Chapters

A murder in Easthaven: “He’s like that with everyone—a bit mad”
The hateful six: “Oh by the way: which ones of you are cultists?”
No cultist left alive: “I expect to find some bloody lich behind here”
Hethyl the Soothsayer: “No wonder you lost that leg”
The cistern: “Did eyepatch have an owl?”

---

A murder in Easthaven

Three frozen days of travel led the company to the gates of Easthaven. Relief flooded Arlington at the thought of a warm fire, lashings of food, and more than one mug of ale. Even Knucklehead trout sent his mouth watering. “To the Trout,” he directed wearily.

Nymetra immediately cleared a large table and set about filling the bellies of the travellers. Arlington noted some new arrivals in the common room, who Nymetra explained as refugees from the smaller towns. “They’re suffering—most are no longer self-sufficient due to the cold, so the bigger towns are becoming are the only options.”

On request she arranged a grumpy-but-accepting guard for the tarpaulin covered dragon-head.

“I’ll let you know if anyone tries to take anything,” the guard muttered.

“What do you mean you’ll let us know? Just don’t let them take anything,” Octavian scowled.

“Well there’s only one of me. I’ll do my best but I’ll tell you now I’m not going to die for your stuff.” The guard stomped out into the cold.

Nymetra spoke to Arlington as the food arrived. “It’s good to see you back. Speaker Waylen sent word he would like to speak with you should you return.”

“Does he want a word with us, or does he want a word with us?”

“Uh…he says he has information you would be interested in. Which reminds me, so do I—you had a gnomish friend here I recall?”

“He was a person we had seen around,” Octavian clarified warily.

“Why? What’s he done?” Arlington asked.

“It’s not so much what he’s done as what’s been done to him—he was murdered,” Nymetra explained to gasps of shock. “I found him outside. A nasty scene.”

“How long after we had left did that occur?” Octavian said.

“A day, maybe two? He was mutilated, pinioned in an arcane symbol.” Octavian’s thoughts went straight to the Red Wizards on hearing this. They were unpleasant at the best of times, and mutilation and torture were right up their alley.

“I believe the body is at the Town Hall—that may be what Danneth wants to talk to you about,” Nymetra continued.

“We’ll see him tomorrow,” Octavian said. “We need rest and a bath.” He sent an order out for new undergarments, despite Eearwaxx’s offer to mend everything. Time to put this house back in order.

As food was devoured a woman came and sat next to Eearwaxx. He smiled when he saw it was Kaska, the diarist from the séance. “You did it!” she beamed, “The voices have stopped!” She planted a big kiss on Eearwaxx’s cheek, much to the amusement of his companions and the embarrassment of the mighty wizard. “Oh! That’s good,” he stammered.

“Let me buy you a drink—you’re a bit young but this is a special occasion,” Kaska said.

“Milk please,” Eearwaxx smiled weakly, “Hot.”

“Maybe with a nip of rum,” Morgan said with a grin, drawing a wink from Kaska.

“What did you do?” Kaska asked, “How did you stop it?”

Eearwaxx was finding it hard to speak as Kaska snuggled in close. “Umm…well…”

Morgan came to the rescue. “Did the nightmares stop about three or four days ago?” he asked, thinking of the ID Ascendant.

Kaska pulled out her diary and flipped a few pages. “It was, you’re quite right. Well done Eearwaxx!”

Eearwaxx rubbed his cheek where the kiss still burned. “Yes…we…” he said shuffling in his seat. Something was happening to him that made sitting slightly uncomfortable.

“It’s a long story, but it’s done,” Morgan confirmed.

Octavian grabbed Morgan’s arm. “Why don’t you let Eearwaxx tell her?” he hinted, dragging Morgan away.

“No! No, you did a good job!” Eearwaxx pleaded.

“Of course,” Morgan said, suddenly understanding what was going on. As he walked away he raised his voice slightly. “You know what’s even more impressive is how Eearwaxx single-handedly took on that dragon!” Kaska’s eyes went wide and she turned back to Eearwaxx who sat gaping—much like his favourite trout back in Bryn Shander.

Arlington lit his pipe and leaned back to enjooy the wagon-crash of Kaska’s flirting with Eearwaxx. The young wizard clearly had no idea how to respond. “If it wasn’t for Eearwaxx we never would have made it through that place!” he said loudly as Morgan raised a jug to salute Eearwaxx.

“And boy, what a kisser he is!” Octavian laughed, before realising what he’d said. “Or that’s what I’ve heard…”

Kaska eventually realised that Eearwaxx was just a little too young. “Look me up in a few years, my young hero,” she smiled. She put a finger on Eearwaxx’s chin and kissed him lightly on the lips before walking away. Eearwaxx almost fainted.

After more drinks and fiddle-work from Morgan, during which Arlington arranged a beard trim to transform from crazy old man to sophisticated explorer, baths and beds were taken, followed by the first true rest in weeks.

---

Next morning everyone reconvened and made the short trip to the Town Hall. Octavian looked like a new kobold: neat, clean, and trim, with a special leather pouch full of spares underwear. Nymetra had sourced the kobold-sized replacements: “Surprisingly easy to come by—the Icewind kobold are good sorts, for the most part.”

“They are,” Morgan said, slapping Octavian on the back. Octavian ignored the young warrior’s inadvertent slight.

“I’d like to know, do they come with a tail hole or do you have to cut your own?” Arlington asked. Octavian also ignored this less inadvertent slight.

“Reminds me there was a one-eyed woman who came through, just for a single night, who had a retinue of kobolds. Very strange kobolds—I made them stay in the stables. No offence to you Octavian,” Nymetra said.

“An eyepatch and undead kobolds?” Morgan asked quietly.

“They did have the stench of death on them, hence the stables. Thinking on it, it was probably the same day I found Erky dead. I think.”

“Good to know,” Morgan said grimly.

“You want to be a bit careful around her,” Octavian warned.

“She left as soon as she arrived, no sign of her since. Headed out toward Caer-Dineval.”

“That’s North,” Morgan advised, “Same way we’re going to get to Caer-Konig. But we’re not stopping in Caer-Dineval, we don’t talk to those people.”

“You don’t like them?” Arlington said.

“They’re fine.”

“We should stop and have a drink,” Octavian said, “Get to know the lay of the land.”

“Maybe.” Morgan knew little of the town, but what little he knew he didn’t like. Their Speaker had taken ill some months ago and the town was rudderless as a result.

Speaker Waylen welcomed everyone at the Town Hall. “And how go your investigations into the threat of a dragon destroying our towns?”

Octavian was about to answer when Morgan jumped in. “We’ve—” Morgan started, before realising it was probably Arlington who should be speaking. Arlington was staring at him with a look of total annoyance. “Morgan, by all means,” Arlington muttered with a short nod.

Morgan took this at face value and turned back to Waylen. “We think we’ve stopped it.”

“It’s not that we ‘think’, we know,” Octavian jumped in.

“You do?”

“We saw the dragon that we believe to be related to the Duergar plot,” Morgan nodded, “And we went to their citadel and defeated them and destroyed the dragon. Not a real dragon, a construction.”

“Well that all sounds rather too easy,” Waylen said, “I thought you said it was a dangerous mission?”

“It was not easy!” Octavian cried, recalling again the cold grasp of near-death. “Not all of us had an easy time!”

“It was very, very, very perilous,” Morgan agreed, “And extremely hard. If you need corroboration, we have its head.”

“I don’t doubt your word, but I would like to see it—it’s not every day you see a dragon’s head. Let me understand you: you’ve eliminated this threat and we are all safe?”

“From the dragon,” Arlington nodded, “But the winter continues, and that, if I recall correctly, was our other mandate.”

“Oh Auril is not going anywhere, I realise that. I don’t think anyone can stop that,” Waylen said sadly. Arlington cocked an eyebrow and glanced around his companions—a challenge laid down.

“But the Sunblight clan, and their King, Xardorok, are dead.”

“Never heard of them,” Waylen shrugged.

“He was a dwarven, petty King in the Citadel in the mountains to the South—” Morgan began.

“Petty like all dwarves, am I right?” the Speaker smirked. “Not like the kobolds, of course.”

“Well in any case they won’t trouble you again,” Morgan finished. “Oh—and the remnants, who helped us with our task—want to trade. They have some very nice wares.”

“More dwarves?” Waylen said suspiciously. “You know what they’re like—they’ll ask for one gold and take ten,” he spat.

“Can I just say…first of all: yes, they have some very nice wares,” Arlington scowled, “And if they ask for one gold and take ten, then that’s on you. It’s incumbent on you to strike a good deal. You can’t blame the vendor for your inability to negotiate appropriately!”

Waylen waved Arlington away and turned to Octavian. “Kobold, you tell them, you know what the small types are like. You can’t trust dwarves.”

Octavian scowled. He knew that once these ‘jokes’ started there was only one end, but he didn’t want to fight the Speaker. “I don’t trust Duergar,” he said slowly, “And even dwarves are a bit shifty, but nevertheless Arlington is right. You just cut a good deal.”

Arlington looked twice at Octavian. Had he just agreed with the Speaker about dwarves?

“A Duerger named Grandolpha is in charge now. She gave us a sample of their main trade good: ale,” Octavian continued.

“Ale! Well why didn’t you say? A good dwarven ale forgives a lot of sins. Our town has been short ever since Good Mead had their troubles.”

“Good Mead have some problems,” Octavian agreed. “Bee issues.”

“I’m of a mind to cut them off,” Waylen said, “And maybe we can if this ‘Grandolpha’ can deliver. I must say when you first came to me I thought what you described were enormous, insurmountable problem, but it sounds like you’ve dealt with it quite handily. Congratulations—I think I own you a signature?”

He signed the procured document, adding his mark to those of Good Mead and Bryn Shander. “Now gentlemen, there is something else I wanted to talk to you about. There has been a murder.”

“We heard,” Arlington nodded.

“Very good. We have kept the body as Nymetra told me you were friends with this fellow and I thought you might be interested in seeing it—and telling me what happened.”

“‘Friends’ is a bit strong,” Octavian clarified again, “But we have had some dealings with him, and we are surprised this has happened.”

Waylen took everyone downstairs to the prison and into a small morgue where a body lay under a frozen sheet. Octavian pulled it back to reveal Erky. His flesh had been carved with ritualistic knife cuts, and a blackened arcane sigil was magically seared into the centre of his chest. It was obvious from the trauma of the body that Erky had been alive when this had taken place—torture.

“What spell is it that casts a rune like this,” Arlington asked.

Octavian had to admit he didn’t know. But Eearwaxx did. He traced a finger around the marking and tasted it. “I don’t know the exact spell, but it’s a mind locking sigil. I would guess when we saw him after Dzaan’s death his memories had been locked, that’s why he had no recall. And now the sigil has been destroyed.”

Arlington pondered this. “So am I right, Eearwaxx, that what we’re looking at here is that somebody undid a spell so they could get information out of him?”

“Maybe…that would be my best guess.”

“Do you think it might have been the kobold?” Morgan whispered.

“What, Octavian?” Arlington said, bemused, pulling his knife just in case. “After all this time?”

Octavian’s new whip started to emerge from his newly tailored sleeve in response.

“No,” Morgan sighed, “The kobold lady.”

The whip and knife disappeared.

“Oh you mean the one with the dead kobold retinue?” Speaker Waylen asked.

“Yes. Everyone is very casual with the ‘dead kobold’ part of this,” Octavian added.

“How come that hasn’t been more of a big deal?” Arlington nodded.

“Well what are we going to do about it?” Waylen shrugged. “She came past here asking for Dzaan’s remains. Said she was from the Arcane Brotherhood and insisted that gave her authority as a result. A little intimidating I must say.”

“Did she take the remains?” Arlington asked, despite being sure they had been destroyed after being burnt at the stake.

“We had to tell her that they had been destroyed. She was less than pleased.”

“Win for us,” Octavian said.

“A day or two later she was seen heading out toward Caer-Dineval. Interesting you should mention her—maybe these two are related, do you think?” Waylen said, pointing to Erky.

“Almost definitely. We think the evil lady with the zombie kobolds had something to do with this murder.”

“Well. I’m glad I got you along. This Arcane Brotherhood is killing too may of our people,” Waylen growled.

“Why are you allowing them in?” Octavian asked.

“Are there any laws against undead creatures in this town?” Arlington asked innocently.

“Not so much laws, more a general agreement to keep them out.”

“So you let them in because you’re working with her? Or because you are a coward?” Arlington accused.

“I beg your pardon sir!” Waylen snapped. “They did not come into this Town Hall!”

“So your jurisdiction is the Town Hall not the town?”

Waylen scowled. “I could not stop an Arcane Wizard if I tried, nor could any in this town. I don’t think you could either!”

“I would give it my best shot,” Arlington snapped.

“Sir I do not appreciate being called a coward. I am the leader of this town and I am respected in this town. We do our very best to survive in this winter, and if you think we should be fighting undead kobolds instead I would tell you otherwise. They are no threat. The winter is.”

Arlington waved Waylen away. “I am going to wait outside. Can I just say that when this winter is over—and we will end it— I want to renew this discussion. For now I am too angry!”

“You will leave sir or I will take my signature back!” Waylen cried to Arlington’s retreating figure. Arlington had surprised himself by declaring he could end the winter, but now that he had said it he knew there was no turning back. A man’s word was a man’s word, and he wouldn’t let a bureaucrat like Wayen take that away. At least not right now.

Waylen turned back to Morgan. “I don’t know what happened to your friend. I had thought we were on good terms. Here I am specifically keeping this body for you to investigate and he treats me like I am nothing. I am most seriously displeased.”

“Nor do I,” Morgan shrugged. “Please don’t take it to heart.”

“We appreciate what you have done,” Octavian added, “He’s like that with everyone—a bit mad. Back to matters at hand—was there anything on the body? Or clothing? Property?”

Waylen settled his shoulders. “No. Nothing of interest. He was stripped when we found him, and no sign of his belongings at the tavern.”

Octavian turned the body, finding more wounds but no symbols. He checked the scalp and found a matching symbol to the front one, also burnt out, which firmed up Eearwaxx’s theory. “There’s nothing more here for us. Let us take you to the dragon head—and the ale sample.”

