Arodus 12 (small hours, Kalsgard)

It has been a long night and I do not see an end to it any time soon. In a few hours we meet Uksahkka at Spear-shaker’s Point for, of all things, kayak lessons (and in the dark, I might add). Dad would be proud. Or, perhaps instead, he’d lecture me for resisting his attempts to teach me anything involving paddles or sails years ago (as much as I enjoyed being a passenger on boats and ships of all sizes, I never had any interest in piloting them). He even told me once that “One day you will regret not having learned”. And here we are.

The definition of adulthood is realizing your parents were right about everything.

Suishen was not at Asvig’s farmhouse, and any hope of this coming to a quick conclusion has evaporated. Our only lead now is that it may be sitting on Snorri Stone-Eye’s funeral ship, scheduled to burn during his wake at dawn. I missed the interrogation of Helva and Asvig—I was more concerned with who had escaped from the hall at the time—but Helva suggested this possibility to us.

Snorri was Asvig’s Lord, or ring-giver as they are called here, and Snorri was even more closely tied to some shady dealings and this Rimerunners guild than Asvig, himself. Asvig, it seems, was just the go-to man for anything needing done that was not strictly legal (or even remotely so in some cases, I suspect) so that others would not be directly involved. Putting that sword on his lord’s funeral ship in tribute would accomplish two things at once: getting rid of it for good, and honoring the late Snorri, himself.

Except for the part where it just doesn’t make any sense.

Neither does the idea that Ulf might be imprisoned on that ship, too. At first it seemed like a real possibility, but now that I have had time to think on it, what would be the point? Asvig didn’t seem the type to play stupid games like this, especially when simply killing the man on the spot would get the job done and with a great deal more certainty. And just how hard would it be to make a body disappear in the Thanelands? We sent forty men to the bottom of the river with barely a trace, and we’ve had less practice at it. Asvig may have been a lot of things, but nothing we’ve seen suggested that he was incompetent or a fool. His only mistake seems to have been underestimating us, and to be fair, even then he was working on no information save for the fact that we existed.

So I am skeptical that we will find anything on this funeral ship save for Snorri Stone-Eye’s corpse, but it’s the only lead we have. Especially since Ulf wasn’t at Asvig’s farm, either—not that we knew to look for him at the time, but it was obvious there were no prisoners being held there—which just puts a capstone on this perfect day.

And the raid had started so well. With the death celebration (who are these people?) well under way we probably could have set the yard on fire without being spotted, so we had plenty of time to do this right. At the posts that surrounded the house, several of us put our heads together and reconstructed the rune that bypassed the summoning trap, then we quietly moved to the rear entrance and got into position.

That’s when we heard the muffled protests of one or two women, and the much louder, drunker, lecherous advances of some of the party-goers, through the door. Etayne, Radella, Qatana…they all tried to rush that door at the same time (I wanted to be right there with them, too) and within seconds we had burst through it and pounded the three accosters. They didn’t even have time to cry for help. Or beg for their lives.

After checking on the startled and frightened serving girls, we asked them about the layout of the house and where we would find Asvig. One of them actually asked us, “Are we being raided?” her eyes going wide with panic. No, dear, it’s not a raid. We’re just here to kill everyone. Gods.

There were over a dozen of Asvig’s henchmen in the main hall, and the battle there was short but bloody. We had timed this right, though, and benefited both from the chaos spread by our spells and their half-drunken stupor. Ivan and I threw back-to-back confusion into the room with a cloud of fog and a burst of glittering dust, and then our fighters charged in and did what they do. A few seconds later, I could hear the faint sounds of doors opening in the back of the hall where startled revelers were either escaping or trying to circle around behind us to counter attack. I summoned a wolf—the choice seemed appropriate for the setting—just outside the back entrance and he took off running almost immediately.

I took that as a cue that it was time to shut the door. And bar it.

In the main hall, it sounded like Sparna and Qatana had subdued the Longthews and forced an end to the fight, so I ran to the far end under the cover of invisibility—I hadn’t been seen yet and felt it was best that this remain the case—to look out the front door for any sign of the fugitives. That’s when I heard the sounds of lions roaring, and the screams of more men outside. So a few had gotten away, or at least tried to. I called for Olmas in Elvish, and used a spell and the pearl to conjure two horses for us to ride.

“We need to find anyone who escaped, and make sure they don’t reach the others who are approaching from down the road,” I said as he came up to the doorway.

After the initial confusion of holding a conversation with an invisible Vudrani woman speaking in Elvish from behind a horse that wasn’t there when we arrived finally wore off, Olmas mounted up and we rode around back to look for survivors. This was a bad idea. The survivors were two very angry lions, and they were staring right at us.

“Let’s go!” I called to Olmas, and quickly turned my mount around and fled to the front of the house. Olmas got the message and was right behind me. The lions, of course, bounded after us.

“Between the posts on the road, where we etched the rune!” I didn’t wait for his response, I just took my horse to a full run and bolted through. Fortunately, he had gotten the message..

The lions stopped just a few feet beyond the perimeter. I was hoping for that, but what if it hadn’t worked out? Olmas had the same thought and asked me what my backup plan had been. “To continue down the road and run them into the approaching party. And let them deal with the lions.”

Sometimes I have good ideas. I was almost disappointed that we didn’t get to try it out. Almost.

Nihali came to me then. I asked if she had seen anyone escape from the house. She had, “But they were mauled by leopards.” Leopards? That’s when I noticed something odd about the lions prowling around the wooden posts: they had spots. That explained why the lion figures on the armbands, and on the ones on the wooden posts, and even the summoned lions themselves didn’t look so much like lions; that isn’t quite what they were. (Note to self: ask Etayne about this later.)

If anyone made it off the property they didn’t go down the main path or stay on it. We rode a bit, just off to the side in the grass where our horses’ hooves weren’t as loud, until we were almost too close to the approaching group to safely stay out of sight. Not having found anyone, we headed back to the house—the lions or leopards or whatever they were had now vanished—and ran into our friends on their way out.

Hiding from the approaching revelers was easy as they were already drunk or well on their way to it. From the bits of conversation that we could hear they were going for the free food and spirits, not because they had any love for Snorri Stone-Eye. They were in for a number of surprises, not the least of which was the recent change in management.

Apparently, Asvig died while being questioned, suddenly and spontaneously, by choking on his own blood. It gives me the shivers just thinking about it. Etayne and Qatana saw it happen and said it looked like some sort of geas, but not one that they had ever seen or heard of. Want proof that Asvig was mixed up with some very, very bad people? There it is.

Which is, I think, part of why Helva was willing to accept a detente. She knew Asvig was guilty. She knew Fynn had been wronged and that his claim of blood vengeance was valid. What she didn’t know was exactly deep the hole was. She didn’t have to like what happened to her husband, but we had exposed something very ugly about him that she hadn’t known and it certainly gave her pause. She clearly wanted to rebuild their little fiefdom with far fewer surprises; one where she would be making the decisions. More power to her, I guess. In a strange way, I am happy for her.

If she is true to her word, there will be no retributions against us or Fynn, on one condition: that we never come around these parts again. It sounds like a ridiculous cliche written out like that, but it really was her only demand. Fair enough. In due time we won’t even be on this continent. It won’t be a difficult promise to keep.

And for our part? We had made good on Fynn’s request as his proxies, gruesome as it was, but there was no sword (and no Ulf). At least I didn’t have to walk back to Kalsgard.

I won’t have to walk to Spear-shaker’s Point, either.

Arodus 12 (dawn, Rimeflow River)

Either we have been set up, or Uksahkka is being watched. Someone knew we would board that funeral ship before it lit, and they obviously wanted us to be on it as it burned.

