Chapters

The death of a Speaker: “It’s possible the Speaker was murdered”

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The death of a Speaker

The frozen company welcomed the sight of the squat dwellings of Good Mead with a sigh of relief. The dogs and axe-beaks seemed content on the frozen roads, but the endless winter was no joke and some warm mead would quickly salve all ills. Arlington cracked the whip to urge the dogs on. “They love the whip, that’s the thing — people don’t know that,” he called to Octavian, who sat hunkered down in as much fur as he could muster. “They do not,” he whispered under his breath, not wanting to engage with Arlington’s frankly ridiculous proclamations.

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The buildings faced onto the ice-locked lake of the Redwaters, and most were well cared for and adorned with carvings of dinosaurs and serpents, and all were overshadowed by the two-story structure of the Mead Hall in the centre of town. The town literally buzzed with the droning of bees, becoming more obvious as the dogs drew up toward to the Hall.

“No insects should be alive in this climate,” Arlington frowned. Octavian agreed (for once), and was about to explain his quickly formulated theory that a genetic quirk of bees native to this region must explain it, until Arlington followed up with his own theory. “A hot-house, my good man, a hot-house,” the hunter pontificated. Octavian rolled his eyes and kept his mouth shut.

Morgan hadn’t enjoyed Easthaven, and he instantly found Good Mead to be far more inviting. It felt more like a frontier town, less show-offy, and the people seemed friendly and industrious. Many waved to Eearwaxx, calling out for him to come visit ‘for some mending’, which gave the great wizard great pleasure.

Reaching the intersection leading to the Redwaters, Jankx was surprised to see a trail of locals in black mourning clothes making their way toward a large open building that stood opposite the Mead Hall on the lakeshore. Arlington slowed the dogs and drew them to a halt in front of the Hall as the axe-beak riders secured their mounts. The Hall’s eaves were carved and painted to resemble wyverns, and a flowing river of bees buzzed their way into and out of the peak atop the building.

Tarquin hopped off Jory and walked over toward the mourners' destination. A crow-haunted steeple protruding from its peak and a worn wooden sign declared the building to be The Shrine of the Flaming Sword. Unlike the Mead Hall, which was obviously very well cared for, the Shrine’s painted icons of the god of war wielding a flaming sword were chipped and faded, and its spacious interior stood mostly empty except for a long table on which rests a body covered with a blanket. Tarquin couldn’t place the god, only that it was something local.

Eearwaxx followed Tarquin. Recognising an elderly woman, he walked by her side toward the Shrine. “I am sorry for your loss,” he said quietly.

The woman nodded her thanks. “It is good to see you again, Eearwaxx, my lantern still shines true thanks to you. You look a little older, though maybe not wiser?” she smiled gently.

“Who has passed, dear lady?” Eearwaxx asked, chuffed about the lantern.

“It is the Speaker,” she sighed.

“Oh dear — what happened?”

“Ah poor Kendrick, he liked his hunting you know, and there were sighting of the moose. So he went after it, as men of this region are want,” she said rolling her eyes. “He died at the moose’s hands. Or horns.”

“Oh dear, a terrible fate,” Eearwaxx sympathised. He walked back and relayed this news to Arlington, knowing the great hunter’s keen interest in moose.

“A moose, or the moose?” Arlington narrowed his eyes. Eearwaxx shrugged, but an eavesdropping local stepped forward. “Have you heard of the White Moose?” he asked.

“Indeed I have, young sir!” Arlington said, introducing himself.

“And my name is Harper Ebonplumb, pleased to make your acquaintance. You know of the great white moose’s reputation then,” the man said, relishing his tale. “Far smarter than your average moose, always one step ahead, highly intelligent. A killer. Some gatherers swear the saw the moose in the forest to the nor’west, and Speaker Rielsbarrow thought to hunt it…” He paused for dramatic effect before continuing. “And he was found with his chest gored open, dead as a frozen knucklehead.”

“The moose gored his chest open?” Arlington asked with some scepticism.

“That’s what they say,” the man nodded.

“And does he lie in state in the Shrine of the Flaming Sword, still?”

“He does!”

“May we pay our respects and look upon his fallen corpse?”

“Respects, of course, the body um you would need to ask? Though I’m not sure who now we have no Speaker.”

Tarquin knew each town has their own method of choosing a new Speaker — some appointed, some elected. He turned to Harper. “May I ask what is the traditional means of selecting a Speaker here in Good Mead?”

“Well. We ask for candidates, and then each may state their cases to the gathered citizenry here in the Mead Hall. We can ask questions, grill them, they give us their best and then we debate and ponder that as a community — though the amount of mead taken during the evening does tend to rather subdue any serious pondering,” Harper grinned.

“And what happens after that?”

“The following morning a vote is cast, and the winner of that vote becomes the new Speaker.”

Arlington glanced at Morgan who was frowning at Tarquin — surely he wasn’t planning to run, after all the warnings Morgan had given about not getting involved. He looked at Arlington and shook his head.

“We have two candidates,” Harper continued. “The first is Olivessa Untapoor, who is the crafter who makes the casks that hold our famous mead. You couldn’t get a higher recommendation than that! Personally I am hoping she wins.”

“And who is the other?” Arlington asked.

“Oh. A shield dwarf from the Dwarven Valley. Who has settled here, so I suppose he qualifies. Shandar Froth he calls himself. A nice enough man, but not my favourite. Something about him — short, red-hair,” Harper shrugged. Octavian sighed, used to hearing this kind of thing. ‘Nice enough’ as long as you were the same size and race. And even hair colour it would seem.

