Aphonion Tales (New posts 6/13, 6/15, 6/19)

[Cerebral Paladin]

Having dealt with the magical effects on Wade, the Archducal Council turned to matters of diplomacy. By the time the Hiercov of Magdad arrived, Alistair, Kit, and Brionna were all dressed in finery, and Jet had laid out a luxurious dinner. The Hiercov entered, and they quickly ran through the expected pleasantries and formalities.

<<I have a clear read on his thoughts,>> sent Kit. <<But he seems to be fairly guarded. So far, I’m only reading general curiosity about you and your intentions.>>

After a minute or two, Alistair turned the conversation towards business. “Your grace, there are several matters of mutual interest that we should discuss. As a preliminary, we should inform you of a recent development in our diplomatic relations with other realms. We have long had an alliance with the Forest of Singing Leaves, but we have just agreed to extend that alliance to include Tang and Masque as well. Each of the realms involved has agreed to respond to an attack on any as an attack on all. Of course, the alliance’s primary concern is defending against any lingering threats from the Skaven in the former Confederacy of the South Kingdoms, but we thought that it would be wise to avoid any confusion and to reassure Empires such as yours that we have no offensive intentions.”

“Of course, your grace. While your defensive arrangements are of no concern to our Empire, we appreciate the courtesy.” The Hiercov gave no signs of surprise or discomfort as he responded. Kit could clearly read his thoughts, however: <<Well, well. They are taking the steps they need to protect themselves. Much faster than I would have thought, as well.>>

“We also wish to pass on a message to Her Hanalian Majesty. We know that the hobbits are no longer welcome in your Empire and reports have reached us that are most distasteful. We have more farmland than we can use currently and would be happy to receive any refugees that Queen Thyastis wishes to leave her lands. But I should warn you that we will not countenance atrocities. We wish only peace with Hanal, but if the rumors of massacres were confirmed, we would have no choice but to take actions to defend the hobbits.”

“I will inform Her Majesty of your position.” The Hiercov’s face remained impassive. <<He seems to actually care about the hobbits… I might be able to get her to go for that and put an end to the slaughter, at that. The threat will make it harder, though; the crazy old biddy won’t react to that well at all.>>

<<He’s worried about the threat. Better to go with just an offer…>> Kit sent to Alistair.

“Thank you. We leave it to your discretion, of course, to decide how much of our position Her Majesty must personally consider, and how much your grace should simply understand as one of the great nobles of Hanal. As long as she knows that we would welcome any that she wishes to remove from her realm, whether hobbit or otherwise, we will be content.”

“Thank you, your eminent grace.” The Hiercov nodded. <<That will make things much easier. And he’s either better at reading people than I would have expected, or I’m being less careful than I should be. He adjusted based on just a bit of inflection in a mere formality.>>

“We also wish to discuss the presence of Hanalian troops to the south of our borders. While we appreciate your Empire’s interest in suppressing the slave taking there, Canberry views that as our responsibility. We consider the refugees to the south of our borders as a matter for our concern, and not for imperial powers to meddle with.”

<<An alliance and then clear signals about their imperial aspirations… Canberry will be more active under this new ruler and will bear watching.>> The Hiercov smiled. “We understand. As an official matter, Hanal has no interest in interfering with your sphere of influence. But youth can be impetuous, and young souls care about the less fortunate… We sent some troops to aid in defending the refugees from the slavers, but then the Princess Anastasia took it upon herself to intervene. We have since lost contact with her, as well as with the Cov, or Duke, of Snannerkaz, who led the search for her.”

“Divination magic has not turned them up?”

“No, your grace. We were able to track the Cov with divination magic at first, but shortly after he passed along a message from your government that further troops assisting in the search would not be viewed kindly, he disappeared.”

“Is there any danger that he is involved in some plot against the Princess? Can you trust his efforts?”

“While their relationship has a political element, the Cov of Snannerkaz has a great feeling for Her Highness. I cannot imagine that he would ever do her harm.”

<<I told you that,>> sent Kit, irritation coloring her message. <<Once I met him, I could tell that we could trust him. Should I tell the ambassador what we know about her disappearance?>>

<<I’m sorry, but I wanted to see if the ambassador agreed.>> Alistair thought back. <<Why don’t you relay the information through me? The less he suspects your involvement, the better.>>

Alistair began talking, repeating Kit’s mental statements. “Some of our agents worked with the Duke of Snannerkaz in his search. They were able to get some leads on Princess Anastasia’s whereabouts, although we were not able to rescue her. Unfortunately, she was ultimately carried off by a rat-lord-- we did not have enough forces present to be able to fight it. We do not know where it took Her Highness, but she is in the hands of the Skaven, or at least was when last we knew. We can only hope that Snannerkaz has been able to rescue her.”