Aside from Etayne’s kayak capsizing—Ling did not seem too thrilled with this development—getting over to and onto the ship was relatively easy. It was getting off shore that proved more interesting: we had just gotten our gear packed up when an enormous crab came looking for its next meal. It took us all by surprise, but we recovered quickly and brought it down. Afterwards, I believe Qatana actually suggested that we cook it and have it for dinner. She was being completely serious.

We intercepted the ship just as it drifted past Spear-shaker’s Point and tied up our kayaks on both her port and starboard sides. The funeral ship itself was a longboat that had been converted into a barge. A deck had been built over the rowing benches, forming a cramped hold along the hull underneath. The funeral pyre and coals that served as a timer was up top. We threw the latter into the sea to prevent any accidents and then got to work.

It is no surprise that the raiders arrived within minutes of us. There was a narrow window in which we could pull this off, and there were only so many points along the river from which one could launch to reach the ship before the pyre was lit. That meant they knew where we would be and when, and the ninjas they sent after us only had to worry about being seen. Unfortunately for them, all that has happened today instilled a healthy dose of paranoia in the group so we had four pairs of eyes plus Nihali scanning the water for exactly this sort of interruption. Even in the foggy twilight, Olmas sighted the approaching canoes running 5 knots at 100 fathoms off the port stern. We had nearly a full minute to prepare for their arrival.

Down below, the other half of us had discovered that Snorri Stone-Eye had not died a peaceful death. His rotting, undead, and all-too-mobile corpse was chained up in the hold, smelling of decaying marine life. He had succumbed to some supernatural disease, perhaps a form of zombie rot or ghoul fever, and it seems his friends and family had gone to great lengths to keep this development a secret. On the funeral pyre, they maintained the illusion by covering a wooden manikin with a shroud.

What our friends didn’t find was any sign of Suishen or Ulf. Surprise. They emerged from the hold with the bad news just as the canoes were coming into range of spells and arrows.

We had two nasty surprises in place for the would-be boarders. The first was the downpour of rocks and dirt that had served me well just a few days earlier (it was all I had that could reach from this distance). The second was Nihali, who enthusiastically agreed to try dropping a vial of alchemist’s fire on one of the approaching vessels. Turns out, she has pretty good aim. I could feel her excitement as the boat caught fire.

Only one of the attackers made it to within arm’s reach of the ship, and that’s where he died.

While Suishen and Ulf weren’t on board, the morning was not a total loss. Snorri must have been well loved as he had a rather large pile of treasure to see him off to his afterlife.  We took a more practical viewpoint and figured he wouldn’t be needing it where he was going. We helped ourselves to a rather generous serving and stuffed it in the bag Sparna has been carrying. I estimated a haul of about 12,000 gold in coins, jewelry, and artwork on top of what they had already looted earlier.

I also learned something interesting about Ivan. Before Uksahkka left, she gave him a small clay token and said to present it at the shrine of Shelyn in the Fire Quarter when we were ready to make contact with her again. Naturally, the mention of my goddess caught my attention, and when I looked at the token I saw the unmistakable image of a songbird on one face.

“Ivan, would you mind if I held on to that?” I asked.

“Why?”

“Because it has a holy symbol on it. That songbird is the symbol of Shelyn.”

“You mean this?”

And he pulled back his tunic to reveal a tattoo of a songbird on his shoulder blade.

“I didn’t know what this meant.”

I think everyone was shocked, but none more so than I. We shared a kayak on the way out to the funeral ship, and I told him as much about her as I could in the time that we had.

One kayak over, I could hear Qatana doing the same with Olmas, only of course she was spreading the word of Groetus. She was really giving him the hard sell. It was all I could do to keep from laughing.

Arodus 8 (Night, Ullerskad)

We left the Skalsbridge behind us, a picturesque scene of tranquility belying the night’s events. Few traces remained of the dead men that littered the bottom of the Thundering River: scars along the riverbank where their boat came ashore, trampled grass and soil, the occasional boot print in the dirt. We covered up what we could, using both labor and magic, but there were too many of them and there was too little time to be thorough. If someone looked close enough they’d probably see the signs, but it was good enough for the casual eye. The last thing we needed was for some random travelers to spread the story of a terrible battle scene in the heart of the Thanelands. We have enough troubles as it is.

The raven flew off shortly before the attack began last night, and as far as we know it hasn’t returned since. This is fine by me. It implies that news of the failed ambush won’t travel much faster than we do. They, whoever they are, won’t know something is wrong until the Aril’s Hammer fails to put into port.

We are spending the night in Ullerskad, just a day and a half east of Kalsgard. It is a significant trading city for its size, and apparently the home to numerous wealthy merchants both still in business and retired. Mom and dad would feel at home here if it weren’t so gods-be-damned cold in the winter. Perhaps this is why our only trip to the Kingdoms, which happened when I was about 8 years old, was our only trip to the Kingdoms.

Arodus 9 (Noon, Ullerskad)

One of the notable landmarks in Ullerskad is the temple to Gorum. I have virtually nothing in common with the Lord in Iron, god of battle, but there is no denying the strength and ferocity his followers show on the battlefield, and there are times when these qualities are needed. And, it is said that Shelyn is on good terms with all of the major deities (except, perhaps, her brother, though that relationship is complicated) so it seemed appropriate to at least visit, even if only briefly.

I was not sure what to expect, of course, but I am sure I was not expecting what I saw. The temple itself—a large, gold-adorned building—stood next to a grove of trees, and from these trees hung the corpses of both animals and men. I asked an acolyte about their significance. He said, “The animals are sacrifices to Gorum. The men are enemies of Ullerskad who fell to our warriors in battle.”

At the center of the grove was a massive yew tree, the largest I have ever seen, it’s expansive branches covered in lush, green leaves. The acolyte added, “These leaves stay green all year long, even through the harshest winters. It is a very sacred place.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

Shalelu seemed less impressed. When asked for her opinion, she replied, “I have seen this kind of thing before.”

I couldn’t argue with that, either.

Sandru and I spent some time researching the Crown of the World. The real experts are in Kalsgard, but there are enough knowledgeable people here to give us a picture of what we are facing, and that picture is sobering. The trip is some 3,000 miles, with nearly half of that over what is called the High Ice. While no part of the journey across the Crown is for the faint of heart, it is the ice that is the most treacherous: 1,500 miles of frozen desert. One thousand, five hundred miles!

Caravans measure cargo capacity using an amalgamation of weight and girth, approximated and simplified to a standard measurement known as the cargo unit, or just unit for short. At our most efficient, we travel just shy of 50 miles in a day and consume six units of stores in every five. But that is with scouts working alongside us, supplementing our provisions with hunted game and food foraged off the land. We don’t know how realistic that will be on the high ice, and so I have to assume our consumption will increase by half. It simply can’t be done. The math doesn’t lie: we need more provisions than we have room to carry!

Even more troubling is the weather. It is called the High Ice because it is an arctic plateau. At that altitude, the temperatures rarely rise above dangerously cold in the summer and are much worse in winter. We have been advised to wait until next year to start our journey: the season for crossing the Crown begins in early spring and lasts only a few weeks. Leave during that window, and you are on the ice now while the conditions are at their best. We are simply three months too late (or nine months too early) to set out.

At least we will have plenty of time to find a solution to our looming food problem.

Arodus 10 (Night, Kalsgard)

We arrived in Kalsgard just as the sun was setting. The city is the largest in the Linnorm Kingdoms, and also its oldest. Its shipyards are well known throughout Avistan and have a reputation for producing some of the finest longships money can buy, almost certainly including the one sitting at the bottom of the river under the Skalsbridge. The city itself is divided into nine Quarters—a Quarter in this context meaning a district of a city and not a mathematical one-fourth of something—separated by walls that are more permeable than they appear. In contrast to the rest of the Thanelands, and pretty much all of the Linnorm Kingdoms save for the Grungir Forest, it’s also strikingly cosmopolitan with a richly diverse population. Though it’s been nearly 15 years since I was last here, it is the latter (and the shipyards) that I remember.

