RP Session 3: "The Diemen Gambit"

Pavel indulged in a small growl of frustration -- something he would never do had there been anyone present to witness the tacit admission of defeat. But, alone, and in the privacy of his own residence, he could at least admit to himself that he lacked a clear understanding of the full meaning behind his prophetic vision. The power of foresight was wasted on one who could only retrospectively find meaning in a vision.

Perhaps I will discover its meaning in the near future, he thought. There is yet time to make use of it.

He made a non-committal grunt in response to the thought and then firmly put the topic out of his mind. He had work to do.

Pavel packed his travel bag and then walked down two flights of stairs, bringing him his ground floor shop. His hireling, Shurhandt, had left a couple of hours ago, extinguishing the lights and locking the doors behind him. "Creo Ignem," he muttered, threading his words with the barest hint of mebhaighl. In response, a nearby candelabra flickered to life, providing Pavel with just enough light to safely navigate the room. He opened a closet and retrieved a kit containing a variety of blank parchments, pens, inks, and seals -- everything he needed to enable him to attempt to protect his friend by means of some clever misdirection. Many Anuirians had the strange notion that misdirection was somehow dishonorable.

Pavel rolled his eyes at the thought. At least Erron did not ascribe to such a foolish notion.

Although Pavel considered himself a man of honour and culture, the blood of the forgotten Vos of old was still in his veins, and regardless of what his people in the far distant steppes had become the magic of deception was as much a part of him as eye or hand. Using illusion, misdirection, and deceit to protect one's friends or family or to fool one's enemies... not only was such behaviour acceptable, if done with flair it was considered art in the right circles. He wasn't sure the exact form his subterfuge would take. But he'd lose nothing in the trying.

Pavel placed the kit on the desk at the front of the shop before exiting the shop. Standing in the doorway, he glanced over his shoulder. "Perdo Ignam," he said in a stern voice. The small fires of the candelabra meekly winked out of existence. Pavel nodded his approval and left the shop, re-locking the door behind him.

He had arrangements to make.

The group found themselves on a relatively wide and well-cobbled street. Behind them was a walled property that commanded the entirety of the block. Within the walls were several buildings. Although no gates were visible on this street, the group had passed a large gate just around the corner and signs out front had proclaimed the enclave to be the property of the Port of Call Exchange, a local guild with ties to the land of Khinasi.

In front of the group was a stone-wrought three-story building that was divided into three separate units, each with its own ground-floor shop. The first was a barber's shop. The second, a tailor and clothier. The third shop -- the one Erron indicated as their destination -- had a sign out front proclaiming it to be 'Pavel's Hovel' and advertising the blazon 'Soothsayer.'

The street was only dimly lit at this time of night and all of the shops had placards in the windows that read 'Closed'. But light spilled from a lantern placed in front of Pavel's Hovel, almost as if it were waiting for them.

Naught but a moment later, the door to the shop opened, light spilling out into the street. A head peaked out but, with the light behind it, was little more than a silhouette. "Good, you are here," a voice said in a conspiratorial whisper. "There is a post at the back of the building where you can tie your horses. I need your help attending to one last bit of business before we go. The rear entrance is open."

Pavel conferred with Erron for a few minutes, allowing his friend to get him up to speed on the group's situation. In just a handful of minutes, he was packed and ready to go. He and Erron took the rear exit and Pavel locked the back door behind him. He retrieved his horse from the stable adjacent to the inn at the far end of the street, quickly returning to lead the group onward to the awaiting ferry.

Lancaelad had been in a foul mood since their narrow escape from what might have been the Rabbit Prince's vedettes – or merely poachers on the baroness' lands. He had scraped the worst of the river-muck off with the blade of his hand, but he was still caked in cold, slowly drying mud and tufted with bits of reeds and roots that made him look like some shambling bog-monster atop his steed. He shifted in the saddle constantly, squelching, but thankfully he seemed dour enough that his tongue was kept sheathed instead of lashing out at the others in the party.

As the passed north around Proudglaive he cast wistful glances at the brooding basalt-walled hulk of Castle Blacktower watching over the city. His thoughts turned to the warm fires and soft beds that would await him there... but no. They had come so far under cover of anonymity, had accomplished such a portion of the task set to them by their own craft that it would be senseless to reveal themselves now. No matter how homely those grim turrets looked...

The night's chill began to penetrate his bones, and his nerves were worn from constant vigilance as Erron lead them in to Sorren's Landing. As the reached the place that the sign proclaimed Pavel's Hovel (how inspiring...) he eyed the uncommonly tall, lanky man. His features were foreign, but he was strangely well-groomed for a Vos; the tales portrayed them as howling savages from the frozen sunless north, riding whitehaired lizards of enormous size and ferocity. A people born to strife and winter that even the Emperor Roele had been unable to vanquish.

"You are the fortune-teller Erron spoke of?" he asked dubiously, raising a muddy gauntlet to stifle a yawn. "A Vos magician seems a contradiction in terms." He frowned at the request. "What business is this? OUR purpose is urgent, I will have you know. We have assassins hounding our heels, and even this backwater sump may house spies and infiltrators wearing friendly garb... why, we fended off a small army of men disguised as guards in Bardenhold, not to mention killers on the docks of Abbadiel and informants all the way to the baroness' court..." Nevertheless, he dismounted as he complained, eager give his soggy arse and cramped legs a respite from Ogre's girth.

Pavel returned Lancaelad's gaze with a look of stoicism that was marred by the briefest hints of compassion.

"Indeed, I am a Soothsayer," he said with no hint of a Vos accent. "A contradiction?" he asked in confusion. Apparently he did not understand the Anuirian tongue as well as he spoke it. "Ah, yes, I would seem so," he agreed.

Pavel looked Lan over from head to tow. "Perdo terram.. perdo terram..perdo terram.." he chanted a half-dozen times. Each time the mage spoke, Lan felt.. less itchy. He then offered a small bow to Lancaelad, who had been stripped of the dirt and grime discomforting him. "Forgive my presumption," he said with a quarter-grin. "I can put it back if you prefer?"

"I am already packed and ready to go, I foresaw both your coming and your need. Well, actually, I got Erron's letter. The business I intend to .. well.. attend to .. is your business, good Sir. You have people following you. I thought I should do something about that."

"I imagine it would be easier to avoid muddy patches of road ahead of you," Pavel said, nodding sagely, "if you're not too busy looking over your shoulder at people following behind you." And, with that, blame for Lancaelad's previously unkempt state had been firmly placed where it belonged -- on the scoundrels who had been harassing the group since Abbadiel.

"Please" Erron interjected as swiftly as he could, scanning the darkened street "any watcher will be expecting their quarry to dash for the ferry. We are not pursued, let us measure our pace. If there are to be questions let us ask them indoors. Out of sight of any eyes that might be bought for a drink or two."

Then he paused as if realising what Pavel said. "Wait, you plan to accompany us?"

Pavel looked up and down the street to be sure he hadn't disturbed any of his neighbors. He then stood back and made a welcoming gesture, noting that Lancaelad wasn't the only one showing signs of a day's ride after fording a small river.

Pavel looked at Erron with shock on his face before laughing at Erron's hilarious joke. "You're are teasing of me," he said with a thick Vos accent. "Of course I will accompany you. If I do not go, you will die." He knew Erron well enough to he had the young noble's attention. "Because, surely you know that if you put yourself in harm's way without giving me the chance to repay the lifedebt I owe you, honor would demand that I kill you, myself." Pavel allowed the full weight of Vos logic to sink in.

A moment later, he broke the silence with good-natured laughing. Speaking perfectly in the Anuirian tongue once more he said, "I'm just kidding," he said lightly. "I know you would never put me in such a position."

"And, even if honor didn't demand I accompany you, Fate commands me to join in your efforts to save the Red Hart -- although that is more difficult to explain. Something about faceless people and a large bird of prey -- an eagle or hawk or some such. I am confident that Fate will loosen its grip on such secrets in the fullness of time."

Pavel politely greets anyone who chooses to enter his shop and offers them the same courtesy he recently extended to the now-sparkly-clean Lancaelad.

Upon entering Pavel's Hovel, you can immediately tell that it caters to a high-end clientele. No merchandise displays are to be seen, not a single item appears to be for sale. The front of the shop consists of a well appointed sitting area with a couch and a small table. On the other side of the space sits a large, sturdy desk made of dark mahogany and a comfortable chair behind it. They are positioned such that when one is seated at the desk, one's back is to the wall -- most likely used by Pavel and his staff when open for business.

The middle of the shop's consists of a wide hall that connects the front and the back. There is a door on each side of the hall, middle is empty but made slighty more narrow by what appeared to be a small closet on each side. A pair of sliding wooden privacy panels can be closed to separate the front of the shop from its rear but both panels are currently open.

The rear of the shop consists of a large round rug on which sits a large but low-built wood table built of a dark mahogany that matches the desk in front. In order to sit around the table, one must sit on the floor in the traditional Khinasi-style. Strewn around the table on the floor are piles of cushions and pillows to ensure one's experience at the table is a comfortable one.

It is to the round table in the back that Pavel directs his guests to since the sitting room is not large enough to accommodate everyone. Pavel sits himself at his customary spot, his back to a small hearth, currently unlit.

"If you wish to rest for the night, you are welcome to stay upstairs. The second floor is completely bare. No furniture, just a wood floor. But you're welcome to it should that be your desire. My sense is that you will be wanting to leave before that, no?"

Pavel considers everything he has heard thusfar. Wizards had a reputation for being intelligent and Pavel did nothing to dispel that stereotype. Paper, quill, ink were on the table waiting patiently to be used. He began using them.

"So, you managed to pick up some unwanted attention, have you?" he said slowly even as he was composing a letter. "An veritable army, was it? And spies in the royal court, too?" He looked over the message he had written with a critical eye. "How exciting!"

After some consideration, he continued writing. "Well, it sounds like these people have put a great deal of effort into finding you. Perhaps such hard work should be rewarded?"

Pavel finished writing. "Muto aquam," he whispered, causing the ink to dry on the parchment. "We must send a message to the Baroness, of course, warning her of the unwanted eyes in her court. But, if there as many people searching for you as you say, surely such a message would surely be intercepted. If the message happened to lead them astray, well, it'd be their fault for reading it in the first place. So, if you allow, I shall shroud a letter of warning with illusion. Should anyone other than the Baroness lay eyes upon it, it shall read thusly."

Pavel holds out the parchment he'd been working on, offering it to any who care to look at it.

Lan grunted in surprise and discomfort as the muck was magically schlorped off him. He started angrily towards Pavel, then paused, testing out his non-squelching boots and cling-free tabard. Good gods, he hadn't felt so clean since the time his mother had found him energetically mucking out the stables in his Haelyn's Festival best doublet and had the scullery maids scrub him down in the kitchen. He licked his teeth and smacked his lips - "Mint?" he muttered, bemused.

"No, no," the young knight held up a sparking clean gauntlet to forestall a reimmersion in grime. Like most Anuireans, he had no distrust of magic per se; court magicians and battle-mages trained at the Imperial Colleges of Sorcery were held in high esteem. Spells of bewitchment and entrancement might be a violation of a man's Haelyn-given autonomy, but there was nothing wrong with a cleaning cantrip. "In the future, cast not your spells on me without permission..." he glanced up at the sign, "... Master Pavel. But the refreshment was most welcome."

He glanced between Erron and Pavel as they spoke about a life debt, then helped Adalric Salien down from his mount. "Have you made out what that relic of old you recovered from the mire is, Master Salien?" he asked conversationally, before directing as many of the band as seemed practicable to join them indoors, starting with Lady Tovrunn and the Rhoderick of the Sea Watch, with those of lower station as room allowed.

"I will admit the road has left us weary, but I would prefer to rest on the riverboat, or even to find refuge on the Medoerean bank," he said, glancing between Pavel, Erron and Rhodri. "Is the vessel ready to receive us now, or must we wait until morning?"

Lowering himself onto a cushion with a clink of maille, he watched with curiousity as Pavel prepared the pernicious parchment. He read the illusionary document with knotted brows, which relaxed as he understood. "A cunning ruse! But a hundred gold crowns? I warrant a far higher ransom than that!" He stroked his beard, which felt as smooth as if it had been freshly lathered. "We would need a boisterous and loose-lipped messenger to ensure the message is intercepted. Our foes may be many, but I doubt they are so well placed as to snare every passing pigeon. Does anyone know of a suitable bearer?"

"Of course, of course.. how much would be a suitable amount? I'm sorry, the idea of ransom is not one that I am accustomed to." It went without saying that Vos typically enslave people they capture.

"If no one suitable comes to mind, I can always leave instructions for one of my staff deliver the missive for us. One of my helpers is a well-travelled halfling who is naturally both boisterous and fairly loose-lipped. I can specifically give him permission to stop by a few taverns along the way. He'd get the hint."

"Oh, incidentally.. when we were outside, did I hear someone mention a relic?" A look of abject curiosity betrayed the young mage's thoughts before Vos stoicism reasserted itself. His blue eyes, almost seemed to flash and flicker. It was as if the dark blue of his eyes' irises slightly drained away, making them appear several shades lighter and then they almost-but-not-quite glowed with a pearlescent sheen.

