Black Hart

Gradsul by Twilight

Chapter 2 - Storm Clouds Gather

Eloi shook off the rain from his cloak, the short, sharp shower now having stopped. The sun was clear, but not yet very strong, and there was a light enough wind for Eloi to keep his cloak off. Summer was indeed on its way here in Keoland, and Eloi was thinking how he could get used to the milder climes of the Sheldomar.
At his side rode Geffin, a sergeant in his Fenmen. Tall and broad, Geffin was well liked by his men, and by Eloi too for that matter. He drank well, ate like a pig and had many other bad habits that made Eloi find him to be a kindred spirit. He was not used to riding, and had been as clumsy and uncomfortable as Eloi several months ago, but by now he and the other three men were becoming used to the long days in the saddle.
Eloi had a reassuring look over his shoulder to where Bray tagged along behind his mount, carrying all his baggage. The donkey seemed much happier since Eloi learned to ride a horse, perhaps something to do with his ever-increasing gut.
"Five miles to the capital, sire!" Geffin said, pointing to a milestone by the road.
The men could not hide their excitement at the thought of visiting Niole Dra, although Geffin had been there once before. Their colleagues had given them all sorts of tasks to perform and a variety of coinage to do it with. Eloi could think of a few things he also had to do whilst there.

Eventually, his nagging sense of responsibility for Ash prodded him awake and Akhan skulked through the streets of Tringlee, back to Seldar Palace. Care had to be taken to keep to the shadows en route (which was almost second nature) but this was more to keep out of the way of a very malevolent sun lancing through the sky, which was definitely not helping his hangover.  Still, again and again he appreciated the clean air and relative absence of city stenches. 
He decided to take Ash for a walk to the outskirts of Tringlee and take in the view over to the mountains.  Company wasn't a very attractive idea to him that day as his conversation with Raven seemed to have temporarily dried up his appetite for other people.  He collected the exuberant war-dog from the Count's household guards who'd been looking after him and quickly headed off again, dodging the amused comments of the soldiers at his delicate condition. 
"Everyone's the town wit today," he muttered to himself as he hunched off again.
Some time later, as he sat on a low branch of a tree looking out to the snowy peaks of the Lortmils, he considered his immediate future.  A few weeks fun and games with the Kansitt fraternity would be a welcome chance to stretch some of his professional skills.  The crew he had met last night - what he remembered of them - had impressed him with their thoroughness and attention to detail and he was sure he could pick one or two brains.
Breaking the news of his departure to Hanali was more problematical. 
"Soonest is probably best." he thought rather mournfully.  He was sure she would understand.  She usually understood him only too well.  He smiled and broke off another branch for Ash to run to death. 
Besides, this would not be for too long.  And truly he had no wish to be away from her for very long.  But curiosity over Eloi's mission had got a hold of him now.  What was Eloi up to that Raven was interested in?
He shook his head.  He knew what to do about Hanali now.  A trip into the foothills and he'd tell her then.  She understood his restlessness and the wildness of the country would be the best setting to emphasise that.

Outside Kro's house, Eloi handed them a gold Merkke each.
"Meet me back here," he said, pointing to Kro's house. "Day after tomorrow at first light."
Beaming smiles across their faces, the men turned to ride off.
"And be careful!" he shouted after them.
The last thing he needed was the expense of their funerals!
As he walked up the path to Kro's house, he looked over at Mordekei's house, and couldn't help wondering what that useless prat was up to these days.