The ambassador shook his head and frowned. “Grim tidings, your grace. We must hope that she can be rescued, and without them performing any of their rituals upon her. Perhaps Snannerkaz has deliberately gone silent while he attempts a rescue…”

 

[Cerebral Paladin]

“We can only hope. If there is anything Canberry can do to assist in her safe recovery, you must let us know,” replied Alistair. “What of the issue of Queen Thyastis’s succession, long may it be until that day?”

<<At least long enough for Princess Anastasia to make it back…>> thought Kit.

The ambassador rubbed his chin. “It is an unclear situation, your grace. Princess Anastasia is the more competent of the daughters, and a number of the covs and hiercovs prefer competence to the most perfect matrilineal line. Assuming she returns safely… the heir-apparent is troubled. The Temple is unlikely to permit a long discussion over the issue. Moreover, the Archbishop will not convey the holy blessing upon the heir-apparent. If she does nothing that would cause her to be interdict before then, the Archbishop will suggest that she step aside into an advisory role.”

“Could she resist the Archbishop’s urgings?” asked Dame Brionna.

“In other times, perhaps. But the Archbishop is high in the confidence of the Inquisitor General of Northern Drucien. The cleansing of certain groups within Hanal was painful. I do not think she would see fit to question the wisdom of the Archbishop.”

“What if Princess Anastasia has not returned, your grace?” asked Alistair. “Could the crown then pass to one of the Queen-Empress’s sons, or to one of the heir-apparent’s children?”

“Neither is possible, your grace. The heir-apparent’s children thus far are all feeble-minded. And while our succession lines favor the males within the noble houses, the imperial line is strictly matrilineal. A younger daughter could succeed over an elder, but never a son.”

<<And with a tradition of each Queen-Empress executing her sisters to eliminate any threats to her reign, the princesses won’t have any female-line cousins who could inherit in their place,>> sent Kit.

“So there would be no heir available at all, then.”

The ambassador nodded curtly. “In the short-run, if the heir-apparent has no competent children and the Queen-Empress dies before Princess Anastasia returns, it would mean civil war for three to six months. Thereafter, the Temple would intervene, and the Holy See would select a successor from the various hiercovs and hiercovates.”

“All the more reason for us to search diligently for Princess Anastasia. In these troubled times, the destabilization of any of the powers of southern Drucien would give far too much advantage to the Skaven.”

“I agree, your grace,” replied the Hiercov. “I am greatly encouraged to hear that you realize that as well.”

With the serious conversation largely concluded, the group proceeded with a pleasant dinner, chatting amiably. At a convenient moment, the Hiercov drew two pieces of parchment from his sleave and casually passed them across to Alistair. “Her Majesty wished me to pass on these tokens of the coronation gift. The actual gifts should arrive within six months.”

Just as casually, Alistair handed the scrolls off to Dame Brionna, who carefully unrolled them and then tilted them so that Alistair and Kit could see. The scrolls were the plans for a dreadnought-class voller and an accompanying fleet of six battle-barges. As Dame Brionna looked over them, her smile took on a slightly rigid appearance. Why do all of the other major powers have so much more airpower? We can build a few, but they can give powerful vollers as gifts to their potential allies just to intimidate them. We need to increase the size of our fleet…

Alistair smiled. “Please convey Canberry’s gratitude to Her Majesty for such a generous gift.”

“Of course.” The Hiercov smiled and continued with his meal. <<The Archduke conceals his emotions well. The implication of our power clearly impressed them-- the reaction of the Captain of his Guard showed that clearly. But there’s no hint of consternation in his expression. Another thing to bear in mind for future meetings…>>

Around 9:30 or 10, as the dessert course wound down, a rap on the door interrupted the dinner. Dame Brionna opened the door on a very nervous young man in the uniform of a city patrolman. They conferred briefly in a low voice and then Dame Brionna cleared her throat. “My lord, I fear that there are matters you should attend to immediately. My deepest apologies, your grace.”

Before Alistair could even begin the ritual apology, the Hiercov stood up from his plate. “On behalf of the Empire of Hanal, best wishes for your coronation and reign. And please accept my personal regards and my thanks for the opportunity to begin friendly diplomatic relations.” He bowed, respectfully but with an awareness that his rank nominally equaled the Archduke’s and exited.

 

[Cerebral Paladin]

Dame Brionna closed the door firmly behind the ambassador. “There appears to be a small war going on near the townhouse of Caligshire; two small flying crafts dropped in over the walls about a half-hour ago.”

