Curse of Darkness VII - Britania

[Greenfield]

This adventure picks up right at the end of the Valley of the Sun scenario, and was DM'd by the intrepid Mr. A., who plays Euphemia.
*******
The companions rose to their feet after the glory of the sun god's presence had faded from the room. Marcus was rubbing his eyes a bit, for having looked directly at the sun god he was still a bit dazzled.

"Well, he said we should head out on the south road.", Sylus declared after a long moment's silence. In the aftermath of meeting a deity, the rest of the world's affairs seemed inconsequential, so it took them all a few moments to process everything that had happened.

Slowly they gathered their things and headed out of the temple.

"We should probably spend the night here in the valley before we...". Whatever Sylus was saying trailed off as they emerged from the building. The sun was just clearing the eastern edge of the valley. No matter that they had arrived at noon and spent hours facing the challenges of the temple, it was now just past dawn.

"Of course.", Marcus laughed. "Apollo always arrives at sunrise. Check yourselves. I'll bet your bruises are gone, and your magics refreshed. It's a new day."

"Was that all a dream?", Euphemia asked.

"Well, it seemed real to me.", laughed Penn. "I mean, dreams fade, and I'll never forget him telling me how I'll die."

"I don't remember that.", Cassius said. "But I wonder if what he said about my family is true."

"Your family? He never said anything about your family. He was talking about..."

"It was real.", Imagina declared, holding out her book. The page she presented held a spell, burned into the vellum with the fire of the sun. "I think he gave each of us a vision, or a private prophecy. The future of the world might still be in question, but he can still make personal predictions."

"You don't seem upset, Penn.", Euphemia observed. "I mean, if someone told me how I'm going to die, I wouldn't be laughing."

"Well, it wasn't much, as prophecy's go. Imagina asked something about how long half-Fey like me live, and I joked that it didn't matter, I'd probably be killed by a jealous husband. Apollo corrected me, and said it would be a jealous boyfriend."

"Well, it hardly takes a prophet to see that coming.", Nedel agreed. "Still, we'd best be moving. We're due back in Rome, and we have a long walk ahead of us."
***
The southern route out of the valley resembled a goat path more than any kind of Roman road. It threaded its way through the narrow pass, then hugged a cliff face that only a mountain goat could call home.

"Well, it's okay if you don't look down.", Marcus declared, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the trail before him.

"Oh lighten up.", Euphemia teased. "You could trundle a cart up and down this trail. The sun is shining and it's wide enough to dance on."

"Well, keep your dancing to a minimum.", Sylus advised, looking at the snow pack above them. "It doesn't take all that much to shake this stuff loose."

"Hey, you're right, the sun is shining. I guess Apollo was right when he said the curse was done."

"It's only shining for a few miles around the valley.", Nedel cautioned, indicating the relatively tight circle of clear sky. "We've scored a small victory, but it will take a lot more, and a lot more time before that reaches the rest of the world."

"Eyes on the trail!", Marcus cautioned once more. "We can enjoy the stars tonight, when we're off the mountain."

Still, Euphemia's enthusiasm was infectious, and they did find a spring in their step as the headed down the cliff face. At least for a while...

***
"Our pursuers are back.", Euphemia warned the group. "I spotted them a little while ago, and then again just now. Half a dozen, heavily armed and very unhappy."

"How far back?"

"One or two cuts of the trail. They're on foot now, so I guess the bridge collapse was a good thing, in a way. Still, this isn't a good place for a fight."

"Maybe there's a way to block the trail, slow them down.", Cassius suggested. "Or maybe an ambush."

"No place to hide on this trail, but I'm sure I could do something with that boulder over there."

"An obstacle, or a deadfall?", Penn asked. Then he saw the devilish look in Euphemia's eye, and wished he hadn't.

"You guys keep moving.", she said as she appraised the stone outcropping in question. "I'll catch up."

"I'm here with you.", Sylus countered in a tone that brooked no argument.

Penn's travel song could be heard starting up as they began their work.
***
The group had been moving for another fifteen minutes or so when Sylus and Euphemia came running down the trail, waving them forward as they came.

"Hurry up, get moving. They're almost to it.", the little Rogue cried, glancing up to the trail above them. "We don't want to be on this side, in case it carries over."

"They might see it, you know.", Cassius warned. "Don't count your chickens just yet."

A scream and a rumble above them put his warning to rest. A body and a boulder crashed into the trail just behind them, then bounded further down the cliff face. But the rumbling didn't stop.

"Run!", Sylus cried. "I told you to be careful!"

And they ran. From above them came a sound so deep it was felt more than heard, and the entire frozen face of the mountain began to slide.

They fled as fast as their feet could carry them, down two more turns of the trail, then out across the flat expanse below. Ahead they could see a walled town. They didn't dare look behind.

The ground was moving, slapping at their feet and threatening to send them sprawling, and each breath came as a frosty gasp down an ice-seared throat, and they kept running. To stop was to die.

Ahead they could see the heavy town gates had been closed all but a crack, and two men in heavy dark robes stood outside, their hands weaving in a synchronized dance of magical gestures. None in the group wasted a thought trying to identify the spell, they just gave thanks that they were holding the gate open, instead of casting from the safety of the wall.

They stumbled past the waiting priests and staggered to a gasping halt as the gates were closed behind them.

"You were lucky.", the first of the men said, signaling for assistance. Men came out with warm blankets, and quickly bundled the companions into the waiting chapel.

"We get avalanches like that a couple of times a season, but it's rare to have anyone race in ahead of it."

"True.", agreed the second Cleric. "Few people travel that trail in the winter, and if they do we usually find their remains sometime after the spring thaw."

"Well, we appreciate the welcome.", said Cassius, careful to stomp the snow from his boots before stepping any further into the holy place.

"We are of the Order of the Winged Sandal", the first one said as he doffed his outer wrappings. "My name is Hector, and I'm the head priest here. This is my assistant, Arturios, and as any travelers, you're most welcome here."

He tilted his head, eying the heavy sword Cassius carried across his back, and the general martial bearing of the group, then spoke again. "You've arrived just in time for the midwinter feast. The first of three days, to celebrate the return of the sun. You're welcome to join us, of course, but you'd probably be more comfortable without all those weapons. We can keep them safe for you here, at least until you make some other arrangements."

Marcus coughed and choked himself into a near hysterical fit of laughter as the whole situation became clear. Hector looked at him oddly, but helped him to a bench before his convulsions sent him sprawling. "What's wrong, my son?", he asked.

Marcus' face was contorted with mirth as he waved away the man's obvious concern. Finally, regaining some control, he removed some of his own outer garb and revealed the lightning bolt that marked his own order.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't laughing at you. Just the comedy and tragedy of the gods.", he explained, still struggling for breath. "I'm Marcus, of the Jovian order, and these are my companions. We've just finished a pilgrimage, I suppose you could call it. We were tasked with a mission to the Valley of the Sun, and told that it had to be completed before the night of the new moon. I'd forgotten that, this cycle, that coincided with the Solstice, and the midwinter feast."

"And the return of the sun.", Penn finished for him in slight awe. "Of course, it makes sense now."

Hector looked confused, but smiled none the less. "I'm glad you were in time then, and I'm sure it is a good sign that the sun has in fact returned, if only a bit. But here, let's get those heavy packs put away, and I'm sure you'll have a tale worth hearing."

"Runner", Penn said, using the proper title for the Mercurian priest, "A good tale is the least I owe you. Let me buy you a drink to go with it, and all will be revealed."

 

[Greenfield]

***
Their gear stowed and the emergency averted, the companions accepted an escort over to the meeting hall, from whence came the sounds of music, dance and merriment.

Small groups braved the cold, clear morning air to revel in the sight of the long absent sun, and to clear their heads from the sounds and aromas of the festival within.

They had hardly set foot within before wine goblets were pressed into their hands and they were drawn into the welcoming embrace of the mountain community.

The music was loud and rhythmic, emphasized by a local instrument unfamiliar to most of the newcomers. Sylus, however, laughed at the familiar sound of the huge horn, which the locals seemed to call an "oompha" or "uba" or something like that. It was hard to get the name straight with all the noise, but it was unmistakable, and the rhythm was all but irresistible.
***
"'Tis a grand feast, friend.", Penn called to the man serving out the drinks. "But I wouldn't be both uninvited and cheap. To whom should I be paying my respects?", he asked, holding up a few coin to make his meaning clear.

"Put that away, friend, it will do you no good here. Not today. The Bacchanal is always open to all. There's no such thing as 'uninvited' at such a festival."

"Perhaps I can contribute in some other way.", the Bard suggested. "My people have a way with such things, that the wine should flow free and plentiful. Is there a vintage that you're running short of?"

The vintner eyed the Half Satyr for a moment, trying to decide if he should trust one of the notoriously flighty Fey. Then he nodded. "I have a cask of a fine Frankish pressing, forty years old if it's a day. A good dark wine from Burgundy, and it's all but gone. Do you know where I could get more, before the festival ends?"

Penn smiled. "Let me share my people's blessing then."
***
The music played, people danced and drank and ate. Some went off to find private places for more intimate pleasures, while others were not so intimate in their pursuits.

Cassius saw Penn take the stage more than a few times, and felt his power in the music that flowed from the stage. "Don't I know that song?", he asked Marcus over the din.

"Yes. That's the one he plays to give us endurance on a long march.", the Cleric replied, then realized what that meant in the current context. This party was going to last a long time, if the Bard had anything to say about it.
***
Penn rolled over in his bed, careful not to disturb his partner of the night. The festival had lasted until sunset, at which time torches were lit that the merriment could continue. The innkeeper who had been supplying the wines had also offered him a free room for the night, and he'd taken full advantage of the offer.