“But of course anyone can put themselves up to be the Speaker,” Harper said.

“Oh god,” Jankx groaned, glancing at Tarquin who was beaming wildly.

“Is it just coincidence that you are hear on the very evening of the candidates speaking, gentlemen?”

“It is,” Arlington stressed.

“You are not planning, any of you, to perhaps to put your name forward? The Speaker’s house is a very nice place by the lake.”

“Welllll,” Eearwaxx mumbled, “I am well liked…”. He had remembered how much he’d enjoyed visiting Good Mead on his previous travels with Eearl’wixx and later alone. And now he was a mighty wizard! Just the thing that would suit a Speaker.

“No we are not,” Arlington said glaring at Eearwaxx. And here he’d thought Tarquin was the problem!

“We’d heard this town had fallen on hard time,” Tarquin asked Harper, “But things look fairly good here?”

“Oh not hard times. We have had some trouble with the brew, perhaps that is what you mean. The meadmakers say the pollen collected by the bees is not taking quite as well as it should.”

“When you say it is not ‘taking’,” Arlington asked, “What does that mean?”

“The strength of character that we insist upon before we will release the mead just isn’t there.”

“And what is that dependent on?”

“Well the bees. And what they can bring to it.”

“So you are saying that because there isn’t a flower within one-hundred thousand square miles, that perhaps the bees are struggling?” Arlington asked, smugly thinking he had solved the problem in one fell swoop.

“Oh, I see your mistake,” Harper laughed. “No, no no, nothing like that. Our bees have been bred in Good Mead over centuries, and they find what they need. Or they always have. Which is why this is so peculiar.”

“Is there a master beekeeper?” Tarquin asked.

“There is, of course. Halstein Flameriver is his name.”

“I would have thought that if there were a number of upstanding beekeepers, with such an noble pedigree, that one of them would be putting themselves forward for Speaker?”

“But who wants to be a Speaker? Terrible job, particularly when you’re already a beekeeeper,” Harper said. “Would you want to be Speaker? It’s not an easy role: all that travel to Bryn Shander for the councils, you’re always available, you have to adjudicate. Your personality changes—”

“—I don’t think his personality would change at all,” Arlington said nodding at Tarquin.

“The weight of office does produce a certain bureaucratic tenor,” Tarquin grinned. “We have come upon it ourselves.”

“Exactly sir, you have hit the nail on the head.”

Arlington thanked Harper for his advice and walked over to the Shrine with Jankx by his side. Inside the Shrine Eearwaxx had mended what he could, cleaning up the drab paint and grubby ironwork. The gathered mourners gasped as parts of the Shrine slowly returned to some semblance of it’s former glory.

“This ‘white moose’,” Jankx said to Arlington, “Is that real? I mean we’ve seen owlbears, we’ve seen other things, do you think there’s actually a giant moose or is there something else at play?”

“Is it real??” Arlington snapped, ignoring the larger question. “Certainly it’s real! You question my entire existence, sir!”

“Oh. Right. It’s just — we did see something else that is pretty deadly that is not a moose. Quite recently.”

“There are many great creatures of the woods, the moose is but one of them. The moose is highly prized, not because of its ferocity, so much as because of its elusiveness. It’s cunning, and perspicacious. But also — it is but a moose, so like you, I am keen to see this corpse.”

Jankx nodded, satisfied, finally hearing that Arlington had in fact been listening, despite the lecture. He didn’t buy the moose story for one second, but a study of the body should reveal the truth.

Morgan, who had been listening in, turned to Harper who had joined everyone in the Shrine. “Is everyone in town convinced that the Speaker was killed by the moose?”

“That’s what they say. Why wouldn’t he be?”

“We’ve been looking into various ‘things’ in the Ten Towns of late, related to Auril’s curse,” Morgan said, lowering his voice and mimicking the sign of protection that Harper made on mention of Auril. “We’ve heard of some activity involving druids, down in Dougan’s Hole. And I think my companions are intrigued and a little suspicious. Would it be possible, with the deepest respect, to have a look at the Speaker’s body?”

Harper recoiled slightly. “Oh! I don’t think…I mean, it wouldn’t be a very nice sight. Or thing to do.”

“It wouldn’t,” Morgan agreed, “But I guess we’re trying to ascertain if it’s possible the Speaker was murdered.”

“Murdered!” Harper cried, drawing the attention of the nearby mourners, some of who drew nearer. “Who’s been murdered, Harper?”

“This man, Morgan, thinks that maybe Kendrick was murdered!” This sent a murmur through the gathering, all of who were now paying attention to the conversation.

Morgan held his hands up. “Harper, I didn’t say that was definitely the case! But we have people knowledgeable in things animals can do to people. Wouldn’t you like to know if it was a hunting incident or not? There have been strange things afoot in Ten Towns the last few years, and my concern is this is another of them.”

All heads turned to Harper looked at a loss. “Look, personally, I don’t want to know, maybe someone else does? This is really a question for a Speaker, not me.” There was general agreement in the room. “I’ll get Halstein, he’s the nearest thing we have — wait here a moment.” Harper raced off, and returned not long after with a tall, balding human with a long matted beard that was crawling with bees.

“So who is this claiming that Kendrick has been murdered?? Explain yourself,” Halstein boomed, his voice commanding all attention.

Morgan sighed. “My name is Morgan. I’m from Caer–Konig—”

“—Good town, Caer–Konig,” Halstein interrupted approvingly. “Don’t get out there often, what with the bees, but it’s one of the good Towns.”

