Returning from the dramatic pursuit, and apparent demise, of Arlun Parek, the Hand and their new friend Toran found the City in turmoil in the aftermath of the attempted assassination of the Imperial Ambassador, Grimbold. Confronted by hyper alert guards as they returned from the mine levels, it was Toran’s authority as a member, however junior, of the Shadow Guard that got the group into the presence of Captain Darkeye, and eventually the Prince himself.

They learned that news of Devrik’s discovery of how to free the mind-enslaved Shadow Warriors had arrived just in time to prevent a tragedy – thanks not least to the delay caused by several competing Healers arguing about how best to proceed. It was also discovered that a fourth Shadow Guard had been ensorcelled, but had suffered an allergic reaction to the plant – it was because he was unconscious in the the infirmary that Toran had been given his place at the ceremony, an honor unusual for a probationary member of the Guard.

Vorgev Greatcoffer had been apprehended trying to flee the City, his assets frozen, and his ships interred at the docks. Over the next several days he underwent extensive questioning, by both the Royal Inquisitors and, at Lekorm Darkeye’s urging, by Mariala and Vulk. In the end, all agreed that the man had been a dupe of the Vortex mage, and had no useful information on the organization itself. Indeed, he had believed the group was a resurgent branch of the long-suppressed Fhorgîn sect of the Cult of Gheas, who believed in Khundari superiority and was seeking to overthrow Prince Rhoghûn’s liberal policies of greater engagement with the outside world.

“His gullibility and ignorance in no way mitigates his treason, of course,” the Prince sighed heavily when the final report was presented to him and the Privy Council. “He must stand trial, and pay the price!”

Vulk, Mariala and Korwin were present at this high level meeting, as were Ambassador Grimbold and Magister Vetaris. The latter had arrived earlier that day, alerted of the recent events by Mariala, and had just come from his own questioning of their prisoners, which included the corrupted Kalosian priest from Na-henu, whom Korwin and Vulk had retrieved along with their servants and horses the day after the assassination attempt. Sadly, nothing new had been got from either.

“Indeed, Your Highness,” the Gray Mage nodded. “But I think it would be best if any mention of the Vortex could be left out of the public record. Why give this organization any hint of what we know… or, in truth, of how little we know!”

“I am not averse to this, Magister, and I appreciate your wise counsel, as always,” the Prince replied. “For myself, I would like even more to keep any mention of the thrice-damned Fhorgîn sect from the ears of my people – it took my great-grandfather years to finally suppress that heresy in the City, and I don’t need to give my enemies another rallying point should it rear its ugly head once again! But how can it be avoided? The man is too important, and too well known as being in opposition to my policies, for him to simply disappear…”

“Are we all here agreed that the man is guilty?” Vetaris asked, looking around the room and most especially at the members of the Prince’s Privy Council. A heartfelt murmur of agreement rose quickly from every voice, and heads nodded without hesitation. The evidence had been most complete, after all.

“Good! Then I believe I can offer a solution. It is within my power to set blocks in Vorgev’s mind, blocks which will prevent him from saying anything about those subjects we here wish to be kept secret. The facts need not be altered too much – just that he was the mastermind of the plot, and hired a renegade mage –”

“A Khundari mage!” one of the councilors interjected vehemently. “We don’t need anti-Umantari sentiments whipped up on top of everything else! Our commercial connections with the human kingdoms are fragile enough, and too important to our long range goals!” The others all muttered agreement, including the Prince.

“Yes,” Vetaris agreed. “That can be done – no one in the crowd in the audience chamber saw the man change when his illusion charm was torn away. So, Arlun Parek drops nicely out of the story. Vorgev conceived this plot alone, and carried it out with only the aid of his hired wizard and the guards they ensorcelled. My spells will ensure that he will be unable to say or do anything to contradict this story… and so, you may safely have a public trial.”

Fortunately, although Greatcoffer had revealed the names of several other like-minded, disaffected citizens, it was clear none had known anything of this particular plot – Arlun had apparently wanted no chance of leaks. So, while these other potential rebels would be watched more closely now, there would be no great purge, and no resultant civil turmoil. Vorgev Greatcoffer was not a particularly well-liked man, after all…

“There is one other favor I would ask of you Magister Vetaris, and of Dame Mariala,” Prince Rhogûn said, motioning them to stay after he had risen to dismiss the meeting. Their two companions also remained behind, as did Captain Darkeye after seeing the last of the councilors out.

“I would appreciate any effort you might make,” he continued, “in concert with my own people, both mundane, arcane and theological, to root out any other agents of this Vortex that might remain in my city. Is it possible to do this?”

“Well, it is impossible to prove a negative, Your Highness,” Vetaris answered with a slight smile. “But I know enough of this group now, and their arcane signature, to feel confident we can weed out any significant agents. More mundane spies, of course, I can’t speak to…”

“As long as I can be reasonably sure I don’t have magical rats roaming my halls,” the Prince laughed, “I will be content to leave the mundane rats to my trusted Captain and my Shadow Guard!”

Outside the council room the small group found Ambassador Grimbold waiting for them in the corridor.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” he said, tucking away the small dagger he’d been balancing on a callused fingertip, “I have one more meeting for you to attend today…”

♦ ♦ ♦

The meeting took place in the Ambassador’s suite of rooms, in a small, comfortable parlor that was just able to hold everyone involved… the principle members of the Hand of Fortune, Magister Vetaris, Toran Quickhand with an older, unknown Khundari and, of course, Grimbold himself.

“You’re probably wondering why I’ve called you all here this evening,” he began with a smile. Magister Vetaris gave an amused snort at this, but said nothing.

“Aside from wishing to again express my deep gratitude for your efforts in protecting my life, I also thought it time that all of us who act in the name of the Star Council should be made known to one another!” As he said this, he flipped open the cover on one of the many rings on his fingers, revealing the symbol of the Council and eliciting a tingling in the ring fingers of (almost) everyone else in the room.

After a moment of surprised silence from the Hand, and a nod from Magister Vetaris, most of the others in the room also revealed their sigils, including Toran and the older man beside him.

“By Kasira’s left tit,” muttered Devrik under his breath. “Does everyone work for this Council?”

Grimbold laughed out loud at this, and Magister Vetaris smiled, saying “No, my dear Devrik, although it sometimes seems like it, I know, to those of us who really do. In fact, witting agents of the Council are fairly rare… in all of Dürkon, for instance, there is only one.” He gestured to the older man sitting next to Toran.

“Well, two now, Magister,” the man said with a slight smile, rising and bowing to the group. “I initiated young Toran into the fold just this morning. He bears his own sigil ring now.” He sat bak down with a fond look at his son, who just looked embarrassed.

“Let me introduce you, my young friends, to the Royal Skald of Dürkon, Ghorek Silverharp,” Vetaris said. “I believe you already know his son, Toran Quickhand.”

After expressions of surprise and congratulations went around the room, Grimbold came to the real purpose of the meeting.

“It has been decided by Prince Rhogûn that he should have his own eyes and ears involved in the search for this Vortex gang, and to that end he has ordered Captain Darkeye to assign young Toran here to detached duty… specifically, if you will have him, to your group… what do you call yourselves? Ah yes, the Hand of Fortune… I like it!” he added as an aside.

“And given the nature of your group,” Vetaris picked up the thread, “it was decided that Toran should be made an agent of the Council as well. This will make everything less complicated, assuming you agree to take him on, of course. Keeping secrets from one another is so–”

“What the Void are you all talking about,” Erol burst out suddenly, unable to contain himself any longer. “What is this ‘Star Council’ you keep mentioning? Who–”

“Yes, yes, Erol, I’m sorry,” soothed Vetaris, as the other members of the Hand looked embarrassed. “I’ve been meaning to put you in the know for awhile now, and that is, in fact, the other purpose of this meeting. Now you musn’t blame your friends, they were bound by strict oaths of secrecy… as will you be, if you accept my offer…”

Which he did, after several turns of the glass wherein all the secret events of the past year were fully explained to him at last. After taking his own oath, he received a ring, bearing the hidden sigil of the Star Council, from Grimbold himself.

“I asked this boon of my colleague,” he explained as he watched the young fighter examine the ring carefully. “I’ve felt a certain kinship to you, my friend, as I’ve gotten to know you these past few days. Though I can’t explain why – perhaps it’s that you remind me of myself at the same age…”

After the Hand agreed to take on Toran as a member, the meeting turned to matters of the Council and it’s mounting concern over the existence and actions of the mysterious Vortex organization. It was quite late when they finally broke up…

♦ ♦ ♦

It took only a day and a half to convince Magister Vetaris, the Arcane Masters, and the Khundari Ghean priesthood that the City was free of magically warded spies of the Vortex. A task made easier, the mage pointed out to Mariala over dinner the next evening, by the relatively small size and enclosed nature of the Khundari Inner City.

“The Outer City seems clear as well,” he continued. “But it is not absolutely certain, and it would be impossible to make even that much of an assurance for an Umantari city of similar size. It is the insular nature of Dürkon, and the arcane wards and engines built into it’s very bones, that make what we just did possible. I suspect it is also what will keep the Vortex from planting new agents easily in the furure, now that we know what to look for.”

“Perhaps,” Mariala frowned, sipping her wine thoughtfully. “Assuming they don’t change their methods and “signature,” as you put it. I’m afraid they know that we know about them now, and I can’t believe they’ll just continue on as before… the whole reason they’ve succeeded so far is that no one knew to look for them…”

“Oh, you’re right of course, my dear. It’s inevitable that the Vortex should take new precautions, and I don’t claim it will be easy to root them out… we still know so little of them, their size, the scope of their operations, their ultimate goal… but the most vital thing is, we do know they exist now, and that counts for much!

“But tell me, what did his Highness want with you after our latest meeting this evening? I confess I was surprised when he asked you to stay…”

“Oh, that,” Mariala blushed and set her goblet down. “It seems Prince Rhogûn is seeking outside tutors for his three children… and since we’ve now declared the City safe from the Vortex, he has asked the Hand to stay for the winter, and more specifically, for me to be one of the children’s tutors. I think he is especially anxious to have a female teacher, for his young daughter’s sake.”

“Hmmm,” Vetaris stroked his chin absently as he considered this. “I think using Dürkon as a base for awhile is a good idea… the Vortex is certainly hot to eliminate you all, at this point, so staying where they can’t get at you is excellent strategy. But do be aware that there are segments of this society that fear the changes the Prince is making, and the education of the Royal Children by non-Khundari is a flashpoint for many of those fears.”

“I’m aware of it, of course… the Prince made no secret of the fact that I might face some hostility from some of the more, um, ossified nobility.” Mariala smiled. “But I’ve always been fascinated by Khundari culture, and I think the chance to experience it so very first hand, not to mention influencing its future through the children, is an opportunity I can’t refuse.

“And besides, it will help me improve my rather stilted Khundaic!”

“Well, as always, you seem to be proceeding with your eyes open, and your mind as well – so good luck!” He rose from his chair and bowed over her hand. “But now it is time for me to retire. I will be leaving first thing in the morning… there is much to be done yet this winter in pursuit of the Vortex, and I have several things to set in motion.

“I will contact you as soon as I’ve learned anything, and I assume you’ll do the same, should any of you decide to stir outside these walls before spring…”

Mariala stood and gave her mentor a hug, surprising a laugh from the older man. “I’m sorry you have to leave so soon… take care yourself, out there, for I have a feeling the Vortex isn’t looking for us only… And though we may stay here through the winter, I know Devrik, at least, won’t be bound inside; not with Raven expecting his child!”

♦ ♦ ♦

Indeed, it was the very next day, only a few hours after Magister Vetaris had departed the City himself, that Devrik set out for Dor Dür and his pregnant wife. He was accompanied by Vulk, who was anxious to see his Shield Brother Draik and fill him in on the latest news, and by Cris and Rob. Erol continued the daily training regimen he and Devrik had begun with the Shadow Warriors, while Mariala began preparing for her role as tutor the the Royal Children.

Korwin, meanwhile, sought out a Khundari craftsman recommended to him by Toran’s father in an effort to bring to reality his designs for a new lantern, utilizing the ancient Khundari glowstones he had taken from the Tomb of the Lost Prince beneath Dor Dür. Fehandor Bronzebender was a man of middle years for a dwarf, which meant he was probably approaching his 150th birthday, and gray was begining to pepper his dark beard. Originally a bit cool to his Umantari visitor, despite his rarified introduction from Ghorek Silverharp, he quickly warmed to him once he was shown the plans Korwin had drawn up.

“Extremely interesting, my lord,” he said after listening to the water mage’s ideas for a multi-chambered lantern that would encase the glowstones in a clear oil, to stop their fire, then drain it away again, exposing them to air, when light was wanted.

“A most well-thought out concept… the only suggestion I would make is to replace the oil with water. Yes, yes, I know the stones burn as bright in water as in air – both elements contain the same ether by which the stones are activated. Indeed, I have heard it said that the Khundari lords of old had much trade of these stones with the Tritani, and other peoples of the sea… although we, at least, no longer seek such commerce…

“But you see, if you fill the lantern with the uhrkwan-toh, what the miners call the Bad Air, the stones will not burn; then release the water from the upper chamber, and the stones give off their light. When you wish to extinguish the light,  drain the water to the lower chamber… if we make the lantern symmetrical, top to bottom, you simply turn it over so the water chamber is again at the top…”

Korwin was taken with this idea immediately, and the two fell to discussing details of materials and cost. Once the technical matters were fixed, Fehandor said he could make the device the mage wanted for 25 gold crowns, at which Korwin called loudly on Tyvos of the Deep to keep him from the sharks that swam on the land and claimed 5 gold crowns would be robbery, yet he might consider paying it. The Khundari master craftsman then threw up his arms in disgust and called on Gheas to give him back the time he had wasted on this “browser,” although it was possible he might condescend to consider 20 gold crowns, out of pity for the fellow’s obviously waterlogged brain…

In the end, they agreed on a price of 15 gold crowns, and that it should be ready eight days hence, on 29 Turniki. The two men shook hands and parted company quite satisfied that they had each got the better end of the deal…

♦ ♦ ♦

The next day messengers were sent out by Prince Rhogûn to other Khundari realms, with warnings of the threat posed by this mysterious new organization; to the High King of Karac in the south, to the Prince of Yarchür in the Greatstone Mountains in the west, and to the scattered Clan Holdings of Themuria and Varisea in the far north. Ambassador Grimbold dispatched his own messengers to bring the news to Lord Kavyn and Emperor Gil-Garon in Avantir.

With that task taken care of, life in Dürkon began to return to normal, and the members of the Hand of Fortune began to fall into their new routine. This consisted of weapons training with those of the Shadow Guard with whom they had forged friendships, and who were willing to teach what was permitted by their Order; learning basic Khundaic for those who didn’t already know the language, with advanced training for Mariala; study and research by those with arcane or mystical powers; and occasional forays outside the City for hunting or hawking, with the Prince and his courtiers, or reconnaissance on their own, seeking signs of Vortex activity.

During this time Mariala took up her tutoring of the Royal Children, spending four hours every other day teaching them Yashparic, history and natural science. Vulk was soon convinced to take on an hour himself, teaching comparative religion. Their charges were generally good students, eager for news of the world outside their narrow home, and Mariala grew especially fond of Lady Nharsia, the 12-year-old daughter of Prince Rhoghûn. Vulk seemed to forge a bond of humor with the boys, especially the eldest, 18-year-old Lord Vorgânt, who particularly loved practical jokes.