Eloi's vision was going blurred and his hearing wasn't too hot either. He was sure it was something to do with the Ketish smokeweed Kro had given him, and it wasn't the least pleasant experience he had undergone in the past months. It was hard to come by, but he knew Kro always had his contacts and sources no matter what the product.
Eloi had regaled him with his tales of derring-do for over an hour now, and hour when his drinking horn was never empty for more than a few moments. Kro had then told him that he had only returned ot the city two months ago, as he couldn't be sure of his safety after the Suel assassin debacle.
"I take it you've come back with some concern over the Shabass T'Lan incident?" Kro asked.
Eloi's heart stopped and a puzzled look came over his face.
"You've not heard?"
With a sense of foreboding, Eloi shook his head. Kro had a worried look on his face, and let out a great sigh before continuing.
"They had kept his body in the dungeons of Sheldomar Palace, locked away on the very day it was brought here. When they returned a week later to fetch it and display it in public, it was gone, although there was a body of a missing jailor there instead. Someone has stolen Shabass T'Lan's body!"
Eloi shook his head in disbelief.
"Then what is it brings you to the capital my friend?" Kro asked.
Eloi sobered up somewhat.
"I had a unexpected visitor to my Barony recently,one which I did not relish. Thoggin of all people. Unfortunately, the bastard has me by the bollocks. He knows of my past indiscretions during the Greyhawk wars and is frankly using them to blackmail me to work in his service when the mood and fancy takes him."
Eloi shifted in his chair uncomfortably.
"Kro you are one of my few trusted friends and I ask for your assistance. Thoggin has advised me that the Scarlet Brotherhood are up to some mischief in Gradsul. They think the Scarlet Brotherhood have posted a spy in the city and Thoggin wishes me to go there and flush him out."
Eloi took a long drink from his cup.
"How well do you know Gradsul, Kro? You would be a useful companion to have in that city and I would ask that you join me in my mission? I am travelling to Tringlee to meet up with my old comrade Akhan and plan to spend only one further day in Niole Dra. If you cannot join me then do you know of any useful contacts that may be of assistance to me in Gradsul?"
"Frankly," Kro said with a smile, "Having just returned from Gradsul I am in dire need of spending time on my business matters here, old friend! You must remember that I am semi-retired, and the thought of involving myself in anything that matters to the King's Spymaster does not fill me with enthusiasm. I must say no."
From Kro's look, Eloi's disappointment was clearly evident.
"But calm down, I should be able to assist you, not that you deserve my help, you scoundrel. In fact, you have met my contact there, in the Wolff and Halberd many moons ago. A 'shipping merchant' by the name of Halykk Mandrennin?"
Eloi nodded as he recalled the Oerthy Halykk and his two bodyguards, and how Akhan had actually saved his life.
"But how will he help me?" Eloi slurred, taking another deep puff of smokeweed.
"Do you think," Kro asked in amusement, "That the second-in-charge of the Orgsworth Guild is just going to tell a complete stranger who he is in a strange city? The shipping is just a front, dear boy, although I gather he makes a pretty penny for it. His office is in the Orgsworth area, near to the Docklands. Pickerstratz I think the street is called. I am sure he will gladly help you, considering the circumstances of your last encounter. Now, is there anything I can help you with while you are in the fair city?"
"As well as your company I would also ask  any information that you have regarding Shabass T'Lan's body, and it's theft. Who could I speak to, in order to gain more information regarding this disturbing event?
"Shabass T'Lan's body?" Kro mused, stroking an imaginary chin-beard. "I find it strange that your Thoggin failed to mention it! Perhaps he could assist you, unless you have anyone else within the palace or within Niole Dra whom you could turn to for information."
"You wouldn't happen to own a good map of Gradsul, would you?" Eloi continued. "Or know of any ships that may be sailing from Niole Dra to Gradsul? Does Halykk have any ships or other means of transport leaving soon? I must fetch my old comrade Akhan from Tringlee which should take quite a few days. Any assistance relating to our passage to Gradsul would be appreciated."
"A map?" Kro replied. "I'd reckon you'd have to see a cartographer in Gradsul. Likely to cost a bit though. A ship down the Sheldomar on the other hand will be easy enough to find, there are quite a few leave each day."
"How 'bout that good for nothing Mage that lives next to you?" Eloi quizzed, sinking his drink in a oner. "Mordekei! How is the worthless bastard doing these days?
"Mordekei I haven't seen in a long time. I spoke to his apprentice, Zakanieth, the other day and he said something about being 'away doing some research'.
"To serious matters!" Eloi declared, putting on his best 'drunk but serious' face. "First, my glass is empty! And what news regarding Count Fimuth? Does anybody know his possible whereabouts?"'
"Gradsul, I betcha!" thought Eloi hopefully.
"And while you're up at the drink," he continued, having gone back to his usual face of hopelessness, "How about some hot totty!
Kro smiled and shook his head. Somehow he liked Eloi's friendly but boorish manner - he was nothing if not predictable!
"Again, Thoggin is likely to know more about Fimuth - not really my scene old chap. Help yourself to the drink, and get your own totty you miserable wank!"
"Oh well, worth a try," he thought, rising and lumbering towards the drinks cabinet. Without spilling too much, he poured himself another tankard of Diamond Merrybuck, and began another night-trip to the land of oblivion.

It was a fine spring's day when Battar, the shrine's warden, called him to the vestry. The acolyte's message had eemed strangely urgent and formal, two characteristics that were almost alien to his friend and mentor. Kyros decided to respond in kind, making his way there promptly.
Swept south from Furyondy by the advance of the Dark Hordes of Iuz, Kyros had had found himself in Niole Dra after the end of the hostilities, and gratefully spent the last winter and spring so far in the small shrine to the Laughing Rogue in that city.
When he arrived, he immediately saw the reason for Battar's mood - there, sitting in a warm chair by the dwindling fireplace, was Lord Aranon Silverlief, one-time Lord High Priest of Olidamarra, and a hero of some renown, even outwith the circles of their Faith. Lord Aranon was one of the heroes who had faced Lolth on her Demonweb and destroyed her forever, and on returning had helped turn the Battle of Galden Field, the Sheldomar's last stand against the Dark Hordes, to their advantage.
Kyros knew this great man though, and had met him before, albeit fleetingly. One day, whilst in morning prayer to the Laughing Rogue within the shrine here, Lord Aranon and two companions, a human soldier and a strangely dressed Baklune, had materialised before him, undoubtedly using a Word of Recall. Astounded at their appearance, the three men said nothing before darting off from the Shrine into the Keisling area of Niole Dra.
It was only the next week when Kyros had been told by Battar that they had in fact saved the King's life that day, hence their haste.
"Sit down, friend Kyros," Aranon said in a soft and inviting voice.
He pointed to a chair next to his side, and Kyros tensely sat by him.
"Lord Aranon has a favour to request of you, Kyros, an honour," Battar said.
Aranon nodded.
"A friend of mine needs help in a matter most dire - he needs men strong of heart, body and mind to go to Gradsul with him and seek out one believed to be a dark agent of the Scarlet Brotherhood. I would have you represent us there, friend."
Kyros gulped, his mouth going quite dry. He could say nothing, and merely nodded in a meek and timid manner that did not show his true and fearless nature.
Aranon smiled even wider, pouring Kyros a glass of fine Keoish brandy. As he drank, Aranon explained.
"My friend is Baron Eloi Brandt, of Amarr in the Northern Baronies of Keoland. He is yet on his way to Tringlee to meet up with another friend, one Akhan Bherrulian, a half-Olven thief who resides within the Count's own home, Seldar Palace. Eloi is as common as you or I, and a half-orc to boot,"Aranon explained. "But he is sound, and a fervent disciple of the one trueway."
Aranon nodded towards his drink.
"Not our religion, you understand, but he is fond of observing our practices!"
Aranon burst out laughing, a hearty laugh that spoke volumes of this man. Kyros now felt totally at ease with him, as though he were not one of Oerth's finest heroes but another drinking mate in a shoddy bar of the Tarskling ward. Aranon fished a sealed envelope from within his tunic and handed it to Kyros.
"Take this to Tringlee and find Akhan - hopefully Eloi will soon be there, if not before ye. I think you will find them a most amusing duo."
Aranon reached over and pured more brandy into Kyros's glass before refilling that of Battar and himself.

