Ptolus: Midwood - "The Dark Waters of Moss Pond"

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Stotch slips into the Tulgey Wood just outside of Maidensbridge, following Tock's whispered directions. Sure enough, several changes of clothes hidden inside a leather satchel in the hollow of a dead tree. Looking through his choices, Stotch takes the nicest doublet, hat and gloves.

He folds them up nicely, puts them in his own bag. On the way back to town, Stotch stops on the bank of the chilly Moss River. He washes himself and pulls his hair back and ties it with a ribbon. He folds up his old cloak and scarf, and puts them away in his satchel. With great delicacy, he then ties on the doublets and gloves, and puts the hat on at a jaunty angle. Finally, with a charcoal pencil, he softly darkens his eye sockets and lips.

At the end of this, he looks like a very serious, respectable individual.

Heading back to town, Stotch opens the letter he had written before, making sure to break the wax seal, so that it is unrecognizable.

He proceeds to the stables, looking for the Farrin bookie. He spots a young boy, shoveling manure.

"Someone here is taking bets?" The boy nods in response and motions with his head to a stall at the back. Stotch winks and throws him a copper as he moves into the stable, avoiding manure as he walks to the back.

In the last stall he sees a young dwarf, sitting on a milking stool and making notes in a small, handmade ledger and chewing on the end of a corncob pipe. He looks up as Stotch approaches and puts the small book away quickly.

"Easy, lad. I'm here about the contest. Are you still taking cash on the wagers?"

The dwarf nods slowly.

Pulling the forged letter from the quilted doublet he borrowed from Tock, Stotch begins his speech.

"My name is Goya Bowyer, and as you can see from my papers, I have been sent from the Baron's Council of Games-of-Chance, Sporting and Lottery. As this little contest is being sponsored in an official capacity, the council has seen fit that any wagering be done under an administrative watch.

"I understand that you've been book-making, which under normal circumstances we would turn a blind eye to. But in this case, I will need to review the odds, officiate the spread, and distribute the winnings.

"Now the truth is, I always trust the 'local book-maker,' especially if the happen to be a dwarf. This is your home, you know these folks, and dwarves, as a rule, are a trustworthy, stalwart folk. So as long as you let me inspect the numbers and do what I need to do, there's no need to involve the authorities, and you can continue running the book. In fact, I will pay you for your time, as you are making my job that much easier."

He reaches out with his arm, extending a traditional dwarf handshake.

"I'm sure that we can work together, and then I can be on my way, and in the future the council can look to you for help. Your name?"

The Farrin boy shakes Stotch's hand, getting it filthy and decidedly aromatic. Having finished cleaning up after Boots' pony, he walks outside of The Cat & The Fiddle's stable, an interested pool of Farrins around him, listening.

"Marbin Goldaxe. What does the baron have to do with a friendly little wager?"

He looks up at Stotch suspiciously.

"Ah yes. You see, the baron is providing the prize for tonight's competition, which makes it, according to the Vast Codex, a baronal event. Thus it falls to the Council Of G, S, and L to regulate any wagers, to make sure that money is handled in the best interest of all parties involved. 'Friendly little wagers' have been the root of several devastating wars, truth be told. If you recall, several decades ago, hundreds of men and Litorians were slain in Istoma over the matter of six silvers in a friendly game of Dragonscales. So it is sometimes best to make sure the scales are tilting properly, as the bearded-folk say. This letter from my superior says it all."

Stotch holds up the parchment, and continues.

"Also, and I say this in the trusted confidence of righteous, gods-fearing Farrins, there are some contestants entered who might not be altogether trustworthy. I don't want to name names, but let's be honest, some dwarves have been 'too long from the mountain,' and other folk need an extra eye on 'em, so the council feels. All in the interest of fairness.

"As I said, I'm not here to interfere, and I can pay you for your services. But I do need to regulate the odds and keep an eye on the proceedings. it seems silly to me as well, but it's how I feed my family.

"Let me also add how encouraged and grateful I am to find a Farrin running the books. I said to myself, 'Bowyer, there's a dwarf that knows his stones.' You can always trust a Farrin, we always say."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Bufer smiles as he watches Katadid rush back and forth, compulsively counting the tombstones. Though he'd never admit it out loud, he's secretly relieved to have a friend close at hand. One who won't cut and run on him at the first available opportunity, at any rate.

"You get more converts with honey than a mace to the head," he says with a knowing grin, without taking his eyes off of Leach. "You make a tempting offer, Mister Wizard, sir. The opportunity to learn the secrets of the kobolds in the Black Tower, a chance to apply my considerable training towards matters of intrigue an' secrecy, an' come out the other side a hero. Throw in Heda Littlelark in a charitable mood, or possibly a blindfold, an' it'd be everythin' I've ever wanted out of life. But there's just one thing that bothers me..."

Bufer fixes Khenemet-Apep with a look and jerks a thumb over his shoulder.

"Kem here's many things, sir, but 'selfless' and 'heroic' ain't even in his vocabulary. The only way he'd even consider an undertakin' as you've described would be if someone paid him a right goodly sum, and even then, I believe he'd be apt to take the money an' run." He glances over his shoulder at Renraw. "No offense."

Bufer turns back to the olive-skinned wizard with a cocked eyebrow.

"So if you don't mind, sir, I do believe we'll go with your original suggestion, an' find ourselves a body capable of conjuring a zone of truth. I reckon the constable is the body to see. What say we all go find 'im together, bein' sure to keep all our hands where everyone else can see 'em, right genial-like?"

Khenemet-Apep leans down, smiling, and murmurs quietly in Bufer's ear.

"Certainly. But dear gnome, don't think for a moment I ever intended to harm you. If I had, you'd already be dead, as well as these other two here." He straightens back up, snapping his fingers at his cat, who is digging at a hole beneath a nearby tree, attempting to pull some small animal from its den. "The constable it is. I've got a cold in my bones from sitting in this graveyard, and the cold gives me the piles."

Renraw claps his hands together in a mixture of delight and relief as the trio begin heading back towards the festivities, leaving Katadid to catch up after he finishes his count.

"Oh, that's the spirit, Bufer! I knew you'd do the right thing."

Bufer nearly stumbles, Renraw telling him he's done the right thing now giving him second thoughts. Shaking his head, he looks over his shoulder.

"We're off to find the constable, Kat!" he shouts to the white-haired wizard. Then, as an afterthought, he adds: "Find as many of the other roughnecks as you can, and ask 'em to meet us there!"