The boy’s Khundari tutor treated them both courteously enough, if not with any great enthusiasm, but it was Nharisa’s nanny, a frightful old battleaxe of the most conservative stripe, who gave them, especially Mariala, the most trouble. Although there was little that Dhama Jhertin could openly do, in the face of the Prince’s clear support, the harridan missed no chance to nip at her heels – cutting comments in public, “helpful” corrections of her Khundaic in front of the children, and subtle sabotage of her teaching plans. All of which only served to make Nharisa even more attached to her wonderful Umantari tutor…

Devrik and Vulk’s tenday-long excursion to Dor Dür had been a somewhat mixed bag, as they had explained to their friends  over dinner the night they returned to Dürkon on the last day of the month. It seemed that Devrik was determined that Raven should return to the Khundari city with him, to finish out the last few months of her pregnancy under the aegis of its greater security.

“She threw crockery at my head,” he grumbled morosely into his wine cup. “Again! She said it was bad enough being locked away within the stone walls of Dor Dür, but at least there she could see the sky and even take the air when she wished. She claimed she would wither and die underground for so long! I tried to explain that it wasn’t like that, that she could still walk outside, but it was useless, she was adamant. And her brother was no help… if anything, he was worse, for he had been able to spend much more time outside the walls, and balked even more strongly at the idea…”

In the end, they had agreed to disagree – she understood that he needed to stay close to the group as long as the Vortex threatened them all, and he accepted that she really couldn’t thrive in the underground city. He promised to visit as regularly as possible, it was a short enough journey, two days if one rode diligently and didn’t linger on the road. And she had the magic paper with which to contact him in an emergency… he checked every hour, it seemed… but she should be safe enough under the guard and vigilance of his old captain…

Vulk’s visit had been predicated on a certain agenda as well, an agenda that met with no more success than Devrik’s had. He had been a little more subtle about it, spending the first day or two of his visit with Draik regaling his Shield Brother with tales of the adventures the Hand had been having, with a certain stress on how little danger they’d faced. Eventually he segued into how much easier they might have been to resolve if only they had had Draik’s expertise. At which point his friend had made it very clear, albeit without flying crockery, that he simply wasn’t interested.

“He’s having the time of his life, it seems,” Vulk sighed in resignation, draining his own cup and thumping it down on the table with a shake of his head. “His researches are apparently going very well, and he’s made real progress on practical uses for Baylorium… in fact, he sent me back with several vials of his latest batch, which he claims does wonders for cuts and abrasions as well as blood loss.

“The business side of things is also going well, and I can’t deny that he seems very happy being able to spend so much time with his brother… but I really thought he’d be bored stiff by this time, and ready to come back to the group.”

But despite the failure of their primary purposes, both men admitted that the visit had been a good one, once they got past the arguments. After appropriately sympathetic nosies, the rest of the group filled the travelers in on what they had missed, especially the packed public trial of Vorgev Greatcoffer, now four days past.

The Hand had been given seats in a hidden gallery, having been asked not to attend the public trial, the Prince’s desire to keep this a strictly Khundari affair extending even to the witnesses. The sole exception had been Mariala, who attended in her capacity of Royal Tutor; but her presence had actually been required to ensure that Vorgev would remain unable to speak of those things the Prince and the Privy Council wanted kept secret. Should Magister Vetaris’ blocks begin to fail for some reason, she would be there to shore them up, or in the last resort, bring the prisoner down in flaming agony.

In the event, she had been unneeded, the blocking spells held, and the trial had gone on as scripted. The evidence was overwhelming, and as most of the nobility and merchant classes had been present at the actual event, there was no murmuring when the jury of eight good men and true found Greatcoffer guilty, and only an excited hum when they recommended to the Prince that the sentence be execution.

That had been the one uncertain point of the whole affair, from the point of view of the Crown – it was possible the jury could have recommended exile, given that the treason hadn’t actually been directed at the person of the Prince. And while Rhogûn was under no legal obligation to take the jury’s advice, if he had ignored a plea for banishment and sentenced the convict to death in despite, it might have lead to unrest and deeper discontent. So His Highness had been prepared to follow the jury’s lead, whatever it might be, and if necessary send out a squad of the Shadow Guard to make sure the traitor met an anonymous death in the mountains within a tenday.

But such exertions had not been needed, and Vorgev Greatcoffer’s head had been separated from his shoulders two nights later, under the dark of the Greater Moon, and his body tossed from the heights of Traitor’s Drop. At that time the Prince announced that the man’s property would not suffer attainder, despite his treason, and his heirs would be allowed to inherit. This relieved the last grumblings of all but the most diehard opponents of the Prince, and those individuals were smart enough to keep their thoughts to themselves.

Stories told and bellies full, the friends bid one another goodnight and retired to  their rooms, to get a good night’s sleep before tomorrows festivities.

The next day was 1 Vento, and the celebration of the Bounty of the Deeps, the holy day of Tyvos, God of the Seas. Korwin had spent the days after the trial pulling together a feast for the day with the fruits of the lake fishermen’s nets. He had then surprised his friends and acquaintances with an invitation to a beach party on the shore of the lake south of the Outer City. All had excepted, save only Prince Rhogûn… oh well, it had been a long shot anyway…

Despite a chill wind from the north the party was a great success. Devrik’s subtle enhancing of the fires in the warming braziers scattered around the great pavilion had kept them all comfortable, the food was excellent, and the wine and beer had flowed freely. Besides the Hand and their entourage, most of Toran’s family had attended, as had Lekorm Darkeye and several of the Shadow Warriors of the Prince’s Guard. A great time was had by all, and the hangovers the next day were spectacular!

It was several days later that the first great storm of autumn swept over the North, bringing heavy rains and high winds to the lowlands, snow to the high mountains, and gratitude to all those safe and snug within the great halls and chambers of the City…

“I don’t think we should waste this opportunity to question our friend here,” Korwin commented as they dragged the stunned and suddenly pale priest away from the entry and toward the central pillar of the Shrine. “Given how slippery these fellows have been so far, I fear any delay could lead to disaster… we have this space to ourselves, for whatever reason, and the power of the Ma– er, the Shaper – seems to have given us a break.”

“True,” agreed Vulk, “Even if we could get him past his fellow Kalosians, there’s no guarantee that this blessing would last beyond the walls of this Shrine, or beyond His lands…”

“If we set up behind this pillar,” Devrik offered, “we can’t be easily seen from the doorway, should anyone pass by, but should be aware of anyone entering.”

The others all agreed with this plan, and soon the faux priest of Kalos was bound hand and foot, his back to the massive central pillar and his face sickly looking in the soft amber light. He had regained his bearing by this time, and even as he was manhandled he adopted an air of remote indifference.

“You will get nothing from me, offspring of jackals,” he sneered when they all stood ranged around him, looking at him expectantly. But Vulk had not been idle while Devrik and Erol bound their prisoner. He now stepped forward, and raising his baton, he invoked the ritual of Abon’s Authority, certain that this time his invocation would be allowed to work.

“Those in whom you have placed your faith have abandoned you,” he stated in a tone that brooked no argument. The priest’s face went slack with shock and despair, but only for a moment; he quickly drew his resolve around himself, however tattered and bereft it suddenly seemed to him.

“N-no, I have not… not been abandoned… you have done this… but the Golden Man…”

“…cannot help you now,” Vulk interrupted coldly. “Your only hope lies with us. Tell us what we wish to know, and you may yet be saved!”

“No, I –”

“What is your name?” Vulk barked this question out suddenly, and before he could even think, the man had answered.

“Gerif Urnoketh!” He was sweating profusely now, and his face was a study in fear and desperation.

Mariala stepped forward and with every erg of mental energy she possessed she reached out with her mind and Commanded the confused man.

“What is the Vortex?”

Gerif’s face went suddenly slack, and he slumped back against the basalt and amber pillar, all resistance seemingly gone. He spoke in a quite monotone quite different from his previous sibilant hissing, almost conversationally.

“The Vortex is the cleansing power of Chaos, which will destroy the old and dying relics of the past, and usher in the new Order… It is everywhere, and it is unstoppable… Resistance is futile.”

“Who else is a member of the Vortex,” Korwin asked, leaning forward avidly, his eyes bright with curiosity. But the priest just looked at him, his face regaining a bit of its former tension, until Mariala repeated the question with her Commanding voice. Gerif’s gaze turned blank again as he began to speak.

“It is not for me to know more than is given to me… my charge is this shrine of the Mad God, and the monastery. I know only those whom I’ve recruited to the service of the Vortex, and the one who recruited me, Arlun Parek… and the Golden Man, of course… he who is the Vortex made flesh…”

A sudden babble of questions broke out at this point, and it took several minutes for Mariala to restore quiet and make it clear all the questions had to go through her. Eventually the group fell into the pattern of quietly asking Mariala a question and waiting for the mind-locked priest to answer after she had repeated it for him in The Voice. Vulk reinforced her commands with his ritual of Authority, and confirmed the answers with his truth sense, and slowly a picture emerged.

It became clear that they weren’t going to blow this thing wide open that night – the Vortex appeared to be a cellular organization, with each cell unaware of the members of other cells. Gerif Urnoketh was in charge of this single, apparently fairly remote and unregarded, cell. The only senior Vortexian he knew by name/sight was the one he reported to, Arlun Parek, who oversaw several cells in the region. Gerif knew nothing of the nature, location or even number of other cells.

He did once meet the leader of the organization, the one he called the Golden Man, when he received his second tattoo and was made a cell leader – but the man was swathed in rich robes of midnight blue, crimson and gold, no inch of flesh exposed, and his face hidden beneath a mask of solid gold, the eyes of which glowed white. He, if indeed a man it was, never spoke, but touched Gerif’s newly inked tattoo, imbuing it with his power and filling him with a sense of purpose and camaraderie.

As the leader of the Nah-henu cell Gerif had just six agents in his employ, and only two of those were aware of the existence of the Vortex; the other four believed that they were merely agents of an ambitious priest of Kalos. Of the latter, two were acolytes of Kalos at Nah-henu: Shemet Korvemin and Lesia Jegwar, both young, devout and ambitious, especially the girl. Another was Hergot Verokor, the Master of the Cellar and monk of the Monastery of the Ochre Hand… an ambitious man, willing to hitch his wagon to a rising star. All three believed Gerif to be maneuvering to become the next High Priest of the Nah-henu Shrine.

The fourth blind tool he employed was Joreth Vederzin, a boatman based in Vespina Abbey at the southern end of Lake Everbrite, who plies the waters of the lake from there to Dürkon, carrying cargo and passengers as circumstances allow, including pilgrims to the Shrine at Nah-henu. He was useful for keeping track of the movements of various people in the region. Gerif actually volunteered the information that he was certain that the man was also in the pay of several other spymasters with interests around the lake… “strictly a mercenary,” he concluded with a derisive sniff.

Of the two agents who were willing tools of the Vortex, one was an innkeeper in the castle town of Areson, Fendal Larket, master of the Broken Capstone Inn, well positioned to see who passes through the town, and to learn much of their business if they happened to be less than discreet while enjoying the refreshments of his common room. Gerif said Larket was a black-mark recruit, and seeks only personal wealth and power through the Vortex, caring little and knowing less of their true mission. He was recruited in the summer of 3016.

But it was the last agent, and the one most recently recruited, that riveted the group’s attention. A red-mark agent, Vorgev Greatcoffer was recruited just four months ago, with an eye to a specific job. A  wealthy Khundari merchant/trader from Dürkon, he conducts much of the city-state’s trade with the Umantari realms of Kildora, Nolkior and, to a lesser extent, Arushal, exchanging weapons and raw ore for foodstuffs and luxury items. He was seduced into the Vortex by the believe that it is a secret Khundari-Umantari alliance that wishes to keep the Ocean Empire out of the North. Vorgev feels his monopolies are threatened by the changes Prince Rhoghûn the Younger has been making since he took power last year, especially the proposed trade treaty with the Khundari princedom of Lakzhan, in the Empire. He sees the Vortex as a way to return to the status quo.

“And you’re too late to stop Arlun,” Gerif added, suddenly seeming more animated, though still under the combined powers of Vulk and Mariala. “The assassination may already have taken place… or will soon…”

“Assassination? What assassination?” Vulk barked, using the full force of his Authority. “Speak!”

“It is not the desire of the Vortex to see Dürkon expand its contacts,” Gerif explained, the blankness settling over him again. “Especially not with the Empire… Arlun used Vorgev… I’m not sure how, he doesn’t tell me very much… bastard thinks he’s so special… infiltrated the dwarven city… the Imperial Ambassador, some Khundari from Zhan-Tor… will be assassinated… make it look like the Prince sanctioned it, I think… destroy any chance of alliance… for years… maybe a generation… undermine Rhogûn, too… we can hope…”

As Mariala explained to her friends, for centuries Dürkon has been isolated from other Khundari realms and city-states, holding tight to a long tradition of isolationism… Rhoghûn’s grandfather instituted a more open exchange with the United Realms of Karac 200 years ago, but even he resisted the overtures of Lakzhan, as being too intimately tied to the policies of the Ocean Empire – many Northern rulers fear the possibility of the return of the Empire. But the new prince wants to open formal relations, including trade deals, with Lakzhan, and thru it with the Empire. Apparently this plan was now coming to fruition…

Despite repeated questioning Gerif could reveal no more about the plot, only that Arlun had left for Dürkon five days ago, by boat, and that the Imperial ambassador was due in the city by Höl Kopia. Eventually they returned to other questions, questions he could answer.

“I want to know about these tattoos,” Devrik growled. “What do they mean, and how do they work?”

Once again Mariala set about pulling the answers from the prisoner…

The black tattoos are the lowest ranking, for agents who are useful and believe in whatever goals the Vortex has told them it seeks (and they tell each agent whatever they believe will best bind him to the organization – revolution, criminal organization, religious ascendency, etc.). Such agents are not highly placed or fully trusted. The only power in the black tattoos is one to confuse their minds if they try to speak to outsiders about the organization. They are seldom used to kill, and when they are fully invoked to scramble the bearer’s mind, they then fade away, leaving no trace.

The red tattoos are for higher placed agents, of a more useful nature to the Vortex… middle management, if you will. These marks not only confuse the mind if the bearer tries to speak to outsiders or otherwise betray the organization, they can erase the agents memory, from the moment it was inked to the present moment. They also allow the bearer to monitor the surface thoughts of any black-mark underlings, if the bearer concentrate and is within about three leagues. If the agent attempts betrayal and so invokes the memory erasure, the red mark too disappears thereafter.

The combined red & black tattoo is given to those who move up to leadership positions, governing a cell. It allows them to monitor the surface thoughts of both red and black marks under their command, if they make an effort to do so. It also prevents revealing Vortex secrets to outsiders, but only if such revelation is done with treasonous intent – when recruiting, the bearer may reveal certain levels of information to potential members. But if there is harmful intent, or under harsh questioning, the tattoo will burn out the mind of s/he who bears it, often killing them in the process. It allows two-way communication with other full-tattoo bearers, which is actually how they communicate, not by magical parchments… though those might be used for instructions to underlings.

Gerif also revealed that the parchment that had led them to him, and the trap of the Labyrinth, had been a planted decoy, designed just for that purpose. Arlun had kept it about him in case he met them again, and had laid the trap with the priest a month earlier. When he had fled from them in the swamp he had flown directly to Gerif to tell him the trap was sprung… the next day he had left for Dürkon to oversee the upcoming assassination.

