Chapters

Erky’s Conundrum: Wizards of great power, power to raise up and let rise cities in the air.

The prisoner Dzaan: We are adventurers, and we are skilled at this kind of thing.

The Easthaven Ferry: But given it’s dwarvish…they do like a good tunnel.

The White Lady Inn: This is the real reason I don’t eat here

Erky’s Opportunity: Or you could become an apprentice to a powerful wizard.

Rinaldo’s Séance: I can’t wait to see what happens.

The Death of Dzaan: Well that went exactly to plan!

---

Erky’s Conundrum

“At last,” Arlington muttered as the open tundra presented itself. Sure it was covered in ice and snow, sure it was bone-freezingly cold, but by the gods it was good to be out again. A joyous grin crossed the great hunter’s face.

Octavian, perched on sled seat returned the grin while hunkering down to stay warm. He was pleased to find that the moment the gates closed behind he felt his head loosen from the nagging weight that had been threatening to drag him down. Whatever it had been — some natural cause he was sure — was gone.

Atop Jory, Tarquin clung on as best he could and let the Axe Beak lead. He had enjoyed the brief stay in Bryn Shander, and was discouraged to find a badly discordant melody — the notes were all wrong —dominating his thoughts. He tried to hum a favourite tune and recite his best-loved verse to free his mind — with no success.

Morgan too found himself restless. He had been anticipating his first real ride on the Ashy — though he preferred to think of it as simply Ash — all night, and now he was riding free. But there was something gnawing in his gut, a growing hunger for action. He resettled his shoulders and pressed his heels into Ash to urge him faster, faster.

The Eastway was one of the better roads in Ten Towns, heavily trafficked in normal times, but even so was often obscured by fresh drifts of snow and patches of black-ice. Arlington trusted the dogs, and they in turn trusted him, helped by Octavian’s subtle encouragements.

After six hours of hard travel, resting the dogs once an hour, numb faces and frozen feet were relieved to see the twinkling lights of Easthaven in the near distance.

---

The sharp roof-lines of the Easthaven architecture stood in stark contrast to the more ramshackle establishments in Bryn Shander. Easthaven had always prided itself in having a more modern sensibility.

As the troupe entered the outskirts a well rugged-up figure stepped out from a larger building and waved the caravan down. “Master Arlington? Master Arlington is that you?”

Arlington pulled the sled to, slowly enough to stop Octavian from tumbling. “Indeed sir, as you can see.”

The man looked blank. “Well I can see six people including a kobold, and that’s what I was told to look out for. So I’m assuming you are he. Is that right?”

“It is me which, as I said, is plain.”

“Very well. A smallish fellow going by the name Erky Timbers has paid me to waylay you the moment you arrived—”

“Waylay you say?”, Arlington said putting his hand to his sword.

“Yes. I have waylaid you have I not?”

Arlington relaxed. “If that’s all you mean — go on.”

“Uh. Very good. Well, Mr Timbers paid me to tell you—” and here the man referred to a scrawled note he pulled from his pocket, “—To tell you, and I quote: ‘To urgently attend to him at the Wet Trout, if you please’.”

“There is only one thing, my dear man, that could prevent me from urgently attending The Wet Trout.”

“And what is that?”

“That would be your good self. Now if you can stand aside!” Arlington roared, his throat parched and ready for quenching.

“Yes, well, I have done my job,” he muttered, cowering back, “And I will expect to get paid—”

“Not by me sir!” Arlington scowled, “Mush, mush!”

---

The dogs and Axe Beaks were stabled at the Wet Trout, Octavian using spellcraft and scraps of meat to convince the dogs already in the pen to keep the peace with the new arrivals. Morgan took great care to ensure Ash was well fed and comfortable.

Just like the Northlook in Bryn Shander, the Wet Trout was heaving with ribald conversation. Arlington noted Scython, owner of the Easthaven Ferry, was leaning against the wall seemingly asleep with a full mug in his hand. He’d always admired that Scython could be completely passed out without spilling a drop. ‘Must speak to him later about the dwarves,’ Arlington mused, recalling the note found with Nildar.

Behind the bar the proprietor, Nymetra Myskyn, was busy serving. Arlington recalled he owed rather a substantial amount of money, and reflected how happy he was there was no Jankx equivalent in Easthaven. Or not that he knew of — Nymetra always showed great patience for his debts. She noticed Arlington’s arrival and immediately send a barkeep over with Arlington’s preferred brew. The ‘keep cleared a table of locals and the party sunk gratefully into the warmth from the nearby hearth.

Octavian was wide-eyed to see Myskyn was dragonborn, and even more taken aback to see her ancestry was of the white-dragonkin. In fact everyone noticed that very quickly — Calcryx and Arveiaturace being top of mind. “That’s the problem isn’t it,” Tarquin muttered as he stared, “There’s lots of grey lines.”

“That’s a dragon,” Morgan whispered. “A white dragon — Trovus is silver.” Arlington had known Myskyn was dragonborn, obviously, but it was only now that it seemed unusual for her to be white. Up until his recent lessons, he hadn’t realised coloured dragons were supposed to be evil. She had never shown that tendency, but he couldn’t help look at her with new eyes. A complex inner monologue ensued as he considered his personal racism against his newfound prejudice against coloured dragons and the money he owed this particular dragon.

Eearwaxx on the other hand was besotted, she was more beautiful than anything he’d ever seen (even Marta? his conscience teased). He smoothed his beard and took off his hat, but Nymetra’s gaze passed clear over his head. He wasn’t discouraged in the least.

As Arlington settled in he saw Erky motoring towards the table at a rate of knots, clearly agitated. The gnome slapped his hands on the table. “What took you so long?! I have been waiting days for you to return!”

Arlington took his time finishing draining his drink before setting it down carefully and not saying a word.

Erky leaned in. “Listen. Dzaan’s been captured! He’s been captured and they are going to execute him!” he whispered urgently.

“Who?” Arlington said, infuriating Erky even further.

“Dzaan! My master, I told you about him. They’ve captured him and they’re going to kill him!”

“Who captured him?”

“I don’t know — the militia?”

“And why are they going to kill him?”

“They said he murdered people. Six…or was it eight, ten people? A lot in any case.”

“And did he?”

“How would I know, I can’t talk to him.”

“And when did he supposedly kill these people?”

Erky was pleased Arlington added the qualifier. “Sometime in the last few days, or weeks. Since I’ve been gone.”

Arlington was incredulous enough to remove his caveat. “Since you went away, your master has murdered ten people?”

“That’s what they’re saying. The town. And tomorrow morning they’re going to burn him. For the murders, and for Auril. Two birds with one stone. My question is should we rescue him?”

“It’s a sacrifice for Auril? That ain’t right,” Arlington said. Murder was one thing, sacrificing for a god quite another.

“But if he’s a criminal,” Morgan interrupted, “And he did do it, then that’s actually a good way to kill two birds.”

Arlington was slightly taken aback at Morgan’s justification, the young man having been clearly on the side of mercy in the kobold and goblin lairs. He turned back to Erky. “Why would your master kill ten people in this town?”

“In various towns,” Erky mumbled. “I’ve done my best to find out more, but apparently he found something to do with a fallen spire. He had help finding it from some Caer–Konig wilderness guides, then he killed the lot of them. And those that knew he’d hired them. And a few others for good measure. Hoping to cover his tracks and hide his discovery I would guess.”

There was stunned silence for a moment. “Does your master have any form in this regard?” Morgan asked eventually.

“I’d rather not…look, it’s not for you to judge. He was a Red Wizard, and they do strange things.”

The words ‘red wizard’ finally tore Eearwaxx’s attention from Nymetra. “What did you say? A Red Wizard?”

“Aren’t Red Wizards evil,” Octavian asked, thinking of the stories from Thay.

“We’re not hear to debate the morals of wizarding—” Erky begun to say before Arlington interrupted.

“I think we are here to debate morals and ethics! If you want us to rescue him we need to know he’s worth rescuing.”

“I never said I wanted you to rescue him,” Erky protested. “I asked you if we should.”

“How would I know?” Arlington growled. “And why would you ask?”

“Because if he is to be rescued then you seem like the types who could, based on what I saw underground.”

“My good friend,” Tarquin said, “Why would we rescue him?”

“Well he is very powerful.”

“But is he innocent?” Jankx asked softly.

“Why should that matter? What is innocence?”

“Not killing people randomly,” Octavian declared.

Jankx smirked at this, casting his eye around the group. Octavian met his gaze and raised an eyebrow, glancing at Tarquin.

“Mister Timbers,” Arlington said, “We have just travelled six hours in minus twenty-five degree temperatures. We can discuss this later.”

“There is no time! He dies tomorrow!”

“Look, sir,” Octavian said firmly. “When we ask you questions you don’t answer them. And then you ask for us to make a decision. I have asked you numerous times: have you witnessed him killing other people?”

Erky rolled his eyes. “Listen, of course he has. People die! Have you killed anyone?”

“Yes but I am not the one on trial,” Octavian squirmed, realising he was on shaky ground.

“I saw you kill people!”

“We killed evil people,” Octavian fumbled, the ground upon which his argument stood rapidly crumbling.

“We didn’t kill any people, we killed Goblins,” Tarquin smiled, stopping both Octavian and Erky in their tracks.

“Look,” Erky said, leaning in again, “I’m scared. There, I’ve said it. Consider this — Dzaan is a Red Wizard of Thay. He is very powerful. How did they capture him?”

“He could be a blueberry for all that means,” Arlington said. “I don’t know what a ‘Red Wizard of Thay’ is.”

“He’s right,” Octavian said, “They are a very powerful sect. Very.”

“The only way simple folk like this could have caught Dzaan,” Erky said waving his arm around the room, “Is if they had help from the others from the Brotherhood.”

“You think they brought him down?” Arlington asked. “Why would the others try to do him a mischief?”

“Because they are very competitive,” Erky sighed, “And they are trying to find something here. And whoever finds it wins.”

“Not much of a brotherhood,” Arlington muttered.

“He makes a fair point,” Octavian interjected. “There is obviously something here that is of great interest to the Red Wizards. They are famous for having internal factions — you defeat your brothers until you stand alone as the most powerful. They think there is something of value here, so it would be good to know what that is, even if we don’t save him and just ask him.”

“So do you think he’s been setup by his ‘brothers’?” Arlington asked. “He didn’t do these killings?”

“Oh, no, I’m sure he’s horrible. But there’s a lot of horrible people operating around him too.”

“What are they trying to find?” Eearwaxx asked pulling out the scrap Tarquin had found in the scrollcase. “The spire? A spire of Ythryn?”

Erky’s eyes widened. “You know of Yhthryn? Very well, I’ll tell you what I know, which is not much. He didn’t share much with someone as inconsequential as his acolyte,” Erky grumbled. “It is Yhthryn that they seek.”

“What is it?” Octavian asked.

Erky glanced at Eearwaxx. “I thought you knew? It is a Netherese city that is rumoured to have crashed in Faerûn thousands of years past. "

For most, the mention of ‘Netherese’ meant very little, a civilisation from ancient history at best. Jankx however sat up straighter. He remembered his family had described the heirloom as being a Netherese artefact. The web of coincidences was growing too strong to ignore.

Tarquin, who had been distracted throughout by the wrongness of the tune locked in his head, leaned back in his seat and smiled. He had strong memories of Donald talking to his father about the Netherese civilisation, Stormwatch’s taciturn bookkeeper showing some excitement. Tale of the wizard of Netheril, who wielded magics that could reshape worlds and raise cities into the sky. Fanciful tales, Tarquin had thought, but here was a story the lent them credence.

“I have heard tell of the Wizards of Netheril,” Tarquin said. “Wizards of great power, power to raise up and let rise cities in the air. Great cities.”

“What?!” Octavian said, disbelief flooding his face.?

“Have you not read, have you not heard the mighty stories?”

“Are you talking to me? Of course I have read — every book that was in my library. Tens upon tens!” Octavian boasted. He was worried perhaps he’d missed a tome, not having any knowledge of these city-flying wizards.

Arlington frowned. “Are we to believe that one of these cities — this Ythryn — has fallen, broken a spire that your Dzaan has discovered, and finished up under the ice?”

Eearwaxx smiled, softly singing his fish song under his breath. It seemed clear to him that the song held the answers, and pointed to both Macreadus’s Black Cabin and the spire from Ythryn.

“I can’t say for sure,” Tarquin nodded, “But it sounds like something looking further into. There are stories from credible sources of cities that fly in the sky associated with the Netherese. Thousands of years past, but anything that flies can come down.”

Octavian nodded. “We should eat, rest. But then we should speak to Dzaan and find out what he knows. There is something here and we need to know more.”

“Where is he being held?” Tarquin asked.

“He’s being held in the Town Hall,” Erky said.

“Well perhaps we should go and announce ourselves.”

“Let’s not,” Jankx said quickly, remembering the debacle in Bryn Shander.

“If they’ve been detained by the Easthaven Sherriff,” Morgan said, “And they’ve convinced that he’s guilty, we’re not in a position to do anything to stop that because we will never be welcome here again.”

Tarquin merely smiled and pulled out Speaker Shane’s writ, before falling back into this battle with the discord in his head.

“I don’t think we should be advocating on behalf of someone who is accused of being a murderer,” Morgan grumbled.

“That’s not the plan,” Octavian corrected. “The plan is we find out what he knows before he is exterminated tomorrow.”