Katadid looks up and nods his assent and goes back to counting.

"Wizards," Bufer sighs.

* * *

Back in the graveyard, Katadid counts rapidly, using outstretched fingers to count two tombstones at a time.

"Seventy-seven, seventy-eight, seventy-nine!"

He closes his eyes and lets out a ragged breath. Now able to think more clearly, he looks over the tombstones toward the bustling town square. The muddy ground has been well torn up by the drunken dwarven brawl, so the townspeople now find their feet slurping with every step as they avoid freshly worn grooves caused by cracked skulls and stiff beards. Kat scans the crowd for Khenemet-Apep's olive skin tone, but finds nothing. He looks toward the Maiden's Bridge in case the group began walking across it to the warden's house, but either they haven't gotten there yet or had already crossed. Kat bites his lip in frustration. The town square is buzzing with the familiar hum of excitement before the Frost's Leaving music contest, and the crowd is clinging together, leaving little room to see anyone inside it.

Katadid squeaks with excitement when he spots Hazel Sawyer on the outskirts of the crowd, muttering and dragging her sullen brother in tow. Katadid from out of the graveyard to the ranger, arriving panting and out of breath.

"Them ... the gnome and ... the Wormy wizards ... they're ... Where's the constable? They said that. And so do I. Since ... well, that's where they ..."

Almost without realizing it, Kat's hand shoves the crumpled letter in one pocket while he reaches into his other pocket to pull out a neatly folded piece of parchment. He hand it to Hazel, who recognizes it as a graded worksheet from her Draconic lessons. Judging from the red ink that has bled through, she missed more than half of the questions again.

"Yes, terrible," he says, following Hazel's gaze to her homework. "Oh. And now you're a roughneck."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

"Kat, excellent! I was just looking for you and Bufer." Hazel tips her head to the side and glances behind the babbling wizard. "But he's clearly not with you."

She unfolds the paper Kat hands her and grimaces at the corrections.

"If this stupid alphabet made any sense, I'd be making much better progress." Hazel points to a rare line free of red ink. "But, hey, at least I can ask kobolds if they'd like an apple. Or possibly if they are an apple."

Reed, tired of standing still, repeatedly tries to dangle his full weight from his sister's arm as she reads.

"Cut it out, sprout. I'm trying to -- wait, Kat, did you say the constable? He's over at The Cat & The Fiddle. Is Bufer headed there?" Hazel shakes her head and tucks the homework into a pocket. "Always comin' and goin', but never meetin'. I've gotta drop this one," she raises her arm with Reed attached, "with my folks, but I'll meet y'all at the bar after, unless it's important.

"You do seem more agitated than usual, Kat. Don't worry. I'm sure your cousin will do just fine in the competition. He was in high spirits when I saw him last."

"Contest," Kat mutters. "Yes, yes, you should be there, it's important. Just meet them. Us. Find them with Bridger. And tell others. Bufer ... Bufer wanted more of us, I think."

Kat lets out a long suffering sigh as he takes out the battered letter and looks at it again.

"I just need to ask him about this. He could know..."

Khenemet-Apep squelches his way through the square, trailed by Renraw and Bufer.

"Well, there's the man with the answers," Hazel says, from across the square. "Who's he following, though?"

"I need more tea," Khenemet-Apep tells Renraw and Bufer. He pushes his way into the tavern, with the younger wizard and gnome scrambling to keep up.

Hazel eyes Reed, then the tavern as the trio disappears inside. Her shoulders droop as she lets out a long sigh. She bends down to look her brother in the eye and grasps his chin in her fingers.

"No drinking, no questions, no playing tricks of any kind, no acrobatics, and for the goddess's sake, keep your axe in its sheath. Stay right beside me unless I tell you otherwise, ya hear?"

Reed pulls away from Hazel's grip.

"I hear ya. I'm not a baby."

Hazel opens her mouth to respond, then reconsiders. She starts toward the tavern, tugging on Kat's sleeve to distract him from counting dwarves.

"Well, c'mon then. Bufer wants roughnecks, we'll give him roughnecks. Put some swagger in your step, boys."

Inside The Cat & The Fiddle, the Wizard of Green Mountain heads toward a lightly occupied table that is empty by the time he arrives. He pulls out a pouch of dried red flower petals and signals Ella.

"More hot water and a cup, please." Khenemet-Apep spies Emmerson and Constable Bridger talking at the bar. "Constable! A moment of your time, please?"

As Hazel pushes open the tavern door, it seems the whole crowd is staring at something near the bar. She can't quite catch a glimpse of what's happening, but Renraw and the stranger are standing near Emmerson and the constable, so she heads that way with Reed and Kat. A break in the crowd reveals Bufer between them.

"So I guess you're finally getting that drink, eh, Bufer?" Hazel raises a hand in greeting. "Found Kat wandering in the square again. Care to get him a drink and a chair before he starts counting lines in the wood grain?"

"You have no idea the day I've had, lass," Bufer says, grinning with relief, even as Katadid attempts to get the attention of Khenemet-Apep. "Listen, I'm glad ye're here. Stick around for a bit, would ye? Kem's gone and ... well, I can't say rightly what he's done, but he's in it up to his ears, this time, an' he's like to drag the rest of us down with him, from the sounds of things.

"Besides," he adds, as he reaches up and fiddles with something in his pocket, "I'd-I'd appreciate a quiet moment or two with ye after all this is done, if you can bear to take yer eyes off the rug rat. There's, uh, somethin' we need to talk about."

Hazel's eyebrows go up, and she nods at the gnome.

Reed Sawyer is eyeballing the small glass on the bar, trying to figure out if he could surreptitiously take it while his older sister is talking to her friends. It's about half-filled with a thin, golden liquid that looks like the stuff Tock ordered earlier and he never got to try. As he reaches for the glass, it seems to slide away from him with a loud scrape. It takes the boy a moment to realize that he was the one who moved: Deputy Gallaway has just pulled his stool back a few feet, moving the bar top out of arm's reach.

"Sorry, lad, that stuff's not for you." He leans between Reed and the rest of the group, flicking the glass back toward Milos with two fingers. "At least not while yer sister's right here.

"The dwarves are all taken care of, constable. The two clans are keeping their distance, and the three who got knocked out in the brawl are propped up against the wall of the bar."