“We tried to intercept them, your grace, but we couldn’t see them after the first sightings. The men were slipping through the night with a deftness that we had never seen.” The patrolman appeared to view this as a personal failing. “We could only barely see them, your grace.”

<<Sounds like the Noldar are dealing with Drusilla,>> Kit thought.

“Do not try to engage them,” said Alistair. “You will not succeed, and your losses will be high.”

“But have the city guard evacuate civilians from the surrounding area, and guard the storm sewer exits,” added Dame Brionna. “There are likely to be skaven fleeing the townhouse, and we want to stop them all.”

“Uh, yes, your grace, Captain.”

Kit nodded. “And send a large number of guards to arrest everyone at the Golden Antlers tavern.” She looked at Alistair and Dame Brionna. “With the attack going on, we don’t want to give them time to regroup or let the demonist escape, and if they arrest everyone there, they’re bound to get her.”

“Right,” replied Alistair. “And bring as many mages as you have there-- the guards will need magical support.”

“Yes, your grace. I’ll tell them that both of the city guard mages are to go there.”

The patrolman hurried out to deliver the orders. A few minutes later, a young gentleman entered and saluted. His uniform clearly marked him as a junior officer, but none of the members of the Archduke’s Council recognized its style.

“Yes, ensign?”

“Captain Fitzgerald has sent me to report, your grace.”

“Captain Fitzgerald?”

“Of the Air Guard, your grace. Our voller has been patrolling the city, and we have identified unknown airships conducting military operations within the city. Captain Fitzgerald requests permission to engage.”

“Denied. Under no circumstances is he to engage as long as the military operations remain centered on the Earl of Caligshire’s townhouse.”

The ensign seemed perturbed by this response, but replied, “Aye-aye, your grace.” His eyes rolled back slightly in his head and then focused again. “I have passed your orders on to Captain Fitzgerald.”

A shadowy drow figure flickered in to the room. The drow bowed politely to Alistair. “Your grace. As you presumably know, we have attacked the forces of Drucilla and Region 6 in the city. I fear that we need to discharge our energy lances at her compound. Our psions did not fare well.”

“Will there be damage beyond the compound?”

“No, your grace. Our energy lances will inflict heavy damage on the compound, but we should be able to avoid damaging the surrounding area.”

“Very well. You may do so. Ensign, inform Captain Fitzgerald to expect the unknown vessels to use energy lances. The order to not engage remains in force.”

“Very good, your grace.” The Ensign paused. “Captain Fitzgerald acknowledges your command.”

The prepared attack force including two Noldar vollers brought overwhelming force to bear. Drow commandos engaged the defensive forces in the Caligshire townhouse, led by three psions who attacked Drusilla herself. They succeeded in preventing her flight, but even a relatively weak Noldar proved to be more than a match for them, and all three psions died. About twenty minutes after the initial attack, both ships fired several volleys from their energy lances, smashing through the last of the defenses. The energy lances inflicted substantial collateral damage on the Earl’s compound, but drowan accuracy confined the damage to his estate alone. Dozens of Skaven gutterrunners fled through concealed exits into the sewers, but with the city guard ready for them, none escaped, although many guards lost their lives in stopping them. The destruction of the colony of Skaven beneath Drusilla’s chambers eliminated the last significant group of ratmen within the city. As the city guards finished off the last of the Skaven, they saw the same shadowy figures, most now wounded and some carrying dead companions, board the airships. Searches of the compound confirmed that Drusilla, the Earl, and his entire immediate family were among the dead. The Archducal Council sent word to the Duke of Furrows; with the deaths of the obvious heirs, the Duke would need to sort out his vassal’s succession.

The detachment sent to the Golden Antlers carried out their orders with vigor. All of the patrons surrendered immediately. The owner also surrendered. The owner’s wife, however, fought to the death, summoning bound entities that dismembered six guards before they cut her down. Lady Constance and an exorcist easily bound the thought demon riding Brenda’s fetus, although the interrogation would have to wait for another day. Her report included an amused note.

“Based on the demonist’s notes, I confirmed that the two bound tanar’ii are both mariliths. They are bound to ride harmlessly on two infants within the city until the command phrase is given. And the only entity capable of giving the command phrase is now a mere larva with no memories. I think they will have a frustrating time simply waiting the decades for the two infants to die, allowing them to return to the Abyss. --Lady Constance Deepingwell”

End of Session 8

 

[Cerebral Paladin]

A brief note before beginning the next session's write-up: this next session was played at a game day Orichalcum and I hosted. We had a different mix of players than we usually do, and I figured that playing Alistair might raise the barriers to entry a little higher than normal. So while Orichalcum played Dame Brionna, I made a new character, as did another player who was playing in the campaign for the first time. I'm also going to present the session a little out of order to make it easier to read.