He sat for a long moment, his aching head in his hands, struggling to remember. It was important... Marta, that was it. The girl's name was Marta. It was dangerous to forget such things, he had learned.

Clenching his teeth to stifle a groan, he levered himself to his feet and managed to make it to the wash stand, despite the best efforts of the room, which insisted on spinning in a most disconcerting fashion. Cold water helped steady the room, though the winter morning was cold enough to make him shiver without it.

He was mostly dressed when a gentle knocking drew him to the door. A young girl stood in the hall. "Sir? Breakfast is served below, and... Sister? What are you doing in this man's room? In his... oh...", she trailed off into shocked silence.

Sister? The innkeeper's daughter? Penn looked at the child's shocked face and decided that gentle honesty was the best policy. "The young lady joined in the Bacchanal. You know exactly what that means, don't you?"

The girl nodded, jaw still hanging open.

"There is no need for shock. If you want a better explanation, ask her later, in private, after she's, um, arranged herself a bit. Now here's a bit of shine for your troubles, so off and away with you.", he finished, passing the child a silver penny.

Marta sat on the bed, her face a mixture of shock and fear. "I don't know what happened.", she began, almost babbling. "The wine and the music and, and..."

"And the spirit of Bacchus took you.", Penn finished for her. "I'm sorry if I got you in any trouble."

"Oh, I'm not the one who's in trouble.", she quipped, regaining that clear, impish smile that had caught his eye the previous evening.

 

[Greenfield]

***
Marcus was already downstairs, loading a platter with a variety of breakfast foods.

Penn, a veteran of far too many hangovers, kept it simple. Oat porridge with a little honey, and hot tea.

"Ah, thank the gods.", he added when the innkeeper came around with a pitcher of a light, foaming mixture. He had donated his own supply of Bacchus' Blessing to the man the previous night, and the host was putting it to good use.

"By the way, good friend, I think we need to talk.", he added before the innkeeper could leave.

But before any such talk could begin, two other guests entered the room. Men wearing the long robes of the Plutonian order. Men who the companions' had met before. The Innkeeper saw the Guides of the Dark Path, made a gesture of warding, and hurried away.

The pair saw Marcus, and headed to his table. Penn took his plate and cup in hand and followed them.

"We're so glad to see you were successful.", the first of the dark order began. "A joyous day indeed."

"So, what brings you two this far north? Or should I be asking, 'who' brought you."

"What do you mean?", asked the second of the nameless priests.

"You warned us that we had to be here by the dark of the moon, and the road was a fortnight long. That was five days ago. The only way for you to be here this soon was to follow the path by the Styx, the same road you sent us on. So who gave their life for your convenience?"

The pair looked shocked at the implied accusation. "There is no sacrifice called for to use that road. I don't like what you're saying at all."

"You wanted to sacrifice the Orc priest when we departed, but he fled. And half our group were lost in transit, until one of our number died. Don't tell me the lord of the Underworld doesn't set his price."

"That was a mere coincidence.", the priest protested. "The Orc's time had come. He had in fact escaped from the depths once before, it was our duty to send him back. And the fact that your companion, Apellenea, died just moments before ... well, yes, it does sound bad when you put it all together.", the man finally admitted. "But seriously we're simply here to grant you a swift passage home. The roads out of these mountains won't be open until spring."

"I'm not ready to pay that price again."

"The price will be borne by our order. You were on a divine mission, after all."

Penn glowered at the man, hearing his protestations of innocence, and not believing a word of them.

"Now, Penn", began Marcus. "I was part of that ritual as well. Do you think I would have joined in such a thing if it had that price?

"Not knowingly.", Penn replied, jaw still clenched. "And while the roads may be closed to wagon traffic, I'm still willing to take my chances that we can get through on foot."

Finally the Plutonians brought up their final argument. "You are needed in Rome. Your original mission was supposed to be a brief one, and your return was expected days ago. You have to go now."
***
Penn looked the Innkeeper straight in the eye. This wasn't a conversation he was looking forward to, but it was certainly due.

"So what are we to do now?", the man asked, simply.

"You helped sponsor the Bacchanal, and you certainly knew what it entailed. What it may yet entail, as the festival will continue for another two days. You also knew that your daughter was attending."

"Aye. She's old enough to make her own decisions.", the man agreed. "I'm not responsible for her any more."

Penn saw the sadness in Marta's face, and interceded. "Yes you are.", he said. "She's your daughter and you love her, and I know you're too good a man to abandon her if she should be with child. You would be there, to help raise that child, and so you are entitled to some say in such things."

"Will you be there?", came the inevitable question.

"I am called away to Rome this very morning, but yes, I will be there. If our passion bears fruit, I will be here to do the right thing. You have my word that I will return in the spring. And if I am detained for any reason, I will send word." He paused to write down a name and address. "If you need to reach me, send word to this man. He will see that I get the message."

"A man could do worse than you for a son in law.", the Innkeeper said thoughtfully.

"Hardly. I sing and I dance, I drink and I gamble, and yes, I favor the fairer sex and I've never pretended otherwise. I haven't a callous to my name, and have hardly put in a hard day's labor in my life. I won't shirk my responsibilities, but you and your daughter can both do far better than I.", he admitted.

"At least you're honest about who you are.", Marta admitted. "That's fairly rare, you know. Come back, whether you need to or not."
***
The companions had gathered at the chapel where they had left their weapons. The Plutonians began to inscribe the transit circles, and laid out their candles.

"Does it seem odd to anyone, other than myself, that we stand in a temple of Mercury, but it's the Plutonian order that's arranging our travels?"

"Good point.", said Hector, stepping from the wings. "Let us perform this rite. At least that way we know you'll all make it."

The prayers began, and for the companions the world fell away

 

[Greenfield]

***
The passage along the Styx is a fearful journey, one that very few take and live to tell about. Fewer still have the strength of spirit to recall such a passage, for as the goblet spills what it cannot contain, so the mortal mind rejects what mortal men were never meant to know.

But even spilled wine may yet cling to a goblet, and so when the companions arrived at their destination, they stood in shock for long moments, the image of the Stygian shores still before their eyes, then fading like faces in a dream.

Marcus drew a long, shuddering breath, then slowly exhaled and opened his eyes.

The companions stood in the middle of a plane, a circle of scorched earth extending ten paces in any direction. The ground here was already hard packed, with large rectangular stones laid out in odd geometric forms all about.

"Wow. You activated it!", came a child's voice from one side. A boy who was probably looking forward to his tenth summer stood at the edge of the stone pattern, staring at the newcomers.

"My grandfather has been trying to activate this for years? How did you do it?", he asked.

"We didn't.", Penn replied, still pushing dark visions from his mind. "It was done for us, though I've no idea why."

Then he shook his head to clear it and visibly brightened his expression. "You look like a fine strapping lad. Know you the road to Rome?"

"All roads lead to Rome, sir.", the boy responded happily.

"Ah, but they also lead away from her as well. Could you show us to the nearest road, and point us in the right direction?"

"I'll do better.”, came the eager answer. “I'll walk you all the way into the city if you like.”

"Ah, looking for an excuse to leave the flocks and spend some time in town, eh?", Penn quipped. "Hardly seems fair to the sheep, when their only chance to see Rome is from the butcher's yard."

"I have no flocks to tend, sir. They're all pastured in the hollow, being fed on hay for another moon."

"Then let's off and away.", the Bard laughed, tossing the lad a few silver pennies. "And when you see your grandfather again, you'll have a story to tell him."
***
"Hail Caesar!", Nedel said, raising his hand in salute. The party had been escorted directly to the palace, rather than to the Captain of the Guard who had commissioned their latest venture.

Markus Caesar was in a conference with a pair of burly men, red shocked and wrapped in heavy woolen wear. That is, if you could call a glaring match a "conference".

"Ah, Centurian Nedel", the Emperor responded, waving the northern nobleman forward. "I'm glad to see you, though I would have been happier had you been here when your Legion departed."

"We were sent on a mission for the city, Emperor, and are barely two days past our due. Captain Domenicus of the city guard asked us to investigate Vandal raids in nearby towns."

"Domenicus, eh? Well, he's no longer with the city guard. He's been given your old post with the 5th Legion. They set sail for Greece five days past, to engage the Vandals near Troy. I was expecting you to lead the Arcanist cohort, but you were nowhere to be seen." Caesar looked troubled. "In any case, I must relieve you of your command and your rank."

"Begging the Emperor's pardon, but you are punishing Nedel for following the orders of the City Guard?"

"He was a Centurion in the Imperial forces, not the City Guard.", Caesar responded wearily. "He should have sought leave before taking any other commission. Besides, I have other work for him, and you."

Turning, he introduced the group to his guests. "This is Fergus of Trathor, and the other is Padraig. These folk have journeyed from Britania, north of Hadrian's Wall.", he began, placing emphasis on the last part. "Their king has heard of Nedel's company, and came to me to request your services."

The import of those words was lost on no one. The regions north of the Wall were not under Caesar's rule, and never really had been, despite years of effort. These men were long standing enemies of the Empire. That they should be chaffering for Caesar's favor was most odd indeed.

"Aye.", began the first man in Latin so heavily accented with Sylvan that it was hardly comprehensible. "The King's son, Seeburn, spoke well of you. He believes a small force might prevail where an army has not, and has convinced the King to let you try."

"Let us try what?", asked Penn, first in Latin then in the Fey tongue.

Caesar frowned, for while he spoke the language of the forest folk, it was considered a barbarian tongue, and wasn't favored in the Imperial halls.