---

Several rounds of drinks and servings of really quite good food followed. Arlington had chosen his base of operations well. Nymetra visited the table briefly to welcome Arlington back. “I see you have returned in one piece,” she smiled. Eearwaxx nearly fell off his seat.

“I have indeed, as promised, my good lady,” Arlington said, bowing his head.

“And adding to your tally already.”

“I am. If you would be so kind as to produce my chit…”

Nymetra snapped her fingers toward the bar, and a moment later a slate with a outrageously large sum was presented. Arlington didn’t flinch, nonchalantly flipping coins out to meet the total. Nymetra was impressed. “Mr Arlington, you are a man of your word. Your recent hunt must have been a success?”

“Madam, please, I have never been a man short of funds, if that has been your impression.”

Everyone laughed heartily at this. “Will you be coming to the execution tomorrow?”

“One way or another,” Arlington evaded.

“I think it will be a good start. Auril will be happy, the beginning of turning this winter around. It’s been a good test of our mettle but enough is enough.”

“Ah so you are a believer in the boogie-man, boogie-woman, god—”

“Sir. Show some respect. This is a god we are talking of. And you can see what she has done here. A lack of respect is why she has, so it’s past time we started showing that respect — starting with this wizard.”

Morgan saw an opportunity to validate (or otherwise) Erky’s tale. “Ms Myskyn, do you know what this Dzaan person is supposed to have done?”

“Murdered a number of guides from Caer-Konig from what I understand—”

“—Ten of them!” Arlington corrected.

“Ten! Well it’s good we’re sacrificing him then.”

“I’m from Caer–Konig,” Morgan said, “Do you know who they were?”

“No idea.”

“And how do they know it was him?”

“Also no idea. Ask the Sherriff, not my business. I’m just happy Auril will be satisfied, and if it’s a innocent killing wizard then all the better. Because he didn’t kill them for Auril, he killed them for himself.”

Octavian frowned. “So if someone just killed anyone in the name of Auril, that would please you?”

“No of course not. A sacrifice is required. Is this some kind of moralistic position you are taking?”

“Yes.”

“Do you not believe in sacrifice? Do you not believe in appeasing the gods? Do you not believe the gods take vengeance?”

“No,” Tarquin said, “We believe in the power of change through our own good deeds.”

“I believe in balance,” Octavian clarified.

“Exactly,” Nymetra nodded. “And we are restoring the balance by giving lives to Auril.”

“So Arlington, did you know she was a zealot before?” Tarquin said.

“This was not entirely apparent to me,” Arlington mumbled.

“I am no zealot,” Nymetra frowned at Tarquin. “Do you have a god, sir?”

“Not one that I readily talk about.”

“Ah, but you have one. Do you worship it?”

“Not in the way that you worship yours.”

“You worship yours privately, I practice mine openly. Who is to say which is right?”

“You do know people worship Auril here, Tarquin?” Morgan asked.

“Where do your allegiances lie, Morgan?” Arlington asked, again wondering at the apparent change in Morgan’s moral compass.

“My allegiances don’t lie anywhere. This is just how people live up here.”

“You can’t just say ‘people sacrifice other people’ and let bygones by bygones,” Arlington frowned.

“Like I pointed out when we first sat down, if he’s a murderer and the law of Ten Towns have convicted him as such, then surely he’s the best person to sacrifice?”

“The pendulum has swung and things have changed,” Tarquin said. “Killing for the law and killing for a god are different things.”

“What has changed is we will correct our ways,” Nymetra explained. “We neglected Auril and paid the price with this endless winter, but now we will fix that. If you can come up with a better solution to save Ten Towns and appease a god, then I am all ears.”

“Funny you should say that,” Octavian muttered.

Tarquin nodded. “That is what we are in the process of doing.”

“And for the moment we are doing the same — our way.”

“Well I respectfully disagree—” Tarquin started, before Arlington interrupted.

“Gentlemen! Gentlemen. As the risk of undermining the hospitality we have been shown, we should perhaps pursue this conversation with other parties — ones who are not providing a roof over our head,” he emphasised.

“I take no offence, Mr Arlington. Find a better solution and of course we will stop any sacrifices.”

“Well instead of sacrificing to the god, I saw we should perhaps call upon the author to explain. There is no reason a god should be destroying us in such a way and then demanding more destruction. This seems unnecessary…” Arlington seemed to suddenly realise he was still arguing and pulled himself up short. “Having said that! We shall persue our enquires elsewhere.”

“Enjoy your stay, Gentlemen,” Nymetra smiled. Eearwaxx’s cow eyes followed her closely, still happily singing his tune.

“White dragon,” Octavian said as soon as Nymetra was out of earshot. “There is worship, and then there is sacrifice.”

“I don’t really care if he’s a murderer or not,” Arlington said, “I would just like to speak to him before he gets murdered himself.”

“I would be surprised if he tells us anything,” Morgan said.

“Well you might want to find out if he has killed some of your townsfolk,” Tarquin suggested.

“That’s true, but we can probably find that out from the Sherriff.”

“So let’s find out forthwith,” Arlington said.

“Shall I come with you?” Erky asked.

“Yes why not,” Arlington nodded.

“Is that the best idea?” Tarquin asked. “Do they know your associated with the accused?”

“Wellll…they might? Depends if he talked?”

“If you were with him it might be better if you stay here,” Morgan said. “Do you think he may have reasonable cause to throw you under the cart?”

“It’s a fair point,” Erky said, paling.

“What is your intelligence, Mr Timbers?” Arlington asked.

Erky looked nonplussed. “Well I am obviously highly intelligent—”

“Yet you have been sitting up in this pub for the last days?”

“What was I to do!” Erky protested. “How was I to free Dzaan from a heavily guarded Town Hall? Hunted by other wizards, tell me what I should have done?”

“And so what did you do?”

“I paid some people to find you, sir.”

“You paid a man to direct us to exactly where we were going anyway!”

“How was I to know that!” Erky cried, his hackles up. “Here you are questioning my intelligence!”

Arlington laughed and walked outside.

“I’ve got an even better idea. I’d actually lay low,” Tarquin nodded his head to Eearwaxx and looked back to Erky.

“The other wizards,” Erky said, fear suddenly washing over his face. “I will be here when you return.”

---

The prisoner Dzaan

A short walk through the snow led the company to the doors of the Easthaven Town Hall, a three story establishment in the centre of town.

The guards quickly quizzed Arlington, who bluffed his way inside. “Please don’t make trouble,” they warned.

“Do I look like I would make trouble?” Arlington asked archly.

“You don’t, sir, but your fellows do.” Arlington had to concede the point.

As Morgan walked inside he felt the gnawing in his gut intensify. He was itching to use his weapons one way or the other. He forced the feeling away as best he could, wanting to respect the guard’s warning.

“We would like to speak to the prisoner, and the Speaker or Sherriff,” Arlington announced to the clerk inside.

“I’m afraid that is not permitted. I can arrange an audience with the Speaker should your business warrant it?”

Arlington raised his hand behind his shoulder, and Tarquin obediently took the cue and produced the writ.

“And this is?” the clerk asked.

“This is a writ of deputisation, on behalf of the Speakers of all the Ten Towns, allowing us to go about our business as we see fit,” Arlington explained with a flourish.

The clerk frowned. “I can only see the Speaker of Bryn Shander listed here. None-the-less it is a rare document for us to see. I will take you to the Speaker.”

“Splendid! You are a fine fellow and you do good work!”

“Sir, it has been a long day. Please follow me.”

He led up a flight of grand stairs to the second story, down a corridor to double doors. After a brief conversation he invited you inside. Sitting at a large desk was a pale, harried looking fellow that Arlington recognised as Speaker Danneth Waylen. Arlington had never met the man, but knew that he was generally respected in Easthaven for his humility and forthrightness.

---

“I haven’t seen a writ like this in a long time,” Waylen said. “Please, take a seat and state your business.”

“At this juncture our simple request is to speak, with escort of course, to the prisoner that you have.”

“The wizard.”

“That’s the very one,” Arlington said, appreciating why people called Waylen forthright.

“And why would you speak to the prisoner?”

“We feel that the wizard may have information that is germane to our enquiries.”

“And those enquires are germane to…what?”

“The blizzard,” Octavian said simply.

Arlington nodded. “We seek to rid the North of the pestilence that has befallen it these past twenty-four months.”

“As do we. That is why we are killing your wizard.”

“And that is certainly not something we wish to interfere with,” Arlington said.

“That’s a good idea,” Eearwaxx said surprising everyone.

“You think we should kill him?”

“You should. He’s a Red Wizard — very evil.”

“Do you not think that he should be executed?” Octavian probed, wondering if there was more to the story than Erky had let on.

“Of course I do,” Waylen said firmly. “He’s a murderer. He’s taken ten, maybe more, innocent lives. They died at his hand and he will die at ours.”

“And the evidence?”

Waylen frowned, looked down at the writ, and sighed. “There is evidence. If you would like to see it—”

“Very much so,” Octavian nodded. Waylen summoned an assistant who procured the requested items. A quick scan showed it to be fairly conclusive — verbal statements from witnesses, evidence of a weapon used found with Dzaan, even some basic magical assistance to link Dzaan with the remains of some victims.

Arlington slid the names of the victims to Morgan. He recognised the names of two alpine explorers who would often escort people off-piste. “I know of these two,” Morgan said sadly. “And there’s one other — Tafferac. She was mentioned in the scroll — ‘discovered a spire’ or words to that effect. She was a hunter like you”

Arlington nodded glumly. “She was after the moose too. And she’s been murdered by this character.”

“Sadly yes,” Waylen confirmed. “Perhaps it was her discovery that led to this dark chain of events.”

“Can I ask, and I ask this with no angle, but what do you have in the way of motive?”

“He was seen hiring your adventurers, none returned, then several others were killed who had pointed him to those souls. We understand he contracted them to lead him to a location where there was something of value that he sought to retrieve. It would seem his motive was to cover his tracks, hide his discovery.”

“How were they killed, the ones you have found?” Arlington asked.

“Knife wounds, some signs of strangulation.”

“That doesn’t sound like what a wizard would do,” Octavian said.

“The ways of wizards are a mystery to me. Ask your friend,” Waylen said pointing at Eearwaxx, “How would he kill someone?”

“He would mend them to death,” Arlington smiled to a confused look from the Speaker.

“May I see his belongings,” Eearwaxx asked.

“We found nothing of interest except a notebook of poetry. We’ve placed that in our library if you would like it retrieved?”

Tarquin’s ears pricked at the mention of poetry. “Yes please. My interests like in that field.”

“All of us hear, we are basically wandering poets led by our esteemed poet–general,” Arlington explained.

“He had no book of spells?” Arlington asked.

“No. Perhaps he had it stowed somewhere that we have not found,” Waylen frowned. “We have heard that he may have had an accomplice, or assistant, but we have not been able to find that person.”

Eearwaxx lifted his hand. “We know where—”

“—That’s not an issue at the moment!” Arlington interrupted quickly.

“—We can look for that later!” Octavian said simultaneously.

Waylen looked suspiciously at the two interruptees before turning to Eearwaxx. “Young wizard what do you know?”

Eearwaxx blushed and looked at his feet. Then looked up and met the Speaker’s eyes. “We may be able to detect him from the notebook.”

Octavian and Arlington breathed a sigh of relief as Eearwaxx smiled softly.

The poetry book was presented to Eearwaxx and Tarquin. Eearwaxx paged through it as Tarquin watched over his shoulder. It had a red leather cover with yellowed pages, the edge of which were stained with dried blood.

“Watch out for paper cuts, people,” Arlington suggested.

The contents did indeed appear to be as the Speaker had described it. Hand-written poems, written in common. Some of the entries were commonly known rhymes, others apparently self-penned. Eearwaxx searched for his fish poem without success. The book was three-quarters filled with blank pages awaiting further entries.

Tarquin studied one of the self-penned pieces, noting it was fairly vanilla and dull, talking of the snow and sky. It was like reading the terrible melody rattling around his head — a poem in form but not in soul.

Arlington lent in again and pointed to the handwriting. “Tarquin, seek for a cypher.”

Tarquin nodded and spent some time trying to find a hidden pattern or sequence of unusual lettering, trying various methods of rhythm and rhyme. But he could find nothing.

Eearwaxx pricked his finger and squeezed a drop of blood onto the pages, thinking the dried blood may have been for that purpose. But again, nothing.

“Let me look at the blank pages,” Octavian asked. Eearwaxx mended the blood and handed it over. Octavian flared a small, low-heat druidic flame and held the pages over the light, looking for hidden tracework. Like Tarquin, he could find nothing.

Eventually Tarquin turned to his own magic. He waved a spell of detection over the book and found it glowed strongly with an aura of Illusion magic. “I think there’s more to this. Some kind of enchantment hiding the contents,” he announced.

“I am impressed at your investigatory skills,” the Speaker said. “We assumed it was just a book of, frankly, quite poor poetry. You think there is something more?”

“Possibly. But we will need speak to him,” Octavian said.

Waylen rubbed his chin. “You may have trouble with that.”

“We’re happy to go escorted, we have nothing secret to hide,” Arlington said misunderstanding.

“You haven’t killed him already?” Octavian asked.

“No. He’s not dead, but the speaking will be a problem.”

“Oh — you’ve broken his jaw?” Octavian asked, as if it were nothing.

“We removed his tongue.”

Jankx blanched as Eearwaxx nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

“He’s a wizard,” Waylen said apologetically.

