Black Hart

To Kill A King

Chapter 9 - A Stranger Visits

Aranon's heart was almost bursting with the exertions of the fight - tired and very badly injured from several rounds of missile fire he faced the two orcs who had rushed over at him. He thanked Olidamarra for his night-vision, the result of a wish many years ago, or he would otherwise have been completely blind.
He had seen them - at least twenty orc archers, and they were led by something more sinister indeed - minotaurs!
Striking one of the orcs across the head with his quarterstaff, almost taking it from the creature's shoulders, it crumpled to the forest floor. The other orc looked at him, then at its dead colleague, and ran off into the darkness, throwing its sword away.
Several more arrows flew in from the left, two of them hitting him. Never since the Demonweb Pits had he truly felt so close to death. And it was all his own stupid fault!

Bermen had lost sight of the others, not that he actually had sight of them since darkfall anyway, but now he felt truly alone. With the arrows whirring past him, he cleared his mind and, guessing where the enemy were, he cast his spell. In his thoughts, the very branches, leaves and grasses of the forest rose up, twining themselves about their attackers' limbs, holding them fast, preventing them from running, from firing, from anything.
The sound of arrows had quietened, and in the darkness there were the grunts and shouts of anger and frustration, which led him to think he had guessed right. From that area there was an almighty roar - like a maddened bull, but imminently more fearsome.
It spurred Bermen on to find the others, and he quickly ran over to the sound of melee to his right - or at least he ran as fast as the near complete darkness would allow him.

Eloi felt pain in his left arm where the minotaur had gouged him, surprising him as it jumped out from the behind the large oak. He had split up with Tharhymm in an effort to draw the attackers away from Aranon and Bermen, but had heard nothing of the Ranger since they parted company.
If it had been surprised when he fought back rather than just dying, it was completely shocked now as he forced it back foot by foot, hacking it closer to death with every strike. It teetered sluggishly in front of him between blows, and Eloi took the opportunity to end the fight, putting all his weight into a diagonal swipe that hacked deep into the monster's neck.
As it fell, he heard something crashing through the undergrowth behind him, and spun to see his new assailant. He lowered his guard when he saw it was Bermen.
"Bermen! Over here!"
Bermen paused and squinted his eyes. "Eloi?"
Looking about, Eloi walked over to the ranger.
"Aranon is over there," he said, pointing Bermen in the right direction. "Go help him - I must find Tharhymm."
With that, the two went their separate ways in the dark.

Aranon was somewhat relieved to see Bermen making his way towards him, and called him over as quietly as he could.
Suddenly there was more shouting from the left, and the whistle of more arrows, but they seemed to be landing short, coming nowhere near them. The sounds were of panic and death, but Aranon could not see that far to know what was happening. The orc arrows had stopped coming their way completely. Squinting to the left Aranon could see the minotaur and orcs fighting something out of your vision.
"There are others coming," he told Bermen. "The orcs and the minotaurs are flustered and running off! But who is it?"
"Minotaurs?!" Bermen exclaimed. Aranon had forgotten that Bermen was unable to see anything in the darkness. The din died down - suddenly they were aware of a person standing behind them - Bermen whirled around, sword in hand, and Eloi held up his hand to stop him. As he lowered his sword, Eloi spoke solemnly.
"Tharhymm's dead - the other minotaur got him, but he's sorted now!"
Suddenly the area was lit up, as a magical light appeared above them. In the fringes of the light, partly hidden by the forest was an archer, an elf, pointing his longbow at Eloi!
A figure stepped into the light, a human of medium height, with very light hair, almost pure blond, and dressed like a woodland elf - then Aranon realised it was his companion, Don Raziano in one of his disguises! Aranon had forgotten about him!
As he stepped towards him, Don Raziano said, "Well, my Lord, I have had many heroes dislike me, some even avoid me, but none before have ever forgotten me!"
"Don Raziano! What good timing, Raz." Aranon reached out and shook the fellow's hand vigorously.
"As ever!" the modest Raz replied. "But we must move - there are Hordelings abroad, and we must return to our camp before they regroup."
In the light, Aranon could see his own wounds were terrible - he had several deep arrow wounds, and many more lighter ones, and felt completely drained. Eloi too was injured, but seemed to be holding his own. Bermen seemed fine, remarkably unscathed for being in the centre of that initial torrent of missiles.
Leading them away from the light, they saw there were another dozen or so elves with Don Raziano, and it sounded like there were another eight perhaps at the scene of the ambush, still fighting with the orcs. There were many sounds coming through the darkness of the Suss to them, and before long they arrived at the elves' camp.
On arrival, Don Raziano turned and stopped.
"Well, now we are safe I guess I'd better tell you we found what I think you are looking for!"
He pointed to a nearby tent, and Aranon, with renewed vigour, ran off into it - there, sleeping in the tent, along with a badly injured Kaspin Wierd, was Elouera, apparently unharmed. Aranon lifted her up, still asleep, and carried her outside.
"I think you are lucky that I found out you had left Niole Dra and came looking for you!" Raz continued. "I hitched a magical flight with a mage to Celene, and luckily this patrol agreed to accompany me through the Suss to Oakhart. We found Kaspin Wierd and Elouera hiding in the forest from the orcs. He is badly burned, but I think he should be alright."
Aranon did not know what to say to Raz, but somehow he felt that Fate was more to blame than luck. So he said nothing, and returned to the tent where he fell asleep with Elouera in his arms.