Akhan had waited patiently for the right moment all day as they set off for her cousin's summer residence in the foothills. He had never been there before, and was little impressed with the tales of the fine gardens - foliage just wasn't his thing.
He was taken aback, however, at the sight of the old ivy-covered keep within the beautiful gardens. The lawns in front looked better manicured than a Ketish Houri's toe-nails, without looking artificial, and each tree looming over the avenue as they rode up, ahead of the carriage, almost seemed to him to have a character of its own. Akhan had surely never felt so Olven in all his life!
The good weather that had started their journey continued, and loathe to waste the opportunity they had, at Hanali's suggestion, dined on the flat roof of the square keep. As the sun went down, Akhan had a sense of impending doom - it had been three days now and he knew that he could not enjoy their time together until he had told her.
The sun was going down, although it was still warm, and the flickers of sunlight glanced off the gold braiding on Akhan's outfit - the clothes left to him by dearly departed Hamman. They suited him, perhaps even better than the Prince himself, and Akhan treasured them, at the same time using them as a reminder of his own mortality.
"How long will you be gone?" Hanali asked, staring off into the Lortmils.
Akhan was agape, he had not yet mentioned his journey. She looked around, smiling, and held out her hand to take his.
"Do not be surprised!" she said in an almost mocking tone. "I think I should know you by now, Akhan Bherrulian! It is a wonder to me how long you have stayed contented here, with such itchy feet as yours adventure is never far from your mind. When do you leave? Do you wish to tell me why you go?"
Without waiting for his reply, she looked downwards at the stone blocks below. She took his hand and placed it on her belly.
"I say this not only for me, but for the three of us. Be sure to return safely, for our child's sake!"

Next morning, Kyros awoke with a groggy head and queezy stomach, such as usually followed an intense evening of 'religious observance' as he had shared with Lord Aranon and Battar last night. It was not until he found the envelope stuffed inside his tunic that he recalled the point of Lord Aranon's visit, and even then it was about the only thing he remembered.
With a heavy head, Kyros tried to recall the events of yesterday. Lord Aranon himself, he mused, holding his head between his hands. Must be important. He wondered about the task ahead - was he to go to Gradsul, or was that where trouble was brewing?
"Tringlee! That's right. Well," Kyros thought to himself, "Let me look for Battar; he'll put the details right."
But first he stumbled to the washbasin - a cure for this abominable hangover.
Later that morning, having met with Battar, and having decided to set forth that very day, Kyros packed and said his goodbyes to his friend.
"Thank you Battar, for the last few months. It seems as if the last couple of months have been a whirlwind of events for me. I feel as if I've seen half the Oerth already. I shall be back for a couple more rounds of that thing you brew in that cellar of yours, and maybe a few more rounds of dice." Kyros smiled widely and embraced the man. "Well, I've got your directions and rations, so, off to work I suppose."
Battar embraced his friend and colleague firmly, then walked out to the front steps of the shrine with him.
"The acolyte is bringing your horse round," he said. "I don't know about this one, he goes through all the motions but his heart just doesn't seem to be in it. Still, perhaps all he needs is some practice in religious observance."
Battar smiled as the acolyte brought his own' chestnut riding horse around from the stable at the rear. He had not had much need for her through the years, and was out of practice at riding, but he was fond of her and her placid nature.
"Take care of Mallay," Battar said, running his hand down her neck. "I'll be sure to take care of that fiery beast of yours, but I shall not be riding her for you."
Kyros smiled as Battar nodded towards the stables - a good thing, he thought, for not many folk could handle such a horse as Wolff had given him. So fine a beast he was that Kyros dared not lost him on a dangerous journey like this. As he approached to make fast his belongings he noticed something in the saddlebag already. He looked around to Battar.
"A bottle of Keoish Blue," he said in hushed tones, as though it were a secret. "Worth more than its weight in gold my friend - enjoy it!"
If there was one thing he would miss about Keoland it was the brandy, and as Battar knew, the blue brandy was his favourite. Unfortunately the distilery at Serpensbrugge would not export the stuff, and it was priced well beyond his meagre pocket.
"Battar, you spoil me!" Kyros had only fond memories at the thought of the brandy; he would save it for a special occasion.
Without a further word he waved to Battar and mounted the mare. He then bade her to walk on towards the Merkstaff, the only gate the Keisling area of Niole Dra, which was the only part of the city that was walled. The daily market took place there, just beyond the guarded gatehouse, and the merchants were already in full swing as he rode out of the Keisling.
Not particularly needing provisions, and not too inclined towards mischief that day, Kyros rode out the gate and past the market. He decided to take Battar's suggestion of staying along the major road eastwards toward Tringlee. Battar hadn't had any clear recommendations regarding the inns along the way, but Kyros had traveled around enough to know to locate an inn before the darkening of day, failing which perhaps a good homestead could offer him refuge for the night.