Waylen followed back to the Wet Trout. He was staggered by the head, almost forgetting Arlington’s slight in his enthusiasm. “Attached to a full dragon, you say?”

“Much bigger—and alive!” Octavian said, recounting events. “It’s eye were aglow, there was an Umberhulk, the King appeared and a Myconid!”

“Incredible,” Waylen said. “A tale should be told of this, someone should make a song of it.”

“We know, but our bard is still resting. We think.”

“Shall we mount it atop the Town Hall?”

“No, it was hard won and we’re not done with it,” Morgan said. “But now you believe us when we say the dragon could have laid waste to Ten Towns.”

“And you say the dwarves built this?”

“Duergar, not dwarves,” Octavian corrected. “I don’t like dwarves but Duergar are evil.”

“They all look the same to me.”

Arlington scowled. He decided he didn’t like anything about the Speaker.

“We think they were under the influence of something much more…malign,” Morgan said.

“You don’t get much more malign than a dragon that was going to swoop down and attack the Towns,” the Speaker said. “Beaten back by six…five heroes,” he said scowling at Arlington who scuffed his foot in the snow. “Impressive work and you earnt that signature. The people of Easthaven thank you. Where will you head next?”

“We travel to Caer-Konig, my home,” Morgan said.

“Ah. It’s sad about Caer-Konig, not what it once was. Small and getting smaller.”

“It is, but we’ll survive,” Morgan said, “And I’m returning something that should lift spirits.”

“He has their lamp,” Octavian added.

“It will take more than that,” Waylen shook his head. “We’ve had an influx of resettlers recently.”

“What are they fleeing?” Arlington tried.

“The cold. Once the lake froze so did the trade. There’s no connection to either Caer now, and they’re running out of everything. I don’t think either town is going to survive much longer.”

“All the more reason for us to find out what’s happening,” Octavian said determinedly.

“I am concerned about the well being of the people of those towns,” Arlington said, again surprising himself. “I wonder if there is something we can take them.”

“Can you take them warmth?” Waylen said sceptically. “Nothing is going to stop this winter, no matter your grand promises.”

“Eearwaxx perhaps you could somehow bring a big ball of heat to them?”

“Yes I can do that,” Eearwaxx nodded seriously, “I don’t know what would happen though.” His new spell promised balls of fire, but it did seem rather powerful.

Octavian’s thoughts drifted to the heart. It could have made a difference, he was sure. Too late, he thought with fleeting regret, feeling the pincers of his whip gripping the flesh of his arm. “Before we go, you must sample the ale,” Octavian said.

The Speaker took a hearty swig, coughed, and grinned. “That will do nicely. A powerful brew, but we could do with something fiery after the sweetness of Good Mead’s brew. Quite the burn. I think Nymetra will certainly be interested, and we won’t turn away their traders based on this.”

Arlington’s thoughts ran wild. He wondered if the Underdark has a passageway straight to Caer-Konig, and whether he could engineer a way that they could home with the ale-brewing Graklstouters and revitalise their economy. He made a mental not to discuss this with Octavian, before promptly forgetting the entire idea. He opened the stables and let the dogs out, answering the eternal question.

---

“Everything ok in there, Arlington?” Octavian said to Arlington as the journey north got underway. He had noticed that since returning to civilisation Arlington’s behaviour had become more than a little unbalanced.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” Arlington muttered, “I spent a long time out there on my feet thinking hard about our survival. And I’ve had enough. I just need to let my hair down. Or, well, relax the acuity of my survival instincts.”

“Whatever that means,” Octavian scoffed.

“None of you are rangers! Hunters! Able to survive the harshest elements and keep the lives of those around you safe!” Arlington cried into the wind. “You don’t know what it’s like!”

“We’ve all been adventuring with you,” Octavian corrected. “We know exactly what it is like.”

“You’re all depending on me to get you through the snow!” Arlington countered.

“What?”

“Did you guide us back here from the fortress in the mountains? Through untracked snow sinks and passes primed for avalanche? Avoiding stalking Owlbear? I don’t think you did!”

“I just followed the chimney smoke from Easthaven,” Octavian said, knowing this was completely absurd but unable to resist.

Arlington tried to respond but found himself speechless.

---

The hateful six

Morgan called a halt to the company as the company was confronted by the distant fortifications for which the town was famous: its clifftop fortress, known as the Caer, and the ruined watchtower at the mouth of the frozen harbour.

---

“What do we know about this place, Morgan?” Octavian asked. “What can we expect?”

Morgan explained what he knew from gossip in Caer-Konig. Speaker Siever, an unpleasant bully and from all accounts, had reportedly been ill for months and never made public appearances. The lack of leadership had resulted in a group of militia—some called them a cult—that occupied the Caer more-or-less running the town now, something tolerated by the residents as they at least were able to provide a meagre amount of food. Morgan had managed to mostly avoid dealing with the militia on his travels so didn’t know too much about them. The town, like Caer-Konig, was shrinking now that trade had halted, with abandoned houses lining the lone street. Morgan guessed only a hundred residents remained.

“We could, and should, push on to Caer-Konig,” Morgan said glancing at the darkening afternoon sky, “We’d arrive my midnight with the snowfall being only light.”

“No no,” Octavian said, “I want to stay. Dinner and rest.”

“If you’re proposing pushing on ‘til midnight, Morgan,” Arlington said, " I’d like to caution against it."

Morgan frowned then shrugged. He didn’t like this place, and he was so close to home, but it wasn’t his decision. “Very well. We can seek rooms at the Uphill Climb, the only tavern still operating from what I know.” He pointed to a lonely establishment half-way up the headland to the Caer. “Dinev’s Rest on the other shore is long closed.”

“A frozen lake means no fishermen, which means no business,” Octavian nodded.

Morgan led the company down the street. The town’s buildings, which dated back to the town’s Cormyrean founders, lined the path, many boarded up. Smoke drifted from some, but there were no welcomes or watchers. As the company rounded the corner that turned up the escarpment, six well armed and armoured militia stepped out from behind buildings on either side of the rode. “Halt!” the frontman called as he stepped forward. He was a well worn warrior, his scarred face telling tales of battle. “Gentlemen, I take it you wish to pass?”

“Is that the inn behind you?” Octavian asked.

“The Uphill Climb? Certainly is. That’s your destination?”

“Indeed it is.”

“Well there’s a fee to be paid to go any further.”

“Sorry?” Arlington said with surprise. He glanced at Morgan for a nanosecond, but saw no obvious reaction.

“Why is that?” Octavian asked.

“Because I told you there is,” the guard smirked.

“And how much is the fee?”

The guard surveyed the well equipped group before him. “Nice weaponry. Fancy armour. And a team of dogs and Axebeaks. I think ten gold is fair. Each.” The five guards standing behind grinned. A good night lay ahead.

“Ten gold?!” Jankx scoffed.

“You look like you can afford it.”

“On who’s authority do you claim this fee?” Arlington said slowly.

“On my authority, sir. And I speak for the Speaker.”

“May we speak to the Speaker?”

“No you may not. He is not well.” This bought a snort from the guard to his left.

“If we give you that gold, you’ll share it with all your soldiers?” Octavian asked.

“Of course, it goes to the militia.”

Octavian pointed to the snorter. “So if I give you forty gold—just you, no need to share—you’ll let me through?”

The guard glanced at his leader uncertainly.

“Forty gold. Right now.”

The leader half drew his sword and stepped toward Octavian. “I’m talking to you. You’re not talking to my men, you’re talking to me. Understand?”

Octavian sighed. “We want to go through, and if you don’t let us—”

Morgan climbed down off his Axebeak and pulled his sword out, which shone with a brilliant moonlit glow.

“—we will hurt you,” Octavian finished.

All the guards drew their weapons as Morgan smiled, pivoting his sword. Eearwaxx lifted a solitary finger which lit up with a tiny flame at the tip.

“You don’t want to toy with—” Octavian suddenly stopped as he saw something completely unexpected. Pinned to the breastplate of the guard was an amulet with a downward pointing sword. Octavian almost gasped, subconsciously reaching for the jewel hanging around his neck. Arlington glanced over and saw exactly what had stopped Octavian. He looked nervously over to e very quiet Tarquin, who nodded slowly.

---

Octavian stepped closer to the guard, hands raised to defuse the tension. “Let’s calm down. I think we’re all from…similar backgrounds,” he said quietly, then lent in close and flashed his brooch. “You do not want to do this,” Octavian hissed.

The guard captain’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and confusion. “You’re one of the brotherhood?”

“You’re out of your depth,” Octavian stressed to furious nods from Arlington. “Just let us through and have a good night.”

“You’re a Black Sword?” the captain repeated again.

“I don’t answer questions from underlings!”

The captain glanced at Morgan. “Are you visting the keep? We were given no notice—”

Octavian shoved his sleeve up and his whip started to uncoil from his arm. “You need to stand down!”

The captain and all his men stepped back. “I…very well. No charge for you gentlemen. Let them through!”

“Are we good?” Morgan asked Octavian, drawing a nod. Morgan grinned at the captain as he sheathed his sword. Despite the resolution, Morgan was at a loss to what had just happened. How had Octavian suddenly turned the tables—was it magic? He had seen no spell from Octavian nor Eearwaxx. He glanced at Jankx who shrugged as the company walked through the withdrawn militia.

Once out of earshot Morgan turned to Octavian. “What just happened?” Arlington coughed nervously.

“I just said to him that whatever he was doing he was in trouble. I showed him the whip, and between that and your sword and Eearwaxx’s finger…”

“But what was the ‘announcing at the keep’ talk?”

Octavian shrugged very convincingly. “I don’t know about any of that?”

“Sometimes you’ve just got to pull rank,” Arlington explained weakly.

Morgan tilted his head. There was something not quite right but he trusted Octavian. Arlington was strangely quiet, but he had been acting weird for a while now.

---

The Uphill Climb would have a spectacular view of the lake and frozen docks, if it were light. As it was the best place to be was inside and in front of the fire. When the company walked in everything went quiet and still. Two militia set their drinks down and stared hard at the new arrivals, and the dozen other patrons were silent. Eearwaxx was disappointed to see there was no trout hanging above the fireplace. He mumbled the poem under his breath hoping for something to happen.

The proprietor, a weary looking human, placed his hands on the bar. “Gentlemen. It is a surprise to have visitors.”

“We are passing through,” Arlington said, senses on high alert as the entire room listened in, “Rooms would be nice, ale would be nicer.”

“We’re full.”

“You’re full?” Arlington said glancing around the half-empty room.

“No rooms.”

Arlington stared at the floor for a moment. He knew this game. Taking Octavian’s lead he walked over to the barkeep and revealed his brooch.

“Ah,” the keep muttered. “I see. Well we may be able to find a room after all.” He glanced over at the militia, who were wearing the same amulets, and took a deep breath. “No charge. I’ll bring chowder. But we have no ale.”

Morgan stared at Arlington. There had been no pulling rank this time, just another sudden capitulation from the barkeep.

“My name is Roark, but I presume you already know that. Rooms upstairs, stables outside.”

“Will you see to our animals?”

“Yes. I will see to your animals,” Roark snapped, clearly unhappy.

Arlington nudged Octavian. “I like this town,” he said quietly, “But although we earlier implied the opposite, I think we are a little out of our depth.”

Octavian nodded curtly then walked up to the bar and laid down a gold coin. “With our thanks.”

Roark stared at the coin, then pushed it back. “Like I said, no charge.”

“Think of it as a donation,” Octavian tried.

Roark turned his back and walked into the kitchen. Octavian realised how this would look, quickly turning to Morgan and shrugging.

But it wasn’t Morgan who spoke up. Eearwaxx stepped forward and pointed at Arlington. “What is going on? Everyone in Ten Towns charges, everyone and everywhere.”

“I agree,” Octavian said, trying to reassert control. “Didn’t you see? I tried to pay.”

“Yeah but he rejected it, and told Arlington there was no charge too. As if he knew something about you. Does he know you? Have you been here before?”

“Me? No! I’ve never been here,” Octavian insisted. “It’s very strange. The sooner we’re out of here and at Caer-Konig the better.”

“Like I said we should,” Morgan grunted.

“You wanted to travel ‘til midnight?” Arlington scoffed.

“Doesn’t bother me.”

“And what about your Axebeak?”

“And I’m cold too,” Eearwaxx agreed.

“There’s nothing warm about this place, Eearwaxx,” Morgan growled.

“I don’t know, I think the hospitality is warm enough,” Arlington quipped.

“Look, we’re going to eat, sleep, set off at dawn,” Octavian said.

“I don’t think we’ll be in any danger here,” Arlington added.

“You don’t? Ok that’s good,” Eearwaxx said cheerfully.

The two militia pushed back their chairs and walked over to loom over the table. “When can we expect you at the keep? You’ll be more comfortable there.”

“When do you want us?” Arlington responded calmly.

“Why are we going to the keep?” Eearwaxx asked.

“We have other business to attend to,” Octavian said waving the guards away. “We’re going to be leaving very early, we’re fine here.”

The guard grunted. “Well I’ll let them know you’re here. We weren’t expecting anyone but you’ve shown your credentials.”

“I had assumed that if you were worth your weight in blubber you would have already let them know,” Arlington scowled.

“What?” Eearwaxx was now very confused. Morgan shifted nearer to Eearwaxx and put his hand on the wizard’s shoulder. Eearwaxx nearly jumped out of his skin. “Are you like Kaska?” he whispered to Morgan, worrying about his pants changing again.

“Got a bit of an attitude there, sir,” the guard snapped at Arlington. Arlington stared back hard, refusing to look away.

The guard broke quickly. “Very well. Give me your names.”

“Who are you? Just leave us alone,” Octavian said.

“My name is of no consequence to you. You are unknown here and that’s something we need to take care of.”

“Are you ignorant or just ill-informed?” Arlington growled.

“Listen, just give me a name.”

“Eearwaxx!” Eearwaxx cried, “The wizard Eearwaxx!” He pulled out a flyer and handed it to the guard. The man looked at the flyer, shook his head, and walked out. A few of the other patrons stood and quickly followed, leaving only half a dozen.

Morgan leaned back in his seat, watching Arlington and Octavian. They were too synchronised and neither were convincing with their explanations. He was growing increasingly unsettled, but he forced his doubt away as the food arrived.