Arlington pondered this news then turned to Octavian. “How’s that speak with plants thing work again? Is that going to help us here at all?”

Octavian stared at Arlington until the great hunter had to look away.

“Given he can’t speak do we actually need to see him?” Morgan asked.

“Yes,” Arlington said. “Because he can write down words, and Tarquin here knows his letters, or so I am told.” He turned back to Speaker Waylen. “Would you be so kind as to add your name to the Bryn Shander writ, to bolster our mandate?”

The Speaker considered this for a moment. “Sir you have yet to prove anything to me. My good colleague from Bryn Shander may trust you, and I’m sure she has good reason, but a writ such as this is a powerful thing. If you wish me to sign it I shall need to have good reason.”

“Well said, sir. What we do for Bryn Shander we do for the entire Ten Towns, but I understand your reticence. We shall endeavour to engender your faith in our process,” Arlington said graciously, glancing at Tarquin.

“Please don’t misunderstand me, I would be happy to support your work, but such support must be earned. One thing you might do is find out what this Dzaan character so valued that he was willing to take ten souls to hide it.”

“That is first on our agenda, I assure you,” Arlington smiled.

---

The Speaker led the company into the underground level of the Town Hall, a series of cells and corridors hewn out of the raw rock. It was tooth-rattlingly cold. The cells had locked iron doors with a small square window in each. All appeared empty, bar one outside of which stood three armoured guards.

“He is inside,” Waylen said grimly, “You won’t get much out of him. I would like to have two guards with you at all time.”

“Of course,” Arlington agreed. “And could one of you please provide a milking stool.”

A guard glanced at Waylen in confusion, and then left to retrieve said stool.

Tarquin asked for a moment to mutter a quick spell, and transformed into a version of Erky Timbers. He also conjured an illusionary guess at what the Spire might look like, floating it in mid-air above the poetry journal. He figured that any small advantage that might surprise or put Dzaan off-guard was worth doing.

A guard unlocked and hauled the door open. Sitting in the dead centre of the room beyond was a sturdy oak chair, bolted to the floor. And bolted to the chair was a young man, who would have been called handsome were it not for his mutilated mouth. His hands were strapped to the arm of the chair, with a locking strip over each finger. The Easthaven constabulary were taking no risks with a Red Wizard. The man looked up and smiled — which was disturbing given the lack of tongue and multiple teeth. He immediately noticed Tarquin’s costume, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. Tarquin knew Dzaan would see straight through his disguise, but he also knew a signal had been sent: we know who you are, we have Erky, and we know about the Spire.

Jankx lent against the far wall and watched Dzaan carefully. The prisoner seemed entirely unconcerned by his predicament, which was itself disturbing. Jankx didn’t know what to make of it.

“You’re not as I expected at all,” Arlington said. Dzaan tilted his head. In the silence Tarquin started reading one of the poems from Dzaan’s journal, finding the right meter, Dzaan grinning horribly to signal his amusement. Tarquin followed up by reading the note from the Sunless Citadel, growing the illusion of the spire as he spoke:

“…due east of Caer-Konig. A spire broken from Ythryn’s descent! Perhaps only rumours — Tafferac was hunting her ‘moose’ at the time — however we should explore further…”

Dzaan nodded and jerked his head to summon Tarquin closer. The bard removed the Erky disguise and stepped forward, careful to stay out of reach. As Dzaan waited patiently for Tarquin to make the next move, Eearwaxx tried to charm the chained man to ensure anything that happened was controlled.

Tarquin glanced at Arlington, who raised an eyebrow and nodded.

Tarquin started the interrogation. “Are you a danger to people here?”

Dzaan glanced down at his manacled hands, opened his ruined mouth, and shrugged.

“Do you think you are going to live beyond tomorrow,” Arlington asked.

Dzaan tilted his head and narrowed his eyes.

“We should just kill him now,” Arlington said in response.

“Are we in danger?” Tarquin tried.

Dzaan snorted.

“I’m not sure we’re going to get anything from this guy since he can’t write,” Arlington sighed. “We’ve impressed him with your little show.”

“We seek the Spire,” Tarquin said softly. Dzaan nodded slowly, seeming to encourage. “We should seek the Spire?” Tarquin followed, and Dzaan nodded firmly.

“That’s just going to put us on his list of people to kill,” Arlington protested.

“Is the Spire a danger to the Ten Towns?” Tarquin asked.

Dzaan shook his head.

“Is it related to the cold?” Arlington followed. Another shake and shrug.

“Is it related to Auril,” Octavian added. Dzaan rocked his head from side-to-side, yes-and-no.

“The people of this town believe that you murdered your guides and hirelings, is this true?” Tarquin asked. Dzaan nodded firmly. “And did you murder them to hide information — did they know something that you wished to keep secret?” He nodded again. It was disconcerting to everyone how he gave this information so freely, clearly incriminating himself. Perhaps Eearwaxx’s spell had worked, Jankx considered.

Arlington narrowed his eyes. “Did you murder them to hide the location of the Spire?” Dzaan nodded. “And can you point us to the Spire? Will you?” More nodding. “Alrighty then,” Arlington nodded as Eearwaxx produced the Icewind map procured in Bryn Shander. Eearwaxx started moving his finger around the map, starting at Caer-Konig at Morgan’s suggestion. Dzaan moved Eearwaxx’s finger with his eyes until a spot atop a large cairn was singled out, at which point he nodded.

Dzaan grunted at the young wizard and looked intently into Eearwaxx’s eyes, then pointedly toward his fingers and wriggled them as best he could. “You’re a Red Wizard,” Eearwaxx said softly, shaking his head. “Are you under my control?” Dzaan tilted his head. Eearwaxx knew his earlier spell hadn’t worked and had a new idea. He conjured another spell and a twisted crown of jagged iron appeared on the prisoner’s head. His eyes bulged slightly as it appeared and he tilted his head back for a moment.

Eearwaxx smiled and pointed to the map again. “Is that cairn the right location?” Dzaan nodded, and Eearwaxx knew this time it was no lie. Eearwaxx grinned and waved the map to show everyone. “Are there any other questions you want to ask, quickly?”

“Do we walk to our doom?” Tarquin asked, ever the poet. Dzaan shrugged. “Is it a trap?” Tarquin asked realising specificity might help. Another shrug.

Morgan stepped out of the shadows. “Is it important to you that the other two members of your Brotherhood don’t know where that Spire is?” Dzaan nodded.

“And are your actions designed toward ending this endless winter?” Arlington asked. Dzaan shook his head.

“Do you want to keep it going?” Eearwaxx asked. Dzaan shrugged, not caring.

“We need to work out what we’re going to find at the Cairn, what’s going to meet us there,” Eearwaxx suggested.

“I think we just need to visit it,” Jankx muttered.

Arlington nodded. “There’s only one way to find out — strap on. Do you have an escape plan for tomorrow?” he said to Dzaan, who nodded slowly with a smile.

“Will your death release you?” Eearwaxx asked. “Do you think you will be resurrected?” Dzaan considered this, eventually shrugging, but it was clear he was struggling to answer simply. “Do you think you will die tomorrow?” Dzaan stared but didn’t answer.

“Are the druids involved?” Tarquin asked. Dzaan shook his head. “There be dragons?” Dzaan frowned and as he did the crown vanished. He glared at Eearwaxx.

“Well done boy, well done,” Arlington said approvingly to Eearwaxx.

“Now we need to remove this illusion,” Tarquin said, holding up the poetry journal.

“He can’t do that without his fingers,” Morgan observed.

Dzaan raised an eyebrow, then wriggled his fingers suggestively. Tarquin and Arlington laughed — this fellow had now shortage of chutzpah.

“We have all we need,” Arlington announced, leading everyone outside.

Jankx was still amazed at the calm Dzaan displayed. “He showed no sense of desperation whatsoever, which means he either doesn’t care — which is it’s own thing — or he knows he doesn’t need to care because he knows something is going to happen.”

“And that’s why we’re going to be there tomorrow morning, at crossbow range,” Arlington said, just as the third guard returned with the stool.

---

“Did you discover anything?” Speaker Waylen asked when the troupe returned to his rooms.

“We found the secret that was worth killing for,” Tarquin nodded.

“And what is that secret?”

“A location. But we don’t know what is there.”

“It could be part of an ancient city,” Morgan added.

“Doesn’t sound too exciting, but I guess it must be worth something given what he did.”

“I have it on good authority,” Arlington said pointing to Eearwaxx, “That your prisoner is part of a very ancient and evil sect who will stop at nothing to pursue their ends, whatever they may be.” Eearwaxx blushed and nodded, adding, “He is going to try and escape tomorrow!”

“When and how?” Waylen asked.

“We have no details,” Eearwaxx said.

“He has a plan, we know that,” Octavian said. “He is not worried about tomorrow. We’re not sure how it is going to operate.”

“Perhaps it is his accomplice? He could be part of this?”

“We will be making sure that his accomplice is not able to assist,” Arlington said.

“Does that mean you know of this person? Earlier you said that you did not?” Waylen said, glancing at Eearwaxx who went ghostly white.

“We said nothing of the sort,” Arlington said, stepping in front of his wizard.

“I am sure you—”

“—What Arlington is saying,” Octavian jumped in, “Is that we are adventurers, and we are skilled at this kind of thing. If you suspect the accomplice, we will look into it.”

Waylen seemed to accept this. “And what of his fellow ‘brotherhood’, will they help him escape?”

“Yes!” Eearwaxx blurted.

“Undoubtedly not I would have thought,” Arlington countered, “Unless they want him to escape only to torture him.”

“No, they were all in it together,” Eearwaxx said.

“I thought they were adversarial?”

“They have a higher purpose sometimes,” Eearwaxx said.

“This is all conjecture,” Octavian sighed.

Tarquin stepped forward to calm the discussion, smiling warming. “Good Speaker, we walk a path with many forks, but we need to walk that path before we find out what the answers are. We have one path that takes us to the location that is the cause of all this pain, and that is where we will go. But the first thing is that this man needs to be taken care of.”

Waylen and Arlington nodded agreement as Eearwaxx raised his hand to speak. “May I suggest that when he is dead that you burn his body to ash.”

Waylen laughed. “Have not fear of that, he will be burning.”

“Kill him first, then burn him — cut off his head.”

“Wait — did he know that he was going to be burned?” Octavian asked.

“Anyone who spent any time in Ten Towns would know that is our tradition.”

“He is not concerned at all about what is happening tomorrow. And I think our young friend is onto something — burning might be the thing he wants.”

“I would kill him tonight,” Arlington stressed.

Waylen frowned. “The people demand retribution for his crimes, and will want to see him die.”

“It’s not good for the crowds,” Tarquin quipped.

“Precisely,” Waylen said earnestly. “It is too quick. People want to see suffering, and sacrifice. And we need to appease Auril,” he added.

“Does it have to be burning?”

“Giving our warmth to Auril is important, for some.”

“Well cut off his hands first. Then his head. The people will get a spectacle, and he won’t be able to cast a spell or use the flames to resurrect through fire,” Octavian said firmly.

“I suggest at least the fingers be removed from the hands before he is taken to the stake,” Arlington said, offering a compromise.

Waylen paused. “I will take that on advice. We will do that if we must, he should survive long enough to get to the burning.”

“Don’t burn him,” Eearwaxx implored quietly, but Waylen was done with the topic. He turned to Arlington. “That writ you are after — if you can stop Dzaan from escaping tomorrow I will sign it willingly. He must not escape, and he must die.”

“You have a contract, sir,” Arlington said offering his hand which Waylen shook firmly.

“Very good. I will double the guard tonight, and remove his hands shortly before we take him to the pyre. But are you sure we should not burn him?”

“I think that’s a long bow to drawn,” Morgan muttered.

Waylen looked to Arlington. “What is your decision?”

“My suggestion is that you remove his fingers forthwith.”

“We don’t want him to die before tomorrow.”

“He won’t die from the loss of ten fingers,” Arlington said.

“That would be beyond our medics.”

“Medics aren’t required to remove the fingers.”

“No, but they are to staunch the bleeding and keep him alive,” Waylen grimaced.

Arlington turned to his companions. “Who will assist me in lopping fingers?”

Morgan grunted. “Let me go downstairs,” he said with a steely look.

“Oh god,” Jankx whispered.

Everyone followed Morgan down. “He must not die now,” the Speaker stressed.

“He’s not going to die,” Morgan sighed. He moved the milking stool and stepped into the cell. Dzaan looked up and smiled, happy to see his recent interrogators again. The smiled faded quickly as he watched Morgan remove his thick gloves. Underneath his hands were bound with straps, which he tightened carefully before stepping forward to loom over the prisoner. Dzaan’s face paled and he shrunk back in his chair. Jankx noted for the first time a look of concern on the Red Wizard’s face.

Morgan held Dzaan’s gave for a few seconds, then pulled his fist back and crunched it down onto Dzaan’s fingers. It was like a boulder being dropped. Dzaan opened his mouth in a silent scream and rocked back in his chair in agony. Morgan raised his hand again and pounded down, causing Dzaan to faint, but not causing Morgan to stop. The guards wretched as Dzaan’s hands disintegrated under Morgan’s repeated blows.

Morgan’s companion’s blanched at the sight of their young warrior’s cold display, and Arlington turned to his troupe. “Have you lost your stomach for our task?” he said quietly to the pale faced company. “I thought it was just Tarquin who was a psychopath,” Octavian muttered. “But there are six of us.”