Gerif also revealed that his main responsibility was diverting certain of the kalovai that exited the Shrine toward certain hunters of the beasts in the foothills south and west of Nah-henu. He had no idea why the Vortex wanted them, only which ones were desired – any unique or rare beast, to be sure, but also rock trolls, hill trolls and other strong, aggressive breeds. He assumed the hunters captured them and sold them, perhaps to finance Vortex activities, but he had no actual knowledge of what was done with the beasts. He also didn’t know who the hunters/trappers were, only where they would be at certain times.

All of this latter information came amongst much muttering about violating the sanctity of the God’s creations, but who cares, the Mad God cared more for his beasts than for his worshipers, he treated them all like shit, to the Void with Him, the Vortex would show all the Immortals what was what…

It was at this point that a mild voice behind them caused the Hand to whirl as one, weapons drawn and ready. But it was an elderly priest, short, bald and wrinkled, who stood unmenacingly before them in his rumpled yellow and red robes.

“I have heard enough,” he said mildly. “It seems I truly do have an infestation of vermin within my house.

“I am Horgûn Entargel, the High Priest of Kalos at Nah-henu… and until this evening, I believed myself the spiritual master of the man you have restrained and ensorcelled there.”

Several of the group began to speak at once, but the little old man held up one hand to silence them, smiling slightly.

“Under normal circumstances, I would never condone, nor allow, such things in this sacred place… but two nights ago a vision came to me while I slept; a vision and not a mere dream, of that I am certain. One does not mistake the voice of the God! In the dream I saw my house infested with a plague of rats, but every time I turned to confront the vermin, they faded into the shadows. Then a golden snake appeared at my door, and when I let him in he became not one snake, but five smaller, ordinary snakes. And these snakes pursued the the rats, forcing them out, and my house was again fit for habitation.

“At that point the rest of the vision faded away and only the great snake remained. He reared up and I looked into His great yellow eyes, and I knew, without words, that I must leave the Shrine unattended on the night of Höl Kopia, save only for my Master of Adepts… I confess that I had no sense that I should cloak myself and stay to watch what would transpire, but even a High Priest is only human… and I hoped that Kalos Himself might appear, as in my dream…”

He sighed and shook his head then. “But perhaps that is my punishment for presuming to alter the God’s instructions, that I shall not see Him in the flesh. Am I correct in understanding that you five have met my deity in the Labyrinth?”

“We have, sir,” said Vulk, stepping forward. “And it was a most… unsettling experience.”

“It always is, or so my studies have told me,” the old man said, smiling. “Perhaps I shall know for myself one day, before I die… if not, certainly afterward, on my journey to either rebirth or Unity.

“In any case, it seems you have done us a great service in exposing this corruption within our temple. And you must stop this assassination, obviously, so tell me how I may be of service to you, in turn?”

By the time the embers of the old hermit’s pyre had burned out it was too late to attempt the trip back to Dor Areson, through a marshland they didn’t know, with possible enemies still lurking about. The Hand decided to overnight in the now-abandoned cabin, and after a subdued but filling meal (old Torkin had a well-stocked larder) most everyone bedded down where they could.

Devrik took the first watch, patrolling outside the cabin, while Mariala, unable to sleep despite being given the one bed, decided to work on deciphering the text on the map of Nah-henu they had discovered among Arlun Parek’s possessions. By the light of the fire and a single candle, she studied the text, recalling all the lessons in cryptography she’d had over the years.

Perhaps it was because she had been focusing so intently on the complex cypher of the late Ser Danyes’ private journal, that she failed to see at once the nature of this code. But after she had set it down to take her turn on watch, and returned to it when Vulk relieved her, the solution came to her in a sudden flash. It was, in fact, a relatively simple substitution cypher. Proof against most would-be readers, to be sure, but not at all difficult for anyone trained in the art. Curious, she thought, for such a secretive group as the Vortex appears to be…

But even as she began to piece together the meaning of the main text, it began to shift and swim before her eyes, the letters sliding greasily around the page. In a few seconds the text had settled into a new configuration on the page, a somewhat longer message than before… it appeared to be in the same code, however, and she quickly began to translate, writing it down on a separate paper this time.

Her urgency seemed unnecessary, however, as the new text remained fixed and seemingly completely normal, even after she had double-checked her final translation. The sun was just beginning to light the eastern sky when she sat back with a sigh and a frown, and contemplated the meaning of what she’d just read.

“You’re still awake?” Vulk spoke softly as he came back into the cabin. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

“No,” she replied. “I really wasn’t tired, and in any case the idea of sleeping in poor Torkin’s bed was… unappealing. But my time wasn’t wasted, Vulk!” She held up her translated copy of the text in one hand, the map in the other.

Before she got too far in her explanation, Vulk suggested they wake the others, so she could tell the tale once to all. Devrik was already awake, stoking the fire, and in a few minutes the entire group was gathered around the hearth to hear what Mariala had discovered.

“I think this map is something like my own magic parchment,” she began, holding up the page for everyone to see. “The text on it shifted while I was decoding it – it was a fairly simple cypher, actually; not child’s play, but nothing like as difficult as the one Ser Danyes was using – and the old message was replaced by a new one as I watched.

“I didn’t get a chance to completely decode the original, unfortunately, but it seemed to be instructions to ‘begin the harvest of urve oil…’ then something about ‘his Lordship’ (and a title I couldn’t translate) having perfected… something… sorry, that was about all I could make of it before it began to change.

“I thought at first the shifting of the letters was a magical defense against someone breaking the code, but this new message has remained on the page, so I don’t think that’s it. Instead, I think this is how the Vortex sends messages to their agents!”

“Well, what does it say?” Erol asked, as everyone leaned forward.

Mariala smiled, and began to read from her translation.

Brother Arlun, from the Council of Regents, greetings. Your are summoned to come before a tribunal of the Council’s Inquisitors to offer testimony on the recent failures and breaches of our works in your charge. You will present yourself at the regional Chamber on the evening of Höl Kopia, when both moons have risen, and await the pleasure of the Inquisitors. As always the lemmings of Kalos will cloak our activities, especially so on this rare holiday conjunction, when so many will flock to grovel at the absent feet of their false god. Let Aranda greet you on this visit, and then be guided, as always, by the tripartite light, which will lead you to the hidden Chamber. You know the penalty for disobedience, but you may yet redeem yourself in the Eye of Chaos.

“The message isn’t signed, as such, but the Vortex symbol appears just below it,” Mariala concluded. As the others sank back and pondered what they’d just heard, the thought racing through each mind that Höl Kopia was just five days away…

Devrik and the Khundari commander led the way up from the cellar of Draik’s apothecary shop, and as they did the dwarf called out loudly in his own tongue, something rapid and commanding. Devrik squinted suspiciously at him, but his reasons were quickly made clear as they entered the main room – two other black-clad Khundari Shadow Warriors were there, standing a surly guard over Draik, who was tied to a chair in the center of the room.

Indeed, he was very heavily tied to the chair, rather excessively so in fact; and he looked spitting mad, around the gag stuffed in his mouth and secured by a black cloth wrapped around his head. The two Khundari didn’t look any too pleased themselves. One had red, swollen eyes, still streaming as he obviously tried not to rub them, and the other one had a gash on one cheek and a decided limp as he turned to salute his commander.

“What in Kasira’s name is going on here,” Vulk demanded angrily as he pushed past the others, drawing his dagger and stooping to cut loose his friend.

At a motion from Lekorm the red-eyed Shadow Warrior checked his movement to stop the cleric, even as Devrik’s bloody hand went to his hilt.

“We took the obvious precaution of securing the likely escape route of the man, or men, we sought,” Lekorm explained. “But it seems things didn’t go as smoothly as I’d have thought, securing a single apothecary…”

By this time Vulk had removed the gag from Draik’s mouth, and his friend began an invective-laden account of the last few hours; this was quickly joined by the guttural shouts of first one, and then both, of his captors, sometimes in Yashpari, other times in Khundaic. After considerable amount of shouting on all sides, it was Mariala who finally managed to get everyone calmed down enough to extract a coherent story out of the three men.

It seemed that the two Shadow Warriors had not expected any great resistance from a mere shop-keeper when they’d jumped Draik as he came up from the cellar, slamming a bag over his head. But their target had had other ideas… between the various powders he carried, a kitchen knife and a frying pan, Draik had managed to cause some serious damage to the Khundari before they were able to subdue him. Enough damage, in fact, to lead them to take no chances when they finally secured him, thus explaining the excessive bondage in which his friends had found him. Fortunately, they’d had orders not to kill unless absolutely necessary, although they had been tempted…

Once the others had explained what had transpired below-ground, and the current detente between the two groups, Draik and his captors were forced to a grudging exchange of hand clasps and insincere apologies, under the watchful eyes of Lekorm and an increasingly pale Devrik. After which Vulk oversaw the removal of Devrik and the most badly wounded of the Khundari to rooms upstairs, where he could tend to them properly. Mariala set about making the hot chocolate that Draik had promised on their return, while he himself went out to his shop to get healing medicines for Vulk to use. Everyone else settled down around the dining table to quietly discuss the day’s events.

♦ ♦ ♦

Ser Alakor, informed by Vulk of the doings beneath his keep, had most of the Khundari moved to rooms in Dor Dür the next day, as honored guests. Whatever he felt about  secret missions and foreign subterfuge in his demesne, the Principality of Dürkon was too close, and trade with the Khundari too important, for him to do otherwise. He quickly agreed to sealing up the Lost Tomb again, to protect the honored remains that lay there, until such time as some better arrangement could be made. This would have to be done in consultation with his own liege lord and Prince Rhogûn, of course, which might lead to the tomb being moved, or perhaps opened to Khundari pilgrims… the more he thought about it, the latter idea had a certain appeal to Alakor, as it could bring considerable gold into Dür’s coffers…

The wounded Shadow Warrior and Devrik both remained at Draik’s residence, where they could be more easily tended by the cantor and Draik’s own healing potions. The other members of the Hand of Fortune spent much of the next day at Draik’s, keeping their friends company and discussing their next move. Thus it was that they were all together when Danyes Bartyne burst in late that afternoon to breathlessly announce that Tarich Manor was under siege by a gülvini horde!

Their initial shock and worry for Erol and Cris (and the others there too, of course) was somewhat mitigated as they questioned the excited youth. It seemed that he could only truly report, once they calmed him down, that less than a half-score gülvini had actually been seen, by Cris, and the “horde” was merely implied. Nonetheless, it was certainly possible that this group were only the outlier of a swarm, and that was something to take very seriously. When overpopulation and civil strife caused a large portion of a gülvini colony to flee, the results for anyone in the way of their search for a new home could be fatal.

Once the (slightly less-hysterical) word was taken to the Constable, he ordered a score of his troops to be prepared to mount up at first light the next morning, when he would personally lead them into the mountains. The Hand of Fortune, of course, insisted they would be at his side – including Devrik, despite both Vulk and Draik’s insistence that he wasn’t nearly recovered enough for combat. Even Raven couldn’t keep him from riding out with the others, although she did extract a promise from him to try to stick to magic rather than his sword if it came to a fight.

Lekorm also insisted that five of his Shadow Warriors accompany the party, as a sign of goodwill to the new Constable of Dür (and because the Khundari hate the gülvini with an undying rage, of course). He himself remained behind to tend to his wounded man (and to protect the Ancient artifact, Korwin suggested to his companions). Draik joined the party as well, it being his manor and all, donning once more his armour and taking up his sword (not to mention an arsenal of powders, potions and devices).

The war party, now 30 in number, reached Tarich Manor in the mid-afternoon, to find the situation under control. Erol had interrogated the one surviving member of the “horde” that may or may not have been planning to attack the manor, and had extracted much information before the creature died. Erol believed the gül’s story that they were a lone band, fled from their colony after a failed attempt to kidnap a “princess” (as female gülvini are called) so as to start their own colony. The big hovgavu hadn’t been their leader/master, but rather their slave – an unusual situation, only possible because the larger gül was extremely slow-witted and easily intimidated, except when he was in a fighting rage.

Despite this information, Ser Alakor felt it prudent to be sure. He and his men therefore spent the next two days patrolling far up into the mountains surrounding the small valley, seeking any sign of gülvini activity. The Shadow Warriors ran their own independent searches into the mountains, but like the Umantari soldiers, found no evidence of any nearby gülvini presence. When they returned to Tarich Manor, Alakor satisfied and the Khundari disappointed, they found the final repairs and improvements mostly finished, thanks to the efforts of Draik, his friends and the hired help.

Everyone spent one last evening and night at the manor, pretty much exhausting its store of food and beer in raucous carousing. When most of the party left the next morning to return to Dor Dür, only the old bailiff and two of the three hired farmhands remained behind. The third farm lad, Jeb, had jumped at the offer to become Erol’s batman, aide-de-camp, trainee… they never settled on an exact title. In exchange for his service (and skill with the short bow) Erol would teach Jeb the ways of the warrior, a prospect the rural youth found considerably more promising than that of being a peasant farmer.

♦ ♦ ♦

The day after their return to Dür, the 5th of Turniki, was Vulk’s 24th birthday, and he was very surprised to find a great celebration of the fact being held in the Great hall of Dor Dür that evening. It seemed half the town was in attendance, as well as all his friends and even the Shadow Warriors of Dürkon. Draik, in conjunction with his brother’s seneschal, had been planning the surprise party before the incident at Tarich Manor had drawn them away. Preparations had continued in their absence, on the assumption they’d return on time, and so it had been.

Protesting the such an extravagant fête in his honor, Alakor took him aside to explain that it was as much a celebration for the town, as for him. After all they’d been through under Ser Danyes’ harsh rule, and the terror of the garrison massacre, he felt they deserved a good drunken party. It would release the tensions of the past and hopefully point to a happier future. Vulk had impressed the folk of Dür during his brief tenure as their spiritual leader, so  his birthday was a convenient excuse for a celebration.

The highlight of the evening, however, was held privately. With just Mariala, Devrik, Raven, Erol and Cris present, Vulk and Draik exchanged the Oath of the Shield, administered by Alakor (as a lay brother of Cael), becoming Shield Brothers for life. Although brief, it was a very moving ceremony – and the emotion was soon buried under bawdy jokes and comments, which both the principals ignored with great distain. Vulk did feel somewhat better about leaving Draik to “retire,” afterward, and realized that this had been part of his friend’s reason for suggesting the rite.

The party went on late into the night, and a wonderful time was had by all, although the next day didn’t really begin for many people until well after the noon bells… and even then it was a dragging, wincing sort of start. But not for Vulk. He had retired relatively early, able to slip away despite being the supposed center of the party, to study a scroll that had been one of his birthday gifts. The new cantor of Dür’s temple had presented it to him with a wry smile, explaining that it might prove to be of some help to him on his chosen path. It was an Eldari ritual used by healers on the battlefield, to shield them and their patient from the notice of combatants around them, and Vulk immediately wanted to begin studying it.

Over the next several days the Hand of Fortune relaxed and recovered in the safety of Dür. Vulk studied his scroll, Mariala meditated and studied her own texts, as did Korwin, Erol began training Jeb in his duties as well as in close fighting, and Devrik continued to heal, his wounded hand improving quickly with Draik’s various experimental Baylorium potions.

In fact, an unexpected friendship had begun to develop between Devrik and Khandath, the Khundari warrior he had so badly wounded. Forced to recuperate together, they each seemed fascinated by the other’s particular special abilities – Devrik, by the Khundar’s amazing fighting style, Khandath by the Umantar’s fire magics. Of course, neither could share their secrets with the other, due to the strict rules of their respective organizations. Raven commented to Mariala that they were probably just wonder who could take whom, should there be a rematch.