His men had seemed refreshed so many days ago when they all left Niole Dra, as though they finally were sure they had done the right thing by volunteering to wander so far from home. The travelling was light, and Eloi did not push them, instead enjoying a leisurely journet towards Tringlee. The roads, obviously used by merchants for many centuries, were good, and generally free from bandits and monsters, being patrolled extensively.
It was mid-day and they were into the County of Ulek, only a couple of days from Tringlee and Akhan. As usual, at midday they stopped at the nearest tavern for some lunch and a few pints of ale, as travelling, Eloi had always found, was thirsty work. They sat outside the tavern, in the street, shaded from the warm mid-day sun by their horses' shadows.
Eloi enjoyed these men's company - they were not so base as he, as they had been forced to work hard for their living all their days, but they enjoyed many of the same things, and seemed to feel they had a most reasonable master. They often laughed and joked, and Eloi felt more that this was truly his destiny than ever before, now that his servants were opening up to him and including him in their lives. Pathetic though those lives may be!
As the cheese took its effect, Eloi let rip, and the men chortled at his gaseous talents. So far he was winning their competition, managing to squeeze out five notes after a particularly delicious stew one evening.
Then Eloi's chuckling face drew straight, and he squinted his eyes in the bright light to better see what had caught his attention. He stood up and walked over to his horse where he had a better view.
There, on the other side of the village square, out in front of his forge, a blacksmith was reshoeing a horse. A strangely familiar horse! A white stallion with fine riding tackle!
Hamman's horse!

Akhan goggled slightly as Hanali's news hit him like one of Aranon's flamestrikes. 
"Wh...  Wh...," he observed.  But he quickly realised speech was beyond him and decided to grin.  Very widely.  He stood up, sat back down again and then went over to the parapet.  Cartwheels seemed appropriate at this point.  But instead he found he was back sitting next to Hanali.
He held her hand tightly. 
"Hanali!  This is wonderful. And terrifying." 
He got up agaian and started walking back and forth.
"Bugger Eloi.  Sorry," he stopped briefly to explain.  "Baron Brandt has something to do which apparently requires my assistance.  I won't know how long it's likely to take until I find out more."  Akhan stared helplessly at the Olven woman. 
"But I wish I'd never agreed to go now. We go to Gradsul in the south, so we will be gone for a matter of some weeks at least."  He sighed.  "But don't worry, I've got two reasons to rush back now instead of one.  As if I need any encouragement..." 
He smiled, genuinely happy in spite of everything.  Drawing his seat next to Hanali's he said, "Come, let's watch the sun set and you can tell me when I need to return."