The door to The Cat & The Fiddle bangs open and a tiny, cloaked figure the size of a gnome pushes its way inside. From the squeals of people leaping out of the way, the figure seems to be stomping on toes of any who refuse to move of their own accord. At the bar, Milos leans across, exchanging a room key for some coins and beckons his wife over to take the visitor's belongings. The small figure throws off his cloak and lifts the dark goggles from his eyes. He looks around, a sneer spreading across his reptilian snout.

Fiddler the Kobold has arrived.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Bufer blinks as he gets his first good look at the kobold bard.

"Damn," he says plainly, ignoring the look Hazel gives him for cursing in front of her little brother. "He would choose to show up right this second, wouldn't he?"

Having restrained himself from touching the mounted heads of rams and deer on the walls of The Cat & The Fiddle, Katadid leans over the table, trying to get closer to the Wizard of Green Mountain.

"Do you know," Kat tries to whisper to Khenemet-Apep over the din, his voice getting lost in the din. "Where one ... could find in Kem a way to ... unlock ... the mirrors of the Shadow Mages?"

Bufer glances around the table from Khenemet-Apep, Katadid and Renraw, to Emmerson, Tucker and Constable Bridger as they approach the table, and then back to Fiddler at the bar. He's obviously torn between duties, again. Finally settling on a course of action, Bufer reaches into his other pocket and nudges Reed with his foot.

"Hey there, boy, how'd you like to make a chunk o' change for doing near squat-all?" he asks, as he produces the shiny silver coin that Khenemet-Apep threw at him earlier. "I'm like to get a might distracted in the new few minutes, so keep an eye on the kobold for me. If anyone -- gnome, dwarf, man, whoever -- approaches him in a less-than-friendly manner, I want you to get my attention right quick, you hear?"

Already reaching for the coin and bobbing his head enthusiastically, Reed pauses at his sister's quiet cough.

"Stay within sight of me, Reed," Hazel says warningly. "And no going upstairs again: If Fiddler looks likely to leave the main room, you tell us, you don't follow."

Reed obnoxiously adjusts his chair this way and that until he can clearly see the kobold musician, and shoots Hazel a look that plainly says "Satisfied?"

Bufer spares a last glance for Hazel as she glares down at him disapprovingly.

"I don't care what done transpired lately," Bufer says to her quietly, nodding towards Fiddler, even as he absently strokes his own throat. "Kobold or no, he's got a right to perform. Ain't gonna be no reprisals tonight, come hell or high water, not if I have anything to say 'bout it. So keep your axe handy, yeah?"

"Sure hope it doesn't come to that," Emmerson puts in. "My score is to be settled with Pick and her two lieutenants. Unless Fiddler starts to swing an axe around, I think folks will let her be."

While Kat momentarily has Khenemet-Apep's attention, Renraw turns to Bufer, gripping his arm.

"I think you'll find I've done nothing you yourself wouldn't do. Why else would I be so forthcoming with the truth? Hmmm?" With that, Renraw folds his arms and turns away as though he's through. But it's only a moment's pause until he angrily uncrosses his arms to shake a finger at the gnome. "I know what you're thinking, gnome: You're thinking that this is some kind of stalling tactic, or that I've something else up my sleeve! Let me assure you, man, if we had a zone of truth right here and now, I'd step in it. What you saw with your own eyes and heard with your ears is precisely what happened. This man Apep is a paid mercenary."

Renraw stops, and his eyes grow large for a second.

"In fact," he says loudly, attempting to be heard over the sounds of the busy tavern. "Constable Bridger, this man, Khenemet-Apep -- the Green Mountain Wizard as he is called -- has laid a terrible curse on me. He's forced me, with something called a geas spell, to try to murder your deputy at a certain future date. I demand this curse be lifted at once, and I demand this man be made to pay for the crime of attempted murder. Ebuferpaly Potentloins and I here are willing to provide all the testimony you need ... under the effects of a zone of truth. In fact, as I understand some here may not be able to take my word, I insist I must testify inside a zone of truth, right alongside the criminal Khenemet-Apep."

"Really!" Kat whips his head around, interested. "Fascinating! Which kind of geas?" he asks, looking both to Renraw and Khenemet-Apep. "Exactly which methodology did you use? Ooo! Also, what were the physical effect you felt DURING the casting?"

"It was a standard geas enchantment, Leach," Renraw sighs. "Very standard. But as Bufer here will attest, I was bound against my will and unable to resist. And if the people of this community do not band together in order to find a way to lift the enchantment, the day will come where I will be forced into either killing Gallaway or dying myself. This must not be allowed to come to pass. Apep must be made to pay for what he did."

The constable's eyes blaze with rage. He snarls something incoherent that Tucker recognizes as "shackles," and points to both Renraw and Khenemet-Apep.

"You'll want a pair for the simpleton wizard as well, constable," Khenemet-Apep says, smiling ingratiatingly. "May I suggest all three of us be trussed up against the possibility of spell-casting and taken before the bishop and the baron forthwith? There is, as I'm sure you can guess, quite a bit that the bookkeeper has left out, including his willing collusion in a plot against the baron -- both of these young wizards, in point of fact. It would be a shame if either were able to cast a spell and escape the punishment coming to them under Imperial law."

Constable Bridger makes a croaking sound, crimson with fury. Getting control of himself, he leans forward, gripping the edge of the table.

"Khenemet, Kem, Leach. You will get up. You will follow me outside. You will wear the shackles. We will ride to Middleborough. If any of you so much says a single word in a language other than Imperial Common or moves your fingers even to scratch your nose, Tucker will run you through. There will be no tricks as we get to the bottom of this."

He looks at Kem.

"I should have known that birds of a feather flock together, but I guess you'll be beating the bard to his appointment with the hangman. Up, now, and out."

As chairs scrape and everyone gets to their feet, Renraw catches sight of Khenemet-Apep's mangy cat. Something about the way the cat is looking at him, he can't help but feel the animal is snickering.

"Emmerson, guard them until Tucker has them in chains and we've loaded them into a cart," the constable continues. "While I'm gone, I want you and the trustworthy handful of your friends to keep an eye on things here."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Marbin Goldenaxe looks torn, not sure as to what to do. Meanwhile, dwarves and humans continue to attempt to place bets with him.

"I don't know ... I'm busy here. Tell Boots what you told me. What he says, I'll do." He jerks his head towards a knot of dwarves heading into the bar for the contest. Stotch turns and looks at the crowd: Boots Farrin is apparently one of the heads disappearing through the door.