Kelda pointed us towards the Bone Quarter. It is the poorest district in the city but it also has the most open space, and that combination makes it an attractive place to put things that no one wants to see or deal with. Caravans, especially those from Varisia, very much fall into that category. That level of anonymity and disregard is fine with us. We are staying the night here tonight, but tomorrow some of us will find lodging in a nicer Quarter so that we can come and go without drawing unwanted attention to the caravan.

Speaking of Kelda, she has chosen to return home in the morning and won’t be continuing on with us. I am not surprised; she signed up originally to share the spoils from looting an abandoned colony, not to be an heir to a kingdom she has no connection to (not that we signed up for that, either, but we all have ties to Ameiko in some fashion). And after what has happened in just the past couple of weeks? I can’t say that I blame her.

I’ll miss having her with us, of course, but I won’t miss Etayne’s antics. So there is that to look forward to.

Arodus 11 (Mid-day, Kalsgard)

The day is barely half over and already it has been a huge mess. We are being followed, we are seeing flocks of crows everywhere we go, people are asking questions about us, and we are being harassed by street urchins paid in copper. It is unsettling and grows more so with each hour.

We secured rooms at an inn in the Amber Quarter and made arrangements to be able to call upon Kelda (and her upon us) if needed, and then split up to cover as much ground as we could. Only Ana and Etayne stayed behind, choosing to keep a close eye on the caravan in case anyone came nosing about.

Qatana and Shalelu went seeking information about the armbands. Koya wanted to explore Kalsgard and do some shopping for fabrics and other sundries, and since this represented an opportunity to look for the merchant Fynn Snaevald, Ivan and Spivey joined her both for protection and to make those inquiries. Radella and Sparna opted for the undercity, or whatever it is they called it, which was apparently accessible via tunnels along the docks. Sandru and I also set off to try and find Fynn, but coming at the problem from the other direction: the merchant guilds that may have traded with him. And, finally, Ameiko wished to learn what she could about her homeland and chose a visit the Jade Quarter, with Olmas serving as her escort. According to Kelda, the Jade Quarter is home to a rather large Tian population.

It was the latter that presented something of a problem. Ameiko does not always think things through. “Are you sure it’s wise to just wander around the city with people watching for us?” I asked her before she set out.

She chuckled. “What are you worried about? No one here knows who I am.”

“Someone arranged that ambush, and we’ve been followed by a giant raven for days. They may know quite a bit about us.”

“Well, what do you suggest?” she asked, clearly a little irritated with me. She was eager to explore the city, especially after having missed out on the action in Brinewall. There would be no talking her out of the idea, and to be honest, I wasn’t going to try and stop her, either. What she proposed actually made a great deal of sense. It’s just that we needed to be cautious about it.

“Why not borrow Radella’s ring? Then you won’t have to look like you.” With that she could alter her appearance essentially at will.

I occasionally have good ideas.

That little success was soon overshadowed by my attempt to get information from the Seven Lands Guild in the Ivory Quarter. Sandru was not happy with me. He’d never say it, of course—he’s too much of a gentleman—but I could tell. Though I looked my part and certainly knew enough about the business, I was not at all prepared for the game of pretending to be something I am not. Afterward, he gave me a quick summary of what I had done wrong.

“It’s not enough to know how to be a merchant. You have to know the part you are playing. They aren’t going to quiz you on your knowledge; they are going to ask questions about you, your business, and what you want from them. You need to anticipate those questions and have answers, and you need to engage with them confidently.

“Think about who you are, where you are from, what it is you need, why you need to speak to them, and what they can do for you. Also, try and relate that to what you really want to find out from them: in this case, how did you know Fynn, and why did it make sense for you to ask about him?

“Also, next time, don’t use your real name.”

So, just those issues, then.

Fortunately, the people in the Guild did not seem to be directly related to whoever has been keeping tabs on us, and being the exotic foreigner woman was sufficient distraction from my clumsiness. In the end, we got an offer to have some of their guards escort us to Fynn’s house. Of course, an escort is not what we needed (nor did we have a desire to meet with Fynn by ourselves), so instead we asked the guards for directions and left it at that.

On the way back to the inn, we noticed the crows. They were all over the city, of course, but while they were just scenery before, now they were flocking near us in numbers that seemed unusual. As the others straggled in over the next hour or two, they had similar observations: crows appearing in increasing numbers, lining up on rooftops to follow their progress across the city. I brought Nihali in and asked for her opinion.

“They are just crows,” she said. This was obviously not helpful.

“Are they being controlled, somehow? Is there anything unnatural about them?”

Her reply was immediate. “No. They are a normal flock of crows. The only thing that is unusual is that they are following you and your friends.” I asked her what she meant by a “flock”, and she elaborated, “Like any flock of birds. They are a social group. Nothing more.”

“Do they pay attention to you? Or make you nervous?”

“No. They ignore me.”

The crows were just the beginning. Radella and Sparna were on their way back to the inn when they happened to spot Koya in one of the markets (Koya dresses in colors so vivid she stands out even in Varisia), only she was being watched and followed by a young Tian boy. They managed to discreetly get word to Ivan and together they arranged a clever ambush to confront him. When cornered and questioned, he confessed that he had been paid to tail us, gather information about our activities, and leave his notes at a drop elsewhere in the city. He had descriptions of everyone, including Ameiko (though undisguised, so the ring would at least keep her identity safe). They followed him discreetly with hopes of catching his handler, but he or she had been alerted somehow and they came back empty-handed.

Qatana and Shalelu, meanwhile, had learned that our armbands belong to one “Asvig Longthews”, but only after spreading a lot of gold around. Why? Because almost no one wanted to talk about arm bands, lions, or Asvig himself, even after we had learned his name. They practically backed away from her.

At the caravan, Etayne learned from another Tian boy that people had been asking questions about us, and knew we had been making inquiries and dropping coins around the city to get answers. So, our attempts to gather information we’ren’t just attracting attention, they were actively alerting the people who were watching for us.

All these eyes on us, the constant spying, the mind games…it is unnerving. As a precaution, we have sent word to Kelda that we need to see her so that we can warn her. After all, they have her description, too.

At least we learned what we needed to learn. We have Asvig’s name. We know where we can find Fynn. And, as an added bonus, Ivan has a fabulously stylish new traveling outfit, courtesy of Koya (the old woman knows clothing, and Ivan was absolutely in need).

We leave for Fynn’s residence shortly. Hopefully, he will agree to see us. We could use the change in fortune.

Arodus 11 (Late afternoon, farmlands south of Kalsgard)

Asvig’s farmhouse sits just a short distance from us. Inside, we can hear the sounds of a loud, almost raucous, celebration and feast that is just getting underway. It provided a convenient cover while we scouted the grounds and came up with our plan.

The house is surrounded by a ring of wooden posts, each one bearing a stylized lion’s head that has been etched into it. The engravings match those on the armbands, though being much larger it’s now obvious that the artist had probably never actually seen a lion before, which I suppose is hardly surprising given where we are. More interesting is the magic aura that each one radiates: a conjuration spell, almost certainly a form of summoning. Our suspicion is that whoever breaches the perimeter will find themselves face to face with one or more angry cats.

I offered that the armbands are important, but we also found markings on the road running between two of the posts on the way to the house which suggest that someone had drawn a rune of some sort in the dirt, and then hastily (and sloppily) scratched it out. Sparna thinks that the rune might allow someone to pass without triggering the spell. It’s a good idea, and one that we’ll try first.

We aren’t moving in until dusk, though. The revelry ensures our advance won’t be heard, but while the sun is up we can easily be seen should someone choose to step outside for a break from the noise. It’s a chance we can’t take. Besides, the longer we wait, the less prepared the dinner guests will be for a fight. With any luck, some of them will even be drunk (and from the sounds of it, a few are well on their way there). There’s also a certain symmetry in ambushing Asvig and his men after dark.