Eloi's mind was racing.
"Didn't that bint that Aranon was hanging around with after the Battle of Galden Field nick Hamman's horse?!" he thought furiously, which hurt his head. "Okay, so, Hamman doesn't need it any longer, but its the principle of the thing. A man's horse is his horse! Honour amongst thieves and all that!'
Eloi instructed his men to await his orders, but to swiftly come to his assistance if needs be. He walked over to the blacksmith who was reshoeing the horse.
He offered a  silver piece and asked, "My good man, that is a fine horse you are shoeing. Where may the owner of this fine beast be? I would like to purchase the animal from him.
The burly man wiped his grubby hands on his leather apron before accepting Eloi's coin.
"Her, milord, her," he said gruffly. "He threw a shoe and the lady who rides him is just ... well there she is now!"
Eloi turned around where the blacksmith pointed, and saw a broad-shouldered woman walking towards them from the very inn he had been seated outside. She was tall, as tall as the woman who had been with Aranon so many months ago. And she was beautiful - almost to the point of distraction - how Aranon had landed such a catch he would never know.
After two steps, she stopped dead in her tracks and looked up, staring straight at Eloi and the pointing smith.
"Hellooooo baby," thought Eloi, quickly gaining his wits and returning his tongue to the safety of his mouth.
"I was just admiring this fine horse," he claimed in a loud, brash voice. " It reminds me of a horse which belonged to a late friend of mine. I would buy it from you if it was for sale?"
"Aye and I'd buy something else too if I had a chance!" conjured Eloi's dirty little mind.
He did not wait for a response and allowed a small glint of recognition to pass his eyes.
"I seem to recognise you from somewhere Ma'am. Begging your pardon that I cannot remember, but I am sure it will come to me. Someone as beautiful as yourself, would not be easily forgotten. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Baron Eloi Brandt of Amarr at your service. May I be so bold as to offer to buy you a drink in the tavern across the square?"
Almost immediately he started talking the woman's hand went to the ornate handle of the longsword she wore at her hip. Eloi also noticed that she wore a mail coat under her fine silk blouson and pantaloons. He could tell that she was agitated by his approach, and she almost totally ignored his comments.
"It is not for sale, and do not bother me, irksome one!" she said in a confident, firm manner as she continued past Eloi towards the smiddy.
Something caught in his mind, and he was worried about the woman. Her accent, although that of a more noble woman, had a familiar tint to it. Certainly northern, but very, very familiar.
As she reached the horse, Eloi saw that the smith was about to replace the shoe that had been lost. And it was then that it dawned on him - the accent! The way she rolled her r's, the way she accentuated the word 'me'. It was a noble accent, but it was the accent of a noble from Iuz, or he would eat his underpants (and even he would not be likely to survive that event!).
Eloi looked at the woman with some suspicion.
"What would a person of Iuz origin be doing travelling within Keoland? Okay, so, I was once acquainted with the hordes of Iuz and am now a Keoish Baron, that doesn't count!" he thought. 'This woman must have something to do with Aranon and why he was so secretive. A little name dropping might be of order here.'
Eloi bowed to the woman.
"I beg your pardon, I mistook you for a companion of my long-time friend Lord Aranon Silverlief. I will bother you no further."
At the mention of Aranon's name, the woman's jaw dropped, and she froze for an instant. Then she turned and vaulted onto the horse.
"Hey!" yelled the blacksmith as she spurred it on, clattering on the cobbled road as it sped her away to the south. "Hey, I've not finished yet!"
"Feck!" shouted Eloi as the woman sped into the distance. He knew what that horse was capable of, it would be nigh on impossible to catch her now.
He looked at the blacksmith and tossed him another silver piece
"For your time. You may wish to inform your village militia that there is a war criminal at large in the area."
Eloi walked over to his men and shrugged.
"There is little point in wasting further time here. We must be on to Tringlee. If we don't get there soon I am afraid Akhan will have gambled all his money away and there won't be any left for me to win!"
He spurred his horse and headed off down the road to Tringlee. The Fenmen soon caught up to Eloi about a mile down the road. It was another two days to the city, and he hoped to hell that this infernal heat would relent, for a while at least.
"The blacksmith was heading south with a small posse as we left, Baron," Geffin told him. "From the looks of her, if they did catch her, I'd say they might get more than they expect!"
Eloi nodded and smiled.

For the next couple of days Akhan's head was filled with the possibilities which he had to think about.  He'd have to leave most of his treasure with Hanali for their future that was for sure.  The Count would always look after Hanali but that wasn't the same as some good hard cash in case of emergency.  He wouldn't feel good about leaving them here unless he was sure of their safety.
Another detail which could be put in place would be a deal with the Kansitt for an emergency escape route for Hanali.  If the worst ever came to the worst, it would be well if she could count on an alternative form of support.  That'd require some delicate negotiation with the Guild.  Akhan wasn't entirely convinced about their attitude towards their nobility, but he was fairly sure they'd be willing.  He'd ask Torral first, test the waters.
He found a more pleasant distraction in thinking of names.  In fact, he almost lost a lot of money in a late night card game musing about various candidate names when he should have been concentrating on his hand.  But later that night he found himself sorting through his equipment.  Frankly, he'd dumped most of it in a trunk when he'd arrived there with Hanali and only used his usual bag of tricks for his nightime activities.  It looked in a bit of a sorry state (and smelt vaguely of gargoyle crap) and he resolved to scour Tringlee on the morrow for the gear he'd need for the trip with Eloi.
Next evening he set out his purchases to sort through.  He'd been a bit distracted, understandably, and he was sure he'd probably fallen for a lot more of the merchants' spiel than he'd usually have doen.  But there it all sat, with him and the war-dog staring glumly at it.
As for Ash,  He was sure he could probably train the big lump to sleep on the rug.  Akhan sighed contentedly, piled all the junk on top of his chest of equipment and went off to buy that reel of emerald silk cloth he had seen in the town, which he reckoned would make a wonderful garment if their child turned out to be a girl.  He wasn't entirely sure what sort of garment but he was sure Hanali would have an idea.