“Hey! I’ve done nothing!” Jankx protested weakly.

Morgan finished his work and wiped his hands clean. “He won’t be able to use his hands now,” he announced.

“Thank you Morgan,” Arlington said.

Morgan looked to Eearwaxx. “He can’t talk. And he can’t use his hands. Is he out now? Is he done?”

Eearwaxx nodded. “Yes, though you might want to search him.” He was horrified at what had happened, and a little scared of Morgan, though he knew something had had to be done to disable Dzaan. Was the world really this brutal?

Morgan nodded and prodded through the wreckage of Dzaan’s hands and fingers. He didn’t expect to find anything, so was surprised when he extracted a thin strip of copper wire from the pulverised palm which must have been embedded in the flesh. He passed it to Eearwaxx who studied it for a moment before nodding. “This is used to cast a message spell, telepathically talking to someone. I think that must have been part of his escape?” He was thankful he had resisted Dzaan’s earlier suggestion.

“So there are accomplices,” Arlington said.

“And it won’t be Erky Timbers,” Tarquin added.

“No,” Morgan agreed, “It won’t be him, he’s too afraid.”

“Men of competence,” Tarquin said.

“Then we should be there tomorrow,” Morgan said, replacing his gloves. He held his face still, but Jankx saw sorrow in his countenance — clearly he had suffered doing his work.

“I think we should,” Jankx agreed, “Because I don’t think this is over.”

“And if we want to get our passport stamped we need to be there,” Arlington reminded everyone.

---

The Easthaven Ferry

Outside the snow and cold was almost refreshing after recent events. “Is there anywhere else we need to visit?” Arlington asked, “It is still early.”

“The Easthaven Ferry,” Morgan said. “Nildar’s brother, Durth, was supposed to be there. So why don’t we go take a look?”

Arlington nodded, feeling Morgan had earned the right to direct things, but also remembering Scython, the ferry’s owner, was a permanent fixture at the Wet Trout. And he liked the idea of a hot meal and drink. “I suggest we talk to Scython to find out more about these Duergar before we kick in every door of every cabin.”

“What is this new policy?” Tarquin laughed.

“It is just nearby,” Octavian said, pointing to the docks, “Let’s just have a look.”

“Without investigating the skipper?”

“It’s not like we’re going to set fire to it,” Morgan said, “Just a quick look around.”

Tarquin watched the interchange, interested to see if Arlington would maintain control. The great hunter sighed. “As you wish, Morgan, if you are so intent on this investigation.”

“Well Nildar was pretty evil, and he was busy worshipping a Gulthias tree.”

“As somebody who has spent his life hunting down creatures of one type or another, information is key. And you’re right! This individual is ‘pretty evil’, so surely we should go equipped with all the information we can gather?” Arlington asked rhetorically.

“You are assuming that the captain in the Wet Trout rented it to a Duergar.”

“Well we won’t know until we ask.”

“It’s just there! We could have gone, had a look, come back, had this conversation…” Octavian muttered. “In fact, that’s what I’m doing!” He stalked off toward the lake, closely followed by Morgan.

Arlington sighed and turned to Tarquin. “Does the novelty of intelligence interest you at all?”

Tarquin smiled, and answered with a recital:

One then one they fall,
The red wizards stand aside,
The road forks ahead.

Tarquin bowed, and Arlington laughed despite himself.

“Fork you,” Jankx grinned at Tarquin and walked after Morgan.

“In case you have any doubts,” Arlington said to Eearwaxx who was waiting patiently, “Your strength probably lies in numbers. Follow Octavian,” he said, and trudged drearily after them himself.

---

Lac Dinneshere lay completely frozen, every boat and mooring locked in place. Paths had been trodden in the snow-covered thick sheet of ice for those fishing for Knucklehead.

The nearest wharf had a frost covered sign offering the services of the ‘Easthaven Ferry’, with a timetable for transports of people and cargo to the towns of Caer-Dineval and Caer-Konig, all for a modest fee. At the end of the wooden jetty the ferry, a keelboat, was trapped in the ice. A small cabin lay toward the aft end of the hull. The ferry was dark with no light or movement.

Arlington loaded his crossbow and took up a position on the dock across from the cabin alongside Tarquin as Octavian approached the gangplank. “Hello! Is there anyone on board?” he called.

Silence.

“I’m coming on board!”

Nothing.

Octavian looked to Morgan who nodded, and together they stepped onto the ferry, followed by Jankx and Eearwaxx. Octavian walked directly to the cabin and checked the side windows of the cabin, but they were heavily iced over. He walked back to the front entrance and rapped his staff on the door. There was no response. Octavian indicated to Jankx that he should check the door.

The ice covering the seal of the cabin door had been chipped away, and Jankx quickly determined the door was not locked nor likely trapped. He listened and could hear nothing inside. He stepped back and nodded at Octavian.

Inside was a roughly 15 foot square room with four sleeping bags, packs of rations, and a rolled-up parchment leaning against the far wall. There was no-one inside, but it was obviously inhabited. Jankx carefully stepped inside and moved carefully over to the parchment. He lifted it gently and unrolled it.

---

It was a map of the Ten Towns, with each Town labelled in Dwarven runes. In the southern corner of the map, amongst a mountainous outcrop east of the Ten Trail, a new location was marked with an X: Sunblight Fortress. And a series of arrows hand-drawn on the map traced a trail from this location over each of the Ten Towns, in a circular route, before returning to the ‘Fortress’.

Jankx turned and showed the map to Morgan and Jankx. “It mentions something called ‘Sunblight Fortress’”

“Wasn’t Nildar’s surname ‘Sunblight’?” Morgan asked. “Let’s get this map copied quickly. Get Eearwaxx in here and he can transcribe it onto his map.”

Eearwaxx was called inside. As he stepped through the doorway he felt a sharp prick in his ankle and yelped with surprise. He looked down to see a tiny figure burying a dagger into his ankle, and a moment later felt a wave of searing pain wash through his mind, disorienting him as he clutched his face in agony.

---

The tiny figure grew suddenly into a full-sized Duergar, bald-headed, blank-eyed, and dressed in rune-covered leather. “The secrets on that map die with you!” he cried.

Jankx disagreed. He jagged his dagger into the Duergar’s side with a vicious thrust. Eearwaxx tried to explode a chromatic orb over Durth but the pain in his mind meant his aim was astray and the orb floated harmlessly over the lake instead. Morgan made no mistake with his driving swipe, drawing a grunt of pain and another furious yell: “Xaradok’s reign will not be denied!”. Morgan scoffed at this and summoned Ezra, who didn’t hesitate to bury his sword deep into the Duergar’s back. The grey-skinned dwarf dropped to his knees with as he stared at the blade protruding from his chest, and as he fell he gasped out one last monologue: “Our dragon…will lay waste…to these Ten Towns…Xaradok will claim them…as his kingdom!” He died face down in a pool of his own blood.

Outside three more Duergar materialised, seemingly out of thin air. Arlington quickly retrained his crossbow on the closest and buried a bolt in his upper arm. Tarquin spun and marked one with a hunter’s mark, and sent another into a deep slumber. One of the remaining dwarves sprinted down to Ezra but couldn’t land his blow. Octavian, seeing the work inside was done, stepped through the doorway and walloped Ezra’s Duergar foe with his new quarterstaff, and Tarquin implanted a nasty version of the discordant melody from his own head causing the dwarf to spin and glare — just as a better aimed orb of acid dropped over his head courtesy of Eearwaxx.

The second Duergar charged in and swung at Octavian but he also missed, the hammer swooshing harmlessly through the air over Octavian’s head. From the wharf, Arlington buried another bolt in Octavian’s assailant. Jankx rushed through the door and swung over Ezra’s head and into the head of the Duergar, exploding it. Ezra grinned, somewhat disconcertingly Jankx thought.

Morgan still felt the gnawing hunger in his gut, whatever it was unsatisfied by blows on Durth and Ezra’s killing blow. He had an inkling what it was. He dropped his huge sword and pulled out the blood-red blade from the Sunless Citadel. It felt ravenous in his hand, and when he plunged it into the closest Duergar he felt a soothing rush of something close to pleasure as the hunger was sated. He felt fed, and the Duergar was dead.

Octavian walked quickly to the sleeping dwarf. “And now the coo de graice,” he said aloud, pronouncing it completely wrong as he killed the helpless figure. Tarquin glanced at Arlington with disappointment, only to see Arlington nodding at Octavian. The poet shook his head: philistines!

Eearwaxx collapsed to his feet with a splitting headache. Why was he always getting hurt, he grumbled to himself. Tarquin knelt beside him and soothed the pain with a few calming words.

The bodies didn’t have anything of interest, but the map was obviously the real treasure.

“I’d be wondering if those markers are tunnels,” Jankx mused as he rolled it out on a table in the cabin.

“Or flight paths,” Arlington frowned. Tarquin nodded — that’s exactly what he’d though, thinking of Nildar and Durth’s threat of dragon ruin. “‘My father is going to lay waste to these Ten Towns’,” he recited.

“But given it’s dwarvish…they do like a good tunnel,” Jankx said.

“And they don’t like a good fly,” Tarquin grinned.

“Oh my god if they are Duergar they are burrowing underneath,” Octavian said, suddenly convinced.

“Those are flight paths,” Tarquin reiterated, equally convinced.

“Duergar sappers or dragons,” Arlington mused. “But there is no reason to have a path for a dragon — dragon’s can fly anywhere, anytime. Why would a dragon fly around the lake?”

“I agree,” Octavian said.

“It flies over the lake and destroys the Ten Towns, one by one,” Tarquin said, pointing to each stop on the map.

“It is a big tunnel for a Duergar,” Arlington conceded.

“Have you been to the Underdark?” Octavian huffed. “As Jankx said, that is their thing.”

“And those are big tunnels,” Jankx added.

“Pah, the Underdark,” Arlington said, “They just found it, it was there. They didn’t dig it.”

“What are you talking about!” Octavian cried, exasperated at the uneducated speculation.

“In either case, we need to tell the Speaker,” Tarquin said firmly, quelling the discussion. “They’ll want to know about this flight path. We’ve done some good work here today, and we’ve proved our worth.”

Octavian calmed himself. “And maybe if we show the map to the Speaker he will have other evidence or knowledge that will help.”

“I agree,” Arlington said. “Drag the bodies in here and we go directly to Mr Waylen.”

Tarquin nodded. “And this is not just important information — this works in our favour.”

“They need to know,” Morgan agreed.

Before leaving the ferry, Morgan forced the frozen hold open to check below decks. There was nothing there, just empty crates and frozen equipment. The company tramped back up the wharf, Tarquin reciting his new couplet as they walked.

The road forks ahead…

---

The Speaker looked hard at Arlington. “You killed them all?”

“It was self-defence,” Arlington repeated.

“And is that true, gentlemen?”

“It is,” Jankx said, slightly surprised given past history.

“Hm. There have been reports of Duergar troubles in recent weeks,” Waylen said, “But only for minor irritations — petty theft, intimidation, that kind of thing. The Shorad sisters claim their tavern lantern was stolen up in Caer-Konig for example. But if you say they were a threat to us, then I will take you on your word.”

“They certainly were a threat to us,” Arlington confirmed.

“And one of them was a master of mental magic,” Octavian added, “And they had a map which is obviously a threat to the whole region, not just Easthaven.”

“A map? Of what?” Waylen asked.

Tarquin unrolled the map on the Speaker’s wooden desk. “They sought to dispatch us because we found this map.”

Waylen studied the map. “I don’t know Dwarven, but these are obviously the Towns. But what are these red arrows? And what is that X marked down near the Spine?”

“That reads ‘Sunblight Fortress’,” Arlington translated.

“There is no such place that I know of,” Waylen frowned.

“They are Duergar, so it is likely underground,” Octavian explained.

“The dwarf on the ferry was named Durth,” Morgan said, “And we encountered his brother, Nildar, a little more than a week ago in an underground fortress nearby. They were working with Druids of fel purpose, who had been doing experiments on people. And they referred to this fortress the Sunless Citadel.”

“Another place I have never heard of,” Waylen frowned.

“I don’t think we were ever meant to find it — we fell into it by accident in a crevasse.”

“Both Durth and Nildar referred to the fact that ‘their dragon’ would destroy the Ten Towns.”

Speaker Waylen leant back in his chair. “A dragon? What dragon?”

“You asked about the red arrows,” Tarquin said. “Lo, we have a path for a dragon from this Sunblight Fortress to each of the Ten Towns.”

“We don’t know what dragon this is,” Morgan added, “But the Speaker in Bryn Shander believed it wasn’t—”

“—Arveiaturace—” Tarquin blurted before Morgan could stop him.

“—the great white one that frequents this place,” Morgan said frowning at Tarquin.

“I am confused. You believe these lines are a dragon’s path?”

“We don’t know,” Octavian admitted.

“These were on the map when we recovered it,” Tarquin explained. “And it is what the Duergar sought to keep secret. I am of a belief that the pieces of our puzzle, as we put them together, indicates that this is a flight path for a dragon.”

The Speaker looked stunned. “You claim that the Duergar have a dragon, and are planning an attack on all of the Ten Towns? It is rather a step up from stealing metal and threatening our citizens.”

“So be it. But this is what brings us to our purpose,” Tarquin argued. “Our purpose is one of urgency, because the pieces are falling into place that indicates that there is a greater purpose that is being hidden from us.”

“Are you sure you gentlemen aren’t being a little paranoid?”