Mariala herself had developed something of a rapport with Jehvar, the Khundari that Draik had hit with the frying pan. He was fascinated by her magics and her ability to speak his language, and she found him equally interesting in his  tales of Dürkon folklore and history. Gebtor, the Shadow Warrior she had taken out with her Fire Nerve spell, was wary of her, despite her efforts to apologize and draw him out.

Burlok and Verdolk, the two uninjured Khundari, spent much of their free time sparring with Erol and helping him train young Jeb in the ways of the award and axe. Their leader, Lekorm, spent a considerable amount to time in conversation with Vulk and Korwin, when they broke from their studies, and with Ser Alakor and Draik. ––, whom Draik had temporarily blinded with a burning powder, seemed to be always angry and wanted nothing to do with anyone, spending most of how time alone, honing his weapons.

It was during one of Lekorm’s conversations with Draik and Korwin that the subject of the mysterious mage/trader the Hand of Fortune was seeking came up. When they described the man, and the circumstances of their last encounter, he frowned and set down his ale.

“That sounds like Arlun Parek,” he said after a moments thought. “An Umantari trader in herbs and plants who has made several trips to Dürkon in the last several years.”

At his drinking companion’s surprised looks, he explained that as the Captain of the Prince’s Shadow Warriors, he made it his habit to know about every foreign visitor to the City. Unfortunately, he knew little more about this particular fellow – he had never gotten into any trouble nor had any complaints made against him.

“Indeed,” he concluded, “he might not be your fellow at all, except that I do remember the report of a distinctive tattoo on his wrist, the same one you describe as belonging to this ‘Vortex’ organization.

“If such an organization is operating in any way in our City, the Prince would want to know, and to root them out. I will bring word, but I would consider it a great favor if you and your companions would accompany us home, to give a first-hand report on these matters. And it may be you will find the trail of this man you seek, this Arlun Parek, in my City…”

The Shadow Warriors of Dürkon

Lekorm Darkeye – Captain of the Shadow Warriors

Khandath Stone Ear – Wounded by Devrik

Gebtor Grayjoy – Fire Nerved by Mariala

Burlok Coldhand – The most agile of the SW

Verdolk Firefoot – The youngest of the SW at 51

Grevimstor Starheart – Temporarily blinded by Draik’s powders

Jevhar Quicktongue – Wounded in leg and face by Draik’s frying pan

For several days his friends were afraid that Drake’s condition might be permanent… neither Mariala nor Devrik could make a dent in the enchantment, and Vulks prayers and rituals proved equally ineffective. Clearly the mage had been a very powerful Torazan, and the underground room his Sanctum. Which explained why other magics were so ineffectual, but did nothing to cure Drake’s horrifying condition.

Eventually Master Vetaris arrived, at Mariala’s urgent request, and was able to dispel the enchantment. He apologized for not arriving sooner, but explained that he had been on urgent business of his own in the far north, and had been unable to get away until it was resolved.

“Or at least stabilized,” he added with a sigh. “If things do not improve in that region, it may be a matter I’ll need you and your friends to look into for me.”

By his look Mariala understood that he meant for the Star Council. The others were focused on the dazed, but seemingly unharmed Drake, who was still shaking off the effects of his petrification. Vulk, at least, was a little worried about his long-time friend – while he appeared fine physically, he seemed strangely quiet and subdued, not his usual exuberant self. But perhaps he just needed time…

Certainly he perked up when his brother informed him that their hated nemesis, Ser Danyes Bernan, erstwhile Constable of Dür, was in chains in the dungeons of Kar Landsar, awaiting transportation of Kolosur and his trial before the King. Plenty of evidence was discovered in his townhouse after his arrest to connect him to the drug trade he had been running. Combined with the documentation of his skimming from his liege lord that Earl Kinen had gathered, it was enough to see him hanged, never mind the abduction of the Earl’s daughter.

Lord Clarin’s relief at recovering his daughter was only enhanced by the tale of the death of the man who took her and the capture of the mastermind behind the string of attempted assassinations on himself. He was inclined to dismiss the disappearance of the mage who seemed to be assisting Ser Danyes as of little consequence. When interrogation of the soon-to-be-former Constable by Truth Readers from the Great Temple showed no evidence of anyone else behind Bernan’s machinations, the official investigation was brought to an end.

“I appreciate that we all felt there might be some larger conspiracy behind all this,” he told the Hand of Fate the day after Drake’s recovery, as they all prepared to remove to Kolosür, for the Tournament and the trial. “But Temple Truth Readers are the final arbiters in legal affairs, and very skilled. If they say there were no other conspirators, beyond those Bernan has named or his papers revealed, then that must be so. We were wrong.

“The only conspiracy was the deluded plotting of a deranged man who thought to create chaos in the realm during the Succession, hoping to leverage it into a small kingdom for himself. Madness, of course, even in the event of a… crisis, Immortals forbid… he would never have been able to hold on to any lands he might’ve seized.”

“Not unless he had been promised support from some other direction,” Ser Vulk persisted. “From some more powerful force that he believed could provide him arms, troops, material… remember the barracks we found hidden in the mountains…”

“Yes, yes,” the Earl waved this away impatiently. “We’ve found no other such caches, and he himself haas revealed, under interrogation, that it was his only such depot, from where he planned to train and deploy his “troops,” such as they were… mercenary companies, the dregs of various taverns and jails, and so on. No, the matter is at an end!”

But none of the companions were convinced, having seen too much, and neither was Magister Vetaris, who had remained in Shalara after freeing Drake, and planned to travel to Kolosür with his young proteges.

“The T’ara Kül have no legal standing in Nolikor when it comes to Truth Reading,” he explained to them over supper later that evening. “Despite many of us being considerably more talented at it than many cantors of the Eldari… no offense, Cantor Vulk.”

“Unfortunately the two they sent from the Temple to Read Bernan during his interrogation were not of the highest calibre. I was able to be present during all of his sessions, and used my own abilities to probe his mind… the traces are subtle, to be sure, but they are there – the man has had whole sections of his memory  tampered with. I suspect large sections removed, and false memories used to fill the gaps and stitch it all together.”

“But I saw the mage, Darith, during that final fight,” said Erol, frowning. “I know nothing of magic, beyond the layman’s lore, but could he have done all that in the instant he had, just touching him at wrist and shoulder? It seems too complicated…”

“Indeed,” Vetaris agreed. “You are an astute young man. The effect on Bernan’s mind is not only complex, but exceedingly well done. I perhaps shouldn’t be so hard on the Templemen, I might have missed it myself, if I had not more experience than they in effecting such states in others.

“No, I think we may assume that this “Vortex” you heard them speak of has powerful magics at their disposal, and these tattoos are a part of that. We have seen that they can kill; I suspect with more valuable tools, they take more care. This spell was prepared and stored, either in the tattoo or on this Darith’s person, to be invoked quickly if and when it was needed.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” murmured Mariala suddenly. “This is very convenient for the Vortex… the official investigation is satisfied, they have their villain, and as the Earl said, it’s ended. If Bernan had simply died, the investigation might have dug deeper, uncovered something to link him to their organization…”

“So he was the fall guy,” Devrik said, nodding. “They cut their losses, give us a nicely wrapped package, and they remain in the shadows.”

“I think you have it exactly,” agreed Magister Vetaris. “They must know it is you who have caused them so much grieve over the past few months, but do they know how much you have actually learned or surmised about them? Do they think you fooled, as well as the authorities? And what do they know of the Star Council, or your connection to it? All good questions, and reasons to be cautious moving forward, my young friends.”

♦♦♦

The cavalcade, which included a solidly built and heavily guarded prison wagon containing Danyes Bernan and those of his minions taken alive, wasted no time on the road to Kolosür. What had been planned to take two leisurely days was instead done in one very long day, with the lead horses arriving at the Royal Seat just after sunset on the 10th of Kilta; the last wagons didn’t pass the gates until after midnight.

The next morning the Earl was formally presented to the King in the Royal Council Chamber of Kar Kolosür. Preparations for the audience began early in the morning, and everyone donned their newest and most stylish robes or dresses (many recently purchased in Shalara and in the latest fashion). For the Earl, the ladies of his household selected a luxurious velvet tunic of the deepest sapphire blue trimmed in gold thread and richly appliquéd with the Darhelim arms in silk. The Wyvern Guard and all of the Earl’s knights were flawlessly turned out, and the Hand of Fate were resplendent in rich new clothes, colors and style matched to each member, a gift from the Earl. Everyone was unarmed, of course – only the Royal Guard carry weapons in His Majesty’s presence.

At the appointed hour, the Earl’s party assembled in the Great Hall, Ser Kovar standing guard over two ironbound chests with heavy locks, a pair of muscular servants hefting each one. They contained a large portion of the Earl’s annual feudal obligation to the Crown. The king’s heralds announced the members of the party in order of precedence, including “Cantor Ser Vulk Elida of Arushal.” With everyone (of importance) introduced, the Earl maked his obedience to King Garinalt, personally presented his daughter, Maid Carissa, and then presented the two chests of silver. Devrik and Drake, standing closest to Ser Gorlin and Ser Kovar heard an audible sigh of relief when the Treasurer of the Exchequer accepted the fortune in coin.

Once those formalities were completed, the Earl had Ser Danyes brought forward in chains, to the gasps of many in the Great Hall. What was already a significant event for the Royal Court, as many of the courtiers and other nobles had never met the Earl of Kinen in person, suddenly became a major drama. In his most forceful speaking voice the Earl read aloud the complete list of charges against the erstwhile knight, ending with that of “high treason against His Majesty’s realm.”

The King and his advisors, of course, had already been apprised of Sery Danyes’ crimes, and had helped stage manage his public accusation. As Lord Clarin finished reading the charges his fellow Earl, Lord Torad Artelkes, stepped forward with a large sheaf of papers, declaring them to be evidence of his some-times Constable’s thieving administration of Dür, the which deprived both himself and the Crown of considerable revenues. The King then called on all all the Peers of the Realm there present to gather close and form a jury to hear the case.

It took almost four hours, but in the end Ser Danyes Bernan was found guilty of all the charges, was stripped of his knighthood, had all he owned attaindered to the Crown, and was sentenced to be hanged at sunset, on the last day of the Tournament, the 20th of Kilta. Screaming in disbelief, and foaming at the mouth in impotent rage, Bernan was dragged out of the Great Hall by the Royal Guard, to spend his last days deep in the dungeons of Kar Kolosür. Drake smiled and didn’t mention to anyone that today was his 26th birthday…

“My king,” said Earl Kinen, as the great doors closed on the prisoners cries. “As we have heard hear today, the bringing to justice of this foul miscreant, this blight on the honor of chivalry, was largely the doing of several members of my entourage. I would beg of boon of you, my liege, to reward them here today, in front of this august assembly.”

“Indeed, your Grace,” the King replied in a voice that may have been a reedy quaver, but which still held power and sharp wit. “They seem a remarkable group of youngsters, if we are to believe all we have heard of them… and we have heard more than has just been told, indeed we have… Baylora’s Sanctum, quiet surprising…” His voice trailed off as he got a distant look in his eye, as if remembering his own youthful studies of arcane matters.

The tall, strong-looking woman standing  behind him and to his right smiled and reached down to touch his shoulder. He turned to look up at her, and patting her and he smiled and nodded.

“Yes, yes, my dear, quite right. There will be time to hear the tale later. For now, I grant you your boon Lord Clarin. What reward to propose to bestow today?”

“I call forth Alakor Bartyne, sometimes called Colith One-eye; Draik Bartyne, sometimes called Drake Bartoff; and Mariala Teryne.”

Surprised, and some more embarrassed than others, the three stepped out from the crowd to stand in the center of the Great Hall, before the Earl Kinen, and beyond him the King on his throne. At the Earl’s gesture they knelt, and at a motion from the King one of the Royal Guards handed him a sword.

“It gives me great pleasure to make you three Knights of Nolikor, with all the honors and responsibilities that entails.” He tapped each one, first on the right shoulder, then on the left, then on the head, with the flat of the sword. “Arise now, Ser Alakor, Ser Draik, and Dame Mariala.”

To the cheers of the gathered nobles and gentry, the newly minted knights stood, looking both dazed and pleased. Mariala was blushing a bright red and cursing her coloring that so displayed her feelings. Drake looked thoughtful, while his brother just grinned proudly. As the applause died down, the Earl of Buran stepped forward and spoke.

“My liege, I too would make a reward to these brave souls, with your permission.” The King nodded and waved him to continue.

“With Danyes Bernan removed, the Keep of Dür has no Constable. It is my wish that Ser Alakor Bartyne should take up that office, to rule the fief as my liegman, if such is his desire… I know that he and his brother were born and raised in that place, and I believe that after the depredations of Bernan, it would be well to have those lands cared for by one who knows and loves them.”

“Will you accept this office, Ser Alakor?” asked the King.

“I will, Your Majesty, Your Grace,” Alakor replied promptly, bowing first to King and then to the Earl. Within moments the ceremonial words had been said and he stood before them the new Constable of Dür.

“That’s gonna take some getting used to,” thought Drake to himself. “Such bad connotations for so long, and now it’s my brother! This is the most amazing birthday!”

To the three new knights, and to Ser Vulk, a manor attained from Bernans former holdings was granted, each with all its incomes and households. It was given to Constable Alakor to divide such other lands as he saw fit to the members of the Hand of Vengeance who might want to settle down into yeomanry.

“I would make you all knights,” said Earl Kinen to Erol and Devrik as these ceremonies went on. “But you are sons of other nations, and it is beyond my purview. However, that does not mean rewards are not to be forthcoming for your parts in all this. If you will accept, I would like to make you members of my Wyvern Guard. I know this would be more an honorary post, as you will no doubt wish to continue on with your friends; but it will give you free movement in Nolkior as my agents, and the ability to invoke my authority wherever my writ runs.

“There is, of course, a monetary reward that goes with this honor,” he added, noting the polite but unenthused smiles that greeted his offer. “and I would see you outfitted as befits true warriors, with the best weapons and armor available.”

This met with much more enthusiastic smiles and glad acceptances of his Grace’s kind offer.

♦♦♦

The Royal Belanin Tournament began the next day, and ran for another eight beyond that. Vulk, Drake, Mariala and Alakor were the toast of Nolkior noble society, and even Erol and Devrik garnered more than a few invitations to gentle and even noble events as the days passed. The whole group, minus Alakor, was invited on the fourth day to a private dinner with the King and his consort, Dame Erila Kalafon, the knighted daughter of a Tharkian noble, and the Lord Privy Seal, the trusted keeper of the kingdom’s records.

There they were encouraged to tell, in great detail, the story of the discovery of and battle for Baylora’s Sanctum, the mystery of which had long enchanted Garinalt during his many years as a student. For all that he seemed a frail old man, the King was very sharp of mind and asked many penetrating questions, and in the end he sat back seemingly quite satisfied with the evening’s entertainment.

When the meal was over, as they all rose for the King to make his departure, Dame Erila handed papers to each of them, a token of thanks, she said from His Majesty. For the knights these proved to be inductions into the Order of the Silver Eye, the King’s own knightly order created when he first ascended the throne, and honor afford to very few in his realm, and even fewer foreign knights. A set of silver spurs and a silver ring incised with a stylized eye came with the honor.

For the two commoners, the papers proved to be patents of gentility, moving them up the ranks from base-born to gentlemen, at least within the bounds of Nolkior. Given that Devrik’s father was of the Equestrian class in the Republic, and that Erol’s father was of the scholarly class there, neither were actually base-born, even by Nolkior standards. Both men kept their mouths shut, smiled, and thanked the King for his generosity (which, to be fair, had also included a sapphire of considerable size for each of them).