From the moment he caught sight of the boy, Smokelight knew he was the messenger he had expected. Since he contacted that repugnant Gnomish despot, the 'Lord High Mareschal' Thoggin Oakley, to offer his services against the Scarlet Ones, almost two weeks ago he had been waiting for his first task.
The boy, a mere waif of around fourteen, was typical of the streetgangs which hung about the dockfront Weyrkling area of Niole Dra. Shabby clothes, no shoes, but undoubtedly a dagger hidden somewhere on his person, the boy's blue eyes latched onto Smokelight as he sat outside the Crosskeys Tavern, watching the riverships load and unload their cargoes.
He didn't even look around as the boy slipped his letter under the wizard's arm in a confident and professional manner that the Spymaster Thoggin himself would have been pround of. Smokelight put down his pipe and tankard, and retrieved the letter, glancing around to ensure he was not being watched before breaking open the Lord High Mareschal's seal.
"To Gradsul, via the town of Temperance where you will be met in the Waymeet Inn. Prepare and leave tomorrow, via the Caisteallweg or the Sheldomar, whichever you prefer. Burn this letter and scatter the ashes."
"Temperance!?!" Smokelight thought, ash-colored eyebrows lifting in annoyance. "What the Hell kind of a name is that?" the wizard wondered as he gulped down his tall tankard of ale, spilling streamlets of foam down his beard and onto the front of his tunic and fur-vest.
Lighting up one of the 'firesticks' that Mordenkainen had given him, he relit his pipe, puffing out a cloud of purple smoke that was particular to the fine, sweet Azure Haze smokeweed, one of his favourites.
Smokelight watched the hovering smoke-rings, and reminisced about some of the other smokeweeds he'd had as well: Sea Prince Counterblaste, Flotsam Gold, Olman Isle Cacaoleaf... the last had quite a kick. But wait...were these his real memories or did they come from a time before the Branching?
It was a hot spring afternoon in this busy quarter of the capital, and preparing himself would be exhausting, but he was glad to be away from the stifling heat of the city. Gradsul, he imagined, would be little better, despite a sea breeze to cool the skin.
Then again, he travelled lightly. And one place was as good as another.
Rising to his feet, Smokelight tossed a silver Rittern onto the table to pay for his drink. Listing to and fro like a creaking galley, from one too many quarts of Keoish ale, considered his options for his route to the Waymeet Inn and Temperance town.
Caisteallweg had an intiguing name - a road thus termed for the castles and forts that guarded its way, and provided a secure means of travel. It was a safe way for merchant-wagons and other good folk heading south to Gradsul. But, he thought, that road might be crowded, as well, and someone might recognize... No matter!
The river provided a fine passage, and a boat-ride would be less jarring or dusty! Smokelight imagined drunken evenings on a riverboat, watching the dim shorelights drifting by, under the overhanging boughs of the Silverwood, perhaps in the company of a comely serving wench...  Sheldomar River it would be!

The midday sun was beating down on Kyros and he had taken pity on his mare, dismounting to walk her the last mile to the village he had seen from the last hill. He was in dire need of some ale with which to praise Olidamarra, and was sure the horse would drink dry a trough.
And it was welcome to it - she had been slow at first, from lack of day-long exercise, but now she was fit and ready for some serious travelling, and he was proud of her.
The roads were good, and well-travelled by merchants and welcome patrols that rarely bothered the priest. This was a merchant's route to Niole Dra, and it was well maintained, but a trifle boring to travel, not having the rustic charms of some of the ways off the beaten track that had brought him to the Sheldomar. Still, his goal here was speed and not enjoyment.
He patted the horse's neck firmly, and as he walked on Kyros heard a noise from a small copse of trees nearby - it sounded like a woman's voice, not shouting but loud and angry, cursing and swearing like the roughest soldier.
He sighed at the realisation of his own curiosity and nosiness, and altered his appearance to that of a commonplace labourer before dismounting and leaving his horse tied to a tree. Kyros walked lightly towards the direction of the commotion to catch a glimpse of what was happening.
From the edge of the copse he could see a woman with a fine grey stallion held by the reins. She was spitting out words in a strange tongue, but he felt sure that she was cursing and swearing. As she turned towards him, Kyros almost gasped - she was beautiful, with long, black hair and a tanned complexion. She wore fine pantaloons and a blouson, both of fine silk, and a pair of shiny leather riding boots.
At her side she had a longsword, and from the cut of her blouson, sitting on broad shoulders, she was wearing a mail coat under it. Kyros noticed that the horse was holding its rear left hoof above the ground, as though it would be painful to bear weight upon it.
As she saw Kyros, her hand went to her sword. Her stare was powerful, intimidating, as she looked to see what he was going to do. She glanced to his left where his mare was tethered, and seeing that Kyros remained calm, relaxed her grip on the sword.
"Give me you horse," she demanded, walking her mount forward towards him. "I am on an urgent mission for the Duke, and I believe I am being followed. He has thrown a shoe and is lame."
She reached to her belt and removed a money pouch, tossing it to Kyros, who caught it instinctively.
"Take the money and my horse - he is worth your nag a thousand times over. Keep him, but I must leave now!" she hissed.
Kyros looked the stallion over - truly he was one of the finest horses he had ever seen, such as a prince or king might be grateful to own. He was certainly in the same class as Wolff's stallion, and that was exceptional in itself. He noticed that the lifted leg had no shoe on its hoof. He did not wish to take his eyes from the woman, she seemed aggressive and more than capable of violence, but the money pouch felt as though it had perhaps fifty coins within it.
What intrigued Kyros more was not the money, though he imagined that would come in handy, but the woman's purpose and mission. Kyros stepped forward towards woman and horse in an easy, casual sort of way, with an uneducated Common register.
"M'lady, thar's a gen'rous offer fer m'pore mare. I'm like as not t'take it. Mebbe, if you'd fergive me fer bein nosy, you seem ta be inna mighty hurry. Mebbe I could be of some assistance. Mebbe you'd like yer horse back after I fix her up fer you."
The woman stood gazing at Kyros for a second, as though he were speaking a language she did not understand. Then, without a further word she let go her horse's reins, pulled a full backpack from behind the saddle and, slinging it over her left shoulder, walked past him towards the mare.
"Ok m'lady, you can 'ave the mare if I get yer horse." Kyros shrugged. "I'm not going ta get inta trouble fer using her am I?"
"Say, is someone following ya? What's yer hurry?" Kyros persisted in his questions, eyeing her reactions carefully.
Ignoring Kyros, the woman fastened her backpack behind his saddle, and put her foot in the stirrup.
Suddenly he realised half of his gear was still attached to the mare!