“Is there a harm in us being paranoid when this winter is upon us?”

“Right now the winter is more of a threat than this map,” the Speaker said.

“Listen, Speaker, this is not something we have laid to rest,” Tarquin said. “This is something we wish to further investigate.”

“We are only here in the interest of transparency,” Arlington added, tired of the Speaker’s reluctance. “We are heading to Dougan’s Hole to pursue other lines of enquiries.”

“Dougan’s Hole? Why would you bother,” Waylen huffed.

“Because of the Druids,” Octavian said patiently.

“As you wish,” the Speaker said, clearly unconvinced.

“We will see you for Dzaan’s execution,” Morgan said as everyone departed. “We think he was planning to get a message out to his compatriots at the execution, but he won’t be doing that now.”

“Indeed. I heard what you did and I suppose I should thank you for your…help with that. Means we didn’t have to do it.”

“We took what measures were necessary,” Arlington said gravely, “As we always will to protect the Ten Towns. Do not think other than that is our first and only priority.” Tarquin glanced over at the great hunter, impressed at his sales-work.

The Speaker nodded gratefully. “Best of luck in your endeavours, gentlemen. If you can protect us better that that is all well and good. I spoke hastily, and there is a lot on my mind — perhaps you should investigate this Duergar fortress. If this dragon threat is real it needs to be stopped.”

---

The White Lady Inn

“I feel we should get to the know the town a little — maybe lunch at the White Lady Inn?” Octavian suggested. He’d seen the shingle hanging outside an older looking inn that overlooked the Ferry.

Arlington was familiar with the Inn. “A little low-rent and musty,” he sniffed. “Named after a local legend known as the White Lady — a ghost rumoured to walk on Lac Dinneshere, haunting the spot where her rich husband drowned. There’s no money in that legend, gentlemen. Countless people have sought to find the answer to that riddle and all have failed. You boys can chase that rabbit if you want.”

“All I said was let’s go there for lunch,” Octavian said rolling his eyes.

“Well, the lunch is better at the Wet Trout, so…”

“You don’t know that! I bet you’ve never been to the White Lady!” Octavian cried.

“I’ve lived here for two years!”

“What is the special at the White Lady Inn!?” Octavian challenged, his gander up.

“The only food in this town is trout,” Arlington said archly.

Octavian stomped off. “Trout it is. I will see you later.” Everyone but Arlington followed, the great hunter hanging his head for a moment before taking a deep breath and trudging after them.

“I think something happened to Arlington at the White Lady,” Jankx whispered to Morgan with a chuckle. “He might be a bit sensitive and tread carefully.”

“No-one discuss the White Lady,” Morgan grinned. Octavian, listening in, took this very seriously. His lips were sealed.

---

Bartaban, the elderly, rather grumpy proprietor waved to a table in the corner. “Knucklehead? It’s all we have.”

“Five knucklehead,” Tarquin smiled. “Oh — make that six,” he corrected as Arlington slouched sulkily through the door. “And drinks — ale for all but my friend here would like mead if you have it?”

“Look. I have a single bottle of Honey Mead direct from Good Mead. The good stuff. It will cost you though. They’re having troubles with supply I’ve heard.”

Octavian immediately slapped down a gold, much to Bartaban’s delight. He snatched the coin and shuffled off to prepare the order.

The inn was rather nicer than Arlington had let on, with a fine view through the drifting snow onto the Ferry and Lac. A cluster of guards were busy hauling bodies from the ferry. Tarquin forced the discord from his head long enough to sing a soothing song of rest that helped Eearwaxx recover some of his equilibrium after Durth’s mental shock.

After it was delivered, Octavian confirmed the quality of the mead, much to his surprise. It had a strong undercurrent of honey with a sharp and tangy afterburn, very alcoholic, sweet, with a sting which suited the stylised bee log emblazoned on the bottle.

“This can’t be from Good Mead,” Arlington grumbled as Octavian licked his scaly lips. “Good Mead is on our way to Dougan’s, and there can’t be a bee alive within thousands of miles. It must come from down South.”

“No, no, they make it right here,” Bartaban said with a hint of grumpy pride. “They just don’t have enough of it. Or not recently.”

“Well we might pass through Good Mead and find out what’s wrong,” Octavian offered.

“If you do, bring me a crate.”

“I make no promises.”

“I’ll give you that money you gave me back if you bring me a crate,” Bartaban said hopefully. Octavian nodded, and Bartaban wandered away rubbing his hands — he could make a handsome profit from these foolish out-of-towners.

Shortly after the food arrived — a rather dry slab of smoked knucklehead trout — footsteps echoed from the stairs leading to the upper story. After a moment two short legs appeared — and then tripped and tumbled down the stairs! Or so it seemed, until at the last moment the figure rolled and landed with graceful precision on a small stage at the foot of the stairway. A halfling dressed in showy leather and a fancy cloak bowed and sprung to his feet, producing a small lute from his back which he started to strum.

“My lords and ladies! My name is Rinaldo,” the bard said with a deep bow, “And I will sing you the song of the White Lady!”

“This is the real reason I don’t eat here,” Arlington sighed.

“Com-pe-tition!” Octavian grinned at Tarquin, who watched the performance with practiced nonchalance.

Rinaldo proceed to strum and perform — beautifully, Tarquin had to admit — the story of the White Lady. He told of her husband who was a miser, keeping his treasure from her in a mighty locked chest that never left his sight, nor his side. Perhaps, Rinaldo sung, it was that heavy, heavy chest that capsized his boat — and sent the man to his watery grave beneath Lac Dinneshere. Or perhaps it was the fright of seeing his dead wife that caused him to capsize his seaworthy vessel and drown.

“Either way, I am certain that his treasure lies at the bottom of that Lake! Waiting for some intrepid adventurers to discover it…”, Rinaldo finished with a flourish to smattered applause, eyeing the newcomers suggestively.

Octavian was delighted. “Rinaldo! Do you know where that treasure is?” he said earnestly.

“A fine question my young friend!” Rinaldo said, equally delighted, wandering toward the table.

“Oh don’t, don’t call him over,” Arlington whispered, knowing it was already too late.

Rinaldo plonked himself down at the table, reaching over to take a piece of knucklehead and chew on it thoughtfully. “You know, I think I have a way of finding out: a séance!” He paused for effect before continuing. “That’s right, a séance. I am going to hold one — tonight! And we are going to contact the White Lady, and the White Lady is going to tell us where that treasure lies. I invite you gentlemen to my séance, for you seem men of destiny.”

“I’ll come,” Morgan said immediately, thinking of Ezra.

“That’s one!” Rinaldo clapped.

“Do you have to speak with the dead?” Octavian asked innocently.

“Of course I do! For how else would a séance succeed?”

“But are you a priest?”

“No, no, I am an entertainer, as you can see. But let that not fool you!”

“So you will have a séance, and we will attend it, and the White Lady will tell us where the treasure is?” Octavian summarised. “That is a good deal, isn’t it Jankx? A very good deal.”

Jankx smirked. “It is true, Octavian. If that were to happen, who could doubt that that was in fact a very good deal.” Jankx was waiting for Rinaldo to ask for money, slightly surprised he hadn’t tried to seal the deal yet.

“Come at midnight, when the moon is high in the sky and the power of the White Lady will be at her strongest,” Rinaldo urged. “I have four others attending, and those four have mental powers of such capacity that it is impossible that we should fail.”

“What four others?” Arlington asked, sensing a trap.

“Four who speak beyond the grave. Four who have been in communication with the beyond. With the other world.”

Tarquin was analysing the performance, enjoying every moment. Many of the techniques were familiar, the urgency and promise of wonder. And there was no doubt this wasn’t his first séance. But there was also a touch of true believer in what Rinaldo was promising — it wasn’t all performative. He walked the carney line perfectly.

“Come to the back door at midnight and you shall be met,” Rinaldo said as he stood. “Four, plus six, plus myself: eleven. For eleven is the perfect number, as you gentlemen must know.”

Tarquin looked blank (for him it had always been thirteen). Jankx raised an eyebrow. Octavian was confused. “Well it’s certainly a number,” Arlington nodded.

Rinaldo smiled broadly and bowed low as he withdrew. “Tonight gentlemen!”

Arlington turned to Octavian. “What is your purpose with this? We have to get up early tomorrow to a man being murdered, and then we must ride to Dougan’s Hole. And you want to stay up to midnight to partake in a sham, for what reason?”

“Don’t you think it will be interesting to see what they do They might have information,” Octavian said, to which Morgan nodded heartily.

“Tarquin has obviously run the scam numerous times, and murdered those that attended, so I’d be curious to see what these people do,” Octavian explained to Tarquin’s frown.

Tarquin frowned at Octavian’s accusation. “It is of professional interest to me, though I wouldn’t persist with that dark line that I’m simply a nefarious actor.”

“Oh I apologise,” Octavian said, not apologising.

“Is that what I’m seeing,” Arlington said glancing around the table, “You’re all keen to get stuck into a midnight séance with a charlatan?”

“Séances were a thing where I am from, so I’m keen to see how they work,” Morgan nodded.

Tarquin raised an eyebrow. “He did say eleven, not twelve,” he grinned.

“It will be quite a shock for them,” Octavian laughed looking at Morgan.

Morgan shook his head and continued eating, ignoring the jibes. He sighed then looked around the table. “We need to work out what we should do with the new sword because I don’t think I can use it anymore.”

“Let me take a look at that,” Tarquin said quickly. Jankx immediately put his hand out to stop Morgan passing it over, but Morgan had no intention of doing anything of the sort. He stared hard at Tarquin: no.

“May I have a look at the sword, please?” Eearwaxx asked politely.

Morgan paused. A mage might discover something, he mused, then handed the blood-red blade over. “Don’t hang onto it for long,” he warned. “The sword is magic, but it…it’s like a vampire.”

Arlington took a step back. “Is it made from chardalyn?”

Octavian shook his head. “It’s regular metal, albeit finely crafted and imbued with that blood-red colour.”

Eearwaxx was studying the blade carefully, and Tarquin had cast a spell to determine it was undoubtedly magic.

“I can tell you what it does,” Morgan said carefully. “When we left Bryn Shander I noticed that I was a bit jumpy, and wanted to get into action, more that I would normally. I had a concern then, but when we fought the Duergar on the ferry I realised it was the sword that was doing the pushing. It’s not speaking to me, it’s not in my head, but it is driving me. There is something dark about it, and it wants to taste the blood of things.”

Arlington had heard enough. “Let’s take it to the smith and see how hot he can get his forge.”

“Oh that’s a good idea,” Morgan nodded. “I was entertaining not mentioning it to you at all and dropping it into the lake.”

Eearwaxx shook his head and cast his own spell. Morgan was right. “This is a very morally ambiguous weapon, a sanguine blade,” he explained. “The sword hungers for blood, and if it is fed it returns the life from that blood to the wielder. It takes life from the victim and gives it back. There is also a thread of darkness at its core, an illness. Not evil — but it may be cursed.”

“Let’s do what I said and take it to the smith,” Arlington urged.

“Why?” Eearwaxx said. “That’s a waste.”

“I understand what it does, and that’s useful,” Morgan said. “But I know that it’s there. And I’m willing to bet that within a day or two it’s going to start pressing on me again. Until I kill something else with it.”

On hearing this Eearwaxx realised that was likely the darkness he had felt. “It is a curse,” he said simply.

“Can we get that removed?” Octavian asked.

“To what end, Octavian?” Arlington sighed.

“Well it does sound a very powerful weapon, and we are going to need everything we can get.”

“If you remove the curse, I don’t know that much else would be left,” Jankx mused.

Arlington frowned. “If you look at Morgan, with his grey skin, and you ask yourself if this guy thinks it’s a bad sword, and he says it’s a bad sword, you just agree with him!”

“But we could give it to someone like Jankx or Tarquin and they could use it,” Octavian said. They’re already psychopaths, he thought, what more harm could it do?

“Octavian, no!” Arlington snapped.

“I wasn’t planning on giving any of the rest of you the option of using it,” Morgan said. “It is magic, light, and it does cut very well. But it has to go.”

“Is there any harm in just carrying it with us, not on anybody’s body?” Tarquin asked. How did his companions hope to achieve anything if they kept throwing away the magic weapons, he pondered.

“No because to do what it does you need to spend time with it and attune to it’s way.”

“We walk a path that is a treacherous path,” Tarquin spun, “And I would be happy, now that you have divulged this, to keep an open channel so that we might use these powerful tool to our benefit — whilst not falling prey to them.”

Morgan shook his head. “I won’t travel with you if you choose to keep the sword,” he said bluntly.

Everyone was taken aback at this declaration. “Did you just draw a line in the snow?” Tarquin asked, surprised.

“We’ve murdered a lot of people,” Octavian said snidely, “It seems like a weird line to draw. But — I’m with you.”

“You’re an interesting character, young man,” Tarquin said leaning back in his seat.

“I come from a place that has a lot of history with things like this, and it doesn’t end up good. Ever.”

Eearwaxx turned the sword over in his thin hands. “There is no easy way to destroy this. No smith in Ten Towns will be able to melt it down, and breaking it by force could unleash something we can’t control. I think it requires an equal and opposite magic to undo what has been done. Or lava, dragon’s breath…” he said, remembering Calcryx and Arveiaturace.

“The kind of magic that could create that weapon will be required to unmake it,” Jankx agreed. “I am actually more worried now about leaving it.”

