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

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

As the group escorting Khenemet-Apep through the Tulgey Wood makes its way along the Baron's Road, they are anything but silent:

"Emus, they were en-route to meet with those who dispense justice in a zone of truth," Emmerson sighs. "Their actions in there would save them or condemn them. No one wanted to execute them on the spot. They escaped because they knew their misdeeds would be uncovered."

Hazel's disbelieving snort comes out a bit louder than she intended. With an apologetic shrug, she peers back at Emmerson.

"If Kat did any 'misdeeds,' y'all know it was only cause he didn't realize they were wrong. Dangling a mystery in front of his nose is like jingling a purse in front of Renraw or putting a pretty gal within three miles of Tock. Can't help but cause trouble."

"What Katadid did or didn't do is now irrelevant," Emmerson says with conviction. "They had their chance to tell their side of the story to the bishop and baron of the land and be cleared. Instead, they chose escape. How does that benefit their situation?"

And with that, they have arrived in Foxton on Moss.

"You sure they were running off, Tucker?" Hazel asks. "Maybe you just weren't driving fast enough for them. Seems y'all ended up in the same place anyways."

"Why would they stay on the road?" Emmerson interjects, not seeing the sharp look he earns from Hazel. "If I were running away, I would have left it immediately. Perhaps send one of their number ahead with the cart to throw us off the right scent. I doubt they are here."

"Well, I'm just the tracker, what do I know?" Hazel snaps, throwing up her hands. "Maybe they grew wings and flew over the mountain."

She stalks off to the Way Inn. Before Emmerson can open his mouth to ask why she's upset, Tucker hustles off after a uniformed deputy, dragging Khenemet-Apep by his shackles.

"Soldier! Which way to the jail?" Though he can't hear the reply, the deputy points, and sends Tucker off in the right direction.

The building was easy enough to find, with its huge wooden door and a plank that reads "gaol" nailed to it. Even without that, the smell was unmistakable: Even the Chandlers' pigpens didn't reek like this. The guard inside jumped when the door opened; despite the ruckus outside, he'd been sleeping on the job.

"This man disturbed the baron's peace," Tucker reports, indicating the now-gagged Khenemet-Apep. "He put an illegal spell on one of our citizens back in Maidensbridge, then tried his damnedest to murder an agent of law. Oh, and y'all will need some way of keeping a magician bound; this one can jump himself through space at will, so bars don't mean much."

He thinks for a moment, remembering the pile of the wizard's possessions he left lying by the side of the road.

"Plus, he's not carrying any identification papers."

Outside, Emmerson finds himself outside the Way Inn, standing with Bufer and the constable, examining the sheets-turned-ropes dangling from a window.

Ragglus leads the horses to the Way Inn's stable with a yawn. He knew Tock Chandler as well as anyone, and there was no way he would've let his party stop in Foxton unless it was to throw people off the scent.

They were gone. Ragglus was somewhat relieved, if for no other reason than it meant he could get back to the business of getting fall-down drunk again as soon as possible.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Previously, back at the Way Inn ...

A small boy with bright orange hair dressed all in wool shows the fugitives to a well-appointed room. The room has shutters that lock on the inside and a stout lock on the door. Tock barely notices the boy and quickly moves to open the window to get a good look outside.

The boy hands the room key to Katadid, his other hand levitating upwards, palm outstretched.

"Just let me know if y'all need anything, sirs. Just ask for Dieter."

"In fact, maybe there is, Dieter," Tock smiles.

Dieter looks alarmed as Tock begins chanting, but it isn't long before the boy's face is pleased and relaxed and looking up toward Tock with admiration.

"Dieter," Tock says, handing over a silver piece. "Been practicing your alchemy? How would you like to make that silver into a gold?"

Dieter nods eagerly.

"I did that spell last week," Renraw mutters to Katadid. "It was simple."

Tock ignores the others and begins his instructions.

"First, grab us a bottle of brandy. Here's the gold for that to give the lovely lady up front. Second, be quiet about it, but get us some food, enough for a few days. A backpack or two would help also, but try to be slick about it, which I just bet you are. But the biggest favor you can do for me is to get those stable hands out of there for a few minutes. Tell them whatever you need to. I'll see you soon, pal."

Dieter nods and darts out of the room, grinning wildly.

Tock spins and begins pointing and barking orders.

"Right. Renraw? Kat? Exchange clothes. We need that fresh mud. You'll be sneaking out the window. We're too high: Tie the bed sheets in knots and shimmy down on them. Can't hurt to cast an alarm spell on the door, after the kid gets back. We'll be too far away to hear it but we may as well let them think we were expecting company.

"After you're out, Kem, you cast that running spell you have and run through the forest southeast. Your tracks, along with the mud, should provide a decent trail to throw any trackers from Maidensbridge off. When the spell's about halfway done, run back northeast to the road, where Kat and I will meet you. We'll ride on then. And grab the bed sheets before you go. Kat might be getting naked before we hit town.

"Katadid, leg it out that window in about 10 minutes. You'll know for sure when to go when you hear the laughter from the tavern. We'll join up at the road.

"OK, get going with the clothes-switching. I'll be right back."

And with that, Tock stamps out of the room, leaving a bewildered pair of wizards to stare at each other.

"I'm confused as to why his plans always require someone or multiple someones to remove their clothing," Renraw sighs as he begins stripping. "And I'm not too keen on being told which spells to cast and when to cast them. When did we put your cousin in charge again?"

"Well, he knows ... he's always ..." Katadid mumbles, trailing off as he begins unbuttoning his shirt.

The sound of Dieter's argument with the stable hands cuts off Renraw's next complaint. It sounds as though the boy eventually wins.

Downstairs, Tock heads out of the Way Inn past the guards and nods his head pleasantly. He walks to the cart and grabs the items left by Scimitar Kem and takes them back to the room. He takes the still-dressing Renraw aside and whispers to him.

"Listen," he murmurs, "My cousin couldn't lie if he were on fire. We'll both need to keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn't say anything for the duration.