“I think so,” Morgan smiled. “So I was just explaining to Harper that my travelling companions and I are currently—”

“—You think the Speaker has been murdered, that’s what’s happened,” Halstein said cutting to the chase.

“No! With all respect, Harper, that’s not what I said. We have been travelling the Towns and looking into strange things and looking into Auril’s curse—” (the entire room crossed themselves and Morgan followed suit).

Tarquin pulled out the writ with a flourish. “—and in support of my friend Morgan, we have been set with a greater task that is of interest to the Ten Towns and it is not just a coincidence that we have arrived today—”

Harper jumped at this. “—I knew it! Not a coincidence, you are going to stand for Speaker! Olivessa! Olivessa come quick!” he called to the back of the room that was becoming increasingly crowded.

Tarquin shook his head. “What I mean is it is not a coincidence that we are passing through just when a Speaker has passed,” he emphasised, “We don’t see a chance occurrence, we see the possibility of things beyond coincidence.”

Halstein looked unconvinced, turning to a newly arrived middle-aged woman with steel-grey hair. “Olivessa, Harper here thinks this man seeks his own Speakership. And they are saying Kendrick was murdered!”

Tarquin rubbed his face in frustration. “Not at all! We are just passing through.”

“Passsing through and throwing around accusations of murder!” Halstein cried.

Tarquin handed the writ to Olivessa, hoping for some wisdom from the Speaker nominee. She scanned the writ and looked up. “A write of passage from Bryn Shander and Easthaven. Interesting but it holds little weight here.”

“Do not misunderstand, we do not come here casting aspersions on your fine community. But we do find that there are strange stirrings across the Ten Towns, which has set us on a passage that takes us through Good Mead, but we mean not to dally here. But we do come, it seems, at an interesting time.”

“Indeed you have. It is not often that our Speaker is…killed,” Olivessa said. “But Halstein says you say it was murder?”

“I don’t say it, they do!” Halstein thundered.

Octavian saw an opportunity while all attention was on Morgan and Tarquin. He ducked under the blanket. The Speaker’s chest had definitely been ripped open, they were right about that much — a brutal wound exposed ribcage and shredded flesh. Could be an animal, could be a weapon. He couldn’t smell anything unusual, just ripe flesh. If it was an animal there should be remnants of bone or fur, and knowing he had only a few moments he plunged his hands deep into the wound, ripping out the softer parts he could get his hands on. He briefly considered staying under the blanket before thinking better of it. Luckily as it turned out. He emerged innocently from the blanket with a handful of viscera, relieved to find no-one paying the slightest attention to the shifting shape under the blanket.

Morgan had noticed, and did his best to keep the attention firmly away from the body. “We give our condolences on his passing,” Tarquin nodded. “My friend only raises this because of the things we have seen beyond this good town.”

“And what have you to say to that, young man?” Halstein said glaring at Morgan.

“All I was suggesting was that we’ve seen some frankly shocking things around the Ten Towns, and I was just hoping to find someone to ask permission to see if we could maybe, without any disrespect, have a look at the Speaker’s body—”

“Well let’s do that!” Halstein cried, striding toward the body. He ripped the blanket off, exposing the dead Speaker. “Looks like an animal to me?” he scowled. Some of the bees from his beard spilled down into the wound, harvesting what they found. Several townspeople turned away, but just as many gathered around to get a better look at the horror. Eearwaxx did his best to shield a nearby child, but the child was having none of it, fascinated - even Tarquin’s attempt to distract with juggling wasn’t enough.

Arlington and Jankx leaned in close. The wound was a shred, consistent with a what might be expected from a renting strike from a moose antler, Arlington deduced. Jankx pointed out several other much finer cuts, side-slashes made with more finesse than that of a wild animal. Antlers don’t have any sharp edges, implying a third party was involved.

Outside, Octavian sifted through his handfuls of innards and soon found what he was looking for. A sliver of what might be liver had reacted in a way that he would associate with strong poison — it almost looked burnt, shrivelled from contact with something very foreign. He walked inside the Shrine and caught Arlington’s eye, indicating the chest cavity.

Arlington understood, and started to reach inside the wound. “Sir! A little respect please,” Halstein protested.

“Do you wish to know the cause of this death or do you wish to remain in ignorance?” Arlington said with a side-long look at Halstein.

“If a moose ripped my chest open like that I too would be dead,” Halstein growled. “Do you deny that?”

“You may say so, sir, but until we investigate further, I am not convinced.” Arlington pointed to the fine slashes. “What part of the moose do you say caused this?”

“Teeth?”

Arlington paused for the inanity of this statement to sink in. “Teeth you say. A moose is a vegetarian my friend.”

“Not this moose! You may now know if it, but our moose is a rare white, and it has been hunting Ten Towners for months now. It is smart and no-one can catch it.”

“I am familiar with the white moose, I too have been hunting it these many months. Now if you will stand aside I will determine the cause of death!”

Olivessa stepped forward. “Halstein, let them do their work. We obviously would like to know the truth. Please continue.”

“I suggest you look away, for this may become quite gruesome,” Arlington nodded. “Octavian! Please see what you can find.”

Octavian nodded grimly and started poking about, drawing out the moment despite knowing. “Ahhh,” he said, pulling out his already-discovered sample with an (very poor, Jankx groaned) attempted sleight of hand. “Here! It’s quite obvious when you know what you’re looking for.”

A red-haired dwarf shoved through the crowd and grabbed Octavian’s wrist and holding it up in the air. “That was not from the body! You pulled that from your own pocket! He pulled this from his own pocket!” he cried to the astonished onlookers.