“Are you saying this is our sword to bear?” Tarquin smirked. “Morgan — you have laid down a convincing argument to deal with this sword. But I don’t think we can just here. We can’t leave it, we can’t discard it.”

“I agree with all of that,” Morgan nodded. “But I need to try and disentangle myself from it.”

“Give it to me,” Eearwaxx said, wrapping it in cloth from his satchel. “I’m a powerful wizard.” Morgan surprised himself by agreeing — Eearwaxx was the least likely to use it, and hence the least likely to be troubled.

“You carry it Eearwaxx,” Arlington ordered, “And when two or more of us come to you and ask you to pass it on — with the exception of Morgan — then you pass it on. Morgan cannot receive it again. Understood?”

---

Erky’s Opportunity

Arlington led everyone back to the Wet Trout, bellies full. The moment he walked through the door Erky pounced. “Did you find him? Did you rescue him? Kill him? What did you do??”

“We spoke to him,” Arlington said slowly.

“What did he say?”

“Not much.”

“Why not?”

“They cut out his tongue.”

Erky paled, then pulled himself together. “I suppose that was smart.”

“I’m afraid your master’s time is short,” Tarquin said.

“You’re going to need a new profession,” Arlington said.

“And a new town,” Tarquin added.

“Or I could step into his shoes. That’s the natural way of it,” Erky pondered, growing excited.

“Or you could become an apprentice to a powerful wizard,” Eearwaxx said pointing to himself.

“I already was! And now I shall become that powerful wizard!”

“I don’t think so,” Eearwaxx laughed.

“I don’t think you’re quite at my level, young boy,” Erky smirked. “Maybe you could apprentice with me!”

Tarquin shook his head. “Let me just say — you’re playing with fire. And I don’t think that you’re playing in a safe way. I think this will end up in your being burnt by the flames — just like Dzaan.” Tarquin pushed past and went upstairs to rest.

“If you stay in this town, Mr Timbers, your days are surely numbered.”

“I don’t think so. Once he is dead, I will be safe as I will become an Arcane Brother,” Erky boasted. “And one thing they — we — don’t do is kill each other openly. So I will be safe. I shall be the master!”

“I am sure you are absolutely correct,” Arlington said archly, “And I wish you all the good in the world, my friend.”

“I’ve read a lot in my short life,” Tarquin called from the foot of the stairs, “And I know not much. But I do know that you know nothing about mastery.”

“As much as I know about mastery, you know less about magic, old sir!” Erky cried.

Tarquin bowed deeply, and when he straightened he had a totally different face.

“Parlour tricks!” Erky scoffed. “If you want real magic, come see me tomorrow!”

“Mr Timbers,” Morgan said quietly, “The town speaker knows Dzaan has an accomplice. He also knows — because we told him — what Dzaan was looking for. We didn’t tell him that you are here. But make no mistake that we could.”

Erky paled again. “Ah. Blackmail of a kind.”

“I would stop talking about stepping into mass-murderer’s shoes. Because if that’s what you’re planning to do then I will just take your head off now.” Jankx glanced over on hearing this sudden deadly threat and Morgan’s eyes were as they had been in the cell with Dzaan. Deadly.

“Sir, I am not—”

Morgan grabbed Erky’s arm and squeezed, bringing a squeal of pain. “Stop talking. Forget all about it. Leave town. If you talk again about your ‘ascension’ I am going to do to your hands what I did to Dzaan’s hands.”

Erky glanced around nervously, catching Octavian’s eye. The kobold was urgently trying to tell Erky to desist, but he couldn’t help himself. “May I ask — what did you do to his hands?”

“They’re not usable as hands anymore.” Octavian was hopping from foot-to-foot, desperately trying to get Erky to go.

“I see. Very well. I will keep my peace here,” Erky grumbled. Morgan loomed for a moment longer, then released him. Erky shook his arm and immediately started mumbling. “I’m not saying I will become Dzaan, I’m saying—” He petered out when he saw Morgan lifting a fist.

“Mr Timbers,” Arlington tried again, “I don’t think you’re endowed with the perspicacity that is required to fill your master’s shoes.”

“I think…I think I will retire to my corner.”

Octavian breathed a sigh of relief.

Morgan turned to Arlington. “Do you think that worked?”

Arlington clapped Morgan on the shoulder. “I think that was a magnificent display of brute force where reason was making no headway.”

---

Rinaldo’s Séance

A lantern flashed at the window by the side door of the White Lady as midnight approached, eleven flashes in total. Rinaldo hurried everyone inside, eyes shining. “Gentlemen! I cannot tell you how thrilled I am that you accepted my invitation!”

“Oh you will be thrilled,” Octavian blurted.

“There is treasure in that lake,” Rinaldo said pointing to the east, “And tonight, the White Lady will tell us of that treasure.”

“I can’t wait to see what happens,” Octavian clapped.

Rinaldo ushered the company into a large room with seats positioned in a circle. Frost coated the windows obscuring the view of the lake. Seated at four of the seats were Rinaldo’s other guests. Octavian was surprised to note that they weren’t heavily armed. If anything they looked nervous, apprehensive.

“Now, gentlemen, please take a seat and I will introduce you.” As Morgan sat, he whispered to Ezra. “Let me know if you see anything.” Rinaldo spun and nodded. “Yes, yes, let us all know!” Octavian clapped, unable to contain his glee.

Rindaldo moved around the four attendees. “This is Vedda Starsprit, a psychic of immense ability,” he started, indicating a stocky, 30-year-old man with shifty eyes that pointed outward. Everyone tried to look at him, then quickly away when they got embarrassed by not know which eye to look at. Arlington sized him up as a trapper of some kind, judging by his garb and scarred hands. Vedda nodded.

Rinaldo moved on to a tall, heavyset, middle-aged man. “Next we have Nars Beldrun, a shipwright from Targos—”,

“—Get on with it, Rinaldo,” Nars interrupted. “You said you’d get this voice out of our heads, so get it out now.” He was clearly in no mood for pleasantries.

Rinaldo indicated Arlington and his companions. “Nars, I have brought these men here to empower us. They will draw it out of your heads!” He turned to the third guest. “This is Telvaster Hangingbell, a young man from far away Neverwinter, looking to escape the voices that haunt him. And finally, Kaska Lang, an author writing a mystery novel about fictional murders in Ten-Towns…not so fictional, perhaps, if recent events are any guide,” he whispered with raised eyebrow. The elderly woman settled her eyeglasses and wrote a few words in a journal open on her lap.

Eearwaxx moved his seat closer to Kaska, trying to catch a glimpse of her writings.

Rinaldo continued. “All four have been kept awake by telepathic distress signals, that only they can hear! Dark, unintelligible utterings portending doom and destruction. Have any of you gentlemen heard such cries?”

“No!” Octavian cried. Morgan looked slightly surprised at Octavian’s declaration — hadn’t he told the story of a vision?

Nars gripped his thighs angrily. “We don’t understand the message. It is in some horrible language we don’t understand.” The other three nodded sympathetically at Nar’s bubbling stress.

“How does it come to you?” Arlington asked.

“It’s in my head! Always in my head! I can’t sleep!!”

Arlington lit a pipe and leaned back, starting to get curious. Jankx too was leaning in and watching. He got the strong impression that these people were genuine, not part of the expected scam. There was something actually going on. A shiver ran down his spine.

Kaska held her hand up. “I am a scholar and it is not in any language that I know, nor does it sound like a language from our world.”

Octavian was fascinated. “Can you say it? Can you say the words?”

She closed her eyes and concentrated, listening to the voice in her head. When she spoke Octavian recoiled — it was hideous, like sludge and tar, guttural and wrong. And yes, otherworldly.

Eearwaxx sat bolt upright when he heard Kaska’s attempted mimicry. He cast a spell quietly, then turned to the author. “Can you repeat what you said, please, my lady?”

Kaska obeyed and Eearwaxx started to repeat her words. It was difficult because her words were only a shadow version of the original. But there was enough there for him to understand once she had repeated it a few times.

[Fish?] down. Emergency [?] enabled. Crew safe. Vessel imperilled. [?] crystal needed. Come at once.

“It is a message, repeated, never changing,” Eearwaxx said in wonder. He turned back to Kaska. “Have you heard the voice saying this?” and he recited the Ol’Bitey’s poem from Bryn Shander, word for word:

Kaska shook her head, as did the other three. She copied both messages into her book.

Rinaldo was beside himself. “You have deciphered the message! I knew it! I knew you were the ones — the truth-bringers!”

“Rinaldo,” Arlington interrupted, “You described yourself as an entertainer when we met. Is this…entertainment?”

“Oh no, sir, no indeed it is not. Entertainment in the front room, but all business at the back.”

“So this is a secondary profession of yours?”

“I seek the treasure! I have sought it for these many years, and now, now I have those that can speak beyond the grave. Those that can speak to the greater universe!” Rinaldo’s eyes were shining with religious fervour as he spoke.

“And how do we fit in,” Arlington asked.

“These four, you six, and me: eleven. I needed eleven, and it was as if fate walked in the door this day when you arrived.”

Arlington sighed. “Let’s get on with it, shall we.”

Rinaldo nodded. “Now. It is of utmost importance that we have no sceptics here. All must believe. We can have no-one that thinks this is but a game. For this is deadly serious. We seek contact. We seek revelation. We seek the truth.”

Rinaldo was a small man, but his voice carried utter conviction. He closed his eyes, and asked everyone to do the same, asking everyone to focus and bring the White Lady forth. His rolled back in his head until only the whites were showing, and he began to recite his song once again.

---

As the song unfolded, the candles in the room went out one by one and the frost on the windows thickened. Tarquin was impressed. Rinaldo’s trance reached deeper and his four guests started rocking. “Lady who watches from the lake, come to us in our darkest hour! Tell us what you’ve seen!” Rinaldo implored.

The frost on the windows started to crack when suddenly a shimmering figure began to coalesce inside the circle. Octavian gasped with surprise and delight. A ghostly form with long unkempt hair, in a flowing white dress, faceless, shifting in and out of focus.

Rinaldo’s eyes snapped open. He looked shocked, his mouth open wide, momentarily lost for words. “She is here!” he whispered, the surprise taking his breath away. “It worked!”

Tarquin and Jankx stopped smirking. This was new territory, no parlour tricks here, and no sham. Octavian turned to Morgan, “What do you see?”

“Same as you—” he turned to Ezra and nodded, “—And so does Ezra.”

“This is great!” Octavian cried with unbridled delight.

“Quickly now, ask her, ask her,” Rinaldo hissed. “Find the truth! I will ask of the treasure last, but first you must ask!”

“Who are you?” Arlington asked simply.

The ghost turned to the window and traced an answer in the frost: “White lady”. Arlington looked disappointed.

Vedda, who’s eyes had locked into centre, spoke up. “Make it go away, Lady, make the voices go away,” he begged.

The ghost didn’t respond, but seemed to shudder slightly before reforming.

“Is it your voice they here,” Tarquin asked.

“No”

Telvaster turned to Rinaldo. “You said she would make it stop, I can still here it!” he hissed. The ghost shuddered again, taking longer this time to settle.

“Do you need to be placed at rest?” Octavian asked.

The ghost traced two answers in adjacent window panes: “Yes” and “No”

“What keeps you from rest?” Tarquin said.

“?”

“Whose voice do they hear?” Arlington tried. This time he got a more satisfactory though more worrying response — the ghost shuddered, seeming to collapse on itself and dissipating.

Eearwaxx used his arcane knowledge to try and find out if this was magic bullshitium. It wasn’t, he could sense no magic being used. This was spiritual. He was surprised.

“Lady, do you need to be found in the place where your body rests?” Morgan said respectfully.

The ghost turned to the window and was about to trace her answer when Nars leapt to his feet. He rushed over to the ghost and tried to grab her, yelling at the top of his lungs. “ENOUGH! GET THE VOICES OUT OF MY HEAD! YOU PROMISED, YOU PROMISED!!”

The White Lady started to whirl in a cyclone of energy, spinning faster and faster and a wail emerged from her throat — a wail that sounded just like the language Kaska had tried to speak. The four guests clutched their heads in agony as the chaos escalated before collapsing to the floor insensible to the world.

“She is channelling it!” Octavian yelled.

As the spinning and dark cry reached a crescendo, it stopped just as fast as it had begun. In the sudden silence and stillness the ghost turned for a final time to the last frosted pane and traced a single word in the frost, the glass cracking as she traced with her fingernail: METEOR.

The White Lady vanished.

“She’s gone!” Rinaldo gasped, “She’s gone! I didn’t get to ask—but wait!” He ran to the window. “The comet! It must be! Did you see the comet? It fell from the sky a week past — that is where the treasure lies, not the lake, but the mountains!”

“We were underground at the time,” Octavian said.

“Where did it fall?” Eearwaxx asked, pulling out his map. Rinaldo stabbed his finger onto the map in a cluster of mountains east of Sunblight. “There, atop the Spine,” Rinaldo said with wonder.

“It’s all linked,” Tarquin said, recovering his wits. “The Sunless Citadel, Sunblight Fortress, and now this, a crashed meteor from the heavens.”

“What’s the worst thing that could happen when you go searching under ice for things that have fallen from the sky?” Morgan said rhetorically.

Arlington smiled.

Nars fought his way to consciousness first, climbing to his feet and kicking his seat away. “You’re a charlatan, Rinaldo,” he said, grabbing his head in obvious pain. “Nothing has changed,” he said, and stormed out. Vedda and Telvaster shuffled out behind, nodding sadly to Rinaldo.