We are not the only ones with a grievance against Asvig. He has been a busy man.

One of the few things that went right today was our meeting with Fynn. He wasn’t just home: he answered the door and invited us in. Who would have thought? I would have expected him to be more guarded, but I guess at his age you have seen a lot and if you weren’t a good judge of character then you wouldn’t still be around to avoid those mistakes. As soon as we mentioned Suishen, he took a closer look at Ameiko and then made the connection.

He remembered purchasing the sword from her grandfather—sure, it had been 60 years ago, but you don’t forget a unique event like that—and he had kept it on his mantle ever since. (Apparently he had tried to use it, himself, but it had never felt right in his hands.) Then, about two weeks ago, he came home to find his house broken into, his servants dead or dying, and Suishen stolen. He didn’t think much of it at the time, but one of his servants had said something about “paying the lion’s due” before succumbing to his injuries. We showed him one of the armbands, and suddenly we had a second connection to Asvig.

Who is Asvig? A local clan leader of sorts. Known to have a large number of henchmen, followers, guards, or hired thugs. You can take your pick from those as any or all of them seem to apply. The farm itself was supposed to be well fortified, something that we more or less have confirmed just by looking at it.

We told Fynn the story of our ambush at the Skalsbridge. He recognized the name of the boat. He said the Aril’s Hammer belongs to the Rimerunner’s Guild which is located in the Jade Quarter. So Asvig either rented it for the attack, or was hired directly and given use of it.

Traditions of the Ulfen people include that of the weregild, a value placed on people or property. If any harm comes to a member of your family or trust, or if any of your possessions are stolen, you are entitled to compensation from the transgressor. If no weregild is paid, then you may choose to seek a blood vengeance, which is a fancy way of saying that you can legally kill them. It’s a ridiculously barbaric way to resolve disputes, especially since all that is required to seek blood vengeance is to simply say that you are seeking blood vengeance and believe that you are right—though I suppose if you are later proven to be wrong, the victim’s family can always seek blood vengeance—but I digress. Fynn had not been offered a weregild, and given the enormity of the crime, he was ready to jump straight to the end, anyway.

You don’t see too many nonagenarian humans, Ulfen or otherwise, pursuing a blood vengeance, and that is where we come in. In exchange for Suishen, assuming we recover it, we are acting as Fynn’s proxies in this matter. I am still wrapping my head around it: we have the quasi-legal authority to just barge in there and execute Asvig and anyone who stands in our way. And people call Varisia a wild frontier.

Not that I am going to lose a lot of sleep over this. Some bad things have happened and Asvig seems to be in the thick of it.

I am getting worked up now just going over this all again, and that’s not even all there is. On the way to Fynn’s, we received an anonymous threat. From a blind beggar, no less! How did he know we were passing by? There are only three possibilities I could think of: someone alerted him (say, by magic), he recognized our voices, or he picked up on a scent that was unique to us. The first two I couldn’t do anything about, but the third? I wiped everyone down with the same spell I use for Qatana. Everyone.

While I was doing that, Etayne confronted him. He was paid to deliver this little warning when “someone who smelled like cabbages” walked by. So that’s number three for the win. Turns out, Etayne had spent the bulk of the morning in the Bone Quarter within a stone’s throw of a cabbage cart. I am sure we noticed the smell at one point, but it’s cabbages, so who cares, right? Gods!

And then there were the crows. They followed us out of Kalsgard on the way here and showed no signs of giving up. I had finally had enough of it and suggested that we get rid of them. How were we supposed to raid Asvig’s farm with these harbingers flying about? Qatana was more than happy to oblige. She sent out a sound burst that blew a good number of them out of the trees and onto the ground, either stunned or dead. A few arrows were enough to scatter the rest. I hated that this was the answer, but I won’t deny that it was satisfying.

It’s getting dark now. We should be moving soon.

Erastus 27 (Late Afternoon, Riddleport)

Koya seemed excited by the cache of maps that I brought back from my excursions. I found her early in the afternoon packing up some items in her wagon (just like her mother, she is showing few signs of slowing down at her age). She invited me inside and I unrolled them on top of some crates. I had picked up several Varisia maps, from Sandpoint up through the Nolands, and a smaller set showing parts of the Linnorm Kingdoms (in addition to what I had found on my own, Kelda and I had gone shopping together in Riddleport earlier this morning, looking for anything that covered our route up to Kalsgard). There were three or four dozen in all.

“What’s all this?” she asked.

“I think we’re going to need some mementos from this trip, don’t you? And what better way to start than with some maps of where we’ve been, and where we’re going? Pick out what you like from these; I’ll keep the rest.”

She looked up at me, astonished. “You’d give these to me?”

“It’s much less than you’ve done for me over the years.” Which was an understatement. Ameiko had a talent for finding healing potions, but she couldn’t mend clothes. Koya could do both.

As she started leafing through them I added, “There’s a mixture in there of practical, artistic, and fanciful. Some are city maps, some regional, others are wider. And we’ll get more along the way, of course.”

My next stop was Sandru, who I found tending to the horses not too far from Koya’s wagon. “I was thinking that we need a little celebration tonight. Some special food and drink to see us off on our trip.”

“A fine idea!” he beamed, “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, that’s why I wanted to see you: I need a little help. The food I can manage. Do you think you can help me pick out some spirits?”

“Of course! I would be delighted!”

Here’s a tip: if you ever find yourself with too much money, teaming up with Sandru to buy alcohol for special occasions is one way to solve the problem super-gods-be-damned-fast. It sure was fun, though. And we got personalized service everywhere we went.

Erastus 28 (Velashu River below the Celphiac Mountains, Evening)

We broke out our celebration last night after making camp a few miles out of Riddleport. Though it certainly wasn’t on par with the dinner Ameiko threw back when this all began (I had less to work with after all) it was still the surprise I was hoping it would be. I admit that I splurged a little too much, but honestly, how often do you get to try things like a 40-year-old brandy or a cheese made from buffalo’s milk?

It will take us roughly two weeks to reach Kalsgard and the first half of that will be through the wilderness and the Nolands. The experience with the trolls over a month ago, and I guess with Zaiobe more recently, is why I pursued the spell Thadeus had grilled me about. I admit that I don’t like it, but what are my alternatives? I am just not any good outdoors otherwise. I can’t get close enough, fast enough, and many of the effects I can manifest? You can just walk around them. Easily. It is one thing to be in a city, but another to be in the open plains of the Uplands. But then again, I never thought that this is where I would end up.

And as for the Nolands, they have a nasty reputation that is well deserved. Rulers in the Lands of the Linnorm Kings have used it as a dumping ground for centuries, sending the worst of their worst into exile there. Given that the natives, and I use that term loosely, are known (or at least suspected) to have such pleasant hobbies as cannibalism, it makes for a proving ground for aspiring warlords. I won’t endanger myself or my friends. Sometimes ideals have to give way to reality.

On a more pleasant note, I’ve been learning some Skald, courtesy of books (of course) and some time in the wagon Kelda is driving. I was not the only one with this idea, either: this morning I overheard Sparna talking to her about the very same topic. So, it seems Kelda has quickly become one of the more popular members of our group.

This clearly hasn’t sat well with everyone, though, as one of us has taken to messing with her food. Hopefully, whatever the hell that is about, it will end soon. Or at least not spiral out of control.

Erastus 30 (Noon, Velashu Uplands)

Last night Ivan was talking about magic items and how they could be created while we were traveling. His idea was quite ingenious. The process, as I understand it, takes several full days of work depending on the item, which is, of course, hard to do while traveling. He suggested that a shortcut would be to buy an item (he said they are typically rings) that allows you to go with minimal sleep and rest, thus making it possible to work most of the night. Of course, the catch is that you must first find and pay for such a thing, but it’s an interesting idea and I’m going to pursue it.