The guest, noting both the Bard's attempt at manners, and the Emperor's disapproval, replied in his rough Latin. "There's a challenge to the King's holdings, folk making trouble, raids in the border towns. There is no clear foe, no army to fight or face down. We know that they come from the Green Isle, for we've found their marks upon our slain, but the blue devils are naught to be seen."

Caesar stifled a smirk, hearing a Scott describe someone else as "blue devils", a term he had heard used many times to describe the highland folk themselves.

"Their King was good enough to recognize that you were in my service, and so he sent his request to me.", Caesar declared. "I give leave for you to depart, and if you should accept it, Vicomus Nedel, I will grant you my commission as Ambassador to the Highlands." Then he added, "And I expect a full report on these Vandals you spoke of."

Nedel bowed, accepting his new posting, temporary as it may be. Penn stayed to make the report on their findings, while the others departed in the company of the Highlanders, to make arrangements.
***
"No!", Cassius declared firmly. "The Gypsy woman saw my future, and told me not to travel by sea for four moons. It's hardly been two. It won't be safe for me, or anyone else who sails with me."

"Lad, Britania's an island.", Fergus explained for the fifth time. "There be no other way to get there, less'n you care to try riding your horse across the waves."

"We'll be safe enough if we sail west from Rome, then ride across Iberian Gaul to the Frankish port at Calais. The seas are cold, but calm here. The only real worry is crossing the channel. It's a short enough sail, but a rough one at this time of year."

"Riding the whole way will take months. Perhaps longer, if the snows are deep.", Padraig added.

"We could wait for the storms to clear and the snows to melt.", Cassius argued stubbornly. "Two more moons should about do it, I'd think."

"There may not be a kingdom to go home to if we wait that long.", Fergus countered.

"Cassius, you were warned not to travel by ship, yes?", Penn asked.

"That's right.", the warrior agreed.

"Well, let us take passage on a freight barge then, instead of a proper ship. That way you can avoid the curse."

The Highlander began to raise an objection to this specious distinction, but backed down before the Bard's sharp look.

Marcus shook his head in disbelief, for he'd heard the "fortune" told by the Gypsy woman. It had been concocted on the spot, and warned against travel by sea during the winter, sound advice but hardly a curse. And it never spoke of ships.

Cassius looked uncomfortable with the argument as well, but Penn smiled as if all were in agreement. "We'll take a day or two for business in the city, then set out on the first available transport.
***
Cassius was nervous the entire sea voyage, but it was Penn who spent the first two days at the rail.

The ride through Frankish Iberia was equally uneventful, until they arrived at the city of Paris, an island in a river.

"The markets are that way, if you want to see what the city has to offer", Fergus advised. "Padraig and I will be at the port, arranging passage. Meet us at the waterfront in an hour or so."
***
Penn marveled at the market square. "There are stages everywhere.", he observed in delight. "Are they auction places, or... "

"They're for performers.", a local said with a smile. "This is the City of Bards, if such a city exists." Then, noting the Half Satyr's lyre, he smiled even wider. "If you want to truly test your skill, this is the place."

Penn looked around for his friends, to ask if they had time for him to play, but stopped when he saw Euphemia. She was pale and nervous, and looking around with obvious discomfort.

"Are you all right, dear lady?", he asked in concern.

"Save it for someone your own size.", she all but snapped back, then caught herself. "Sorry, Penn. It's just that I don't like this place. Too many memories."

"What sort of problems, if you don't mind my asking?"

The others also attended closely, mostly out of concern, but with a good mix of curiosity tossed in, as exemplified by Cassius' response.

"Yeah, I mean we don't even know your real name."

The Halfling gave the big man a dark look as she responded. "Family problems, and that's all I'm saying. I'll just be happier when we're gone."

"Oh, you shouldn't leave just yet, sister.", came a voice from the edge of the square. Advancing with a stroll that managed to look both casual and menacing at the same time was another Halfling. His hands were empty, but tense, as if waiting for an excuse to do... something.

"In fact, you should come with us.", the small man continued, ignoring the taller folk around. "Father would be so disappointed if you left town before he got to talk to you."

Half a dozen more Halflings began to filter out of the crowd, gently surrounding the companions, weapons evident, but hands empty.

"The lady isn't going anywhere she doesn't want to go.", Penn said firmly.

The leader of the Halfling looked up, as if noticing the wiry Bard for the first time. "We're family, and this is family business. Not yours."

" Let them chase me.", Euphemia whispered urgently. "I'll be all right." And then she was gone, off in a blur of motion.

Her sudden darting run caught the predators unawares, and she was halfway across the square before they could take a step. Dodging between knees, she took off like the wind through a momentary gap in the crowd, and then angled down an adjoining avenue.

Euphemia’s “brother”, if that’s who he was, took off after her in a mad sprint, joined by another of the small company, but she had a good lead, and seemed to know exactly where she was going.

Cassius made to follow, but did so at a simple stroll, to force the hand of the remaining crew. If they drew weapons, the fight was on. If they didn't...

The circle of Halflings shifted, elongating their pattern to stay between Cassius and the mad chase that was taking shape along the cobbled ways.

Penn smiled and stood his ground, waiting for the moment. It occurred as Euphemia passed an alley. He hummed a tune and waved his hand in a small gesture, and suddenly the speeding halfling veered both left and right, like images in a mirror. One turned left down the street, while the other turned right into that alley. Her pursuers slowed for a few paces in indecision, then turned left.

"Ah well.", Penn said, shaking his head in disappointment. "It was worth the try." Then turning to the belligerent who was left in charge of the small crew, he smiled. "So, how's the weather been lately?

"Sunny for some, very dark for others.", the small man replied with an evil smile.

"Oh I don't know.", Marcus laughed. "I'd hate to be the first one going into an alley after her.

"I notice that her brother is letting the other one take the point.", Cassius chuckled, joining in on the joke.

Imagina looked nervously at her friends, unsure of what was happening, while Sylus' hand strayed near his quiver. Penn waved them back. "She said to let them chase her, and I trust her judgment. Besides, she has the advantage."

"Advantage?", asked the leader of the toughs, cocking his head to one side. "Do you know who we are?" A red mask dangled from his fingers.

"Of course she has the advantage. They want her alive, to talk to her father. She, on the other hand, suffers no such impediment." Penn let that sink in for a long moment. "As for the mask, don't tell me: You're in the theater?"

"Funny, longshanks.", the tough replied. "People around here know enough to show us the respect we deserve."

"Let me guess. Her father is, what is that title? In some towns there's a person called 'the Grandfather of Thieves'. "

"That's what he's called here as well, and he doesn't like people parting without his leave. Not even family."

"Well, we must depart. We have a boat to catch, and we aren't stupid enough to be the first to draw weapons. Not in a strange town. So if you don't mind?"

The toughs exchanged a look, the leader gave a signal, and they faded back into the crowd.

"Do you think she'll be all right?", Imagina asked, concern clouding her face.

"I honestly don't know. She seemed to think so, but there are more of them than there are of her. In any case, she didn't want us involved, and at this point we haven't much choice."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you think we could find her faster than the local Thieve's Guild can, when they know the city and we don't?"

 

[Greenfield]

***
The river trip to Calais was a smooth one, a small blessing from the dark curse above. Spring floods were coming late, and slowly, without sunlight to melt the mountain snows, and so the river was well below flood level.

After offloading from the river barge, the companions gathered at the riverfront for the final sea voyage, and began to look about for their colorful guides.

The pair were just returning from the ferryman's quay, and hailed the group as they approached.

"So, you're all here? Good, we'll... wait, we're one short.", Padraig began. "Where's the wee one?"

"She ran into some family problems. She said she'd join us when she can."

The man's ruddy face flushed for a moment. "We don't need more people knowing our business.", he grumbled. "She knows to keep silent? If the Red Masque knew we were here..."

"The Red Masque?", Marcus asked. "One of the folk sent to meet her showed us a red mask. We've seen some of their number in Rome, and they're trouble."

"Aye, they're the ones behind the troubles in Dunphries. The last thing we want is to warn them of your coming. But you said it was family problems."

"Yes", Penn cut in. "Apparently our small friend can name the local Grandfather of Thieves as kin, and before they can ask her anything, they'll have to catch her."

"Ah, hence the 'troubles' part.", Angus replied, nodding his understanding. "Just as well then, that she lead them away from us. If you're sure she'll be all right..."

The companions looked at each other uncomfortably for a long moment before Sylus finally answered. "She seemed to think so. And we trust her judgment."
***
The channel crossing was rough, far worse than their relatively calm voyage across the Mediterranean had been, and Cassius spent the entire voyage at the bow, keeping a wary eye back across the deck. He had finally recalled the exact warning of the Gypsy witch: On a ship there is no place to hide from your enemies.

But the passage was uneventful, if slightly wet, and they arrived near Folkstone by early afternoon.

As they departed, the two Highlanders wrapped themselves in long brown cloaks, hiding their distinctive plaid half-robes and rough wool tunics. Their knit tam's were tucked away, and their hoods drawn.

"I take it that this isn't merely because of the cold.", Penn observed.

"Our folk are at war with the Breton of the south, as well as the Picts of the north. Best not to show our colors here."

"You folk have gone to a lot of trouble to bring us here. What's so special about us that warrants the effort?", asked Nedel, as he scanned the quay for signs of trouble.

"The King's son, Seeburn, speaks highly of you. He tells us that you helped elect the current Emperor of Rome, and that you saved him from the Red Masque. And it seems he spoke the truth, for his name alone was enough to grant us access to the Emperor. But we'll talk more on the road. There's daylight left, and miles to go."