* * *

"Constable, it's vital that the Potentloins gnome accompany us to testify. He witnessed Khenemet's foul deed firsthand! Go on, Bufer, please speak up! You're the only one that can corroborate the truth!" Renraw gasps out frantically.

"I know when you're lying, Kem," Emmerson snaps. "It happens every time your mouth moves. I don't know what you're not telling us, but the zone of truth will fill in the gaps in your story. And, if I recall the Vast Codex correctly, it'll be damning enough to end your treacherous existence."

The constable scowls at Renraw. Without taking his eyes off him, he growls, "Bufer, stay here. I'll be back to question you in a moment. The rest of you, outside, now."

* * *

"--just can't believe it," Tock continues talking to a man loudly near the table full of Farrin dwarves. "I can't believe that dwarven bard plans on making such fools of the Farrin clan. I haven't heard the whole song, but what I did hear was just unbelievable. The honor of all the Farrins will be damaged by the song. And, oh, how he boasts. It's just not right, the way the constable looks the other way for his precious Therurt and friends. If I were the Farrins, I'd do something about this before the contest starts."

"I'm tellin' ya," Ragglus says conversationally to a nearby man, perhaps too casually, "That there Glangirn bard's gonna piss all over them Farrins, he told me them song words himself! Nasty stuff, that. I'd tell all my friends I was you, 'specially them Farrin dwarves. Eh? Why's ya pointin' t'yer ears and shakin' your head like that? Can't you hear me? What? Oh, you're deaf? Bah, get outta here then."

* * *

"Well, my day just got more interesting." Tucker quickly does as he's been told, chaining everyone's hands in front of them, so they can't try to hide any casting gestures. "The last time I rode into Middleborough, we made the trip riding the whole way with a dead body. Don't think we're unwilling to do the same again.

He starts putting the shackles on the deeply frowning Katadid, then pauses and turns to the constable.

"Are you sure about Leach, sir?" he asks, keeping his voice quiet to avoid undermining his boss' authority in front of the new prisoners. "He is rather simple, after all, and the odds of him being directly involved in ... well, anything are slim. He's useful as a translator, but only if we can keep him clear-headed."

"We knew he'd given information to the kobolds, but I chose to gave him the benefit of the doubt because he's ... not right," The constable murmurs back to Tucker. "This has gone further than that, though, and the sheriff and probably the baron will need to know about it now. It's out of our hands."

* * *

Stotch returns to the square, having completed his costume change back to his normaly appearance, he spots Marbin speaking with an older dwarf who must be Boots Farrin, and looking at the piece of paper Stotch thrust on him together. He's too far away to tell how the conversation is going.

Stumbling into the cat and Fiddle, he sides up to the toughest-looking Farrin at the bar, and orders ale.

"It's a real shame what that Glangirn is gonna do tonight," he drawls in dwarvish. "The Farrin are too stout a folk to have to listen to such a slanderous song. It's a cryin' shame, it is."

He then takes his ale, and meanders skulkily through the crowd, looking for Tock. Cold, sudsy foam drips from his nose, as he drinks deep from the tankard, smirking.

* * *

Hazel gawks as the revelations fly, completely confused by the accusations and confessions. When the furor dies down, she leans over and nudges Bufer.

"Renraw's gonna kill Tucker? Because of some kobold plot? What in the hells have y'all been doing today, Bufer?" She shakes her head, trying and failing to clear it. "I need to get Reed back to my folks before I do anything else; he's had just about enough excitement today to last him through summer. I had been hoping to hear the music, too."

"Just keep the peace while they cart the traitors off to see the baron," Emmerson replies, keeping his eyes on the manacled wizards. "I don't expect trouble, but then again, this has been a pretty strange day so far."

Kat stares at the shackles on his hands. He looks horrified, as if they simply grew out of his skin.

"I didn't ... I didn't do any ... I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!" he screams.

As Tucker leads the wizards outside, the constable points a finger at Renraw.

"Keep him quiet and calm, or I'll gag him." He turns to Bufer. "Come upstairs with me. We'll find a quiet place to talk."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Over at the bar, Tock's head whips around toward the door.

"Kat?" His eyes narrow as he takes in the manacled wizards being led away. "Oh, by Destor, what did they do now?"

Stotch follows Tock's gaze and works his way toward him through the crowd.

"Do you know these mages? Every single one is tied up like an angry goblin. It's like an old-time Lothianite witch-burning!"

"The mumbling fool is my idiot cousin, and the other one is one of the few people here I don't hate still. See if you can find out what's going on. Nobody who would know trusts me."

* * *

"Kat, shh, calm down," Renraw says soothingly. "Everyone knows you didn't do anything. We'll just go and prove it, OK, just as we'll do for me. We'll get through this; it's just going to take a trip to Middleborough to sort through it all."

That said, Renraw whirls toward Emmerson, his chains clinking as he thrusts a bony finger at the paladin.

"PRESUME GUILT IF YOU WISH, SELF-RIGHTEOUS FATHEAD! ONLY KNOW YOUR GOD JUDGES YOU FOR IT!" The wizard's narrow chest heaves with fury, and his face is blotchy with the excitement and exertion. "I go willingly into the zone of truth. I make no attempt at escape. I explain everything, without omission. I only ask that this nefarious magic be undone, and that this man Khenemet-Apep's actions be scrutinized alongside mine."

"My God is righteous and his word is law and he can see through your lies and deceit. You did something that day, Kem. You had a rather lengthy conversation in Draconic with the kobolds and Katadid was completely reluctant to translate." Emmerson's piercing blue eyes bore into Renraw's brown ones. "That puts you on very shaky ground, and the last place you want to be when your neck is adorned with a hangman's noose is shaky ground."

"I think you may have a very basic misunderstanding of Lothianite scripture, Grant: There's nothing wrong with talking to kobolds. Murdering them, on the other hand ..."

"Of course, there is nothing wrong with talking to them," Emmerson laughs, "But you are bound to Middleborough to see the baron because you're the assassin that is supposed to kill Tucker in a future date. And on the kobold's orders. I'm sure that plan did not hatch out of nowhere."

"Are you dense? Did you hear what I said earlier? I'm no assassin; I had to be mystically coerced into this. I walked into this tavern knowing full well what would probably happen, all so I could PREVENT MYSELF from committing this evil. No, this plan didn't hatch out of nowhere, but it sure as hell didn't come from me. Why would I want to be cursed? And, if I'm so horrible, why would I NEED to be?"