When Kaska turned to leave, Eearwaxx softly lifted the journal from her breast-pocket. She was none the wiser, even patting it to confirm it was still there. He quickly flicked through the book, looking for anything of interest, but there was nothing that caught his eye. He called after Kaska. “Lady! Your journal, you must have dropped it?”

Kaska turned and patted her pocket with surprise. “But I just—thank you, young man, that is very kind.” Eearwaxx blushed and bowed.

Octavian turned to Rinaldo with a grin. “That’s the first time that has ever happened.”

“But it did work,” Rinaldo grinned and bowed.

“Can I ask something of the more learned members of our company?” Arlington asked on the walk back to the Wet Trout. “My understanding of séances is that the medium gets possessed by the spirit. It is a bit odd for the spirit to get possessed by something. Am I right or have I misread that?”

Tarquin scratched his head. “Well I must admit it was certainly a spin on how I would run one.”

“There wasn’t enough extraction of money for a start, was there.” Jankx winked.

“I couldn’t actually follow the money — it was a little difficult and, I thought, just a little unnecessary. Keep it simple! But quite frankly I did take notes,” Tarquin laughed. “But Arlington I am quite pleased with the structure of my anthology. I have poetry for about four subplots now that aren’t finished, so I’m just waiting for it all to play out and then I’ll be able to hand my manuscript in.”

“It’s always good when the person running the séance is as surprised as everyone else,” Morgan grinned.

---

The Death of Dzaan

The White Trout was empty the following morning — even Nymetra had departed for the execution. A kitchen hand served a cold meal before hastening off to try and get a front-row seat. Octavian tiredly made himself a cup of tea.

Approaching the Town Hall it was clear that the entire town had gathered for this event. People crowded into the side streets and the hub-bub of excitement was palpable. A platform had been built with a single wooden stake mounted atop, surrounded by a rather pathetic pile of wood.

“That’s wood from the docks,” Morgan said. “Better than burning good wood I suppose, given the jetties are out of commission.”

“That will make this a slow burning, rather than a quick death,” Jankx frowned.

“A metaphor for the slow burning of their lives as they start to eat themselves from the outside in,” Tarquin said to raised eyebrows.

It was agreed that watching the gathered crowd was the main way any possible escape could be thwarted. People were crammed into the square in front of the Town Hall, but it was relatively easy to hustle into a position with a good vantage point. Octavian and Jankx took the eastern side, Octavian taking a lateral position to best see anything unusual in the crowd. Arlington put his back to the wall opposite the pyre, noting a balcony above that he could quickly get to if needed, and Tarquin took the west side. Morgan used his strength to get to a front row position.

Eearwaxx moved into the centre of the crowd, somewhat to Arlington’s consternation — the wizard was ill-suited to a mosh-pit. But as the hunter watched a rope suddenly sprung up out of the crowd and shot into the air. A moment later the mighty wizard Eearwaxx Ravengard scurried up the rope like a spider-monkey and disappeared into an ethereal hole in the sky, pulling the rope in behind. The crowd below gasped and clapped — they weren’t expecting entertainment but this was terrific. Eearwaxx made himself comfortable in his invisible hole and scanned the crowd from above. Arlington grinned — his young wizard was full of surprises.

Octavian saw Eearwaxx start to climb and immediately shifted his focus to the audience — who wasn’t watching Eearwaxx’s theatrics? A moment later he found what he was looking for: a woman at the back of the crowd between Arlington and Tarquin. She had a shock of white hair, which struck Octavian as odd given most everyone was heavily hooded against the cold. She glanced at Eearwaxx but then returned her steadfast gaze to the platform. Octavian locked onto her.

Moments later the crowd roared as the Town Hall doors were flung open and Speaker Waylen stepped forward. Behind him came a cluster of guards led by Captain Imdra Arlaggath, a well armed and armoured half-elf. In the midst of the guards was Dzaan, a sorry sight — his face wrecked and hands worse, dangling useless and black by his side. And yet he held his head high, and once again all were struck by his calm. Arlaggath led him to the pyre and the guards fastened him to the pole.

Morgan glanced at the Speaker and caught his eye briefly with a nod. Waylen’s face was pale but determined. Morgan turned his back on the dignitaries and turned to face the crowd, drawing some ire from the nearby citizens who suggested he move back if he wasn’t interested in the execution. A short stare from Morgan silenced them quickly.

As Dzaan was being prepared, Octavian narrowed his focus on the watcher at the rear, noting her straighten as Dzaan appeared, straining to improve her view.

The crowd hushed as Captain Arlaggath stepped forward and produced a scroll from which she read. “The accused, Dzaan of the Arcane Brotherhood, stands accused of murder. Murder ten times over.” The crowd hissed as she started reading through the names of the dead, their families and livelihoods. By the time she reached the fourth name the crowd were getting fractious, scattered yells and fists raised.

Arlington found Nymetra in the audience leading the calls. “Burn him, burn him for the dead, and burn him for Auril!” she cried as the fifth name was read. Those nearby joined in the cries and the crowd pressed forward, hungry for the execution. Morgan had to use his strength to stay in position.

Arlington, concerned about the escalation of the mob, clambered up onto the balcony the better to see if anyone was moving counter to the flow, but he couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary.

Arlaggath read faster as the crowd grew more and more restless, surging and shouting. Through the growing cacophony Dzaan maintained his serenity, gazing around the audience untroubled.

Octavian kept his gaze on the white-haired woman. She hadn’t moved as the crowd moved around her, making Octavian unsure of her intentions. He noticed something in the corner of his eye, and a moment later a brilliant white owl swooped low over the bubbling crowd and landed gracefully on the woman’s shoulder. It dipped it’s head down near her ear and she tilted her head close, but then the crowd surged and Octavian lost her for a moment. He looked to Arlington and pointed his staff toward the woman’s location, but Arlington’s attention was elsewhere. Octavian spun and tried to draw Tarquin’s attention, succeeding, and then hustled forward through the crowd to try and get to the woman. He was going against the flow so it was relatively easy.

Tarquin saw Octavian’s raised staff and turned his attention to the woman — and the owl. He had seen it soaring over the crowd and once he saw Octavian’s signal he acted. He produced a foully dissonant verse in his head and implanted it deep in the owl’s tiny mind.

The owl was defenceless against Tarquin’s words. It screeched in agony as it’s mind melted, extending it’s wings in the shock of death as it toppled off the woman’s shoulder into the snow. The woman howled as her companion died, clutching her head in pain and dropping to her knees out of sight behind the mob.

Arlington heard the screech as it echoed over the rumbling crowd noise, but he couldn’t see the source. He turned his focus back to those below. He could see Octavian moving quickly through the crowd toward the back — and Jankx threading close behind. He trusted they could take care of whatever it was.

Captain Arlaggath finished her role-call of the dead, stepping back for Speaker Waylen. He stamped his ceremonial staff on the ground three times and the crowd stilled. “We have heard these charges, and we have ascertained the truth of their words. The Red Wizard Dzaan will pay for his crimes today. The sentence is death!”

The crowd roared their approval as one, hungry for the flames to engulf the hated Dzaan. Arlaggath nodded to her now-hooded guards, and they stepped forward with burning torches and plunged them into the pyre. Nothing much happened, the wood was too cold and wet to burn, slow tendrils of smoke starting to rise as the fire struggled to establish itself. Dzaan seemed to breath in the smoke, Eearwaxx shaking his head as he watched Dzaan seemed to be almost enjoying the ceremony.

Yells and shouts from the crowd met the failing flames, as those closest added their breath to the fire trying to blow it into life. After some minutes the fire started to burn, licking the wood.

Tarquin started to move toward the fallen owl when a beam of black energy weaved through the crowd and crashed into his chest, originating from the scene of the dead creature. He staggered as he felt all his strength leach out, his armour and weapons weighing him down, legs wobbling, arms heavy.

Octavian reached the woman and pulled himself up quickly. She knelt over the body of the dead owl, carefully wrapping the beautiful creature’s wings around it’s feathered chest. But that was not what drew Octavian up short: it was the six kobold guards that surrounded her, maintaining a perimeter that protected her from those nearby. And more surprising (and worrying) still — two of the kobolds were obviously undead. One had exposed bones at the joints and half its skull, another’s ribs protruded from its chest.

---

The kobolds raised their weapons. Octavian cursed and immediately used his druidcraft to summon a sworl of leaves above the scene, hoping his companions would find the marker and come to his aid. He held his hands open and spoke in deep Kobold: “What is happening here? Please leave! There is going to be fighting!”

“There will be fighting, and you will die if you come near our lady,” the nearest kobold snarled, jabbing a staff toward Octavian.

“Look it must have been an accident, we thought you were with the Red Wizard,” Octavian tried, pointing to Dzaan who was now bathed in smoke, coughing and starting to shift from the heat of the still growing flames.

The kobolds only growled and stepped closer with weapons poised. Jankx arrived on the scene and quickly summed up the situation and drawing his daggers. Octavian knew there was only one way to stop what would soon be a massacre — he turned to the woman and focused his mind on hers, trying to charm her into obedience.

The woman turned slowly to face Octavian, her face distraught but determined. One eye was covered by a patch, but the other held deep wisdom and intelligence, and a fallen tear stained her cheek. Octavian swallowed and spoke. “Please, let us talk, let us all talk — kobold and human,” he urged in kobold, hoping that they too would listen to reason.

The woman stared for a moment then turned to her kobolds. “Stand down, he is here to help, he is our friend,” she said in perfect deep Kobold (impressing and surprising Octavian with her command of the complex language). The kobolds hesitated but didn’t advance any closer. The woman turned back to Octavian. “My friend, what is it you want to discuss?”

Octavian breathed a sigh of relief. Either the spell had worked or she was as concerned as he was about the potential disaster of an armed fight in amongst the crowd. “I want us to talk and not fight. There is something odd going on here.”

“Someone has killed her,” she said indicating her own, “And that someone must pay. Will you help me catch them?”

Octavian nodded warily. “It was probably the Arcane Brotherhood, friends of the accused wizard—

Arlington had seen Tarquin felled by the black-beam, and followed the line to find Octavian’s storm of leaves swirling. He saw the kobolds weapon drawn and Jankx drawing his in return. Something needed to be done, and quickly, to stop Dzaan escaping (for he believed this was what Octavian had discovered) and to stop Octavian and Jankx from being slaughtered by whoever was powerful enough to disable Tarquin so easily. His crossbow sung as he took decisive action.

A cry of shock leapt from the crowd. A 15”, one-and-a-half ounce crossbow bolt with a broad hunting head shot over the crowd, thudding with a crunch of shattering bone directly through the cheek of Dzaan, pinning his now lifeless head into the pillar of wood to which he was strapped.

For a moment there was silence, then the crowd roared in fury. “No! He must burn! Someone has killed him! He is dead! Auril has been denied! Who was it! Get them! Burn them instead!!” Morgan had felt the bolt whistle over his head and knew immediately it was Arlington. He spun his head to see Speaker Waylen cursing and glaring. Morgan shrugged and Waylen scanned the back of the square, pointing the guards to where he thought the assassin had been.

Eearwaxx dropped the rope and popped out from his hiding hole and slid half way down the rope. He pointed his wizardly finger to the pyre and the struggling flames suddenly sprung into a roaring fire. He also magicked the natural flames and encouraged them to bloom. The pyre was engulfed.

The front half of the crowd changed their focus again, rushing back to surround the burning man, relishing the heat, figuring that even if they hadn’t killed Dzaan, Auril would still be happy with the sacrifice of warmth. Dzaan’s body was engulfed in the raging fire.

---

Tarquin struggled to his feet, avoiding the surging crowd as he watched the flames engulf the platform. Despite his weakness he felt satisified — he had foiled the plot to save him, the job was done. He made his way over to the foot of Eearwaxx’s rope and put his hand on the young wizard’s shoulder, directing him toward Octavian’s leaves.

Eearwaxx had other ideas, surprised with how easily he could tear away from Tarquin’s grip. He hustled toward Morgan at the front of the square.

As Octavian turned his attention from the pyre and back to the woman, he heard rumblings that sent a shiver down his spire. “The kobolds did it!” people were starting to cry, desperate for someone to blame. “They killed him. They shot him! Over there, look, it was them — get them!”

“As your friend — take your kobolds and go!” Octavian urged the woman.

She nodded, understanding instantly. “Where can I find you, friend?”

“I will find you — now go, before the crowd comes!”

The woman spoke quickly to her guard and started to retreat down the street. But there were dozens of people crowding the road and many of them started to point and join the cries for revenge.

Octavian cursed and made a snap decision. He had to clear a path for her to escape, for if he did not the kobolds would fight. They would likely die, but so would many, many Easthaven citizens. He took a deep breath and summoned a rolling quake of earth, sending the road buckling under the feet of the accusers. Enough fell to the ground under the rocking ground to clear a path for the escapees, and they ran ahead and vanished around the bend of the road.

Jankx grimaced as he heard the kobolds being accused, glancing down at Octavian who was busy with his own troubles. Most people were focussed on the kobold guard troupe, but some had spotted Octavian and were angrily trying to get to him. “There’s still one here! Get him!” Jankx could see fear in Octavian’s eyes, so Jankx grabbed him and dragged him toward a narrow passage between buildings.