"Now finish up with the sheets. We gotta go soon And remember to lock this door and put an alarm on it. And Kat, laughter in the tavern, then bring our things and meet me at the road."

He shuts the door behind him.

Renraw makes a face and minces around the room in what is meant to be a parody of Tock. He then joins Katadid at the window and begins turning the woolen bedsheets into a makeshift rope.

A minute later, Tock returns to the stable, now missing the stablehands. Spotting Dieter outside, he calls him over and hands him the reins.

"Hey, kid, good job with the stable hands. How would you like to have a little adventure? Walk these horses up behind those trees and wait for us. You've got our food and all that? Bring it over there. May even be some more fun later. And it'll earn you some decent gold at that."

Eager as a puppy dog, Dieter takes the reins and horses.

Exchanging pleasantries with the bored and chilly guards, Tock makes quickly for the room, having changed his mind.

"Never mind on the laughter, Kat," he says, flinging the door open. "They must share the sticks Bridger and Gallaway have inside them."

He snatches the sheet rope from the two wizards.

"Who tied these? I swear, you two ..."

Renraw, muttering darkly, casts his spell on the room's door as Tock opens the window and drops the sheets out.

The room is only on the second floor, but a high cellar and a brambly hedge line make for a bit of a drop. Katadid is the first out, examining the re-tied knots closely before pushing off the wall and hitting the soft ground. Tock comes next with the group's belongings and moves quickly, beckoning Renraw to do so as well. Renraw throws his leg over the windowsill and begins climbing, but stops above the hedges and looks down at Tock only a few feet away.

"What is that on your boot?" he demands in a loud whisper.

"What?" Tock asks, taking a quick look at his feet. "It's hay from the stable, why?"

"Oh, hay," Renraw repeats, frozen on the windowsill. "Nothing, no reason."

"Come down now," Tock pleads, visibly restraining himself from screaming at Renraw.

"I'll just need a moment," Renraw hisses, shutting his eyes tight.

An infuriated Tock makes a short jump into the air and lays his hands on Renraw's shoulders, yanking him down into the hedges and right on top of him. The bed sheets tear off in Renraw's hands. The pair roll a bit, a tangle of limbs and bed sheets and curse words, before both immediately stand and straighten their clothes. Renraw starts to dust himself off before Tock slaps his hands away, leaving the mud on as a disguise. Conveniently, they both note, the scuffle has knocked the offending hay off Tock's boots and out of sight.

"Now," Tock says impatiently, "Into the woods. Idiot."

"Yes," Renraw says slowly, "About that."

"Go, gods damn you! Cast the spell and go!" Tock waves his arms with urgency. "We need you to throw them off! We'll meet you on the road, I swear!"

"It's not that," Renraw continues, "It's the woods. There are grizzlies around here. Grizzlies that will do ... things ... to a person."

Tock opens his mouth in surprise, shutting it when he realizes he's told Renraw some of those stories himself.

"Oh, yes. Well, you cast that spell and you should be able to run clear of any of that stuff. Boy, I know what you mean, though. Listen, I'm sorry about that. But we need you now, man. Run fast and you probably won't get raped by a bull grizzly. Probably," he says, relishing the way Renraw's face drains of color.

But the wizard stands, casts his spell and, with a last furious glare at the bard, races off into the Tulgey Wood.

"Finally, now, Katadid -- Katadid?" Tock whips his head back and forth, but Katadid is gone. "Weirdbird! Katadid Leach!"

Just as panic threatens to overtake him, Tock thinks he can hear voices in the distance. He bolts in their direction and finds himself running to the secluded knot of trees where he asked Dieter to wait. The voices grow louder.

"I see. Very good," Katadid says, nodding as he scrutinizes the horses' shoes. "And were you able to procure any satchels?"

"Kat, w-what are you ... ?" Tock starts.

"Ah, there you are," Katadid says without looking up. "It's time to mount up and ride now. We've undoubtedly aroused suspicion in the local authorities."

Tock suppresses the desire to scream and flings himself onto the saddle of one horse. Katadid, more calmly but even less gracefully, does the same a moment later. They look down and see an expectant Dieter looking up at them.

"We'll use him at least until the charm wears out," Kat says, signaling with a rigid finger for Dieter to jump on Tock's mount. "He rides with you, along with our things. When Kem rejoins, our weight will be more evenly distributed. Hi-ya, Applesauce."

"You know that horse's name?" Tock asks, when he can finally choke out another question.

Katadid rides motionless and upright, but Applesauce seems to sashay past as Tock and Dieter look on. Kat simply smiles before tapping the top of the saddle three times.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

The fugitives ride quickly toward Middleborough in the dark.

Tock takes swigs from the bottle of apple brandy and asks Dieter about himself, his job, his family and other pleasantries. Katadid mentions the House of the Transformed Toad and Renraw seems lost in thought after that.

After less than an hour, the group sees the lights of Middleborough appear before them through the trees. Atfter a moment, Tock leads his horse off to the side of the road, jumps off and begins to remove his shirt.

"Right," he says, taking a deep pull of the brandy and spitting it to the ground, "I'm going to play a drunk from Foxton and get my way inside. I'll have conveniently 'lost' my papers. I'll grab another horse, get some forged papers and maybe some stuff for a disguise and then walk out the other side a new man. Dieter? Help these two lead their horses through the forest. I'll meet you there."

"A-am I supposed to get naked now?" Kat asks nervously.

"No, Weird Bird," Tock laughs, "I was messing with you. That'll be me. Let's move."

Dieter's head bobs so much, it seems like it must be ready to snap off entirely. He begins leading the wizards toward the forest.

Or, at least, he attempts to. Tock looks up and meets Renraw's scowl.

"Come on, we have to go. Hurry it up."

"Chandler, we're all exhausted. Furthermore, it's urgent we depart the barony at once. A more straightforward approach might do us better right at the moment."

"Oh?" Tock asks, a frustrated edge creeping into his voice.