------
Session 9:

A young church knight entered Dame Brionna’s office and saluted. “Captain, the Archbishop wishes to pass some information on to the Archducal Guard. I believe that you know that approximately twenty people have snuck into the Outer City and begun conducting operations of a sort?”

Dame Brionna nodded.

“We now have a lead. A boy reported a conversation with his parents. They met one of these strangers, and the man gave them very specific instructions. He gave them a strange vial and asked them to fling it at the foremost people in the coronation procession. They were to throw the vial at the arch to the Inner City. And for this task, he offered them a whole month’s wages.”

“Thank you, and pass our thanks on to the Archbishop as well. We will need to look into this. Were there signs linking them to any particular foreign power? What currency were they paid in?”

“A mix, Captain-- they are either just using whatever currency they have, or more likely seeking to conceal their backers.”

“Thank you. I’ll take care of this matter.” Dame Brionna hauled herself to her feet, exhaustion from the weeks without adequate rest manifest in her motions.

“The Archbishop recommends that you use a tracker in your investigation. He also mentioned that the Order of the Silvery Veil has a young woman who might be helpful, at their main convent and hostelry.”

* * *

A young man approached the gate into Canberry City. Jacques Forrester had come from the city of Quickford in the Earldom of the same name, looking for work and better opportunities that would allow him to provide for his many siblings. But he never expected to find work as quickly as he did.

As he walked past the board guards and paid his gate fee, a guard in fancier livery gestured at him. “You there. Come here.”

He walked over to the guard. “Uh, yessir?”

“What brings you to the City?”

“I hope for work, sir.”

“And I understand that you can track?”

Jacques paused in confusion. “Aye, I can and quite well, but how…”

The guard nodded at a woman in plain robes. “My companion identified you as trustworthy, reliable, and possessed of the skills we need.”

“Oh.”

“And you can track in both cities and the wilderness?”

“Aye. It’s not the same thing, y’know… tracking in a city is much more about talking to the right people, tracing where they might have gone, that sort of thing, than it is about following footprints and signs of campfires like in the wilderness.” Jacques wondered whether the guard understood, or even cared, based on the blank expression he got in response.

“Would you accept work for the Archduchy?”

“Aye…”

“Then you should meet with the Captain. She’ll need to approve you.”

The guard led Jacques directly to the fanciest section of the City and into the mighty palace itself. As they walked through the City, Jacques thought about what sort of pay he might be able to get for this. As he entered the palace, with its marble walls and gold decorations, he concluded that his estimate had been far too low.

 

[Cerebral Paladin]

The guard led him to Dame Brionna’s office, saluted, and departed. Without preamble, Dame Brionna held up her holy symbol and concentrated before nodding. “You’re not evil, and I understand you can track and are loyal to the Archduchy?”

“Aye, I said as much to the guard. I take it you need to hire a tracker?”

“Yes. The Archducal Huntsmaster position has been left unfilled for several years-- Her Grace the late Archduchess did not do much hunting in the later years of her life. And so now that we have need of a tracker, we need to hire one. Or at least one… I suppose if you get killed we’ll need to hire a second.”

Jacques coughed. “Yes, I suppose you would.”

“Don’t worry, your family would be taken care of. Make sure you give the clerk information on where they can find your family for the pension. With all the deaths lately, we’ve needed to find many families for pensions, and too many of the records are out of date or just missing…”

Jacques looked at the knight’s bloodshot eyes and her nervous fidgets and concluded that things in the capital were more exciting than he expected. Still, the pay would presumably reflect that. “So, if I assist you in this matter, would it be possible to become the new Archducal Huntsmaster?”

“I suppose so. As long as you live and do well…” Dame Brionna paused. “And Alis… His Grace the Archduke will probably want to go hunting at some point, and then we’ll need to figure out how to keep him safe on a hunt… At least we can probably keep him too busy until after the coronation…”

“I assume the Archducal Huntsmaster has respectable pay?”

“Oh, I’m certain. Probably about equivalent to a Lieutenant in the Archducal Guard, I should guess. And there’s probably apartments set aside for the Huntsmaster in the palace, although I’ll have to look into that in more detail.” If it matters, she thought morbidly.

Jacques paused… probably best to simply accept rather than haggling. “Tell me what I need to do.”