“Your meals,” Roark grunted, laying down bowls of thin soup with chunks of stringy Knucklehead. “Eearwaxx does mending work on this?” Arlington asked.

“No. But can I have a look at your kitchen?” Eearwaxx asked Roark, who shrugged so Eearwaxx followed him back behind the bar. “Thank you very much for that gruel, it looks delicious,” he said as looked around at the worn and half-repaired equipment. He grinned and mended everything. Roark stayed stony-faced, then nodded a curt thank you.

“I am the wizard Eearwaxx. I though we should give you something as you won’t take our coin.”

“Eearwaxx you say? I feel I know that name.”

“I travel around, I’m pretty famous,” Eearwaxx smiled happily.

“Oh now I recall—the mending wizard from Termalaine.” He walked to the kitchen door and closed it softly, then turned back to Eearwaxx with a look of concern. “What are you doing with those men? They are dangerous.”

“Them? No! They’re my friends. And they are not dangerous unless you’re their enemy, and you’re not our enemy. None of you people seem to be.”

“Believe me, they are dangerous.”

“Why do you think that? Why do you think they’re dangerous? They’re not dangerous.”

Roark sighed. “I have lived here for many years, and the arrival of that cult has slowly torn this Town apart. Crannoc, our Speaker, is gone. Much as he was a prick he at least kept the Black Swords under control. They now rule here, and they’ll spread to other Towns if they can.”

“The Speaker is gone? We wanted to get his signature I think,” Eearwaxx said scratching his head. “You must be mistaken.”

“Stop talking and listen to me. Those men you are with are dangerous. They carry the mark, and none who do are your friends. Trust me. I don’t know what they’ve done to trick you but it’s not safe. Get out now and go home to Termalaine.”

“I trust them? Because they’ve saved my life many times. They’re not bad men—”

Roark slammed a hand into the wall. “No! I don’t know what spell they have woven over you but you need to snap out of it!”

Eearwaxx perked up at the mention of spells. “A spell? On me? I know spells, quite a few actually, and they haven’t charmed me—I would know. But what are you saying about the Speaker? He’s gone?”

“They have him captive at the keep.”

“That’s not good,” Eearwaxx gasped.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, young man.”

“Does that mean he’s a prisoner?”

Roark nodded slowly.

“And do you want him back?”

“Listen. As I said he’s not a nice man, but he wasn’t one of them. He wasn’t a cultist!” Roark realised he’d raised his voice and looked nervously to the door.

“Cultists?”

“Yes!” Roark hissed. “That’s what I’ve been telling you and you are trucking with them out there. Travelling with them.”

“My friends aren’t cultists!”

“They carry the mark, and they look more powerful then most of them up at the Caer. You are in grave danger, Eearwaxx.”

“They’re very powerful men but they’re not in a cult.”

“You are blind if you cannot see it. I can only guess you’re in the cult too,” Roark snapped.

“No I am not! I’m not a cultist I’m a wizard!”

“Well then get out! Now!” Roark hauled the back door to the kitchen open and pointed into the night. “Now is your chance!”

“I’ll sort this out,” Eearwaxx said, “Trust me!” He backed out of the kitchen back into the common room.

Roark grunted in frustration. “You’re no use—don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

The rest of the company heard Roark’s last outburst, and turned to see Eearwaxx hurrying over to the table. He sat down and started regurgitating everything he had learnt. “Um. ApparentlytheSpeakerisaprisonerupinthecastlesoweshouldgotothecastlethesepeopleareapparentlycultistsalltheseguardsIshouldhavefireballedthem—”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Jankx said, “What was that prisoner bit?”

“Slow down!” Octavian cried.

“You’re buring the lede a bit here—you know fireball?” Arlington mused.

“TheycouldbepartofthatcultofRedWizards,” Eearwaxx continued, then suddenly slowed down as he remembered something. “Oh by the way: which ones of you are cultists?”

Silence descended on the room. The last patrons started quietly making their way outside, leaving just Arlington’s company.

“Eearwaxx. When did I have time to join a cult?” Octavian asked calmly.

“The only cult I’m in is hanging out with you guys,” Arlington added.

“I had to ask,” Eearwaxx said, “Roark said you were.”

Morgan looked between the two again: why were they doing this? Something in his mind unlocked: Octavian and Arlington must have shown some identifying mark or secret phrase to the militia in the street and those in this room. That was the only way they could have asserted dominance over the militia so quickly. Eearwaxx was right: they were members of something. And they had hidden it all this time. He stared at Octavian who met his look. Morgan’s eyes deadened and flashed yellow. Octavian swallowed. Morgan turned his gaze to Arlington, then Tarquin, flashing both, then swallowed a mouthful of gruel. “We’re going to have a chat when we leave town, gents.”

“I guess it’s time,” Arlington said quietly, all but confirming Morgan’s suspicions. Tarquin was confused—how had Morgan seen through his deception?

Eearwaxx was oblivious to the change in tone, continuing is monologue. “The Speaker wasn’t a nice person apparently but we should—”

“Eearwaxx,” Morgan interrupted, “It’s probably best we discuss this once we leave town.” The room was empty now, but Morgan assumed there were eyes everywhere.

“Eearwaxx is saying we need to save the Speaker, to get his signature,” Octavian said.

“Yes. He’s a prisoner of these cultists that are in the castle,” Eearwaxx repeated. “So we go to the keep, get the prisoner out…”

Jankx, having closely observed without getting involved, had some “The Speaker is under house arrest by cultists. We should do something about that—that’s what we do. We’re fixers and we should fix that.”

“I totally agree,” Arlington nodded unconvincingly, “But perhaps not just now.” He glanced over at Octavian for backup.

Octavian settled his shoulders. “Are they saying they are being badly treated here?”

“The Speaker wasn’t a nice person, but he was better than the cultists.”

“So some sort of cult has taken over the town? What’s the name of it?”

“How would I know? But he said you were in it too and that I should be careful.”

Arlington coughed. “Eearwaxx. Listen to me, boy. No-one here is a member of a cult,” Arlington said.

“I said that too but they didn’t believe it.”

“Listen to me. They’re confused, it’s not what you think. We could discuss this now, but as everyone has left, one of two things is going to happen. The members of that cult who have the Speaker captive are going to come in here in force within minutes.”

“Yeah?”

“Or the townsfolk who aren’t member’s of the cult are going to come in here within in minutes.”

“They won’t. They’re scared of the cult. I think.”

“Either way—this can wait.”

“Ok. But didn’t we get invited to the keep?”

“No we did not,” Arlington said firmly, to querulous looks from Morgan and Jankx. “You have impressed me greatly tonight, don’t get me wrong, but now is a time for tactics not conversation. We need to be prepared for their reaction. And I’m sorry you do not have all the information, but you will have. Just not now.”

Arlington lent in close to Tarquin. “If these guys have the Speaker, and even if they don’t, I don’t want any of them around. We need a regime change.”

Tarquin suddenly perked up from his somnolence and nodded in furious agreement. “We may have shared an experience, we don’t have to share our lives.”

Arlington turned back to the group. “There’s no secrets here, just misconceptions.”

“Stories within stories, deceptions within deceptions,” Tarquin added silkily. “No secrets, just us versus them. And when that door opens we need to be ready.”

“It’s always been a matter of defining ‘them’”, Arlington said looking around the company one by one. “And is it your three closest friends, or is it a bunch of random guys?”

Morgan stood up, scraping his chair against the floor then kicking it over. “Three closest friends is it?” he said, glaring at Arlington, Octavian, and Tarquin. He turned and walked toward the door, loosening his scabbard as he strode away. Eearwaxx looked shocked. “Where is he going?” he whispered to himself.

Jankx stared after Morgan, his mind working furiously. What had he missed? Suddenly he too realised: the three Morgan had glared at were hiding something. Something important. He put a hand loosely on his blade and shifted slowly to the edge of the bench seat, ready to move. “What the fuck is going on?”

Arlington stood up slowly and walked behind the bar, lying his crossbow on the counter. Pointed toward the table.

Octavian felt his guts wrenching and his head pounding. What was happening? This needed to stop. How can this stop. He felt a surge of uncontrollable emotion as he hurried after Morgan. Morgan was outside in the cold surveying the keep from which there was no sign of movement.

“Morgan! Come back and I will tell you,” Octavian pleaded.

Morgan spun angrily, but stopped short when he saw tears rolling down Octavian’s face. He nodded and followed Octavian inside.

Octavian stood in front of the group and shuddered. He opened his tunic and displayed the Black Sword brooch. “When I died, this appeared.” On cue, Tarquin pulled his free. “I don’t know all the rules,” Octavian continued, “I don’t know what this is. I chose to come back and this is what happened. This is all a shock that other people have them too.”

“Would you like one too?” Tarquin said archly. “Well there’s only one way to get it.”

“Where’s yours?” Morgan said accusingly to Arlington who still stood at the bar. Arlington finished pouring his drink—water by the looks—and slowly pulled his brooch free.

Morgan glowered. “Any particular reason…” he paused as Ezra appeared, “…any particular reason you chose not to share that with us week ago?”

Octavian stared at the floor. “When I came back I had a bad feeling that in getting back there was some sort of cost.”

“Yeah no shit,” Morgan growled, pulling his scarf down to show the thin blue line encircling his neck. “As far as we understand these will take our heads off. So I don’t want to hear any rubbish about ‘no reason to tell us’.”

“I’ve got one of those too!” Eearwaxx said showing his own scar.

“We don’t know what our brooch does,” Tarquin said.

“I don’t have a problem you not knowing what yours does, it’s the not bothering to share it that I have a problem with,” Morgan said.

“Morgan,” Tarquin said carefully, “Before you get high and mighty—there’s a lot I don’t know about you.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Who’s that behind you?” Tarquin said, glancing at Ezra.

“And what the fuck are you?” Arlington called, suddenly annoyed.

Morgan stared. “We have had this conversation. I’ve told you. Or do you just not listen?”

“Well that doesn’t make sense because it doesn’t happen to anyone else,” Arlington snapped. “That’s not a ‘thing’. The thing you said you are isn’t a thing.”

“You’re not from where I’m from,” Morgan said quietly.

“I’ve met people from the East, they don’t have that thing either,” Arlington said triumphantly.

“I’m not from the East! I’m from a place that isn’t even in the Realms, as far as I know.”

“That’s a start. Go on,” Arlington said.

“This is Ezra. He’s my twin brother. He is dead.”

“Okay!” Eearwaxx said, fascinated.

“Well now that we’re sharing. This is my brooch, and I got it because I died,” Tarquin said.

“Okay…” Eearwaxx said, curious.

“And what about you, breathless?” Arlington said returning the attention to Morgan.

“We had this conversation in Good Mead. Or were you too pissed to care?”

“I’m too scared to tell you,” Arlington said softly.

“Listen mysterio,” Tarquin said, “You walk in shadows. Don’t start pointing fingers at us. There’s a burden that we three carry and we don’t know what it is.”

“That’s my question,” Jankx interjected, “Do you know what you own? Do you know what price you’ve paid?”

“You’re worried you’re going to lose your head?” Arlington said barely controlling his anger, “My mortal soul is at stake.”

And Morgan laughed.

“You’re a piece of work, Morgan,” Arlington spat contemptuously.

Octavian spun, furious, the whip extending from his arm. “This is not a joke!”

“Don’t talk to me about mortal souls,” Morgan said, still amused, “I have to live with one every day.”

“Well then you haven’t said everything,” Arlington said.

Silence descended again. Everyone was on the verge of ultraviolence.

Eearwaxx put his hand up. “Can I say something?” he said seriously, his voice deeper than any had heard before. “What does any of this matter?”

“The only thing that matters—” Morgan started.

“—let me finish!” Eearwaxx demanded. “The question I was asked by the innkeeper was ‘why would you be with these people?’ Well I trust you all. Because you have proven that I can trust you. Each and every one of you, no matter your ghostly brother, or our necklaces, or whatever your ‘thing’ is. So what? I don’t care at all. I’m the youngest of you all and if I don’t care, why should you? You’ve all fought, you’ve all battled and supported each other, including me, on this journey. So why does it matter? I trust you, don’t you trust each other?”

There was a moment of pause as Eearwaxx finished.

“Well said Eearwaxx, well said,” Tarquin said softly.

Arlington wiped a tear away. “You’re the wisest of all of us, Eearwaxx,” he sobbed.

“Well let’s go rescue the Speaker! We’ve got things to do—let’s go!” Eearwaxx said, raising a flaming finger from each hand.

“I’m with Eearwaxx,” Tarquin said standing. “Let’s just go and do this thing for god’s sake. It’s a confected moment amongst us, we’ve all got our secrets to hide, so let’s just go and do this.”

He looked around smiling for support. Arlington was ready, but Octavian seemed to have shut down. He was shaking, slightly, unable to process the stress. He felt his soul was being wrenched apart. Tarquin patted him on the back.

Jankx also hadn’t moved. “Can we still trust you? That’s what I want to know the answer to,” he said to the three brooch wearers.

“That’s what trust is,” Tarquin said. “You’ve got to go with that, is that not what Eearwaxx just said?”

“Shut up!,” Arlington cried. “Shut up Tarquin, just for once.” He turned to Jankx. “You can trust us. We have a problem that I don’t know how to solve. I was hoping to deal with it later, but that’s not going to be the case. It has not bearing on the here and now. If you want to go and save the day, then fuck it, let’s go and save the day.”

Jankx nodded. “That’s what we would do, right? Up until an hour ago. Some poor bastard’s been trapped by a cult, we’d do something about that. Has that changed?”

“Not in my book,” Tarquin responded.

Octavian looked up slowly. “It was a shock to be told we were part of a cult. I don’t know what’s happening.”

“Maybe you’re not, who know,” Jankx said. “Maybe we just keep going and try and save this person if we can.”

Everyone nodded in agreement, the tension slowly ebbing.

Everyone but Morgan. He had sat quietly through all of this, his face unreadable. “So. You guys got the frost hand, when you died?”

Arlington nodded, the first time he had admitted to having the affliction.

“Right. And we got the throat. Who did you speak to who brought you back?”

“Who did you speak too?” Tarquin said, deflecting the question.

“We told you at the time—an ice-witch called Hedrun, who used to be the major domo for Auril but has decided to betray her. We told you everything that happened. And that’s the problem that I’m having now.”