Arodus 2 (Evening, The Nolands)

We’ve crossed into the Nolands. The landscape and the wildlife are radically different north of the river (which I guess should not be surprising) and we’ve even seen a few bears. So far, though, we’ve been left alone and there’s not even been any sign of Nolander tribes. Our only company has been flocks of birds probably scavenging for scraps of food. Nihali says they are mostly ravens and she is “not impressed” (that is an actual quote).

Someone continues to mess with Kelda’s meals. I am beginning to feel a spiritual bond with Sparna and Olmas.

Arodus 3 (Evening, Jol)

Our first encounter on this leg of our journey was not what I was expecting. When Nihali landed on my shoulder this morning, she was pretty agitated. I asked her what’s wrong and she said, “Just a raven. But I’ve never seen one that big before.”

When Nihali is concerned, I am concerned. “How big is it?” I asked.

“It’s right there. You can see for yourself.”

And I looked up and there it was. A raven. A huge raven, about the size of a small dog. Just hanging up in the sky, lazily following us much like the flock that had been with us since we crossed the river. It was still with us when we stopped for lunch, and I discreetly started spreading the word.

Unsurprisingly, a couple of the others had seen it, too, but it hadn’t reached the level of “alarming”. But they aren’t Nihali. This is what she does.

Then Ivan pointed out something interesting. “I saw a flash of red. Maybe red feathers on its wings.”

Ravens with red feathers? Etayne and I talked it over. It’s not unheard of, but the peculiarities were starting to mount. So I went to see Koya for her opinion. I mean, this is precisely why Varisian caravans have fortune-tellers, right?

At first, I got the Varisian answer: blood feather ravens are an omen. Specifically, an evil omen (are there any omens that aren’t?), and it’s bad luck to have one following the caravan. And so on. But I pressed her on it because I wanted something more concrete than spookism. “What should we do about it?”

Koya pulled out her cards and I let her work. After a few minutes, she said, “The cards are hard to read. We should continue our journey, but there is evil stalking us.”

Right. That’s what I needed to know. We were probably being spied on, and that would not do. I went to the others and, speaking in Elvish, suggested that we get rid of it. Permanently. It was flying too high up for weapons, but I could send an air elemental after it. But when I went to find it in preparation for the spell, it was gone. I told the others, “I can be better prepared for it tomorrow, anyway. I can send several air elementals at it.”

We reached Jol late in the afternoon. Mom actually knew something about Jol, as it was built on top of the ruins of an old Thassilonian city called Torandey. That fact officially makes it her business, and one of the bits of trivia she shared with me is that new construction (and reconstruction) occasionally breaks through into some previously-unknown vault down below, unleashing whatever random magic or horror lay dormant inside. Must be fun to be in the construction business there.

It’s also densely packed. The southern expanse of Southmoor, in particular, can be quite dangerous and Jol’s walls are arguably the main reason why the city has a reputation for being the safest (human) settlement in the region. But rather than expand its borders, it has stubbornly increased its density. It is the most tightly packed city I have ever seen, and I have seen a lot of cities. And, it stinks. I mean it literally smells bad. Fortunately, we aren’t staying inside the city walls.

Arodus 5 (Evening, Grungir Forest)

For two days we didn’t see the raven with the red feather, and when we emerged from the northern edge of the Grungir Forest to make camp it was there, waiting for us. It flew off as soon as we spotted it, far too quickly for me to take action. This thing is pissing me off.

The forest itself was pleasant enough, but only because we knew to stay on the road, or if straying from it to at least keep it in sight. Grungir is the domain of the fey. This far to the east there is some human encroachment and it is well-traveled, but it’s still best not to tempt the descendants of the First World. When asked what we might find here, Kelda replied, “Fey. Gnomes. Wild animals. A linnorm if you’re unlucky.” And I think that about sums that up.

Tomorrow morning we’ll take a side trip across the river into Losthome, a brief visit to trade, find updated maps and get some information about the way ahead, but we’ll return to the road by early afternoon.

Oh, and I suspect that Etayne is our prankster. I don’t know what she has against Kelda, but as long as it’s just stupid tricks? I am staying out of it. For one, Kelda can take care of herself. For two, Kelda would probably just get pissed off if someone intervened on her behalf, anyway. It sure does bring back some shitty memories, though.

Arodus 7 (Noon, Thundering River, Eldentre)

We haven’t seen the raven since the forest. If it holds to its previous pattern, it should appear tonight or sometime tomorrow.

OK. I was growing really concerned and starting to fret over this, so I just now went to ask Koya for advice. “What is it you want to do if you see it again?” she asked.

“I’m going to summon air elementals and send them after it. To attack it, and kill it if they have to. It’s spying on us, I’m sure of it.”

She thought for a moment and then pulled out some cards of a design I had not seen before. “I have something I can try…if you are willing?” I said yes, and she cast a lengthy spell I did not recognize and then drew some cards from the deck.

I can feel the effects, and they are strange, almost as though a blessing of Desna is on me.

She says this will only last for a few days, or until I have my chance to go after the bird, whichever comes first.

Arodus 7 (Night, The Skalsbridge)

We were attacked tonight and thus my suspicions have been confirmed: the raven had been spying on us. I wish now I had taken action when Nihali had first come to me, but logically I get that there was no way to have known at the time. I don’t want to be the kind of person who attacks someone or something on just suspicion alone, although taking this stance means we must suffer such affronts as being ambushed while we sleep.

I am pretty sure no one took me seriously when I called out, “I’ll soften them up!” (I mean, really, when had I ever softened anything up? So I guess I don’t blame them.) Ivan was right next to me fiddling with the necklace he picked up in Brinewall and said, “That’s what I’m going to do,” as he pulled off one of the orbs and flung it, hard, into the moonless night. A tremendous burst of fire lit up the advancing hoard, and several of the raiders dropped in a chorus of screams.

And then my spell hit. I won’t mince words here: it was pretty horrible. I didn’t see the torrent of stones and dirt, but I heard a sound worse than any hailstorm, a roar of sickening, dull thuds against earth, armor, and flesh, followed by more screams. It lasted only seconds. I reminded myself, They are here to kill you. Because it helps to keep perspective when people are dying by your hand.

At the edge of our camp light, the surviving attackers met us and were savaged. More spells, more fire, and flashes of steel. At one point in that fight two of our foe, which I could now see to be Ulfen raiders, descended on Kelda to outflank our defensive line, but Radella took one of them down and I used a spell to grease the other’s weapon, buying Kelda some time to reposition and seize the advantage. After that, we went on the offensive and the stragglers dropped like flies.

When the battle was over, there were forty dead. Gods, forty of them! Forty! Kelda remarked, “It’s unusual for Ulfen warriors to attack in mass just randomly on the road.”

Yeah. About that. There was obviously nothing random about this. Kelda said she spotted the raven on the Skalsbridge, just barely making it out in the dim light from our camp. It flew off as soon as it knew it had been spotted (Damnit! Again!), or perhaps just as the longboat was coming ashore. Fortunately, Kelda was able to alert Qatana, who woke us all in time. But only barely. We had maybe a minute to get ready, if that. It was that close.

Kelda examined the bodies, pulling a gold armband off of one. Engraved on it was a stylized lion’s head which she did not recognize. It was very convenient for them to all be wearing such an obvious marker, of course, which meant they were either fools or overconfident in their victory (the latter, of course, implying the former). So we had a lead which we could pursue.

Their boat, which was named the Aril’s Hammer, was beached just west of the bridge. It was over fifty feet long with nearly two dozen oars. Someone had a made significant financial investment in trying to do us harm. Another lead we could follow if needed.