“Unhand me, dwarf!” Octavian cried, trying to rip his hand free. “I had already studied this body and found this: poison!”

“Kobold! Do not call me ‘dwarf’! This man is trying to poison the minds of the good people of Good Mead!!”

“UNHAND HIM!” Arlington demanded, his voice booming like a shockwave.

The dwarf recoiled back, but then growled and stepped forward again. “I will not unhand this kobold and his lies!”

“This is clear sign of poison!” Arlington said, ripping a slice of flesh free from the body. “There can be no doubt!” he cried, despite having no idea what he held aloft.

Tarquin stepped into the fray and focussed his attention on Olivessa. “It is clear that our healer,” he said indicating Octavian, “Has given his expert medical opinion, and it appears there may well be some alternate cause of death.”

“This is no healer, this is a kobold, and he secrets poison in his pockets,” the dwarf countered. Some in the crowd nodded in support.

“Sir! Stand down,” Tarquin warned.

“I will not stand down while you accuse the citizens of Good Mead of poisoning their own Speaker!”

“Sir you are not aware of the situation and I say you will stand down,” Tarquin growled. “Olivessa has seen the writ of passage that we have to pass through these Ten Towns. We are here as independent arbiters in this. We do not seek to turn any crowd any which way at this sensitive time.”

The surly dwarf turned to his audience. “I find it very interesting that you have arrived on the very eve that a new Speaker is to be selected. Five strangers — I exclude young Eearwaxx who has clearly fallen into the wrong crowd — arrive in Good Mead and accuse someone of murdering our Speaker? That can be no coincidence!”

Tarquin too turned to the crowd — and turned on the charm. “We make no such accusation! And as to our passage, good sir, we are passing through on other business. We hear there are matters of supply from Good Mead, of your good mead, and it is not of little consequence that we are passing through and asking questions — to help Good Mead, not to hinder. Beneath the veneer of a peaceful village, there may well be some dark movements at hand.”

The dwarf could sense Tarquin’s words were swaying the crowd. He released Octavian. “None the less you have come here and look what you have created. Trouble!”

Arlington had finally worked out who this was. “You sir must be Mr Froth, am I correct?”

“Indeed I am, sir. Shandar Froth. And who are you?”

“My name is Arlington Porter-Bainbridge. I come here from the south and I am a hunter of the moose myself.”

“Well then you, sir, would know that this is an injury a moose could cause. And instead of idle accusations you would better spend your time seeking revenge against the beast that has caused this tragedy.”

“My stout friend, I know exactly the opposite to be true!” Arlington declared. “I ask you this: what is it that you would have against us seeking the truth in this matter?”

“I have nothing against the truth,” Shandar said. “The truth is my byword.”

“Then stand to one side sir.”

Shandar frowned, but stepped back. “Go about your business. But if you are indeed only passing through, then pass through. For Good Mead has no time for troublemakers.” Shandar turned his back and walked away.

“We heard Good Mead was a place of welcome,” Tarquin couldn’t help himself.

Olivessa held her hands up. “It is, and it shall stay that way. But you should understand tensions are high, and Shandar is right — you have stirred things up unexpectedly.”

Tarquin nodded. “We understand, and words can run quick,” he said semi-apologetically.

“Shandar and I are both standing for Speaker, and though we have our differences, we respect one another and he is only doing the best for Good Mead, I am sure of that.”

“Well then may I suggest you have respect for the agents of Easthaven and Bryn Shander,” Arlington said.

Halstein frowned. “We respect those towns well enough, for they bigger towns than us. But we hold our own here. Your writ? We will respect it, but do not believe that gives you free reign to run riot through our town!”

“I ask not for free reign, but I ask that my man not be questioned when he says this is poison!” Octavian almost blushed at Arlington’s recognition, then returned his focus to the body and worked harder to try and work out how the poison had been applied. But the body was half-frozen, and had deteriorated somewhat despite the cold. Working out exactly what had happened would be nigh-impossible.

“What is your finding, gentlemen?” Halstein asked after a suitable time had passed. “Misadventure or something more sinister?”

“Certainly not killed by a moose,” Jankx said. “There are enough other factors to know that this was not just a moose.”

“Ah. So not just the moose, but the moose may have played a part?”

“It may have, yes. But a moose is not poisonous. A moose does not have sharpened antlers. We would love to investigate the scene of the ‘crime’ to see what else we can find.”

“By all means,” Halstein said. “Do what you must. I tell you, this is all too much for me. I am but a beekeeper. Perhaps this can wait until tomorrow when the new Speaker can decide what to do. Here we were thinking we’d have a simple election, get the mead back on track, and now— pah! I’m going back to my brewing.” He turned and stalked back to the Mead Hall.

Octavian turned to Arlington. “If the dwarf gets elected he won’t let us go and investigate!”

“So be it,” Tarquin said. “We need to respect the system in this town. And I agree with Halstein — it’s brew time.”

---

Instead of following everyone into the Mead Hall, Eearwaxx traipsed around the town knocking on doors and doing what mending he could. And at every stop he put in a few words for Olivessa, soundly ignoring Morgan’s edict to not get involved in local politics. A word here, a nudge there, and Eearwaxx felt he was tipping the balance just enough.

Most people agreed with him, though some asked him (politely) to keep his politics to himself. Those that did agree told him of Olivessa’s reluctance to run despite her popularity and her direct lineage to the town’s Chultan founders. To which Eearwaxx responded simply: “And that’s why she should,” he smiled. “She doesn’t want it, which is why we need her to. Those that want power are not the ones you want to take it.”