"Look, there's plenty of time for fun with disguises and play-acting when we aren't in immediate danger. You know I've a fondness for that sort of thing as well. But now we need to get in, get what we need, and get out. And the quickest way to do that is with -- and it pains me to say it -- a straightforward and honest approach."

"So much sense from one with so little!" Tock snorts. "Weird Bird, you feel the same way?"

"I-it isn't to say that," Katadid says, looking shocked at being consulted at all.

"Wonderful, just wonderful," Tock growls.

Dieter violently shakes his head in disagreement and points a finger at Renraw.

"Mr. Chandler's not steered us wrong yet! Y'all will see! He'll get us all out of this here pickle, whatever it is!"

Tock sighs and drops a hand on the boy's thin shoulder.

"No, Dieter, it's OK. They're right."

Tock digs through their bags, then hands Dieter a sack of coins.

"All right, Dieter, I'm trusting you to do something very important. Get to the stables, apologize to the owner for rousing him so early, and buy a horse. There should be enough for saddlebags too. If they ask, just tell them it's for a very important client at the Way Inn who needed to ride at dawn and he insisted that Middleborough horses are the best. Come back out the way you came and once you're away from the guards walk around the town and meet us on the other side. Don't take too long now, pal. If you get all that done in 40 or 50 minutes, I'll have another sack of gold for you, more if under half an hour. Now go on."

"Hold, boy!" Renraw blurts out as Dieter turns to head into town. He pulls out a pen and paper and begins writing. "Just give me five minutes."

Everyone stands in annoyed silence as Renraw writes his note in the dim light coming from the town. Finally, he hands Dieter a carefully folded note with a name, "Telgen," written on the outside.

"Boy, please deliver this to the proprietor of the House of the Transformed Toad before you visit the stable. I understand it's early. Just stick it under his door if necessary."

"It's OK," Tock shrugs, "Just hurry!"

The bard watches the boy race off, thining.

"Here's hoping the promise of gold will keep him going if that charm wears off."

* * *

Meanwhile, back in Maidensbridge, the gnomes' celebration has only begun to die down, after Heda Littlelark has won the festival prize once more. There was much drinking and revelry, and endless drunken telling of complicated jokes that Vonmora found herself losing interest in halfway through.

She had noticed, while distracted, that Fiddler seemed to be in furious temper at losing to the gnome once more and had packed up his goods and met another kobold at the edge of town, where they rode together on the back of a single huge weasel, riding off towards Green Mountain and muttering darkly.

She sipped her green beer, listening with half an ear to a clanmate complaining that dwarves never won the contest, and relaxed.

* * *

Soon enough, Dieter returns to the wood's edge with a new pitch-black horse.

"His name is Anvil," he says.

"Dieter, You're a better man that most in these parts. Here's something for your trouble." Tock presses gold coins into the boy's palm. "Now, we have to go. Walk on back to Foxton. We'll be heading into the woods now and going to the far north. If you're ever in Grail Keep lad, look us up! We'll be glad to see you."

Tock bows with a flourish and leads the horse into the depths of the forest.

"Chandler," Renraw coughs, "I know I used the word 'straightforward,' but did that have to include paying the boy so much? Or at all? He's only a child. What could he have done?"

"He can trust us," Tock says, smiling. "Now keep yourselves mum. We have a ways to go yet."

They creep into the woods, long shadows of black trees dancing in the spectral flames of Renraw's torch-staff. The wizard begins to whimper softly, looking over his shoulder, trying to catch sight of the huge and awful thing he's sure is following them.

Did that bastard Khenemet-Apep do this? Renraw wonders. If I didn't leave St. Feldin's before finishing my education ... I'm sure I remember Piggy Gebauer mentioned a bear-attracting curse ...

The horses don't seem much happier about being in the dark woods than he does, and several times they stumble over unseen obstacles. Should one, or more, break a leg, it would be a perfect time for the bear (or bears) to attack.

And, of course, there's the matter of Hangman's Pass ahead. It's safe, of course: Merchants travel up and down the steep path on a regular basis. But few do so at midnight and there are too many stories of spectral bandits stringing up the living from the hanging tree for him to ignore.

Katadid clears his throat.

"Are we sure we're going the right direction?"

Everyone else pauses. The answer, of course, is no.

"Son of a ..." Tock glares at Renraw in the darkness. "Right. Get what we need and get out. That worked well."

"Don't lay this on me!" Renraw screams, his voice shrill with terror. "I wanted to go around the outskirts of the town, not into the thick of the woods! We're lost because of your flair for the dramatic!"

Tock opens his mouth to reply and Renraw claps a hand across his mouth, holding up a finger and listening.

Straining to hear the sounds of would-be rapist bears approaching, Renraw realizes he can hear the sound of the Moss River in the distance to their left. Closing his eyes, he can see the map of the barony is his mind, as Scimitar once unrolled it on a table at Kem House, long ago.

If the river is on the left ...

Renraw opens his eyes and takes his hand from Tock's mouth.

"I know where we are. Where do we want to go?"

Tock blinks and then slowly smiles.

"Back to the road, on the other side of that damned town if you please."

Renraw smiles a smug, self-satisfied smile, slapping Katadid on the back so hard, he almost sends the younger wizard tumbling headlong into a bush.

"Never fear, young Katadid!" Renraw says as he marches past his friends in the direction of the pass. "As long as I'm upright, my staff will light the way to our freedom."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Back in Foxton on Moss, Hazel stands atop the hill in Midwood Green, surveying the darkened town. The Festival of Frost's Leaving was apparently not as raucous here, or ended early, as most of the town is dark and quiet. Looking southwest through a fringe of trees and across the Moss River, the Way Inn complex is one of the few areas still lit. Below her on the hill, Emus and his dog are snuffling around the base of the hill, where Skeeter is beside himself over the smells left behind by all the currently absent sheep.