We decided it would be best if our assailants simply vanished. We scuttled the boat, and weighed down the bodies before dumping them in the river.

I am trying very hard not to say anything. When we made camp, I objected to doing so right next to the bridge given that something had been spying on us. Why couldn’t we camp in the middle of nowhere like we had been doing? “It’s an obvious landmark. We’ll be easy to find!” I kept saying, but my complaints fell on deaf ears.

Erastus 24 (Morning, Riddleport)

I showed Ameiko the play Kikonu had been writing, or rather, the drafts of it that I had grabbed. I couldn’t take all of it—there were stacks and stacks and stacks of revisions—but what I had was certainly enough.

“I have seen some very bad plays, some of them spectacularly bad, but this? This exists in a world of its of its own.”

“It gets more unhinged with each revision, doesn’t it? Not that it had a great starting point.”

“If I had to endure watching this over and over, it might drive me to murder, too.”

I plan on keeping it. For the memories.

OK, that is not very Shelynite of me, I admit, but Kikonu’s motives were far from pure, here.

While most of my companions don’t have anything tying them down, both Anavaru and I still have family that we are close to. Am I supposed to just disappear for several months, with no word as to where we are going? I can’t do that to them. Sending a letter is an option, of course, but not one that I’d feel particularly good about. Mom and dad already had a hard enough time with what we did. And what we are about to do? I just can’t leave that way. I just can’t. Besides, how smart would it be to put this in a letter? Knowing what we know?

Fortunately for the two of us, Ameiko also has responsibilities back in Sandpoint that she can’t just abandon. Both the inn and her home need to be put under stewardship if not outright sold, and she can’t do that from here. Since time is likely not on our side, she has sought the services of a wizard up in the Windward district for teleports to and from, and she offered to bring Ana and me along. The logistics are complicated, but since he will essentially be on retainer for three days, I will pay his travel expenses to Magnimar from Sandpoint so that Ana and I can visit family, and for the return teleport the following day. Then we all come back here on Ameiko’s coin on the 26th.

The wizard, a personable and handsome Taldan named Thadeus, agreed to this arrangement and he didn’t even overcharge us. Not that his services were cheap, of course, but I think he simply found the proposal interesting enough to actually want to do it. Later, Ameiko opined to me privately that “the opportunity to travel with three young women probably had something to do with that.” I suppose. Maybe.

He needed about a half hour to get prepared for the trip. He works out of his home, so we are waiting in his sitting room while he packs and does whatever else it is he needs to do. As soon as he is ready, we leave.

(Late Morning, Sandpoint)

Ana secured passage for us on the noon caravan to Magnimar. While she was doing that and tying off a couple of loose ends in Sandpoint I ran an errand of my own.

Sheriff Hemlock was in his office when I arrived. He looked very surprised to see me.

“Kali! I heard some ridiculous rumor that Ameiko had talked you and your friends into going to Brinewall. On Sandru’s caravan, no less. Thank—”

I dropped a small stack of books and papers onto his desk with a light thunk. The top one read, “A History of the Brinewall Colony” in my handwriting.

The trip to Riddleport had taken four days, and I spent nearly all of it writing. So much so my wrist was still aching. No one else may have cared about what happened to Brinewall after we left, but I did.

He stared at me.

“You’re kidding.”

“No.”

He picked up the top booklet, one of my blank journals which I had repurposed for this task, and started flipping through it.

“The part you want is at the end.”

“Tell me,” he replied as he jumped to the back and worked his way through the blank pages at the end to where my handwriting had stopped. He then flipped through them one at a time, briefly scanning each.

This is where I had to be careful. I was deliberately vague in my writings and needed to do the same here.

“We don’t have all the answers, but we have enough. It was invaded by foreigners, and they had help from outsiders. As in, literal outsiders. We can’t say why, but we suspect there was something in the castle they wanted. We know they attacked the town first, killing everyone there, then the keep. They took both by surprise. The corbies were opportunists, I think, moving into the castle after the invaders had left. But that’s speculation: the colony had a history of trouble with corbies. Over time others moved in, forming a happy little cult of Pazuzu.”

His face whitened at that.

I pointed to the stack of papers. “Original letters, logs, pieces of letters, any scrap of parchment we could find that seemed relevant. We restored what we could with magic. I reconstructed all of them as well, so you have copies. Also in there are blueprints and maps of the keep. Some of the rooms are still dangerous and I’ve marked them as such. And at the very bottom are the original records that the colony’s annalist kept.”

He started to ask a question but I cut him off.

“I don’t have much time because I’m leaving soon. I am telling you this because someone needs to know. Someone who can do something about it. Brinewall is currently unoccupied. For over two decades it’s been in the hands of these beings, and strange stories have circulated about its fate, and yet neither has stopped people from looting what’s left of the town.

“Now that it stands empty again? Someone will reoccupy it. I want them to be the right people.”

I didn’t want to stay any longer. I didn’t want to have to answer questions. I’d already told one half-truth and if I didn’t leave now I’d have to do worse.

“I have to go. I’m sorry. I know this a lot to dump on you and leave, but I also know it’s in good hands.”

I walked out without listening to his reply.

(Night, Lost Coast Road)

The three of us are sharing a coach on the trip down to Magnimar.

These passenger caravans are all about comfort and speed. They can make the run in just under fourteen hours instead of the usual twenty, and though they still have to spread that out over two days there is just eight hours of travel on the first, leaving Sandpoint at noon, and six hours on the next so that you arrive almost exactly one day later. Each coach seats four; the extra passenger in ours was a man of Chelish descent that dozed off an hour outside of Sandpoint and slept almost until we reached camp that night, snoring lightly on the seat beside Thadeus.

Thadeus, Anavaru, and I talked for much of the journey on the first day though eventually the conversation turned to wizardry, of which Ana had only a passing interest. He used to be part of the Order of the Cyphers, technically making him a Cyphermage. The Cyphergate is the defining feature of Riddleport and the only reason why the city was slowly evolving into more than just a haven for thieves. Despite that, my family had never visited. Mom was normally crazy for anything Thassilonean, but the Cyphergate was much too big to put in a museum even if you couldn’t just go see it for yourself, so I guess that took it off her list.

I asked him what it was like being a Cyphermage and why he left the Order. The answer to the former was about what I expected and sounded mostly like dull routine, but the latter was far more interesting.

“After years and years of study, I felt like I might be wasting my life if I stayed, to be honest. Few will admit it, but we were no closer to understanding the Cyphergate when I left than when the Order began. If there is even anything to understand at all.” He paused and then added with a fleeting, half-smile, “It also didn’t pay very well.”

I acknowledged that last bit with a polite laugh, then asked, “You think the runes are just…decorative?”

“I don’t know. But that’s really the problem, isn’t it?”

He was silent for a moment, then continued.

“I don’t mean that it was all a waste of time, of course. Just that it was time for me to move on. There were some distinct advantages to being a part of the Order and I picked up some nice tricks while I was with them.”

Curiosity must have gotten the better of me. He saw something on my face, I think.

“Would you like to see one?”

“Oh, absolutely!”

He asked if I had the most basic spell to read and understand languages, and I said that I had it prepared.

“Good,” he replied. “And it’s late in the day, so we can afford to splurge.”

He took out a piece of parchment, tore off a small strip, and drew a strange and intricate symbol on it that I didn’t recognize. When he was done, he placed the strip under his tongue and then spoke the words to a spell.

“Now the three of us can speak a shared language, which cyphermages call codespeak, that only we three can understand.”

As he spoke, I was aware that the words he was forming were gibberish, but I could understand their meaning perfectly. Ana sat forward, suddenly as interested in this conversation as I was.

He wrote a message on the parchment, next.

“It is also a language that the three of us can read and write. Notice that you can understand what I have written on this parchment.”