Though her ride from the edge of the river to Sorren's Landing had been decidedly more comfortable than her husband-to-be's, that did not mean necessarily that Tovrunn was at ease when they arrived. After all, being chased by assailants unknown in number did little to calm the nerves. Not for the first time Tovrunn felt a primal connection to the fox at bay.

Entering the establishment and lowering her hood, Tovrunn evaluates the scholarly Vos with a critical eye before doing the same with the interior of his establishment, capping off her cursory investigation with a nod of approval. Following the troupe into the back room, Tovrunn knelt and waited. It was good to take the weight off of her feet and she was stiff from the saddle. But comfort was not a priority now, no matter how welcome it was. There was business to attend to still.

"Salien here stumbled upon something when we crossed the Elvenmere," Tovrunn explained, speaking for the first time in hours. "He was quite insistent that we not leave it behind. We have not yet had the time to examine it closely, however. If it would not inconvenience you..."

Tovrunn leaves the question open.

"Your man is as good as any to carry a letter intended for our enemies," she said. Like the Vos, the Rjurik were not above misdirection when it was warranted. After all, it would do no good for raiders to announce their approach. "I'd caution him to be wary; these hounds at our heels are vicious and prone to violence. The less personal connection that he can speak to, the better. For his sake."

"I thought you had a people looking for you. Are you saying they all want to kill you, too?"

Apparently they did things differently in Vosgaard because Pavel looked truly surprised by the notion that a spy would actually kill someone. Of course, Vos weren't exactly masters of spycraft. But, then, neither were they masters of spellcraft. And, yet, here he is. Clearly Pavel was not your stereotypical North-Easterner.

Pavel had no immediate answer for Tovrunn. He simply turned to Erron with a silent appeal for his input.

Salien seemed bemused by the intrigues in which he had found himself embroiled, though getting off the silent street and whatever eyes the night held at least loosened his frown a little. He frowned at Lancaelad's question, hand going to his belt where the gnarled hunks of metal were tucked. "No it just... it didn't belong in the swamp. I suppose we could leave it with someone... it's well enough where it is though."

Pavel's keen examination seemed only to make the man less comfortable, and he took an unconscious step away from the seer.

Erron meanwhile considered the message. "Not much opportunity for interception a mere hour south, and I don't know that we could have reached the woods so swiftly... which might work in our favour. What if one of your assistants were to make their way to Thoeren's Landing and commission a messenger there? The message would travel back by river in the hands of a third party, depending upon the curiosity of river folk and couriers both."

The nondescript man paused, his eyes darting in thought as if weaving threads into a tapestry in his mind's eye. "I think that we can be quite certain that we were not pursued here at least." He glanced at Rhoderick "that woman on the swamp's edge must surely have been watching the roads for us, and had she not believed your ruse brother Rhoderick we would not have rode the rest of the day unmolested. Nor was she watching the swamps, or our lie would not have been enough to allay suspicion. Can we even say that they know our destination?"

"Let us wait until the town is abed - no sense leaving gossip of a late night crossing behind us in a small town - we will leave instruction for this missive to go north tomorrow, and then we will cross in to Medoere and find some hayloft to lay our heads for a few hours while we pray that our trail cools. What say you all?"

"That sounds like a good plan of action to me," Tovrunn admitted. Erron's logic was strong, and like they had trusted her to navigate the wilderness of the Elvenmere, she should trust Erron to lead their subterfuge here.

Pavel nodded in agreement with the Druidess. "A good plan," he echoed.

"You are a Disciple of Irakhan?" Pavel asked Tovrunn, "Aeric?" he quickly corrects himself, using the nature god's proper Anuirian name. "Would you care to examine this relic with me?" Pavel made a point to keep both of his hands gently clasped behind his back, making no move to take or even touch the item, himself. "Goodman Salien, would you mind holding the item in the light so we may examine what you found?"

Although his hands had been empty a moment ago, one of them now held a magnifying glass and brought it up to one eye, intending to look for any inscriptions, symbols, or any other similar etchings that could possibly be used to identify the relic. The magnifying glass conveniently (if dimly) emitted a soft glow and was clearly magical in nature.

He still had his other hand behind his back, wanting to assure Salien that his interest was academic in nature.

He turned back to Tovrunn for a moment, "Shall we take a look?" he asked with no hint of humor in his voice. Clearly he had no idea how he appeared with the magnifying glass held in front of his face.

"Show the goodman" said Rhoderick, cracking a huge yawn poorly concealed behind a fist. "I itch to get back to the water, even if for a short while."

Uncharacteristically, Ser Lancaelad nodded in silent assent to the plan. Even a few hours rest would be welcome. He watched the divination with some slight interest, but his attention was more on the object or objects themselves. What had Salien pulled from the mud? An old sword? A shield boss? A buckle or cloak pin?

"Food would be welcome," he added, echoing Rhoderick's yawn.

With a shrug Slien produced the two pieces of metal from his belt and offered them hesitantly.

Corson leaned against the wall next to the door, watching silently as the others talked.

"Erik," Tovrunn gently re-corrects, using her own people's pronunciation. "He has many names, but among my people he's known as Erik."

Glancing at Salien, who had seemingly given his consent by producing the items in question, Tovrunn nodded. "We might as well, while we have the time," she said. "I am not particularly skilled at drawing forth secrets from worked iron, but perhaps together we can divine any traces of magic that may be found."

Pavel and Tovrunn took turns looking at the relic and then compared notes. He shared his findings with her, confident he had unearthed what few secrets could be gleaned through a visual investigation. He then turned to the rest of the group to share their findings but a quick gesture from Tovrunn told him she had something to add to his apparently notso-100%-comprehensive investigative report.

A quick back and forth conversation ensued that ended with an expression on his face that landed somewhere between astonishment and admiration. "Bronze? Why, yes, I think you're right!"

Pavel turned to Lancaelad. "She's absolutely brilliant!" he said. "How lucky you must feel to soon belong to such a woman!" Back to Tovrunn, "If you were not already committed to becoming a Lady of the Knight, you could have had a fine life as a magician's assistant."

Pavel then took a few minutes to share their findings with the rest of the group.

As people begin to settle in to wait for a more appropriate time to go to the ferry, Pavel notices Corson casually leaning up against a wall and moves to stand beside him perhaps a half-dozen feet away. Pavel attempts to mimic Corson's casual stance.

"So, ah, Corson is it? You keep an eye on Salien for his own protection. Is this not so?" Pavel speaks softly, in a tone meant for Corson alone. He does not look at Corson as he speaks but does glance his way from time to time to see if he is able to match the man's casual stance.

"I saw no trace of magic on the relic or on Salien but in order to be certain, I would have to perform a small ritual of identification. I am uncomfortable using such magic without permission but if, somehow, he or the relic were, say, affected by some sort of curse, such magic would likely prevent him from giving me permission to take a closer look." Pavel frowns slightly, unable to match Corson's casual stance. He shifts his weight. He hooks his thumbs into his belt. Then he folds his arms in front of him. Awkward, awkward, awkward.

"Since the man's well-being appears to be under your purview, I think it best for you to decide the matter. If you see him behaving oddly in the days to come and wish for me to employ magic to rule out him being affected by a charm or curse, simply give the word and I will conduct the ritual. Is this a burden you can bear?"

Pavel waits to hear Corson's answer and then steps away to attend to his other guests. He paused briefly and turned around, addressing Corson directly. "You will have to teach me how you do that."

Corson regarded the awkward young man carefully, then nodded. "He did act strangely, as if driven, but that passed quickly. After that, he seemed back to normal. I will continue to keep an eye on him, and if he acts beyond reason can do your ritual. Do you know if sufficiently powerful magicks could thwart your identification?"

Pavel considered the question.

"Yes. But that would not necessarily be a bad thing. Magic that would prevent identification would probably prevent another mage from using magic to locate him. Given the effort spent on finding your group, it is possible that enemies might resort to using magic to try to find him, especially if we slip past the range of their patrols."

"We should keep in mind the possibility of such magic being employed in the days to come."

Pavel thinks about it for a moment. "A wounded red hart being simultaneously killed and saved by a bird of prey such as an eagle or a hawk and men with no face. Do these things hold any meaning to you?"

Corson shook his head. "The hart was a symbol of my order, but it was green, not red. We came from a hunting lodge, where the nobles were hawking, if that means anything... Lancaelad seems to favor reds..."

Corson shrugged and shot Pavel an apologetic look. He hadn't had much experience with those with 'The Sight', but he remembered that some of the druids that they worked with were purported to have such gifts... This one could prove useful in getting Salien to safety.

Pavel weighed Corson's words against his vision and waved away Corson's look of apology. "A varsk does not hatch from its egg in full fur," he said, gifting Corson with a tiny silver of Vos wisdom.

"Come. It is time, I think."

Pavel glanced from Erron to Lancaelad and Tovrunn to Rhoderick to Goodman Salien, before he returned his gaze to Corson. "Shall we make our way to the river?" he asked of the group.

With a sharp nod, Corson opened the door, leaving first in case of ambush and surveyed the street.

"Nesire’s Blessing on you and your craft ferrymaster." Rhoderick dismounted and carefully poured a drop of salt water from his flask to the deck. He looked around the ferry at the men moving around, his ancestry allowing him to see easily in the gloom. "Are we ready to shove off?"

Rhoderick clapped the man on the shoulder with a grin. "We should get going then, the sooner we cross the sooner we let you get to your bed."

Lancaelad watched the mage and priestess of Erik pore over the bronze icon with small interest, his gaze just as often wandering to the dried herbs, jars of pickled newts, tome-filled shelves and the inevitable stuffed Zhaïnge crocodile hanging from the ceiling. He started when Pavel enthused about Tovrunn's virtues, and gave a guilty smile. "Any man would be pleased to have her as his wife," he said evasively.

---

As Mhairie fussed over his armour, remarking that the mage's spell had one a decent job of removing the river muck but that it still needed a brisk steel brush and oil, Lancaelad instructed Paidrig to take the wagon north along the riverside road to Thoeren's Landing, in accordance with the deception they had planned. "Once there, wait until you receive word from me as to whether to take to the ferry and join us in Medoere, or return to Blacktower and make report to the Lord Castellan." Lan watched, amused, as Geremie tightened the harness Ogre's head. The warhorse snorted and shook his mighty frame, lifting the boy off the ground for a moment and raising a whoop of excitement from him. He reached over and ruffled the lad's hair.

"A big 'os like this needs 'is oats, m'lud, not just hay. And a good hard brushing of his shoulders and haunches where the weight of y' kit presses in."

"I know how to tend a warhorse, boy," Lan snapped, giving Geremie a flick around the ear. Geremie winced, and glanced at Mhairie. They both knew that their knight's armour and steed would be in poorly tended condition by the time they saw him again, requiring days of work to make right. As Lan mounted and joined the others, Geremie spat in his hand and ran his fingers through his hair. He'd just got it how he liked it, preruffle.

---

Lancaelad dismounted as they drew near the barge, squinting to make it out in the darkness. The ricketty dock creaked under the weight of several armoured men and horses, and Ogre snorted at the black, lapping water. A strong hand, Tovrunn had told him. Lan wound the reins around his fist to shorten the leash on the warhorse, and gave his mane a firm pat. "Surely you're not afraid of water, you great brute?" he said fondly. "You were keen enough to drop me in it."

"Gods grant both the river and its vile namesake stay that way," Lan answered the bargemen. "Though I would dearly wish to show those goblin fiends the meaning of battle. Bring our mounts aboard and let us be off."

Lancaelad was not a man given much to introspection, but the slow crossing of the Spider gave him the chance for little else. He rested his hands on the railing of the barge, watching the shore of the Theocracy of Medoere grow closer, and chewed on the gristle of the past few days.

Things had not gone well. They could have gone much worse, granted; while the band that made the crossing was not the same that had begun the journey, none had fallen fatally. His thoughts turned briefly to dwell with concern on Aeric, hoping that the dark-eyed sidhe had been able to find him aid. Lancaelad had not acquitted himself with the standards he demanded. He reached up and touched his scalp, where one of the ruffians at the Abbadiel docks had cracked his skull, and winced. He had nearly fallen himself there. In Bardenhold he had walked into the waiting arms of this Prince of Rabbit's infiltrators without his arms or armour – rank carelessness! He had tumbled from Ogre's saddle and ended up wallowing in the mud...

Was he not up to the task before them? A look of uncertainty, of doubt, of fear crossed his features as he gazed into the dark waters. Then his hands clenched around the railing. No. He had not failed – he had been failed. Squire Corson had not done his duty to stay alert for threats to his companion Salien at the port. The guards of Bardenhold had allowed themselves to be suborned. Mhairie had not ensured his armour was to hand and Geremie had not been able to tame the warhorse. Tovrunn had kept her beast-lore to herself until he had been made a fool of. It was the lot of great men such as himself to be let down by the lacks of their lessers. He tore his eyes away from the river and cast a hard glance back at the Rjurik woman and the would-be knight of copses and streams. He would simply have to demonstrate his mettle twice as much to make up for everyone else's failings...