The tension returned, instantly.

“I think there’s a problem of scale, is all,” Arlington said.

“Well you seem to be associated with some cult,” Morgan accused, “And when we walked into town and start acting conspiratorially amongst yourself, and I’m about to get off and start going to town on some people here, and I’m not knowing everything that’s going on…that’s a problem.”

Tarquin leaned back. “As Octavian said, we didn’t know there were other people holding this same burden.”

“So who brought you back and why did you get a necklace at the same time? Because that will probably tell you what the cult is.”

“Hold on son. I didn’t sign up for no cult. I came back from the dead.”

“Well you’re in it.”

“I’ll tell you what—if those fellows outside come at me I’m going to be helping myself to their innards. So if I’m inside a cult it’s one with a slight rift in it.”

“Who brought you back? A dragon, you said? Your father, Octavian?”

Octavian was pale. Very pale. As all eyes turned to him he fainted, toppling to the ground. Tarquin hurried over and cradled Octavian, glaring back at Morgan. “If you want proof of trust let’s go and do this.”

“I don’t need to go and kill some random souls in a castle who I don’t know who that are,” Morgan grunted.

Tarquin frowned. “I’m sorry Morgan, I really can’t work out what you want. We’re all in this together.”

“And that’s the problem. That’s why I walked outside. It’s got nothing to do with the necklaces are, I don’t care about what they do. What I care about is that three of you chose not to share things with the other three. And that seems to have been premeditated and has been organised on an ongoing basis since the grove.”

“You ready? Get over it, Tarquin growled.

Morgan stared at Tarquin. “That is the most ridiculous thing you have ever said.”

“We have our cross to bear and we’re moving on,” Tarquin said. “This is a game of trust. We’ve trusted you, we’ve come along your journey as well.”

“No you didn’t. You didn’t trust me, or Eearwaxx, or Jankx.”

“Who are you to say who I trust? Huh? What are you doing? Why are you trying to rip us apart. What is this story you are trying to tell?”

“How are we to know you will trust us more after we tell you than you do now?” Arlington asked.

Morgan paused. “How many people have I told about my condition other than you?” he said.

“No idea.”

“Other than you, and my immediate family, one other person knows. One. That’s how much I trust you all. Or did.”

Arlington made a decision. “Fuck it. You want to know? I’ll tell you. We…we…” as he spoke he felt his throat constricting as the brooch started to pierce his chest, sending freezing veins reaching up his throat and across his chest. He felt he couldn’t breath and staggered against the bar.

“Stop!” Morgan cried.

Arlington banged his fist on the counter in frustration as the pain subsided.

Tarquin looked down at Octavian and over to Arlington, understanding their was no way out of their trap. He turned to Morgan. “Well I guess trust it is then, because that’s all we’ve got.”

---

No cultist left alive

The doors to the tavern suddenly burst open. A surly half-orc stepped into the room, flanked by six guards—including the leader of the roadside ambush.

The half-orc scanned the room then inclined his head toward the guard. “Grench here tells me you lot are in Caer-Dineval on official Black Swords business—and that you pulled rank on him. Now Grench is no great thinker, so I’d like to hear it for myself. Show me your credentials and tell me who ordered you here.”

Arlington glanced at Tarquin. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Tarquin raised an eyebrow. “Me?”

“Or perhaps the unconscious demi-human who got us into this problem in the first time,” Arlington suggested, nodding to Octavian.

Eearwaxx settled his hat and beard. The guards were nicely clustered, he thought, and a single spell could finish this conversation in short order. He took a step forward.

“I’m hearing a whole lot of nothing,” the half-orc growled.

“Oh, sorry,” Arlington lied, “And on whose authority do you ask us—”

“Fuck you. Show me now. You’re not pulling rank on me.”

Arlington stood up straighter, resting his hand on his crossbow. He glanced at Morgan and looked down at Octavian resting in the young warrior’s lap. “Can you wake him up for the love of god, even if you have to slap him awake.”

Morgan took a gentler approach to rouse Octavian from his faint, lifting him to his feet as he groggily woke.

“He’s your leader?” the half-orc said sceptically. Eearwaxx took another step forward and pointed a single finger toward him. “Put it down,” he guard growled.

“Now’s the time to jump in, Tarquin,” Arlington muttered.

Tarquin nodded. “Maybe it’s the time to calm down—”

“Oh I am calm,” the half-orc grinned.

“We’re a little bit confused here—we thought we might be able to talk to the Speaker?”

“The Speaker? You’re not talking to anyone but me until you show me who you are and why you’re here. It’s that simple.”

“Why we’re here? As we said when we came in, we travel freely through this kingdom. We have leave to do so.”

“You don’t have any leave here without getting mine.”

“I understand that there may be some issues here in town, but we were certainly not aware of them nor that we had trodden on some toes.”

“There are no ‘issues’ in this town. You may have freedom of travel in some of the lesser towns, but we command this town and you are not welcome here unless you can prove why you are.”

Tarquin pulled out the writ and proffered it. “We were unaware that there was a closed town in Ten Towns. This writ gives us leave to pursue our business.”

Arlington caught Octavian’s eye. Octavian nodded, and turned to face the half-orc, muttering a quiet spell as Tarquin held the writ out. The half-orc reached to take the paper and suddenly froze on the spot. His eyes look confused and then enraged as he found he could not move a muscle.

Tarquin grinned as he pulled the writ away. “I didn’t feel we needed to talk to an underling about this—but here you are.” The half-orc’s eyes promised murder.

All the guards decided they would murder too, drawing their weapons at the sight of their disabled leader.

Eearwaxx’s fingertip burst into flame.

Tarquin had a sixth sense and leapt out of the way, casting a quick illusion to hide his retreat.

Morgan had no such qualms, though he did try to stay out of the direct line of Eearwaxx’s line. He rammed his sword through the chest of the nearest guard, killing him instantly. As the guard fell his entire body was suddenly covered with a layer of crackling blue ice. He crashed to the ground with a thud, his amulet pulsing. Morgan pressed forward despite his surprise, slaying a second cultist who was also instantly covered in his own icy coffin. Ezra appeared behind the rear guard and spliced her, and she too froze and crashed to the floor.

A guard swept a blade toward Jankx who swayed easily out of the way, retaliating with a short-range crossbow bolt through the neck. A fourth ice statue clattered to the ground at Jankx’s feet. Jankx noted the ice didn’t crack or break as it smashed into the floor.

Arlington delivered the final two cultists to their eternal fate, icing them both. Only the half-orc remained.

Octavian had been waiting for Eearwaxx’s attack, but after seeing four guards fall in short order he changed his mind. He pulled out his dagger and stepped up to the half-orc, resting the blade against his neck. The half-orc tried to move but could do nothing more than glare.

Eearwaxx moved his flaming finger between the frozen guards, then the half-orc. He was ready, primed—and his finger was hot. He sighed and blew out the flame. Next time.

As the very brief fighting subsided, Tarquin crouched in front of the half-orc and teased him with a brief couplet:

Octavian glanced over to Arlington. “We should maybe keep this guy alive?”

“Well—can he get us into the keep is the question.”

Morgan moved behind the trapped captain as Octavian nodded and released the hold, the dagger still held to his neck.

The half-orc didn’t move, only turning his head to look at his fallen companions. “I suppose you think that is your authority,” he growled.

“You forced our hand,” Tarquin said.

“I did nothing. We did nothing. I merely asked who you were and why you were here—and now my men lie dead by your hand.”

Tarquin had to admit the man had a point.

Octavian shook his head. “You are going to tell us exactly what is up in the keep—how many men, the rotation, who is in there, where is the speaker, a map, passwords.”

The half-orc glared. “You said you’d heard of trouble in Caer-Dineval? It’s quite clear that you are the trouble, not us.”

Octavian pushed the dagger further into the half-orc’s neck, nicking the skin and drawing a bead of blood. “Are you going to do what I requested?”

The half-orc slowly lifted his hand to rest it on the dagger. “Careful now,” Octavian warned. With a twisted grin, the captain grabbed the hilt of the dagger and jammed it through his throat. He died instantly, covered in ice.

Jankx gasped. “I tell you what, give me ten men like that and our problems here would still be over.”

Morgan leant over the fallen body and tried to crack the icy-armour with his shield. It was as hard as diamond and didn’t leave a mark. Eearwaxx dragged a body toward the fireplace, shoving the feet into the rather feeble flames. Nothing happened. He frowned and cast a bolt of flame into the hearth, causing an eruption of flame—but the ice stayed frozen. “Magic,” he shrugged.

“This looks like some kind of protection after death, that allows them to survive or return to their master,” Jankx suggested, thinking of similar magics he had learned of from his family.

“I’ll let you in on something,” Tarquin said glancing at Octavian and Arlington, “What little we know would accord with that.” Morgan looked at Tarquin with surprise. Earlier Arlington had tried to say more, now Tarquin was doing the same. He softened his grudge ever so slightly.

“We have about two minutes to decide what to do,” Octavian said. “We either take the keep, brick by brick, or we leave very quickly. And we don’t have any other option.”

“Why do you say two minutes?” Arlington asked. “Do you think they had a man that went back?”

“They would be expecting that this party would be bringing us back by now.”

“Then let’s go back—it has to be the easiest way in the door. I don’t want to lay siege.”

“I was counting on having the half-orc with us,” Octavian said.

“That bird has flown,” Tarquin agreed.

“Can you do an illusion?”

Tarquin nodded, placing the Sunblight miter back on his head and instantly changed into the figure of the fallen half-orc. Jankx passed a hand over his face and suddenly he too was a spitting copy of the fallen sub-captain. Arlington looked in surprise—what new skill was this from his rogue?

Morgan took care of the frozen bodies. He found the cold-store beneath the kitchen, but it was too small for the seven bodies—and would be a nasty surprise for the innkeep. So he instead stacked the bodies one-by-one out the back of the tavern, like a pile of frozen logs. Roark pushed open a window to find out what the disturbance was. “My god, what have you done?” he cried, slamming the window closed.

Hearing this, Eearwaxx went upstairs and knocked on the locked door. “I want no part of this,” Roark hissed from within. “Leave me be.”

“You’re not part of it,” Eearwaxx assured him. “But I do trust them. And so should you.”

“You’re all killers, as bad as each other,” Roark growled. Eearwaxx shrugged and walked back downstairs.

---

“I assume we’re doing the prisoner thing,” Octavian said once Morgan was done. “Tarquin and Jankx escort us up under guard?”

“It’s not really the prisoner trick,” Tarquin said. “You’re under our nominal command now. Cultists. We’re playing escort, and we’re taking you up there so we can sort all this out with the boss.”

“We’ve checked our your credentials and they look ok,” Jankx added, “But we want whoever is in charge to sign-off on this.”

Tarquin led everyone outside, Jankx bringing up the rear. “So we’re clearing the keep?” Morgan asked.

“We can’t just leave the Speaker behind,” Jankx nodded.

“And we have just cleared out seven of them,” Tarquin said.

“You do recall that the Speaker of this town is renowned as being a bit of an asshole?” Morgan reminded everyone.

“Yes he was a dick,” Octavian said, “But he wasn’t part of this weird cult.”

“Just as long as we get his signature I don’t care,” Arlington shrugged.

“And I’d like to remind everyone that while there may have been an asshole in charge, and there may have been an uprising of the townsfolk, but as we’ve seen from the way these men have fallen—they aren’t anything but a bunch of cultist now. We should leave none alive.”

Morgan nodded.

A sturdy, stone castle devoid of warmth and ostentation squatted atop the cliffs, overlooking the town and the frozen harbour. Warding the castle entrance were thick, battle-hardened wooden doors. Four unmanned cylindrical guard towers had wind-worn flags bearing the town’s heraldry fluttering above their tiled, conical roofs. The towers were connected by icy battlements and parapets, and atop the castle walls and within the guard towers, torches flicker.

Tarquin looked up at the battlements and did his best to sound like a half-orc—and his best was very good. “Get these doors open!”

There was a grunt from above. “Give us a moment, Lustus.” Gears cranked from within the towers, the sound of a portcullis rising, allowing the massive the doors could be pulled open. A murder chamber welcomed everyone, but a second portcullis was also opened allowing everyone into the courtyard beyond. There was no movement, only the clank as the portcullis’s dropped again.

Footprints in the snow led to various doors along the courtyard’s perimeter, including a tall double door to the keep, with an unwelcoming row of arrow slits and barred windows on the upper floor. To the east of the double door was a small, single-story building with a slanted, snow-covered roof.

Arlington nodded to the lean-to. “Jankx, open that and see if there’s an easier way inside.” Jankx walked toward the wooden building confidently, stopping short when a raucous barking started up from within.

“Guard wolves!” Octavian hissed, his senses on high alert.

“Sorry I may have given you a bum steer there Jankx,” Arlington said ruefully.

Jankx glanced nervously at the battlements, thinking the alarm would be raised, but there was no movement. From within the small building he heard a small voice hissing. “Quiet now, hush now!” The barking slowed somewhat. Taking a deep breath he pulled the door to the shed open. Inside were six restless wolves, obviously snow-dogs, half-starved. A young boy stepped into the light and looked nervously up and Jankx. “Sir! They are ready if you need them, they’re ready.”

The boy looked nervous and hungry, just like the wolves. “Do you need them? Sorry about the barking, they do that.”

“Not now lad,” Jankx said softly. “We don’t need them now, if we do I’ll summon you. Well done.”

The boy looked confused at the compliment. “Oh. Well, thank you?” He stepped back into the shadows and Jankx pushed the doors closed.

Tarquin led the company with intent toward the main doors. The courtyard was not the space to be dallying, it was time to get inside as quickly as possible. He bashed on the doors with his fist. “Open up!”

“Who is it?” a thin voice said from within.

“Your name is ‘Lustus’,” Octavian whispered quickly to Tarquin.

“For gods’ sake it’s Lustus—open the door!” Tarquin growled. “I’ve got these people here and I’m bringing them inside.”

“Oh Lustus, sorry, sorry.” The sound of a heavy crossbar being withdrawn was followed by the doors being shoved open. Inside stood a young servant woman. Eearwaxx was momentarily bewitched until he saw she was a tiefling. “We don’t truck with that,” he muttered, disappointed.