* * *

"I can tell you what's going on," Stotch grins, elbowing Tock in the ribs. "Loud, anxious people are being arrested in a very public place. In short, a diversion! Now we have a chance to find that kobold, and make the contest that much easier for you to win!"

Tock watches his cousin being escorted out and his frown lingers a moment.

"Idiots. He's not capable of anything that would get him convicted." He turns back to Stotch, forcing himself to grin once more. "Never rely on the intelligence of anyone in this dump but me.

"Right. We've got the kobold and the gnome left."

"Fiddler is in this inn somewhere," Stotch says. "Order a jug of the stoutest, strongest dwarven brew they have and two jugs of fresh water, then meet me in the back, by the stairs."

Stotch then slips off the stool, and slips silently over to Reed Sawyer, who has slipped away from his sister and back inside. Stotch crouches down beside the boy.

"Hey, son. How'd you like to make a shiny gold Imperial?" Stotch deftly rolls a coin between his fingers. "Just run over to the stables, and lay a bet for a friend. Twenty gold on Tock Chandler in tonight's contest. Tell no one what you're doing, and it's three Imperials for you."

He presses a coin into the boy's hand and slips away again.

* * *

"Plan? PLAN?" Katadid flings his hands up in the air, the shackles clanking loudly. "Pick trusted Kem about as much as you do! She would never make ANY plan with HIM! And she didn't! She would with HAZEL."

Kat points toward Bufer, on the stairs across the room.

"You're an idiot for jumping into danger, but you made your choice. And every way I think through it, it still would have worked, although I'm not sure-" Kat shakes his head to refocus himself. He does his best to point fingers at Grant while shackled.

"YOU, however, imposed your moral certitude onto another's decision and where it wasn't needed and YOU caused your own death. Blaming me or anyone else for YOUR choice shouldn't surprise anyone given that genocide is a reasonable option for your faith." Kat shakes his head and begins to quiet down. "Wormy is Kem: That was all the translation anyone should have needed ..."

"Quiet now, Kat," Renraw pleads, "Lest they gag you."

* * *

Mounting the stairs behind the clomping of Constable Ward Bridger's false leg, Bufer pauses and looks back down into the common room of The Cat & The Fiddle and at the manacled wizards in its doorway. He doesn't flinch when Katadid yells and points at him.

Hazel glances up at him, and recognizes the expression on his face: She's seen it many a time, lit in flickering firelight as he sat by the tavern's woodstove, working through one of his gnomish clockwork puzzles from Wit's End.

Seeming to feel the weight of her gaze, Bufer blinks and looks down at her, his normally grinning face as dour as she's ever seen it. He shrugs gloomily and follows the constable up to the quieter second floor of the inn.

"Constable, I'll be more than happy to tell you everythin' I know," he says, "But first I think I oughta warn you that I'm beginning to suspect there's a kobold attack on Maidensbridge in the offing, possibly as soon as tonight. I suggest we start makin' some quiet preparations, just in case I'm right."

"I guessed that," the constable says, "That's why I'm leaving folks behind. I'll also send back help from Foxton on Moss and Middleborough. And once the baron knows what's what, we'll be under his watchful eye and I suspect some of Rubik's men as well.

"Now, tell me what you know."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Bufer tells his story as quickly and plainly as he can, starting with watching Heda play for the dark-skinned stranger drinking the strange tea, and ending with the constable's own appearance at their table following the standoff in the graveyard. Bufer barely manages to control his impatience when Bridger asks him to slow down, or repeat key points of the story.

"Had 'im trussed up like a prize hog," Bufer repeats. "And Khenemet-Apep's exact words were 'When the attack comes on Maidensbridge, you must kill Tucker Gallaway.' I don't know anything about wizarding, sir, but if he'd been a cleric, I'd sa he was laying some kind of quest on him. ..."

"... No, goin' to Middleborough, the zone of truth, that was all his idea," Bufer replies to another question. "Khenemet-Apep's, I mean. But when Kem started to go along with it, he seemed to back off a bit, tried to sell me some song and dance about he and Kem bein' in on some secret mission together to save Maidensbridge from the 'Tiamat faction.' Tried to bring me in on it, too. Seemed like he was actually tryin' to give Kem an out, but then Renraw called it crap to his face, and Apep went back to his original story. I don't mind tellin' ya, sir, it all made my head hurt. ..."

"... Nah, like I said, Leach didn' have anythin' to do with any of this. He done showed up after I'd untied Renraw, and we were leaving the boneyard t'come find you. I asked him to gather as many of the town's -- well, roughnecks, for lack of a better word -- just in case things went south when push came to shove, and we needed some muscle to help contain the situation. I don't why Apep mentioned him, maybe to get him outta the way when this Tiamat faction attacks? I dunno. ..."

"... Near as I can tell," Bufer sighs, after having recited his story for the third time, "The only reason Apep and Kem both want to go to Middleborough so badly is 'cause they wanna be elsewhere when the hammer comes down. It ain't gonna be nothin' at all for a wizard with Apep's power to get free once he's on the road -- even I know a spell or two I could use while bound an' gagged, if I had to. To me, that says the attack's comin' pretty damn soon. ..."

"... Now, if'n that's settled," Bufer says, settling his sackcloth robe around him, "I'd appreciate hearin' yer orders, sir. I may not be a citizen of the empire, but Maidensbridge's been as much a home to me as Wit's End's ever been, and some of its folk are closer to me than kin. I'll defend her with my dying breath if need be, although you'll forgive me if'n I hope it don't come to that."

The constable's face is hidden in the shadows, in the corner of the upstairs hallway.

"No, unfortunately, you're wrong about Leach. I know for a fact that he's given intelligence to the kobolds before. Which lends credibility to what Khenemet-Apep said about Kem, too, to my mind. And that means this is all partially my fault for letting it get this far instead of telling the sheriff what I knew."

He turns his back on Bufer and marches heavily down the stairs, his wooden leg thumping loudly with each step.

"Take care of my town for me."

Bufer blinks, then rushes down the stairs, past the constable, then stops and turns to face him, standing directly in Bridger's path.

"Beggin' yer pardon, sir," he says harshly, nostrils flaring, "But if I'm to stay behind and help engineer the safety of y'all's town, I'll ask ye to return the favor: I want some assurance that Kem and Leach will be treated fairly, within reason, and will be subject to a fair and equitable trial, as you folk measure these things, if things should come to that. The Glutton take Khenemet-Apep for all I care, but Leach and Kem ..."