“But Shandar, testy as he is, he is a strong man and will be strong for Good Mead. He’ll push our case to Easthaven and Bryn Shander, and keep those Dougan’s creatures out of here. We need strength — Olivessa is not that. She is happy just making the mead casks.”

“Which is what the town is known for, and what the town needs to continue to do,” Eearwaxx said, demonstrating a wisdom beyond his years. “Which is why she would be your best choice for the future of the town.”

“What if we are overrun by Easthaven? Or if Dougan’s decides to make the Redwaters run red again?”

“They won’t. They want your mead more than they want your town.”

---

The Mead Hall was busy, all conversation centred on the upcoming decision of the Speaker — until the rumours started that maybe, just maybe, Speaker Kendrick had been murdered. Before long that’s all anyone was talking about.

Arlington eyeballed a gnarly looking hunter-type and introduced himself. The weather-beaten man nodded. “Well met, and you can call me Mountainmaster.”

“Mountainmaster. Very well, Mountainmaster. And did you accompany the Speaker on his fateful journey?”

“No. I did not accompany him. I am Mountainmaster.”

“What?”

“Gah, are you stupid, fellow? My name is Mountainmaster!”

“Yes and I’m asking you, Mountainmaster, who the late Speaker was in the habit of hunting with?”

“Himself. He liked to take care of his own business,” Mountainmaster said, before leaning back philosophically. “You know what, Mr Arlington, Speaker Kendrick used to talk to people all day, on-and-on, always something to discuss. So what he would do is pick himself up and disappear into the woods on a hunt every so often, all on his own. Kept him sane he said.”

“And do you know where he hunted?”

“Mostly in the nor’west forest. To travel any further was to travel too far.”

Arlington nodded. “So the white moose is most elusive, as you and I would both know.”

“You’re not wrong there, Mr Arlington. When we track it the trail vanishes. Few who have seen it have survived long enough to tell the tale.”

“And we also know at this time it is to be found in the wooded lands. So who was it who determined it was to be found in your woods?”

Mountainmaster hollered to a hunched figure at a nearby table. “Wisetalker! Mr Arlington here wants to know about the moose.” The white-whiskered man staggered over to the table and grunted. “Whaddayawant Mountainmaster?”

“I fear I am wasting your time,” Arlington smiled weakly, “But are you the one who sighted the moose?”

“Look, I saw a trail of gore which I followed, as you do, found a nasty, torn apart boar,” Wisetalker described the details in rather too much detail before continuing. “Nothing round these parts does that kind of slaughtering. Then I heard a rumble of hoofs, the looming shadow of huge antlers, and a flash of white in amongst the trees. I hot-footed it out of there quick smart. And I told the Speaker, of course.”

Arlington stared at the mead-filled man. “Are you familiar with the antelope that we call ‘moose’?”

“What? Yes?”

“And with what it eats?”

“Well obviously boar, from my findings.”

Arlington stared again, then passed the man a coin. “Get yourself another drink.” Wisetalker tipped his hat and swayed off to the bar.

Octavian slipped a note over to Arlington when he returned to the table. The great hunter opened it and read: “Maybe it’s an owlbear.” He slid over to the druid. “Are owlbears poisonous?”

“I don’t know,” Octavian groaned.

Tarquin meanwhile had been working the room and talking to Halstein, and he felt the tension and perhaps unsettled fear that the rumour of murder had raised. With a nod of approval from the barkeep, he settled onto a stool on the raised performance platform and cleared his throat. “This reminds me of a story I once heard,” he called out, drowning the last of his mead as he begun.

“Owlbear!” Arlington yelled from the back of the room.

Tarquin saluted and continued, stretching the story into pantomime. Morgan joined Tarquin side of stage, playing along to enhance the stories weave. The crowd grew as the performance did, Tarquin milking the drama as only he could. At the conclusion the audience burst into applause and tankards of ale were freely provided. “To the good people of Good Mead!” Tarquin toasted as Morgan continued to play and raise the spirits. He sensed the town’s mourning rituals tended more to a celebratory wake than a sombre affair, and he was proven right. A lot of mead and a lot of dancing, and a lot of toasts to Speaker Kendrick.

Arlington settled in with Jankx and the panting Tarquin, two sides of his investigative coin, with Octavian the third edge. “What’s our next move here? Do we need to know what happened?”

“My thoughts, my good friend, is that we should keep our eye on the prize,” Tarquin said. “Good Mead is not a destination, we are merely passing through. The politics of this town should not be of our interest. Surely if there has been foul play it is just another notch, another story, another stanza in our tale.”

“Jankx?”

“I do think we may want to know,” Jankx said thoughtfully. “I also have no interest in the politics of this town, but I am concerned as to what has killed this man. And that probably is worth knowing. It may not be easy for us to find out, and we should not hang everything on that. But I would like to see the place his body was discovered.”

Arlington nodded. “This I know about animals: those that have poison? They poison. Those that have giant teeth and claws? They use their giant teeth and claws. If the wound appears to be both, then one is attempting to obscure the other.”

“I completely agree,” Jankx said, “I think this is definitely foul play, and I think it is unlikely to be an animal.”

“Actually,” Octavian piped up softly, “A creature who does that is venomous, not poisonous? Poison is only if you eat it?”

Everyone turned to incredulously look at Octavian, who sunk deeper into his hood. He had only been keeping half an ear on Arlington’s conversation, his focus trained squarely on the table were Shandar Froth sat with his supporters. The dwarf was friendly with all that visited him, but his attention was squarely on Olivessa and Arlington’s table. Shandar was no fool, Octavian decided, keeping his enemies close.