Inside a once-grand hall was dimly lit by chandeliers that are missing most of their candles. Three long tables in the centre of the hall were littered with dirty dishes which the tiefling returned to slowly collecting.

At the far end of the hall a stone staircase ascended to a pair of twenty-foot-high balconies that hugged the walls. On the north landing, directly across from the main entrance, hung a banner depicting the town’s heraldry: a stone watchtower on a dark blue field, with a horizontal red fish facing to the right under the tower.

---

“You lot, sit here and shut up,” Tarquin ordered. “And you—get these men some food.” The servant nodded and headed toward what must be the kitchen on the east wall. Eearwaxx noted a lot of Knucklehead bones. Morgan quickly counted the plates and saw at least a dozen, plus the extras the servant had on her tray. Tarquin glanced into the kitchen and saw a large human chef working over an iron pot of stew. “Stay in here,” he ordered and pulled the door closed.

“Let’s go,” Morgan said quietly, “No time wasting.” He moved to a closed door on the east wall. Jankx quickly listened, hearing nothing, and nodded. He pulled it open and found a servants quarters beyond—uniforms and stacked piles of wood, and four beds, two of which looked used.

Octavian positioned himself at the opposite door and waited for Jankx to give the okay. Jankx heard a voice humming tunelessly behind the door. Arlington positioned his crossbow at the door and nodded.

A well-appointed sitting room lay beyond, comfortably furnished with a fire burning in the hearth and a single door to the north. A gangly, lanky-haired human sat in a couch facing the fire. He looked over his shoulder as the door opened. “Lustus? We weren’t expecting you, what is the meaning of this?” His voice was weedy and thin and instantly annoying.

Tarquin walked inside.

“I said we weren’t expecting you! Stop where you are. You don’t just come barging in, know your place man!”

Tarquin said nothing, just grinned and walked around to stand in front of the man, who jumped to his feet. “Lustus! This is your last warning or you will be disciplined by Kadroth. I have his ear as you very well know!”

Tarquin just smiled and nodded, looming over the small man. He was dressed in a set of mis-fitting clothes that tried to exude authority and failed.

Jankx had walked inside to stand quietly behind the man, who jumped and spun as Jankx spoke quietly into his ear. “Lustus has brought these men to see the master.”

“Oh has he? And how are—oh, it’s you,” the man said grumpily. “You look different?”

Octavian walked into the room. The man scowled. “Wait! What is this kobold doing here? This is quite out of order!”

“Lustus has brought us up here, so just shut up,” Octavian growled and showed his amulet.

“You think that means anything?” the man squeaked, “I have one too!” He proffered his own amulet as proof.

Octavian let his tentacles emerge, drawing a gasp of horror from the cultist, and sunk them the man’s belly. He gurgled and fell to the ground quite dead, and iced over within a second.

Jankx quickly checked to see if there was a reaction from the northern door, but there was no obvious movement.

Arlington moved into the room and gathered everyone. “Just quickly, what was all that about?” he whispered. “We should have just shot him instantly if we were going to kill him. It was a pantomime and then—”

“We need to sort out who is a cultist and who is just a victim working by force,” Morgan interrupted. “So that’s what the pantomime is for, Arlington.” He picked up the frozen body and hid it in a corner behind a sad looking pot-plant.

“Arlington I’m in disguise,” Tarquin hissed. “It was ok.”

“I just want to say that I think we have to be prepared to pull the trigger faster,” Arlington muttered.

“I agree,” Jankx nodded. “That bad guy’s boss should be in this next room. He’s definitely going to be a bad guy.”

“Do we already assume he’s a cultist?”

“Yes.”

“So we just shoot on sight.”

“Let’s just be careful that the Speaker isn’t in there,” Jankx warned. He pushed the door open.

An office lay beyond, with a single desk covered in papers and a fireplace. Standing in front of the open fire was a portly red-skinned tiefling garbed in finery. A very obvious amulet hung on a long chain around his neck.

---

The tiefling smiled. “Lustus! I see you’ve got past Thoob, well done. Have you brought the new arrivals to me?”

“Here they are,” Tarquin nodded, shepherding everyone into the room.

“What have we here. A kobold, a young one—good looking—and this old fellow,” he said looking at Arlington. “What is your name, sir?”

“My name is Mr Porter-Bainbridge,” Arlington said, ignoring the age slight.

“Very good. My name is Kadroth—as you no doubt know—and I run this organisation. And this town.”

“Are you the Speaker then?”

“Pardon? Is that a jest, perhaps? Do I look like a Speaker? Like I would lower myself to that station? The Speaker is here, do not worry.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Arlington said, hinting that he now was.

“But you should know all of this—I hear that you are part of our organisation and yet you seem confused? Am I mistaken?”

Octavian shook his head.

“And who was it that sent you here? Lustus, did you find out?”

“Not in so many words,” Tarquin grunted.

“I thought there was six of them?”

“The others are being held down at the tavern.”

“I see. The lesser ones I suppose. Dead or alive?”

“Just holding.”

“So tell me then—why are you here?”

“We were told you might need some help,” Octavian offered.

“And in which way could you help, exactly?”

Octavian gave his voice a slight edge. “Well the way it was explained was that since you had taken the Speaker the town wasn’t producing much. That you weren’t managing the situation.”

As planned, Kadroth took umbrage at this. “And who told you that? I think you’ll find that I’m managing the situation perfectly well. In fact since I have taken over this town everything is in order. I don’t like you coming in here and—”

“Well my boss said to your boss,” Octavian interrupted, “You better go and check out this Kadroth. Otherwise do you think a kobold would be here? Think, don’t just blather.”

Kadroth smirked, not the reaction Octavian was expecting. “You spoke to my boss did you?”

“I spoke to my boss who spoke to your boss.”

“I speak directly to my boss, and he has no higher authority. So you must be operating at a lower rung.”

“Maybe you think you speak to him—but I do,” Octavian scowled.

“Listen little fellow,” Kadroth said, his confidence back, “You’re playing the wrong game here. I will use you, and your friends, but don’t think you can come in here and take over the town. I run the Black Swords and I will continue to run the Black Swords, and you will work for me. That’s how it operates.”

“Okay,” Octavian said simply. He fired a guiding bolt into Kadroth, choosing to leave his tentacles withdrawn this time. Kadroth was thrown back into the wall, thudding into a wooden bookshelf. “What is the—!”

Jankx fired. The bolt pinioned the cult leader into the bookshelf. He froze over, an icy trophy for all to see.

“That’s more like it,” Arlington nodded. “I’m glad to see everyone took my advice to heart.”

“Yes we did, we listened closely and I feel this was exactly what was required,” Jankx grinned.

“So we’ve cut off the snake at the head,” Tarquin said, “Let’s go through and get rid of his legs.”

Octavian was about to correct the anthropological impossibility but thought better of it. “The desk,” he said to Jankx. Jankx quickly checked it, finding it untrapped despite his expectations otherwise. “I guess he was just so confident he didn’t bother,” he said.

Octavian scanned the documents as Jankx rifled the draws. A small megalomaniacal diary ranted about the growing power of the Black Swords, boasting that Caer-Konig was next (much to Morgan’s horror) and then Easthaven. It also mentioned agents planted in Bryn Shander. Lists of cultists in Caer-Dineval drew Morgan’s attention—there were guards here, no doubt in the battlements. Lustus and Grench were listed amongst others.

“To be slightly fair to this guy, it’s not pure ego,” Jankx said. “He did take this town. It’s not just ideologist fantasy.”

“And this keep would be very hard to take,” Octavian agreed.

“Gents, have a look around,” Tarquin countered, “We just took this town.”

Jankx wanted to search the body, but it was iced over. He could see a set of gold keys on the cummerbund which he focussed on for a moment to memorise the lockwork.

---

Eearwaxx had wandered back to the kitchen, which reeked of fish. Two goats stood in a corner, chewing. “I said it will be ready soon,” the chef snapped. He turned to see the young wizard. “Who are you, I haven’t seen you around.”

“It’s ok, I’m Master Eearwaxx. Who are you?”

“Karou.”

“Come and have a talk.”

“I’m busy. Lustus wants food, and you don’t cross Lustus.”

Eearwaxx shrugged and walked to stand next to the chef. The young servant shrunk into a corner of the room. Eearwaxx couldn’t see badges on either. “Is that Knucklehead?”

“‘Course it is. I know fifty ways to cook Knucklehead and this is one of them. Have a taste.”

Eearwaxx supped on the proffered ladle. Karou was right—this was some fine Knucklehead. “Delicious! The best I’ve tasted. Have you always worked here in the keep?”

“Pretty much.”

“Nice keep.”

“Not really.”

“What happened to the Speaker who was here?”

Karou frowned and turned away. “He’s here.”

“It’s alright. Do you feed him?”

“Yes.” Karou had shut down entirely on the mention of the Speaker.

Jankx had moved to stand in the kitchen doorway, listening carefully. Arlington stood beside him. “I think he’s doing the ‘are you a cultist’ pantomime,” he whispered.

“We need to be safe with who we take down here, so I’m okay with that,” Jankx whispered back.

“Is the Speaker still locked up?” Eearwaxx continued.

“I don’t want to talk about locked up, or the Speaker. He’s here and that’s all I’m going to say. Now step aside so Mere can bring you your food.”

Eearwaxx looked over to the girl. “Have you worked here long too?”

“I was a beggar in Bryn Shander. Kadroth found me and brought me here.”

“Who found you?”

“Kadroth,” she said in a barely audible whisper. She shuddered and shrunk as she spoke the name.

“Don’t worry, you’re fine, it’s okay,” Eearwaxx said, seeing her disquiet.

Jankx had heard enough. “The master has left instructions not to be disturbed for the next hour.” He pulled the door closed as Eearwaxx vacated the room.

“They might know where the Speaker is being held,” Octavian said to Eearwaxx.

“They don’t like to talk about it, it scares them.”

“Well charm them if you have to—we need to know.”

Eearwaxx nodded and opened the door again. “Kadroth asked us to feed the Speaker. So give me a bowl and I’ll take it to him.”

Mere looked confused. “Are you sure? We’ve just fed him?”

“It’s okay, he wants more.” Mere looked to Karou who nodded and poured a bowl of thick Knucklehead soup. Mere handed it to Eearwaxx who smiled warmly and thanked them. “Best soup in town,” Eearwaxx said as he walked out.

Morgan turned to Tarquin. “Are you happy that those two are not cultists? If everyone wears an amulet, we should just check to be sure. Or do you want to leave them—it would be a random element.”

“At the end of the day he might as well just be a kobold,” Tarquin said (Octavian’s ears burned but he stayed mute). He was sure the chef was no threat. “Let’s just move on.”

“Morgan,” Arlington said, “Check them.” It was time to assert some authority. Just because Tarquin looked like a half-orc didn’t mean he was in charge of this operation.

Morgan nodded and replaced Eearwaxx in the kitchen. He grabbed Karou and pulled the front of his tunic open. There was amulet.

“Gods, you people!” Karou growled.

“You need to stay in the kitchen.”

“Of course I’ll stay in the kitchen you idiot. I cook for you, is that not enough?” he spat. Morgan hesitated, wanting to explain, but shrugged and turned away to Mere. “Can you please tell us where the Speaker is?”

Mere shook with terror. “Upstairs and to the right, and through the door,” she stammered.

“Thank you. Stay here and don’t come out until I come back and knock.” Mere nodded, a tear in her eye, and Morgan pulled the door closed.

Tarquin led everyone upstairs in the direction Mere had indicated. Jankx listened at the door, hearing a low snore and a soft rhythmic tapping. He pushed the door open, trying to do it quietly but failing miserably as the door hinges squealed.

A guard stood in the immaculately furnished room, his unsheathed weapon the obvious source of the tapping. The room had all the trappings of a noble bedchamber, including a soft bed, warm quilts, elegant tapestries, and a gilded chamber pot. Bars over the windows dispelled the air of luxury somewhat.

“Lustus, Grench? You look different—” the guard started to lift his weapon.

“I’m not feeling so well,” Jankx explained as a bolt from Arlington’s crossbow lodged in the man’s forehead. The body crashed to the ground in an icy cocoon.

In the bed a dishevelled man sat bolt upright, woken from his sleep by the disturbance. “Who? What? What is the meaning of this? Have you come to rescue me?” he said hopefully. Before he could say more Octavian ripped open his bed clothes to reveal a bare chest—no amulet. “He’s clean.”

“Of course I am! I’m the Speaker of this town!” the man said, clutching at his torn shirt.

Tarquin removed his hat and transformed into the charming man he was. “You’re not Lustus! That is a fine jape!” the man laughed. He was elderly, tall, with a goatee and noble posture. He looked malnourished but not unwell.

Tarquin bowed. “We are envoys of the Ten Towns, free folk rooting out the cult,” he said, furnishing the writ.

“And we can put you back in power,” Octavian added, “But we have heard horrible things about your rule. So will you change that if we do?”

The man sat upright. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I won’t change that. In fact do you know what I’m going to do? This town needs a lesson. This town allowed me to be captured. I set up a militia but did they save me? No they did not! They’re dead. I will impose an iron rule in this town. That’s what’s needed. Once you have freed me I am going to show this town who is in charge, make no mistake.” The Speaker finished his speech with a satisfied smile.

Arlington sighed. “Tarquin, you’ve got this I reckon. Jankx what’s behind that door?” he said pointing to the sole door leading north from the room. Jankx nodded and checked then stepped through the door, hoping the Speaker would still be alive when he returned. Inside was the remains of a library, all the shelving long burnt down, now cobweb covered, dark, and cold.

Back in the bedchamber, Tarquin ignored the Speaker’s ravings. “Not withstanding your desire to get back in the hotseat, the first part of our job here is not yet done. We have come direct to you.”

“As you should,” the Speaker said haughtily.

“We have dispatched the erstwhile leader who was sitting in your stead, but there are a number of cultists still—”

“Wait! You have killed Kadroth?”

“Yes, we have.”

“Wonderful! So I am a free man!”

“Well I wouldn’t go walking outside quite yet.”

“And also you’re not a free man because you are our captive,” Octavian scowled. He wasn’t going to let the Speaker get off so lightly after his pathetic ravings.