---

Medoere felt different, somehow. It was as if the night air here was softer, the cool less sharp, the darkness lessened by some diffuse radiance. Silver fireflies of a sort he had never seen in Roesone flitted amongst the reeds of the riverbank, and the moon hung strikingly bright and clear despite the clouds. The land on this side of the Spider was quite marshy, and a chorus of frogs whispered about the new arrivals.

Lancaelad lead his steed off the docks, glancing around at the pastoral peace an stifled a yawn with his fist. "Our thanks for your service, my good man," he said airily. "But we will not impose on your vulgar hospitality." He swept his arm to gesture for the others to step away from the barge, far enough that they could confer privately. "We should make haste away from the river, at least to the crest of the hill, then make camp under the stars. If Ruornil truly favours this land, then the night should be as safe here as anywhere."

Rhoderick eyed the knight in slight askance at his haughty tone but stifling another jaw cracking yawn behind a gauntleted fist offered "let us away then if that is your suggestion, it has been a long day and tomorrow promises to be no shorter."

Though the crossing had gone well, Tovrunn had kept her vigilance about her. They might have slipped their pursuers for now, but they wouldn't abandon the chase. They had to move quickly through Medoere now, and trust in their fortune and each other. As difficult as that was for some among their band.

"I will find us a suitable place to pitch our tents," she volunteered, nodding in agreement. "One moment."

Stepping back slightly, the druid traced sigils in the air leaving behind streaks of softly glowing light that smelled of moss and earthscent, calling forth her connection with the very land itself as she does so. Or, more specifically, the sky, for once she completes her casting an owl swoops in from the edges of the night to land gracefully upon her outstretched arm. "Ira here will guide us, for a time at least. Let us be off."

Commanding the owl to find good flat hunting ground with wide open space beyond the ridge, Tovrunn let the conjured bird take flight and followed. The search would have to be done quickly, and suitable ground was a necessity. While she herself was comfortable enough beneath the stars, she doubted that all her companions were. The absence of Lan's entourage would be felt this night, she thought.

"What is the timeframe we're working with in terms of getting Goodman Salien to his destination?" Pavel asks of the group.

"What is the timeframe we're working with in terms of getting Goodman Salien to his destination?" a second Pavel asked.

"Whatisthetimeframe.." another Pavel voiced the same question but it spoke too quickly to be human, the pitch of its voice absurdly high.

The three Pavels had spoken in unison. One Pavel -- clearly the real one -- stood motionless on the ground while the other two Pavels orbited around him like leaves blowing in the wind. Their flight lasted but a few moments before they winked out of existence, leaving a single, stoic Pavel standing just outside the perimeter of the campsite. He returned to his bedroll and sat down, then retrieved his spellbook that was perched atop his backpack within arm's reach, and scratched some notations onto one of the pages. He then firmly closed the tome and put it back in its place in his pack.

Wizards were known for their studious ways. They were in a constant state of striving to further their understanding of magic. Pavel was currently in the process of developing a new spell. He had no doubt he would eventually succeed and, when he did, the new spell would create mirror images of himself that would confound foes in battle. Some might view this attempt as a failure but Pavel considered it a success. After all, he had discovered yet another way not to cast the spell, had he not?

The sound of bleating caused the young mage to look up. "Thank you for the encouragement," he said to the sheep before shooing it away from himself and his belongings.

Images of a dying red hart flashed in his mind's eye, causing Pavel to blink. a sense of urgency and purpose arose within him.

His stomach growled.

Surely there was time to nibble on some granola while the group arose and made plans for the day.

"So, what is the timeframe.." he asked, once everyone was more fully awake.

Rhoderick grinned around a mouthful of dried fish. "I’m but a humble preacher, you need to speak to the courtiers." In contest to his words of peace he was oiling the flaring head of his mace.

During his esquiry, Lancaelad had spent more than a few nights in the field – albeit usually with a bedroll, at least. The misty light of dawn stirred him and he awoke to the smell of sheep shit and lanolin, feeling chill from the lack of fire and a crick in his back from an uncomfortably placed stone. He was youthful, strong and hale, however, so the discomfort was quickly forgotten as he sat up and flexed his shoulders and back, banishing the crick with a pop.

"What fool extinguished the fire?" he grumbled, rubbing his hands and forearms, glowering at Corson. "Go and fetch some more wood. I should think a would-be 'Knight of the Greenwood' is up to that,at least." Of course, they had little in the way of food that needed cooking, only dried meat, fruit, cheese and hard bread packed for them by the Bjording's kitchen. Lan eyed the flock thoughtfully. "Perhaps we should butcher one of them. Mutton to break our fast"

Dressing in steel was a little slower and more awkward than usual without his retainers on hand to assist. The party was entertained for a while by the sight of the knight industriously attempting to stick his head into the maille sleeve of his hauberk. The armour creaked more than usual, and some of the links were starting to gain a patina of rust from neglect.

Once he was properly attired, he sat down and listened to Pavel's question, but addressed his answer to Adalric Salien. "The Lord Seneschal gave us no hard-inked date, but the sooner done means the sooner you may catch a tradewind back east, if that is your intention, Adalric." He addressed the Suirienese man by his given name for the first time, and there was something oddly ingratiating in his tone that was usually absent when addressing those without titles.

"As for how we cross the border to Endier..." A glimmer of uncertainty fell under the hooves of rooster stubbornness. "Guile served us well yesterday," he gave Rhoderick a nod in recognition of his quick witted ploy with the 'poacher', "...but we have no wagon, no company to make us seem like merchants now. There is no lawful reason for the baron of Diemed's men to bar our passage if we proclaim ourselves as emissaries of Roesone escorting a guest of the baroness to another country."

The folly of this was obvious to everyone who wasn't Lancaelad. There was no love lost between Diemed and its rebel eastern provinces. A group of armed Roesoneans – including a knight and the son of one of the high officers of Marlae Roesone's court – would certainly face scrutiny, if not apprehension, especially with tensions so high at the border. Not to mention the risk of word escaping to reach the long, floppy and numerous ears of the Prince of Rabbits.

"Umm.." Pavel looks at Lancaelad to see if he's joking.

Erron gave a tight little smile. "I see you've not heard of the Lord Castellan's first son by reputation. His directness is famed throughout Proudglaive." By the time he turned to Lan the smile had vanished. "I am afraid Roesone is see as an ally to Medoere in Diemed. We'd most certainly be labelled spies were we to confess to our allegiances-" he glanced at Rhoderick "-and given that we are spies..."

"Perhaps a week ago we rode the borderlands, Rhoderick and I, and many of the small towns were near empty. Medoere is braced for war. No doubt the many guilds whose interests span the border have found some amnesty, but their agents are likely shrewd enough to ask why we might want to hide amongst their number."

"Rhod, do you recall any point of weakness we might exploit?"

Pavel stared at Erron for a moment. "First son..?" he asked. "You mean, there's more than one?"

Try as he might, Rhoderick had spent the week riding Diemed's borders watching for what might come out of the southern Duchy, not a way in. Erron wasn't exaggerating though - many border villages, sensing war on the air, had packed up their goods and made into the heart of Medoere or (if they were fortunate) out of the little realm altogether. Those that remained did so because they didn't have a choice.

"There is another option," Tovrunn said from where she sat. Like Pavel, she too had risen early as was her custom, studying the movements of the last of the morning stars as they tracked across the brightening sky and listening to the wisdom on the wind. Pulling her fingers from the well-trod soil, she rises and brushes stray grass from her clothing.

"The direct approach. Through the Spiderfell. I fear neither wildlands nor goblins, and two days careful ride within the fell will see us at Endier's border. At least, that is my guess from what maps the Lord Bjordling possessed." Holding her hands in acquiescence, she explained before protests could form. "I know it to be dangerous, but Erik and Ruornil have given me enlightenment on new magic that will cloak our footfalls and wipe away any trace of our passage. For a time, at least. With proper timing, care, and preparation, I believe that we can cross without attracting too much attention."

"There is indeed another," Lan said conversationally. "My twin sister Brieony serves as a lady-in-waiting at the court of the queen of Aerenwe in Calrie, and our younger brother Anson is an acolyte of the Impregnable Heart's mother church in the city of Ilien." There was warmth in his voice, with a layer of grim satisfaction behind. He loved his family, but on some level he was also glad that they were on life-paths that meant they would not challenge his claim to the Noelon title and holdings. Brieony would probably marry some courtier from Aerenwe, that buccolic kingdom to the east, and Anson would renounce his claims when he took holy vows. "Neither of them have the mettle of a true knight, but they serve in their own ways and are my dearest kin."

He bristled as Erron Von continued, his hand falling to his belt and the haft of the crow's bill hanging there. "Speak for yourself, churl. The lady and myself are no spies, and you would do well to remember that." He did cast a more suspicious glance over Rhoderick and Pavel, though. It occurred to him, belatedly, that he knew little of their true allegiances or purposes, as magnetic as the sea-priest was. Could the Prince of Rabbit's coneys be more cunning than he had anticipated – cunning enough to pretend to be allies?

He stamped a seal on that for later, and turned away from Von with a snort, and listened to Tovrunn's pitch with a widening smile. "Yes! Few sell-swords would dare the Fells, for what use is gold to a man dying in agony from a spider's bite? Any that did in great numbers would rouse the Spider's minions far more than our small band. A courageous plan, my lady!" He slammed his fist into his palm.

Pavel grinned as Lancaelad played along with Tovrun's suggestion. Pavel had acquired a great respect for her when they worked together to study Goodman Salien's artefact and he could not fault her for not knowing the history of the Fell. But there was a reason why The Spider had survived all this time surrounded by hostile Anuirian realms. The young mage had no doubt that Tovrunn's god would grant her the ability to neutralize poisonous spider bites but he doubted she was capable of healing the entire group, should it come down to it.

Clearly Lancaelad was eager to marry for he was already playing the 'yes, dear' game.

The thought of actually going into the Spiderfell made Pavel throw up a little in the back of his throat. He reflexively reached out for the waterskin hooked onto his pack. The waterskin obediently rose in the air and closed the distance, gliding into Pavel's grasp. He took a much needed gulp of water before releasing the waterskin so it could return to its rightful place with his gear.

"While proving our prowess against goblins does have a certain appeal, they are the least of the dangers of the Fell, or so I am told. The Spiderfell is home to more than goblins. It is infested with, as I am sure you can guess, spiders of all sizes. Rumor is that The Spider controls all of them and can see through their eyes and that even the smallest arachnids are deadly. I have no fear for my own safety, mind, but dare we expose Goodman Salien to such danger? And what of our horses? If it comes to a fight, would our steeds not serve us better in open terrain?"

Pavel realized that criticizing a course of action without offering an alternative did nothing to help the situation. He set his mind to searching for something safer than the suggested route through the Spiderfell.

"A route," he voiced his thought aloud. "Why try to come up with our own when a route already exists? A trade route, that is. The Heartland Outfitters have caravans coming and going to and from Endier, is this not so? They likely have the means to safely cross the border into Diemed, even in these tumultuous times."

Tumultuous. Such a big word for someone who speaks Anuirian as their second language. And, yet, it rolled off his tongue quite easily.

"My talent for soothsaying can be of particular use to regents," Pavel said, somewhat modestly. In truth, he suspected that regents would pay a hefty amount of gold crowns for his services, an amount exceeded only by magic wielded by a wizard capable of tapping into the power of the land. Of course, such lofty feats were beyond Pavel. For now.

"We could tell a caravan master in Caerwil that I seek to offer my services to their guildmaster and wish to negotiate in person at the guild offices in Endier. If the caravan master believes you all are my personal escort, surely he will welcome the added protection your strength of arms would provide, especially since it is very possible that a caravan could be raided by goblins from the Spiderfell. Between our might and the guild's political connections, nothing would be able to stop us from succeeding in your mission."

And if that doesn't work, I can always fall back on magic to get us past the border. Pavel kept that particular thought to himself. He feared presenting a back-up plan might undermine the group's confidence in his suggested course of action. There was no way he would allow Erron to embrace the almost-certain death that would follow should the group choose to enter the Spiderfell.

"A varsk's feathers are best left unruffled," he spoke that last thought out loud. Pavel was only too happy to share the weighty gift of Vos wisdom. Even spoken without any context, surely they were words to live by.

"Think on it," he urged his new traveling companions. "For now, we should at least stop by the Temple of the Sacred Moon to get current information as to the goings ons in Medoere. It is close to our current location and the time we spend there will be well spent if it prevents us from blindly walking forward to who-knows-what awaits us."

Corson looked at the group in conversation, silently listening to every suggestion. He turned to Salien. "How are you hanging in there? We
are almost there."

The squire of the Green gave the man a reassuring nod while assessing what is left of his charge's patience and perseverance.