"Which road should we be following?", Sylus asked.

"Mor castle is north of The Wall. The fastest way would be by boat up to Londinium, then due north."

"Walking through the largest city the Bretons have seems a poor way to sneak through enemy territory." Sylus observed. "What say we ride the coast road for a few days, then cut inland before we strike any major settlement. We'll cross a few farming steads, but avoid the cities."

"Ach, man, you dasn't want to strike cross country through the lowlands. Ye'll find yerself lost in the moors, to be certain. We'll stay on the roads as much as we can, but we'll skirt around the larger towns."

And as it was said, so it was done, and they soon found themselves riding up the eastern coast of Britania. The shoreline was rugged and the weather threatening, but they managed to get quite a few miles in before any of the winter storms hit.
***
"I've never seen such a thing.", Marcus said in wonder, looking at the roadway.

"Wha? I've seen grander bits of stone than this from my cot in Dunphries.", Padraig scoffed.

"That's the point.", Marcus replied. "I've seen Roman high roads all my life. I've never seen one that wasn't finished. This one hasn't fallen to this state by disrepair, the road teams simply stopped. You can see the patches where different crews worked, but they didn't join them all."

Imagina nodded in agreement. "It looks like they began to settle here, then decided not to. See the stone walls that line the lane? Field stone, cleared to make the land ready for the plow, but then no farms, no flocks, nothing tilled at all."

"Aye, the only things these lazy bastards ever finish is a fight.", Angus laughed.

"I'm seeing lots of tracks though.", Sylus observed. "I'd say a lot of riders come through here regularly, but none of the horses are shod."

"Perhaps they're the tracks of horses being driven to market.", Penn suggested. "That would leave the sign of a tight pack like this, and they might obscure the marks iron would have left."

"The drovers would be behind the herd. Their track would still show.", Sylus countered.

"Well, this isn't Rome.", Angus offered. "Not everyone shoes their mounts."

"Still, if the road patrol is this heavy..."

"No, it's something else.", Marcus called, gesturing towards the road ahead.

A single Centaur stood in the lane, a long spear grounded on the cobbles beside him.

"What is your business here.", he called in a neutral voice, though the language was strange to most.
[FONT=&quot]
Penn spurred his mount forward, smiling broadly. "He's speaking the Fey tongue.", he told his friends. "My father's tongue, or so I'm told."

"We're travelers, meaning no harm.", he began.

"Why are you here!", the Centaur demanded more firmly.

"Why, because here is halfway between where we were and where we're going.", the Bard joked, hoping his light banter would ease the moment. "Perhaps you can direct us, for we are new to this land. How far to the next settlement?"

"The humans have a fishing village most of a day's travel along this road. Just how far north are you going?"

"I believe it's somewhere near the Wall. As I said, we're new to this land and don't know it all that well yet."

"How new are you? And why do you travel to the wall?", came the next query, still suspicious but less on edge.

"We arrived on the ferry this very morning, and are going to meet a friend who lives just into Pictland."

The Centaur eased his stance visibly. "Be careful, traveler, for the humans here hunt those of us who aren't."

"Ah. I know the slave master's whip all too well, and would wield it against no one." The Bard turned in saddle and raised the tunic along his left side to show the scars he'd received from Kergen and his Vandal troop.

"And these are my friends, who saved me from those slavers", he added, gesturing towards the rest of the companions. "So, who hunts you and why?"

The Centaur ignored this question for a moment, choosing instead to rap the butt of his spear on the ground loudly. From brush and stone arose more Centaurs, tall and well armed. They'd been waiting to see if the travelers were hostile.

"Perhaps you should come with us, and I'll explain.", the leader said.

"Ah, well the day is growing late, and a warm bed does sound better than sleeping on the cold plains.", Penn agreed, choosing to interpret the half-command as an invitation. "I thank you for your hospitality."

[/FONT]

 

[Greenfield]

***
Their guide was named Stonehoof, they learned, and with Penn as their translator the companions learned what was happening. Human hunters came to trap the Centaur children. They'd take them away to be broken and used as forced conscripts in their armies.

The raids had been going on for some time, forcing the Centaur community into a nomadic life, for if they ever settled anywhere then the hunters would find them again.

The encampment they were lead to reflected this, for their homes were arching tents, pulled into a sheltering ring around a small spring.

"These people have been in a battle.", Marcus observed, seeing a number of the free folk with recent injuries.

"Yes, they hunt us still.", Stonehoof agreed. "Our healers tend to those they can, but there are always more injured than they can care for."

"I may be able to help with that.", Marcus offered. "I'm a Cleric of Jupiter, and a student of the healing arts."

His offer was quickly accepted, and he was escorted to meet the clan leaders. The First bore the holly and sickle of the Druidic orders, and greeted the humans with cold reserve. Stonehoof was called to one side to explain himself.

Marcus was given a chance to prove his skill. One of the free folk lay on a padded mat, his breathing strained, his lips flecked with blood.

Marcus examined his charge, gently, but even the lightest touch along the young roan's side brought gasps of pain.

"This fellow's ribs are broken.", Marcus observed. "Simple healing magic may knit the bones, but if they aren't set straight he still might not recover. But he's in such pain that I can't set them without causing him to convulse, which will just make them worse."

"Perhaps if we ease his pain first.", Penn suggested.

"You have something for that?", Marcus asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Aye. Seeburn's barley brew can numb any pain, though I'm not sure how much to give this fellow."

At Penn's direction, water was brought, and he preformed his magic.

The First sniffed at the resultant brew and wrinkled his nose. "You first.", he cautioned.

Penn smiled and drew a small shot of the mix, then tipped his head back. Holding the cup clear of his lips he poured the potent liquor into his open mouth, so all could see that he was in fact drinking it.

"It's like wine.", he explained, "but ten times more potent. It will help him relax, so he can be treated."

A larger cup was offered to the injured roan, and he drank it down in a swallow, followed by almost a minute of painful coughing. Then the effects began to be felt, and his head sagged to one side. He smiled drunkenly, and all but passed out.

Marcus observed his progress, then nodded when he thought he was ready.

"All right, I'm going to place my hands here and push.", he instructed. "I need you to take a deep breath when I do. Do you understand?"

The young Centaur nodded drunkenly, still smiling.

Marcus pushed, the Centaur drew in, and there was a series of loud "pop" sounds as the ribs slid into place.

"Well done. Now we can start setting things to right." He prayed to his father for aid, his hands glowed with the golden green energy, and the healing forces took over, mending torn flesh and knitting fractured bone.

Once that was done, the Human was deemed to have passed the test, and he spent much of the rest of the evening working with the First and his aide, tending to the wounded.

"This one is very ill.", he was told. "If he could rest properly then perhaps his fever would break, but the hunters leave us no peace."

Marcus sat back on his heels, considering. The power to remove disease wasn't his yet. But perhaps...

"Penn, do you have a potion or elixir to help with something like this?"

The Bard considered carefully. "I know of a battle tonic called Dragon's Brew. It fortifies and lends endurance. Its effects last only an hour, but that might be long enough for the fever to break. I don't have any ready, but I have the ingredients. I'll see if I can prepare some. Is there a place I can set up my gear?"

He was lead to a private area to the side, where he could unpack the odd assortment of bottles, tubes, scales and measures he carried. The First's aide attended, asking questions as he worked.

"Clearly, you're a student of the Alchemical arts.", Penn observed as he worked. "This next stage is best worked in a bowl of silver, not because of the metal's virtue, but because it carries heat so well. We must heat the mix until it just begins to curdle at the edges, then cool it as quickly as possible." As he spoke, he dipped the small chalice into a container of water drawn from the nearly frozen spring. "Glass will work as well, though you must be careful it doesn't break. Earthenware is too dense, and iron will taint the blend. Copper is acceptable, but must be polished bright between uses, to keep the mixture pure."

Finally he was decanting the thick cream from the top of his small silver cauldron.

"This is it. Give this to him and be sure he drinks it all. The taste may be foul, but don't give him water to clear his throat for a full minute, lest he dilute the brew."

A soft sound drew the Bard's attention, and he saw the First standing, watching. "Thank you for teaching him that formula. What are the long term effects?"

"I know of none. It isn't like the Blood Rage, which can bring the slow madness. It's a softer brew, giving fortitude without feeding on anger, and the effect is more spread out. Normally used for endurance in the long march, or to withstand the rigors of battle. It may or may not help with this problem, but it's the best I can think of under the circumstances."

The aged Druid nodded. "It has many uses then. Good to know."
***
"So, I'm thinking that we should help with the watch.", Sylus said. "These folk don't fully trust us yet, so if the raiders come tonight, they might think that we lead them here."

"I agree.", Nedel said. "Penn and Marcus will be working into the night, but the rest of us can take turns on patrol."

And so it was decided.
***
Sylus sat, still as a stone, watching everything and nothing. "When you look for something", his mentor had often said, "then you'll see nothing else." So he looked for nothing, and everything became apparent.

He flicked a small pebble towards his companion on the watch, a wary Centaur named Lowspear, to get his attention. His fingers moved in a serpentine motion to the right, then he flicked his gaze sharply to his own left. Lowspear signaled his understanding, and turned away. His hooves were silent in the thin layer of snow as he vanished from sight.

The Ranger unfolded his legs in a single smooth motion that took him from his seat to a low, stalking crouch. Keeping low, he slid off towards the brush on his left.

There was a crash and a cry from the trees ahead, and Sylus broke into a run, heedless of cover or a need for stealth. Lowspear had proven the faster of the pair, and had reached the intruder first.