She tilts her head toward the black sky, her eyes tracing the familiar outlines among the stars: the Wolf Pack, the Climbing Bear, the Horse and the Rider. South of the Archer's heel, the Traveler climbs into the sky with walking staff and bulging pack. Hazel grew up listening to bedtime stories about the Traveler journeying to the moons; he could never walk fast enough or far enough to catch either of them, but every night he set his feet upon the road.

With a furrowed brow and halting speech, Hazel whispers in Draconic.

Good journey, Kat. Goddess speed steps of yours and home safely bring you.

She drops a hand into her pocket, her fingers clutching a crumpled sheet of parchment.

Back in the Way Inn, the hatchet-faced woman -- the innkeeper's wife -- has all but bitten Emmerson's head off, taking her frustrations out on him, and she seems to have had a lot of them. Bufer, recognizing the better part of valor was called for here, had done an about-face, speaking to other members of the staff instead, hearing, after some inquiries, that the tavern boy Dieter had been acting strangely and went missing for much of the night after the fugitives had arrived. Ragglus has gotten into a very loud game of darts, seemingly unconcerned by the entire notion of pursuing their erstwhile friends, although the familiar edge of anger and frustration is visible to the gnome's sharp eyes.

Outside, at the watch tower, Tucker watches with satisfaction as Khenemet-Apep is shackled to the wall, his hands held far enough apart to impede his ability to cast spells. But two of the Foxton deputies are arguing over whether or not it's legal to keep him gagged when Constable Ward Bridger slams the tower door open, followed by an exhausted deputy Tucker doesn't recognize.

The red-faced deputy catches his breath, stretching out -- he seems to have ridden hard and fast from somewhere.

"The wizard ... alerted the baron!"

Bridger's eyes slide to the wizard bound to the wall.

"He did?"

"... with magic!" The Middleborough deputy takes a proferred mug of water and gulps it down. "He raised the alarm with magic. Soldiers are spreading out from Middleborough and heading to the pass. The sheriff wants all available deputies to join the search and to bring trackers. The baron says he will hold court at noon, and wants all involved present for imperial justice."

The constable points at Khenemet-Apep.

"Unshackle that man, and put him on a horse, hands bound behind him and bring him to Middleborough. Tucker, round up the tracker and find that gnome who overheard what happened in the graveyard." He turns to the Foxton deputies. "Get your fat oaf of a constable up and requisition some horses: We're the baron's men, and we ride for Middleborough!"

The innkeeper's wife is just winding down her diatribe against poor Emmerson when Bufer walks up and grabs the young paladin's elbow, dragging him away in mid-stammered apology.

"We really should go," Bufer says to Emmerson as he leads him away. He glances up at the hatchet-faced woman and smiles. "Thank you for yer time, madam. You've been most helpful.

"They were here, all right," Bufer says, still walking slightly bowlegged as he leads Emmerson towards the darts game to collect Ragglus. "But they're long gone now, and it sounds like they weren't considerate enough to leave us a trail of breadcrumbs, if you catch my meaning. Unless Hazel or Emus's pup can pick up their trail, I think we're sunk."

The last word comes out almost like a yodel as he yawns widely, then groans and rubs his eyes.

"Hell of a day, huh, beanpole?" he says, smiling wryly up at the paladin. "What say we find the others and see about heading home?"

"Others yes, home no," Tucker says, as the trio exits the inn. "It seems we're lunching with the baron."

"What's that?" Bufer asks, suddenly keenly aware of his empty and rumbling stomach. "Bit of a reward for good efforts?"

"Uh, I'll fill you in once we find Hazel. Any idea where she is?"

"I thought she was safe with you all. After everything that's happened tonight, I'd think you'd have more sense! Y'all better hope Emus's watching out for her, else I'm gonna have to find myself a box and start kicking some sense into y'all!"

"She ain't a squealing runt," Ragglus growls. "If she wanted company, she would have asked."

"Right as usual, Rags," Bufer says, sighing heavily. "Sorry. It's been a long day, I'm hungry and tired, my nose won't stop running and I got sores in places ain't meant to have sores. I've been barking orders at the lot of y'all all damn day, and y'all have been right charitable in not telling me to go soak my head in the river. Lead the way, Tucker."

On Midwood Green, Hazel smiles at Skeeter's antics and walks down the hill.

"Never had a dog of my own," she says to Emus as she approaches. "My Dad had an old hound, though. Used to pillow my head on her belly by the fire and listen to Mama's stories. He never got another after the old girl died. I musta been four, maybe five.

"He a good tracker? Seems to pick up scents easy enough. Reckon the baron'll ask you to run down Kat and the others?" She pauses and continues more quietly. "How much trouble you think they're in?"

"Enough," Emus says simply with a frown. He reaches down to thump Skeeter's side affectionately. The dog pauses long enough to look round and smile at him with his tongue hanging out, then goes right back to his in-depth investigation of the unfamiliar odor of sheep, his tail wagging furiously behind him. "Skeeter could probably track 'em, given something to pick up their scent with, but getting him to do it on command is a stone of a different color. Honestly, even 'sit' and 'stay' are a bit of a challenge for him, some days."

Squinting down the hill, he grunts to himself.

"Don't look now, but I think your nursemaid is coming for you."

"See, she's right there," Tucker grumbles, as his group approaches, waving an arm at Hazel impatiently. "Now you can stop worrying about nothing."

"I was just --" Bufer trails off in frustration and assumes a bright and cheery demeanor. "Well, it seems like we're not likely to see a bed before we see the sunrise."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Despite Renraw's boasts, the fugitives soon enough find themselves surrounded by the blackest of the Tulgey Wood, trying to lead increasingly reluctant horses through hills and gullies. They can be slowly pulled around the obstructions in the darkness, but clearly want no part of traveling through the thick of the Tulgey Wood in the middle of the night.

The rushing sound of the Moss River is now audible to all the fugitives and is perhaps 200 yards away.

"Fellows," Renraw says, terror evident in his voice, "I'm sure I saw something just now. I'm convinced we're being followed. Look in that direction there," he says, pointing toward a patch of blackness that looks identical to every bit of blackness around it.