By late afternoon next day the Olven patrol had led them safely back to Oakhart, where the villagers had started to repair the damage done to their homes.
On the way, they had made a grim discovery - the others who had left with the Priest Farravel had also been attacked, and they were all dead. There was much wailing and mourning as the toll of dead was announced, as most men were villagers, or relatives of locals. The Olvenfolk, who seemed not to understand such grief, quickly left them to saunter up the winding road to the Keep, past the burnt-out watchtower, in misery. Even Don Raziano, who was always something of a jovial character, knew it was time to keep the silence.
That evening, after Aranon had done his best to heal the wounded, including himself, they had a sombre dinner in the large hall of the Keep. Despite the losses, Aranon could not help but feel a lot better, and even Kaspin Wierd had managed to make it to the table. Elouera, thankfully, seems to have thought the whole affair was a game, but the others had not.
Scanning the tables and the dark, sombre mood of the men, Aranon turned to Don Raziano and threw his arms around him.
"My friend, this is no way to celebrate the recovery of Elouera and our return. It is surely more of a wake than had we all died! Quietly, come with me.."
Quickly he made his way towards the cellars, stopping only to instruct one of his retainers to dissuade anyone from leaving. Once in the cellar, he turned to Raziano with a grin. "Right, lets grab as much of this booze as we can carry and get up there. Its time for a bit of religious observance!" Hauling the wine and spirits upstairs, the two burst into the hall.
"Right, you big dour woman's blouses. Lets drink to our friends and fortune, for we have been lucky men today."
He threw a full wineskin to Eloi.
"Hell, there's little good in dwelling in the past. I will make arrangements to improve the lot of the villagers and to secure the Keep a little better. Perhaps establish a little brewery at the same time"
Eloi, like the rest, was still basically in a sombre mood, the previous night's events having troubled him deeply. Strangely for him, he partook in little food or wine at first, but decided to make his feelings known.
"Aranon, I for one am glad that we have recovered your daughter unharmed, I only wish it were at lesser cost. Might I suggest that our reason for being here is at an end and that we should attempt to meet our comrades, who are no doubt attempting to make their way here. I suggest that we head towards Fax. Who knows, we may be lucky and meet them on the way."
Bermen decided that he ought to drink to each of the soldiers who died on their trip into the forest and wish them a good trip to Kelanen's side. He also decided to do his best to drink himself under the table with Aranon, as the Olidamarran priest had obviously decided to do. It was, as he repeatedly pointed out through a night of wine, song and tall tales, a matter of religious observance for him, and it was not long before the miseries of the past day were banished his 'holy' liquids.
The drunken stupor somehow managed to numb the pain, and praising the Laughing Rogue for his glorious anaesthetic, and all it brought to life in such times, they managed to slip glass after glass of Velunan brandy down their throats.

"Lord Aranon, Lord Aranon..."
Some bastard was disturbing the priest's sleep, and as he focused around his splitting headache, he recognised Raz's voice.
"What ish it?" he slurred.
"Ehm, eh, well I think you better wake up, M'Lord!" he said forcefully.
As his blurred vision clears, Aranon recognised the Great Hall of the Keep at Oakhart. The party were all around him, drunk as skunks, and face down on the table, Eloi having his stuck firmly onto the Whortleberry Pie he was eating earlier. There, at the end of the table, sat a human male, a man whom he had never seen before.
From his appearance it was easy to guess that he was a wizard of some sort - tall, well built, well dressed, with short dark hair and a short and well-groomed beard.
"Perhaps you should awaken your companions, my Lord, I would wish them to hear this also!" His voice was soft but authoritative. There was no aggression or threat in his voice, and if anything Aranon detected respect and deference.
Aranon cleared his throat loudly, and nobody moved.
Picking up his empty goblet, Aranon slammed it down on the table, and Bermen jumped up, startled, reaching for a sword which was not there, and almost falling to the floor in his drunk and uncoordinated state. Eloi, sleeping the sleep of the dead, rolled his head around to smudge Whortleberry Pie over the other side, and let out a little sigh of delight. Then he lifted his head, squinted, and licked the sweet pie from around his mouth.
Bermen sat down again, holding his head in his hands.
"I should mind my manners first and introduce myself," the man said. "I am Berran of Greyhawk, Lord Aranon, as you have no doubt guessed a crafter of dweomers. Further, my interests lie with the realms of man, their politics and the machinations of those who would rule us by force and might."
He cleared his throat and continued.
"I need your help, Major Bermen, Lord High Priest Aranon, and Eloi Brand. Also your other companions, who are not yet here, and yourself good sir, who I have not the pleasure of foreknowledge," he said looking to Raz.
"Don Giuseppe Raziano, visitor from the world of Yarth, and protector of champions," Raz said, making a sweeping gesture with his arms and bowing to the mage. The mage nodded.
"Ah yes, now, where had we gotten to? Well, you see, I have certain, shall we say associates, friends even, with a similar interest in the ways of the world, and together we try to help those who would live as freemen and gentlebeings continue to do so. I believe you gentlemen to be such souls as us."
"To be frank, my Lord, the Flanaess is in a mess. Two years of fighting, and all associated ills and evils, the plagues, the famine, have left us in a poor state to continue life as before. Exactly the plan of those such a Iuz and the Drow, who would have us dead and take our lands. Our armies are over-stretched, and longing to return home to see what is left of their families, our enemies' armies likewise. We have reached a stalemate!"
"Even as we speak, unknown to many of the nations in this part of the Flanaess, our enemies such as the Scarlet Brotherhood, are in Greyhawk, trying to form a pact to end this war. For now anyway. Many are sceptical, and require to be convinced, but certain factions do not wish to wait. The King of Keoland has so far refused to come to the table - as one of the stronger and the less-pressed nations he is in a position to hold out and better his gains, or reduce his losses, before bargaining begins."
"It has come to our attention, though, that an unnamed faction is intending to solve this problem by assassinating King Kimbertos. Now this is not a new threat, as you know they tried to finish him at the Battle of Galden Field. Our sources are sure, however, that there is a traitor in the King's court!"
Aranon was not sure of the others, but he for one was having trouble in his drunken and exhausted state in following the man's speech, but he presented well and imposed a sense of urgency upon them, so he listened on.
"The King's spymaster refuses to listen to our pleas - he claims to have the King as well protected as possible, and refuses to believe the idea of a traitor in their midst. Lord Thoggin is showing an unusual lack of foresight my Lords, and must not be held above suspicion himself!"
"Thoggin? A turncoat! Why no, impossible!" Aranon refused to entertain the idea at first - yet again, he had bad memories of the sneakly weevil's sword as it ran him through once before. He was certainly not above treachery before, and odds were that his loyalty to the King was bought, not gifted.
"Continue please, Berran of Greyhawk," Aranon said, his interest gained.
"We believe the King is at risk. Word is that some factions think he is a barrier to peace that must be removed, and will be taking action. This will plunge Keoland into chaos, and they will sue for peace. If they do not fall to the Brotherhood first, that is!"
"I beg you sirs, return to Axewood and investigate. One of my associates is in Niole Dra, and will assist you as needed, but he has not the ability to get close to the men at the heart of this problem. You do!"
Suddenly it occurred to Aranon that this man may be the mage from the fight at Oakhart the previous day. Then again, he was not short as the mage in the courtyard was, and he seemed to be lacking the severe burns he imagined anyone who was a living fireball less than two days ago would have! Still, there was something about this Berran that Aranon just did not like.
"Lord Berran. The news you give me is most serious. You have caught me perhaps at far from my best, and I refer not just to this evenings religious observance." Aranon smiled at his own euphemism.
"As you know, this is a dire time indeed for all the good lands of Oerth. Evil stalks abroad, and indeed at home as well, our friends can no longer be trusted, whilst hordes of humanoids attack, pillage, and terrify the civilian populace apparently at whim..." He rose to his feet, slowly walking back and forth musing, before turning to Berran sharply.
"Which does, if you will forgive me, lead me to question why I should believe you? Can you really you are who you say you are? Are your motives true?"
Aranon broke off suddenly, hoping that Berran would feel forced into saying something without thought. Disappointingly, he remained quiet, as if expecting Aranon not to pause, as though he believed he was asking a rhetorical question. Aranon felt almost obliged to say something!
"However, you know as well as I that there are ways such thing can be proven beyond doubt. If you will stay with us until morning, once I have rested and prayed we can address this issue at greater length. You will be safe here, or at least as safe as anywhere."
"Out of the fecking frying pan and into the fire," Eloi announced to all and sundry. "We're all gluttons for punishment. Me, what I need at the moment is a damned good shag. We've only just left Axewood to come here, and we don't even know where the rest of the bloody group are. We owe it to them at least to try and make contact with them. Can we get a message to Fax or go there in order to find them?"
Raz nodded, saying, "For all we know the siege is over - the city may lie in ruins, or your friends may be recovering from the battles. Otherwise, they may be on their way here already!"
Bermen nursed his head while all this was going on, but the near-failure of the past few days was catching up on him, and the hangover wasn't helping his overwhelming feeling of shamefulness. He had listened quietly to Aranon's musings, nodding his head with approval at the caution he displayed towards this mysterious newcomer.
"How'd he get here?" he thought. "Smoothy bastard reminds me a bit of a lawyer."
"Quite rightly so," Berran added. "I think if you are to get to the bottom of this mess you may need all the skills you and your friends possess. I understand your mistrust, good sirs, in fact I applaud it. I do not ask for your trust, only your curiosity - please, look into this matter lest the worst should happen without our efforts to prevent it. And I would be most happy to stay here overnight my Lord, your hospitality overwhelms me. There are many strange and dangerous creatures abroad. I would go with you to Fax tomorrow if you would, I may be able to arrange travel to Axewood for you there."
Turning to Eloi, Berran declared, "I believe you know my colleague who would be your contact there, Master Eloi. My good friend, a mischievous sort, goes by the name of Lareng."
Eloi pondered for a moment, then said, questioningly, "The half-elf?" Berran nodded.
"From Niole Dra?" Eloi continued. Berran nodded again.
Eloi turned to all and said, "I have used his, ahem, services a few times before. I have no reason to mistrust Lareng."
"Fine," Aranon said. "Then shall we to bed gentlefolk, and to Fax in the morrow!"
Slowly, drunkenly, they all rose and made for a welcome bed.