Bufer trails off, then sighs and continues.

"The Leach boy ain't right, sir. You know that for a fact. And Kem, yes, he's a goat's ass, but he's our goat's ass. I don't think he'd willingly ... The boy was trussed up for a reason, sir. Maybe neither you nor I can wrap our heads around it, but the fact remains: Apep felt he had to truss the boy up and feed him some magical command for a reason. That don't sound like an accomplice to me.

"Look. if a gnome's to be judged by the company he keeps, then I got plenty to be judged by, I ain't denyin' that. But if the reverse is also true: If a man's to be measured by the quality of those that call him friend, then I hope y'all will take my character into account when you judge Renraw and Katadid. And Master Barennackle don't teach just any fool, sir. I don't hoodwink easy."

* * *

"I turned myself in so that you might live, cretin," Renraw snarls at Tucker. "Don't make me regret it."

"No, I saw how effectively you fought those skeletons," Tucker scoffs. "My safety has nothing to do with you turning yourself in. This is just the end result of you trying to be too clever for your own good; you may not believe it, but you have friends in this town, despite your best efforts.

"Instead of trying to be all sneaky, maybe you should ask for help when you need it."

The sound of Ward Bridger clumping unevenly down the steps is distinct, even above the hectic din of the bar.

"And trust me, you need it," Tucker finishes. "For what it's worth, Seedcounter, I'll say that nothing bad will happen to you or Kat without full proof. This may end badly, but it won't be simply because of heresay."

The constable spares the gnome cleric one last look.

"My god is the Daybringer. It's my abundance of mercy that has Leach in this mess. Now, keep this town safe in my absence, if your word is worth anything."

And with that, he's gone, barking an order to have the prisoners loaded up into the cart for transportation to the highest authorities in the barony on charges of treason.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Standing alone on the stairs, Bufer continues to stare after the departed constable, the gears in his head turning faster and faster. Cursing under his breath, the gnome cleric practically flies down the remaining steps to the first floor of the tavern, and casts his gaze about the crowd.

"Bloody humans," he mutters impatiently under his breath. "Why do you all have to look so ali-- Ah! TOCK! TOCK CHANDLER!"

For the second time today, Bufer elbows his way through the crowd -- although, this time, he finds it parts a might easier for a gnome who's just been in close contact with the constable -- towards the bar, and the town's ne'erdowell bard. He spares only a glance at Tock's unfamiliar companion before reaching up to grab the bard's arm and spin him around.

"Tock," he says, as Chandler glares down at him in annoyance. "Your cousin and Renraw are in deep, deep sheep droppings, lad. Constable Bridger's bringing them to Middleborough on charges of treason, something about conspiring with kobolds, feeding them military information. He is right pissed, lad, and he's not like to take mercy on Kat for bein' strange this time; he seems to think bein' kindly to him in the past is what's led to this mess."

Bufer glances up again at the stranger Tock's with, noticing that the unfamiliar man seems to be hanging on his every word. Scowling, Bufer shifts himself around Tock so that his back is to the stranger, and lowers his voice.

"Tock, if they make it to Middleborough, I don't think Kat or Kem are apt to be long for this world. I don't know what Kem's gotten himself into, this time -- frankly, I don't wanna know -- but a treason rap ain't the kind of thing you walk away from."

Tock looks down at Bufer curiously. His new friend says something and he's not entirely sure he listened.

"Kat," he says simply and sighs.

He looks around the room, to Stotch, to the other bards, to Ella, and back down to the gnome.

"I've rescued Kat from everything his idiot self got himself involved in since he was born. I'm afraid that if the Lothianites have decided to persecute those with arcane or draconic leanings, it's simply beyond me to help at this point.

"You'd have me risk my own neck? You, a gnome, would beseech me so? It is your race's unrepentant hatred of all things dragon-descended that most likely started this entire mess. Were you so concerned, you'd do something about it yourself. Instead, perhaps you thought to eliminate four birds instead of three with one stone? Know this, gnome. If harm comes to Katadid Leach, there will be a large number of people I hold responsible, and a small number of gnomes. Rescue is out of my hands at this point, but vengeance will not always be."

* * *

Emus watches the cart leave Maidensbridge and disappear into the darkness of the Tulgey Wood until it vanishes in the trees.

Swaying slightly, he turns, looking for his clan leader, Argus Glangirn. Clearing his throat, he salutes, painfully slowly.

"Sir, shorry to interrupt your practicin', but if'n I kin have a moment of yer time?

"With your permision, I'd like ta go with the constable and hish deputy. Some of them in the group 're friendsh of mine, 'n they might could use my strength if'n the wizard triesh somethin' funny." Emus looks back over his shoulder. "The Wizard of Green Mountain, I mean.

"Oh, and there'sh talk of a kobold attack on the town, today. I ain't no stra-tee-jist, but I'm thinkin' thash a bunch a hooey, what with all the Haurdir around. The kobolds surely know who's already in town," Emus glances meaningfully over at Fiddler. "But if thish does have anythin' ta do Gax'sh turds, I think we should have one o' us to shee how things turn out."

Argus looks annoyed at stopping his practice and scratches at the bare shoulder exposed beneath his overalls.

"And if the Farrin start something again, boy, you want to be in a different town entirely? You got a yellow belly under that beard? That it, boy?"

Emus turns bright red beneath his beard. All traces of his slurring are gone. His salute is crisp and steady this time.

"No, sir! If you think it's best, I'll leave an old man, a boy, and two shackled weaklings to the mercy of that dung heap kobold-friend in the middle of the woods, sir! Never let it be said we Glangirn won't pass up a fancy music contest when the health of the barony is on the line! Sir!"

Emus gives another quick jerk of a salute and turns his back on Argus. He scans the crowd in Maidensbridge, his anger making him feel genuinely hot as he thinks.

"Screw this."

* * *

As the three wizards are loaded into the cart, Kat stares straight ahead blankly, his shackled hands jangling as he taps out even numbers on the side. He repeats snatches of the letter from St. Feldin's almost without being aware of it.

"... a number of the Shadow Mages, however, are known to have traveled north, along with their owl-headed servants, into the still-wild Prustan Peninsula. Being as close to Kem as they were, the Shadow Mages sought to research new magics that would hide them from their fellows ..."