"What should we do? Can we shoot a flare in that direction?"

Tock's grip on his bow tightens.

"Did I mention I hate the woods yet?" Tock listens to the babbling of the river for a moment. "Kat, shoot that flare and see if Kem is being a baby. If something is there, maybe we can blind it for a bit. Stay behind the horses and get ready to bolt toward the river."

Tock approaches Renraw, muttering softly.

"Get ready to give up a horse as a snack if we need to. Just make sure we save the ones with our stuff."

Tock readies his bow and positions himself between the horses and the sound of the river.

The flare spell creates a bright flash of light, revealing only tangled logs and still-barren bushes and small trees.

But the space it briefly illuminates would have been big enough for a wolf as big as Renraw thought he saw, and he could swear he sees the tree limbs swaying during the flash of light, as if whatever had stood there had leapt out of the way before the spell could be cast, although that would require it understanding Imperial Common.

As the flare fades away, Tock and Kat slowly turn their heads toward Renraw. Kat looks mildly embarrassed, Renraw's overactive imagination having been exposed for all to see.

"Well, that was smart idea," Tock snaps. "That is, if the idea was to give the baron a great idea where to find us. If we're done jumping at shadows, let's get these horses to the river where they won't give us any more attitude."

Eventually, the first light of false dawn begins to creep through the trees, and there's a lull in the sounds of the night creatures as they begin to bed down in their dens in advance of the day creatures awaking to replace them.

The sound of the river seems far louder than before in the silence. If the fugitives strain their eyes, they can see -- or think they can see -- the Baron's Road off to the left a few hundred yards away.

"C'mon, guys, let's go," Tock says. "River's that way. We can maybe get ourselves on a boat, or, barring that, we'll just follow it to Goblin Falls. There's a wonderful tavern there where I think we'll be safe. We can contact Scim's pal, too."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

The riders -- minus Ragglus Chaplin, who quietly slipped away from the others back in Foxton on Moss -- reach Middleborough in the gray light of the false dawn and find that the baron's soldiers and staff are all awake and on the move, and have been for some time. Whatever Khenemet-Apep told the baron, it got his attention: Armed guards are on the cobblestone streets and pairs of soldiers are moving up and down each of them, peeking into pigpens, sticking spears into the hay of stables. Commoners are standing in the street, bleary-eyed, as soldiers search their homes for the fugitives.

The constable reins up at the Shady Dragon Inn and, making eye contact with Deputy Gallaway, points at the door.

"Take them inside. Get them a room if need be; the gnome will need to be fresh when the baron summons him to court. I'm going to speak with the sheriff and see where we're needed."

With that, he gives the reins a jerk and gallops off towards the sheriff's station, sending commoners scrambling to get out of his way.

The group tumbles off their horses, with Bufer grumbling something about being called "the gnome," but no one can understand him, and after the night they've had, they don't have the energy anyway.

Half an hour later, Emmerson steps out into the street, intent on his belated prayers, when the realization of where he is hits him like a thunderbolt, his eyes falling on St. Yessid's in the Woods, where he first took his vows when he joined Order of St. Chausle as a paladin.

Even at this early hour, the doors are open and lower-ranking members of the clergy are preparing for the day, sweeping the front step, lighting candles and setting out clean linens on the altars.

Somewhere inside, the bishop is waiting.

Upstairs, Tucker leans out the window of a rented room, staring at the streets of Middleborough. He's made few journeys to the biggest town in Midwood, and none of them have turned out well. He's not happy to be here.

Bufer is behind a screen in the corner of the room, splashing about in the basin of water they had sent up.

"I don't know about gnomes," the deputy says, "But when you're little, human mothers are always after you to wear clean underclothes, in case you're run over by a horsecart. Never understood that, really. If I was about to be run over by a horsecart, I don't think my underclothes would stay clean for long. Anyway, point is, you'd better clean yourself up real well: If the wizard is as good a friend of the baron as he claims, this meeting might not end very well for anyone who's not him."

"Hmm, I'd considered that, yeah," Bufer says, suppressing a yawn as he dries himself off, then wraps the towel around him. "Frankly I'm not expectin' my word to be worth much, even inside the zone of truth. I'll be right surprised if Khenemet-Apep don't wind up walkin' outta here with an apology and a handshake from the baron for his trouble. I think the best we can hope to do is listen sharp and learn as much about this 'Tiamat faction' as we can."

The gnome comes out from behind the screen, water still dripping from the ends of his hair, which stick up at random angles from the sides of his head. He pads over to the chair over which his undertunic and sackcloth robe have been laid, and clucks to himself as he picks them up to examine them.

"Wish I'd had my pack on me when we left," he says, poking his finger through a moth-eaten hole in the side of his robe. "Would have had my fancy dress with me, then. Appearing before the baron and his holiness like this ain't gonna help matters."

He heaves a sigh and turns to Tucker.

"Oh well, can't be helped. Listen, I'm gonna pray on things fer a bit, then try an' snatch a couple winks before we head off to court. Remind me later to take the lot of you down to my brothers' place, out by the mill, see if we can't scare ourselves up a decent meal before we all head home."

After Tucker lets himself out, Bufer drops his towel, pulls on his undertunic and breeches, then sits cross-legged on the floor next to the bed, gnome-style. The soft light of false dawn filters through the slats of the shutters on the window, as he closes his eyes and prays.

Are you there, Garl? It's me, Bejik.

Please, gimme the strength to get through today! It's going to be a long one, I figure, even longer than yesterday, if that's possible. I know I ain't never been one afraid to talk -- always shooting my mouth off where angels fear to speak, as my pa used to say -- but testifying before the Baron against one of his oldest friends, and a right powerful wizard besides, is enough to set even my guts to quivering, Garl, and a little divine courage wouldn't go amiss right about now. I ain't got no doubts about what gots to be done, Garl, but for maybe the first time in my life, I'm beginning to worry about the consequences. Even if he walks -- and I'm expectin' he will -- I suspect Apep'll be a might peeved at me and mine. And this 'Tiamat faction' ain't likely to be none too crazy about us, neither.