It was easy to forget that barely a day ago Corson's charge had been adamant that he would return to the east. That wasn't down to Adalric's air of sullen denial having lifted so much as how fraught the past twenty four hours had been. Still, of all people Lancaelad's oath seemed to have satisfied the foreigner, and the rotted standard that he'd found in the swamps had served as a distraction. Still, the squire of the Green wasn't convinced that Salien wouldn't bolt if he were given the opportunity. And if he was as valuable as all of this seemed to imply... it was hard not to wonder what he knew. Had he seen something without knowing its significance? Was this hapless innocence a mask worn by a master spy? Corson hadn't had cause to doubt until they'd set foot on Anuirean soil.

"Just an army in our way" Salien replied wryly "and maybe another hiding at our backs. This is hardly a field of dates." He shook his head. "I should have said no, but here we are now. And I suppose you no more expected this than I."

Pavel's advice took the blowhard wind out of Lan's sails. Lost in thoughts of blazing a trail across the Spider's silk-garotted domain, leaving the Prince of Rabbit's men stumbling into web and angry goblins in their wake, something in his blood relished the thought of crossing blades with the awnshegh more than a troop of assassins of Diem soldiers. But Pavel was right, there was another body to consider... their charge's.

"I... suppose you are right," he admitted grudgingly. "I have no doubts in your facility to guide as swiftly and silently through the woods, my Lady Tovrunn, but it would be an ignominious end to our quest indeed if Adalric was to fall prey to a verminous attercop, no less than a hired sword." Looking a bit sullen at the prospect of not riding into mortal danger he took a last bite of the withered apple he was eating and then offered the core to Ogre. The brute nearly took his fingers off with a hearty bite, and Lan stroked his mane.

"Break camp. Petranova, let us take in the wisdom of these moon priests, if you know the way."

"Adalric" Corson said "we will get you there."

The squire of the Green looked at his companions. Lancaelad showed moments of brilliance, if only he could keep his pride from blinding him to wisdom, the young noble could be a real leader to his people. He regarded Tovrunn next. The seeress was a little creepy sometimes, but he felt more comfortable with her than with the nobles.

Corson turned to regard Pavel, Erron and Rhoderick, these three were strangers to him, but seemed invested in helping them get Salien to their final destination. Only time would tell how helpful they would be.

With a sardonic glance towards the young noble issuing orders Rhoderick helped strike the camp before mounting up. Hopefully he doesn’t have to ford another stream or he’ll be thrown again he snickered to himself.

A deep sigh and then a respectful look settles upon his face again, the goddess and the spy mistress never set an easy path, either of them.

"Pavel lad, why I saw you not a month past did I not? And here you are again. Have the heathens over the river so taxed you that you need the wisdom of the Silver Prince again so soon?" He looked askance at the Vosman "Or so early" he added before giving a high laugh. "I jest of course. I'd be an old fool not to court the good will of our friends to the east in such times as these. Come, you'll not begrudge me breaking my fast will you?"

"You gained weight," Pavel said, frowning in mock disapproval. He paused just long enough for his words to sink in before mirth got the better of him. Unable to maintain his usual stoicism, a very un-Vos-like grin briefly made an appearance before decorum reasserted itself.

When Father Landen obliquely questioned the reason behind Pavel's unexpected appearance at the temple, the young mage shrugged helplessly. "I had a dream," he said, as if those four words explained everything. Maybe they did.

"That, and I felt the need to offer my to help my friend and his companions," Pavel gestured to Erron and the group at large.

"Everyone, this is Father Landen. Father Landen.. this is everyone." Pavel kept the introductions purposefully vague. He knew the group travelled incognito. If they wanted to identify themselves, that was their decision to make, not Pavel's.

"Yes, eat. Please. I understand that sharing knowledge helps ward off indigestion. We'd be all to happy to help ensure you don't get a belly ache."

"We find ourselves needing to travel up into the Heartlands but rumors abound about a possible conflict between Medoere and Diemed. More possible than usual, that is. We thought it best not to rely on gossip so I suggested we pay you a visit. I hope our unexpected presence here isn't too much of an imposition?"

"A dream?" The Ruiornilite's expression turned grave. "You'd best sit then."

He lowered himself onto a bench alongside one of the long communal tables. "I fear I may not be much use to you - matters of defence are not precisely my purview. Our forces are rallying around Tieren Pass while the Dieman army is spread evenly along the border. Warfare favours the defender or so they say, but many of the wounds of seven years past have healed and the Duke's army is strong again. We must pray that the Silver Prince will once again intercede on our behalf should it come to it."

"If anyone can convince Lirovka to make an appearance, surely it's his Sacred Voice. Hopefully the situation does not escalate to the point where such an intervention is needed."

"As for us, we will need to safely cross the border. Is there a sense that war could break out any day or more like any minute?"

Pavel couldn't help but wonder if they should abandon the idea of traveling with a guild caravan. By the time they found someone in the town of Caerwil to negotiate with, the trade routes could already have been closed because of fighting. Perhaps he was still feeling the urgency of his dream vision but something in the young mage suspected they should waste no time if they had any hope of crossing the border before the fighting starts.

Landen spread his hands. "Who can truly claim to know the mind of Duke Diem? Perhaps his soldiers march now, perhaps our forces plan to strike first like an arrow to the heart., perhaps it is all merely a ploy to make us afraid or a grand smokescreen concealing some other deed. I am no soldier, and the fewer who know Medoere's plans the safer its soldiers are."

He looked sad for a moment at the thought of the waste of life that awaited them. "I can tell you this - the battle will not be won by steel. Faith and mebhaighl will be the armies that win the day - for either side."

"If you still seek my council; soldiers are poorly paid. A hefty purse opens many doors."

Taking a boiled egg from a small basket he rolled the shell gently on the crude timber of the table and examined it thoughtfully as tiny cracks spider webbed its surface. Then he held it up into one of the shafts of light where the small brown ovoid almost glowed.

"Did you know that no man alive, no matter how strong, can shatter an egg by squeezing it top to bottom? Something that is the very emblem of fragility hides a strength few would believe. And yet does not man need his breakfast?"

Pavel felt a bit of reassurance when the Abbot declared that a fight between Diemed and Medoere would be won as a matter of faith and mebhaighl. After all, people often disappointed, but magic never did.

The young mage wasn't entirely sure he grasped the egg analogy but he supposed an egg could very well represent the alliance between Roesone, Medoere, and Ilien. As long as they stood together, they would be able to withstand outside pressure. Of course, we were discussing the border. Maybe his words held meaning that simply went over Pavel's (admittedly tall) head.

"It is the smallest of Varsks that have the largest of nests," Pavel said in agreement. Even if he wasn't sure if he understood the deeper meaning of Father Landen's words, it was only right and proper to repay wisdom with wisdom.

Changing the subject slightly, Pavel said, "Oh, we need to report the possibility of a fairly large number of mercenaries who may -- or may not -- have followed our trail from Roesone into Medoere. These mercenaries are not in the employ of the Baronness. They have been hounding my companions here for days at the direction of the King of Bunnies." He felt a little odd speaking the moniker aloud and looked at his travel companions to confirm he had spoken correctly.

Pavel then briefly outlines his attempt to throw off pursuit by means of misinformation, including the message he sent to Patriarch Tosiere in the hopes that Ruornil's priests in Roesone could help to uncover the unwanted spies in the Baroness' court.

"We felt we should inform the authorities," Pavel made a 'that's you' gesture to Father Landen, "just in case our attempt was unsuccessful. I trust you can inform those who need to know of such matters?" Pavel was obliquely referencing the Theocracy's widespread use of magic to facilitate communication amongst members of the priesthood. Such magic was beyond Pavel's ability -- for now -- but the young mage knew a Sending Spell when he saw one.

"I also wonder if you might be able to inquire if Patriarch Tosiere was successful in locating the Spider Sigil I brought to his attention." It was probably too soon to yield any results but it didn't hurt to ask.. Likewise, a little reminder for the Patriarch to look into the matter couldn't hurt either. He was a busy man, after all.

Pavel also glanced at his travel companions, purposefully making room in the conversation for anyone to ask Father Landen any questions they may have.

Lancaelad stewed a bit at being lumped in with 'everyone', but held his tongue as the wizard and patriarch spoke. About dreams at first, esoteric stuff, no doubt seemingly important to those who trusted more in spells and prayer than steel and courage, but when the talk turned to the thunderhead of war overshadowing the land he could hold his tongue no longer.

"War does not favour the defender! War vists its wrath upon the defender when and where it chooses. Trust in your castles and entrenched positions, and the soldiers of Diemed will have the run of this land. You will see how faithfully the people hold to your Silver Prince when terror, havoc and storm wrack Medoere. When swords are at their throats, men and women will pray for spears and strength, not secrets and clear nights." He leaned forward. "Initiative! It is initiative that wins wars. The first strike is the most decisive. It matters not if your foe's power is the greater, if you bring yours to bear against his weakest point."

When Abbot Landen brought up the parable of the egg Lan scowled. What folly! He snatched another of the eggs and pinched it between thumb and forefinger. He squeezed – looking surprised as he applied more and more pressure and it did not break. His forearm flexed, the tendons drawing bowstring taut. Nothing. He shifted his grip, placing the egg between both palms and pushing as hard as he could, his neck bulging, face flushing red. The arch of the shell remained inviolate. At last, in a fury, he smashed the egg against the table under his hand, creating a mess of shell fragments and soft boiled white and gold. "I prefer mine scrambled," he muttered darkly, wiping his palm on the tablecloth.

Rhoderick carefully dripped some saltwater from his flask onto the eggs in front of him as a blessing (and a seasoning). Then glanced up and spoke before shovelling them into his mouth. "Has there been any mention between the monasteries of the Prince of Rabbits? My own order often discusses much that may not be ordinarily shared with outsiders."

Upon hearing Father Landen's promise to notify the authorities, Pavel bows his head in gratitude.

"Duty prevents us from tarrying for long but, before we leave, might I be able to procure a scroll or two? It seems what coin I have on me might be used to help get us across the border but, should that play go awry, it would be nice to have some additional options we might be able to fall back on. You have my word to repay you in coin, in deed, or both."

The Abbot waved his hand. "Your credit is sufficient here son of Ruornil. You know our scriptorium is modest, but I trust you are familiar what we keep on hand. Pass your request to Sister Niela as you leave and you will be accommodated as best we can."

"I'm curious to hear what your travellers gossip about, Father Landen," Tovrunn said, breaking her silence. And combing out bits of exploded egg from her hair as she did so. "Particularly those that have come from the east. Are there any trade routes that are still open? And if so, who walks them unmolested?"

"No pilgrims out of Diemed in months good lady" the lean preacher said with a shake of his head, his overlarge eyebrows accentuating his furrowed brow. "Endier must at least fear that Diemed's eye can't be far from falling there, even if Richard Endier's succession is an old wound. Still, the Heartland Outfitters in Caerwil seem to be conducting their business as usual. Of course redirecting their trade through Roesone and Ghoere would not be a good deal of lost time or greater expense - at least so far as my understanding of such matters. Armies at rest have a taste for pillage after all."

"Of course you'd have to keep those rogues from taking your coin then turning you over for more. After all, if they are crossing the border then Diemed's favour would be valuable."

"No travellers in months?" Lan repeated, surprised. On one front, it made sense; pilgrims and merchants could often carry rumours of amassing armies, revealing the disposition of forces before they were ready to strike. On the other, a lack of commerce could in itself reveal that sabres were being rattled.

"The Diems are a law-abiding people, but a feckless, grasping lord like Heirl Diem inspires little loyalty. Blood and steel would open the way most surely and gloriously, but gold may also unlock closed gates. Let us make haste for the border and see what the common soldiery will do for coin." He rose from the table. "My thanks for your wise counsel, abbot," he said graciously, as if the old priest had been hanging on for that.

He turned to the others, dusting crumbs of shell from his palms. "We shall ride north-east, cutting across the countryside, and join the road that winds along the periphery of the Spiderfell. Once we reach the town of Caerwill we shall see whether a palmful of coin or your deceitful spells, Petranova, will buy us passage through the border."

He had no fear of speaking so openly in front of a priest; if one could not trust an Abbot of the Master of Secrets to hold his tongue, who could one trust?

The quietness of the journey left him restless, but Lancaelad's mood improved as they crossed Medoere's gentle hills, fields dotted with silver-white wildflowers and idyllic copses of woods. Not only was it the sense of drawing closer to their destination, but the sight of military earthworks being prepared that stirred the warlike passions in his heart. It brought snippets of martial poems to his lips as they travelled; verses of the Michaeline Lay and O Childe Droene, glorious songs of doomed emperors and preordained knights. He had a fine, strong voice and sense of prosody, so his recitations, while perhaps thematically overbearing, where at least not unpleasant to the ear.

He fell silent as they passed the mercenary camp, drawing on Ogre's reins and tarrying until the rest of the party had passed, his hand straying towards the haft of his pick. When they departed without incident he seemed almost disappointed.

"Closer than ever to your destination, Master Salien," he said warmly as they approached Caerwil's gates. "A day or two through Diemed, and we shall reach Endier. In the mean time, let us find an inn to rest our heads for the night. Then I think I might walk amongst the soldiers, hear their tales and raise their spirits, for they fight for the noblest of causes: liege, god and home."

Rhoderick glanced at the exuberant knight quizzically. "Are we not travelling incognito good Ser? We would do well to avoid drawing attention to ourselves and to stay away from any who may recognise you."