Alakor and Drake were both hot to leave immediately for Dür, to be there when their uncle was arrested for conspiring with Danyes Bernan and trafficking in illicit drugs, but it was deemed impolitic to leave before the end of the Tournament. Alakor spent his time, when not at the tourney, working out the details of his new administration. He offered his brother the command of the Hand of Vengeance, but Drake had other plans. These he pushed forward one afternoon during a private meeting with the Earl Kinen.

Marik Canatori became the new commander of the Hand, or at least of those who remained. Half the company took up the offer to become yeoman farmers on manors throughout the fief of Dür, offering military service to their new liege lord in exchange for the land. Marik had little trouble recruiting new mercenaries in Shalara and Kolosür  to once again fill out the ranks.

On the last day of the festivities, after the closing ceremonies and the awarding of prizes and honors, as the sun touched the horizon, Danyes Bernan was dragged forth from the dungeons of Kar Kolosür. Haggard looking, his ample flesh sagging on his grey face, he was paraded through the town in a crude cart, to the jeers and crude comments of the crowd, and pelted with rotting vegetables. He was apparently too weak to continue his argument, shouted in his cell to no one who cared, until his voice failed, that he was a nobleman and so deserved the headsman’s axe, not the gallows.

But he had been stripped of his title, and thus made ripe for the gallows, and it was from the gibbet that he swung just as the sun dipped below the horizon. Drakes’s face was as set as if he had again been turned to stone as he watched his hated enemy dance on air… but Vulk, peering sideways at his old friend, saw a glitter of satisfaction in those hazel eyes.

♦♦♦

The day after the closing ceremonies of the Tournament and the hanging of the former Ser Danyes, Vulk, Drake, Mariala, Devrik and Erol made their farewells to Lord Clarin and his daughter before joining Alakor and his new yeomen for a fast ride to Dür. The Earl was gruff, but clearly sad to be losing such good retainers, while Maid Carissa was openly tearful… she hugged them all, but particularly Mariala and Devrik.

“I’ll miss you two most of all,” she sniffed.

Horses saddled , Kemis the mule packed to the limit with new clothes, armor, weapons and money, Cris astride one of Alakor’s spare horses, the group set out from Kolosür at the start of the second watch of the day. But though they had told everyone that they planned to ride hard and fast for Dür, Drake had proposed another idea to his brother and his friends.

“Vulk, Devrik,” he had started the night before.”You both know how to open the Nitarin Vortices, and we have need of speed and surprise, if we have any hope of catching my vile uncle before news reaches him of his master’s fate. So I was thinking…”

The Progress got off to a confused, late start the morning after the disappearance of Ser Andro Valador. His revelation as the man behind the murder of the physician Ser Petral, and the likely cause of the assassination attempts on the Earl, had the entourage in a great turmoil.

Lady Milosia, the fled man’s wife, was in a state of near collapse after her questioning by a deeply furious Earl Darhelim. But Vulk and Mariala were able to independently assure him that she was innocent of her husband’s treason and other crimes., and she was eventually put to bed in lady Lania’s wagon, with a sleeping draught.

Lady Lania herself continued to show almost miraculous improvement as Drake carried on with her treatment. The Earl, while grief-stricken at the violent death of his trusted friend and physician, was relieved that the man had thought to keep the balorium-infused potions near to his patient. He spent much of the traveling time to Zutlin Manor in her wagon, holding her hand.

On nearing their destination, however, the Earl was all business. Zutlin Manor was the family home of his wife’s people, governed by her oldest brother Ser Kiros Valador as vassal to the Earl. Lord Clarin, shaken by one brother-in-law’s betrayal, was disinclined to assume the loyalty of the other. The Progress’ arrival was more like a military occupation, with the Wyvern Guard, supplemented by the Hand of Vengeance, taking quick control of the house and grounds.

Ser Kiros, at first confused and outraged, quickly paled when his noble brother-in-law explained to him the treason of the knight’s younger brother. The outrage that had turned to fear and consternation returned in full as he realized what his brother’s murder of her physician might have meant for their sister’s fate.

“My lord, I am innocent of any knowledge of my brother’s actions or plans,” he declared when the full story had been laid out. “I publicly disavow him here and now – he is cast out from the clan, named outlaw and traitor!

“Furthermore, I submit myself to whatever examination my liege requires to be certain of my and my family’s continued loyalty.”

Saying that, he slipped a silver chain with a crystal amulet over his head and handed it to a servant, drawing a gasp from the crowd watching this fraught meeting. Giving up his protection against arcane mental intrusion was a strong indicator in itself of his innocence, but it didn’t stop the Earl from nodding to Ser Vulk (and casting a second, more subtle glance at Mariala).

In full cantor’s regalia, as a representative of the Church of the Eldar, Vulk invoked the blessing of Kasira and of Agara and proceeded to question Ser Kiros in the light of the Immortal’s power and justice. Off to the side, Mariala used her own arcane abilities to gauge the truthfulness of the now stoic knight as he responded.

When it was over she nodded fractionally to Vulk, who turned to the Earl and loudly addressed both him and the crowd.

“My Lord, in the light of Truth granted to me by my Immortal patroness, I declare that Ser Kiros has spoken the truth in these matters, and has held back nothing.”

The tension in the Great Hall of the manor house, where this meeting had taken place, was immediately broken as everyone present released a collective sigh of relief. The Earl visibly relaxed, and moved to embrace his brother-in-law.

“Let us take this to more private chambers, Kiros,” he said.

As the party settled down for the three or four days they would be staying at Zultin, the Hand of Fortune, as Drake had taken to calling their group of adventuresome friends, gathered to more closely go through the possessions that Ser Andro had left behind, looking for some clue as to his whereabouts.

But no amount of study or arcane tinkering brought to light any indication as to the direction the disgraced and outlawed knight had taken. In the end they returned his belongings to his wive, who remained in shock. She responded to Mariala’s efforts to comfort her badly, turning her face away in embarrassment and motioning her away violently.

♦ ♦ ♦

The next morning Mariala and Drake accompanied The Earl, Ser Kiros and a number of courtiers as Lady Lania, still ensconced in her wagon, made the short journey to Rivona Abbey, the Maran retreat famed for its healing mineral waters and the skill of it’s cantors. The Earl was bringing her there originally to pray for a miracle.

“But the miracle came upon us unexpected,” he said that morning as Drake administered the next to last dose of the potion he and Ser Petral had developed. “It seems the gods sent you and your friends in my family’s hour of greatest need… you may be sure I shan’t forget that!”

The cantor’s of Rivona had been told of their noble patient’s dire condition, and had prepared accordingly, their best rooms and most skilled healers being set aside for the invalid lady. They were clearly surprised to she her sitting up and interacting with those around her. The Earl took the Abbess aside, along with Drake, and explained the nature of the treatment that Ser Petral had been pursuing, with Drake explaining about the Balorium.

The Abbess was impressed, and once the Earl made clear that he had no intention of revoking the gifts he had promised the abbey, even pleased. She soon drew Drake aside, along with her top healers, to discuss in detail the nature of Ser Petral’s Torazin and Drake’s Balorium; they seemed little concerned with the fact that both used arcane, rather than holy, magics to achieve their results.

“Whatever works,” shrugged one elderly cantor-physician when Drake mentioned this. “That’s our motto, at least in practice.”

♦ ♦ ♦

As the party was preparing to return for the evening to Zultin Manor, and the Earl was taking leave of his wife, she suddenly reached out and grasped his hand, however weak the grip.

“Stay my lord,” she whispered, smiling up at him.

The astonished Earl immediately returned to his chair beside her, and bent to speak quietly to her. If anyone present noticed a sheen to his eyes, they discreetly failed to mention it. It was quickly decided that Lord Clarin would spend the night at the Abbey, while all but his immediate guard returned to the manor.

Drake offered to stay as well, to administer the last dose of the healing elixir in the morning, while Mariala was tasked with seeing that Maid Carissa made it safely back to Zultin. Even in his joy at his wife’s improving condition, he did not forget the (inappropriate, to his mind) fascination his daughter had with becoming a cantor of Mara; he wished to ensure she spent no more time than was needful in the presence of the Maran healers.

While the Lady Lania was being settled into her convalescence at Rivona, Devrik, Vulk and Erol joined Colith and the Hand of Vengeance, as well as elements of the Wyvern Guard, in riding out in all directions to seek news of the renegade Ser Andro. Vulk rode north with Colith and some of the Hand, Devrik joined Ser Kovar, Captain of the Wyvern Guard, as he and his men rode south, while Erol joined Marik and another contingent of Hand mercs to the east. Cris was dispatched with the Wyvern Guards that searched west.

It was to the south, on the road to Dorinsel Keep, that some news of the fleeing nobleman was finally heard. A farmer reported that he had woken at sunrise two mornings past to find a well-dressed man just leading a horse from the farmer’s barn. It was obvious the man had spent the night, without so much as a by-your-leave, in the barn; but when the farmer tried to speak to him the man leapt on his steed and almost rode the peasant down in his haste to escape.

While he didn’t see the face clearly, there was little doubt from the description of both horse and clothes that it was Ser Andro. Devrik said nothing, but he smiled quietly to himself. The night before he had cast the Flames of Xydona in the tent he shared with Raven and Black Hawk, and by those visions he had been certain that the traitor had fled towards Dorinsel. That was why he had volunteered for this particular scouting party.

♦ ♦ ♦

By the next afternoon, the 25th of Emblio, the group was together once again, gathered in Vulk’s tent outside the manor house’s walls. Using the slips of Mariala’s magic parchment, the members of the Hand of Fortune had been summoned from their various tasks. The Earl had been made aware of the news of his traitorous brother-in-law’s sighting, and had sent Ser Kovar and his party on to pursue the trail.

But he had agreed that the Hand of Fortune should pursue their own course in seeking out the runaway knight.

“You have proven your worth,” he told Vulk that morning. “You may be… Unconventional… but you get results.

“With my wife safely installed and recovering in Rivona Abbey, and the threat to my own person apparently removed, I task you now, if you are willing, to track down Andro, by whatever means at your disposal. I want him alive, most assuredly I do. And not only for the information on his accomplices he will be made to part with…

“I know you have your own agenda, concerning the Constable of Dür, and I continue to share that concern. But the evidence of peculation my agents have already gathered is enough to disgrace him and see him removed from office, once I present it to his liege. But this matter of Andro touches my honor deeply.

“Will you pursue my renegade brother-in-law? If so, I will pledge all my resources to finding evidence of capital charges against Dür, once Andro is caught.”

During the trip back from the hidden lair were the Earl of Yorma was being held captive in a strange Ancient artifact, the group spent a fair amount of time convincing the nobleman that he really had been missing for over a year.

“I swear, it couldn’t have been much more than a tenday,” he kept repeating. “They kept waking me up, and taking me to a large chamber, with a great dragon sculpture… I remember the glowing eyes… and then the nightmares would begin… I remember at least ten days… surely not more…”

When Mariala finally asked him if he had ever eaten during his periods of wakefulness, or if he’d even been hungry when he “awoke,” he fell silent for a moment before admitting he had neither eaten, nor been hungry.

“What’s the last thing you clearly remember?” Vulk inquired once the young Earl had begun to accept the truth of the nature of his imprisonment.

“We had tracked the escaped murderer north, pushing him hard. We finally cornered him in a narrow box canyon, one my man Yardin knew of old, being native to the district. There was no way out, other than the way he had entered.

“But when we pushed in after the villain, we found him already dead, killed by a band of Gülvini that seemed to have made their camp there. The foulspawn wasted no time in attacking the three of us, but despite their superior numbers I have no doubt we’d have done for them, if not for… the other.

“I only caught a glimpse of the tall figure behind the pack, but it was arresting – a man in deep midnight blue robes, trimmed in a pattern of golden flames, carrying a gnarled staff and wearing a golden mask. I remember it distinctly, despite the turmoil of the fight, for it was unnerving… the mask seemed a solid piece, without eyeholes or mouth!

“Yet he spoke clearly enough, if in a language unknown to me, and followed the battle closely enough. When it became apparent his minions (for so I believed them to be) would not subdue us, he raised his staff and cried out some chilling command that caused our limbs to grow suddenly numb and nerveless.

“Even as my sword and shield dropped from my hands, I saw my men bourne down my the Gül and torn to pieces.”

For a moment Lord Sedris paused, overwhelmed at the, to him, very recent loss of two good and loyal men. But he soon picked up the story, frowning in concentration.

“There’s little more to be said… I fully expected to meet the same fate as Yardin and Rosek, but before the snarling beast-men could pull me down the mysterious masked man called out an order, and they grudgingly backed away.

“The numbing effective was passing as quickly as it had come on, and I dove to retrieve my sword… but even as I did, the man raised his staff, I saw a brilliant light… and nothing, until I awoke the first time in that strange chamber where you good people found me.”

Further questions revealed little more… each time he had been awakened from his strange slumber there had been four figures, whether male of female he couldn’t tell as they were wrapped in black robes, and masked and gloved in black leather… these masks too, seemed to lack any opening for sight or speech, although the figures never spoke to him.

Each time he awoke he felt more confused and lost than before, and each session of nightmares reinforced the feelings. He claimed not to remember the specifics of his nightmares, but Mariala sensed a certain evasiveness from him on that score.

As they paused at the Nitarin Vortex that would return them to the environs of the Nebulon Chapterhouse, his wife, and his father-in-law, Mariala took out a sheet of her remote writing paper and jotted down a few words:

“Earl Yorma found. Ancient device involved. Secrecy not possible.”

Later that evening, in his quiet study just outside the port city of Devok, Master Vetaris did his daily check of the parchment slips he kept in his desk…

♦ ♦ ♦

Vulk convinced Lord Sedris that, given his long absence and the political roil currently going on around the potential Succession Crisis, it would be best if he arrived incognito at the conference that was going on between Earl Kinen, the Knight Commander Ser Remiu, the Lord Marshal of Kurikmarch Baron Bolnik, and the Lady Thalisa.

“Indeed, Ser,” the young Earl agreed, “never give up the element of surprise. One may not need it, but if one does…

“I’m glad to hear the King still lives; when you told me how long I’ve been missing, my first thought, after how my poor wife must be faring, was that the country might be in the midst of a civil war!”

“Not yet, your grace,” said Drake. “But His Majesty’s health is not improving… indeed, they delayed the Royal Tournament a month, due to his last illness.”

“Which turned out well for you,” added Devrik, “else we’d not have come this way and so found you.”

Arriving in Nebulon just after the evening meal, the group found that the conference had only just resumed in the library of the chapterhouse. Cris was full of information he’d managed to glean through judicious eavesdropping, and eager to share it, once he’d been assured that the cloaked and hooded figure with his employers was a friend.

“The Earl is trying to convince the others that his daughter should be made Countess in her own right, if her husband doesn’t return soon, and that they should back her with the clan succession council, which I guess is making noises about naming a new clan head.

“They keep talking about “keeping the North united” if things go bad when the King dies, and keeping Urkonis in Lady Thalisa’s hands is key…”

With his rescuers around him, and Cris trailing behind, Earl Yorma made his way into the Chapterhouse, pausing only to lower his hood and reveal his face to the startled guards outside the library.

His entrance into the room was perfect.

“Thalisa’s been running the fief brilliantly, and there’s a strong sentiment in her favour,” the Earl Kinen was saying. “I fear if we wait much longer, though, the Council –”

He stopped in mid sentence, his mouth hanging open in shock, as his son-in-law stepped into the chamber. Lady Thalisa, seated with her back to the door, gave her father a puzzled look before turning to see what had so undone her usually unflappable father.