I ain't worried 'bout me, Garl -- I'll do as thou shalt have, same as I always done -- but please, if wrath's to be had for this, let it spare my friends. They're just humans, most of 'em, but they're good folk nonetheless. Even Chandler and Kem got their hearts in the right place, most of the time -- they're tricksters, Garl, you know how it goes -- and Katadid's one of the kindest souls I ever did meet, even if his head ain't screwed on right. Keep an eye out for them, would you? And Hazel, and Master Barennackle and the beanpole. An' Elly, of course.

Help Lemon to see the sense in what me and Emmerson are plannin' to do, even if he don't like it none. If the wind's blowing the way I think it be, then the best thing we can do is to bring all the Bridgers together under one roof before the storm hits. The town's been divided for much too long, even if they ain't seen it. Big'un or smallfolk, Farrin or Glangirn ... it ain't none of it gonna matter if the kobolds decide to make war on Maidensbridge. And they got to be made to see it, before their lives depend on it, or it might be too late.

Help me to keep the kid on the straight and narrow, no matter what Lemon's plans for him are. Beanpole's got a stout heart, and a good head. If men like him were running the church instead of Lemon and that rat-bastard Rehoboth Ylestos, I think I could almost make my peace with it. Almost.

Please see if you can talk Bahamut inta cutting the constable a break today. It's going to be a rough one for him, too. Hoppy's kind of an arse at times, and he ain't got no sense of humor to speak of, but he means well. And Emmerson and Tucker seem to think he's all right, which is good enough fer me.

And finally -- just like always -- help me find the courage and the wisdom to mend the rift between us and the kobolds, at least the ones worth mending with. This 'Tiamat faction' might wish harm on Maidensbridge ... but maybe that means there's an opposing faction that don't? Maybe ... maybe there's an opportunity there? If only I knew how to find out. The enemy of my enemy's my friend, after all, even if he is a dirty, tricksy gnome ...

Hmm. I'll have to ponder on that, huh?

Anyway, thanks, Garl. I know I'm asking for a lot, so I appreciate any help you see fit to send our way. I promise to do the best I can with whatever the day brings, right and true. I remain your humble servant, sir, always and forever, right up until the day you decide to call me home.

...

Oh, yeah, and if it ain't too much trouble, no more horses today, huh? Hot fire below, and my poor tuchas just can't take anymore ...

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

The soldier put his hand up as Tock, Renraw and Kat approached.

"Halt!"

The trio refused to halt, and Tock grinned in what he hoped was an ingratiating way.

"It's hard to stop a boat; just a moment ..."

The small stolen rowboat knocked up against the grill that cut the Moss River in two, preventing boats from going off the side and down the rapids to Goblin Pond, far below.

Renraw tugged on the bard's sleeve, his eyes pointing meaningfully to their left.

"Soldiers, lots of soldiers. And they're looking this way," he hissed.

Tock shrugged off the nervous wizard's fingers, turning his attention to the soldier standing above them. He held out his hand for help, and the other man responded automatically, grabbing Tock's wrist without thinking and hauling him up onto the wet wooden walkway.

"I don't see any goods for you to transfer to a cart," the soldier began, before Tock unceremoniously shoved him into the Moss River, upstream of the barricade.

"Quick! Haul the boat up!"

Renraw and Kat clambered out of the boat while Tock bashed at the soldier's fingers with an oar whenever he tried to climb into the rowboat.

"Swim for shore, you! Go!"

"The soliders are coming, Tock!"

"Shut up and pull the boat up!"

The soldiers were at the side of the walkway, which was only wide enough for one at a time. Unfortunately, that one had a longspear, and was advancing slowly on the trio as his fellow flailed towards shore, other soldiers holding out the butt of spears for him to grab onto.

"Oy! What do you think you're doing?" The soldier gave a warning thrust of his spear, meeting empty air.

"Leaving!" Tock grinned, as the boat dropped on the far side of the barricade, and he piled in after the wizards. "Shove off!"

"You know," Kat said, as the boat leapt away from the barricade, caught in an ever-faster-flowing current and the sound of roaring water grew ever-louder, "I'm not sure this is a good idea ..."

And then they were in the rapids, leaving open-mouthed soldiers watching from atop the barricade.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Bufer tumbles out of his rented bed at the Shady Dragon Inn, landing on the floor with a thud. Still half-dreaming, he looks around, wild-eyed, for Pick and Khenemet-Apep and the magical mirror they had come through for him. The thump-thump-thump sound of his dream turns out to be real, though: Someone's at the door.

Muttering to himself about kobolds and Fibber's Cairn, Bufer opens the door. On the other side of the doorway, Emus and Hazel stare at him blankly.

"Uh, good morning to you, too," Emus says with a frown. "Tucker sent us to come get you. It's just about time for us to head to the castle."

"Oh," Bufer says, reaching up to rub his eyes in an attempt to dislodge the cobwebs. He suddenly feels guilty for what little sleep he managed to get. Judging from the looks of his friends, they weren't afforded the same luxury. "OK, let's go."

"Throw on a robe on first, maybe?" Hazel suggests. "I dunno how your folk do things, but we tend to frown on witnesses testifying in their underwear."

"Underwear?" Emus asks with a cocked eyebrow. "What's that?"

"Ah, right," Bufer mutters, glancing over his shoulder and trying to locate robe and boots. "Just give me a second."

Hazel grimaces as she watches Bufer wander away from the door and begin to pull his sackcloth robe over his head.

"I wonder if they'll lemme open with a joke?" Bufer throws back his hood, then settles his holy symbol around his neck. "All right, then. Let's take this show on the road!"

The constable meets everyone outside the Shady Dragon Inn. He's gotten a change of clothes from somewhere, and his face has been washed. But he still has a drawn look that seems to be a combination of stress and lack of sleep. He looks over the group with a critical eye.