"Yes," the Wizard of Green Mountain says as he adjusts himself on his seat, his cat sitting between his feet, "I've seen ruins with owl-headed statues in the north of Kem, in the shadow of the Great Tower."

He elbows Renraw.

"Your kobolds friends have been by there as well."

Katadid blinks as his mind snaps dizzily back to the present.

"Ah, really?" Kat taps his feet on the bottom of the cart. "About ... about how far is that?"

Khenemet-Apep reaches up to scratch his neck as the cart jerks forward, his manacle chains clanking.

"Hmmm, 20 or 30 miles beyond Southerly. Most avoid the area because of the tower, of course."

"And they avoid the Tower why?"

The older wizard just laughs.

"When you can see the tower, you'll know why."

Katadid nods, silent now, and thinking. Renraw looks from Katadid to Khenemet-Apep, snorts in disgust, and remains silent.

There's a quiet sound from behind the cart that gets louder and louder. At the edge of the lantern light, the sound resolves itself into a running Emus and Skeeter. The dog, his tongue lolling, catches up to the cart and leaps inside. A moment later, the dwarf clambers aboard as well.

Constable Bridger looks back, says nothing, and then turns back toward the road.

"Emus Graymullet!" Renraw grins. "As I live and breathe! It's good to see you."

He gratefully extends his hands out for a shake, barely realizing they're shackled. Emus gives a curt nod, his face still a mask of anger.

"Uh," Kat looks decidedly uncomfortable with the dog eagerly pacing aorund and trying to lick his face, "There's ... a dog ... "

Emus gently thumps his dog's hindquarters, and Skeeter sits, gazing up lovingly at Katadid.

"Just along fer the ride," Emus says finally.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Back in Maidensbridge, Ragglus is still attempting to spread the word of the Glangirn's upcoming musical entry "Farrins Is Stupid, Fat, and Stupid" (he was quite proud of the title), he cuts himself off in mid-fib as he notices Bufer and Emmerson putting their heads together and murmuring. He knows them both well enough to recognize the worry on their faces.

Across The Cat & The Fiddle, Bufer catches Ragglus' eye and smiles grimly at him, beckoning him over with one hand, then turns back to Emmerson.

"I think we're in for a rough night, beanpole," the gnome says. "The constable's gone, the deputy's gone, the wizards are gone, most of the town is here or at the orchard, likely drunk an' unarmed, an' there's every possibility that the kobolds are crouchin' in the bushes outside, just waitin' to attack."

He sighs, heavily.

"I hope ye said yer prayers this mornin', lad. We're gonna need 'em."

"Lothian's blood!" Emmerson exclaims. "Are you certain? Would they risk an attack with Fiddler in our midst? That would be clever. Fiddler could use his bardic knowledge to weaken us."

It is at this point that Milos begins to bang a wooden spoon against a pot.

"We'll be getting started with the contest shortly. Please clear this area here!" he says, indicating the area before the stairs leading to the second floor.

"Confound it! Of all the hours in the day, now the contest begins," Emmerson grimaces. He looks back, seeing Ragglus standing with them, seemingly sober and alert.

"Ragglus, seek the leader of the Glangirn clan and tell him of this, so he keep his fighters ready. I'll seek out the Farrin leader and tell him the same. Bufer, tell Tock Chandler to keep an eye on Fiddler. If Fiddler's part of the conspiracy, I hope he can counter his songs, but if he's not, I'd like him to keep him safe. Also, is there any way to alert your fellow gnomes at Wit's End?"

Bufer hesitates.

"I'll see if I can find some'a the Bergin lads, see if they'll run back an' get word to Master Barennackle an' Lord Rubik, but if there's an attack in the offing, the kobolds are like to be watchin' the roads. It may not be safe.

"I'm through tellin' Tock Chandler anything, though, boy," he continues, sadly glancing over his shoulder at the bard. "I don't recokon he'd listen to me right now, anyway.

"Listen, while we spread the word, let's be careful to avoid spreadin' panic along with it, for Garl's sake. Stick to the facts, tell only who you have to, and make sure we're not overheard. All we know for sure is that there's an attack planned; we don't know for certain that it's happening tonight."

"Indeed," Emmerson nods. "Our comments are for leaders only and with an emphasis on 'expected.' I'll speak with Tock. Lothian and Garl Glittergold be with us all."

* * *

The sparse crowd near the orchards and his wolf's pelt cloak make Hazel's father easy to spot. She speeds her steps even further, adjusting her grip on Reed as he stumbles.

"You're really gonna tell 'im, Haze? It was just playin'. There wasn't no danger in it. Didn't you never-"

"Try to bean dwarves on the head with rotten apples? No, I never did that." Hazel reluctantly smiles. "It was a fair sight to see, though."

"Yeah, it was, wasn't it?" Reed's cocky grin returns. "Them Bergins is full of ideas and such."

Hazel comes to a dead stop and leans down to look her brother in the eyes.

"Just don't mention that name in front o' Da, yeah? He won't like ya hangin' out with 'em. Now c'mon."

She can tell the exact moment when her mother notices their approach: Rosalind's mouth drops open and she takes three steps forward, patting Jack's arm to get his attention. Hazel winces as she gets within earshot.

"-two clean children and I get back two mud-covered monsters."

"It's not that bad, Mama. Leastaways we're not covered in green beer, eh?" Hazel looks about and sees Aspen standing a little ways off with the Cooper boy, a blush high on her cheeks. "An' you've still got one pure child. For a while yet, anyways."

She earns a swat on the arm for that remark before Rosalind begins fussing over her youngest.

"Da?" Hazel motions him away and nods meaningfully up at the black silhouette of Green Mountain. "There was some trouble in town. Nothing's certain, mind, but seems it might be best to stay with a larger crowd. If we hurry back, I think we can still catch part of the bards' contest."

* * *

Emmerson approaches Tock Chandler, trying his expression as neutral as he can.

"Something may go down tonight. I ask you to keep you eye on Fiddler and let no harm come to or from him." Without waiting for a response, the paladin goes to look for the leader of Clan Farrin.

Behind him, Stotch tugs on Tock's elbow, cutting off the bard's response to Emmerson.

"Friends are hard to come by, Tock, and can be as precious as gold. If your friends are in trouble, you should help them. I haven't known you long, but I think that deep down you know that this contest means little versus the lives of your friend and your cousin." Stotch sighs heavily. "Also, I don't think there's any substantial scratch to be won. More fun could be had elsewhere."

