloi looked positively petrified! For some strange reason this made Aranon smile!
Recalling the brief words of the spell, he uttered the short prayer - instantly the room melted, and reformed, and the trio found themselves within Aranon’s shrine at Oakhart Keep. The room was unlit, the only light coming from the shuttered window behind a curtain, and under the door.
Aranon regained his balance, then he heard the noise of shouting and screaming and of men running around. The sound was unmistakable!
Battle!

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