By the time the Half Elf had arrived, it was over. Lowspear towered over the fallen scout, one hoof planted firmly on his chest, the point of his weapon tucked under the man's chin.

"Now, what would bring a nice man like you out on a blustery night like this?", Sylus asked with a smile.

"Traitor!", the man snarled. "Siding with the dumb animals!"

A lightning quick movement of Lowspear's weapon, and the conversation was done.
***
"So, where did you find him?", Cassius asked.

"He was using the wash to the west.", Lowspear replied in broken Latin. "I wanted to kill him, but thought better of it."

"Good decision.", Sylus replied approvingly. "Now we can question him."

Penn looked around groggily. "If you know where he was, why not have your trackers follow his backtrail. That way you're hunting them."

Lowspear looked at the Half Satyr in slack jawed wonder. "I never considered that.", he admitted. "We avoid them when we can."

"Well, they have some of your children, don't they?"

"That may work, but this will be faster.", Nedel said. Moving to the prisoner, he gently shook the man awake.

"Now, friend.", he began "Let's talk."

The man found his gaze captured by the penetrating stare of the Sorcerer, and he almost felt his mind surrender to the power of the man. Almost.

"Yes, now we'll talk.", Nedel continued with a smile, as he repeated the enchantment. He had all night.
[FONT=&quot]***
"Well, he still thinks anyone who sides with you is a traitor to their race, but he did share a few bits of information.", Nedel explained when he was through.

"He says their camp is about two hours east of here, south of the old road. He says there are eight men working with him."

"So, they're bounty hunters? How much gold is our blood bringing them?", Stoonhoof asked, fire flashing behind his glare.

"They work directly for the Breton commanders. Not blood money, just conscripts.", Nedel said, trying to calm the angry Centaur. It didn't work.

"So what's the plan?", Penn asked, trying to change the subject.

"Get some rest, everyone.", First declared. "We'll gather before dawn. We'll get our children back."
***
Penn overslept, which wasn't typical, but then he'd had a late night. Hot porridge was ready when he stumbled out of the tent, and he gulped it down.

"We have more information.", Lowspear informed him. "The snake didn't come alone. Windemere laid a snare for any who might follow, and it caught a weasel. "

"And he talked?"

"Your friend's magics took him, and he spoke freely. Four other scouts out, looking for us, expected to report back soon. They'll be considered late by the time we get there. We have to hurry, or they'll be on alert."
***
The parties planned as the traveled. The companions would approach from one flank and use magics to try and sew confusion and panic among the enemy. With luck, they'd drive them out of their camp and into the waiting Centaurs, who would lay in wait on the opposing side of the camp.

Once they were in the area, Penn invoked a special magic, attempting something new.

It worked. His already slender form became even more elongated, and huge wings sprouted from his back.

"I'll fly well to the south, to scout the area.", he suggested. "Knowing the layout of their camp will help."

The others agreed, and he set off.

At first he kept low, but the sheer exhilaration of the sky took him. The chill winter air felt thick beneath him, and the hard pump of the wing beats helped keep him warm. He raced, swift as a running stallion, and he soared as if in a dream. He was almost lost in the experience, but the needs of the day kept him focused.

Looking north, he spotted the enemy. He kept his distance, lest he be spotted, but he made a thorough survey, then returned to report.
***
"Your new friends lied.", he declared. "It isn't a camp, and there are more than eight. I counted two dozen horses, saddled and ready. They've taken an old farm as a base. As near as I can tell, they're keeping the prisoners in the barn, and bunking the soldiers in the main house." He used a stick to draw in the snow, illustrating the things he spoke of as he went.

"There's a low wall about here, but it's more of a fence than any battlement. There's a farm kitchen here, judging by the size of the chimney, and some out buildings here and here that look like the commanders' lodgings."

"And they're all present?"

"Their horses are there.", the Bard reaffirmed, "and there were a few in the paddock area, already up."

"There's a stand of woods to the south, about a hundred yards, and a gully to the west that could hide a small group. It comes within a few hundred feet of the perimeter wall."

There was a long pause while Stonehoof digested these facts.

"We'll move in from the south then, and get as close as we can. You smaller folk use the gully as cover. Now, what will be the signal to attack?"

"Oh that's easy.", Penn grinned. "Those buildings have thatched roofs."

[/FONT]

 

[Greenfield]

***
It took some doing before Penn figured the best way to handle his burdens. The torches weren't large or heavy, but he had to trail them behind, lest they singe his wings.

This time his course was a tight circle over their position, to gain altitude while the others moved into position. Then, when he saw that all was ready, he dove down from the eastern sky, trading altitude for speed, and darted across the farmyard swift as an arrow.

The first torch landed on the roof of the dining hall, and the second on the bunk house. Then he was off and away, before anyone could see or react.

From the cover of the gully, Sylus saw the fires catch, and the men in the yard react. Reaching low, he twined his fingers into the thick grass and said a single word: " Rootbind"!

"Thank you, Apellenea", he whispered afterwards, a near silent prayer to a fallen friend.

Within the farmyard, the grasses began to twist and writhe, seeking, reaching, grasping.

The doors of both the bunk and meal houses burst open as the occupants fled the smoke and flames, only to find themselves caught in the twining grasses outside. Men in back pressed forward, toppling those whose feet were first so entangled, and many were trampled. But even the stampede of bodies slowed to a halt as the second rank found themselves snared in turn.

The battle had begun with panic and confusion, and the Centaurs charged in with spears leveled.

A lone scout, looking bedraggled from a long night afoot, stumbled into the barnyard, screaming a warning. "They're coming! Hundreds of them! Run for your lives!"

And from the east rose a figure of terrifying size and power, a dark warrior as tall as a rooftop, whose blade looked ready to scythe through all before him.

"Surrender or Die!", thundered the giant as he smashed his way through the paddock gate.

The Bretons ran in panic, where they could move at all, and the Centaurs ran them down without mercy.

"You there!", cried one officer. "Pikemen, form the wall! Hold that line! Archers, make ready!"

But his orders, firm and clear as they were, went unheeded in the madness of the moment, and he quickly found his own feet rooted to the ground.

One soldier, a champion by his bearing, screamed his defiance, and strove to tear his feet free of their restraints, eager to close with the foe.

He needn't have bothered. Cassius long strides were carrying him towards the champion. His immense blade twisted as he swung, so he laid the flat of his blade across the man instead of cleaving him in twain.

The heavy blow caught the man under the breastplate and lifted him off his feet, tearing away great lumps of sod in the process. He landed heavily a man's height away, where he lay gasping, struggling for breath.

"There's a hundred more!", screamed the scout. "They hid behind invisibility!"

And sure enough, the sounds of huge pounding feet could be heard charging in from the western edge of the camp.

Those who had not already done so were now casting their weapons away, raising their hands in surrender or prostrating themselves before the incoming force.

With a snarl of frustration, the commander threw down his own blade, where the tangling grasses quickly covered it in a living scabbard.

And it was over.

The battle at the barracks had been the bloodier one, and Marcus found himself pressed to service aiding the wounded of both camps.

The "scout" grinned and his features melted to reveal Nedel's smiling face.

The commander's face contorted with rage as he realized the true nature of the assault. But it was too late. As the grasses released the captives, they found themselves facing a line of angry Centaurs, while Sylus and Imagina collected their discarded arms.

The Centaur colts were released, and quickly raced for freedom.
***
"They'll be back, you know.", Marcus confided to Lowspear. "They won't give up."

"Let them come. We won't be here.", Stonehoof called in answer. "Your guides have invited us to talks with their king beyond the wall. If those talks go well, we'll be able to make homes for ourselves in his lands. We left the camp with orders to make ready, and we'll be gone within the hour."

"I'm surprised by one thing.", Nedel posed, half in question. "I can see why you took none of the humans as prisoner, but you didn't even mark them. Many would have laid a brand on them, or taken a finger. You even healed their wounded. Why?"

Stonehoof regarded the Human with a mixture of sadness and surprise. "A very human question. What good would it serve to maim or kill those who have already yielded the field? Taking vengeance would only inspire more vengeance, and it would never end. "

They finished their trek in silence as the companions considered this answer.


[FONT=&quot]***
A cold wind blew in from the sea, carrying its salty scent for miles. The low shores had given way to bluffs and finally high sea cliffs as the Centaur clan moved north. They followed the roads at first, so their tracks would be lost among the other traffic, but even so they had to dodge patrols regularly. They didn't ask if the patrols were from the hunters or were just normal traffic, for they really couldn't afford to have anyone carrying tales of their travels.

The nights were bitter cold, even with the tents for shelter, and the sunrise never truly came, just the ashen gray of winter skies, and the sunless curse.

After three days riding the coast road they turned inland, following the river road towards a place called Hamstead, if the mile markers were to be believed. Here the woods grew thicker, giving them shelter from both the winter wind and from prying eyes. First and Windemere were saddened by the conditions here, for without the sun the woods were slowly dying. Yet they pressed on.

They turned north once more before crossing a shire called Nottingham, keeping their path clear of human settlement. Slowly the way climbed, and the ground grew rockier. Ahead they could see the mountainous heights of their new home, bleak and forbidding in the gray of winter.

The clan hesitated when they reached the wall.

"If we cross this, we take a side in the Human wars.", Stonehoof warned. "If this King in Dunphries will not have us, we will have nothing at all."

"The Breton aren't our friends now", Lowspear countered, "so what matter if they think the worse of us for this? We can't betray a trust that was never given."

First thought long and hard on this before coming to a decision. "Let each choose for themselves. Those who aren't sure, let them stay south of the Wall. There are woods here we can hunt, and streams we can fish. That way there will be a welcome for the rest, should we be turned away. And if we find welcome in the north, then we'll send for our friends here, that they may join us."