Tarquin returned to the stage to play and sing alongside Tarquin. Morgan played the crowd like a fine instrument, riding their emotional swells, taking them to joyous highs and sobbing lows when arms were linked and sing-alongs joined. The mournful song was one from his home, that none here knew, but the truth of his melody struck each listener deeply.

Shortly before the speeches were due to being, Olivessa joined Arlington and Jankx. “Your friends are very talented,” she said, just as Tarquin, who had one too many meads, completely missed Morgan’s lead on a boisterous melody.

“You know, I tend to agree with what my friend Shandar said. It is no coincidence that you are here, is it?”

“It is in fact, my lady,” Arlington said with a small bow of his head. “We have arrived here on an errand unrelated.”

“Certainly there are forces at work that are beyond our planning,” Jankx added.

“That is true,” Olivessa smiled wryly. “I am standing for Speaker, but I do not want to be Speaker.” She glanced over at Shandar who was watching intently. “But I do not want Mr Froth to be Speaker either.”

“Is that the only reason you are standing?” Arlington asked.

“Pretty much,” she sighed.

“Why do you not want him as Speaker?” Octavian asked.

“Shandar is a good man, mostly. But I believe he is…compromised.”

“By?”

“I don’t know. But he disappears once every month, for a few days, then returns full of plans and ideas for Good Mead. Not all of them that I agree with. He says he goes back home to his valley, but I don’t know that that is true.”

“Do you know that it is not true?” Arlington pressed.

Olivessa looked down at her feet. “Kendrick had him followed once.”

Jankx leaned back and laughed softly. The plot thickens!

Arlington lowered his voice as much as he could and leaned in. “You know that it is absolutely true that Kendrick did not die of his injuries.” Jankx nodded instant affirmation.

“I am no medic, and I trust those that found the body. But…perhaps you are right, perhaps you are right,” she sighed.

“I am no medic either, but this man before me,” Arlington said glancing at Octavian, “Knows more about the comings and goings of the body than you or I. And if he tells me that this was not the act of a moose but was poison…then it is fact.”

“Poison, or burning, but not moose,” Octavian corrected nervously.

“If you are right then all the reason I must stand,” Olivessa said as she stood.

“If you think that this dwarf is compromised in any way,” Jankx agreed, “Then I think you may have a greater duty than you know to the town. And with what we have discovered today — which is not to say Shandar is in any way connected — but there is something worrying happening here. It further adds to the need to have someone with the right attitude.”

“You are right. It was silly of me. I don’t suppose either of your entertainers would like to stand? They are very popular just at this moment.”

“Why would you have a young man from Caer–Konig as the Speaker for Good Mead?”

“It would be better than me,” Olivessa sighed.

“Why? You are from a family that has been in Good Mead for unknown generations.”

“That is true. But I like to make casks. To bring the mead to the people.”

“What is the difference between making a cask, and making a community? Do you not heat the timbers and bend them to your will? And strap the iron around them?

Olivessa stood straighter, taller, Arlington’s words stirring something inside her. “Perhaps you are right, Mr Arlington. Perhaps it is my duty.”

“Wrap your arms around the community like you wrap the bands of metal around the casks,” Arlington urged, his words seeming to be inspired by Tarquin’s very thoughts.

“You speak with great wisdom. I will stand! It is not a burden I wish to take on at my age, but we do what we must.”

“You are still young, m’lady, and handsome at that!” Arlington cheered.

“I know I am not, but thank you, sir,” Olivessa smiled. “Now excuse me, gentlemen, I must prepare my speech.”

---

The moment Olivessa left, Shandar jumped to his feet and made his way over. He placed both fists on the table and looked at Arlington. “So. When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow,” Octavian snapped.

“You said you were only ‘passing through’. So I ask again: when are you leaving?”

“We have to investigate the murder site, Shandar,” Octavian growled.

“No you don’t.”

Both Octavian and Eearwaxx found the dwarf infuriating. And both didn’t want to waste any time arguing, so they each tried to control the candidates thought, unbeknownst to the other.

Shandar shook his head for a moment then turned to face Octavian. “Tomorrow you say?”

“Well. We are going to — tomorrow. After the election and after our investigation.”

Shandar nodded. “That makes sense. That makes good sense.”

“You might just want to drink up, and relax,” Octavian hinted, knowing his charm had taken effect.

“Good advice. I’ll drink up, and prepare my speech. Thank you.”

“Before you go,” Eearwaxx said, also pleased his spell had worked, “Where do you go each month when you leave town?”

Shandar frowned, deep creases on his forehead. “I go home to the Valley,” he growled, “And you’d do well to stay out of business that is not yours, young wizard.”

“You mean where the dwarves go?”

“Enough questions,” Shandar said. “I have one for you: where did you hear this information?”

“Oh I just heard you went off each month. I thought you went hunting?” Eearwaxx said innocently.

“I think you should mind your own business,” Shandar said. “Perhaps zip your tongue.”

“You don’t go hunting?”

“Stop. Now,” Shandar said threateningly. He turned back to Octavian. “So I’ll take my drink, and see you tomorrow?”

Octavian nodded and smiled as Shandar departed.

“That was awkward and strange,” Arlington observed.

“They should do the election now,” Octavian urged. “He will know I have charmed him before long.”

“They cannot. The speeches and debate are tonight, the election tomorrow.”

Octavian paled. “In which case I will make myself scarce.”