Within seconds of talking to the first captain he met, Smokelight had decided that this man was so far up himself he would likely fireball the wretch after a few days of his anal witterings, and just turned and walked, or more accurately staggered, away.
Within a few minutes he had spotted the boat for him. A sailed barge, in poor condition with a crew that looked as though they would sooner take your purse and throw you overboard than talk to you. The captain, who balanced on a walking crutch despite having two legs, stood on the dock 'overseeing' the loading of the cargo, bales of cotton, with great fury and glee.
"Git yar lazy arse moovin' ya wretches, 'fore I toss yar into the murkies! I godda have this stooff in Gradsel on time or yar tardy bee-hinds won't be seein' a bloody Rittern!"
Smokelight could tell that the crew, who were ignoring his ranting, were used to this, and that the Captain seemed to enjoy his whingeing. He could also tell form ten feet away that the Captain was sodden drunk, on some cheap rum by the smell of it.
He seemed an ideal companion for the journey!
Smokelight staggered back up the hill, to the closest tavern, lumbered up to the bar and asked the proprieter what sort of rum he had in stock.
"Let's see," the grizzled barkeep muttered, "Aside from the cheap coastal brands, we have several bottles imported from the islands, and an expensive 'spiced' one from the Slave Princes away south - Captain Monmurg's Spiced Rum it's called."
"I don't want any of that blasted fancy stuff," Smokelight grumbled. "What do you have from the islands?"
"Well -- it looks like there's some Jetsom Roustabout and Red Dog 13--"
"That sounds about right! I'll take a bottle of each. Got any Velunan Fireamber?"
The barkeep raised his eyebrows.
"Are you crazy! That costs a pretty platinum penny! We don't carry that expensive northern wine here."
Smokelight chucked. "I was weaned on that stuff -- that's why I have a taste for it. Just make it a quart of good old Keoish golden, then. Uh, and make it two of those, also."
Bottles in his knapsack, Smokelight staggered back down the hill, to the boat he'd favoured - the one with the ornery, crippled captain.
"Hey! You!" Smokelight yelled across the dock to the boat-captain. "Yeah, you! The cripple with the crutch! How much for passage to Waymeet Inn, downriver?"
The Captain's eyes near popped out their sockets as he heard Smokelight's shout - obviously he was not used to taking the medicine he gave out. For a second he was gobsmacked.
"Why yer bleedin' landlubbin' ponced-oop..." he yelled, suddenly stopping as Smokelight produced the bottle of rum from within his cloak.
The Captain licked his lips, then laughed outloud, a forced, uproarious laugh and patted Smokelight on the back taking hold of the rum with the other hand.
"Yer drive a hord barginn, boy, welcome aboard. Saywerd's me name, but sin' yer such a wenker yoo kin call me Cap'n..."
The smelly drunk Captain led Smokelight up the gangplank, onto the boat, and over to his cabin. A few moments later the sound of a cork being taken out of a bottle was heard, and neither the Captain nor the new passenger were seen until later that night, long after they had cast off down the Sheldomar.

Akhan had found another problem to add to his list - money! With all their expenses over the winter months, plus his 'repayment' of the stolen goods money to the guild, he was desperately low on funds. This caused him no end of embarrasment, as he moved in quite a high circle, so he decided to keep the matter secret.
Hopefully this jaunt with Eloi might prove very rewarding!
He had, however, explained his predicament to Torral, who was more than understanding.
"Nothing is likely to happen to her here in Tringlee, Akhan - there are guards aplenty at Seldar Palace, and our people do not take too kindly to traitors. However, if it would set your mind at ease I will gladly have a distant watch kept on your good lady while you are gone. I am sure that you would do the same for me."
Akhan felt somehow that his last comment was a polite expression that he would be expected to return the favour.
"As for your financial position, well there is nothing I can do about the money you have given us. It was either that or your life, and I think you took the best deal. However, if you require some training, we can get the money from you when you return from your little adventure. I'd enjoy teaching you a few things myself, we'll start tomorrow."
With that, Akhan returned to the palace, feeling slightly better now that Hanali, and his unborn child, were secure.
He took the emerald cloth in to Hanali, and found she was reading. She smiled at his gift, closing the book as she spoke to him.
"Our child will be radiant in this," she beamed. "But be calm, we have seven long months ahead to prepare for the birth. We can little afford extravagances for now, but things will be different by then, I'm sure."
Akhan wondered again if she was a mind-reader, or a witch, for every time he had something to hide, or something he was reluctant to tell, she was there ahead of him. In the end, it made his life easier though, and he nodded, knowing she was only trying to reassure his worried mind.
The worries floated from his head as he held her then, and he headed off to bed for an early night, resolute that he would do his utmost to improve his skills with Torral's guidance. As he fell asleep, Akhan vowed never again to be worried about money, to resolve the matter soon, and for all times.