“Sedris!” she cried, leaping up. “You’re alive!”

This was immediately followed by “Where the Void have you been?” before she threw herself into his arms.

The confusion and babble in the room went on for quite some time, as the assembled nobles questioned their returned peer and his rescuers. Eventually the whole story was told, and the real worry set in.

“This is clearly not the work of some brigand band,” Lord Clarin stated. “Much less the Gülvini. Even if such rude folk had stumbled onto this Ancient relic, and somehow divined its workings, Sedris’ capture and imprisonment seems much too arcane a plot.”

“Yes,” agreed the Baron Tirfall. “Ransom would be the goal of common outlaws, who lucked onto such a catch; and the Gülvini would simply kill and devour.”

Lady Thalisa paled at this, and held her husbands hand tighter.

“A mage of some power is behind this,” she said. “Could it be the same enemy who has attempted assassination on you, Father?”

The Earl frowned and thought for a moment.

“Possibly,” he said at last. “But if so, he’s playing a long game. The first attempt on my life was some months after Sedris’ disappearance. Is this, then, some plot aimed at me, or my family, directly? Or some larger plot to destabilize the kingdom when the King finally passes?

“Whichever, it becomes even more imperative then ever that we here form a united front; and that the king be made… well, encouraged… to name an heir.”

He turned to Vulk and the others.

“Ser Vulk, you and your companions have done a great service to both my family and to the realm,” he said. “Indeed, it is not the first such – I come to think taking you into my entourage was the best decision I’ve made in recent months.

“I know we share the pursuit of a common interest.” Even amongst allies, the Earl was too canny to reveal their joint animosity toward the Constable of Dür. “But I would ask that you now bend your efforts to uncovering what you can of this seemingly larger plot… it seems more vital to me than anything else just now, certainly to the Kingdom.”

“Of course, milord,” Vulk agreed, bowing. The others murmured their assent and dipped their heads, all except Drake, who looked mutinous. But he kept silent, and the Earl continued.

“And now we should continue our discussion, however wonderful this interruption has been!”

The friends took the hint, and filed out of the room. They soon found a quiet corner of the main hall, and had food and drink brought to them. When the servants had laid it all out and departed again, Drake finally burst.

“We can’t give up the search for evidence against Bernan! We…”

“Calm down, little buddy,” soothed Vulk. “No one said anything about giving up on our primary goal here, not even the Earl. We’re just going to expand our circle of interest.”

“And it’s not like we have anything much to go on at this point,” added Mariala. “It’s all still just rumors and innuendo.”

“Yes,” agreed Devrik. “And since we know even less about this other matter, we’ll still be casting about looking for any lead… we’re just as likely to find one that leads us to Dür as to this mystery mage.”

Drake seemed mollified by these assurances, and the group fell to talking about what they knew and what they suspected, talking long into the night.

♦ ♦ ♦

The return to Urkonis the next day was a major event. Thanks to the military discipline of Nebulon and the Order of the Lord of Paladins, no word of the Earl Yorma’s return preceded them to the castle. But once they entered the gates, the word spread like wildfire, up into the fortress, and down into the town.

The feast that night was spectacular, despite the short notice – the castles cooks and servants went all out to prepare a banquet worthy of their well-beloved lord, his lady wife, and their august visitors. And to the surprise of everyone except Mariala, one of those guests was the famed scholar Magister Viril Vetaris, who arrived at the gates late in the afternoon.

“I came as soon as I could after I got your message, my dear,” he explained after the meal, when he and the group had found a quiet spot in the library to talk. “The number of Ancient artifacts you people seem to stumble across is becoming quiet alarming!”

“Hey!” objected Drake. “This is only the second one we’ve uncovered.”

“Most people never uncover any, young man” the mage observed dryly. “Even those who actively search for them.

“But in all seriousness, what really concerns me is who found this artifact before you, and why were they using it to… restrain… the young Earl.”

The group then filled him in on what Lord Sedris had told them, of the attack by Gülvini, the masked figure who seemed to control them, and the silent jailers who led him to his torment. They also filled him in on the details of the mage they fought in the highlands above Lake Everbrite, and the drug trade that he seemed involved in.

Master Vetaris was sunk in deep thought by the time they finished, his frowning gaze fixed on the first stars appearing in the evening sky outside the windows.

“There is clearly something going on here,” he said at last. “Something deeper and more serious than I, at least, have suspected.”

“I think I had better take this all directly to the Council, as soon as possible… perhaps they know more, or we can piece together a picture from the reports of other agents…

“In the meantime, you’re the agents on the ground, and I think you should continue to do as you’ve agreed to do for the Earl Kinen. But keep me posted, as often as seems necessary!”

Before they parted he gave each of them several slips of Mariala’s Parchment that he had created himself, which he assured them would last indefinitely. With that he slipped off to wrangle an interview with the Earl Yorma.

The next morning, as the cavalcade prepared to set off on the next leg of the Progress, Master Vetaris was gone, departing before dawn according to the gate guards.

♦ ♦ ♦

It was a long days travel to Dolint Abbey, the seat of the Kleros of Gostrial, and the Progress’ next stop, but the mood in the cavalcade was merry. The unexpected return of the Earl’s son-in-law had pushed out the cloud of worry and fear that had hovered over them since the assassination attempt at Zebarin.

And it was the first afternoon of their two-day stay at Dolint when Ser Petral pulled Drake aside to tell him they were ready for the final stage of their potion to attempt to cure the Lady Lania. After several hours of mixing the final ingredients, they had six vials ready.

“One of these each evening, for the next six days, and if the effect is what we hope… well, we’ll see.” Ser Petral seemed equal parts nervous and excited as they entered Lady Lania’s room to give her the first dose.

Drake was a little disappointed not to see an immediate, flashy result, but Ser Petral assured him that they couldn’t expect much for several days. But in fact, he was wrong – the very next morning, Lady Lania responded to her daughters voice by turning her head and smiling at her.

The Earl, only half dressed, and that in mismatched pieces, rushed to his wife’s side as soon as the news was brought to him. Ser Petral at last told him all that he and Drake had been working on, and his hopes for the potion.

The trip back from the high heaths of Lake Everbrite was uneventful, although Vulk found the return portal opening to be more difficult than when they had gone out. It seemed to take more effort, seemed to open less “wide,” and left him more drained than the last two gates he’d opened.

But the transfer was successful, and the group was able to catch up with the Earl’s Progress in the town of Lorethal. Once they had unloaded both their own hard won herbal bounty as well as that captured from the tribesmen and mysterious trader/mage, they each went on to their own tasks.

Vulk reported to the Earl, in his guest quarters in Lorethal Keep, to inform him of the results of their search and the encounter with what might be yet another element of the drug ring operating in his domain. The nobleman was disturbed to find that the network was apparently not completely broken, but pleased that they’d suffered another set-back.

“Although I could wish that you had managed to capture this mage, or at least killed him,” he said as Vulk prepared to take his leave. “But I know how devilishly trick that sort can be… Keep me posted if you find anything of interest in his possessions.

“Also, Ser Vulk, I have a request of you…”

♦

Drake stayed with Ser Petral as he sorted through the harvest they’d brought, then accompanied the physician to the makeshift work tent he’d set up near Devrik’s tent. Ser Petral had divided the sample of the Baylorium Fungus they’d given him into several pieces, and already had it growing in various meat cultures.

“A fascinating discovery my boy,” he murmured to Drake as he prepared to make the first of the compounds they’d need to save Devrik’s eye and possibly his life. “I’m intrigued by the spectacular results you claim for it in that little kerfuffle in the Theocracy… I look forward to replicating it here!”

“Now pay attention, and I’ll walk you through the preparation for the making of the Elmithra elixir, which will take awhile…”

♦

While Erol helped Cris stable the horses and unload the captured mule, Mariala hurried into the tent that Devrik was sharing with Raven and Blackhawk, to check on their friend. The wounded man was sleeping, and though a film of sweat covered his face, she thought his color looked better, and the gashes that peeked out from the bandage over his eye not quite so inflamed as before.

“The phisicker has made him more comfortable,” Raven said, running her hand over his brow. “But, although the fever has slowed, he still burns too hot… and the eye…” she started to tear up, and turned away.

“We’ve found what Ser Petral needs to help Devrik,” Mariala reassured her, putting an arm around the pregnant woman. “He and Drake will soon have your man up and strong again, I promise you!”

♦

Drake didn’t join the group for dinner that afternoon, sending word via Cris that he and Ser Petral were deep in their work to create the medicines that were needed, not only for Devrik, but for Lady Lania and other sick and wounded in the entourage.

But Erol did join them, and announced the results of his and Cris’ search of the mysterious trader/mage’s clothes and saddle bags.

“The usual crap that men carry, of course.” he said as he sat down, dropping one of saddle bags on the table.

“A few coins, which I gave to Cris,” he said as the boy ducked out of the tent to fetch their food. “Some cheap jewelry, the bracers he wore, a dagger, and the clothes themselves. Nothing of interest, but you should probably check them for any… um, arcane energies… Mariala. They’re in the bag.

“But the thing I’m most interested in,” he continued, reaching into the scruffy leather bag. “ is this!”

He pulled out a narrow waxed leather tube, about 8” long and 1” in diameter. The black leather case was unadorned, but the end cap of red leather was stamped with strange, disturbing symbols.

“I missed this, but Cris found it in a secret pocket at the bottom of the bag, sewed into a seam.” He shuddered slightly as he handed it to Mariala. “I don’t know from magic, really, but this feels… wrong, somehow. Trying to read the symbols on the cap made me want to throw the damn thing away.

“I resisted the impulse, though, and popped the cap… but I don’t know what to make of the contents…”

Mariala studied the tooled symbols for a moment before opening the cap, and also shuddered, more deeply. It took a definite effort of will not to hurl the leather case from her and try to forget she’d ever seen it.

“Oh yes, there’s magic here,” she said grimly, as she pulled the cap off, letting it dangle from it’s attached cord. “And not clean magic.”

She turned the tube over and tapped it on the table to make its contents slide out – three tightly wound sheets of very fine vellum parchment, and a strange metallic object. She quickly set aside the case, and picked up the papers, glad to have the leather out of her hand. Vulk picked up the strange object, turning it in his hand.

After a moment of fiddling with it, he gave a start as what had seemed to be a single crooked arm suddenly snapped out into three, equally spaced around their pivot point. Each arm was of a different colored metal: bright silver, deep red copper, and a stange, almost translucent black metal. The body of the object was made of bronze; on each face was a raised disk of gold.

“I have no idea what this might be,” he admitted, setting it on the table. “Maybe it’s a paper weight…”

When no one else offered any better ideas, they all turned their attention to the papers Mariala still held, as s set them on the table as well. The three sheets immediately unfurled and lay perfectly flat. Each one was notched on one of the short edges, near the corner.

“Well, these don’t need a paper weight anyway,” she observed dryly.

As her companions watched, Mariala spread the pages apart and examined each one carefully, then placed them one on top of the other, with the notches aligned. She shuffled them into all the possible orders and combinations of sides facing one another, but the sheets remained utterly blank.

“Hmmm… I’m sure there’s an enchantment around these sheets, though I’ll have to… um, study them… more closely, to be sure. But I don’t yet know how to reveal whatever they may be hiding, if anything. What do you think?” she asked, handing them to Vulk.

But Vulk could make no more of them than she, and set the sheets down in frustration next to the metal object, which he had managed to retract into its original state. By then Cris had bustled back in with their food and laid the table, and everyone turned their attention to the meal.

It wasn’t until they had finished eating and she was preparing to take the papers and the strange paper weight back to her own tent that she remembered the leather tube – and then only because she stumbled on it as she stood up to leave.

“Oh, that’s right,” Erol said in surprise as she picked it up. “I’d forgotten about that creepy case.”

“Yes, so had I,” Mariala agreed with a worried frown. “I think this thing should be destroyed, and sooner rather than later.”

Thus, after stowing the blank vellum sheets in her locked chest in Lady Lania’s coach, she headed into the woods outside of town, accompanied by Erol and Cris. In a secluded glade she built a fire, and when it was at its hottest she tossed the leather map tube into the flames – although it took her a moment to remember why she’d built the fire or that she still held the case in her hand.

The flames eagerly devoured the waxed leather, turning a sickly green and producing a thick, oily smoke. Mariala made sure that they all stood far downwind until the fire died down to embers. Cris shoveled the remains into a pit she’d had him dig earlier, and tamp the earth over it solidly.

Maybe, she thought as they turned back toward town, I should have Vulk come out here and consecrate the spot…

♦

Vulk, meanwhile, was busy preparing to fulfill the Earl Kinen’s request of him – to act as the Crown Prosecutor at the Shire Moot the next day, where the surviving members of the Zebarin drug ring would be tried. It was more usual that an itinerant herald or cantor of Kasira such as he would act for the defense of commoners accused before the courts, but under the circumstances he was happy to let another take that job.

He worked long into the night, by the Light of Kasira, in the keep’s library, a room that the Sheriff apparently seldom visited and had been happy to turn over to his use, at the Earl’s request. By the time he finally retired to the small chamber he’d been given, he felt he was as prepared as he was ever going to be for his public debut before a Nolkiori court.

♦

The next morning Vulk accompanied the men-at-arms and the defense, a cantor of Agara, to the dungeons to retrieve the accused. Several other men and women, clearly peasants, were also brought out of cells and trooped off to stand before the moot court, but Vulk noticed one older man, clearly of higher blood, who was left in his remote corner cell.

The man caught his gaze and came to the bars, where Vulk could see that a ball gag was securely affixed around his head. But before he could do more than step toward the cell, the sergeant of the Sheriff’s guards rapped the man’s knuckles hard with his truncheon.

“Back, you!” he snarled as the prisoner shrank back in fear. “The Sheriff’ll deal with you in good time. ‘Til then be glad he ain’t ordered your tongue cut out!”

At Vulk’s surprised look the sergeant gave him a half-salute and a shrug, as he herded him back toward the group.

“He’s a bad ‘un, Brother, make no mistake. A dangerous warlock… charged with betraying the King’s Peace.”

Vulk had little time to ponder the matter, as they were quickly led into the Great Hall of the keep, where the Sheriff was seated in his Chair of Judgement. The Earl sat off to his right, chief among the spectators, stone faced and silent. Several score other folk, from gentles down to the meanest commons, lined the sides of the hall, though most of them were standing. Vulk caught sight of Mariala, Erol and Blackhawk in the crowd… Drake must still be working with Ser Petral, who was also absent.

Vulk thought the Sheriff, although about the same age as himself, and despite the rich clothes and the chain of office he wore, seemed rather young. He also seemed rather nervous at having the Earl present, given the covert glances he kept darting at the nobleman, who remained impassive. But he nonetheless took his job seriously, and dealt both fairly and quickly with the relatively minor cases on the docket first.

Within a watch he had disposed of them all, and the big case, the one that concerned the Earl and possibly the whole kingdom, was brought before him. His nervousness under the Earl’s gaze, which had faded during the lesser cases, seemed to return as Vulk stepped forward to present the Crown’s case against the accused drug smugglers and attempted assassins.

It took most of the next watch to bring forth all the witnesses and for both Vulk and the cantor of Agara to make their cases; although the older cantor was dignified and eloquent, Vulk had the evidence heavily on his side, and the best the other could do was plead for mercy.

The Sheriff seemed of divided mind at that point, but once the Earl rose and spoke forcefully of the chaos and disorder that this drug trade was already creating in the kingdom, with only the most oblique reference to the possible Succession Crisis that loomed over the realm, his resolve firmed up quickly.