The decision stirred the clan into low turmoil, for while they recognized the wisdom of the First, they didn't want to split their community. Both groups would be the weaker for it.

Then Windemere clenched his jaw, hugged his mentor, and declared, "We who stay south will gather by the milestone, yonder. Share out the supplies fairly, for the winter is still with us, and spring may come late. And I'll accept no half decisions among us. A family either stays here, or the family ventures north." He clearly didn't want to stay behind, but he knew that if there wasn't a healer and leader here, then none would stay.

In the end, about half the folk decided to stay and await word in the spring. So a few dozen Centaurs crossed the Wall with their guides, hoping for a future in mountainous Pictland.
***
This place could be beautiful.", Stonehoof remarked as the went. "From afar the mountains look forbidding, but there are meadows and forests, places where a family could grow."

"Aye.", agreed Fergus. "The thistle grows thick here, and in the spring all these hills will be purple and green with their blossoms. E'en now, the land sleeps 'neath her blanket of white, resting for her awakening to come."

They passed flocks of sheep, feeding on the grasses their tenders laid out for them, harvested last Autumn for this purpose, and riders could be seen in the distance, yet neither Fergus nor Padraig shied away from them. "Those are our people.", the guide explained. "It means that we're close."

They lead the companions and the Centaur clan through the next low pass and into a coastal valley, culminating in a moderate sized bay facing the sunset.

The farmlands of the area may have lay fallow or been in full cultivation for all anyone could tell, for the blanket of winter hid all from view. A town seemed to wrap around the shoreline, as a mans hands would wrap a warm drink on a cold night, and near the head of the bay rose a ridge of stone, with castle set firmly on top.

The town buzzed with curiosity as the folk spied the odd travelers, beginning the moment they passed the south gate. The Centaur clan kept their weapons sheathed and their bows unstrung, to allay suspicions, but there was no doubt that rumor would easily outpace the truth as the news spread.

The castle rose stark and bleak as they approached, streaks of weathered mortar running down the dark stone like blood from an open wound, and a pair of heads were prominently displayed on pikes outside the gate.

"Ah, a welcome sight indeed, after such a journey.", Penn quipped. "No doubt hot baths and great feasts await within."

"Best curb that glib tongue, master Bard, lest the King remove it.", Angus advised. "He has little use for dandies."

[/FONT]

 

[Greenfield]

***
Despite the less than warm welcome outside, servants appeared almost as soon as they arrived with warm cider in hand, ready to unburden the newcomers of their sodden outer wraps. They were escorted directly to the King's audience chamber.

First and Stonehoof elected to attend, while the rest of the Centaurs were offered food and drink.

"Your Majesty!", called Angus as they entered, raising his hand in salute. "We have brought the company you requested, and a troupe of possible new allies as well."

The king peered across the torch lit room, harsh judgment in his stare. He waved the companions forward, while a stewart brought warm blankets for the Centaurs.

"My son says that you are a capable group, trusted by Caesar himself.", he began, though his tone carried little of praise. Seeburn was present, but stood far behind his father, eyes downcast.

"I have a problem, an enemy, a snake whose troops coil along my northern border, but whose head is on the green isle. The solution, as with any snake, is to take its head off. I need you to kill the leader of the Red Masque."
***
The old stone chamber echoed with the silence that followed the King's offer. Even Penn was at a loss for words.

The companions shuffled their feet uncomfortably for a long moment, then Penn stepped forward.

"Begging your majesty's pardon, but I'd like to ask a few questions. What is the specific threat they pose?"

The King growled as he hunched forward in his throne, eying the colorful Bard. "Their forces to the north have cut off our trade. They've raided our villages and farm steads, slaughtered our flocks and burned our crops. When I sent troops to deal with them, they were ready and waiting, and we rode into their trap. I lost half of that force."

He rose and paced angrily as he continued. "I'm at war with the Bretons to the south, as well as the Picts. I'm stretched as thin as a drumhead, and I can't fight a third front. That old bastard wants my lands, and I want his head. Simple enough?"

Penn considered carefully. "Before we give you any reply to your offer, let's consider all the alternatives." He eyed the King, a Half Elf of unusual size, broadly built and muscular. His ruddy face seemed an extension of his rust-red hair, and heavily lined with worry and a rage that boiled just below the surface.

"Whatever plans we make, we shouldn't make them here.", Penn said. "If your enemies are the Red Masque, and if the enemy was ready and waiting for your troops, then it's a fair bet that they have spies within these walls. So before any decisions are made, let us consider the best response, and the best way to deliver it."

The King looked up in surprise, the habitual fury fading for a moment. "You and yours should talk, I agree. We'll speak more after supper." He half turned towards his son. "Seeburn, show our guests to their rooms."

"Yes father.", the warriors replied, oddly subdued.

The party left as the King began to speak to the Centaurs.
***
Seeburn's footsteps rang softly off the stones as they climbed the cold, winding stair. No one had much to say.

"Seeburn", said Penn, looking up at his friend. "I can't really see from here unless I hoist that kilt of yours, but you seem to be missing something. Did your father cut them off?"

Surprisingly, Seeburn didn't rise to the bait. "My father isn't happy with me. I've been studying magic, and he doesn't approve."

"Your sister bore the holly sign, the mark of the Druids. Is he angry with her?"

"She has taken after our mother, and learned nature's way. I'm expected to be a man, to swing a sword."

Little more could be said, so they said nothing more on the subject.
***
"Simple question, are we mercenaries? Assassins?"

The question need hardly have been asked, but it was best that such matters be made clear.

"So, all we need to worry about now is how to tell him that, and live through it."
***
The torch lit hall was festooned with banners and battle flags where the evening meal was being laid out. Outside the walls the winter winds moaned, but in here was warm and bright, if not merry.

The stout oak tables were laid out in a huge "U" shape, that the various parties could face each other, while servants or performers could work in the clear area. At the head table, the King sat with his daughter on his right hand, his wife on his left, and Seeburn to his mother's left.

"So, you have considered the job before you.", said the King, more a statement than a question.

"Yes, your majesty we have.", replied Penn. Looking to his friends, he asked, "May I speak for the group?"

Seeing their nods of assent, he turned once more to the King. "Your majesty, we're more than happy to lend you our aid, but if someone has told you that we're hired assassins or mercenaries, they were mistaken."

The king looked scornfully at his son, who wilted before his glare. "Seeburn said you were capable folk, and that you'd faced down the Masque before."

Penn considered the best way to approach this. "Your Majesty, you look like a man who enjoys a good hunt. Am I right?" Seeing the King's agreement, he pressed on. "When you hunt, do you say, 'I'm hunting for grouse today', or "quail would make a fine supper'? Of course not. When you want meat for the pot, you hunt for whatever game presents itself. If you go looking for only one thing, you come home hungry more often than not. So it is with us. We will hunt for a solution to your problem. If that ends with the death of the Grandfather of Thieves, so be it. If it ends with us sharing a round with him and buying him dinner, that's just as well. We'll bring home whatever meat we can find, and whatever it is, we won't leave you hungry. We'll be happy to meet with you, in private, to discuss arrangements and particulars, but some things are best spoken of behind closed doors."

The King looked as if he wanted more, but thought better of it.

The conversations then turned to discussions of the spring campaign against the Breton, and of talks with the Picts.

Penn hefted the slightly battered pewter goblet that held his ale, examining it carefully, and began to quietly hum a tune.
***
"Seriously, I've been practicing magic.", Seeburn insisted. "See?"

He moved his hand through a complex gesture, which produced a small puff of smoke and nothing more, save curses from him and stifled laughter from his friends.

"Hush now, I'm listening.", Penn cautioned, as he activated his spell.

"What are you listening to?"

"The clatter of crockery, for the most part.", the Bard joked. "I placed a spy charm on my drinking goblet. I suspected that there were spies in the hall, and servants are always excellent gossips, so I thought I'd see what they were saying."

He was treated to ear wrenching sounds as pewter goblets and tankards were dropped into the boiling kettle, followed by the clatter of crockery being scraped clean and immersed as well. He'd made certain to leave half of his drink behind, knowing that servants often held such things aside to be consumed later.

Finally the din faded, and he was able to make out voices.

"Are they gone? We're alone?", came a man's voice.

"Aye, but let me be certain.", replied another, a deeper, richer voice. Words followed in an arcane tongue before the conversation continued."

"I have news.", said the first voice. "The newcomers have refused the King's orders. They won't hunt the Grandfather."

"Well done, Copernicus. Did you dissuade them?", asked the second man.

"Nay, it was their own doing. They spoke of hunts and sharing drinks with the Grandfather, but nothing specific."

"Good. Then they get to live, at least for the moment.”
*******
The King stood to greet Stonehoof, giving First a less warm welcome.

"My people tell me that you've brought a small army into my city.", he began, cutting directly to the point. "To what purpose?"

Stonehoof looked at First, lost for a moment, but it was clear that the King was a warrior, and presumed that the warrior was the Centaur leader as well.

"We are no army.", he began, "And this is no invasion. We are freeborn people of the south, driven out by the predation of the Bretons. Seeing as they are no friends of yours either, we come seeking little more than a place to live, lands to farm and hunt, where our families can live in peace."

The King pondered this for a moment. "What you ask, I cannot give, for I have no lands to grant and no peace to share. You and yours are certainly welcome here, and if you give fealty to me I will offer you the protection of my lands. And any enemy of the Breton will find friends here."

"Protection, but no place to live. A gracious offer, but one that leaves us with a problem. Is there no place for my people?"