Eloi had awakened with a skull-splitting headache, but, he reasoned, a few pints of 'Old Crusty' should do the trick.
Wandering downstairs he found the others were already up and finishing their breakfast, except Bermen who was in the yard indulging in a bit of sword practice, going through a series of training drills. As the others left, Berran stayed behind, as if he sensed Eloi wished to speak with him. Aranon himself, however, had not been down, and the servants told him that he had left earlier to visit the villagers below.
Eloi quizzed Berran of his knowledge of him.
"Actually, it was Lareng who told me of you," he said casually. "Not specifically of you, Eloi Brand, but we were discussing who could help us get to the bottom of this mess, and he told me of Aranon and the rest of you."
"However you are the only one he has personal foreknowledge of, from your dealings in the past. He did mention some unsavoury aspects to your past, but for some strange reason I still trust you master Brand."
He smiled politely, and Eloi was not sure if the last comment was a veiled threat to reveal his recent change in loyalties. And Eloi doubted he would give anything away if pressed. He seemed a sly and cunning man, this Berran and he did not trust him as far as he could spit on him from, although Eloi did not trust anyone that much, so he was no different from anyone else in that respect.
"I would appreciate if you might help Aranon to see the good he would do, if he were to help us get to the bottom of this." Eloi decided that it had been a threat, and nodded.
"I'll see what I can do, Berran. I'll see what I can do."
"But don't be surprised if you wake up with your throat slit, you old fuck, threatening me!" he thought to himself.
His appetite gone, and the headache along with it, thankfully, Eloi gathered his meagre belongings and headed into the courtyard, where the others were waiting. There was a pony there for him.
"Bloody horses!" he thought. "Gimme a mule or donkey any day!"
Reluctantly he loaded up, realising that Aranon was not there. Asking Bermen where their host was, he replied, "It seems Aranon is not going with us, Eloi."
At that, Aranon came striding across the courtyard towards them. As he approached, he said, "I am sorry my friends, I cannot travel with you today. I must sort out matters here, before I return to a ruined keep full of corpses. If you go to Fax with Berran, he will arrange magical transport to Keoland for you."
Berran added, "I believe Axewood will be magically protected, due to its importance, so I will get one of the mages in Fax to return you all to the capital. It is only a day's journey to Axewood from there, as I believe you all know."
"Niole Dra! Excellent, more chance of a shag or a party at Kro's!" Eloi thought, his baser thoughts winning over again.
Aranon continued, "Then I will make arrangements for Elouera and return to Axewood to meet up with you. If you see Thoggin, I am sure he will take care of your accommodation and all that."
"But," Berran reminded them," You cannot even let him know the reason for your visit. Even the King's spymaster is not above suspicion."
"Nor you either, you magical fart!" thought Eloi.
With that, Aranon bid them all good luck and farewell. As they left, he signalled Eloi over.
"I did not get a chance to thank you master Eloi, for your help in retrieving my daughter." He palmed a small pouch, which felt as though it contained coinage, into Eloi's hand. "A token amount, my friend, and a good journey to you 'til we meet again."
Eloi pocketed the money with a smile, before leading the pony out onto the road. Once out of sight, he checked the pouch - a hundred gold orbs - not a fortune, but enough to keep him in wine, women and food for a few weeks.
"Maybe the old fart ain't so bad after all!" he thought, before returning to the dread prospect of mounting this beast.