---

As the candidates were preparing, Octavian procured rooms upstairs and ensconced himself therein. Eearwaxx setup a table in a corner of the room and encouraged everyone to bring anything that needed fixing, continuing his proselytising as he did. He even went as far as telling everyone Olivessa was funding the free mending he was doing. He also tried to find out what was going on with the hives, but everyone referred him to Halstein.

Several hours later Halstein stepped up and called the room to order. The Mead Hall was full, with many patrons well in their cups and fairly rowdy. The two candidates were presented.

“Meadsmen and Meadswomen! We have two candidates to step into the snowboots of our dearly beloved but now late Speaker Kendrick Rielsbarrow,” Halstein boomed out to shouted toasts. “First up: the fiery logger Shandar Froth, a stalwart citizen of our great town. He has fortified our defences, he has promoted our abilities to the overbearing towns to the North, and he has kept Dougan’s Hole at bay.”

A smattering of applause greeted Shandar as he stood and bowed.

“And everyone knows our other candidate: Olivessa Untapoor! Direct descendant of our Chultan founders, an unbroken family lineage over centuries in Good Mead. Maker of the casks that hold the holy mead — and they are fine casks.” More cheers and raised tankards from the audience.

“Now, do not let me influence you in any way,” Halstein warned. “Each candidate must present their case, and then answer questions — questions, not statements, I must warn — before we all retire for the vote in the morn. First up: meadswoman Olivessa Untapoor!”

The caskmaker spoke quietly but firmly, not saying a word against Shandar nor hinting at any wrongdoing. She talked of the history of her family, her deep love of Good Mead and the work the community did. She wrapped up her speech echoing Arlington’s words: “So I ask you, fellow meadsmean and women: let me wrap my arms around you like the iron that wraps my casks. I will be strong where I need be, bring the warmth of the mead, and together we will craft a Township that is proud to bear the name Good Mead!”

The cheers were deafening, songs of celebration breaking out and yells of support. There was a lot of love in the room. Eearwaxx reflected with satisfaction that his motivational words had played some small part. Octavian listened from the landing above, smiling. How could she lose?

Shandar stood and the room quietened. His speech was stern and strong, full of fire and passion. He spoke of the encroachment of Easthaven, “who believe they stand above us, their tendrils reaching ever deeper into Good Mead — look at the bees!”. People nodded and growled. He continued on in this vein, promising to make Good Mead as strong — or stronger! — than Easthaven and even Bryn Shander.

“There is one final thing I would like to raise, loathe though I am to raise a controversy,” Shandar said, glancing over to Olivessa. “But I feel it is my duty to do so. As you all know, we have had some visitors to this town, who arrived this very day,” he stared over at Arlington’s table.

Arlington felt the ground wobble beneath his feet — and not from the mead. He glanced at Morgan and Tarquin who sat bold upright, ready for whatever was to come. Jankx had unfastened his knives.

“They claim to only be ‘passing through’,” Shandar explained. “They say they came only to pass the time before moving on. And yet while they ‘rest’, they accuse someone here of murder. They say our much beloved Speaker was murdered. Their small kobold, who is nowhere to be seen I notice, claims that Kendrick was poisoned. But I caught this kobold red-handed, planting evidence on Kendrick’s dead body!”

Jankx tightened his grip on his weapons as Octavian groaned upstairs and a gasp rocked the room that was now totally in Shandar’s thrall. A tale of murder and conspiracy!

“And what is more,” Shandar continued, “I know that not an hour ago, that same distrustful kobold used his dark magicks on me! On me, I say! A citizen of Good Mead, a candidate for Speaker! He dug into my mind and controlled my actions such that I could not resist his scaly charms! For make no mistake, had I not been so charmed I would have cast him and his cronies from Good Mead!!” The crowd yelled at this, some standing and demanding some indefinable thing. Halstein was forced to intervene, calling for calm and quiet before Shandar could continue.

“Now I am not one to cast aspersions unnecessarily, but Olivessa was speaking to said company only moments before my mind was abused in this way. Put two-and-two together and you will see there is something not right about this crew that have arrived from out of nowhere, and now try to steal this election for Olivessa. Their wizard had made no secret of their support. I ask you: why? Why their sudden appearance on this night of all nights? Why do they use foul magiks on the citizenry of Good Mead? What is their dark secret and why do they throw their lot behind Olivessa?!”

Eearwaxx leapt to his feet and onto the table. “You are a liar!!” he cried, pointing an angry finger at Shandar. The crowd were bewitched.

Morgan stood too, hand raised. “What do you say in your defence?” Shandar asked.

“We don’t have to say anything, other than that sounds like something you have made up. What proof do you have?”

“Do you deny that your black-skinned kobold used his magiks on me to control my very thoughts and actions?”

“Not as far as I know,” Morgan said defensively.

“‘Not as far as you know’,” Shandar mocked. “A strong defence!” he said to laughter from the crown.

“I repeat: you are a liar!” Eearwaxx blurted, his fury rising. He had no idea Octavian had cast anything, only knowing his own spell had not worked out.

“You accuse me of lying, and yet you will not let me have my own free thoughts? I call on the people of Good Mead to decide for themselves!” Shandar’s eyes gleamed as he turned the attention of the restless crowd back to Arlington and his companions. “There is more! These men come carrying a writ. And can you guess what names lie upon that writ? I will tell you: Easthaven! Bryn Shander! Is any more evidence needed that these men are foreign agents working against Good Mead! Need I say more!!”

The crowd roared at this, the frustration of generations being overlooked and downtrodden by their larger neighbours bubbling dangerously to the surface. yells of ‘get out, leave, traitors’ echoed around the room. Olivessa and Halstein yelled for calm, trying to settle the fractious room and eventually receiving it.