"I dinna say there was no place to live, simply that I can't give lands away.", the King explained. "I'm in a war over land now, and have promised or given outright land grants to my allies. I've no more to give right now. If we are successful, there will be lands to own and claim. In the mean time there are forests and hills, some mine directly, others belonging to the Lairds who owe me fealty. And since you come as friends, I'll ask no tax nor rents 'til second quarter day, which is half a year from now. We will find a place for you, never you fear. I'm told there are over a score of you in the castle now. How many more are in need of lodging?"

"We are but two dozen here at the moment.", Stonehood explained. "The rest will join us in the spring, when the snows have begun to melt and the way is clearer."

"I'll have one of the barracks cleared and made ready, so you and yours will know warmth until you can make other arrangements. I'll have my factor go over the lay of the land with you, that you may find a place to build your own."

"You spoke of tax and rent.", put in First. "What will be due, and how is it to be paid?"

The king smiled, knowing now that these people were no fools.

"The tax is three copper on the gold for any trade, and rents will depend on how much land you covet. Either may be paid in coin or in kind."

"In kind? Goods or service?"

"Craft or trade is all well enou'. But I'm at war.", the King said bluntly. "I'll force no man to fight or die for me, but those willing to take up arms in my cause will serve their own as well.", the King said. "Any rents due can be taken from the soldier's wage, and its honorable work. Ye'd be defending your own as well as mine."

First and Stonehoof exchanged a look that was lost on the King, but significant none the less.

"We'll accept your offer of hospitality, if we may, and discuss the rest.", explained First. "But you need clear no barracks for us. We'll fit in where we can, for as you are being a generous host, so we should be considerate guests. We can pay our bills in town, if nothing else, for we didn't come as penniless paupers."

Stonehoof smirked, then retrieved a bulky sack from the entry hall.

"Has a King at war any use for such as these?", he asked with a smile, emptying his burden onto a long table.

Iron and bronze rang aloud as the collection of blades and hammers taken from the hunters spilled across the oaken expanse.

"I think we have the basis for a discussion, we do all right.", responded the King with a broad grin.

 

[Greenfield]

***
Penn ended his spell. He had what he needed, or at least a place to start.

"Seeburn, do you know a man named Copernicus?", he asked his friend.

The warrior looked up from his efforts, thought a moment and nodded. "He's one of the kitchen help. His family has served ours for generations."

"Well, he's currently serving your family secrets up to the enemy. The question is, what do we do about it?"

"My father will kill him.", Seeburn said flatly.

"And we need to know who he's working for. I doubt that he's the only spy in the house, and if he's killed then his master will simply bribe someone else to take his place. For the moment, we know our enemy. Kill him and we won't."

Nedel leaned his chair back against the wall, eyes lost in thought. "Do you have any of that honey mead with you?", he asked.

"I can arrange for some."

"Good. I have an idea."
***
Copernicus was banking the kitchen fire so it would last the night without having to be fed when the tall man in black entered the kitchens.

"Dyou have a ppproper tankard?", the Sorcerer slurred as he staggered to a bench and sat down. "These ssskinsss won't give more than a piss-tinkle. A man can't get a good swallow from piss-tinkle!" He gave one of the wineskins a squeeze to illustrate his point, spraying a thin stream of amber into his mouth.

"Where did you get that, friend?", the servant asked, moving to support the sagging Sorcerer.

"It'sh good shtuff!", insisted Nedel, pressing the skin into the servant's hands. "Have a drink with me and you'll shee. Where's a tankard?"

Copernicus sighed and, putting his shoulder to the job, managed to lever the drunken guest about so he was draped across the table instead of sagging to the floor. He scarcely heard the muttered words, and wouldn't have recognized them if he did. Neither did he see the clarity and focus in Nedel's eyes as the spell took effect.
***
A pair of footmen carried the unconscious form up the narrow stairs, muttering curses as they went. "Foolish wriggle-finger can't handle a man's drink.", one of them swore. "Feels like he drank a gallon of it.", complained the other as he shifted his grip. "It'd serve him right if we dropped him in the stables."

Once at the landing they walked across the common room and deposited the slack form on a bench, then turned and left.

"Damn!", swore the Sorcerer once they'd left. "I tried that blasted charm over and over again. He either has an iron will, or else he has no mind to affect."

"Didn't the mead help?"

"He never tasted it.", the nobleman swore as he pulled himself to a sitting position.

"I could have told you he wouldn't.", said Seeburn. "The folk here don't like sweet drink. The land doesn't grow grapes, and the bees don't make much honey. Bees like flowers, and flowers like the sun, and, well, there hasn't been much sun. That leaves barley. Barley beer, barley ale, and barley liquor."

"A proper mead isn't sweet. It tastes no more like honey than a good wine tastes like the grape."

"Enough, Penn, we know. Blessings of Bacchus and all that. It didn't help."

"Then that leaves little but blackmail."
***
The winter sun sleeps late in the northern lands, a luxury not afforded to the companions. The castle was alive and moving well before the pale dawn, and the company was up and ready when the call to breakfast came.

Barley water and barley porridge made up the bulk of the morning's fare, accompanied by coarse brown bread and slices from a wheel of hard goat's cheese.

" That's Copernicus who just served you", came the quiet whisper in the ears of Penn and Marcus. Both looked up in surprise, but a meaningful look from Seeburn at the head table quickly told them the source of the voice.

Marcus made a sour face at the taste of the morning beverage, pushing it away. "Penn, do you have any of that mead left?", he asked.

"I think so. I'll go check." Rising, he turned towards the kitchens, beckoning Copernicus to follow. "Come, we'll find something to his taste."

Once alone in a corridor, Penn stopped.

"Copernicus is it? We need to talk."

The servant looked confused rather than guilty, a point that didn't escape Penn's attention.

"I happen to know that you've been reporting on us and our business. And not to the King." He paused for effect, to see how the man reacted. "Tell me who hired you, and I won't be reporting to the King either."

The man wilted visibly. "Kill me then. It doesn't matter. I'm dead no matter what."

"I never said anything about killing you.", Penn replied in mock surprise, for he knew that reporting him to the King meant exactly that.

"You don't understand, they have my family. If I talk, they're dead. If I'm killed though..."

"They're still dead.", Penn finished for him. "They'd have no reason to let them live. And if they returned with the tale, the King would cast them out. Dispossessed, in this season? Starvation and the frozen sleep. We need to do you better than that."

The man looked at the Half-Satyr desperately, looking for a way out.

"If we caught the man who you report to, and you weren't mentioned or involved..."

"Do you know how many spies there are in these halls?", Copernicus said bitterly. "We spy on each other spying on each other. Fifty seats at that grand table, fifty war leaders, Lairds and Clan Chiefs, each one looking for an advantage over the others. Some of us sell information to both sides. Stopping me, or the man who hired me? That won't stop anything."

"Well, you must have something to trade. Tell the King of a spy and he'll call the headsman. Tell him of an opportunity though..."

Copernicus shook his head. "Do you want to know who's purse strings bind the headsman?" Then he thought, long and hard. "I do have something to trade. If you make the arrangements, I'll speak to the King. But no one can know!"

"I'll see what I can do, but really, you're closer to the King's ear than I am."

"Yes, but if this fails his anger will be leveled at you too, so I know you'll want this to succeed."
***
[FONT=&quot]"What's this?", demanded the King, looking at the sealed parchment in confusion. The servant who had delivered it nodded towards a slender man in robes of shimmering silk who stood in the doorway.

The King unsealed it, saw that it held writing, and in irritation flung it at Seeburn. "Make yourself useful, dolt.", he commanded.

Seeburn flushed red, but read the words his father could not.

"It's a message, an important one, but one better discussed in private.", he informed the King. "Too many ears here."

The King looked unhappy, but nodded his assent.
***
"Your majesty, may I have a word?", Penn asked politely.

The King's look made it clear how little regard he held for the Bard, but he agreed.

"Let's walk the grounds, shall we? I have some of the southern wines for you to sample, and they're best enjoyed in a quiet place." Penn looked around and gestured to a servant, apparently at random, and directed him to bring the pitchers and goblets.

"Where did these come from?", demanded the King. "You had no casks in your gear, and there are no vines in these valleys."

"It's a gift of my people that wherever we go, good food and drink are always available."

"And here I thought you a useless poppinjay.", snorted the King in derision.

"Ah no, I always endeavor to be a useful poppinjay.", joked the Bard. Seeing the look on the King's face he decided to let his efforts at humor lapse.

"There is a spy in your court, as we discussed earlier. That's why I wanted to leave the halls. Spies seldom find excuses to be wandering outside their assigned duties." The Bard lead the King on a random route through the wood, staying on the path but avoiding well traveled areas.

"There are exceptions though.", Penn continued. "When one is commanded to stray... Like this man, for example." Turning, he indicated Copernicus. "Let me take your burden, friend, while you tell the King what you must."

"Your Majesty. I've been in your service my whole life. I've been in the service of the Masque for the last three moons, since the night they took my family. But they've promised they'll be returned once you are gone. I think that will be this very night, if they have their way."

The King stopped dead in his tracks, his hand going to his sword. He looked around, eyes wary, expecting an ambush that never came.

"I am not their only agent.", the man said, pressing as a man possessed. "Other serve willingly, for gold or promises. And they have been warned to keep their families clear of the north end of town tonight."

"Why?", demanded the King.

"A small party plans to burn as much of the town as they can, just after sunset. That will draw the fire brigade and the guard to them, to fight the fires. Soon after a small fleet of ships, four or five in all, will land troops. They'll take the town, and if possible the castle as well."