"Your oath to protect may not be best served by going carousing with soldiers and mercenaries. Especially when any could recognise such a renowned warrior as yourself. More of the common soldiers will know you and of you than you are aware of" he explained, gently trying to couch his protests in flowery praise.

Corson travelled quietly, ever alert to dangers along the road. When they passed the mercenary encampment, the squire slowed to be at the left flank of Salien as he kept wary of ambush.

After Lancaelad's declaration, Corson looked to Tovrunn silently questioning the wisdom of her young betrothed.

"Given all of the armed camps we've seen, does this not suggest war is likely to come sooner than later?" Pavel had to work hard to keep the excitement from his voice. He'd only read about Anuirean warcraft in books. 'Noble warfare' and 'honorable combat' sounded like such contradictions in terms, but such was the way of the Anuireans. The possibility of witnessing such a thing first-hand was thrilling. "We could no doubt fight our way through any opposition, if we had to..."

With effort, Pavel redirected his thoughts to the task at hand. "Although I don't suppose we can we afford to indulge in such distractions, can we?" Pavel added, somewhat regretfully. Given the history of Anuire, he supposed there would be other opportunities to see such things.

And then he remembered something else: he had never actually seen bribery before, either. That would also be a sight to behold. The notion that a man would abandon his honor and his duty for the sake of gold coins.. amazing!

"Let us make directly for the border," he urged the group. Yes, watching Anuirean bribery in action would be fun. And, if that doesn't work, he'd have the opportunity to use new magic. Well, new to him, anyway.

"I know it has been a long day, but I suspect a Diemean Inn would likely be just as comfortable as one in Medoere." Pavel was simply trying to convince the group to bypass the town of Caerwil but, as soon as the words left his mouth, his eyes darted around as if he half expected a priest of Ruornil to pop out from behind a bush to berate him for blaspheming.

Panic rose in him, threatening to break his composure. HAD he just blasphemed? He wasn't sure.. and Medoere definitely wasn't the place to test his god's patience. The young mage quickly cupped his hand in the shape of a crescent moon and lightly tapped it to his chest before balling his hand into a fist and bringing it to his lips. "May Lirovka forgive me for saying so," he said softly.

Ser Lancaelad looked disappointed as they rode past the military camps, but Rhoderick had phrased the objection well. "Yes, the Medoreans will have to fend for themselves without my aid. May Cuiraécen grant them strength and fury in the battle to come."

Pavel's suggestion played into his impatience and impetuousness, and he cocked his head thoughtfully. "The routes across the border may be closed for the night, but indeed, why tarry? Any inns within a league of the border have likely been commandeered as barracks or officer's messes, but there may be space nonetheless."

He pulled on Ogre's reins and prepared to lead the part around the walls of Caerwill-town, expecting the gates closest to Diemed to be barred and locked fast. Once they got to the far side of the settlement he surveyed the no-man's land towards the border in the evening light, looking for guard posts or customs inspectorates on the road into Diemed.

The sight of Diemed's might spread out in the distance gave Pavel pause. He conjured a spyglass and peered into the distance, counting the number of camp fires and trying to estimate how many men would be around each one.

"I don't think we brought enough gold to bribe all of them," he said, sounding disappointed.

He made a quick mental review of Plan B. "I think our best bet is to play the role of agents of the Duke with important information for his ears only."

"Erron, how do you feel about mousing us out? Do you suppose you could provoke Medoere's soldiers into trying to capture a some spies trying to cross the border? They are not doing anything at the moment. We might as well put them to good use."

"And does anyone have a problem riding at a fast clip while being chased by people trying to kill you? It is not as though it would be your first time .."

"Playing the part of an agent of the Duke is too risky," Tovrunn said, shaking her head. It was the first time she'd spoken in hours. "Say we say that and we are brought before a general, or a spy master in the heart of that camp. Someone who knows what agents are or aren't moving in this area. What then?" Tovrunn shakes her head again. "Any tale we tell that is connected to this conflict even slightly will bring unwanted scrutiny."

"Besides, we need not bribe all of them," she said reassuringly.

"Just the right one. What is that delightful Anuirean phrase? 'Iron locks require golden keys'? I forget."

"This notion of bribery is difficult for me to envision. Are you telling me that this general you mention would allow us to travel through his armed camp unmolested because we paid a few of his guards to vouch for us?"

He tried very hard to envision such a thing but simply couldn't. Still, the people he travelled with knew the customs of this land far better than he.

Plus, Tovrunn's tone was reassuring.

"I will trust you. If you say that this magic of Sirova .. this bribery .. is powerful enough to get us past that army, I am all for trying."

"But if that does not work, I ask that you trust me." he said. Pavel went further in detail about his plan to use the magic he acquired from the priests of Ruornil. He, too, spoke reassuringly.

"I think Tovrunn meant the sentries, Pavel" Corson corrected, his face expressionless. The squire looked over his shoulder to make sure that they weren't followed.

Lancaelad gave Tovrunn a lingering sideways glance as she spoke. They found themselves on a similar page recently, much to his surprise, and he was beginning to see her in new light. It was also strange being the one to gainsay rash action, but Pavel's suggestion made him shake his head in disbelief.

"To claim to be agents of the duke would be folly, as you say, my lady. Petranova, can your magic produce a writ of passage, not a missive of purpose? We seek travel through Diemed, not a meeting with its lord. And let us not enter as fugitives, for the Stormlord's sake. That would raise more questions than it answers."

His temper sparked as Pavel apparently failed to understand the concept of bribery. "Do you people not have coin? Hacksilver, then, or lizard pelts, or whatever you savages deal in. A bribe is like tribute rendered for a cessation of raiding. 'If you pay the Vos, you will never be rid of the Vos', as the saying goes."

Lan leaned over in his saddle and spat into the trampled grass. Ogre snorted and hoofed the ground, sensing his rider's impatience. "All this talk of bribery leaves a bad taste in my mouth. If you want to read the tea leaves be quick about it. Otherwise, let us pool our gold and hope the duke's men are purchased at their worth, which is small enough." He pulled his purse off his belt and went around the group, collecting their spare coin.

"No," Pavel said in response to Lan's question.. "We have..." Pavel was about to say 'honour' but swallowed the word before it escaped his mouth. ".. nothing like that," he finished diplomatically.

"Very well, I shall attempt to peer into the future. I won't even charge you for this service. If I did, you'd never be rid of me," he said with a wry smile.

Pavel closed his eyes for a moment, stoking the divine power of his bloodline. He opened his eyes and, when he did, the pale blue of his irises drained away. Back at his shop, he had called on this same power in order to see the ebb and flow of mebhaighl. Then, his blue eyes had seemed to become more pale and a pearlescent sheen had been present. Now, however, the blue was completely gone and his eyes became pools of celestial moonlight.

Pavel remains quiet for perhaps a minute that somehow seems much longer than a mere 60 seconds. And then he blinks and his eyes once again look normal.

"Endeavors to look into the future rarely end with complete certainty. Still, this was an excellent Seeing, as far as auguries go. I have a strong sense that our initial attempt to get past the sentries won't go well but eventually, we will most likely have a positive outcome."

Lan frowned. Dealing with divination was like playing chess against a mirror. "Then we should change our approach, to make the latter outcome the first. Instead of sweet words, begin with fraudulent magic." He sounded uncertain, though.

"Hmmm."

Tovrunn's gaze flitted between Pavel, Lancaelad and that empty space between spaces as she considered what was said. "If I were a soldier guarding a road or border, I would look far less kindly on a botched attempt at sorcery than I would a poor wordsmith. A bumbling argument is an easy thing to dismiss as harmless, but a known application of magic with mixed success would surely be seen as an affront worthy of hostility."

"Besides, 'not go well' could mean any number of things," she reminded them, having some experience divining meaning from the stars herself. "Perhaps we will encounter an unexpected roadblock or sentry who is less easily swayed, or our initial arguments bring us partway past this army. Trying to find certainty is a fools errand, and attempting to use our new knowledge of the future will surely change it and render such knowledge moot. Let us stay the course content with the knowledge that, though there will be hurdles, we will likely overcome them."

Pavel proffered a gentle bow of his head to Tovrunn, indicating his acquiescence. As he did so, he silently wondered if all Rjuven women possessed such blatant wisdom.

The Vos mage apparently had nothing further to say. He positioned himself next to Corson, maintaining a stoic expression on his face. He really was looking forward to seeing the magic of Sirova at work but the group would soon be walking into a dangerous situation and it would be unseemly to appear eager.

"Very well, my lady." Lancaelad caught himself smiling at the druidess, and forced his expression back to that of a stern man-at-ams. "Let us continue with the plan and trust in your vision, Petranova. Rhoderick, lead the way. I am sure Neserie will forgive a small lie in the service of our great mission."

He snapped the reins and fell in behind the priest, pulling his riding cloak's hood higher and making sure the sackcloth covering his shield was still tied in place.

"Remember" Erron's voice was pitched low, just loud enough to carry to his companions "the Duke of Diemed has made no declaration of war. So long as we claim no allegiance to Medoere we should raise no suspicion. No doubt they'll turn us back at first, but they've no reason to assume we're foes."

Glancing to Rhodeick riding at his side his tone became more familiar. "Do not forget the last group that questioned us - they're proud and they're law abiding folk. Don't make your offer sound clandestine. Even Nesire doesn't love you enough to have us chance upon the one corrupt Dieman my friend."

Pavel gives Rhoderick a parchment that has been folded into quarters. "I will follow your lead," Pavel told the priest. "If you speak the name of any god save Neserie, I will use the scroll's magic," Pavel said. "Unless you prefer to use a different signal?"

"Give whoever appears to be in charge this parchment. To him, it will appear to be a writ of passage. Probably." Pavel stopped a moment to review his list of last minute instructions. "Oh, and be sure to demand its return before a minute elapses."

"That is all."

Pavel returns to his place near Corson and Salien towards the rear of the group.

Lan watched the horsemen approaching from under the brim of his hood. His jaw clenched anxiously, and the hand not holding the reins slid a little towards the haft of his crow's beak. If this ruse did not succeed, they would appear more suspicious than they actually were... and they could hardly race across all of northern Diemed with half the duke's army on their tails. The entire mission rested on Pavel's skill, Rhoderick's wit and the determination of a chance-met guard officer...

Corson placed his hand on Salien's arm briefly. "Calm and casual, as if you are visiting a relative."

Pavel heard Corson's words of reassurance, wondering if they'd have the intended affect on Salien.

The Vos mage gave no outward indication of his discomfort. Having peered into the future, he was confident that, even if the odds were against them, fate was nonetheless on their side.

No, Pavel's discomfort didn't stem from worry. Rather, it was caused by the cold void of awkward silence that always seemed ready to pounce whilst waiting for events to unfold. He supposed the virtue of patience naturally filled that cold void like a warm flame and silently vowed -- not for the first time -- to be more virtuous in the future.

For now, he filled the void with quiet conversation.

"Who knows? Maybe you ARE visiting a relative," Pavel says to Salien. "Wasn't Suirene an Anuirian colony? Did any of your ancestors hail from Anuire or were they all native to Khir-aften el-Arassi?" The Vos mage referred to 'lands under the protection of El-Arassi', which is what the Khinasi people call their homeland when speaking in the Basarji tongue.

Adalric shook his head as he eyed the approaching soldiers. "There are still very few Basarji in Suirene. Most of my neighbours only speak a few words of the language. Save for the hot winds I think you'd find it very much like this place. Although at home I can go a day without fearing for my life" he added dryly.

The party of soldiers drew closer in a neat line, their mounts in step, until they were at shouting distance. Then one broke away an held up a hand to stay Salien's entourage. All clad in battle-dull plate mail with a tabard of mustard yellow, the soldier's visor was up revealing a full moustache and eyes whose deep lines spoke of an iron will. "Halt there in the name of Duke Diem and state your business." he commanded in an imperious voice that boomed off the confines of his helm.

Rhoderick reined in smartly at the soldiers direction. "Well met Ser, Nesirie’s blessings upon you. I am glad to see peace still reigns upon the region. Are the roads closed? We have business in the capital."

Pulling up a few yards ahead of Rhoderick the soldier took his measure. "Diemed's east remains under military charge." the man confirmed, mouth thinning to a grim, lipless line. "Business in Aerele you say? What business? With whom?"

"Forgive me Ser, of course the protection of the land must fall upon the stalwart soldiers of Diemed" Rhoderick sat tall in his saddle and nodded respectfully to the man as he spoke.

"We simply travel as a number of our party are from outlands and wish to see the famed Diemed. We have a Lady of the Rjurik, a noble from Suirene, their respective guards and myself as a guide. I am of the temple of Nesirie and so welcome wherever the Lady of Silence is present."

The captain surveyed the small party as Rhoderick spoke, his moustache slanting to the left as the mouth beneath it twisted in thought. After a moment's consideration he gave a subconscious nod before he spoke. "I'm afraid only those with pressing business are permitted to enter Diemed by this route. You'll find the way north by the Maesil or by sea better suited to reach the capitol, though you should prepare be waylaid a little when debarking if you sail out of Medoere. If your order has friends within the Orthodox Imperial Temple they may secure some dispensation for you."