Eearwaxx was even less forgiving. He lifted a finger and fired a bolt into the Speaker, engulfing the quilts and silk sheets—and the Speaker—in an inferno of flame.

Octavian was shocked. “The fire!” he cried. He tore a tapestry from the wall and smothered it as best he could, Tarquin following suit. It took some work but the blaze was contained and the Speaker’s charred body doused.

Eearwaxx waved his hand over the body and tried something, but nothing happened. “Hm. That’s odd,” he muttered, then wandered back outside, taking a sip of the soup.

Jankx walked back into the room. “So how are thing going?”

Arlington glanced at Tarquin. “Tarquin, when I said to you ‘you’ve got this’, I didn’t mean to kill him. I meant you can take over this town from that fool.”

“It wasn’t me,” Tarquin shrugged, glancing at Eearwaxx. Everyone watched the young wizard with concern—what had happened to the innocent young boy that he was now killing people in cold blood (and hot fire).

Eearwaxx was oblivious, still looking at his hand and wondering why his spell over the charred body had failed. “The innkeeper should run this town, not you,” he said absent-mindedly over his shoulder. Tarquin raised an eyebrow.

“Are we getting medals for saving the town?” Octavian asked facetiously.

“Oh we will, once I’m in power,” Tarquin grinned, “This is our story after all.” He put the hat back on and transformed to Lustus.

Hethyl the Soothsayer

Jankx opened the door on the opposite landing. A narrow corridor led west with doors north and south. He heard a slow rhythmic rocking of wood on wood from behind the north door. “I expect to find some bloody lich behind here,” he muttered and pushed it open regardless.

A chilly draft wafted through the bedroom beyond despite a roaring fire in the hearth. Bundled under a thick quilt and seated in a squat rocking chair in front of the fire was a venerable dwarf with a wooden peg where her right foot should be. Next to her, on a small table, was a plate of untouched Knucklehead in a bath of goats milk.

“Jankx was right!” Octavian hissed.

The woman turned her head to look to the doorway.

“I’ve been dreading this moment,” she said with a wry smile.

---

“Do we shoot her while she’s dreading it?” Arlington whispered.

Octavian shook his head. “We talk to her first—”

“—then we murder her,” Jankx nodded.

“Come, come, sit,” the dwarf offered.

No-one sat.

“Well at least take those faces off,” she said to Tarquin and Jankx. Tarquin bowed and removed his hat, Jankx following. She smiled at Jankx. “You’re handsome under that—I knew you would be.”

Eearwaxx walked into the room, still holding his bowl of soup. “Would you like some Knucklehead soup? It’s quite delicious.”

The woman glanced at the plate of cold fish by her side. “No thank you young man. I have had enough Knucklehead to last several lifetimes. Thankfully I won’t need any more soon enough.”

“I have a question, lady,” Eearwaxx said pointing to the amulet hanging around her neck, “Those that wear that then turn to ice when we kill them—what does that mean?”

“Oh it means their souls are ready to be reclaimed. It’s to stop others from taking them.”

“Taking their bodies?”

“No, taking their souls. We don’t want them resurrected else He can’t have them.”

“He?”

“The Master. The same Master these three serve,” she said grinning and pointing to the three cursed adventurers.

Tarquin resolutely didn’t look around. Nor did Arlington and Octavian. Morgan’s eyes on the other hand bored into the back of Tarquin’s head.

Eearwaxx pressed on. “But does he have a name?”

“Levistus. You should know that.” Eearwaxx and Morgan vaguely knew the name, an important devil in the infernal hierarchy, but not much more.

“Does that mean their souls are going to hell?”

“Of course. He gave them life, not he’s taking them back.”

“But why preserve the bodies?”

“As I said, to stop busybodies like you from raising them up again.”

“I can’t do that,” Eearwaxx protested.

“Not yet! But one day you will,” the dwarf grinned. Eearwaxx shuffled uncomfortably—how did she know that?

“And is there any way around this?” Tarquin asked, hoping for a way out should the same thing happen to him.

“Around having your soul taken?”

“I was thinking more about the ice.”

“It depends on the contract you signed. But enough of this—I wanted to thank you for dealing with those filthy Sunblight,” she said spitting out the distaste. “We are well rid of them. Mind you that Grandolpha isn’t much better—you should have offed her too.”

“You seem very well informed,” Octavian said watching her closely.

“I see things, I know things. I’ve been around you know. I knew that you were coming, and that now you are here I won’t be for much longer.”

Tarquin scratched his head. “You may have been around, but I don’t know how we’d know if we don’t know your name?”

“Why it’s Hethyl. Hethyl Arkorran, but I don’t think you’d know of me. I have spent most of my years up here in the North.”

“I fought in the dragon wars alongside Stormwatch, lost my leg in the battle,” she said tapping her wooden leg.

“How long have you worn that amulet?” Tarquin asked.

“Some decades now—after the war I took it on. I lost my leg and my life, but I was given my life back, for the price. Hence the amulet—but you know that.”

“It sounds very similar,” Tarquin said quietly.

“You know you look like one of those Stormwatch fellows—I had a thing for…what was the muscley one called? Jorin? He was a nice one, not bright, but short like me. You remind me of him.”

Tarquin blanched. “From my perspective I just found him a little bit self absorbed.”

“From the stories I was told as a child he was a moron,” Arlington offered.

“Are you saying they’re real, ‘Stormwatch’?” Octavian scoffed. “I always took it as a story for children.”

“Of course they are. We fought the dragon queen! I was there with them!”

“Are you like the seventh member of Stormwatch?” Arlington asked.

“No, no, I was just part of the dwarven army in the Caldera of Dragons. Great days, my prime,” she said wistfully.

Eearwaxx tried to bring things back to the present day. “Are you in charge of the people here?”

“Oh no, that’s Kadroth. Or at least he thinks he is—he’s a worthy leader but a bit of a fool flouncing about in his borrowed finery.”

“So you’re really in charge?”

“Of course I am—ask anyone. I’m the one that gets the respect. Kadroth thinks he has the master’s ear but He thinks Kadroth is a fool. The master talks to me.”

“He’s dead.”

She narrowed her eyes. “So you have begun. I was right.”

“What’s the name of his master?” Octavian quizzed.

“Levistus,” Morgan said under his breath. He knew now who had the hold over his companions.

“I know,” Octavian whispered back, “I wanted her to say it. There might have been another rung, but it seems not.”

“Your young friend is right—why do you keep asking?” Hethyl confirmed.

“It doesn’t seem like she needs much killing,” Morgan whispered to Octavian in Draconic, hoping Hethyl wasn’t versed in that tongue.

“I don’t know what to do,” Octavian shrugged. He couldn’t get a read on Hethyl, which disturbed him.

“Well to be fair three of you are wearing the amulet too.”

“Except we can’t really remember much about how we got it,” Octavian hissed, “Whereas she obviously signed on with full enthusiasm.”

“Wouldn’t that be a good reason to maybe not kill her then?”

“Well we’re just talking to find out what’s happening, but she seems to be certain we’re going to murder her!”

“Which is fair enough,” Morgan said glancing over his shoulder at Arlington who had his crossbow trained between Hethyl’s eyes.

Octavian cleared his throat. “Lady. You seem to be under the very clear impression that something bad is going to happen soon. Have you oracular abilities where you see the future or possible futures? Or are you about to do something really bad to us which then means we will defend ourselves?”

Hethyl arched her fingers. “No I’m not doing anything to you, it’s what you’re doing to me that I have seen.”

“Are we doing something to you right now?” Jankx asked, confused. “We’re just chatting?”

“Let me put it this way: you are in no danger from me.”

Morgan was listening and watching carefully. “I think she’s telling the truth.”

Octavian nodded. “Hethyl, we obviously can’t allow your cult—even though supposedly I am in it—to run this town and punish it’s citizens. So if we were to say to you, which is not like us at all, ‘you just go away’. Would you do that?”

“Oh I will be going away, don’t you worry.”

Octavian sighed. “Again you are using this very euphemistic language. So you will just take your belongings and you will physically leave the keep? As opposed to implying murder?”

Hethyl cackled delightedly. “I won’t be taking anything. I’m going to the same place you are.”

“When we burst in here,” Tarquin said, “We were moving with some momentum cutting a swathe through your cult—”

“I do wonder about that,” Hethyl interrupted, “I assume that you will serve the Master well in our stead, now that you have killed Kadroth and I’m about to leave.”

“Have we interrupted your departure?”

“Oh no no, you are the catalyst! I know why you are here and what you seek. My time is limited, so let me say a few things to you—Levistus won’t mind as he will have me soon enough. Take these words as you will. I say to you that you should turn back before you make a mistake you cannot undo.”

“Like what?” Eearwaxx asked.

“Why Ythryn. That is where you are going, is it not?”

“…maybe?” Jankx stammered.

Hethyl nodded. “You made a mistake leaving the heart. And the Master won’t be happy about that.”

Octavian’s mind started to race. A mistake? What did she mean?? And why would Levistus care???

“So Ythryn is your only choice,” Hethyl continued. “But I would warn you to let it be. What you unleash there is far worse than what the Frostmaiden is doing. You should thank her, not hunt her.”

This time it was Morgan’s turn to be nonplussed. Thank Auril? What of the Ten Towns?? What of the endless winter???

Hethyl looked around the confused faces with a satisfied smile. “But what would I know, I’m just an old lady in a rocking chair. You can pay no heed to my words. Why should you trust me after all, you know nothing of me.”

“You do actually seem to know a shitload is why,” Jankx said. Her words had taken him aback too, and her knowledge of what had happened pointed to her perhaps knowing what was coming next.

“Just to play a counterfactual, lady,” Octavian said, recovering his wits, “If we were to try and stop the icing over of this entire region, how would we do that?”

“I’m a soothsayer, not a problem solver,” Hethyl grinned, “I have no idea. That’s not my game.”

“What is your game?” Eearwaxx asked.

“To server the Master.”

“That’s not working out too well.”

“On the contrary it has worked out very well—decades more life is not something to take lightly.”

“And what is his game, Hethyl?” Morgan asked quietly.

“He wants to be free, as your three friends know.”

“Our deal is more spartan in form,” Tarquin shook his head. “It is a simple transaction—we are not compelled in our actions on this plane.”

“Nor am I.”

“But you have deepened your relationship with He who holds the sword over your neck.”

“I have done nothing of the sort. He gave me life, I took it, now he will take it,” Hethyl shrugged.

“Yes but you have been working for him!” Octavian said.

“As are you, much as you may deny it,” Hethyl laughed.

“What is His ambition in this world to you?” Tarquin pressed.

“I imagine the same as it was to you—to find the thing that could free him. You found it and let it go. Now you will have to find something else.”

Arlington sighed. “Ah. Ok, right.” Morgan’s eyes went wide. “The heart.”

Octavian was still pushing away the truth pressing on his mind. “No. No! Because if that was our mission we would have kept it,” he said desperately. “But we freely let it go.”

“The heart had another buyer,” Tarquin said, his conviction wavering slightly, “And we were not interested in passing it on.”

Hethyl smiled with satisfaction. “No. You were greedy. You took the glittering trinkets in front of you instead of the one thing that could have freed you from your servitude.”

For a few moments the only sound was the chair rocking on the stone floor as Hethyl’s words sunk in. Octavian swallowed hard, Tarquin stared, and Arlington shuffled his feet uncomfortably.

Eearwaxx broke the silence, speaking to Hethyl in infernal to test her knowledge. “Aren’t you terrified of unending torture in hell?”

“Does anyone understand what he is saying?”

Eearwaxx had his answer. “Let me translate: Aren’t you terrified you’ll spend eternity in hell being tortured?”

Hethyl sighed. “I made my peace with that many years ago, young wizard. I had no choice.”

“I would have thought any death would be better than that.”

“I died, I went to hell, I was given another chance and I took it. Now I am going back again.”

“Interesting,” Eearwaxx said nodding.

“And has your journey come to an end because the path to His freedom has been closed off?” Tarquin asked. “What is this other path?”

“My journey is over because it seems you have usurped my role here. I am of no use to Him now. You have the favour of Levistus, not I. It is your turn.”

“No,” Octavian said, his heckles rising. “We have been doing nothing to advance his agenda, and in fact we have undercut it at every step!”

Hethyl cackled again. “Think that if you wish, oh greatest kobold. You serve just as I did.”

“No wonder you lost that leg,” Octavian said petulantly.

“Now then. It’s time.” Hethyl gave a long sigh and let her chair come to a stop. She dusted off her dress and turned her piercing gaze directly at Morgan, who involuntarily stepped back a pace at the sudden attention.

“And you my boy. They want you.”

“Who?”

“Be careful what you wish for.”

“Who? Who wants me??” Morgan cried.

Hethyl smiled sadly, and her body suddenly snapped frozen, then shattered into pebbles of ice that clattered to the stone floor like hailstones. Octavian nodded, finally understanding what she had been hinting.

Jankx lent down and checked the ice-pebbles, handing one to Arlington’s outstretched hand. They looked like crystals of ice, clear and hard. It didn’t melt in Arlington’s hand, and when Octavian tossed one in the fire it only glittered in the flames. “Maybe that will punish her a little more.”

“I don’t think it’s about punishing her,” Tarquin said, pocketing a handful of shattered Hethyl. “It’s about our active agency in the face of our ‘master’, who has given us leave to wander on this world until we end. She has gone off to his side, perhaps if we keep a little of her here and there it makes it a bit more difficult for that transaction to happen.” Everyone took a few icy pebbles just in case.

Tarquin turned to Morgan, who stood agog and slack jawed. “I know the name of my master…tell us a bit more about yours!”

“I have no idea what she means,” Morgan shuddered glancing around. “I don’t know who ‘they’ is.”

“Welcome to the club!” Octavian laughed.

---

“At least we know the person you made the bargain with,” Morgan said.

“I think ‘person’ is probably the wrong term,” Tarquin countered.

“Well he’s a devil that likes ice.”

“We knew that,” Octavian said.

“One who has prolonged our life for his possibility of escape from his icy hell,” Tarquin added.

Jankx nodded. “And more disturbing is that somehow, according to her, we are accidentally furthering his agenda. In ways we don’t really understand.”

“But can we believe her?” Octavian said.

“No, we can’t be sure,” Jankx conceded.