Eloi felt very uncomfortable riding the horse, he did not like being at such a great height, and was starting to miss the company of Bray, especially his bad temper and foul stench. Furthermore, he was surprised, nay shocked to discover his thoughts turning to the idiot Paladin Jean-Paul D'Apisshead. It was midday, and they had just ridden out of the edges of the Suss forest and onto the better road leading east to Fax.
He turned to Bermen
"My friend what do you think has happened to our friends who ended up in Fax? I fear that the city could not withstand an onslaught from the horde and would quickly be overwhelmed."
"I am sure they are doing fine without us, Eloi."
The others had dismounted by the road, and were preparing to eat some lunch. As he unsaddled his own horse, Bermen suggested some sword practice to Eloi. A grin crept over the half-orc's face.
"Sure," he said. "From what I've seen, you could do with the practice. But could I suggest a little dagger practice - I don't use a sword, and that thing," he said, pointing to Gottflinder, "would be too much for my cheap flail." Bermen smiled.
"No way a thief like him should be a match for me! And with my magical Hornblade dagger too!" he thought.
Berran watched as they prepared, and shook his head, saying, "We really don't have time for this, gentlemen."
They both managed to ignore the mage, and removing their capes, drew their daggers. As Bermen flicked out the blade from his Hornblade dagger, the smile on Eloi's face levelled out.
"First to six hits is the winner," Eloi declared. "Loser buys the drinks tonight."
As they circled each other, Eloi suddenly jumped forward, drawing the flat of his blade across Bermen's chest, then was back out of reach before Bermen knew what had happened, his own feeble swipe going widely amiss!
"Damn, he's fast!"
As Bermen settled down again, the cheesy grin was back on Eloi's face. He was holding his guard too high, but Bermen spotted the deliberate opportunity. Lunging in, he feinted for the weakness - as expected Eloi tried to trap his blow. Spinning round, Bermen was behind him and reckoned the grin must be gone as he pulled his blade along the back of Eloi's leg before he had a chance to turn to meet him.
"But damn, I'm good!"
Eloi looked a lot more serious now. Again Bermen lunged in, striking him, but Eloi caught him on the way out. As Bermen again darted in, Eloi side-stepped, grabbing his arm and pulling the blade across it.
He kept hold of Bermen's arm, stopping him from using distance as a defence. No matter how Bermen tried to trap him, he twisted and squirmed, deflecting his blows and giving the ranger a dunt to the head for his trouble. Adjusting to Eloi's style, and playing him at his own game, Bermen somehow managed to fend off his next series of blows but was unable to strike Eloi at all. He was a lot better than Bermen would have thought.
As he struck at Eloi's head, the rogue trapped Bermen's arm and drew his blade across it.
"I'd better do something fast, or I'm beat!"
But it was Eloi that did something fast - as they turned and fumbled with each others' dagger arms, he smoothly switched hands, let go, and pulled the blunt side of his blade up from Bermen's belly to his neck.
He stood there gaping at his imaginary slashed abdomen. The cheesy grin was back, big-style!
Bermen swallowed his pride. "Well done, Eloi Brand - I must confess to underestimating you somewhat!"
Eloi nodded, and replied, "A mistake I do not imagine you would make twice, eh major?"
Bermen grinned - he was being gracious, but Bermen felt that he had not heard the last of this episode!
"So, can we be on our way now, gents - we may wish to save the King's life at some point," Berran said dryly. Again ignoring him, they remounted, Bermen enjoying Eloi's obvious discomfort as he returned to his pony.