"Oh but we have written permission from the Imperial Temple." Rhoderick lowers his voice for just the Captain. "The nobles are paying the Temples for safe passage as we are all neutral. There’s a significant bonus based on time. I have it here."

Rhoderick goes to reach to his belt for the folded paper. "There are bonuses insisted upon by both Temples to reward those border guards as well by all."

The soldier looked up, surveying Rhoderick's party carefully. Undoubtedly it helped the Nesirite's story that half their number were clearly of distant origin. Putting his knees to his mount's flanks, the captain advanced. Removing his mailed gauntlet he made to reach for the piece of paper but hesitated at the last.

"You'd best come with me" he said simply, giving a hand signal to his cadre.

Tightening his grip on the reins and grinding his palm against the pommel of his saddle. Peering from under the edge of his hood he scrutinised the captain and his entourage, searching for signs of intent. He was familiar with such men; cavalry officers were a cut above the rank and file, but rarely of noble standing for the most part.

Pavel did not see Rhoderick hand over any bags of gold to the Captain nor did he hear the priest signal for magical assistance. He did see the captain signal for the rest of his men to join them. He wasn't sure what was going on but he was pretty sure that bribery required gold to exchange hands. Didn't it?

He saw Lancaelad assessing the situation but had difficulty reading the expression on the knight's face. The only thing Pavel knew for certain was, if Rhoderick decides to fall back on the scroll's magic, the fewer eyes scrutinizing the situation, the better.

"Are you escorting us through your encampment, Captain? Or must you seek someone else's permission? You must forgive my questions, I am unfamiliar with local customs."

"If the former, we are grateful. If the latter, I must insist your superior come to us here." Pavel gestures to Tovrunn. "It is one thing to for a holy woman of noble blood to be escorted through an armed encampment. It is quite another thing to bring her into an armed encampment like a common courtesan. I'm sure you can appreciate the difference."

"Of course" the soldier agreed with an earnest nod "you may most certainly leave the lady and her guard here. This shouldn't take long."

"Alright," Pavel said, nudging his mount forward. "Take us to your leader."

The mage patted the magical scroll he had tucked into his sleeve for a bit of reassurance but otherwise looked quite confident as he followed the captain. Fate was on their side, after all.

Wasn't it?

Corson looked at Pavel and took a place slightly behind Tovrunn, though he made sure to keep Salien in view.

Lan caught Corson's subtle change of position, and almost sneered at the squire's unwillingness to do his duty and stay by his charge. Still, at least that would enable him, Lan, to be in the thick of the action should decisive action be needed. He shuffled Ogre closer to Salien and mumbled: "At your back, m'lud," endeavouring to blunt the courtly crispness of his syllables. The Roesonean dialect was (unfairly, he thought) derided by the rest of Anuire as the most rustic and rural of accents, so he hoped it wouldn't attract too much suspicion.

Showing not a care in the world and with his head held high Rhoderick trotted to catch up to to the Captain. Not being escorted into camp but riding into camp with the Captain beside him. First impressions were key.

"What are the conditions like in the road Captain? We must try to ensure the good Lady is comfortable." An open smile and a nod to everyone they passed, this was simply a necessary delay and of course they would be carrying on. At least that was the impression he was trying to project

Salien glanced at Lan with some surprise, but he gave a short shrug and fell in with the party as they began toward the Dieman camp.

"Conditions on the road?" the captain asked as Rhoderick joined his side. "Why, near a thousand pairs of boots have marched between here and Aerele in the past month. I see the lady needs no carriage, so the ride should prove as comfortable as any."

"Here we are" the captain said, swinging down from his saddle and approaching the pair of guards. "We have a party with documents from the temple asking to pass. I thought it best to make enquiries."

The guards looked between one another, and without a word one ducked into the tent.

Pavel had ridden silently on his horse as the party followed the Captain through the encampment, although he had drawn the loose hood of his cloak over his head to avoid the inevitable stares his passing would elicit from common soldiers.

Once the group arrived, Pavel couldn't help but wonder whose permission the Captain was seeking. He slid the hood of his cloak off his head to rest between his shoulder blades. It wouldn't do to appear as if he had something to hide.

It was unlikely that any of his traveling companions were gazing into Pavel's eyes but, if any were to do so, they would see the familiar pearlescent sheen that indicated he had opened his senses to the ebb and flow of magic in the area around him. The Vos mage was not expecting to see anything out of the ordinary but he was not not expecting to see anything out of the ordinary, either.

Pavel didn't like going into situations blind but sometimes -- including this time -- that couldn't be helped. Opening his senses to their fullest was simply a habitual response to the discomfort of not being in control of the situation. That discomfort was, of course, carefully concealed behind a mask of stoicism.

Lan chewed the inside of his lip, his heart drumming an undertone to the martial cacophony of the camp. If their ruse - as thin as the parchment upon which it hinged - was shattered, the dungeons of Diemed were the best possibility. A court martial and hempen waltz seemed more likely.

In seeking to avoid the accusation of spies, that is exactly what we have become, he thought bitterly. This must be that poetic irony I read about in Galien's Rules of Verse.

He eyed the banners arrayed around the circle of commander's tents, seeing whether he recognised the heraldry of any particular Dieman nobles or the ducal ensign itself in attendance.

The night deepened as the small party of travellers lingered, fidgeting in their saddles. With his elfin eyes Rhoderick could just make out a dark shape circling silently overhead. Ogre pawed at the dust, muscular flanks rippling in impatience. The remaining guard eyed them, plainly taking their measure, while the captain fell respectfully back to the edge of the light where he leaned on the horn of his saddle, set his jaw and watched.

A moment or two after the pause became uncomfortable the flap on the tent was drawn aside once more, and the guard stepped back out followed by a figure of childlike proportion. As he stepped into the lantern light however it became apparent that the newcomer was anything but. A halfling with deeply lined features, a ruddy nose and unkempt hair squinted at them, his mouth a tight line of non-specific disapproval. "Thank you captain Braight" he drawled, his voice somehow tight as if being forced through his frown, words flowing into one another in a strained way. "You've done well to bring these travellers to my attention."

The captain merely nodded earnestly. "They've documentation from the temple lord" he reported.

"Ah, you've seen it then?"

"No, I thought it best I leave that to you."

"Very good. Very good." The praise didn't reflect in the halfling's eyes, which scanned across the Roesonians in a cold, emotionless analysis. "I am Balthis Mathom, but most know me by the name The Gecko. Is that significant to you?"

Though their paths had never crossed Rhoderick would have guessed he faced Duke Heirl Diem's spymaster them moment he emerged from the tent, but the confirmation left an uncomfortable knot in his stomach. While not so feared as the master spies of Endier or Avanil, the prospect of being under examination by a man who'd devoted his life to winnowing out secrets at the highest level was a challenge far greater than beguiling some sentry.

Keeping the easy grin on his face was not easy but Rhoderick slid out of the saddle and approached the figure as casually as he was able, his fingers unconsciously touching his filagreed silver flask of sea water at his belt.

"Well met my Lord, the Greetings of the Storm Mother to you and House Diem."

"Tales of The Spider have spread far and wide but I have never before heard of The Gecko."

The Basarji accent with which Pavel now spoke seemed ill-fitting to his companions, especially since the mage usually spoke the Andu language as if it were his native tongue.. Of course, Pavel had occasionally spoken with a Vos accent that seemed to come and go. Perhaps his linguistic acrobatics were more purposeful than one might otherwise imagine.

"I mean no offense, Balthis Malthom, Clearly you are a man of importance." The mage gestured to the four tents that stood like a small grove in a large clearing in an even larger forest. Pavel thought he caught a glimpse of an owl flying by on silent wings and wondered if Tovrunn would approve of his analogy. He chose to believe that she would.

Next, he tried to calculate how many individuals might be in the four nearby tents. If they were empty, Pavel felt the group would prevail in a fight, if it came down to it. Given the distance these tents were from the rest of the encampment, there was even a chance that it could be done with none the wiser. If there were actually people in those tents.. well, we would still prevail, of course.

Still, it was probably best not to test that theory.

"Our travel plans were perhaps poorly-timed. It would seem that events are -- how do you say? -- afeet? afoot? But I assure you that whatever those events are, they have nothing to do with us, nor do we have anything to do with them. As we discussed with the good Captain Braight, we seek only safe passage on our way to the Imperial City of Anuire."

As they waited outside of the camp Corson looked at Tovrunn, her eyes were somewhere far away. "It would be an understatement to say that I am concerned, m'lady."

Distantly, as though listening to someone speak while submerged underwater, Tovrunn felt more than heard a stirring near her. Corson must be growing agitated. "My eyes and ears are with Ira, my owl," she explained aloud. "I cannot answer you if you are speaking to me. Should this place turn dangerous, lead me as you would a man both blind and deaf. Or else rouse me like a soldier under ambush."

As it was, Tovrunn felt the wind rush beneath her wings, silent and hidden in the dark of night far from the fires of the men below her. There was no reason to look up, and even if there were all that would be seen was an owl searching for the rats that inevitably followed such camps. Though she was not sure what the significance of the conversation going on below her was not of who this 'Gecko' was, Ira's eyes and ears were both far sharper than her own, and nothing escaped her notice. Rhoderick's nervous worrying about the holy flask he carried was particularly telling.

Rising higher, Tovrunn left the conversation behind for a moment and surveyed the camp as a whole. Should their ruse turn to ash and even Pavels portents reveal themselves to be false, the group in the camp would need as safe a passage through the camp as possible. And there were none better suited to finding such a path or leading them down it than her.

Corson nodded, remembering the druids that his order had worked with, though it still kind of eluded his understanding. He barely grasped the tricks he had learned from them.

Rolling his shoulders to loosen up a bit, Corson scanned for any possible dangers for the two of them.

The spymaster's expression didn't change, nor did he take his eyes off Rhoderick's face even as Pavel spoke. "What a great many answers, yet none of them to the question I posed. Let us try again: I am Balthis Mathom. Most know me as The Gecko. Is. That. Significant to you?" He didn't raise his voice nor change his posture. Instead The Gecko just stared into Rhoderick's eyes, searching.

"I am afraid I am not familiar with the name my Lord. Perhaps those of a more worldly nature than myself may be. I am but a man of Nesirie as I’m sure you can tell." Rhoderick spoke clearly to the spymaster, his countenance remaining open and friendly

Corson leaned in to Erron and in a low voice said "be ready, just in case. I think this would be an opportune time for the Medoeriens to use us as a distraction."

Erron kept close, his voice low but his body language convivial. "What is in your mind? A scouting force would surely not strike at an army and awake the war that until now slumbers, but I agree that they would be fools not to divine our purpose and probe for opportunity."

"While their attention is diverted toward us, the camp may not be quite at full readiness. I just have a feeling that if the enemy is watching, that they may take advantage" Corson replied in a low voice. "I feel that it may be more than a scouting force."

When Pavel sees Balthis focus his attention squarely on Rhoderick -- to the point of seeming to ignore everyone else -- the mage can't help but wonder if the elf-blooded priest would buckle under the pressure. His hand moved imperceptibly closer to his saddlebag, wherein lay one of the scrolls of magic he had procured in Medoere. A casual glance at his surroundings was enough to tell him that the Captain, at least, continued to watch as the scene played out before him, even if the halfling's attention was solely on Rhoderick. Pavel forced his hand to remain still.

The Vos mage breathed a small sigh of relief when he saw that Rhoderick was graceful under pressure. He needn't have worried. Stick to the plan, he told himself silently.

Lan bit his tongue and hunched his shoulders under his cloak. The Gecko? A sticky lizard? What kind of name was that? And what kind of man, even a half-man, gave himself a bestial title like an awnshegh? At least if things turned sour, the officious little fellow would be easy enough to snatch up and choke into silence or stuff in a saddlebag.

The halfling seemed to consider Rhoderick's answer carefully, searching every word for some revelation like an antiquarian turning an object this way or that. "Very well," he replied eventually in that same nasal drawl, seemingly satisfied with his findings "explain your business to me."

Gods, but the bastard was fastidious in his questioning. With his stomach twisting into a sour knot, Lancaelad glanced around the command circle again, realising how deep into the camp they were, how many hundreds of men were laid out on each side of them. Which way could they flee if their ruse was punctured? Could they yield? How long would they spend languishing in a dungeon for the crime of crossing the borders without a writ?

He eased his heel subtly into Ogre's flank, making the destrier snort and take a step to the side. With his stirrup clinking against Salien's, he murmured under his breath: "If needs we must move, fix the nose of your horse to the tail of mine. Ride close and swift."

"Some foreign nobles wished to visit the Imperial City of Anuire, they approached the Temple to request escort." Rhoderick shrugged. "We are known to be neutral so providing an escort is common, for a donation. Not many will willingly cross a man of Nesirie. They corresponded with several Temples for this I believe."

"I am simply the Preacher chosen for this duty, I have been known to crack a head if the Storm Mother requires it." With a depreciative grin he gestured to the mace hanging from his saddle horn. "There is no intention to return this way until well after this current situation here is resolved."