"Is this everyone? We're wanted at Midwood Hall."

He leads them through the streets of Middleborough, which is bustling at this time of day. The chimes of the glockenspiel at the church echo across the cobblestones as the clockwork figures act out scenes from life in the barony.

Bridger's back is straight, his muscles taut as though he is preparing for combat. As the group enters the Hartwood and leaves the town behind, he stops on the road, out of earshot of the guards at the curtain wall surrounding Midwood Hall.

"Resist the temptation to speak out of turn. The baron is a good man for what he is, but he is noble-born, and those speaking out of place in the presence of Imperial officials or nobility are beyond what most of that sort will tolerate. Speak plainly in response to his questions."

His eyes move to each adventurer's in turn.

"The sheriff will argue for prosecution to the letter of the law. He's a hard one, and a bad one to cross." Ward's guarded expression suggests that he has felt the lash of the sheriff's tongue in the past. "The baron has supplies of mercy in him and, I suspect, may have been lenient on Katadid if he had appeared before him."

He begins walking up the road toward the main gate.

"Khenemet-Apep has been brought ahead of us, in chains, by cart, but he is being held in private and will not be questioned until we are present and the bishop has brought Lothian's light to the proceedings."

He's silent a moment.

"There are things going on here that are beyond the understanding of folks like us, so do not be surprised if things do not go the way we expect." He glances back at Tucker. "That goes for all of us."

Bufer sighs as he follows the constable, and looks up at Hazel beside him.

"Sounds like things are going to go exactly how I expected 'em," he mutters.

Hazel looks down at her cloak, frowning, and attempts to casually brush road dust and mud spatter from the fabric as she walks.

"Do you even know how to resist the temptation to speak?" she whispers back at him with a grin. "Because I'm pretty sure I've never seen you do it."

The guards nod at the constable as he leads the group through the curtain wall. For the first time, everyone can see the ivy-covered halls of Midwood Hall from here.

Unlike the hyper-militant dwarf fortress of Glangirn or the baroque, even whimsical gnome hall of Wit's End, the human castle of Midwood Hall splits the difference between practicality and beauty, achieving neither in the eyes of the non-humans in the group. Early barons created a small but serious little fortress in the first days of the barony, when Gax still lived in her mountain and kobolds and goblins regularly assaulted Middleborough and laid siege to the Hartwood.

But over time, as the barons' power grew, and the threat receded from the Tulgey Wood, the need for vigilance here at Midwood Hall receded as well, and Midwood Farm was built inside its walls and then luxuries like a brewery and beehives and a dovecote were constructed. Newest of these buildings is a wooden house with a domed roof, from which the end of a telescope extends.

Likewise, in the hall itself, potted plants grow in some arrow slits, while windchimes tinkle in others. One story for the most part, with only a central keep portion rising to a second story, the hall has started to take on the appearance of the palaces in the safer lands like Ren Tehoth or Palastan.

A pair of topiary lions guard the great wooden doors of the hall, and Skeeter whines and presses himself against his master as they pass between them.

"Let the dog come with us," Constable Bridger says to one of the two guards inside the doors, as they open their mouth to object. They shrug and one points to an open door on one side of the room. The group pads its way across a threadbare rug, observed by portraits of previous barons.

A guard closes the door behind them as the group waits inside a room that apparently exists for just such a purpose: Wooden benches line the walls, and the stone floor here is shiny and smooth, worn smooth by hundreds of years of petitioners pacing here, waiting on the baron's justice. Tapestries on the wall depict life in the Tulgey Wood.

Emus sits on a bench and scratches Skeeter behind the ear as he waits for things to happen.

Hazel studies the tapestries, smiling at the familiar scenes and peering more closely at the less familiar. Feast days in Maidensbridge, sheep shearing on the Foxton green, marriages on the Day of Joining: all equal on the baron's walls. She spies woodcutters at work in a lower corner of a larger woodsy scene, and marvels at the weavers' skill in capturing the play of light on leaf and axe. The threads fall short of the real beauty of the forest, of course, but they also leave out the summer heat, the sweat trickling down the neck, the insects eager to nip at exposed skin.

Hazel lightly scratches her neck, remaining politely silent, but wishing the baron held his audiences out under the lovely old trees dotting the grounds.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Eventually, the group hears voices behind the door in the other corner and footsteps coming closer. A guard opens the doors and, with a jerk of his head, indicates they should enter.

Although previous barons created this room as a throne room, over time, it has been adapted to the needs of a succession of rulers. The Oak Throne, carved in the shape of a spreading tree, is still located at the center of the far wall, atop a small series of stone steps. But behind it is a huge tapestry depicting the baron's sister, Baroness Talitha Midwood, praying before an altar to Lothian, with the light of her god shining upon her and, dimly depicted beyond the doors of the church in the tapestry, all her subjects. Desks line the far wall of the room, many of them covered in books and scrolls.

And, indeed, Baron Nicodemus Midwood has a large book open in his lap, which he reads while listening to his steward murmur something in his ear. Neither looks up at the group when the doors open. A step down from the Oak Throne, a disgruntled dwarf dressed in a fur robe watches the group approach, his arms crossed, his glare hard and sharp enough to split a log, puffing away furiously on his pipe. On the floor beside the dias, Khenemet-Apep stands, his hands shackled to a chain belt around his waist, his feet manacled together. A guard stands behind him, vigilant, eyes never leaving the Wizard of Green Mountain.

The constable nods to the sheriff and takes a seat on one of the benches that occupy the near half of the room. The wood has been polished smooth over the years. He gestures for everyone else to be seated.

A door on the right wall opens and the heavy-set Bishop Jurgen Lehmann enters the room, fingering his ankh-crucifix. His eyes meet Emmerson's a moment before he sits on one of the upholstered chairs at a desk near the baron, but away from the chained Wizard of Green Mountain.