“I have heard the testimony,” he said in a carrying voice when the Earl had finished. “And in the name of the King and under the eyes of the Immortals, I find these prisoners guilty of all charges brought against them.

“Except,” he went on as the crowd began to murmur in approval, “ for Yovon Targeld. She I find innocent of the charges of attempted assassination and of murder, as she was apparently not involved in the creation or delivery of the worried woreen.”

The crowd’s murmuring turned to surprise at this, but he overrode them.

“But there is no doubt that she was intimately involved in the smuggling and dissemination of numerous illicit drugs, and on those charges I find her guilty. As this plague of drugs has caused many deaths throughout the Realm, as His Grace has so eloquently summarized, I find I can extend no mercy to her, no more than to her companions.

“I sentence you all to be hanged by the neck until you are dead, your bodies to be quartered, and the pieces buried in unconsecrated ground. This sentence to be carried out at dawn two days hence; use the time to make peace with your souls. In the King’s name, this Court is adjourned.”

As the condemned were led out and the crowd began to break up into excited, chattering clumps, Vulk noticed that while the air of approval at the Sheriff’s decree was universal, amongst some of the local nobility it seemed a bit grudging.

As he was pointing this out to his friends, who were congratulating him on a well presented case, the Earl motioned him over to where he stood talking to the Sheriff, who seemed relaxed once again. Apparently the Earl had expressed his approval of the younger man’s performance.

“Well done, Ser Vulk,” the Earl said, with one of his rare smiles. “You are and eloquent and effective speaker. I was right to select you for this job.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Vulk replied, bowing. “It’s always easier when you have truth on your side.”

“Indeed Ser, indeed. The Sheriff and I are going to the chapel to pray for the souls of the condemned. If you’d care to lead us in our devotions, I’d be well pleased.”

Surprised at this invitation, given that the Earl’s preferred Immortal patron was, like most of his fellow noblemen, Cael, Vulk accepted with alacrity. After a few more minutes of the social graces with the local gentry (during which he noticed both the cool regard they felt for the Sheriff and the warm enthusiasm they held for the Earl), the party was able to slip away.

The chapel of Lorethal Keep was in the southwest corner of the pile, on the third floor. It was obvious at a glance that it had been very recently refurbished, and rather lavishly at that. The three men knelt before the alter and the large silver Eldaran ankh that hung on the wall behind it, both bathed in the multicolored light from the west-facing stained glass window. Vulk led them in the prescribed prays for the souls of those condemned to die, that they might be reborn anew to try again to find favour with the All.

♦

That evening Drake joined the group for the banquet being held in the Earl’s honor; Ser Petral was at the high table, in his usual spot, as well. Both men seemed in good spirits, and his friends quickly began peppering Drake with questions.

“Yes, it’s been going very well,” Drake laughed, taking a deep pull on his beer, having as usual eschewed the wine selections. “Ser Petral is really a rather fine fellow, and a very good teacher… I feel like I’m learning so much; more than I ever did from my thrice-cursed uncle.”

“I suspect you’re actually relearning many things, my friend,” Mariala said, smiling. “The mind is an amazing sponge, and much that we learned without knowing is retained, to sprout forth when conditions are right.”

“Well, whatever the reason, I’m excited to be working with such a great teacher and healer,” Drake shrugged. “And we’ve concocted a potion that utilizes some of my… our… Baylorium, to heal Devrik. We gave him the first dose at the beginning of the watch, and already his fever has broke completely, and the redness is fading from the slashes on his cheek and forehead.”

“What about his eye,” asked Erol, frowning. “I know your brother does alright with just one eye, but it’s a terrible loss for a warrior, and a danger in a fight.”

“It’s too soon to tell, of course, but Ser Petral feels confidant that he’ll regain full sight. Raven is also quite sure, though I’m sure that’s just love and hope talking.

“And we’ve begun work on a new version of Ser Petral’ “torazium” potion for the Lady Lania. I suggested adding Lyrin Oil to the mix, along with the Baylorium… if only we knew where to get hold of such an esoteric and illegal substance…” He glanced sideways at Mariala as he said that, and she returned a cool stare.

“I’m sure something will turn up Drake,” she said. “It always does.”

♦

Over the next two days, as the entourage moved from Lorethal Keep to Forest Manor, Devrik steadily improved. On the morning of the 10th, as they prepared once again for a long day of travel, he was up and helping with the packing. Both Raven and Ser Petral discouraged him from trying too much, but it was obvious that he was much himself again.

The bandage remained over his damaged eye, however, and Ser Petral suggested that he ride at least one more day in Lady Lania’s coach. Previously too ill to appreciate the company, the last couple of days had seen Devrik being drawn out by the enthusiasms of young Maid Carissa. She in turn was fascinated both by the quiet (and therefore mysterious) fighter and by his healing wounds.

“I plan to be a healer myself,” she assured him as the Progress got under way that morning, an assertion she had made to Mariala many times over the last tenday. Mariala rolled her eyes and smiled, but discreetly.

“What does your father say to that?” Devrik asked the girl as he held his hands apart so she could wrap yarn around them.

“Oh, Papa won’t hear of it, of course,” she sniffed disdainfully. “He’s determined to marry me off to some stuffy old lord. In fact, that’s at least part of the reason he’s doing this whole Progress thing – to check out potential husbands for me.”

She seemed undismayed by this, however, apparently quite certain she would not be taking anyone to husband that she didn’t want to.

“Once he sees me with the Healing Sisters at Rivona Abbey, and they tell him of my true vocation, I know Papa will let me join them.

“Of course, if he decides to marry me off to a young, handsome knight, I suppose I could take up healing on the side… My sister has done something of the same, even though she’s married to an Earl.”

That train of thought set her off on an excited tangent about the prospect of seeing her much admired older sister, the Countess Thilisa Kleftin, by the end of the day.

“Oh, you’ll both like her, I’m sure. She’s very beautiful, even if she is quite old – 23 last month. Her husband Sedris is even older, of course, 27 at least, but he is a great man, everyone says so!

“It’s very sad, of course, what’s gone forward this last year, but Thilisa is so strong…”

“What’s sad?” Mariala asked, setting down her own stitching to listen more intently to the girl. It was always good to get as much inside information about the places and people you were about to visit…

“Oh, don’t you know? No, of course – you’ve been adventuring in far off lands, so you mightn’t have heard yet.” The girl gave up all pretense of darting her yarn, and Devrik happily untangled his own hands.

“Well, Sedris, that is Lord Kleftin, the Earl Yorma, disappeared over a year ago. He set out from his castle – Urkonis, where we’ll be this evening – to track down a murderer” (she said that word quite breathlessly), “a man who had killed his wife and fled before he could be brought to justice.

“Sedris had taken the woman under his protection, when she had fled from her husband after he had beaten her terribly, so when the man managed to kill the poor woman anyway, well Sedris was honor-bound to avenge her personally.

“My brother-in-law is very honorable,” she added aside. “Papa says it’s his finest quality.

“But anyway, no one has seen Sedris since he rode out that day, nor the two men-at-arms he took with him. My sister has run the Earldom very well, Papa says, but if Sedris doesn’t return soon he worries about what will happen… they haven’t had any children yet, you see, so if a Kleftin succession council is called, who knows what will happen?”

For a moment she was silent, as she contemplated her sister’s tragic plight, but soon enough her naturally cheerful temperament reasserted itself.

“I’m sure Thilisa will find a way to make it all come out alright; she’s quite brilliant, everyone says so!”

♦

Later that evening, as everyone sat down for a formal, but quiet, welcoming banquet at Kar Urkonis, both Mariala and Devrik found themselves agreeing with Carissa’s assessment of her sister. Lady Thilisa, the Countess Yorma, was not only extremely beautiful, but obviously equally intelligent. She greeted her father and his guests with subdued dignity, but her conversation was sharp and quietly witty and she had a firm grasp on what was going on not only within her own domain, but throughout the realm.

A life-size portrait of the countess and what was obviously her missing husband, the Earl Yorma, hung on the wall behind the dais in the Great Hall. Mariala studied it closely as the party was ending, after she had been introduced to the Lady Thilisa, who noted her interest.

“My husband,” she confirmed, smiling. “He commissioned that for our wedding day, and surprised me with it when we returned from the Temple.”

“He is most handsome,” Mariala said, as indeed he was – tall, dark haired, clear gray eyes, a square jaw, and a trim figure. “You must miss him very much.”

“Yes, but I have every confidence in his skill and abilities. Whatever keeps him from us, I’m sure he will overcome it and return to us.

“But I understand I owe you thanks,” she continued, deftly changing the subject. “You have been caring for my lady mother during this… ordeal my father insists on putting her through. And shielding her, I hear, from mystical attack.”

“Well, there’s been no attack to defend against, at least not of that sort,” Mariala said. “But I have had the honor to help care for her, along with your sister and her nursemaid.”

“Ser Petral tells me he may be close to a cure, thanks to the knowledge you and your companions have brought him. If that is true, you will all have more than just words in thanks – from both my self and my father!”

With that she moved off to greet the next of her guests and Mariala turned to find her friends. Vulk and Drake were not far away, appearing to speak quietly together. But asa she approached, she realized they were actually eavesdropping on an increasingly heated exchange the Earl was having with two of the local nobles.

“I have every reason to believe my son-in-law is alive, Ser,” he said. “And full faith in his eventual return.”

The companions couldn’t quite make out the response of the smaller of the two locals, but no trouble hearing Lord Clarin’s response.

“Rubbish! My daughter is quite capable of handling the affairs of the fief as effectively as Sedris could. Indeed, she did much of the work even when he was home. This threat of a succession council is nothing more than a power grab, Ser, and you would do well to consider all the ramifications before you put your own weight behind it…”

At this point the Earl seemed to realize the conversation had become indiscreet, and he and men moved off to find a more private venue, no doubt to continue the debate. The comapnions turned then to head out of the hall themselves and to find their beds.

♦

The next morning the group gathered in a small chamber off the great library to discuss their next move in the fight to bring down the Constable of Dür. Drake reported that he had a brief break from his work with Ser Petral, as much of their material now needed time to age properly.

“And what a stoke of luck it was to find a stash of Lyrin Oil on our doorstep, as it were, yesterday,” he said, carefully not smiling at Mariala. “Now we have a real chance of a cure for Lady Lania.”

When Devrik and Raven entered the room, everyone was pleased to see that he had his eye patch off, and though still bloodshot, he seemed able to see perfectly.

“And these pale scars just add interest to my face,” he growled. “Or so Raven assures me.”

After they had all congratulated Devrik on his recovery, and Drake for his hand in it, and he’d thanked them all in return for finding the shrubbery needed for his recovery, they got down to business.

Mariala pulled out the sheets of vellum they’d found on the trader/mage, along with what they were calling Vulk’s paper weight, and spread them all on the table.

“I still think these are important,” she declared. “They were too well hidden and warded to be just blank sheets of paper and a paper weight.

“I have an idea for learning more about them…”

The morning after the disastrous feast at Zebarin Keep, and the resulting discovery of the Zalik-mal drug cache, was a hectic one. Both Erol and Vulk were still a bit singed from the encounter with the trapped lantern, but no more. However, despite Vulk’s best ministrations Devrik remained badly wounded, in pain and unfit for any serious duty. It fell to Drake and Erol, under the command of Ser Kovar, to catalogue and secure the contraband, while Vulk and Mariala assisted in the interrogation of the surviving Zalik-mal.

While the surviving criminal did give up several of her local accomplices, some (but not all) of whom were seized before they could flee, none could say who was responsible for the overall operation. It seemed that only Joet, Captain Kovar’s double-dealing informant, was privy to that information. He led the Zebarin cell, receiving his orders when he would ride out of town for two days, passing on instructions as required. Around the first of each month he would load up a pack horse with drugs and, under his cover as a simple tinkerer, head south, returning after five or six days.

None of his henchpeople knew where he went or who he received orders from, although one fellow claimed to have followed him on one of his two-day excursions. He swore that he witnessed a meeting between Joet and two shadowy men in a ruined farm on the outskirts of Dinmel, a village west of Dür Keep. He feared to get too close, and could give no certain description of the men, save that one was large, with muscle or fat he couldn’t say, and the other smaller and thin.

The volume of illicit substances, both herbal and prepared, that Drake and Erol helped to secure was rather shocking. If this amount of drugs were being shipped out each month, half the kingdom could be supplied for a year. In fact, this was a somewhat oversized lot, as they learned from the interrogators over diner that night. It seems the usual routine was interrupted a little over a tenday ago, when Joet suddenly had them drop everything and begin to prepare the “worried woreen.” He himself had delivered it to the keep the afternoon before.

By evening it was known that the Constable of Zebarin would survive the poisoning attempt, news which Ser Andro received with what might charitably be called cool indifference. Other’s would also survive, including Nursemaid Hila, but four members of the entourage and two of the keep’s residents were not so lucky. Services would be held in the morning, before the cavalcade departed on the next leg of the Progress, which the Earl was adamant would not be delayed by this outrage…

Ser Petral pulled aside Vulk and Mariala after the subdued evening meal (no woreen was served, or indeed any alcohol but beer) to report that his traveling pharmacy had been broken into last night, no doubt after he had come down to the feast, and all his medicines and herbs had been stolen.

“I’m certain that it was all part of the poisoning plot,” he said grimly. “To leave me without any possible antidote. Fortunately I always carry certain remedies and useful potions on my person, and so was able, with Ser Vulk’s aid, to save the Constable.

“Equally luckily, my current store of torazium is kept in Lady Lania’s carriage, so there is no danger to her at present. But I now have no ingredients to make more, a lack that must be addressed soon.”

After assurances from the friends that they would assist him as they could, he departed distractedly to go and check on his primary patient, before making his last evening rounds of the recovering poisoning victims.

Exhausted as they were, the companions, joined by Alakor, gathered in Devrik’s tent to discuss the progress of their goals and compare notes on the day’s activities. Devrik had slept much of the day, but he seemed no less tired then his friends, and Raven sat anxiously at his side, with a cool cloth for his forehead.

Vulk removed the bandages from his face, and frowned at what he saw.

“I don’t like the look of that eye Devrik,” he said, probing the wound.

Devrik flinched and growled, but said nothing. He was feverish and sweating, and seemed restless. Vulk and Drake exchanged looks and Drake stuck his head outside the tent to speak to Cris, who was standing guard with Blackhawk.

As Vulk changed the dressings on Devrik’s wounds (and tried the healing touch once more), Alakor summed up what they had learned over the course of the day.

“We’ve put a serious hole in the Zalik-mal’s operation in this area,” he concluded. “But with Joet dead there’s nothing to connect it all to Danyes Burnan. We need to find something solid, something that will see the man dancing on a gibbet!”

“But what in the Void killed Joet,” Devrik mumbled, frowning. “I know it wasn’t our weapons…”

“I for one would like to examine Constable Burnan’s wrists,” Mariala said. “I’d bet a large sum that we’d find one of those mysterious tattoos…”

“You may be right,” Vulk agreed. “And I’d love to know what they mean. If it was just here that we found the sigil I’d assume it was some Zalik-mal marking; but they have no reach into the Sea Kingdoms that I’ve ever heard. Besides, the attempted coupe in Sha Hesima was clearly political…”

“I wonder if this drug trade is as simply criminal as you assume,” Drake interjected, a thoughtful look on his face. “As the Earl mentioned the other day, the increasing drug use in the realm is creating trouble in every class. Could there be some larger political agenda behind it?”