“First, I need to introduce you to the Archduke’s aunt, and you’ll need to speak to a clerk. Then we’ll be heading to gather another person to help in this investigation.”

* * *

Dame Brionna and Jacques arrived at the convent of the Order of the Silvery Veil. The sister at the gate, in the Order’s characteristic habit with a long silver veil completely covering her face, escorted them without a word to the prioress’s chambers. Dame Brionna was slightly surprised that the Abbess herself did not greet visitors from the Archduke, but assumed that she must be attending to some necessary duties.

“We’re so glad you came quickly, Dame Knight.”

“We understand that you have someone who the Archbishop thinks could assist our investigation.”

“Yes… Sister Charity!” called the Prioress. “I should warn you, she can be trying, but she means well.”

Another nun entered, followed shortly by a young woman, perhaps fourteen, with several scars and healed injuries on her face, wearing the shift of a novice but without the veil that even a newly arrived novice would wear in the Order. The girl glanced briefly at Jacques, and then carefully looked Dame Brionna up and down, noting the heavy armor, fine weapons, and signs of wealth, rank, and status. She promptly drew the heavy kitchen knife from an improvised leather sheath at her belt. “If you try to enslave me, I will kill you or die trying.”

 

[Cerebral Paladin]

Some distance to the south of the Archduchy of Canberry lie the Spice Lands. To outsiders, the Spice Lands are generally viewed as one realm. Small governments may squabble over internal boundaries, but the Lands are only noted for their trade, and all of the regions within the Lands produce valuable spices. The view from within the Lands, however, is a different matter.

After the fall of the South Kingdoms, a vast number of refugees streamed north. Most of the refugees were adults in the prime of their lives; traveling with children or the elderly frequently meant being overtaken by the Skaven hordes and enslaved or worse. But some children nonetheless escaped, carried by relatives, friends, or the simply charitable. Among them, a young girl named Ilsbet made her way north. Her family had almost nothing in the South Kingdoms, but they left with even less, making their way north with only the clothes on their back and what they could carry in their hands.

But even beyond the reach of the Skaven, dangers abounded. The lands between the South Kingdoms and Canberry are wild, with numerous monsters and monstrous people. And slavers viewed the refugees as easy prey. Years later, Ilsbet’s shattered memories of her trip north after the fall of her homeland left the details of her enslavement hazy. After all, she was no more than 7 at the time, although her precise age was also lost in the confusion. But however she was separated from the cousin that brought her north, she became a slave to the Seachen.

The Seachen are a peculiar human people within the Spice Lands. They have a reclusive land, with one major city and surrounding settlements. Seachen society is rigidly matriarchal; indeed, they expose most males at birth and castrate many of the rest. Only careful genealogical records kept by a dedicated order within the Seachen allow them to maintain a healthy population with the small pool of males kept for breeding purposes.

Slavery is always a vile experience, and Ilsbet’s experience was worse than most. A petty spice merchant, among the poorest who could afford slaves at all, purchased her. As the only slave in the household, the work expectations were tremendously high, and when she inevitably failed to carry out all of her duties, the beatings were awful. Even when she did all that she should, she was often beaten just for sport. And the cook, a freewoman servant, made things that much worse, taking out her resentment at her own low lot in life on Ilsbet’s back. Severe bruises were a near constant experience, and her face and body bore the scars of particularly severe beatings, burns, and other abuse. Only the eunuch servant and seneschal treated her at all well, but he had no influence to protect her from the rest of the household.

The sole saving grace was that Ilsbet was far more intelligent than she ever let on. She had never been taught to read by her own family, but she taught herself from her mistress’s books. First she read the histories and stories, and then later she studied the tomes of magic and spellbooks that her mistress had as a minor wizard. Confident in Ilsbet’s ignorance, her mistress never considered that when Ilsbet cleaned the eight or so books in the library, she carefully studied each one. Her view of the world remained limited-- while the books had some history of the outside world, everything she heard and read was from the skewed perspective of the Seachen. Even her exposure to religion consisted only in perfunctory lessons about the Seachen state religion, a strange faith dedicated to dead gods and attempting to return them. But her mistress was not particularly pious, and she never worked on the great excavation to which many other mistresses sent slaves to serve their faith. Indeed, with her shaky faith in Berta shattered by the fall of the South Kingdoms and the only other religion she had seen providing no compelling arguments for faith, Ilsbet was that rarest thing on Aphonion: an agnostic, devoted to no god even though she knew of their existence.