The King looked aghast. "Four or five ships?", the King asked in disbelief. "Across the Irish sea in winter? They're mad!"

"Mercenaries, your majesty. If they die the Masque need not pay them, so they're free to hire more. But if they succeed..."

The King looked grim. "That will be nearly a thousand troops, in the city. I couldn't hold against that if I had a month to make ready."

"Then the best solution would be not to let them land.", Penn interjected. "Or at least, not all at once. A soldier on the field is a dangerous foe. A soldier on a ship, on the other hand, is just a man. I'm told your wife is a Druid, as is your daughter. Sunset comes early here at this time of year. Scarcely three hours past mid day, in fact. The tides will be coming in, but still low. I wonder what that root-binding spell would do if four or five ships tried to navigate through when the water was low and the seaweed was high?"

The King began to smile. "I'll rally the town. We'll be ready with bows and fire arrows. We'll man the scorpion at the head of the bay. We'll gut them like fish."

"And their spies will warn them off.", Penn pointed out. "No, we need a pretext for such a gathering. Say, an archery tournament, to welcome your new guests? I'm told that Centaur are excellent archers. I'll gift a hogshead of fine mead for the winner, and wine for the celebration."

And the King's smile grew wider.

[/FONT]

 

[Greenfield]

***
"So I'm not to compete?", asked Sylus, somewhat disappointed.

"No, the people here have heard of your prowess, your Olympic victory.", the King beamed. "We want them to come, believing they have a chance. So instead I'll ask you to set the range and officiate. You're to be an honored guest. Then, when the time comes, you and yours will depart for the north edge of town. I've arranged for a scant few of the smaller town gates to be left unmanned at that hour. If the enemy must come, let him come at a place of my choosing. You are to watch one while my personal guard watches the other. And when the ships come into sight, we'll declare a new set of targets for the tourney!"

"And if there are no ships? If the man spoke false?"

"Then we'll have had a fine day of celebration, and we'll have but a single new target for the militia.", came the stern reply.
***
"I hate this.", the King said angrily as he slammed his chamber door. "A week ago a man could speak openly in his own home, and now I'm acting as if I were the unwelcome intruder. So, tell me what message that fancy boy brought."

Seeburn unfolded the message once again. "It's from Euphemia. That's the Halfling I spoke of. She says she managed to slip away from her father briefly, long enough to arrange for this message. She's held in Carbury, up the Slane River, in Hibernia. The messenger is a 'Walking Monk', a traveling holy man of the east, and is otherwise uninvolved."

"And why do I care where your Halfling friend is?"

"Her father is the head of the Masque, and where she is, so is he.", came the simple answer.

The King grumbled, but knew his son was probably right.

"We go to war tonight.", he said, changing the subject. "Or more likely, war comes to us, whether we like it or not."

"I'm at your side, father.", Seeburn declared without hesitation.

"No, I need a true warrior, someone I can trust to stand and fight.", replied the King dismissively. "You can stand with your friends. I'm setting them to deal with the enemy's diversion along the north wall, out of harm's way."

Seeburn's blood boiled at the insult, and he nearly drew steel, but held his temper in check. The kingdom needed its King right now, and he refused to do the Masque's work for them. But even as he left, he swore there would be a reckoning for this.
***
The village commons was alive and colorful, even on such a bleak day. The merchants were glad of such an opportunity, and the mood was festive.

"I'll set the range.", Sylus called. The crowd gasped when they saw his target. A caskhead stood nearly three hundred paces away, dark wood against the browned field, with a large "X" painted on it to mark the center, and circles to measure the mark.

He tested the breeze, drew back and loosed all in a single motion. The arrow arched high over the field, then struck barely a hand's breadth from the crossing point.

"That will be the final target.", Sylus called. "The first round will be at a quarter that mark, and the second at half. Let the games begin!"

Then he turned to Seeburn. "You're next.", he said, waving him to the line.

The Barbarian began to shake his head. "I'm the King's son. I shouldn't compete."

"Yes you should!", hissed Penn. "Precisely because you are the King's son. You will need to lead these people some day. They need to see you as a warrior they can follow, a man who can defend them."

Seeburn heard the wisdom of those words and cast away his dark mood along with the doubts it carried. He stepped to the line.

Again the music of the bowstring was heard, and a second arrow quivered in that same far target. Not as well centered as the first, but on target none the less.

Then a cheer went up, and the competition began in earnest. Sylus, known as an Olympic champion, would not compete, but Humans and Elves, Centaur and Half Elves mixed freely, and all were made welcome. Men and women both stood the line and tested their skill, and children as young as eight took up the challenge on a shorter range.

There were a few personal rivalries that surfaced, but the means were at hand to settle them without bloodshed, and more than a few coins changed hands as the King's factor made book on each round.

All too quickly, the sun began to dip towards the horizon and the chill of the evening air began to grow. Yet the King called for torches, and pressed for the merriment to continue.

Few noticed when some of the outsiders drifted away from the throng.
***
"Are they coming or not?"

Sylus hissed for silence. No need to give their presence away.

The companions spread out in an arc about the unattended pedestrian gate. It was barred, but that was of little consequence considering the nature of the uninvited company.

Sylus spied a building with a hard tiled roof, a remnant of the departed Roman occupation, and quickly clambered up. It overlooked the small plaza and offered a clear view of the gate.

Seeburn and Nedel chose a small hut. The Sorcerer crouched by a window, peering out through a crack in the shutter, while Seeburn mounted a table, grabbed a beam, and hoisted himself into the rafters. From there he pushed his way through the thatching and crouched upon the roof, atop one of the support members.

Marcus and Cassius stood together behind the same building, while Penn and Imagina took positions skulking on opposite sides of a street, with stout walls to hide behind.

Then they waited. Before they departed the commons, the King's runner had told them that four sets of sails had been seen coming down the coast. If the diversion was to happen before the ships entered the harbor, it would have to be soon.

Patience and planning paid off. Sylus' sharp eyes saw the bar on the gate shift and rise, and a single figure slipped inside.

Carefully the small man, for Halfling he was, padfooted his way into the plaza, looking for trouble, listening for the sounds of alarm.

Detecting nothing, he gave a low whistle and half a dozen more shadowy figures entered and began to spread out.

All froze, however, when they heard the sounds of a lyre drift into the area, and a hoof striking a beat on the cobblestones.

Then a single arrow took the leader, hard, in the shoulder, half spinning him around. And the battle was joined.

" Titan's Stature!", prayed Marcus, and suddenly Cassius was looking over the edge of the building that had hidden him. He strode into the square, grinning broadly.

" Veerbeg", came another voice, followed by a crash of cracking timber as Seeburn landed at the second entrance to the plaza, his towering height a match for Cassius'.

One of the human raiders stepped back, his hands a blur of motion. Daggers flew, followed by a laugh of triumph.

"I'm up here, little one.", Seeburn gloated, feeling the passage of those blades. "You'll have to do better than that."

"Wow, you really can do magic!", cheered Imagina before sending a bolt of magical energy into the nearest bladesman.

Steel crashed and daggers flew, and blood stained the snowy ground.

Penn managed to entrance one of the attackers before being struck with a hurled blade. The wound was but a scratch, but it carried a burn as well, for the blade had been envenomed.

He shook his head, trying to drive away the waves of dizziness that swept over him, but was soon doubled over in heaving agony.

Nedel's fingers traced the intricate patterns of his craft, as he loosed bolt after bolt of destructive force at the foe. One foe, the leader, managed to somehow dissipate one of those bolts, however, and stepped up to the helpless Bard, intending to finish him quickly.

But the best laid plans oft catch an arrow in the thigh, as he soon discovered, and Sylus bow sang its own battle song.

Envenomed daggers flew from the trio at the rear of the raiders, scoring on both Cassius and Seeburn. Nedel's magic's didn't falter, however, and the building offered good shelter, despite the damage Seeburn had made when he grew.

Marcus interrupted his assaults long enough to mutter a charm of resurgence, and Penn managed to draw himself erect.

" Veerbeg", pronounced one of the bandits, and a bladesman of their company rose to meet Cassius, toe to toe and eye to eye. "We'd heard you were here, and we're ready!", the man grinned.

"Really?", asked the dark warrior of the south. "You have a grave prepared then. That's good." And from there, his blade did all his talking.

Imagina had exhausted her offensive magics quickly, and was now busy levering her crossbow, making ready to fire. She wasn't as quick on the string as Sylus, but at close range her aim proved as true, and the first of the raiders to enter the square was the first to fall before her bolt.

Penn's sword was in his hand now, and for the first time anyone could recall, he seemed comfortable with it. The light blade danced for him, scoring blow after blow in a dazzling display of speed that left his foe dazed and confused, and bleeding.

But the venom was taking its toll elsewhere. Even as raiders began to fall, Cassius felt the illness wash over him, and his stomach convulsed in dry heaves. Seeburn too had a greenish pallor, and were it not for the insane fury that possessed him he might have succumbed as well.

Sylus bow never faltered though, and the towering raider found that his newfound height and power had a fatal flaw. Small buildings no longer provided him with cover, and between Imagina and Sylus he was soon feathered with far too many arrows for one man to withstand.

The three nearest the back, whether it was seeing their allies fall or because they ran out of blades to throw, began to retreat. Two vanished under cover of hurled smoke, while the third elected to stay a moment longer. It was a fatal mistake, for with no other targets remaining, the archers both concentrated their fire on him, and he fell.

And it was over.

Cassius slowly began to recover from the poison, though he was still weak. The battle madness left Seeburn, and he collapsed in an immense heap.

And somewhere to the south, they could hear the sounds of the pipes as the main battle began.