Arlington looked down and saw Jankx and Octavian trying to get out, pursued by half a dozen furious citizens. He too made a snap decision, standing tall on the balcony and extending his crossbow into the air like a trophy. “I fired the shot!” he yelled with a booming voice, “Would you come at me!?”

The nearby crowd spun to face the new challenger, surging toward the building Arlington stood atop. “It wasn’t the kobolds! It was him! That man!”

Jankx heard Arlington’s proclamation and the new outcry, understanding instinctively what the great hunter was doing. He shoved Octavian down the alleyway and spun to face their pursuers, casting one of his few spells as he did. The half-dozen chasers immediately stumbled and fell into the new-fallen snow, deeply asleep. Jankx grinned, turned, and raced off after Octavian.

It was total chaos in the square, some crowding toward Eearwaxx’s bonfire, others Arlington, others trying to make sense of Octavian’s ruptured earth and the sleepers left in Jankx’s wake. Eearwaxx had finally made his way to Morgan, who pulled him safely out of the crowd.

Eearwaxx nodded his thanks then turned to face the Speaker who was focussed on Arlington. The mighty wizard, who had just made his way through the mob, knew that something needed to be done quickly to quell the crowd before it become an out of control mob. He concentrated on Speaker Waylen and tried to charm him. “Speaker! Speaker, listen to me. This is turning into a disaster.”

Waylen turned his focus to Eearwaxx, seeming to come to his senses. “It is, you’re right, my friend.”

“I think we need to calm the crowd. It’s no-one’s fault, but let’s calm everyone down. I think you should take control of the crowd, sir,” Eearwaxx said, doing his best to sooth and encourage the Speaker.

“But what of that man who shot the prisoner?” Speaker Waylen said, pointing to Arlington.

“He did that because the pyre wasn’t working,” Eearwaxx explained patiently, “I wasn’t available to help — my fault — he was putting the man to death before he could escape.”

“I understand, thank you my friend for explaining.” Waylen pulled himself upright, silhouetted by the raging flames. He slammed his staff into the platform three times, drawing the attention of some. Then he spoke with a voice that carried loud and true over the crowded square. “People of Easthaven! People of the great town of Easthaven! Listen now to your Speaker - LISTEN NOW!” The crowd started to shift their attention to this new voice.

“This man,” the Speaker cried, pointing to Arlington, “This man has stopped the murderer from escaping from his fate! For he was to escape! And this man has taken the Red Wizard’s life to prevent that unthinkable event! And look now, look now my people, as the prisoner Dzaan burns in a holy fire, a fire that pleases Auril as much as it punishes the guilty! Justice is done! He burns! Look now upon the flames and bathe in their warmth!”

Tarquin, in the centre of the crowd, feeling his energy and strength surge back, followed suit, repeating the Speaker’s words with the extra panache that only he could produce. “Come forward! Feel the heat from the murder’s body as it burns!” Those nearby excitedly agreed and the mood rapidly shifted toward elation.

Arlington breathed a sigh of relief as the words of the Speaker took hold of the people. “Heed your Speaker!” he cried, and they did. The crowd started to cheer and celebrate, some even clapped the great hunter who still stood above them. Arlington decided to take advantage of the situation, vaulting over the balcony and striding purposefully forward, collection Tarquin as he passed. The crowd parted in their wake, clapping Arlington on the back.

Speaker Waylen pointed to Arlington and Tarquin as they arrived. “And here they are! The man of the hour and his…accomplice!”

“You are wise,” Arlington, “And you have seen reason.”

“Your friend gave me very good advice, which I heeded, and he was right,” the Speaker said looking toward Eearwaxx.

“You would be well to listen to this fellow.”

Waylen scratched his head. “I do recall asking you not to kill him before he burned, however.”

“You asked us to prevent his escape,” Arlington reminded him. “A choice had to be made.”

“So he was to escape?”

“Without a doubt. I did what I did only because I had to.”

“Things were coming to a head at the rear of the crowd,” Tarquin agreed.

“I did see a kerfuffle,” the Speaker nodded, convincing himself.

Eearwaxx let the charm spell drop as he could see Waylen settling. The Speaker shook his head as he realised he had been under the sway of some other mind. “Who, who was—”

Tarquin interrupted quickly. “Sir! I have the beginnings of a work that celebrates this great occasion! Let me read it to you!” Tarquin started his latest work, ad-libbing as he sung and played and performed. It worked a treat.

The Speaker forgot all about the charm, and the nearby audience were wrapped in Tarquin’s work. He turned to Arlington. “Sir — I think I owe you a signature.”

Arlington pulled out the writ with a flourish. He turned Tarquin around and put the paper on his back as Tarquin produced a quill and passed it over his shoulder. “A job well done, gentlemen,” Waylen said as he added his name to the writ, “If I am to believe what you said. And I find myself inclined to do so. Visit me again once you have more news.” Waylen nodded farewell and withdrew.

The crowd by now were more interested in enjoying themselves, abuzz with tales of the crazy events of the morning. “There was a man in the sky, an invisible man! A bolt of blackness! Leaves floating in the sky, green leaves! The man shot the man! Kobolds! Wizards!” Those toward the periphery were moving way to the inns full of vim and vigour, already weaving the tales of one of the great days in recent Easthaven times, and those near the flames were enjoying the warmth while they could.

Tarquin smiled. The stories that would come from this execution would be told for generations to come. Arlington slapped him on the back. “Well that went exactly to plan!”

---

Octavian and Jankx arrived back at the empty inn. Octavian retreated upstairs and gathered his gear, waiting for Jankx to give the all clear.

Jankx didn’t have to wait long until Nymetra arrived back, just ahead of a surging crowd of very excited patrons. Before long the Wet Trout was heaving as people recreated the execution. People stood on tables and aimed air-crossbows, others climbed up into the rafters emulating Eearwaxx. Some still blamed the kobolds, but they were shouted down and soon changed their tunes to fit the mood. The Wet Trout made quite a profit this day.

When Arlington and his company returned, cheers went up around the room, and drinks were shoved into their hands.

Morgan collared Jankx, who explained where Octavian was hiding.

“Everything is fine,” Morgan said.

“Really?” Jankx said with disbelief. Despite the crowd’s boisterousness he found it hard to believe ‘fine’ was the right word.

“Everything’s fine!” Arlington cried, enjoying the attention.

“I don’t know exactly what happened up the back of the square, but between Arlington and Eearwaxx and Tarquin, they managed to convince Speaker Waylen that it was all a plan and we prevented Dzaan from escaping.” Morgan had a moment of doubt and turned to Arlington. “Did we prevent him escaping?”

“I have no idea,” the great hunter beamed.

“No matter — if they were chasing you, they aren’t now,” Morgan grinned. Jankx filled Morgan in on what happened — ‘undead kobolds, a witch, earthquakes’ — and it was Morgan’s turn to be wide eyed.

Morgan looked at Arlington. “That got really tense.”

“Indeed it did sir!” Arlington said. He was feeling very please with how things had turned out and was ready for a drink.

“I’ve never stood in front of a crowd of hundreds of angry people before — it’s very disconcerting.”

“Oh I have,” Tarquin interjected to much laughter.

“I’m sure Tarquin has been tarred and feathered,” Octavian smiled.

“He’s died on stage more than once,” Arlington laughed, wrapping his arm around Tarquin’s shoulder.

“They weren’t angry before he stood on stage, but they were after,” said Jankx with a guffaw.

“You know what, Morgan,” Arlington said, suddenly serious again, “My one aim was to stop anyone sacrificing anyone to a god.” This statement caught everyone slightly off guard. Even Morgan was surprised. “Oh? I see. Well job done then. I wasn’t all for doing it, I was just trying to say I understand why people want to.”

“Well that kind of foolishness must be stamped out. If that means regime change—” Arlington said looking at Tarquin.

“—Or extreme vigilantism, then so be it,” Octavian added.

Morgan sighed. “I thought…I thought I told a story about not getting involved in local…never mind.”

Jankx collected Octavian — “I’m pretty sure you wont’ get lynched” he explained — and the full dressed druid was warmly welcomed by his compatriots. However Octavian couldn’t join in the celebrations. “We’ve got a big problem,” he groaned.

“What’s the big problem?” Morgan asked, and Tarquin looked just as interested in the answer.

“When I went to the back…you know that lady? You killed her owl? She had six kobolds around her. And I think she’s probably a necromancer because two of them—”, Octavian looked at Jankx for confirmation before continuing, “—were kind of…undead?”

Arlington quietly slipped his arm off Tarquin’s shoulder.

“She was about to, I think, kill everyone. And I talked to her, charmed her, and convinced her to get out of here.”

“You let her escape?” Tarquin said.

“She was going to kill the entire town!”

“You pointed to her,” Tarquin recalled, “Why didn’t we kick it off with—anyway, the point is, that wasn’t our fight, or fight was to make sure Dzaan went down, and that was what we got done.”

“Gentlemen!” Arlington cried. “Gentlemen! I think we can agree that between us we dealt with all of the situations. Octavian — your efforts were, without a doubt, at least…twenty percent of our operation? And we thank you for your role! Within reason…” he looked around for help.

Octavian rolled his eyes. So close Arlington, so close. “The problem will be, when she realises that she has been charmed, and her familiar has been killed, she will strike us down.”

Arlington stepped even further away from Tarquin.

“She struck me directly in the chest through a crowd of people, which shows some skill,” Tarquin agreed.

“But you were far from her,” Morgan said to Tarquin. “She wont' know it was you, the only people she will recognise are Jankx and Octavian. And they did her no harm.”

“Charm notwithstanding,” Octavian sighed.

“And she knew that it was him that she was shooting at the time,” Arlington frowned.

Morgan nodded. “Look. We’ve had a drink, let’s just leave town,” — a simple solution he thought.

“As much as I am loathe to agree with the sentiments that seem as cowardly as those of our erstwhile mysterious brother,” Arlington laboured, “I think perhaps that leaving town is a good idea.”

Octavian was already half way out the door. Morgan collected Eearwaxx’s gear (for the young wizard was sound asleep in his seat) and also Arlington’s as the great hunter begged leave to prepare the dogs. Shortly afterwards everyone was gathered at the entrance ready to leave when the doors to the inn opened and Erky Timbers staggered through.

“At last a warm room,” the diminutive figure said looking up at the gathered company. “Gentlemen do you mind telling me where I am?”

Octavian put his arm around Erky. “Well you are here with friends,” he said encouragingly whilst signalling there was something wrong with him to Arlington. Arlington went to wake Eearwaxx.

“How did you know my name?” the gnome blurted out.

“We’ve met before,” Tarquin said to a blank look.

“Erky — who did you speak to last?” Octavian asked gently. Erky rubbed his forehead. “I…I was at the execution? And someone…no, I don’t know. The next thing was I was walking through this door.”

Octavian put a hand over one eye. “Does this remind you of anyone?” he asked, thinking of the woman’s eyepatch. Erky shook his head.

“Eearwaxx — tell me what’s wrong with Mr Timbers,” Arlington asked.

“I’d say it’s what is right with him,” Tarquin said observing, “Something has been wrong with him.”

“Oh, you think Dzaan had control of him, or had a mechanism?” Octavian asked.

Eearwaxx roused himself and tried one last charm for the day as he spoke kindly and gently. But Erky was having none of it, shaking his head as he felt the control try to lay over his mind. “Something is trying to…no, look, maybe if I have a drink it will come back to me? Thank you gentlemen, I am sorry to have taken your time.”

Morgan watched Erky walk away. “Eearwaxx — could Dzaan have had some ensorcellment on Ekry on the event of his death?”

“He could have done something to him, though it is a very powerful spell,” Eearwaxx said scratching his head, “But we would need to know more, talk to him more.” Eearwaxx knew of magics to manipulate memory and the mind, but he also knew of darker necromantic practices that can destroy the mind. He was worried this was the latter.

“If he doesn’t remember us, that means it’s selective,” Morgan said, also concerned. “He remembers being in town, and the execution. But his memory of us for the last weeks is gone. So unless you really want to pursue how that happened…I think we should just leave town. For now.”

“The interesting thing is someone hasn’t killed him,” Jankx said, “They’ve done this. This is what they chose instead. It is in someone’s interest to do this.”

“That’s why it seems like if Dzaan was his master, this is a way to make sure Erky can’t tell anyone,” Octavian speculated.

“I have a different take on this,” Tarquin said. “Going to what you said before, Octavian. Did you sense that the white-haired woman was a threat?”

“It was very chaotic, but the fact that she commanded undead kobolds means that she was probably evil, and likely a threat. Plus the black beam she cast toward you—”

“—She sucked the strength from my bones—”

“—Right.”

“But it was only whilst she was in proximity, I was able to quickly recover when she had gone.”

“It seems very necromatic,” Octavian nodded.

“And if our good friend here has forgotten his aspirations to replace his master, is that not a good thing?” Tarquin said.

“It probably is,” Octavian conceded.

“The moral of the story is that Erky Timbers, at least for the time being, is not treading a path of danger for him and others.”

Arlington agreed. “Time to leave, gentlemen.”

Octavian slipped three gold coins into Erky’s pocket before leaving. “Stay good, Erky. And remember how you said you wanted to be an apprentice?”

“I said that?”

“Yes. And you said you wanted to find a career. Anyway — goodbye!”

Erky looked totally confused.

The dogs were mustered, and the Axe Beaks saddled, and Arlington led the company south toward Dougan’s Hole via the good mead of Good Mead.

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Session played: Aug 29, Sep 12, 19, 27, 2022

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