The ride into Fax took some time, and the sun was setting as they reached the town gates. For the past two miles though, they first smelled, then saw, the smoke coming from the town.
Or what was left of it.
The west gates had obviously been breached at some point, and lay wide open - and what lay beyond them was worse! Almost the entire southern half of the town had been razed by fire. Berran surveyed the scene, then pressed on without a word. They entered the gate, unchallenged by the guards there, turning left and moving through burnt-out buildings and areas where other buildings once stood. Every so often there were a few streets and buildings that were unscathed.
They dismounted and led the horses through the streets, to Kurawei Keep, where Berran had told them his friends, mages of the White Order of Ossain, worked. As they approached the keep, which appeared to be many centuries old, they were met by many guards. They passed the keep of the Knight Patriots of Fax, then continued up the long flight of broad steps up to the Keep itself. Berran was instantly recognised by the guards there, who took everyone inside. They were fed, and permitted to rest while Berran excused himself to go and inquire as to what had been happening.
About an hour later he returned.
"I have found your friends. Your Mordekei is injured and they are residing with a colleague of mine, Garthanyel, in the New Town - at least his house remained unscathed!"
Returning back to the New Town, Berran took them to a moderately rich-looking townhouse. He knocked on its door, and an extremely old looking elf, even as elves went, answered the door. They quickly gathered that this was Garthanyel, the librarian and researcher for the wizards at Kurawei Keep.
He invited everyone in to a study room where Jean-Paul, Akhan and Hamman were talking and sipping mead. Eloi quickly made a beeline for the Mead supply.
"I believe that lost soul is striving for something beyond the flesh - it would do him good to receive my spiritual guidance," thought Jean-Paul.
As they settled, Mordekei told his tale of the battle.
"We fought off the Hordes at the Darkgate, allowing some in then trapping them with magic, only to find it had been a feint, and the Hordes poured down from the west. The battle raged on in the streets with the Fax men badly outnumbered. Garthanyel and I went into an inn, and as we did so, there was a flash, and I felt dizzy and light-headed. We went in, past a drunk who fell off a bar stool. We went upstairs to get a better view of the battle, and Garthanyel was knocked out by an assassin-type hiding there. Somehow I managed to kill him, but was nicked by a poison dagger, and felt the life drain right out of me, drew my last breath and felt my very heart stop."
"Suddenly there was a flash, and I felt dizzy and light-headed. And there I was, standing back outside the inn. Again we went in, past a drunk who again fell off a bar stool. We went upstairs again, and Garthanyel was ready for the assassin - as he stepped through the door, he blasted him into oblivion with a spell the likes of which I've never seen. What was it anyway?"
Garthanyel smiled, tapping his nose, and saying, "Trade secret, young Mordekei, trade secret!"
Mordekei continued.
"So we go into the nearest room, up to the window to see the battle. Next thing there's this fireball hurtling towards us, and I'm lying on the floor in flames - Garthanyel is burned to a crisp by the window, and I'm feeling none too well, to say the least. And then guess what happened?"
"The flash, the dizzy feeling, and ka-blooie, back outside I guess," Akhan guessed.
Mordekei nodded.
"Same as happened to us," Akhan told him. "Except we only got two chances to get it right!"
"Hmm," Mordekei pondered. "Anyway, we went back in, drunk fell from stool, Garthanyel dealt with the assassin, but this time we decided 'enough is enough'. Out we came and back across the street, through a few alleys and next thing we know we're in the middle of a fire, cut off everywhere - last thing I remember this huge black shape is hurtling towards me and it's 'goodnight Greyhawk!'"
Garthanyel piped in.
"A building collapsed and a burning timber caught the boy unawares. Luckily I managed to get him out with some magic - the old biceps are not what they used to be! Any more mead, anyone?"
Eloi accepted, mumbling something about something stronger. Garthanyel left to rake his wine cellars, saying he didn't get many visitors. He returned quite soon with a bottle of whisky, and Eloi set about arranging everyone's glass. As he watched the mage return, Bermen felt sure that he had seen him somewhere, but could not recall where or when.
Bermen asked Mordekei of the Fax Foreign Legion.
"I haven't a clue," he replied. "Didn't even know they existed until today, to be honest."
Hamman said, "I believe they were on Fax's ships sailing south and were attacked by a flotilla of corsairs from the Pomarj. The Pomarj lost, the Legion tricked the hordes into thinking the captured ships were on their side and came to our rescue, just in the nick of time."
"To good fights, whole bodies and hearty minds!" Eloi toasted, and everyone drank, with Eloi quickly refilling their glasses.
Akhan provided an only slightly embroidered version of their attempt to reach Oakhart.
"...so when I finally managed to chop the testicles off of the 50th orc I decided that I was never going to make my century before the whole Hordeling army appeared so I decided to let the rest off and came back to see how Mordekei was getting on with his little bonfire..."
Several more minutes of highly dubious narration follow in which Akhan described how he would have had the Horde beaten if the Legion hadn't arrived at the last minute and spoiled everything by frightening them off. "Just ask Jean-Paul"
Akhan went on to explain his theory that the dwarven gemcutter had something to d owith the strange occurrences. When he had finished, Garthanyel told him, "Your gemcutter lives not far from here. Odnik I think his name is, a reasonable craftsperson."
Eloi grinned, saying, "Not any more he isn't." Nobody laughed. "Living nearby I meant," he explained defensively.
"What makes you think this dwarf had anything to do with it?" Mordekei asked.
"All very interesting, good gentlefolk," Berran interrupted. "But this is all history. We have a chance to shape the future here and I think it is far more urgent."
He then went on to recount his proposition to the other party members.
"As soon as you are finished here, which for the King's sake I hope is sooner rather than later," he said impatiently, "I can arrange for one of the mages at Kurawei Keep to send you to Niole Dra, to meet Lareng. He will arrange your journey on to Axewood for you. I doubt we could get you directly into Axewood - if I were Thoggin I would have it magically protected anyway."
"So, we will return to Axewood - that seems reasonable enough." Hamman said. "But does anyone really want to pursue this dwarf matter further? And what of this Tumbry character?"
"Remember," Bermen pointed out, "That considering the events of the past weeks, the locals may not welcome Eloi around here due to his parentage, and he may wish to disguise it, or face their wrath."
Eloi seemed to take this with his usual level of seriousness, and promptly finished the bottle, looking to Garthanyel with pleading eyes - at least, as pleading as his eyes could be.
Jean-Paul was shaking his head. "I am not so sure my friends. The events of the past day concern me."
Akhan pondered on the paladin's statement.
"The events of today concern you? That's a bit of a galloping understatement even for a paladin. I've been in some bad shit but I can't actually claim to have died prior to today. Not that I'm complaining..." Akhan superstitiously makes a sign to ward off bad luck before continuing. "Mordekei have you heard anything like this sort of shenanigans before. That little bloke looked harmless enough but I wouldn't want him sending us into an alternative reality or plane or whatever, where we're being boiled alive for a slap-up Dark Hordes feast. I think we should try and find him."
Mordekei answered, "Well I am intrigued by this time-slip thing we experienced, if indeed that is what it is. But can it wait until a later date, considering the King's predicament? And you never answered me Akhan or J-P - what did the dwarf have to do with the strangeness?"
"The dwarf gemcutter," Jean-Paul stated, "Was the last figure that we saw before our time-slip. I would use reasonable deduction to assume he had something to do with our slip. Whoever it was, Akhan and I owe them a great debt, I think? If it had not been for the time-slip we would surely be dead at the hands of the horde."
Mordekei thought on Jean-Paul's response and grinned.
"Sir paladin," he said, "I hope your sword is sharper than your intellect. If you recount, you said you felt the woozy feeling in the Darkover Road during the battle, when you were facing the ogre. When you came back in time, you came back to that same moment. It would seem that you are jumping to conclusions here somewhat. And if I recall the last person you saw was an orc, from the underside, face to the ground."
Jean-Paul seemed quite embarrassed at Mordekei's remarks, apparently not realising the joking tone they were intended to be taken in. As he spoke, Akhan heard someone moving about upstairs.
"You appear to have some knowledge of this art of time travel, but do you perhaps know of anyone who has greater knowledge and may be able to offer some comfort to our troubled minds," he replied.
Mordekei shook his head, saying, "And no, quite the contrary Jean-Paul. If we are talking about what I think we are talking about, there is nobody alive that I know can help you. Time travel, Chronomancy - it is a deadly and somewhat forbidden art, and a forgotten one too. If someone is meddling in the threads of fate, they may rue the day they ever did."
As if changing the subject Jean-Paul said, "Gentlemen it is late. I suggest we take Berran up on his offer of transportation to Niole Dra and meet with Lareng. I therefore suggest that we get some sleep and head to Kurawei Keep in the morning."
Eloi looked up as the paladin spoke, his vision and wits slightly disorientated by the alcohol in his system. Eloi bashed his fist on the table and responded with an enthusiastic, "Hear, hear!" whenever Jean-Paul finished a sentence.
Once he had finished his statement, Eloi clambered on top of his chair, somewhat shakily, and muttered, "I couldn't agree with you more my friend! Up nisshhh and early in the moooorning and head back to Nioooole Draaaaa. But its straihhhtt to bed for meee. Ish got somethink in me underpants which requires some attenshun."
"By the way, Eloi," Akhan said with a mischievous grin on his face. "You managed to kill a miniature what? Dung beetle, gnat?"
With that statement Eloi grabbed his crotch, thrust his hips forward and promptly fell on the floor in a crumpled heap. He slowly picked himself up very carefully and, using his full concentration, dusted down the lapels of his tunic, dislodging some of the ten years of dust and dirt that rested there before staggering off out the room.
Hamman agreed with Jean-Paul that it was best to get to bed early, especially with the exertions of yesterday's battle and all.
Bermen asked Mordekei if he felt fit for the journey, and he replied he would be alright by the morning. Akhan stated his urinal intentions and left the room.

