Chapter Six: The Muster of Caltlikrath

Domarc takes the gift, Lendras unlocks and opens the palace doors for him to exit. He steps outside to find the crowd milling around the north end of the Trigon somewhat larger than it was when he went inside; he wonders if he missed some sort of spectacle. His spells fading, he looks around for Mordred.

Domarc and Mordred, you can reconnect and leave the city together now, if you're ready.

~meanwhile~

Zangua pays the innkeeper and heads to the door with his companions while the harpist plays the discordant notes of Lacerian's Dirge.

The three party members are only a few yards out of the inn when Zangua has that familiar feeling of being watched. A quick glance over his shoulder reveals the man in the blue cap and the topknotted warrior standing in the doorway.

"Do you still dream of ice, brother?" the man in the blue cap calls out.

The two men step out of the doorway and start to follow the party. "My...teacher...wishes to speak with you," the man in the blue cap says. "Peaceably, as equals. Will you have conversation with him?"

Yeah, I'm ready to get out of town. Good call to throw them off the trail of the Sphere, nubs.

I'm just glad I got a good roll! I don't want any records where the Cult might find them

"There is ice that has no memory of water," the man in the blue cap says. He nods in Zangua's direction. "This one has tasted of it. My teacher can tell you more, if you will speak with him."

~meanwhile~

Domarc and Mordred meet back up in the alley, their spells expired.

"The place where you can speak with him is not far from here. There is no better time than right now. Please, come with us. You are being offered a gift."

The man in the blue cap stops and looks pensive. The warrior beside him shifts his weight from foot to foot, nervously scratching at his hip with his right hand.

Finally the man speaks again, his voice quieter, more plaintive than imperious now.

"My name is Rumio va Leq, and I am a servant of the Six-Pronged Crown. It is not my intention to be cryptic, only discreet. There is a campsite less than half a mile to the north of here. That is where the conversation must take place, but you will not find my teacher if I am not present. I promise no harm will come to you. There were better opportunities to spill your blood, if that was what my teacher wished."

"We are," Rumio says. His voice is quavering. "And you are Felor of the Mountain, who once dwelt in Greenbower as a guest of Edvers Kells, who too was a servant of the Six-Pronged Crown. Please. Accept the invitation."

He seems to be getting very anxious.

Leth might still be unavailable, so I'm just gonna wait for Felor's response.

"Follow me, please," Rumio says, taking a few tentative steps northward while his warrior companion stands fixed in place, staring blankly and fidgeting. "It's not far, but we should make haste."