We looked down and read, This message can only be understood by the three of us.

“It gets better,” he continued. “This is unique to me as the caster and the two of you. No other combination can produce this same language. Furthermore, the spell that you have memorized can’t decode it, in either the spoken or written form. Only the more powerful form that grants the ability to speak and understand tongues can do so. But, of course, it does not enable you to read language. So it can’t read this writing, either.”

“So, it’s a written language that only we can use.” I started thinking of the possibilities immediately.

“Exactly,” he replied as I felt his spell drop. “Now. Cast your spell and try to read the message.”

I did, and sure enough, it remained, stubbornly, incomprehensible gibberish. I could see him smiling out of the corner of my eye.

“And as you can see, it’s repeatable. As I implied earlier.”

He cast the spell a second time, and the writing on the parchment was intelligible once again.

“I’d be willing to let you copy that from my spellbook. For a fee, of course. It’s obviously rare so I would have to charge you more than the traditional amount. Unless you have some spell you can offer in trade to offset it.”

“I’ll take you up on that offer, and I understand that it’s rare. I…I don’t know if I have spells that are of value to you, though.”

“You might be surprised. I see few adventuring wizards and my needs are often completely different. May I?”

Adventuring?

He pointed to my pack where he assumed, correctly, that I had my spell book. One copy of it, anyway. I pulled it out and handed it to him, and he cast the spell to read the writing.

It was uncomfortable to watch another wizard look through it. It felt like I was being judged based on my spell choices. He would occasionally nod, or make sounds lightly to himself like “Mmm hmm” and “Mmm”. It was just an unpleasant feeling in general.

Again, he must have seen something in my expression.

“Please, don’t take it personally. Believe me, I know how it feels.  It’s not just about what’s new or interesting, it’s also about what’s useful or can be—”

He stopped suddenly when he reached the last spell in my book. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. He looked at me. Right at me, for what seemed like forever.

“You don’t like to have blood on your hands.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry,” he replied hastily. “I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just that… What I meant was, save for the silly cantrips we all know, none of your spells directly cause any lasting harm. None of them. And then there is this one, which, like most of your others appears to be one that you researched on your own. Meaning, you sought this out.”

Ana turned to me and asked, “What does it do?”

Thadeus responded, still looking at me. “I’ve not seen it before, myself, but it appears to summon a deluge of rocks. Over a rather large area. Bludgeoning everything and everyone exposed. It’s rather…indiscriminate. I am intrigued, but…well…given the rest of your spells, it seems to be out of character for you.”

Ana said something to me in response to that but I wasn’t paying attention. I was still focused on Thadeus. What he said was uncomfortably accurate and it got my hackles up. I tried to stay calm. I honestly didn’t think he was trying to be rude. Was it an automatic response to being called out like that? Even after all these years.

I tried to not let any irritation show, but I am not always good at this.

“But not ‘out of character’ for you?” I asked.

“I grew up in Riddleport,” he responded casually. As if that was sufficient enough an explanation. Which…I suppose it was. He seemed to ignore my tone, if I had one.

I decided he deserved an answer. I mean, I actually liked him. He was friendly, honest, and pretty respectful of me despite being several years older and much more experienced in magic. How often does that happen? So I told him the truth.

“My friends and I will be doing more traveling, and…I need to be able to contribute. Especially outdoors.”

He studied me for a moment and then said, “Fair enough.”

And after another short pause, he added, “Well, Kali, I think we can work out a trade arrangement here.”

We spent the first couple of hours tonight copying each others’ spells under the Lover’s Moon. There’s probably a cosmic joke in there somewhere.

Erastus 25 (Evening, Sandpoint)

It’s been a long day.

We arrived in Magnimar just after noon and made arrangements to meet at 6 pm in the Seerspring Garden for the teleport back to Sandpoint. I knew my parents would be working, so I headed for their business office in Dockway. It was not the best place to have this conversation, but what choice did I have? A rhetorical question, obviously. None at all.

I wanted to get this over with, so I walked quickly and made only one stop on the way there: a bookstore in order to purchase two identical copies of a modest gazetteer on The Inner Sea. I would need those first. They were innocuous enough to not arouse suspicion, and a cursory scan of the text turned up enough of the right sort of words that I was confident they would serve their purpose.

Nothing really fazes mom and it’s something I’ve always admired about her. She was meeting with someone I didn’t recognize, a short, balding, middle-aged man, when I entered. She looked up, made eye contact with me, and then very casually said to him, “My next appointment is here. Can we pick this up again at a later time?”

“Of course! Of course! I’m sorry. If I had known…I’ll come back tomorrow morning.”

Everyone always apologizes to mom, whether it is their fault or not.

She left a clerk in charge up front and guided me back to their office where dad was working on something at his desk. He is a bit easier to surprise, but amazingly he held his composure until mom shut the door behind us.

And then I received the two biggest and longest hugs from them in recent memory. We all wiped away some tears.

A lot of people think mom isn’t very…affectionate? Maternal? But she really is. She just always has this facade up when she’s in public. There’s mom, and then there’s the person she wants you to see.

Our conversation is a jumble in my head. It started about how I expected, asking how I was, if everyone was OK, what happened, and of course, how I was back nearly two weeks early. I avoided the details at first, just reassuring them that, yes, we were all OK and had made it back from Brinewall without lasting injury, and then settled in to tell the whole story. All of it.

I cast the spell I learned from Thadeus. Was I being paranoid? Maybe. My original intention was to have this entire conversation in Vudrani but opportunity had landed in my lap and I was not going to pass it up. This was much safer for all of us.

Both mom and dad looked concerned—very concerned—as I started, but I said, “For privacy,” and they understood. And you could feel the tone shift in the room. I must have looked very serious at that moment.

“This spell will only last about forty minutes. Dad, you were right when you said I hide things from you. I…Never mind. It doesn’t matter why. No more secrets.”

And I told them. Everything. It took nearly a half an hour with their questions, but I told them. When I got to the Seal, they both turned pale. I remember thinking to myself, Living through it wasn’t much fun, either.

They were silent for a long time, just looking at each other. And then dad nodded ever so slightly, and then mom did, too. I wish I knew how they did that.

Dad said, “You are on the cusp of something of great importance.”

“Yes, I think so,” I said softly. “This is a lot bigger than we ever imagined it would be. Her family…”

“Her empire,” added mom.

I nodded.

Dad summed it up. “And you are committed. Whether you wish to be or not, you are committed to this path. Though, I suspect that these are your wishes, are they not?”

“Yes. Yes they are.”

Silence.

There was more they wanted to talk about here, a lot more, but I only had a few minutes left in the spell and I needed to get this next part out. So I cut them off. It hurt to do that, but I had to.

“I need a way to send messages to you that others can’t read. At least, until I’m able to master the spells to do it directly.”

I pulled out the books and taught him the code: triplets of numbers, representing page, paragraph, and word number. It would take me forever to write, and I would be limited by the text, but they could decode it quickly and easily. It was not very sophisticated, but the meaning could not be revealed with magic and you’d have to know what it was and which book to use (the one I’d chosen wouldn’t stand out as being unusual for either of us) to do it by hand. And, the numbers could be disguised in a phony business letter, or just sent as cryptic jumbles. It really didn’t matter how. Sure, it was simple and stupid, but it would do. And we wouldn’t need it for long, I hoped.

They left work early and we spent the rest of the afternoon together. We talked a lot, of course, though I was careful with the details. There were more questions. More worry. More reassurance where I had it. It was not easy to do. We also shopped together, purchasing a couple of books on the Linnorm Kingdoms including a small gazetteer that didn’t look terribly out of date, a stack of maps ranging from the practical (for the caravan) to the fanciful (for myself and Koya, as keepsake memories), and so on. We had an early dinner in Naos. And then…it was time to say good-bye. There is never enough time.