Heading upstairs, Akhan stood on the first floor landing. Looking at the four doors there, he noted the rooms to the right which they were to be sleeping in, the next which he believed was Garthanyel's bedroom, and a final door to the left. Listening intently, he could still hear something up above, in what he presumed to be the attic - it was louder now than when he was downstairs.
Moving over to the door, Akhan bent at the handle and peered into the keyhole. It looked like a poorly lit room with a spiral staircase leading up, presumably to an attic room. The door was locked - just as he removed his lockpicks, Akhan heard the door downstairs open. He expected only Jean-Paul, but then realised that everyone was coming out and upstairs!
Quietly he strode over to his room and went in, lying on his makeshift bed.
Hamman and Jean-Paul came in, and Akhan could hear Eloi singing outside, some bawdy drinking song about a little goblin.
"See the little goblin, see his little feet,..."
"There's some one else in the room at the end of the corridor, I'm sure, but I couldn't get a good look before you came," Akhan told the paladin.
"Best leave it, Akhan," JP suggested. "He is our host, we have no reason to mistrust him, or sneak around spying on him, it is most dishonourable."
Akhan shrugged and rolled over in his 'bed', soon drifting into a strange dream full of orc and goblin feet trampling over him, grinding him into the dirt...

Next morning's breakfast fayre was meagre compared to Oakhart Keep, but palatable. Garthanyel explained again that he didn't find himself entertaining often. "I wish you good speed and the luck of the Gods on your journey, my friends," Garthanyel told them.
Turning to Mordekei, he said, "And good wishes to you, young Mordekei, and your studies - if you ever wish some help, please do not hesitate to ask."
With that, they headed off to Kurawei Keep, with Berran agreeing to return Aranon's horses to Oakhart.
On the long, sweeping road up, across the market place and up a multitude of steps, Jean-Paul took a good look to the left at the stronghold of the Knight Patriots, one-time protectors of the Count. What would happen to them now that the Count and his lineage are gone was anyone's guess. They were a minor bunch of knights anyway, he surmised, and with a few exceptions they were amateurs.
"What reckon you of Fax's future then, Berran?" Jean-Paul asked.
"A difficult one, good knight, a difficult one," he mused. "The Count's line was thought dead a few years before, the last Count in hiding until he reached the age of fifteen. During that time a ruling council of the more prominent and powerful factions ruled Fax. I would think this most likely."
"However, now southern Fax, and Eldredd and Badwall along with them, have been taken by Turrosh Mak, and most of the new town burnt down, there is little to rule here. I hope the Count left his finances in good order at least to rebuild his city and give the people a fighting chance."
Arriving at Kurawei Keep, Berran led them up to the circular conjuring hall, at the top of one of the two sea-facing towers. The room was lit well by torches, and there a diminutive Olven woman waited for them. She was pretty in a faerie sort of way, with long flaxen hair and sea-blue eyes. She spoke with a singing voice, and Berran introduced her as Aastal Khar-Bachyil of the White Order of Ossain.
"Greetings one and all. A moments preparation, then I will have you safely on your way to Keoland," she said. Jean-Paul thought that she appeared a most virtuous woman - for an elf!
Again, like in Axewood, they formed a circle - the chanting from the elf, a shimmering, and then they were somewhere new - in a darkened basement room somewhere.

A half-elf, sitting on a crate in the corner, jumped up at their arrival. Eloi looked and felt distinctly unwell.
"At last!" the half-elf said. "Eloi, my friend, what can the matter be?"
He laughed and slapped Eloi, who was a strange shade of green, hard on the back.
He had shoulder-length hair, and a studious look about him, thin and wiry, although almost undoubtedly not a student of any sort. His beady dark eyes darted about from person to person, and Akhan found little to trust in this fellow.
"Could this be a trap? Are we set up to fall?" he thought. His hand slid slowly down to Kagnstir's hilt.
"Let me introduce myself," he said. "To those who know me not, I am Lareng, investigator of the hidden, revealer of secrets, and colleague of Berran. I know he has filled you in on the events of the past weeks. Little has changed, although the fool-of-a-spymaster Thoggin seems now to believe that the threat to the King is real, and has recalled some of his heavier muscle into the area."
"You just look like a thief to me!" Akhan surmised.
"I fear it will be in vain," he continued as he led them upstairs, helping Eloi, who appeared to be recovering from his unease. "The threat is so insidious that it would have been revealed by now if it could have. I believe it is closer to the King now than we ever feared - perhaps even Thoggin himself. No, the Zephyr is not the solution - you are the solution!"
He took them out into a hallway and then into an immaculate lounge, with a view onto the dusty streets of the Keoish capital's Tarskling area. As they sat on his comfortable couch, a young serving girl brought them all cooled drinks.
As Akhan sipped his, he noticed from its amber colour and the fruity aftertaste that it was a Furyondyan mead, one of his (many) favourites. Eloi too was pleased to find himself drinking a fiery pint of Diamond Merrybuck.
"I am here to provide anything you need - equipment, assistance, specialist information - and money too, to a certain extent. What I need from you is to get into the King's circle, using your influence with the spymaster and the Count. It is made more difficult by Lord Aranon's absence, but I reckon it is still possible. Something is afoot in the court of our King, men, and it is your task to uncover it..."
"You would not believe the adventures I have had of late my friend." Eloi enthused. "Had to kill a bloody minotaur and a legion of orcs in order to save Aranon of all people! Hope you have plenty of drink and can find a few decent whores for me. I haven't had a shag in what seems like a week."
Eloi stated that he did not require many provisions, although he desired a donkey for the trip back to Axewood, and a large bottle of beer. He always considered that he travelled better drunk. Also, before leaving Eloi wanted to visit Kro to gain news of whatever events have passed in the region since he left.
"The mood in the capital right now may not be what you are used to!" Lareng warned. "The Wars have done strange things to us all, and there is a rebellious atmosphere around, especially considering the food and other shortages it has caused. We have had minor disturbances here," he continued, "although it has not turned into full-scale rioting as in Flen. Just take care my friends."
Still, Eloi felt like crap, and needed a serious drink quick! Tipping him the wink, he left accompanied by Akhan, on 'personal business'.