"Ho! M'lady! You better let me get my stuff from my horse!"
Kyros darted back towards his mare as the thought occurred to him, intent on catching hold of the reins or saddlebags. Not that he had much stuff, he thought. He could lose the bedroll and clothes, but that bottle of brandy...
Kyros sprinted out as fast as he could, running through the woods and undergrowth to stop the woman before she could leave with his precious brandy. As he burst out of the woods, ducking to avoid the low branches, she stopped and looked at him. Her face suddenly paled and she took her foot quickly from the stirrup, drawing her sword in a flowing motion at the same time. Something told Kyros she had drawn it a few times before, and not for practice!
She was staring intently in his direction, and, thinking nothing of it, he looked to the road behind him. On the road, about half a mile away, there was a cloud of dust that suggested several riders travelling that way in a hurry.
But she would not see those riders for the bend in the road?!
And then he saw it - hanging delicately on one of the branches he had ducked under - his hat!
Turning swiftly, he saw she was adopting a fighting stance, and a quick glance downwards revealed that he had indeed lost his valued magical disguise.
"Lady, wait!" Kyros yelled, realising what the woman must have been thinking. "Don't attack!" Kyros stretched out his arms to his sides, palms open, to demonstrate that indeed he had no aggressive intentions whatsoever.
"It's a long story, but that's my horse and my possessions are still strapped on it. I'd like them back - you can have the horse."
Kyros took a step forward, with a tone of voice as persuasive and honest as he could muster.
"Please," Kyros repeated, more assertively.
Then, with a look of concern on his face, "he said, Lady, I know you're being pursued. I've just spotted a couple of riders headed this way. With my horse you could possibly fool them, especially if I lead your horse some other direction.
"Just give me my stuff, and," Kyros smiled and bowed with a flourish, "your name, if I may ask. I am known as Sablefist."
The woman seemed deeply troubled by these events, and was glancing over Kyros's shoulder.
With an effortless move she replaced her sword in its scabbard, then sprung onto the horse's back. She reached behind her, taking the reins with her other hand, and cast off Kyros's equipment, which thunked loudly as it hit the ground.
Kyros flinched at the thought of precious Keoish Blue spilling into his belongings.
"My name is Emarill, stranger, and I am in your debt. To tell you more would put you in danger. Take the stallion into the forest, leaving a clear track - he will not get far in the open with a bad leg."
With that she turned the mare and spurred her down the road as Kyros never had.
Looking around, the riders, probably about ten or so, were only a couple of minutes away.
Kyros didn't bother to watch the woman gallop off, figuring that the riders behind would catch up any minute. He grabbed his saddlebags and backtracked for his hat.
The riders were getting way too close as he retrieved his hat. As he placed it back on his head he counted them. The dust had been a deceiver, and he counted a full eleven riders spread out almost in single file. Quickly he returned to the copse, remembering to duck this time, even though it was now a bandanna. He was amused that it had come off earlier, but mentally noted that it might have been dangerous for him.
Kyros ran back to the horse, hoping that the brandy was alright but not having time to check.
Eleven men, he thought - too many to handle. He thought about it a little, then decided to transform his clothing to that of the woman's. He planned to ride it into the forest some distance to see if he could lose the riders. The horse, who limped back as he mounted, was whinnying in discontent. It was only then that he remembered - the horse was lame!
Looking fearfully around as he dismounted, he heard the posse's hooves rumbling up the road - if he had seen them, possibly they had seen him! As he walked the limping horse further away from the road, he heard their horses slow to a halt, and his stomach churned in fearful anticipation.
"You, you and you!" a stern voice cried. "That way. You three, that way! The rest of you, off and follow me."
Kyros glanced around and saw several men entering the copse behind him.
Kyros thought quickly. There was no way out of this one, unless...
He noticed the men enter the copse behind him, but before turning around he stood closer to the horse to hide his front, and concentrated one more time - it would have been too obvious, too dangerous, to change clothing again, so he kept the attire he had transformed into. However, his physical appearance was again that of the common labourer, and where the shirt opened in front, rather than the mailshirt underneath that the woman wore, Kyros created a tattered and dirty tunic peeping through the silk outergarments. Quickly he aged his face and hands a couple of years as well, adding wrinkles and weathermarks, and waited for the inevitable summons.
"You there - hold!" one of the men cried out.
They fanned out around him, five of them, some appearing as peasants, a couple looked a bit more 'professional', in particular an Olven man dressed in plate mail. They closed in on him - their companions had not yet worked their way behind him, however with the horse injured he would not likely get very far. Kyros turned around to face them with his new disguise.
"What in the name of Gruumsh!" the Olven man cried out. He could now see this Olven had a longsword in his left hand, and looked very regal, almost dandy - undoubtedly a noble or personage of note.
"Where is the woman gone? Why have you led us astray?" he demanded.
"Woman, sir?" Kyros answered in his best Ulek vernacular. "Oh, the lady whose horse this be! Ahh, she swapped horses with me an' went down the road thataway, sir! A mighty fine beast he be too, gather the lady were in some hurry to take my old nag for 'im."
"In some hurry!" the Olven lord screamed, his face turning redder by the second. "I'll say she is - General Emarill Kyar, leader of Iuz's DragonKnights is not likely to hang about here for me to catch her. And speaking of hanging, that'll be your fate for helping her escape."
As Kyros began to protest, the elf nodded to the woods behind him. There was a worrying crack, and Kyros had almost spun around when a dull pain caught him on the back of the head, sending him reeling to the forest floor.
The forest was spinning and as he tried to pull himself up he felt more blows about his head and upper body, raining down on him until the spinning copse faded into darkness...

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