"And naturally you can prove this claim?" the Gecko continued. "You can name your sponsor in the temple? And your arrangements in the Imperial City?"

The halfling began to circle Rhoderick slowly, looking him up and down. "And from where you have come? From where your companions hail? Naturally you can imagine that a great many messengers, many assassins, many a pair of covert eyes would leap at the chance to step through this camp. Your purpose hardly seems like an urgent one after all, and the Maesil would serve your purpose so well, and the Straits would serve so swiftly." His speech sped up as the circle did until it was a brisk march but the eyes never broke from Rhoderick until suddenly he turned and pointed to Lan.

"You, your name if you please."

"We had no intention of coming to your camp" Rhoderick protested. "Your Captain brought us here to you."

Pavel has a strange look on his face, almost as if he is embarrassed on Balthis Malthom's behalf, so odd is the halfling's behavior. He cannot help but glance at the Guard Captain to see if the man is witnessing the madness he single handedly inflicted on the party.

But Pavel simply couldn't bear not to witness what was about to transpire and his attention quickly returned to The Gecko The mage folded his arms in front of him, seemingly at a loss as to what to make of the situation. He made no effort to hide behind Vos stoicism, opting instead to bring his hands in front of his face to hide his bewildered expression.

Then let us go around, you little fool, Lancaelad snapped in his mind. His fingers tightened on the reins, squeezing and rolling the leather in his grip until it creaked. As if he could read the knight's thoughts 'the Gecko' suddenly spun and jutted a finger at Lan, but Lan had been mentally rehearsing a lie to conceal his identity, as galling as it was to have to dissemble in front of commonfolk.

"Michael, m'lud," he muttered, his tongue thick with the accent of a Spider River valley yeoman. He did not raise his gaze under his hood, and hoped that one of the most common Anuirean names would suffice as cover.

Silent music coursed through Pavel's veins as he effortlessly called upon the power of his bloodline. He felt a vibration throughout his body the could perhaps best be described as the warmth of a hearth on a chill winter morning, the welcoming embrace a boy received from his mother upon homecoming, and the calm confidence of a knight in full armour -- all rolled into one. This was the power that silenced the screams of the raw stuff of magic and would, in time, allow him to safely channel enough mebhaighl to fuel true magic without fear of being instantly incinerated. It was the power he drew on to cast his Auguries. And it was the power he frequently used to summon an invisible force that Pavel thought of as his third hand.

A simple act of will caused that hand to come into being. It floated beside Pavel, invisible to the naked eye. And, at his direction, it slipped into Pavel's saddlebag to retrieve one of the magical scrolls he'd recently acquired in Medoere.

The flap to his saddlebag lifted as if it were an animated, sentient being. It jostled slightly for a moment and then a scroll seemed to sneak it's way out of the bag, tip toeing behind Pavel, and hastily positioning itself so that Pavel's horse was between it and any unwanted attention.

Pavel's left arm casually fell to his side and his left hand worked in concert with his mage hand to unroll the scroll so that Pavel could see its content. Pavel was on the verge of quietly activating the scroll's magic but his eyes darted one last time to the Captain in an effort to determine if his actions thusfar had gone unnoticed.

Captain Braight had been watching Pavel's antics with some confusion, but as Rhoderick spoke his attention snapped back to the halfling. "My Lord, they communicated to me that they wished to cross the border. As the highroad passes through the camp I ordered them here, but it is possible that they were not aware, but they assured me that they had written permission. Perhaps the document might clear matters?" He paused "I... had thought you were travelling to Aerele however."

Losing interest in 'Michael' almost instantly the spymaster spared a glance at Braight, his expression remaining as tight and impassive as ever. "Thank you captain, I have not forgotten your report of a few moments ago. Allow me to conduct this interview at my own pace if you please. What you might see as inefficiency serves my purpose." Returning his attention to Rhoderick the Gecko ended his circle where it had begun.

"Does the fine captain speak the truth? Will this document explain your choice of route? Will it name your advocate? Your business? It would seem you are unwilling to share any of those facts after all."

Was there the hint of a taunt in that matter-of-fact observation? It didn't seem like it. For all his sudden animation Balthis Mathom's overall demeanour might be best described as tired. His face was one of a schoolmaster prone to sighing a good deal, and there was none of the sneering triumph or suspicious hostility that a more common interrogator might employ.

He pushed a hand into one of the pockets of his coat, toying with something idly. The other hand he reached out awaiting Rhoderick's papers.

Annoyance was audible in Rhoderick’s voice as he reached to his belt. "It is difficult to answer your questions when you do not let us speak as you fire more questions at us. The Temples of Nesirie and Haelyn have co-signed our papers and it would be an interesting choice to offend the God of War and the Goddess of Mourning with a conflict looming."

As he finished speaking and withdrawing the folded paper from his belt a peal of thunder rolls overhead - a simple trick, but a little theatre never hurt.

Pavel watched Captain Braight watching him while the Scroll of Suggestion calmly hid behind the mage's horse, waiting to be used. When the Captain's attention shifted back to The Gecko, the perfect opportunity presented itself for Pavel to cast the Suggestion spell. But Pavel's training in the arts arcane was not limited to learning how to cast a spell. It also included when not to cast a spell.

Seeing the halfling continue his conversation with Rhoderick was a relief. It meant their original plan could still work. All Rhoderick had to do was...

"The Temples of Nesirie and Haelyn have co-signed our papers .." Pavel quickly retrieved the Scroll of Phantasmal Force from its hiding place in his sleeve and wasted no time in activating the magic within. And with everyone's attention on Rhoderick and Balthis Malthom, he'd be able to do so with none the wiser, or so he hoped.

Pavel was every bit as galled at the need to cast a spell without any hint of artistry as Lancaelad had been when forced to deceive a commoner -- as if the noble knight cared what a commoner might think. Perhaps if Pavel had been aware of Lancaelad's inner turmoil, he'd have felt a little less put out. Misery loves company, after all.

As it was, the mage simply cast the spell on the scroll as succinctly and quietly as possible. Despite the lack of flair, Pavel still felt the joy of casting a new spell for the first time. And when he finished, he felt the familiar sensation of fate settling into place.

The Suggestion scroll seemed to politely roll itself up before returning to its place in Pavel's saddle bag.

Mathom accepted the paper and examined it scrupulously. First he scrutinized the paper itself, then unfolding it he held it up to the lamplight, then finally scanned whatever illusory message his mind must have conjured. Whatever conclusion he'd drawn, that mild frown never changed. The thin lips did not so much as part.

He looked slowly up at Rhoderick, and then back at the document before fastidiously refolding the sheet of paper and returning it. "My apologies. This clears up everything. Captain, please guide these travellers back to their companions and escort them through the camp by the highroad. They are not to deviate from that path."

With that he turned and walked back into the pavilion from which he'd emerged.

Pavel nodded in complete agreement with the halfling. It had taken Balthis Malthom some time to get there, but Diemed's spymaster eventually made the correct decision. After all, the party was no threat to the army, delaying them would serve no purpose.

Sometimes the only way to help someone see the truth of things is to deceive them.

"Very good. Shall we be on our way? Captain .. Braight?"

"Storm Mother’s blessings Captain. Let us collect the Lady and be on our way." Rhoderick’s tone was brusque and perfunctory, still playing the role of annoyed. He gave a respectful nod to Pavel as he wheeled his horse around.

Pavel swallowed the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat. As the group left the Spy Master's little corner of the encampment, the mage was sure to position his horse far enough that the Captain wouldn't be able to discern words quietly spoken but close enough that he'd hear if Pavel slightly raised his voice.

The mage then casually retrieved the spell scroll from his saddlebag and then looked around to ensure that The Gecko's tent was out of earshot. He then spoke the arcane phrases inked on the scroll as quietly as possible, directing the spell at Captain Braight. As soon as the magic of the scroll was released, Pavel directs his horse to catch up to the Captain as he leads us back where the others waited for us.

"Why don't you set a hasty, but not unseemly, pace and then, once our travelling companions have rejoined us, you can escort us through the camp by way of its perimeter?" Pavel Suggested. He went on to explain, "The Lady who travels with us is shy and I am certain she would wish to avoid the base stares of common soldiers."

Pavel said a silent prayer to the Silver Prince: Please, please let this work...

Lan had to swallow a guffaw of amazement as the halfling seemed to accept the blank parchment at more than face value. He would owe Rhoderick and Pavel a hearty clasp of the hand and pat on the back for this piece of cunning-work! But for now, he kept playing the dour guard, staying close as they prepared to collect the rest of their party and ride through.

It wasn't until Pavel began fidgetting with another sheaf of parchment and muttering to himself that Lan sensed something was wrong. The way he spoke to Captain Braight so sharply, so directly, so imperiously... something was wrong. His hand slid to the haft of his weapon again and he glanced at the wizard curiously.

Rhoderick’s smugness and fake annoyance fell away as Pavel barked at the Captain. Had he lost his cool? Or had he sensed something wrong with the spell? Either way he grasped the haft of his mace and started glancing about alertly.

Braight nodded with a matter of fact air as Pavel felt the casting settle into place on his mind. "Of course, your lady needn't ride through the whole camp. There is a supply track to the south that will serve very well." He indicated Tovrunn, Erron and Corson ahead as they approached the perimeter of the encampment. "It is a little rugged, but your mounts should be more than a match for the ground."

Tovrunn's face slowly morphed into a scowl. That was unusual. For a moment the displaced druid wavered, unsure of what to do, before she silently commanded Ira to give pursuit, flying low enough to hear whatever the man had to say.

Perhaps the man was following an order unrelated to their passage. She hoped he was following an order unrelated to their passage. But if that wasn't the case, if there were some obstacle that their ruse had failed to move - or worse, had inadvertently placed in front of them, Tovrunn needed to know about it. As far as her husband-to-be was concerned Diemed was an enemy, and that meant that they were Tovrunn's too. They would have to be a day's ride away or more from this warcamp before she loosened her vigilance.

A figure emerged from the pavilion, dressed head to toe in crushed velvet of maroon and forest green with a pair of light-weight blades sheathed at his side. His back was to Ira, but even then the missing hair and angry, puckered red of burned flesh was obvious.

"Describe ze silent Anuirean to me."

"Very good, Captain. The supply track you mentioned sounds perfect. Let's do that," he said, with a pointed look at Lancaelad, Rhoderick, and Salien before turning back to Braight.

"And we really must make haste. Her Holy Ladyship's exposure to, well, anything that would cause impure thoughts, really, should be limited. And, with Diemed's finest here en mass ... I'm sure you understand my concern."

"Allow me a moment to speak with her and we shall be on our way."

Pavel pulled his horse ahead of the Captain and gestured for the man to wait. He spoke courteously but there was an unconscious, quasiaristocratic undertone in his gesture, one that silently communicated that he expected to be obeyed.

Pavel quietly muttered something to himself, turned in the saddle to look at Lancaelad, and pointed a finger (accusingly?) at him but said nothing. The mage turned to face forward once more and hastened to rejoin Erron, Tovrunn, and Corson.

Lan frowned as the Dieman captain readily agreed to Pavel's alternate route. Why was the man being so obliging? What was the Vos's aim in leading them the long way around rather than straight through?

The blister of suspicion popped as the young knight suddenly heard an arcane murmur in his ear. He started, sweeping his gauntleted hand around in the air as if trying to ward off a midge. "Cuiraécen's spit!" he yelped, glancing around for the source of the sound. But then he actually listened to it...

He turned in his saddle and glanced back at the Gecko's tent, weighing the odds of galloping back and seizing the spymaster before he could set any schemes against them. No, thin hope of that. Pavel's voice said that the highroad was a trap now. If they went that way it would not be like a vice closing in on them; it would be an avalanche, hundreds of men pressing in on all sides. Certain death or capture.

The supply track it would be, then, once they were reunited with Tovrunn and the squire of the greenwoods.

As Pavel rode ahead, Lan tarried long enough to speak in a hushed tone from under his hood to Rhoderick and Salien: "The wizard says the little wretch saw through his ruse and is preparing to snare us as we ride through the camp, but he has bewitched this man to take us by another route. Be read to battle fiercely or ride swiftly. We are on the brink of a storm here." He twitched the reins and heeled Ogre forward after Pavel, his gaze flitting to the side with renewed suspicion.

"ᛖᚱᛁᚴ ᛋᚨᚡᛖ ᚢᛋ," Tovrunn cursed under her breath. The situation was quickly changing for the worse.

"Corson," she called a little louder, holding out her hand; she was not yet ready to return to her own senses as there was surely more to learn. "Come here for a moment." When the man reached her and took her hand, Tovrunn began to speak in a hushed tone, "Our Brecht friend from the inn in Bardenhold has recovered enough from his tumble down the stairs to beat us here. The others are returning, but we cannot venture through the main camp; a snare is being built. Steel yourself for whatever happens next."