The morning was one predictable drinking binge - Eloi was not shy in dishing out the money Aranon gave him in the name of a good cause - food, drink or women!
A quick visit to Kro's house after a few drinks revealed that he had been out of town since the events of a few days ago. The manservant would not reveal where, and they thought it best not to pursue the matter. Akhan then left Eloi, saying he had 'something to do', so he set about touring the taverns of the Tarskling area, mixing more with his own kind.
The mood in the poorer areas was tense - there had been food shortages, and some were close to rebellion. Disease did not make it any easier in the overcrowded city, and the lack of troops around here made control difficult. He heard more about these troubles, disturbances and minor riots, although apparently there had been full-scale over in the town of Flen.
The King's solution in part has been the creation of a new force of law, the Mareschals. Eloi pretty much hoped never to come across these guys, if the rumours of their powers and abilities were to be believed. Which usually they weren't!
Half-plastered, Eloi decide perhaps it was time to head back, hoping that the drink would last the journey.

Akhan set about touring the taverns, trawling for the dirty on Lareng, but seemed to be having little success - it appeared that he went largely unnoticed around here. He talked to a few students of the Royal University who seemed to know of him, seeing him around the University from time to time, and he seemed to be studying there, but what he was studying they could not say.
Akhan decided to look more closely around the University taverns while picking up his 'equipment'. He managed to get all his special goodies, including several small metal files and a pair of manacles. The manacles were expensive, as the lock was small and very costly.
He also got some strange looks from the locksmith.
"Are you one of these 'Mareschals' then sir?"
Puzzled, Akhan asked him what he was talking about?
"The new King's Mareschals, sir," he replied. "They've been brought about by the King, for to protect the people and hunt down the Hordelings and all. Brought in a few of these robbers and bandits an' all too, so I hear. Guess they're for 'personal' use then sir?"
Akhan smiled knowingly at him, paying the extortionate fee and leaving. He had considerably less luck in enquiring after Lareng.
"What would a Goshawk," the voice said, pausing correctly, "be doing in a town like this."
As he sat in the half-empty tavern near to the University, it took Akhan a second to recognise the form of his code-word recognition, almost before he recognised the voice itself.
His head turned quickly as Raven sat down across from him.
"He has had", he replied, also pausing in the right place, "his flight feathers plucked somewhat."
Raven grinned slightly - he appeared a bit thinner and more tired-looking than several months ago, but nonetheless in good health.
"Well, turn your back and away you go and make a hero of yourself, eh?" he ribbed. "We are a long way from our patch, Akhan, a long way. I heard you were in town, but had trouble finding you."
Akhan told him he was away on personal business.
"I'll take it that means its personal and its none of my business," he said jokingly. His tone became more serious as he continued. "Well, I guess you should know, I am here to meet my own control, find out the new plan after the recent events. What are your plans for now?"
In hushed tones, Akhan told him of their planned trip without divulging its reason. He raised his eyebrows in interest. Akhan suddenly realised that he may have heard of Lareng, and asked him.
"Lareng?" he asked, "now there's a name you don't hear often. So far as I knew he was dead! A player in our game at one time, he crossed the wrong Guildmaster once too often, up in Verbobonc I believe, and found his every step dogged by assassins. Perhaps he did escape and the killers just claimed the money - if I were him I'd stay dead. But then again this was a dozen years ago, when I was new to the game."
Akhan decided not to tell him his involvement with them just yet.
"I will be in touch," he told Akhan. "For now, keep safe, and it's good to see you."
As he left the tavern, Akhan recalled the last time he had seen Raven, his control when he worked as a spy. It was many months before, at the evacuation of Admundfort as it fell to the Horned Society, and the mysterious Raven had saved his life.
He brushed his thoughts of the past aside and decided that perhaps it was time to head back, hopefully the drink would wear off before he got back.

When Lareng returned from seeing them out, Bermen asked him of this 'Zephyr' he mentioned earlier.
"I know little enough myself," he replied. "But they are King's men, presumably under the spymaster, oops, sorry, the Lord High Mareschal. From what I gather they are the most skilled and best equipped of Thoggin's teams, and often used to guard the King himself."
Mordekei nodded and excused himself to change and sort out his affairs at home. With Hamman and Jean-Paul, Bermen spent the rest of the morning arranging transport and cleaning up for the trip to Axewood. Mordekei returned after a couple of hours.
"Seems there's been a bit of dissent in the country, my man tells me," he said. "Some people not too happy with the way things are about here."
Just after midday, Eloi staggers back, out his skull as usual.
"Thanksh for the donkey," he told Bermen. "Glad to sheeh you're not shore about getting your assh whupped!"
A half hour later Akhan also trundled back, although not quite as bad a Eloi. Eloi looked plastered and was having trouble staying on the donkey. Bermen decided to get going before he fell asleep in the heat of the afternoon sun. As they left the city centre, Eloi was singing, or slurring, a song about a maiden and a chastity belt.
As they went past the market outside the Merkstaff gates, a major disturbance was breaking out there, people fighting with each other, traders and customers all wading in with staffs, swords, daggers and fists.
The guard were assembling to disperse them, and Hamman said, "Let's ride on quick, men, best not get involved."
Eloi seemed lucky not to fall from the donkey as they sped up suddenly to leave the fight.
"Ahh, Bray, how I miss your reliability!" he thought, feeling sentimental about the old ass.