“Shandar makes grave accusations,” Halstein said firmly, “But they are only that: accusations. Olivessa is inno way implicated in what he accuses, remember that well. As tradition demands, we will have questions for our candidates, and may I suggest we get this controversy out of the way early on. Questions started firing in from the audience, almost all about the influence of Easthaven, murder, and Shandar’s accusations. Olivessa did her best to calm frayed nerves, and slowly the anger leached out of the room, replaced by muttered discontent.

Eventually Halstein turned to Arlington’s table. “Gentlemen, you are accused, but you may speak — questions only. The floor is yours.” he said turning to Arlington. A hush of expectation quietened the room.

“I want justice!” Eearwaxx cried. “I want him — I have mended a lot of things today, do you want me to start breaking them instead?!”

“Stop! Now is not the time,” Tarquin hissed, trying urgently to dissuade the young wizard. Eearwaxx grumbled and reluctantly sat as Arlington stood.

“I would say something,” the great hunter announced. He produced the controversial writ and brandished it to the crowd. “We come here with a writ. This writ is not to persuade you to elect one speaker over another—”

“—A writ from Easthaven! A writ from Bryn Shander!” the audience cried.

“A writ that has been acknowledged by both these towns,” Arlington thundered. “For the purpose of ridding this region of the winter! The winter that has denied you your hives, and your bees, and your mead! That is what we come here for!”

“The winter cannot be denied,” Halstein said, to nods from Olivessa.

“Those that say the winter cannot be denied are complicit in the winters continuance,” Arlington declared.

“Be that as it may, we are not here for speeches,” Halstein warned. “Ask your questions or be silent.”

“Can I pose this question: do you deny that the Speaker was poisoned?”

There was silence. “That is yet to be decided,” Halstein said eventually. “The Speaker will decide that.”

“Exactly!” Octavian yelled from upstairs, unable to restrain himself. A few heads turned to look, but Octavian was wisely out of sight.

“The Speaker will not decide that, the truth will decide!” Arlington cried.

“We do not know, that is your answer. Next question?”

Tarquin stood. “It seems that our timing has caused some concern that we are here for ill-will. So the question I ask is: do you have evidence that Bryn Shander and Easthaven are working against you?” Silence greeted this question too. “For we are just passing through. Happenstance has brought us here today. We ask you, beyond our presence, what but the words of malingerers and those that seek to have their poison in your ears, what evidence do you have? I look around and see this fine, fine town. I cannot see the taint of other Ten Towns, be they big, be they powerful. Here I see a strong community. Do not worry about what happens beyond your borders. I say again: do you have evidence, or is there something of the stoking of jealousies that you need not be concerning yourself with?”

Tarquin sat, satisfied and feeling that many of the listening crowd were with him. An appeal to the innate strength of the Good Mead community was a powerful message.

Shandar stood next. “Do I have evidence? Where is your kobold friend? If you are innocent, if he is innocent, why is he not here? Do I have evidence?” He pointed at Arlington, at Tarquin, at Morgan, at Jankx, and at the smouldering Eearwaxx, and counted. “One, two, three, four, five. There is my evidence!”

As he smirked triumphantly, the missing sixth piece of ‘evidence’ emerged and strode down the stairway. A carpet of leaves trailed behind Octavian as he descended in a glow of druidic power. He stood in front of Shandar Froth and pointed his gnarled staff. “I come for nature! And you are not of nature, dwarf! There is something evil at work here, and I will find out what that is — for I am dragonborn!!” Octavian cried, pulling back his hood and thumping his staff to the ground. It echoed with a boom around the Mead Hall, enhanced by a small enchantment from a grinning Tarquin who appreciated Octavian’s magnificent stagecraft.

“Foul magiks!” Shandar cried in return. “Once again they employ their tricks and deceptions against us!”

“They are not magics, they are natures blessings! And you are without! That is what you fear — you are not of this town, you are a latecomer and interloper! Olivessa is of the roots of this town, the very foundations built upon her blood and toil!! And now you, latecomer, bringing this town down and destroying the bees! And that is why Auril curses this place!!”

The audience was in deep shock, reeling and gasping at each of Octavian’s revelations, rocking as Tarquin’s booms followed Octavian’s words.

“I fight the curse, and you do not! You simper and politic while Good Mead suffers!”

Shandar was stunned. He rocked back on his feet. “What…of course I am of nature…” he glanced around the crowd nervously, “I am a miner! I…this, this is absurd, I…”

“You stammer with guilt, dwarf!”

“Do you deny that you controlled my mind!” Shandar tried desperately.

“I deny NOTHING! For when I see a curse I root it out!!” BOOM!

Halstein staggered to his feet. “You do not deny it? But then why??”

“Nature did it!” Octavian cried. “There is a problem with the bees, there is a problem with the cold, and there is a problem with that dwarf!”

Jankx started to genuinely hope Shandar did kill the speaker, given the brutality of Octavian’s attack.

Shandar could barely speak. “Don’t listen…I have nothing to do…this is…remember Easthaven! Remember Bryn Shander!” he cried as he forced his way through the crowd and retreated outside.

“Do you feel that?” Octavian asked the crowd, “Do you sense how the curse has lifted a bit? That nature is now at home here? A round for everyone!”

Cheers went up from the crowd — finally something that made sense. And then immediately the room burst into excited conversation. An election night like no other! One for the history books!

Arlington turned to the table with a huge grin. “Maybe he is the greatest kobold ever to have lived!”

---

Session played: Oct 10 2022

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