Pavel took a few moments to quietly bring Tovrunn, Corson, and Erron up to speed in regard to encounter with Balthis Malthom and the Phantasmal Fiasco. It didn't surprise him that they had awaiting their return and were ready to be on the move. What did surprise him was Tovrunn's willingness to plunge headlong into danger while her senses were elsewhere. It was both a display of great bravery, as well as a show of the tremendous confidence she had in Corson and he wondered, not for the first time, if there was more to the man than was readily apparent.

Although Pavel was glad that everyone was together once more, something seemed off. After a moment, he realized what it was: Lancaelad.

Pavel realised, with a twinge of guilt, the he had been responsible for inadvertently creating a situation that had caused the group to split up during the group's initial encounter with the Captain. If it hadn't been for Pavel's blunder, the knight -- Tovrunn's intended -- wouldn't be stuck in the role of Salien's slack-jawed guard and would even now probably be positioning himself beside Tovrunn in order to provide her a measure of protection while in her vulnerable state.

He silently promised himself to be more careful with his words in the future.

Pavel brought his horse opposite Corson, on Tovrunn's otherwise unprotected flank. Honor demanded no less. He didn't have Lancaelad's armour but the mage was ready to conjure a magical Shield at a moment's notice.

"We really should make haste."

Wait. What was it he had vowed to do? He had just admonished himself for something. Well, self improvement would have to come later, he supposed. For now, he refocused his attention, looking for signs of danger. Evidently it was much easier to remember a vow made to another than one made to one's self.

Corson grimaced, but quickly was at Tovrunn's side. "I did not miss these intrigue when I was abroad."

"Shall we move a bit faster Captain?" Rhoderick suggested. "We don’t want to keep you from your duty more than needed."

As Braight led them beyond the pale, Lancaelad caught sight of those of the party they had left behind. He saw Corson holding Tovrunn's hand and his brow furrowed. Ogre trotted forward, leaving Salien behind, and Lan drew a breath to scold the squire for his shamelessness – until he saw that Tovrunn appeared to be asleep or entranced, eyes closed, upright in the saddle.

"What has happened to her?" he asked urgently, riding next to her and scrutinising her peaceful, distant face. Vaguely, he noticed that it was not an unpleasing face. A man might be quite content awakening to find that face on the pillow next to his each morning. Instinctively, his hand came up and brushed a strand of loose hair back behind her ear. Then the thought came to his mind, unbidden, of his Lady of the Woods, of forbidden fey frolics under the moon, of knightly vows abandoned and oaths of eternal devotion sworn. A furtive, vulpine expression raced across his face, chased by the hounds of guilt.

Corson continued looking ahead as he answered Lancaelad, not out of disrespect but not to call attention to their conversation. "She uses the seer's eye. She needs guidance while in that state. I remember the druids that my Order oft worked with used this magick."

It was difficult to concentrate on more than one conversation at a time, especially when one was heard through the ears of a creature whose senses were far superior to her own, and the other took place with an intruder inside her own head. Most unwelcome, but her time with Breuddwyd had at least given her practice with telepathy. Not that she could formulate much of a response to Pavel's briefing, instead favoring a nod and urging her horse a few cautious steps forward. Better to pay full attention to what the Brecht and the Diemed captain were paying than to offer more than that. Still, she was impressed that the wizard had managed to deduce the goings-on in the camp without the aid of an inconspicuous owl sharing its senses. It seemed that their new friend Erron had an eye for talent.

Following cautiously, trusting in the steadiness of those around her to guide her while she concentrated, Tovrunn nearly started when she felt a hand gently brushing her face. It had to be Lancaelad; no other man she travelled with would have dared touch her in such a state, nor done so as gently. Idly she made a mental note to thank him; that strand of hair had been tickling her. "My eyes and ears are with Ira, but I am not without my other senses. If it is urgent, or if we are in danger, please squeeze my hand," she said, offering her other and trusting her horse not to buck her. "Otherwise, please let me concentrate. What I am witnessing is important."

The captain made a brisk gesture of agreement, and with a gesture and a few short commands he and his sentries formed up, with Braight and one man taking the lead and the other two at the rear. Their weapons at hand, but far from readied.

The supply trail around the south of camp was little more than earth trodden hard by wheels, feet and hooves as the camp was established - not a true road but free of scrub at least. The horses could only go two abreast and keep up any pace, with camp followers busy to their right and the moonlit hill country to the right.

The terrain climbed, ever so gradually, up towards the highroad which meant that even here they could glimpse the activity at the centre of the camp, but that also meant that a keen observer might well glimpse them. Not to mention the number of soldiers and servers they passed who could not help but take not of so eclectic a group of travellers. The chances that they'd lap the whole camp before the alarm was raised were slim, and true enough they'd scarcely made it to the southernmost tip of the camp - barely half way back to the highroad and the path west - before riders could be seen thundering swiftly towards the eastern and western ends of the camp.

Glancing up Braight frowned, but didn't comment.

After a few steps more however the sound of a horn, clear and undulating in the night, took up in the north-west. A moment more and another echoed it, this time closer.

Atop the pavilion Ira shifted - Tovrunn could be confident enough that an owl wouldn't be remarked upon unless she made herself too obvious. From a fluttering square of shadow behind a banner she could clearly see the puckered wreck of the mercenary's face.

As the guard described Salien in brief terms the Brecht nodded. "Zis is him" he confirmed with a nod to the Dieman commander. "You will take zem into custody?"

"If the man's as valuable as you say we'll take them into our custody while we confirm your story."

"My master vill be very grateful."

The Dieman gave the mercenary a hard look. "My nephew does not make a habit of snatching up travellers and handing them off to shadowy mercenaries, and nor do I. You master's gratitude is neither here nor there."

The Brecht smiled, though the pocked red surface of his skin made the expression look painful. "Forgive me, but you are at var my lord. Ze Prince of Rabbits has many men in the south - some even vithin Medoere."

"Not war" the Dieman replied emphatically "unless Medoere refuses to negotiate. And if it comes to it there's no honour in such infiltration. Not to mention your company's reputation for looting and worse. If there's violence it will be swift and necessary. Diemed does not need your kind."

"Forgive me lord, but then vy help us?"

The Dieman studied the burned foreigner carefully. "Avanil."

An expression Tovrunn couldn't quite identify flickered across the Brecht's twisted face.

The nobleman gave a satisfied snort. "I thought so."

"What is the Horn Captain? We should hurry the lady out of here if there is to be trouble." Rhoderick questioned the Captain, settling his shield on his arm, grasping his mace and looking around.

Pavel had to push down the natural inclination to stand and fight that arose in response to the challenging tone of war horns that seemed to shout in some incomprehensible language. 'Stay the course, follow the plan', he silently chided himself.

"Squeeze, please! Squeeze, please!"

It took a moment to realize that Pavel was speaking to the individual guiding Tovrunn, who she had previously instructed to squeeze her hand in case of emergency. Pavel wholeheartedly agreed with Rhoderick: time to ride like the wind and get as far through the camp as possible before having to clash with any who would try to stop us -- be they loyal to Medoere or Diemed.

Lancaelad had fallen in alongside Tovrunn's horse, leaning down from his destrier's several-hands greater height to hold her arm and reins, keeping her on the strait and rugged path. When the horn sounded and another echoed he lifted his head, but dismissed it blithely.

"What do you mean, man?" he said airily to Pavel. "They're merely blowing reverie. The Diem bugle corps, company B, are renowned for their hearty lungs and regular tootling."

His gaze shifted back to the two parties of riders thundering away from the cavalry detachment of the camp, and slowly, oh-so-slowly, the realisation of peril dawned on him. "Shadows take us," he muttered, his face paling. His hand tightened around Tovrunn's forearm, giving it a squeeze and a shake. "My lady," he hissed. "My lady! Riders are a'hoof in pursuit of us. Open your eyes!"

"It is a call to arms" the Captain replied "someone has made their way into the camp. Best stay our course. If we make haste now then the sentries may be confused and move to waylay us rather than the intruder."

Corson gave Tovrunn's forearm a gentle squeeze and waited for her to regain her senses before letting her arm go.

Avanil?

Tovrunn shifted her weight in her saddle. The Principality to the West? But what did-

A sudden squeeze on her her forearms cuts the thought short. Silently commanding Ira to remain there and to listen and remember as best the animal could, Tovrunn pulls her consciousness back to her own senses. Reeling unsteadily in her saddle as her eyes and ears adjusted to the dullness of human senses, she glanced around looking for trouble and found that they...were walking along a trail to the south of the camp, escorted by the same captain who had escorted the majority of them into the camp.

"Wha-where...?"

It took a moment for Lancaelad's words to register, and a moment longer for their meaning to sink in, but by the time they did Tovrunn was fighting to keep her heart from pounding and her breath from racing. They were not yet in danger, but it was coming. Slowly and delicately, she removed her crystal focus hanging from her neck and wrapped it around her wrist, situating the magical focus into the palm of her hand.

"On your command, my beloved," she whispered, magical incantations on the tip of her tongue.

"Captain, we have been plagued by assassination attempts during our travels. Whoever has infiltrated your camp likely means to do us harm. We must see the Lady through and out of danger as swiftly as possible. Her importance cannot be over-stated. It was all explained in the Writ we showed to The Gecko. Please, help us Captain Braight. You are our only hope."

"Captain, those men are after us," Although Pavel's words were true, they also implied that the riders coming toward us were the infiltrators he had just recently mentioned -- which was slightly less truthy, truth be told.

Pavel continued, speaking quickly and with unfeigned urgency, proficiently weaving his false implications in with his truths: "We will take care of them. We need you and your men to get word to The Gecko. Tell him we commend his clear vision and foresight ..." True, true, and true.. Kudos to him, Pavel silently congratulated the halfling, for seeing through my illusion... "...but the encampment's security has been compromised." Which, again, was technically true if one considers our group to be infiltrators. Honestly, though, you forced us into that role, he silently admonished Captain Braight. It didn't need to be this way.

"Tell him to Beware the lies of the Baron of Bunnies!" (an honest warning) "He will know what to do." (almost certainly true). Pavel hoped The Gecko would heed his warning. He also hoped it would make up for all of the chaos he and his companions would be forced to unleash upon any who tried to stop us. At least The Gecko will know who was to blame for the events of the evening, he thought to himself.

"Go, please! Go now!" (For real - go away!)

"Captain, you and your men get to the Gecko and let him know of this! We will take the Lady to safety!" Rhoderick urged.

Lan gave a huff of relief as Tovrunn refocused. His grip slid down her forearm, remembering the jewelled patterns of constellations he had seen on her skin, and his strong hand clasped hers in a brief embrace - seeking as much as giving reassurance. "When the clamour comes, show them Aeric's fury, my lady."

He drew Ogre away from her side, wanting space on his right side to draw his weapon when needed. His heart thumped in his chest, matching the racing hooves of the squadron of riders bearing down on them. He glanced over his shoulder to measure the position of the sentries ahead and behind them. Slaying Dieman soldiers, assaulting a military encampment while on a mission for the Roesonean crown, travelling under false pretenses... this was all a murky business. But they were facing a murky foe.

The reverend father was invoking a spell, and he waited with knuckles tensed on the haft of his crow's beak to see which way the thread of fate unspooled.

Pavel gently loosed the bonds of enchantment that had held their guide, and as he did Braight's expression clouded and he pushed a gloved hand to his temple. Even as he did Rhoderick's honeyed words reached out in an embrace of divine assurance. The dissolution of one enchantment must have left the captain resistant to others for a moment though, or perhaps he simply wasn't listening, because the Nesirite couldn't find purchase on the man's mind.

"You're in no danger - those soldiers wear our livery. Shadow, I know some of those men. Either it's scouts from over the border or a few goblins testing their fortunes. Calm yourself man." A gruff tone had returned to the captain's voice, and his mouth thinned once more to a stern frown beneath the waxed moustache. "The road's just there. We'll carry your warning back as you say, but ride on swiftly and don't make a nuisance or I'll clap you in irons myself."

Signalling his men Braight rode off towards the oncoming riders - the shortest route back to the spymaster's tent.

Pavel watched as the Captain and his men rode away to carry his words to The Gecko. He found himself thinking that it's a shame there weren't more men like him in the world: dutiful, honorable, reasonable, and easily susceptible magical coercion.

The mage gave a congratulatory wink to Rhoderick; the changeling had born up well under pressure.

Pavel's gaze returned to the Captain, curious to see if he would interact with the riders coming our way. Hopefully the man would vouch for us and we could be on our way without anyone chasing us -- at least, until he checked in with The Gecko.

His gaze shifted once more, this time to look at Lancaelad, and Pavel readied himself to follow the knight's lead.

Ser Lancaelad watched Braight and his men ride ahead, gently drawing on his own reins to slow Ogre much to the warhorse's sporting chagrin. It was this moment, or none at all.

Lan's hand came up, waiting, waiting until the two parties of Diem riders were within speaking distance of each other... the clenched a fist. "Now! Into the hills! Raise sorcerous and righteous havoc, and follow my path! Salien, stay close!"

Ogre was wrenched to the side and spurred hard, charging up the rough slope. Lan leaned forward, squinting into the evening as he sought a path laden with slippery rocks, loose scrub and slash from the firewood foragers, treacherous gullies and snags. A path he could guide his companions through, but that would challenge pursuers...