The ride passed uneventfully, and it was darker this time when they arrived at Edalsvell - and there were some changes there too. Across form the inn they were laying the foundations for a building, a small keep or stronghold or something. As they entered the inn, a few locals recognised them, and soon the bold Halykk came bounding out from the kitchen to greet them.
"Good sirs, what an honour to see you so soon. Be seated, the boys will take your baggage and horses for you. A drink and some food for the lords. Please, be comfortable by the fire."
Before they could protest they were all seated, feet up, by the fire, with a drink in their hand and the locals gathering around to thank them for their help, and asking of their adventures since they left. After long explanations, Hamman asked Halykk of the building across the road.
The innkeep beamed as he proudly answered.
"A new inn, sirs. But not just an inn - a Bierkeepe!"They got the feeling they should know what he was talking about. He soon told they did not from their blank expressions. "Of course," he said," you have been away. The King has decreed we should be protected by some of our own heroes - Mareschals he calls them. And each lord is required by decree to provide safeholdings for them to work in, and to keep prisoners as they return them to the Rychskurt for punishment."
"We decided here to build our own - to be used by travellers as safe lodgings, and by the Mareschal for his needs too. And our Mareschal is Wissig Arturrsen himself!"
Again, they felt they should have known something they did not! This time everyone nodded and looked impressed.
"All thanks to you gents and your kindness. Your rooms will be ready, and your plates and cups full, and your money is of no use in this place! You will always be welcome here!"
They talked a while, laughing and joking with each other and the locals, before heading off to bed to get a good night's sleep - after all, there were only so many times a man could listen to the locals' tales of ploughing the fields!

Next morning saw another dismal grey day, passing slowly - as they reached the cross-roads leading to Axewood, Bermen had a sense of foreboding about the coming days.
"This twilight world of spies and traitors is not my territory - I must get in touch with my unit and leave this lot as soon as possible." he thought.
Near to the village, a patrol of soldiers on horseback rode up to them. From their attitude and their equipment they sensed that they were not ordinary soldiers. Their leader rode closer and spoke to them.
"My lords," he said elegantly, more like a butler used to announcing important guests than a paid killer. "The Lord High Mareschal, Thoggin of Hardby would appreciate your company at the Palace, and asks that you reside there for the duration of the festivities."
"Trust that little bastard to weasel in on anything new and powerful!" thought Eloi, although he felt considerably cheerier at the prospect of festivities.
As they rode in, they gathered from this officer that there would be celebrations of the ending of the war, involving much feasting and receiving of heroes and nobility by the King. As they reached the front of the palace, Thoggin, looking very regal and immaculately clothed and groomed, came down the stairs to greet them.
"A welcome return my friends," he said enthusiastically. "I trust you had a fruitful journey and all is well in Oakhart. I have heard of the battle in Fax, but not of Aranon's luck. Is he alright? I take it he has chosen to spend time with his daughter for a while?"
Bermen filled him in briefly on the occurrences of the past few days.
"Hmm, troubled times, I see, Major."
He guided them all up the stairs and through the palace halls.
"We have our own troubles here. As if the Hordes were not enough to contend with, there is the plague in refugee areas, supply troubles for food in some areas, and riots in some areas. However, hopefully my Mareschals should take care of this." He beamed a proud grin. "Perhaps you will meet some of them tonight, at the festivities - a bit odd celebrating in the midst of all this suffering, but the Count insists on it. And well, when you get to know Fimuth, you'll see he usually gets what he wants."
As they talked, Bermen noticed a boisterous nobleman off to the left, dressed in finery, and missing one arm. The man seemed arrogant and angry, bawling at a stable boy for feeding his horse wrongly, before mounting his horse and riding off at speed.
Thoggin guided them into the from which they had left for Fax, and servants soon came to take their belongings and bring refreshments. Thoggin also arranged for tailors to come and outfit them for the dinner and ball tonight. Once Thoggin left to continue with the arrangements, they began talking, and Eloi again seemed to be intent on getting down to some serious drinking.
"Did you see the one-armed gentleman off to the left when we entered the hallway?" Mordekei asked.
Bermen nodded, but the rest had not.
Mordekei continued, saying, "Well, he is Baron Arganass, he has a barony near my father's lands up bordering the Rushmoor. He was at the battle, helping to guard the King's contingent, and indeed protected our retreat when the Hordes broke through and threatened him. I was hearing from my apprentice that the Baron bears some ill will towards the King and is not averse to showing his displeasure."
"Why the rift?" Hamman asked.
"Seems," Mordekei says in hushed tones, "that the King thought the Baron and his men doomed, and never sent reinforcements to help him. The Baron barely survived, despite losing an arm in the fight, and is bitter that he was forgotten about. I was there too, but I have to say that was not really my impression of events."
Eloi muttered something, then cleared his throat and tried again.
"There is a lot of dissent in the lower quarters of the town - the people feel betrayed at the danger they were put under, and the poor conditions they live in now. There is open talk of rebellion and a few outspoken groups are forming to that end."
"Whatever happens," Mordekei declared, "it seems there are many opportunities tonight for a shot at the King, and plenty of people willing to take it."
Jean-Paul thought that he did not like parties, too much frippery and tomfoolery for his liking. Still it would be rude not to attend, and they needed to find out more about the events that led them there.
A simple tunic, colour purple, he thought, with a well tailored pair of green plus-four trousers would seem to suit the occasion. Best to mingle with the rest of the revellers and not look too conspicuous
"I think," he told the others, "That we should try to find out more about the events in these parts since our departure. It seems that the events leading to the apparent lull in the fighting has allowed several parties to gain deserved and undeserved power. We must try to discover whom we can trust and whom we must watch."
"I suggest that one of us keeps a very close eye on the King and another keeps a close eye on our host Thoggin. Other than that I suggest that we partake in very little ale, and keep our wits about us. And in particular I think that Mordekei should keep a close eye on Baron Arganass, he may be up to no good!"

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