He pulls back his cloak to reveal the hilt of his rapier.

"And I have a plan."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Not for the first time this day, Bufer wishes Tosh were here.

It seems as though more than half the town has packed itself into The Cat & The Fiddle as Bufer scans the crowd for one of his fellow gnomes. After several minutes of being jostled back and forth by man and dwarf alike, he catches a glimpse of a pair of Bergins, standing by the stairs, their pockets unaccountably stuffed with eggs they've presumably pilfered from the tavern's larder.

"Hey, Bufer," the younger of the two says with a mischievious grin as he approaches. "You hear about the song Argus Glangirn's gonna play tonight? We was just about to head back up to the roof an' find a good throwin' spot, before the riot starts."

"You're what?" Bufer asks in Gnomish, then shakes his head sharply. "No, never mind. Listen, I need to get a message back home to Master Barennackle right quick, but I'm told there may be kobolds on the road who're spoilin' for a fight. You lads know anyone brave, clever or stupid enough who'd be willin' to take it for me?"

* * *

"But," Ragglus begins, looking from Emmerson and down to Bufer, "But ..."

But neither of them was paying attention anymore. Emmerson walked off to speak to Tock briefly, and Bufer was away hopping up and down trying to see if he could find some Bergins.

Ragglus had lied in the presence of Argus Glangirn earlier, and whether or not the head of the Glangirn dwarves had believed him, he doubted he was going to be taken seriously now. But Maidensbridge is in danger, and while he could take or leave most Bridgers, it was still his town, and he wasn't about to let it fall to any blasted kobolds.

He spies his target just inside the door. With a sigh, Ragglus marches forward to meet him. Boldly favored are the fortunate, he thinks he remembers hearing once. Playing it over in his mind, it suddenly occured to him that it didn't sound exactly right. He cursed himself inwardly, hoping he hadn't muttered it in shared company on a previous occasion and sounded stupid.

Lost in thought, the ex-paladin barely stops himself in time from stepping right into the lead dwarf, staring up at him questioningly, hand hovering over his axe handle. Ragglus looks past him to Argus Glangirn, locks eyes, and musters up the most respectful tone he can.

"I need to speak with y'all 'bout a matter of great importance, sir," he says, bowing. A few patrons nearby catch the display and start to snicker, but quickly stifle when they happen to catch Ragglus' glare. "It concerns your clan and Maidensbridge, perhaps all of Midwood. Please, sir, won't take but a moment."

"Are you soft in the head, boy?" Argus Glangirn snarls, eyes shooting daggers -- or more precisely, hatchets -- at Ragglus. "This is just some no-beard scheme to throw me off my game at the contest, ain't it?"

Holding his banjo to his chest protectively, he jerks his head at a figure behind Rags.

"Get him out of here, boys. I don't want to lay eyes on this here 'gentleman' until my song is done sung, ya hear?"

* * *

Emmerson spots Boots Farrin quaffing stout ale, laughing merrily with his clansmen. Taking a deep breath, he approaches.

"Boots Farrin, gead of the Farrin Clan, may your beard grow ever longer, this servant of the barony and Lothian requests a minute of your attention."

"So, boy," Boots Farrin drawls, fishing around in his lip with one fat finger for his used-up plug of chewing tobacco. "I reckon you're friends with that Graymullet yellowbelly, ain't ya? Not even enough pride in his heritage to keep the mountain's name for himself and now he has a pretty little boy with his chin all covered in peach fuzz trying to shoo us out so we won't hear Argus talking trash about his betters. I reckon that's about it, ain't it?"

Emmerson hears a cough by his left shoulder and turning his head, spots Dalarn and Erilon Farrin behind him listening and clearly spoiling for a fight.

"Why don't you just go sit your pretty little behind on down, boy, and let us just enjoy us some tunes?"

Oddly enough, the two dwarves by his side make Emmerson relax.

"I am clean-shaven because I made a vow to Lothian. When my vow has been fulfilled, I'll grow a beard that would put Richard Grant, the brewer of Middleborough, to shame," Emmerson smiles. "I do not mean for any of you to miss the festival. I just wanted to tell you to alert your warriors. There are rumors of an attack floating on the breeze. By your leave, sir."

Emmerson bows and departs.

* * *

"Lindy, love, we mustn't miss the musical competition. Hazel tells me one of her young friends is entering this year." Jack Sawyer might be a touch more watchful than usual, his back a bit stiffer, but he gives no overt sign of the news his daughter has brought. "Let's head over to the tavern, shall we?"

Rosalind herds Reed along with her, calling back to Aspen and her beau.

"Come on, you two. There'll be time enough for dancing later." More quietly, to Hazel, she adds, "Make sure your sister doesn't linger too long with the boy, please. But don't scare him off, either."

Jack and Rosalind head back into town with Reed running, jumping and tumbling alongside, a steady stream of patter accompanying him.

Young Matwin Cooper steals a kiss from Aspen once her father's back is turned. He casts a half-guilty, half-defiant look toward Hazel, who shrugs and jerks her head toward town.

"Why don't y'all hit the Cat, OK? Just keep yourr hands to yourself, the two of you. Mostly."

She winks at the boy and gestures the pair ahead of her. With one last look at the mountain, Hazel steers her sister back towards the bar. Aspen keeps loitering on the edge of the woods instead of allowing herself to be guided.

As they approach the tavern, Hazel hears the first sounds of Heda Littlelark warming up. From the sound of it, the gnome is atop a table, clomping with heavy boots that will allow her to accompany this year's song with a bit of percussion.

The bar is packed and the air hot inside as they push their way inside.

* * *

Tock and Stotch approach Ella at the bar.

"Ella, darlin', come here," Tock says quietly. "We don't want a panic, so don't say nothin', but all this commotion's got to do with a kobold attack tonight. Don't let on, but whatever you do, don't let folks outta this tavern. If you gotta, say that I stepped out to prepare for a huge amazing song that'll be the stuff of legends, but do not let them out of this tavern. We're going for help."

"We think it's imminent," Stotch nods. "Let no one leave. We are riding for help now."

As Stotch emphasizes this last point, a dark-clad gnome male slips past him to the door. He runs in place a moment, getting his traction and then shoots off, the sound of his footfalls loud and wet, even over the din of the crowd.

"They call him 'Swifty,'" Bufer volunteers to a reveller.