 

[Cerebral Paladin]

When Ilsbet was a teen, the time was finally right. She had managed to avoid beatings long enough for her bruises and injuries to heal, and she arose quietly in the midst of the night. Ilsbet first gathered the spellbooks and other most valuable books into a backpack, and then snuck back to the kitchen, where she normally slept on the hard stone floor. She picked out the cook’s best knife, a long and heavy triangular blade, to take with her for defense. She then built a high fire in the fireplace, using the less valuable books and her mistress’s financial records as kindling, and, with a smile on her face at the cook’s future wrath, threw the remainder of the cook’s knives into the fireplace. Burning the house down completely appealed to her, but she concluded that the risk of recapture and torture would be too high. And while she feared that her mistress would make the eunuch servant suffer for her escape, she had no wish to harm him directly, much as she would have like to harm her mistress and the cook.

Traveling in the night and through the morning twilight, Ilsbet slipped out of the Seachen city. Her readings had told her a smattering of the realms beyond the Seachen lands, and she concluded that her best choice was to head northwards-- south led mostly to her childhood homeland, now in the claws of the Skaven. And so she followed the road northwest, hiding whenever fellow travelers passed by and finding hiding places in which to sleep.

At the end of the third day of travel, a strange voice spoke to her from off the trail. “Sssssee… a ssssmall one travelsssss alone.”

Ilsbet could not see the speaker. She could dimly see its glowing, red eyes from the bushes. She considered drawing her knife, but decided that it might provoke whatever was speaking to her. Instead, she cast Prestidigitation to create a circle of dancing lights about her. “I travel alone, but I have power.”

There was laughter in the voice’s words. “Power, but no teeth. And yet, sssspirit. Are you a friend of the Seachen?”

Ilsbet thought for a moment. If she were truthful, and the voice was an ally of the Seachen, she would be doomed. And yet, if that were the case, the odds were strongly against her already. Best, then, to be truthful and hope. “I am no friend of the people who have enslaved and beaten me. If any try to return me to slavery, I will kill them or die trying.”

“Yessss…” the voice replied. “And the Seachen on the road behind you, they hunt you for your esssscape…”

Ilsbet swallowed hard. “I did not know they pursued me, but I am not surprised. If I cannot elude them, I will kill them.”

A strange form emerged from the bushes. It had a comely human torso, but with a long tail in place of legs. A powerful bow remained slung around its torso. “Come, little one. I am Seache. As you are an enemy of the Seachen women, I will take you to a place where you will be ssssafe and can ressst and regain your sssstrength. And then we will sssssee what can be done to dissstract your pursuersss.”

The form turned and slithered through the jungle away from the road. Having already committed herself, Ilsbet followed cautiously, wondering at Seache’s name with confusion. After perhaps an hour’s travel, she arrived at a small log cabin. Seache opened the door and gestured for her to enter. Several others of his kind looked at Ilsbet with curiosity as she entered.

“She isss an enemy of the humanssss who have ssstolen our landsss and our sssecretsss,” Seache explained. “Thisss makesss her a friend of oursss.” He placed his hand lightly upon Ilsbet’s forehead.

One of the other creatures in the cabin picked up a bowl near the fireplace. “Come, eat.” It ladeled porridge from the cook pot into the bowl. Ilsbet eagerly dug in to her first hot meal in days, since she hadn’t dared to light a fire-- the first respite from the jerky and now-stale bread of her backpack. The porridge was nourishing, but very bland, especially by the standards of the Spice Lands. While it had a pleasant consistency, as far as Ilsbet could tell, it had no taste at all.

“You may ressst here for the night.” Seache said. “I will go lead your pursuers off your trail.” From the way that Seache carefully readied his bow and adjusted the arrows in his quiver, Ilsbet suspected that Seache intended to lead her pursuers into their graves. That prospect suited her fine.

Ilsbet fell asleep before Seache returned. In the morning, she awoke and found him calmly sitting by the door. “You may travel sssafely for a time. But I would ussse hassste. Thossse will not threaten you, but othersss may come in time.”

“Thank you,” replied Ilsbet. “I will always remember this aid.”

Seache smiled. “We know. And we will always remember you and keep an eye on your progress as well.”

 

[Cerebral Paladin]

The next several days passed uneventfully. At one point, a herd of antelope charged across the path, pursued by a great cat, but Ilsbet stayed out of their way and watched as they passed by her.

The Seachen lands lie in a great bowl, with mighty bluffs rising up along its borders to lead to the level of the rest of the Spice Lands. Towards the end of the fifth day of her escape, Ilsbet entered the switchback path that climbs one of the bluffs to the fort that guards the northwest approach. The trail was long and arduous, but by the end of daylight, she had reached the gate.