“One of the potential heirs you think?” asked Mariala.

“Or someone else who simply wants to take advantage of maximum chaos during a Succession Crisis,” added Erol.

The conversation lulled as everyone considered these possibilities, and a few minutes later the tent flap was pulled back as Cris ushered in Ser Petral.

“I understand there’s a problem with your friend, Ser Vulk,” he said as he stooped to enter. “Let us have a look, eh Devrik?”

Removing the just applied bandages swathing the left side of the fighter’s head, he clucked in dismay.

“Oh dear, this is a mess, isn’t it. It was a taloxta attack, correct? Yes, nasty little creatures, and crawling with disease I’m afraid. Of course you’re lucky they didn’t get the eye out, eh? Though it looks like it was a close call…”

After applying a salve of his own to the wound the physician replaced the bandages and poured a dose of white liquid into Devrik’s untouched wine cup.

“Drink this young man; it will help you sleep, and you need to sleep to give your body a chance to fight this infection properly.”

Devrik grimaced, but silently took the cup and drained it. He then sank back on his cot, and in just a few minutes had drifted into a restless sleep.

Ser Petral turned to the companions and shook his head.

“I’m afraid it doesn’t look good… if I had all the herbs and medicines in my pharmacy, I could create a potion that would certainly fight off this infection and allow him to keep the eye. But as it is, if there isn’t a marked improvement in the next day or two, I’m afraid I’ll have to excise the organ.”

“There must be something we can do to help,” cried Raven. The others nodded anxious agreement.

“If we could gather the correct ingredients,” Ser Petral said, “perhaps…”

The group enjoyed several days of being praised, over-fed and generally celebrated by the grateful families of Port Kethim. The Port Master insisted that they lodge in his home, which had more than enough guest rooms to accommodate the heros of the hour. For once, Vulk and Drake didn’t have to share, which certainly made it easier to entertain those attractive townsfolk who wished to express their gratitude more… privately.

The Tritani were also grateful for the great service the friends had rendered them; and although they were seriously occupied in dealing with the wreckage and grief left behind by the false “princess,” on the third day a delegation arrived to hold a fete for the heros and the townspeople. The surface dwellers followed the Rous River some two kilometers inland, to a series of pools in the midst of a sunny glade surrounded by ancient oak trees, while the merfolk reached the same spot via underwater caves.

This was the Gareth Vall, the Meeting Place, where the Tritani had for centuries met with their surface-dwelling subjects and visitors. The pools and surrounding land had been fashioned in such a way as to allow the two peoples to dine and converse together easily, with the Umantari laying on low dining couches, in the Oceanian style, while the Tritani lounged half-submerged. Each group provided food for the feast, allowing both to enjoy foods not normally available to them, the harvest of both the sea and the shore.

The leaders of the Tritani delegation were Lord Korak, the Prince’s son and heir, and the High Priest Azador. Both were much recovered from their injuries, thanks in part to Vulk’s healing abilities, offered to help relieve the burden on the merfolk’s own healers, overwhelmed as they were with the injured. Both dignitaries bore gifts for the friends. The Heir formally presented them with the caskets of pearls that had been promised for each, the light but strong armour that had been crafted for Vulk, Mariala and Devrik, and the trident and shock-net, as well as armour, for Erol. Drake received a scroll of eel leather containing numerous tracts on the aquatic apothecary arts.

Azador then presented each of the companions with three mother-of-pearl vials, stoppered in white wax stamped with the trident sigil, containing the merfolk’s own version of the water-breathing potion.

“It lasts twice as long as the common version generally found amongst surface folk,” he said. “It is our offer to you all to visit us whenever you wish; you will always be welcome in the coral halls of Sha Hesima. You also have the Prince’s leave to travel where you will within his realm, as token of which he presents you with these.” He held out five oval plaques of gold coral, carved with the royal sigil of Hesima, each hung from a chain of braided gold.

Later, as the festivities began to wind down, Azador motioned Vulk to move aside with him, to a small pool somewhat removed from the others. When they were alone he pulled a small piece of eel skin parchment. On it was drawn a strange symbol, resembling a black three armed star, with the arms bent counterclockwise, over a similar shape in red at a different angle.

“We found this symbol etched and enameled into the metal of that accursed tiara the sea witch wore,” he explained,” as well as tattooed on the inner side of her left wrist, beneath one of her bracelets.

“None of our scribes or heralds recognizes it as belong to either the Tritani or the Arcutha… I was hoping that you, as a herald yourself, might know it from the surface world.”

“I’m sorry,” Vulk replied after examining the drawing carefully, “but it is completely unfamiliar to me as well. Both the tattoo and mark were in these two colors? Black and… what shade exactly would you call the other?”

“A deep crimson,” sighed the priest, obviously disappointed. “This copy is a very fair approximation. Both inks were such as are commonly used both below and above the waves.

“But I can’t help but feel this is significant,” he continued,” if only because it appeared twice in this affair. I think it should be brought to the Council’s attention.”

“I agree,” said Vulk. “May I keep this drawing?”

“Certainly, I have several others at home. I assume I can trust you to mention this in your report?”

With Vulk’s agreement the two returned to the festivities, and another round of speeches before the final sweets course of the feast. It was late afternoon before the party began wending its way back to the town.

While the group had been feasting, the crew of the Fortune’s Favor, under the watchful eye of her First Mate, had been busy loading up the cargo of undersea trade items the Tritani had brought with them. Captain Levtor was anxious to return to his ship and oversee the final stowing of goods and go over the manifest with the Port Master one last time. This trip promised to return a very nice profit, very nice indeed…

The ship sailed the next morning with the lesser tide, but contrary winds meant they didn’t reach Devok until late afternoon. Returning to their rooms at the Inn of the Cloven Shield, Drake found a letter from his brother Alakor waiting for him. It had arrived the day after they had sailed for Port Kethim, and it’s urgent news from Nolkior had only become more urgent with the passing days.

Over dinner in Mariala’s room that night the Drake read the deciphered letter aloud to his companions, including Raven and Black Hawk:

11 Agras 3018

Dear Draik,

I trust this missive finds you well, and finds you quickly. I would that your friend Mariala’s magical parchment was good for more than just a few words, but where magic falls short, we must rely on the Royal Post, eh?

I have recruited a solid group of men (and two women, a first for the Hand!) to fill out the Company. We are currently in Vinkara, in the employ of Lord Clarin, the Earl Kinen, for reasons that will soon become clear. This changes out plan to meet in Shalara on Midsummer’s Day, and I pray you are able to meet this new schedule.

As you may recall, the Earl has always been something of a recluse and homebody – tucked away here in the northeast, far from the intrigues of the heartland, our home shire always suited his quiet nature. For twenty years he has seldom travelled far from home, except for his annual inspection of his holdings in Kinenshire and his meeting with the King in Bürkon each autumn to pay his feudal dues.

But this month he announced, to the amazement of all (and the fear of a few, I think) that he intends to make a great Progress through the kingdom and attend the Royal Bellanin Tournament in Kolosür! He plans to hold a tournament in Vinkara at the end of the month, culminating on Maita Lai, to select three champions from his lands to represent him at the Royal Tournament. The excitement has everyone in an uproar, and every boy with a wooden sword is practicing night and day in the hopes of winning a place in the Earl’s entourage.

The reason’s for the Earl’s actions are a mystery, but of course that doesn’t stop the gossips from wagging their tongues (nor everyone else from having an opinion). His lordship has given several explanations that I’m aware of – he wishes to inspect his more distant holdings at Zebarin, Bürkon and especially Rägnol, which he visits seldom; to attend the Tournament with his champions, and meet in private audience with King Garinalt; to visit his daughter, Lady Thilisa, wife to the missing Earl of Yorma, in Urkonis; and to attend the Summer Fair in Shalara to negotiate some long term contracts for fleeces from his lands.

There are other, darker possible reasons, seldom more than whispered. Two years ago a Naventhülian assassin attempted to kill the Earl, and he’s been on guard ever since; it may be that he wishes to lure his unknown enemy out by leaving his secure base. If this is the case, he’s either a very brave man or a very desperate one!

But I think the most likely reason for this trip is his wife. Lady Lania suffered a terrible palsy several years ago, which left her crippled and speechless. Healers have tried to cure her malady, but the best have only managed to keep her alive. Rumor has it that the Maran hospital at Rivona, with it’s amazing mineral springs, has brought relief to similar sufferers, and it is on the planned itinerary.

But what has all of this to do with us, and our quest for justice against the cursed Danyes Bernan, you ask? The Earl is a man of sharp perceptions, an excellent judge of character, and he has long been suspicious of that false “nobleman.” Especially of his seemingly bottomless purse. The Earl has had agents monitoring Bernan since he was appointed Constable of Dür three years ago, but the man is simply too skilled at hiding his tracks.

But at last the Earl’s agents have uncovered proof that the Constable has been bleeding his fief, skimming tremendous amounts of money from his liege lord, the Earl of Buran. Earl Kinen plans to present the evidence to his fellow earl at Kolosür. While this may get the bastard removed from office, it may not be enough to get him hanged. I’ve shared my knowledge of Bernan’s trading in illicit drugs, but with that idiot Ardath mind-wiped after his trial, I have no eye-witness to back up my knowledge.

The Earl is willing to give me time to bring him proof, and has hired the Hand of Vengeance as extra security on his Progress – the captain of his personal security, the Wyvern Guard, is my old friend Kovar Delcanus… Ser Kovar now… and it was his speaking for me that tipped the scales. He believes that Bernan has learned of the Earl’s evidence, and will stop at nothing to prevent it from being delivered. With that threat on top of potential Naventhülian assassins and some shadowy, unknown enemy, he wants all the help he can get in protecting his lord.

I’ve told Kovar and the Earl about you and your friends, emphasizing your skill at uncovering plots and the machinations of the dark cults. I’m not sure the Earl quite believes me, but he’s willing to find places for you all in his entourage, if you can get here before Midsummer’s Day. He was intrigued by my tales of Vulk’s healing powers… although others have tried to cure Lady Lania he is always ready to seek some miracle. His status as a noble herald and cantor of Kasira doesn’t hurt. Lord Clarin was also interested in Mariala’s abilities, as he has been searching for months for someone capable of providing arcane protection for his wife on the journey. I hope Mariala will forgive my indiscretion, but I was really trying to sell you all as being indispensable to my efforts to put the final log on the Constable’s pyre. Although I thought it best not to mention Devrik’s more uncanny abilities – his fighting skill is credential enough, and I like to leave some surprises in reserve, as you know. Your own skills with herbs and gadgets falls into that category as well…

King Garinalt’s recent illness has been a boon to us (though I wish His Majesty full health and a long life, of course) as it has delayed both the Summer Fair and the Royal Bellanin Tournament by almost a month.

So, get here as fast as you can my brother. If this reaches you by the 19th, as the Royal Postmaster in Vinkara assures me it should, that leaves just enough time for you to get here by Maita Lai. If Kasira is with us, by the end of summer we shall see the Constable of Dür dancing from a Royal Gibbet! And our uncle next to him, if there’s any justice.

I remain, affectionately, your brother,

Alakor

P.S. – I am still going by my mercenary name of Colith One-eye, as I see no point in giving Bernan any kind of warning that I’m coming. So be sure to seek me under that name when you arrive in Vinkara. And take care as you pass by Dür; there is some chance of meeting those on the road who might recognize you, despite your own alias and more adult mein.

–A

There was silence around the room after Drake finished reading, as the companions contemplated what Alakor was asking.

“I’m afraid there’s no way we can make his timetable,” Mariala finally spoke. “The trip to Sha Hesima delayed us too much… if only we’d sailed a day later!”

Drake dropped the letter on the table and shook his head.

“No, it’s possible, damn it! If the Fortune’s Favor could sail on the early tide tomorrow, it’s three days to Shalara, and another five overland to Vinkara, if we ride hard. We could just make it!”

“But the ship can’t be ready, Drake,” replied Vulk gently. “I’m sorry, but they’re still unloading our cargo, and it will take at least another day to finish that and then resupply her for a voyage of any length. Even then, she’s not well equipped to carry not only us but also our horses and gear…”

“I’ll be damned if I’ll risk Immelen breaking a leg, or being swept overboard, or whatever other stupid thing that can happen to a horse at sea,” grated Devrik, slamming down his mug of cider. Raven patted his shoulder and whispered something in his ear. He grunted and then nodded.

“But there may be another way,” he went on. “I’ve been studying with Master Vetaris a bit, and it was with his help that I learned how to use the Nitaran Vortex on Chalkman’s Hill to get to Port Kethim.

“I’m still far from casually opening portals, but perhaps with Master Vetaris’ help, we could use the Vortex to travel to Vinkara, or near it…”

“Actually,” Vulk chimed in, “I was studying Vortex control myself, at the Temple, before our little sea holiday, and I was granted permission to learn the proper rituals the day that we sailed. I haven’t had time to do so yet, but with luck and the proper prayers I could have the goddess’s grace in time to take us to Nolkior before the deadline.”

This set off a babble of excited planning and list-making… Mariala and Devrik agreed to seek out Master Vetaris first thing in the morning and request his help, while Vulk got up to leave for the Temple, to begin his preparations for the meditations, prayers and study that would be required for him to learn the Ritual of the Portals.

But all their plans were cut short by a knock at the door. Mariala opened it to find a young man in the livery of the Earl of Devok smiling at her.

“Good evening milady,” he said, stepping briskly past her into the room and surveying those within. “Ah, good, you’re all here. I bring greetings from my noble master Lord Toralt Hanorn, the Earl of Devok, to Vulk Elida, Cantor of Kasira, and to his friends, Scholar Mariala Teryne of Nolkior, Master Drake Bartoff of Nolkior, and Master Devrik Askalan of the Kildoran Republic…” he paused for just a second before concluding with, “and the rest.”

“His Grace requests and requires the presence of Cantor Elida in the Great Hall of Kar Devok at the third turn of the Serpent Watch on Garta 24 Agras in the 3018th year since the Demon’s Fist, along with such of his companions as may wish to join him, to receive from His Grace a gift that His Grace is most desirous to bestow.”

Vulk was speechless at this, but Drake was not.

“That’s tomorrow morning,” he said. “We don’t have time for –”

Mariala clamped a hand over his mouth, while Vulk gathered his wits and bowed his head to the page in acknowledgement of his master.

“Please convey my gratitude to His Grace for his kind invitation,” he said, “and assure him that we will be there at the appointed hour. May we bring these other friends of ours, or…”

“Certainly,” the page replied sunnily. “You may bring as many people as you wish. Just be sure everyone’s dressed properly for such a solemn occasion.”

“But what exactly–”

“I’m sorry, I was instructed to say no more. You’ll just have to wait.”

With that the page turned and slipped as quickly out the door as he had come in, leaving the room bemused and curious.

“Well, I think we need to continue our plans for departing,” Drake said, freeing himself from Mariala’s grip. “Whatever the Earl wants to dump on you, Vulk, can’t take too much time… and maybe the rest of us can slip away afterwards, if–”

“Yes,” Vulk said absently, his mind obviously deeply engaged in trying to unravel what sort of gift the Earl might want to give him so publicly. “Yes, I think we should continue to prepare… but this is going to delay my ritual studies…”

While the group began to break up, heading to their own rooms and bed, Raven pulled her brother aside and spoke to him in a low voice, while he nodded and smiled. While Devrik and his sister stepped across the hall to their own rooms, Black Hawk headed down the stairs, apparently to his own room. But instead he continued down to the common room, then slipped quietly out the door and into the night…