“The riddles that were spun behind her truth we can’t yet untangle,” Tarquin agreed. “And now is not the time—we’ve got a job to do.”

“The one possibility we should think about though, is that maybe Hedrun—the ice-witch who revied Jankx, Eearwaxx, and me—is in league with Levistus.”

“Or in contest—we are not know at this point.”

“Hedrun’s primary concern is the defeat of Auril,” Morgan added. Tarquin was right, it was a tangled web.

Tarquin looked around the group. “So. We strike out as an interesting bunch. A circle of trust formed of two factions. Working in our own interests but subverted by our various masters. I say what’s important exists in this world, in this time. I say we take control of our lives and move forward. There’s not much we can do about what hangs about our collective necks—at least not now. We’ve been given information, but maybe just enough to hang us…”

It was an impressive speech that none could find fault with.

Arlington scratched his neck. “So Tarquin how long do you think it will take you to setup an interim caretaker council to look after this town while we are away?”

“Despite the somewhat erratic behaviour of our young magician, I think he has hit on something. If there is one to be trusted, a tavern owner is as good as any. So let’s clear the decks and make way for the new Speaker.”

---

Jankx checked and opened the door to the south. Another bedchamber, this one in better shape than the ex-Speaker’s. A large, gilded mirror covered most of the east wall, and other furnishings included an ornately carved wooden table and chair. A black cat lay sprawled on a rug on the floor. “Hello?” Jankx said hopefully, but the cat only stared. Morgan crouched down beside it and it stood and rubbed itself between his ankles, purring. Eearwaxx asked Horseradish if the cat was a familiar, drawing a cautious negative from the owl.

Tarquin was getting impatient. “I reckon that cook’s finished his trout. I think it might be time to get moving.”

Back downstairs the only unexplored areas were the four guard towers. Tarquin, back in Lustus form, led the company to the north-west tower. “Before we go in—we can give these cultists their choice. We’ve cut the head of the snake here. Let me give them that choice.”

Eearwaxx shook his head. “If they’ve got a brooch—kill them.”

Octavian looked askance at Eearwaxx. Something had changed in the young wizard. Tarquin put a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe, but not first. Let me give them the choice. We’ve made our choice, Eearwaxx, we don’t serve the master on this plane.”

“I know, but they do.”

“‘Lustus’ will pose the choice for them and we shall follow their lead.”

Eearwaxx shrugged. His finger was hot.

Tarquin banged on the door before pulling it open. Inside were three guards. “Lustus? You need us?”

“Rouse yourself. Get into the mess hall now, we’ve got some talking to do.”

The guards nodded, pulling on their armour and weapons. “Any problems?”

“I’ll talk to you when you’re all there,” Tarquin growled.

“Yes sir. Who are the others with you?” one asked.

Octavian pointed toward the keep. “Just get moving and follow fucking orders,” he snarled. The guards glanced at Tarquin who returned their stare steely-eyed. The guards swallowed and moved out into the courtyard, Tarquin following behind to move to the next tower.

Octavian glanced around the room. It was a regular barracks, but for one thing—a large bear-skin rug lay on the floor and it had obviously been moved fairly regularly, as if it was hiding something. He shoved the rug aside, revealing a trapdoor. “Jankx, I’ve found something.”

Jankx moved in and studied the hatch. There was no lock, just a latch. A wooden ladder held in place with iron brackets descended twelve feet to a hall of mortared stone dimly lit by sputtering torches. He pulled the rug back over. “We’ll come back for this.”

While this was happening Morgan ascended the stairs to the top of the tower. He scooted up and poked his head into the room. There were three more guards, who immediately saw Morgan. “Intruder!” one called, pulling his weapon.

“Relax!” Morgan growled. “Lustus wants you downstairs—now!”

“Bullshit! Intruder!”

Morgan rolled his eyes and moved quickly downstairs, the guards following close behind crying out. “Stop!”

The guards came to a quick stop seeing Octavian and Jankx below. Octavian revealed his amulet to calm the guards. “That means nothing, kobold!”

“What the fuck did you just say?!” Octavian summoned his tentacle and shot it into the guard’s neck. The guard fell instantly inside his ice tomb. The others stepped back, horrified at the tentacle. “You guys are really slow. Get into the keep—now!” The guards glanced at their frozen companion and slowly moved outside, avoiding Octavian as best they could.

The other three towers were quickly cleared, Tarquin doing the job with Morgan at his side. Octavian took up position in the keep, watching over the gathering cultists—there were twenty or more gathering. Arlington kept an eye on the cultists as they crossed the courtyard, Jankx leaning casually againt the doghouse as backup.

There was no resistance until the fourth tower, when two robed figures descended from above and stopped at the foot of the stairs. Eearwaxx sensed magic and walked into the room to watch. One of the two frowned at Tarquin. “What’s going on Lustus?” Unlike the other guards, they weren’t deferring to Lustus’s authority.

“Big news, but I can’t say,” Tarquin growled. “We need everyone together.”

“You’re leaving us pretty exposed.”

“That’s why we’ve got to do it quickly. Let’s go.”

The robed cultists didn’t move. “What happened to the strangers in the tavern? Are they on our side?”

“They’re here, and they are,” Lustus said, nodding to Morgan and Eearwaxx. He caught Morgan’s eye and gave a subtle nod.

“Are they more senior than Kadroth?” the nearest cultist said.

“They are, but keep that quiet,” Tarquin grunted.

“Are we moving on Caer-Konig?”

“Let’s just say things are in motion. We need to get everyone together to look at this.”

“So this is the beginning? We’ll come.”

“And the end,” Tarquin said. He stepped aside to let the cultist past. Morgan pulled the door closed. “What—” the cultist started before Eearwaxx fired scorching rays into both. Tarquin buried his new rapier in one. “Traitor!!” the cultist yelled, eyes widening as Tarquin removed his hat and grinned.

The cult wizard grabbed Eearwaxx’s around the neck, sending tendrils of necrotic rot spindling up his neck and down into his chest. Eearwaxx cried out in pain and shock. The second cultist followed suit, seeing Eearwaxx was in trouble, and Eearwaxx’s veins swelled further, pulsing black.

Morgan swore and drove his sword into the nearest foe, killing him instantly. He stepped around the icy body as it fell, then slashed the other. Eearwaxx put his hand on the fallen body and seemed to draw energy from it, then tried to fire again, but the agony in his body sent the flames in all directions except the target.

Tarquin could see Eearwaxx would fall if he didn’t finish the last cultist. He made no mistake: his rapier pierced the man’s heart, and the figure dropped icy to the floor. Tarquin immediately lay his hands on Eearwaxx and healed him, drawing the necrotic damage away.

Morgan and Tarquin exchanged glances. It had only been seconds, but in those seconds they had nearly lost Eearwaxx. The keep had been a cakewalk up until now, and they had let their guard down. And why was Eearwaxx even in here. “We have been so lucky to come out unscathed to this point,” Tarquin said breathing hard. “That’s just battle, and we’re just lucky we didn’t lose him then.”

Morgan nodded and turned to the young wizard. “Are you ok?”

“Yep. I’m good,” Eearwaxx lied.

“Do I need to have that talk about you not getting into fights and never getting in front of me again?”

“I’m fine!”

Morgan stared at Eearwaxx, then pushed the door open and walked outside, shaking his head. Arlington looked over and frowned as he saw Eearwaxx limping out from the tower.

Arlington collared Tarquin. “What the fuck did you do to him?” he hissed.

“We just took out two red casters, buddy. It wasn’t going to be easy—where were you?” Tarquin snapped.

“I was watching your back. And you shut the door.”

Tarquin shrugged. “Needs must.”

“It’s all good, I feel fine, let’s go,” Eearwaxx said. Jankx glanced at Eearwaxx and could see he was anything but.

---

In the mess hall, Octavian watched over the increasingly rowdy cultists. They were excited about the gathering, speculating loudly on what would happen next in their plan for world—or Icewind—domination. A couple pulled the kitchen door open and demanded food.

“Hey!” Octavian yelled. “No food! You need to concentrate!”

The cultists waved Octavian away. “Bring us food Karou!”

Octavian flew over to the middle of the tables and crashed his staff down. “I said no food!!” He pulled his tentacle out again and held it writhing aloft. “This is the gift of my lord! And I can share it if you want!”

The two guards that had witnessed Octavian doing just that to their companion hastily assured the room that Octavian spoke true.

The food demanders glanced at each other. “There’s twenty of us and only one of you!”

“I know. But unless you get another two-hundred, you are outnumbered,” Octavian smiled. “If that is not enough to convince you, maybe this is—” Octavian said as he a bolt of frost from his frozen hand into frame of the kitchen door. “And you all know where that came from. I’m very close to starting to murder all of you. Now sit!”

The two grumbled but sat. One decided to tempt fate, calling over his shoulder, “Mere—bring us some ale.”

“I just said, no ale, no food! You’re about to be given new orders. Sit and shut up.” Octavian was managing to be very controlled, but he was so very tempted to finish the entire room. Mere quietly pulled the kitchen door closed.

---

“What’s the plan now?” Arlington said before entering the keep.

“There must be a couple of score inside,” Morgan said. “We’re either going to get into a long and protracted fight, or we can try and get them all at once.”

“And the kobold,” Arlington added.

Morgan was confused. “Octavian? Look if they’ve all sworn themselves to the devil, present company notwithstanding, I’m not really concerned if they all die.”

“There are three innocent people inside,” Eearwaxx interjected. “Can we call them out and keep them safe before anything happens.”

Tarquin nodded. “Here’s the plan. I’ll stand in front, you stand arrayed behind us, and we’ll see where we end up.”

“How flammable do you think the keep is?” Eearwaxx said. “I have an interesting spell that might kill them all. As long as we get the kitchen staff and kobold out first.”

Jankx laughed nervously. “The upstairs landings were all wooden, plus the stairs and even that huge tapestry. If you set fire to that the entire keep will be in flames.”

“Oh that’s bad,” Eearwaxx conceded. “We need the others safely out.” He extinguished his finger sadly—foiled again.

Arlington patted Eearwaxx on the shoulder. “I can see this is something you have to do, so let’s hatch a devious plan to get everybody out just in time. So we just need to notify the kobold.”

“Ok. I’ll do it,” Tarquin said. He put his hat back on and pulled the keep doors open.

The gathered cultists quietened down as Lustus entered. He turned to Morgan. “Get those kitchen staff out of here. Everyone else—sitting down.”

Morgan hustled to the kitchen and gathered Mere and Karou close. “You two need to leave here now with me. Let’s go. Right now.”

“Kadroth will punish me if I leave,” Mere whimpered.

“Kadroth is not going to be a problem any more.”

“Do you promise?”

“He’s gone.” Mere reached her trembling hand up to take Morgan’s. Morgan squeezed it then let it go. “You can’t walk out holding my hand, just walk ahead of me and go straight out the front door. Karou will look after you.”

Mere and Karou walked outside, Karou leading his two goats. Several guards whistled as Mere walked, causing her to start shaking even more. Morgan scowled and nodded to Eearwaxx who lent down and whispered. “Get to the tavern, we will see you there.” Karou nodded and led Mere outside.

“What’s going on Lustus? Is it time to move?”

“It is,” Tarquin said. “I want you all to listen very carefully. There has been a change of plan—and a change of regime. Kadroth is gone.”

A murmur raced around the room. “Is Hethyl leading us now?” one called out to some cheers.

Tarquin paused. “Hethyl is gone.”

“What do you mean gone?” a cultist called in shock.

Tarquin pulled out a handful of ice and ran it through his fingers, clattering the floor. The nearest cultists gasped, word spreading through the room like wildfire.

“Who is in charge then?! One of the newcomers? Is it the kobold?”

Tarquin raised his hand for silence. “Here is the lay of the land. You men have a choice to make. You are facing a forked path. One way leads to safely, the other to certain doom.” A muttering rumble want around the room.

“We have to choose to follow the kobold, is that what you’re saying?”

Octavian, still standing in the middle of the tables, very subtly nodded his head without really realising he was doing it.

Tarquin did his best not to roll his eyes before continuing. “You men are now in charge of your own lives. You can choose now to leave this place. Because there is no leadership here.”

The cultists looked confused. “The kobold is in charge, is he not? What is his name?”

“He’s not in charge—” Tarquin started to say.

“My name is Octavian, remember that name! I am in charge!!” Octavian interrupted. “Lustus—be quiet!”

Tarquin swallowed his tongue. What was Octavian doing??

“You have a choice,” Octavian continued, in full swing now. “You either take off your amulets and leave this place and seek out a new life. Or you die where you stand. Make your choice.”

The room burst into raucous cries. “What?!” “How?” “Die??” “We are Black Swords like you!”

“Enough!” Octavian cried, slamming his staff down again. “You have once choice. Die or rescind you views. You—” he pointed to a man directly in front of him, “—what do you choose?”

The main looked around in confusion. “We cannot remove our amulets, you must know that! We have made a deal!”

“Forget the amulets, just go—leave, follow a normal life!”

“What? What do you mean?? This is our life—we are Black Swords!!” The room burst into agreement, everyone on their feet.

Octavian looked at his feet. Enough. He looked over to Tarquin. “You all should leave,” he said softly.

“So be it,” Tarquin said sadly. He turned his back on the room, taking his hat off as he slowly walked outside. Morgan stepped backwards seeing Octavian had made his decision, pushing the doors closed once Tarquin, Eearwaxx and Jankx had left. Arlington, who had stayed outside, lowered his crossbow.

Inside the cultists were shouting now. “What’s happening? Where have they gone?! Octavian???”

Octavian didn’t answer. He shot into the air and hovered above the tables, the cultists heads all turned up in wonder to witness his ascension. Octavian surveyed his soon-to-be victims and smirked.

“Tell Him Octavian sent you!”

He closed his eyes and lowered his hands before wrenching them skyward as he summoned the might of the earth through the floor of the keep, the ground shattering and sending shards of piercing stone through the bodies of the cultists below. Those that did not die instantly were killed by Octavian’s Withering Bloom, the lifeblood sucked from the veins of the dying. The bodies crashed to the floor in their icy tombs as Octavian hovered majestically above, and angel of death and destruction.

He floated slowly down to the door and shoved it open. “They’re gone,” he said simply.