One of the guards at the gate held up a hand. “Halt.” She looked Ilsbet up and down, noting the rags on her. “What business brings you to the edge of our lands, slave?”

Ilsbet hefted her backpack, glad that if her pursuers had been slain, news had yet to reach the border forts. “My mistress has sent me to travel abroad and deliver messages and goods to her trade partners. It was not my place to ask what she sent or why.”

“No,” agreed the guard. “It seems a shame that she would send you abroad without guards, where you are sure to be assaulted and gang-raped by the men of the outside world, and likely killed.”

Ilsbet paused; she knew that was what they said the world beyond the Seachen lands held, but she viewed that peril as still better than the hell that had defined her life as a slave. “It is her right to do with me as she wishes, even if I am raped and murdered. I did not question her orders.”

“It is indeed her right. It just seems a waste,” the guard said, before shaking her head as if to clear away the thought. “There is an inn within the fort, to the left as you enter. You will be able to get a dinner there, and a space in the common room for the night.”

In case she was being watched, Ilsbet went in to the inn as a slave actually on a trade mission would have. While there, she even took advantage of the opportunity to eat a real meal. Her rations would last her another week, at least, but any extra meal was a little more time before she would go hungry, and after days of cold jerky, even the mediocre stew was welcome. After the dinner, Ilsbet slipped out of the inn through the side-door onto the alley that served as the inn’s privy. She then slipped to the end of the alley, and carefully picked her way from shadow to shadow until she reached the fort’s north gate. The gate was still open, although she knew that it would be closed soon. The guard contingent on the approach from beyond the Seachen lands was much heavier than the pair guarding the entrance to the valley, but they paid her no mind as she walked casually through. Their duties were to guard the fort against intruders from the north, not to prevent escape. Ilsbet would have liked to start the trip into foreign lands at the beginning of a day, but even one night in the inn would greatly increase her risk of recapture. With freedom so close at hand, she could not take that risk.

She traveled several hours, deep into the evening and through the early hours of night to put distance between her and the fort before scratching out a rough bed of moss and leaves. But no hunters roused her at night, and as day gave way to day, she began to believe that she was actually free. But while free, she was not safe.

In the middle of the night after the third day of travel past the fort, she woke with a start at a pain in her neck. A large spider, nearly two feet in diameter, had stung her with a vicious double stinger. Ilsbet fought the pain and murmured the words to a Scorching Ray, but between the surprise, the confusion of suddenly awakening, and the pain, she garbled enough of the words and gestures to prevent the spell from taking effect. But even if she did not succeed in killing the spider, she certainly frightened it. In long jumps, it bounded away from her, suddenly convinced that its prey was not as helpless as it had thought.

Ilsbet rubbed at the puncture. The wound had not really hurt her, but she was fairly certain that the spider had poisoned her, even though she could not yet feel any effect. Just to be on the safe side, Ilsbet cast an Invisibility effect. If the poison did weaken her, she wanted the best chance to hide that she could get. Within minutes, the precaution paid off. A wave of nausea wracked her body as the poison nearly overwhelmed her, and she collapsed into a feverish unconsciousness.

 

[Cerebral Paladin]

She did not regain consciousness for the entire next day. Finally, in early night, her eyes opened, although she remained too weak to move or to defend herself. She continued resting and then looked with fear into the shadows of the woods as something rustled towards her. But the fear turned to relief when another of the half-human, half-serpent creatures ducked under a branch and moved towards her. Its gaze lingered on her forehead.

“You are a friend of my forest brethren,” it observed.

“Yes… they protected me when I escaped from the Seachen.”

The creature’s face twisted at the word. “The women who stole even our sacred names for their own purposes when they took our lands.” It then bent down and looked at her neck. “You have been poisoned. I will draw the poison from you.” It placed a hand lightly upon her shoulder and concentrated. Ilsbet assumed that it must be applying redaction psionics; its actions did not seem like any magic, whether for healing or other purposes, that she had ever seen. After a few moments, it settled back, looking very tired. “There. That should make you better. The poison was powerful, but it will afflict you no more.”

Ilsbet felt enormously better and was able to assist as the creature quickly built a campfire. It produced a small pot out of its pack and proceeded to brew tea of a sort. The creature boiled water, carefully checked the leaves within a small, porous pouch, dipped the pouch in the water for no more than a second, and then carefully put the pouch away. It sipped at its cup and smiled and relaxed, apparently enjoying the tea greatly. Ilsbet politely sipped at the very slightly discolored water in her cup and realized that the tasteless porridge made more sense if this was what they thought of as tea. After the tea, the creature gestured for her to sleep and kept watch for the rest of the night.

