Chapter Six: The Muster of Caltlikrath

You could hire a courier, yes.

"The Jermals are an honorable race," the old man says. "I fancied a girl from Jerma, once. But it was not to be." He takes another unsteady draft of soup.

As the inn grows yet more crowded, another man seats himself at your table. This one is a young, muscular man with a round head and his hair tied up in a topknot. A long-handled war axe is strapped to his back. He glares at the rest of you and snaps his fingers to get the serving girl's attention.

"Another mighty warrior!" the old man exclaims. "Truly, this is the table of--"

"Silence, old one," the newcomer says in an affectless tone. The old man clamps his mouth shut.

~meanwhile~

While Domarc and Mordred are conferring in the alley, a young man in a short tunic stops in front of the Hierophant's palace, turns to face it, and screams as he makes an obscene gesture with both hands: "FUCK THE 'ROPH! SOLDIER-KILLER!"

Two of the guards halfheartedly jog towards him, and the young man turns and runs away, yelling "LET HAZARD HAVE A KING AGAIN!" The guards stop and return to the palace gate.

"Meat and wine. Your finest," the newcomer says. The serving girl opens her mouth as if to ask for clarification, then seems to reconsider. She nods and heads back to the kitchen.

A woman with a long braid of red hair enters, carrying a harp. The servers, innkeeper, and several patrons call out cheerful greetings to her as she sets herself up in the corner of the room.

The colorful man at the adjacent table cries out, "Play The Farmer and the Bugbear!"

"I should like to hear The Headless Knight of Jerma," the old man says, directing a gummy, ingratiating smile at Felor.

After Domarc recasts his spells and starts mentally composing his letter to Gethro, he and Mordred step back out into the Trigon. They notice as the door of the Hierophant's palace opens, and a woman in brown steps out and crosses the yard to speak with the guards at the gate. It's hard to tell at this distance, but it looks to be the same woman the Hierophant sent to condole with Chorcarz on the night the Six Pronged-Crown attacked.

Domarc is inclined to entrust his message to the Loyal Friends of Commerce, an organization the WBTC frequently employed for various business services. They're located a few blocks to the south.

~meanwhile~

Besieged by song requests, the harpist goes her own way by launching right into The Blinding of the Cupbearer, an odd choice for a lively morning crowd. She is, however, certainly a skilled player with a pleasant singing voice.

Felor, Leth, and Zangua, make a Perception roll.

To clarify, you've seen two different women: the one who walked in earlier, and this one who you recognize from your previous visit to Hazard.

And, Domarc, are you Disguise Selfed when you approach her?

The woman turns; the guards scowl at Domarc. She looks at him impassively. "Were you? What is the message?"

Felor (and Leth, if you're available), I still need a Perception roll.

This is all very good, nubs.

Felor notices that both the old man and the warrior seem to be staring at something at the other end of the room. He shifts his position and turns his head to follow their gaze to a table where five men are seated, having a breakfast of eggs, bread, and beer. Nothing seems remarkable about them except that one of them, a mustached man in a blue liberty cap, suddenly turns his head to look directly at the party's table. He locks eyes with Felor for a moment, then looks away.

The serving girl arrives, setting a platter of sliced beef and a jug of wine in front of the warrior. When Felor's attention returns to the table, he sees that both the warrior and the old man are looking at him, now.

~meanwhile~

The woman gives Domarc a long look while the guards watch her, waiting to take their cue from her response. "Come inside," she finally says, turning to walk back across the yard to the palace steps. The guards open the gate. The woman holds the palace doors open for Domarc to enter.

As Domarc passes the woman to step across the threshold, she says quietly: "We see your friend."

The palace doors swing shut. Domarc hears the click of a locking mechanism.

He stands now in a foyer about thirty feet wide and fifty feet long. The interior is plain, bare stone. A single brazier lights the space. Niches carved irregularly into the walls hold busts of human heads -- Hierophants of days past, Domarc assumes. There are two doors at the end of the hall, and a narrow, arched open doorway at the end of the west wall.

"Master Moag is not here," the woman says. "I don't know when he will return. My name is Lendras dra Mahael, and I am the Amanuensis of the Hierophant in his absence. What did you come to tell us?"

Lendras listens attentively. When Domarc finishes speaking, she says, "Follow me," and heads through the west doorway into a narrow stairwell. They ascend to the second floor, and Lendras leads Domarc down a hallway around to the east side of the building. "Wait here," she says, indicating an alcove with a bench and a table with an empty vase and bowl set upon it. A faded fresco on the alcove wall depicts a squat tower being struck by nine bolts of lightning.

Lendras heads further down the hall and enters a room. She closes the door behind her, leaving Domarc in the alcove to wait.

Domarc, do you want to do anything while you're waiting?

~meanwhile~

Mordred watches as Domarc follows the woman in brown into the palace. The walls of the palace look to be thick, and the windows are shuttered. He wonders if Domarc would be able to hear any of his bird cries from inside there, and decides, probably not. He listens to the idle talk of the guards at the palace gate. They seem to be curious about the visitor who was just let in, concerned about the increasing hostility of the public toward the Hierophant, and excited about the games and dances scheduled for the upcoming Serpent Festival.