Tarquin looked back into the keep, eyes wide. He was going to congratulate Octavian, but instead a shiver of fear shook him. What had Octavian done? And how was he so calm.

Eearwaxx flexed his fire-hungry finger sadly. Arlington patted him on the back. “Don’t worry, it can wait.”

---

Did eyepatch have an owl?

Morgan pulled the bearskin rug clear of the trapdoor and hauled it open. He nodded and slid down the ladder, Arlington covering him from above.

It was bone-numbingly cold in the room below. Morgan could see a long, water-filled cistern extending from the east end of the hall. A passage led north, and Morgan crept to it as the rest of the crew descended. He could see four sheet-wrapped bodies in the room. He moved into the room and lifted the sheet, Jankx on his shoulder. Three humans and a halfling, all in cult uniforms, lay dead—but they weren’t frozen.

“They must be cultists who didn’t treat with the devil,” Jankx speculated.

Tarquin squatted down to study the bodies and shook his head. “No—look, their amulets are drained, inert. The Master has claimed their souls.”

Arlington moved to the cistern. Stone steps descended into the eight-foot deep icy water that partially flooded the twenty-foot-wide, arched tunnel. The roof arched twelve feet above the water. Arlington held his lantern over the crystal clear water and froze. A dozen half-bloated corpses, some human, some dwarf, lay on the bottom of the cistern, weighed down by chain shirts. They all wore the regalia of Caer-Dineval. “All that remains of the town guard,” Arlington said quietly.

A small ledge ran along the north and south walls, with passages to the north and south. To the far east a slab of blue marble blocked further passage.

Morgan moved along the north wall, finding a second store room with only the remains of some grain sacks. He drew opposite the door to the south and leapt over the water to land safely on the other side. The rest of the company went around the slow way.

Directly across from the entrance to the dark room ahead stood an eight-foot-tall pillar of ice with a horned, pale-skinned, humanoid figure trapped inside it. The pillar was wrapped in black chains. “This doesn’t look good,” Morgan whispered.

Arlington peered over Morgan’s shoulder and his stomach dropped. Octavian and Tarquin exchanged worried glances as Jankx carefully entered the room. It was somehow even colder in here, the floor and walls covered in frost. “It’s a effigy, not a frozen creature,” Jankx called back.

“Hold on,” Tarquin warned, “It’s got chains around it. Why if it’s just a statue?”

Eearwaxx wasn’t worried. He crept close to the ice and pulled out a magnifying glass. “Jankx is right, it’s a statue not a body. I think. Didn’t the Master "

“Don’t touch it,” Jankx cautioned, stepping back. Octavian retreated as far away as he could, alongside Tarquin and Arlington.

“This is thing that’s bound you, isn’t it?” Eearwaxx said. “It’s alright. If we destroy it will that unbind you?”

“No!” Tarquin cried. “You’re playing with my life now son—get out here.”

“We don’t know!” Octavian yelled, his voice full of fear.

“I understand,” Eearwaxx started, “But I—”

“Did you see those men upstairs?” Tarquin interrupted. “Do you think that’s not gone through their heads? When we gave them their choice they saw no option!”

Eearwaxx nodded. “I won’t do anything to it. But if we unbound the creature maybe it would unbind you?”

Octavian considered this for a moment then dismissed it out of hand. “This is where they would worship, nothing more. There is no possible way that unbinding this would free Lev—”

“Don’t say the name!” Tarquin said grabbing Octavian.

“Oh it’s an idol,” Morgan grunted.

“I just don’t understand the chains,” Eearwaxx said.

“It’s a representation of that devil being bound wherever he is.”

“He’s young, he doesn’t understand metaphor,” Tarquin smiled.

“This is where they pray to the devil,” Morgan nodded, moving down the short passage that led north from the statue chamber. The room at the end was another study, the floor covered with a red rug and a small desk with a leather-bound book sitting atop. In the corner of the room two frozen kobold corpses were bundled together.

“What is this?” Octavian swore, not getting any closer to the bodies.

“It looks like this room has been cleaned out,” Jankx said. “Except for the corpses, the book, and that.” He pointed to a very conspicuous white feather lying in the exact middle of the carpet. Arlington knelt to study it closer. “It’s an owl feather, and there’s a single drop of blood on it.”

“Nobody touch anything,” Morgan said. “Did eyepatch have an owl?” he asked, thinking to the woman in Easthaven.

“She did, and I killed it,” Tarquin said quietly.

“She wasn’t happy about that,” Octavian recalled.

“This room could be trapped,” Morgan said backing out. “We need to not be in this room.”

Arlington followed Morgan’s advice, but as he passed Eearwaxx he lent down and whispered. “You do you, kid.”

Eearwaxx smiled and walked into the room and up to the desk. He looked at the sigil on the book immediately recognising it as a necromantic symbol. Just for me, he thought to himself, What a lucky coincidence. He moved around the desk, trying to see under and on every side of the book. Everyone watched with breath held as Eearwaxx did his best to detect any traps using his rusty thief skills, certain that something very bad was about to happen.

“No traps, but it must be magic,” Eearwaxx muttered, casting a spell that confirmed it. “Divination magic,” he added. Which was curious—why not necromancy? He glanced at his spellbound companions hiding in the corridor, shrugged, and picked up the book.

Nothing happened.

Everyone let out a sigh of relief. “Interesting book,” he said as he opened the book to stifled cries of “Nooo—”

A whispered voice filled the room as the book cracked open.

“Too late…”

---

Everyone froze. But still nothing happened. Arlington shuddered. “What’s in the book, Eearwaxx?”

“Nothing. It’s blank. It had a necromatic cover though.”

“Maybe she booby-trapped it to erase itself?” Morgan suggested. “That would be a bit of a taunt though, wouldn’t it?”

“Is that something you don’t think she would do?” Arlington asked.

“I don’t know. Did she ever register that one of us ever murdered her owl?”

“Oh yes, there is no doubt,” Octavian said, glancing at Tarquin. “I talked her down but she knew. I was scared she was going to burn Easthaven to the ground.”

“Why did we let her go in the first place?” Arlington asked.

“It was the middle of a riot, if you recall,” Octavian scowled. “And she had a gang of undead kobolds.”

“And I don’t know if we were feeling capable of it at the time,” Morgan added.

“I’m feeling capable now,” Arlington muttered.

“That whole room was a message to us,” Eearwaxx warned.

“The only question is was it a message for us, or for somebody else?” Morgan said.

“Oh it was for us,” Octavian said firmly.

Morgan shrugged and stepped into the last remaining room. It was empty and unlit, with only a single iron lever on the wall that backed onto the cistern. “Jankx!”

“It’s a serious lever,” Jankx said, “Not trapped, but capable of lifting something heavy.” He walked out to the cistern and found the likely object—a solid slab of blue marble that stopped any progress to the east. He was fairly certain the lever would lower the slab once activated.

Octavian scratched his head. “It’s extremely odd that it’s made of marble—why not use stone like everything else? But I can’t think of what blue marble in particular might stop. But surely it was to keep something in or out. Or it’s necromantic and keeps those bodies preserved,” he said glancing at the bodies in the cistern.

Morgan shrugged and positioned himself next to the marble, Arlington taking up a ranged position as backup. Jankx called and pulled the lever. The slab dropped into the floor—Octavian was impressed with the engineering. Beyond was a smaller cistern, the crystal clear water empty of bodies. A rank smell wafted through from the chamber, reeking of human filth. A long corridor led north from the cistern.

Morgan crept toward the corridor, the smell getting worse as he moved closer. Octavian had a bad feeling and yelled, “Stop! Don’t go any further—a shambling mound or worse!!”

Morgan waved Octavian’s warning off. He had a feeling he knew what was inside the dark room ahead. He heard shuffling followed by sudden stillness. The room was dark, covered in filthy straw and threadbare blankets. He slowly stepped forward into the room, and was immediately buried beneath half a dozen raggedly figures that leapt on him from the darkness. “Take him down! This is our only chance!” weakened voices cried.

Morgan flexed and flung the pathetic specimens away. One crashed into the wall, crying out in pain as a bone shattered with the impact. Morgan pulled his sword and lit the room. There were five malnourished, filthy, hardly alive humans huddled in the corners of the room, shading their eyes from the light. One sobbed softly. “Don’t hurt us, we’re sorry, sorry, we just want to eat, please don’t hurt us.”

“Everybody just calm down,” Morgan said gently. “Who are you?”

“Why do you keep us alive,” the woman sobbed again.

“You know who we are,” another man said as he climbed wobbling to his feet.

“No I don’t.”

“We are Speaker Siever’s servants,” the man coughed weakly. “I am Elprekt Norbrav, his assistant. What are you going to do to us?”

“We’re going to free you. All of the Black Swords are dead. Come with me.”

Norbrav looked around his companions who’s faces were lit up with hope, then at Arlington and Tarquin who stood with crossbows trained. “Do you speak true? We cannot survive like this any longer—kill us now if you do not.”

“You can either stay down here or you can come upstairs with us,” Morgan shrugged. He wasn’t feeling particularly kindly. “I think we can agree that if I wanted to hurt any of you then I already would have, yes?” he said, sheathing his sword.

“They played games with us,” Norbrav said quietly. “But we will trust you. It could hardly be worse.” He nodded too his cellmates and they stood and followed Morgan out into the cistern, and up into the keep. Their spirits lifted as they realised they weren’t about to be executed or walking into a trap, and they half-ran half-collapsed into the kitchen.

Norbrav turned to Morgan. “Where did you come from? It seems miraculous after all this time.”

“Not from around here. But you’re welcome. I think you may want to know that that the Speaker is…not longer with us.”

“Oh thank the Frostmaiden,” Norbrav said with obvious relief. “He was not a nice man. I presume your leader now rules in his stead?”

“Not yet. We were thinking Roark from the Uphill Climb might make a good Speaker. He seems a stand-up fellow.”

“He is. I would be surprised if he would take on the mantle, however.”

“Well I am sure all the fine folk of Care-Dineval can elect their own Speaker.” Norbrav nodded slowly. He looked around at the iced cultists filling the keep. “We’ll need to get rid of these.”

“Are any from the town?” Eearwaxx asked. “Should we bury them?”

“I recognise none,” Norbrav grunted. “They don’t deserve the respect of a burial. But spare the Speaker, we will care for him.”

After some discussion it was agreed to dump the bodies outside the castle walls, on the lake-side. It took some time but eventually the room was cleared. “Where is Karou? Did he make it?”

“He did,” Morgan said to a smile. “He’s with Roark.”

“Send him back, we’ll need his skills—I’ve missed that Knucklehead soup.”

---

Roark took some convincing to re-open the Uphill Climb, but eventually let everyone in. Karou and Mere gave a warm welcome which softened Roark’s stern gaze a little. He was stunned by the tale Tarquin spun, and finally smiled when he realised the town was free from the yoke of the Black Swords.

“And what happened to the Speaker?”

“He’s dead,” Eearwaxx said simply. “You wanted him dead, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t want him dead. I didn’t like him, but he wasn’t a cultist. They killed him did they?”

“No! He was—”

Arlington clapped his hand on Eearwaxx’s shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze. “His death was unfortunate, it has however come to pass,” he said solemnly.

“He was lost in the fighting,” Morgan added.

“They tell the truth,” Karou said to Roark. “They saved us, and were finishing off the cultists when we left.”

“You routed the cult? We are free?” Roark said, still not believing.

“They are all dead. The castle is empty but for the surviving servants. Norbrav is looking forward to some fresh soup.”

Karou beamed. “I can’t believe they’re still alive.”

“Only just,” Morgan said with a grimace.

Roark turned to Arlington. “I suppose you will now rule this town? It is yours to claim as the latest in a long line of conquerors.”

“Not at all. Don’t you think you’re up to the job?”

“Me?! No, I don’t. I run this inn, I can’t run a town.”

“What’s the difference?”

Roark laughed. “The difference? Sir have you ever run anything other than your own mouth?”

It was Arlington’s turn to laugh.

Octavian smirked. “You know what? You’re right, you’re probably not the right guy for this job.”

“There is now a deficit of power in this town,” Arlington said, recovering. “And only someone with the knowledge, and…uhh, confidence of the village will be able to rule it from herein, and I can’t think of anyone better than say the…blacksmith or the innkeep for such a job.”

Roark frowned and glanced at Karou and Mere who shrugged. He sighed. “I am not the leader of this town, and do not wish to be. But. But. Until such time as a new Speaker is chosen, I will be it’s castellan.”

“Perfect! What you need to do is organise yourself a caretaker council,” Arlington started, “Who can oversee a transition to a new democratic…government, uh, which…sorry, this is not my strong point,” he said glancing toward Tarquin for help. Tarquin stayed impassively silent, a smirk on his face.

Morgan came to the rescue. “I’m sure the good people of Caer-Dineval are capable of work out who they want to be their Speaker, and will support you in the meantime.”

“There are only about two-dozen of us left, but we’ll do our best. Maybe now the Swords are gone some might return home,” Roark said. “We will have a tale to tell, that is for certain.”

“Speaking of tales,” Tarquin grinned and pulled out the writ. “Perhaps you would be so good as to add to ours?”

Arlington frowned. “Tarquin—if he doesn’t have a Speakers’ seal it’s no good. We didn’t think to look for such a thing and we can’t have a barkeep signing.”

Tarquin shrugged. “He’s the speaker-elect, that will do—who’s going to question it?”

“I agree,” Jankx nodded, “There’s no-one more legitimate.”

After signing, Roark turned to the company. “If what you say is true, and there seems no reason to doubt it, then Caer-Dineval owes you a great debt. This town has been under the thumb of that cult for years now.”

“We are happy to be of service,” Morgan bowed his head.

“And I apologise for my hasty judgement,” Roark said, glancing to Eearwaxx. “Though I must say your medallions seemed a clear symbol of your allegiance.”

“And we apologise for the deception,” Arlington said gracefully. “It is our dearest wish that we shall rid ourselves of these amulets at the first opportunity.” Maybe he was good at this politics thing after all?

Roark crouched down and put a hand on Eearwaxx’s shoulder. “I am sorry if I spoke harshly to you. But sometimes your mouth does run off. You were right to trust these men. And thank you for mending my kitchen.”

Eearwaxx beamed. “You’re welcome!”

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Session played: May 8, June 12, 19, 26 2023

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