“I cannot keep watch over you myself,” the creature said. “But I will bring you to those who can. There is a group of knights from one of the northern lands nearby. They will keep you safe.”

After less than a day of travel, the kindly creature led Ilsbet to a trail. A mounted company of approximately two dozen troops reined in their horses as the unusual pair emerged from the woods. One of the knights, who Ilsbet presumed to be the leader based on the fancy pennant on his lance, rode forward and held up a hand in greeting. “Well met, forest lord.” The knight had a gray beard and a calm, easy manner. “Who is your companion?”

“She flees slavery and could use your protection.”

“Then she will have it, and gladly. We will escort her on our return to Canberry.”

Ilsbet’s eyes narrowed. She drew and brandished her knife. “If you try to rape or enslave me, I’ll kill you or die trying.”

The knight-banneret leaned back in his saddle; offense and laughter warred on his face, finally giving way to bemused consternation. “My dear girl, we are knights in the service of Glor’diadel and the Archduchy of Canberry. You need have no fear of slavery, as we are here to fight the slavers in the name of the Archduke. And as for the rest, you are in no danger of assault of any kind in this company. You are welcome to our safety, but you may leave our company whenever you wish.”

The Seachen lord spoke to Ilsbet. “You may trust his word, little one.” He faced the knight again. “The humans who defile the name of the Seachen have harmed her badly.”

“The witch women of the forests? I knew them to be a strange folk, but had not thought them evil. Are you from their lands?”

“No. I am from Seareach, in the South Kingdoms, not from the Seachen lands. They enslaved me as we tried to escape from the rat monsters. But the Seachen are as evil as any of the rats ever were…”

“Be that as it may… we are on the way back to our homeland of Canberry. If you wish, you may accompany us.” He gestured at several riderless horses. “We have lost three of our number fighting the slavers, and thus we have the horses to spare. We will not let any return you to servitude, whether they be your former masters or other slavers in the area.”

Ilsbet nodded curtly and mounted one of the spare horses. She thanked the Seache lord, who nodded his head and slipped back into the woods. Then the knight-banneret wheeled his horse, and the column began riding northwards.

 

[Cerebral Paladin]

The journey back to Canberry was uneventful. Ilsbet largely kept to herself in camp, but gradually relaxed a little around the knight-banneret. Most of the younger knights had the sense to steer well clear of her and her ever-ready knife.

After several days of travel, they turned onto better maintained roads through larger settlements. Ilsbet noticed that the knights kept their lances more ready, not less, and tensed whenever they saw other companies on the road. “Are we passing through a foreign land?”

“Not exactly. We are in the Duchy of Brightspan. The Duke of Brightspan is a vassal of the Archduke of Canberry, just as my lord the Duke of Broadfields is. But where Broadfields is ever loyal, we dare not trust Brightspan fully.”

Ilsbet drew her knife. The corners of the knight-banneret’s lips twitched upwards, but he said nothing. “Do you expect war, then?”

“I think we will avoid that, even with the new Archduke. If the Archduke’s father had lived to inherit… he was a womanizer, but a good man, and he had the respect of the nobles. There would have been no danger then. With young Alistair, though, matters are more difficult.”

“If the Archduke’s father had inherited… your realm would let a male inherit?” Ilsbet asked increduously. “Oh, but you said he womanized himself. I can understand why, in the absence of a proper heir, you might let a male become legally a woman to inherit.”

The elderly knight barked in laughter. “I think he would have been very amused by that.” He decided that trying to explain would be more effort than it was worth, and they simply rode on.

After a few days of riding, they left Brightspan, and the knights relaxed in safe lands. A few more days beyond that brought them to the outskirts of Canberry City.

“This is the capital of Canberry. You will be able to find help resettling here. Until you can make arrangements of your own, you may stay either in an inn I know of that frequently takes in poor young men and women newly arrived-- they will ask you to help with the kitchen work and the like, but nothing worse-- or at a hostelry for young women run by the nuns of the Order of the Silvery Veil.”

“The hostelry,” replied Ilsbet.

Taking it as a question, the knight began to explain,“A hostelry is a place of lodging…”

“I know what a hostelry is,” snapped Ilsbet with a sharp tone in her voice. “I was saying that I wanted to stay there, not at the inn where there are males as well. It would be safer.”

The knight nodded, thinking of the curious glances that Ilsbet had cast at the young male knights in camp. “Yes, I can see how you would view it as safer. Much less danger of meeting someone…” He broke off at her frown and simply guided the column to the hostelry. Ilsbet thanked him for his kindness, doing her best to be civil and friendly.