The guard who let the group in leans over, whispering quietly, but loudly enough to be heard by those on the bench: "Should just be another moment now. Good luck."

Bufer smiles and nods kindly at the guard, then looks round to his friends and opens his mouth to crack a joke. The warning glare he gets from Constable Bridger causes him to shut it again without so much as a peep.

Sighing heavily, Bufer sheepishly rolls his eyes at the amused glances he receives from Hazel and Emus, then settles back to wait in silence, picking self-consciously at the frayed and threadbare edges of his travelling robe.

The Oak Throne commands Hazel's attention from the moment she steps into the room. The man seated in its carved boughs, and those near him, are little more than nuisances in the way of the exquisite woodcraft. Da would love to see this, she thinks.

Hazel sits slowly, drinking in the sight of the throne's spreading canopy, and is only reminded of the group's purpose for being there when the wizard's weight shifts and his chains clank against the floor. Afraid she might have missed something, she nods sharply at the guard's whisper, then has to look down to hide her grin at Bufer's penchant for speaking out of turn. She'd wager a month of firewood that the gnome will find some inopportune moment to pop up and spout off words of wisdom, which, when they come from Bufer, aren't much different from wisecracks.

Emmerson takes his seat with martial discipline. Back straight, hands laced together over his stomach, eyes fixed at some spot between the floor, the baron and the bishop.

The baron says something else to Steward Eule Wood, to which Wood makes a face, but he stands, clearing his throat, and points to the constable.

"Is your deputy here? The baron would like him to step forward and explain the charges he is to consider today."

It would be hard to tell any of this from the baron, who is continuing to read the heavy book in his lap and has, in fact, picked up a slate and is jotting notes on it with a piece of chalk.

There's an elbow in Tucker's side before he realizes he's holding up the proceedings. He expected the constable would be called first, being the senior official in the group, but thankfully Bufer was already prodding him before the steward had to repeat himself. The deputy stands uneasily and takes a single step forward.

"Lord Midwood," Tucker says, perhaps a bit too loud for the stone room. When his voice comes echoing back, the deputy pauses, sheepishly, before continuing at a more appropriate tone. The baron doesn't look up from his book. "The accused was being transported to Middleborough on charges of conspiring against the barony. Once on the road, he aided and facilitated an escape by his fellow prisoners and attempted to murder an official of the empire, my lord."

The baron looks up from his book at this, raising one eyebrow. He looks from Tucker to Khenemet-Apep and back.

His hair has chalk in it, and there is chalk on his coat sleeve and a dotting of ink on the white shirt cuff beneath it. Despite this, he is suddenly every inch a baron, and his brown eyes bore into Tucker. His fingertip still rests where it stopped in his book, marking his place, but he hands off his slate and chalk to the steward, who places them on a nearby desk.

The bishop jumps up from his chair, which creaks with relief, as though he were a marionette on strings and begins casting a spell at the foot of the steps leading to the throne.

A gold ring glints in the light streaming in from the narrow windows as the baron reaches forward, beckoning Tucker into range of the bishop's spell.

"Explain, deputy. In detail."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Tucker, having nothing to hide and not actually knowing much, steps forward as commanded.

"There was a brawl in Maidensbridge, my lord. After we had gotten things settled down, Bufer -- er, that is, the gnome here with us -- he led this man and one of our citizens into the inn. The citizen was Renraw Kem, accountant for our orchards and a wizard-in-training.

"As soon as he saw the constable, Renraw pleaded for help. He said that the accused had placed a spell on him, to force him to murder me at some unspecified point in the future. Ren desperately seemed to want the spell removed.

"The wizard Khenemet-Apep then accused Renraw and another of our citizens, Katadid Leach, of conspiring against against you, my lord. The constable ordered all three bound, and we set out for Middleborough."

Tucker pauses for a moment, saying a silent prayer to Lothian before continuing. In doing this, he looks not to the bishop who stands immediately before him, but to the large tapestry of Baroness Talitha on the far wall.

"Once on the road, we were delayed by the bard Tock Chandler and a stranger, probably in town for the Frost's Leaving festival. The stranger claimed the dwarves had started fighting again, and that the town was on fire. Constable Bridger made all haste back to Maidensbridge, while I continued toward Foxton on Moss, now with two more prisoners: horse thieves.

"It wasn't long after that the stranger, whose name I never did learn, first attacked me. Both he and Chandler took their shots, but it was Khenemet-Apep who was actually the biggest threat. Before I could respond to my attackers, he purposefully kicked me off the runaway horsecart, doing more to put my life in danger than either sword or arrow had done.

"Because of his actions, the prisoners escaped to Foxton on Moss and from there to parts unknown. It was only Khenemet-Apep's inability to mount an effective escape that brought him here before you today, my lord," Tucker concludes. He looks up at the tapestry once again. "And it was only Lothian's mercy that kept him him from being executed as an enemy of the barony on the spot."

Sheriff Thoric Glangirn snorts loudly at Tucker's final statement.

"Judgement is rendered by his lordship, not some beardless pup." He puffs on his pipe, chewing the stem fiercely and glaring at the deputy.

Bufer frowns, repeating "inability to mount an effective escape" in a skeptical whisper.

"But why would he want to get caught?" Bufer mutters to himself, not loudly enough for the baron to hear, but just loud enough for Hazel to elbow him in the ribs. Or where ribs would be if she were sitting next to a human: She actually jabs the gnome in the side of the head. Flinching, Bufer winces up at her reproachfully before turning his attention back to Tucker and the baron, ignoring the glare he receives from Constable Bridger.

Bufer looks up to see Khenemet-Apep looking at him, and looking very, very pleased with himself. They stare at one another a long moment before the Kemite smiles and turns back towards the baron, still listening.

"Thank you, deputy," Baron Midwood says, dismissing Tucker. The baron frowns and he taps an ink-stained finger against his lips while his eyes roam those in the room before settling on Bufer. "Master Gnome, please give us your name and step forward into the zone of truth and tell us what you know of these matters."