I think I can count the number of times I’ve seen mom and dad cry on one hand.

Erastus 26 (Evening, Riddleport)

I decided Alex was right, so I visited Sefa this morning. When was I going to have another opportunity?

I took a page out of my parents’ book and dressed to the hilt. Why not? I was derided by this family because of my heritage, so naturally I flaunted it. I chose my best sari, a deep red with gold accents and a 9-foot drape, over a matching choli.

I have no idea who the woman was that opened the door. I just announced myself as if I didn’t care (and I didn’t).

“Miss Kali Nassim of Magnimar, requesting an audience with Mrs. Sefa Scarnetti.”

The key is to be gracious and polite, no matter how many scowls it earns you. The worse you are treated, the more formal you become. Watching Titus glare at me as Sefa showed me to her wing of the manor was the highlight of my day.

After gently ribbing me for being overdressed for just a casual visit (“I felt like making an entrance,” to which she replied with a giggle, “You most certainly did that.”) we talked for a couple of hours. For me, it was, for the first time in over a month, a regular conversation about nothing of consequence: motherhood in general, her baby specifically, living in Sandpoint, and more than a little reminiscing. Between that and watching her with her son, and then holding him myself, it was one of those moments that almost had me re-examining my life choices.

Almost. I had chosen my path and I was happy with it, but I could certainly appreciate hers.

“Sefa, can I ask you something personal? You don’t have to answer.”

“Of course you can.”

“What made you decide you liked me?”

This was a question that had been on my mind for years. Making friends with Sefa had been something of a turning point, the beginning of the end of being an outcast, harassed and bullied for whatever reasons that children are labeled as outcasts, then harassed and bullied.

She thought for a moment, then said, “At some point, I realized that what was happening was just…cruel. I saw it for what it was.” She shrugged, then added, “And then I got to know you.”

“Our friendship…it changed my life. I wanted you to know that.”

“Thank you, Kali. That means a lot to me. And I met Alex because of you, so…it changed mine, too.”

I kept this same outfit on for the remainder of the day. I felt like returning to Riddleport in style.

Erastus 19 (Night, Brinewall Cemetery)

We are back in the cemetery, recovering from what has been a long and difficult day both physically and emotionally.

I finally recognized the thing in the caverns as a decapus, though I didn’t know that they could get this large, nor did I know that they could fly (perhaps this one was special?). In what I assume was its lair we found a leathery egg that was split open, still pulsing, that was just the right size. So it seems we have been given a lesson in its biology as well.

Surrounding a large, flat rock that looked like a makeshift altar was a pile of treasure, arranged almost as if in tribute. Among this collection were three items of particular interest to me: a pearl that could be used to recall a single spell that had been cast each day, a darkwood and silver disk engraved with an image of Brinewall under the moon, and a stone statue of Pazuzu.

Gods, there has been too much Pazuzu here.

We have another one of these discs, only it shows the sun in the sky instead of the moon. Our suspicion is that these are keys to the vault.

The key you seek lies in the grip of the ten-handed one…

One treasure beyond two seals in the third vault.

Qatana tried to destroy the statue but made the mistake of handling it first (though to be fair, we didn’t realize that this was a problem until after she had done it). Now, the cursed thing will not stay away from her. It appears in her pack if she tries to walk away from it, or in her hands if she leaves her pack behind. She says it is as heavy as lead and it slows her down as she struggles with its weight. I have heard of cursed items like these, made more as cruel jokes and annoyances than anything else, but I imagine this one is a spiritual fuck you for not being one of his worshipers.

Olmas and Sparna seem to find this quite amusing. For the first time since we came together as a group, Qatana is physically unable to get out of their sight.

The third set of stairs led down to the vaults, access to them blocked by a portcullis. The discs, which radiated a faint aura of transmutation, acted as keys to raise and lower the bars. As soon as we stepped in, the dust in the room swirled around and took a human form. Even with the light we brought with us, it was dark and hard to see but the features of a Tian man were unmistakeable.

Grandfather waits in the dark, but he knows not who he was.

It had been many years since I had been in the Kaijitsu manor, but I had seen the family portraits. It was not obvious, and without the riddle I doubt I would have made the connection, but knowing what I knew it was clear I was facing the image of Ameiko’s grandfather.

Tentatively, I asked, “Rokuro?”

The wraith was raising a ghostly sword above its head readying to strike, but upon hearing this it stopped and the fury in its eyes melted away.

“I…know…that…name…”

And then he cried out in anguish, pointing his sword at the wall.

“Take the seal from here! I can no longer guard it. Take it to my child! I can no longer defend it.”

And then he vanished, leaving nothing but dust behind.

Radella searched the wall and discovered a hidden door, one so well constructed that we might not have found it on our own. It led to a third vault, as predicted, and unlike the other two this one had not been looted: three chests sat within, each radiating magic.

It was the center chest that mattered. It was locked; Radella swears it was locked (and I believe her). But the very second she started on the mechanism, the chest just…opened. As if it had been waiting for her all along.

Inside was a finely-lacquered, Tian-style puzzle box. It was radiating a strong magic, but none of us could identify the aura, nor a means of opening it. But, this had to be it. This box was the key to Ameiko’s condition, and perhaps held hints about her family, her past, and her future.

It’s too late to do this tonight. I have spent all of my spells, and the others are exhausted. We will head back to the caravan at first light.

This is almost over.

Erastus 20 (Early morning, The Nolands)

I am writing this down now before I lose it, while it is still fresh in my head.

As soon the box was opened—I don’t even remember who did it now—I caught sight of the small, stone dragon statuette and then the world faded away.

I was no longer in Brinewall. I was standing on the edge of a vast Forest overlooking the kingdom of Minkai while a ferocious storm raged above. As I stood in the rain, a terrifying army of fiends—their skin ablaze beneath their armor—emerged from the trees. This advancing wall of tusks, fire, and steel marched around me, eyes glaring, and descended into the country at my back.

As the invasion began, the vision shifted to a simple well where the Emperor Shigure of Minkai stood alongside a friend. Again, I watched. His friend transformed, growing several times in size to stand sheathed in twisted, jade armor. He drew a sword and struck Shigure down, then held the blade over his head in triumph, blood dripping from its edge.

The vision shifted a third time, and I was in the city of Kalsgard. Rokuro Kaijitsu, whose true name is Amatatsu Tsutoku, was selling a beautiful sword to an Ulfen merchant to finance his trip across the world. I could feel that sword, an intelligent weapon named Suishen, and the knowledge it possessed: the Amatatsu family history.

Again, the vision changed. Now it was my childhood friend, Ameiko, waking up from her sleep. Not from our campsite in Brinewall, but in the arms of an ornate, jade throne. She was dressed as an empress, no longer the tavern owner and bard I have known most of my life.

And then I knew. Ameiko was the last surviving heir of her line, of the last surviving royal family of Minkai. The Seal, or the spirit that resided in it, knew this as well and had marked us all as scions of the Amatatsu family. An insurance policy, of sorts, to ensure the royal family’s survival. Heirs designate.

Brinewall returned, then, and Ameiko awoke with a gasp.

The Amatatsu Seal. It sat there in the box, and I knew it to be a powerful artifact. So powerful it could be tracked across any distance, and its presence hidden only by the warding box in which it had been contained. I remembered Tsutoku’s letter to his son—to Ameiko’s father. And just as the realization dawned on me, Ameiko yelled out, “Put that thing back in the box!”

After using it rid Qatana of that foul idol (it also told us it’s power, one of which was to remove curses), we placed it back in the warding box and closed the compartments. Someone, I think it may have been Qatana, said “We have to leave. We have to get out of here now.”

Indeed. We had just lit a signal fire, one so big it could be seen across the world. Again, the words of Tsutoku’s letter came to me.

If our enemies find what I have hidden, there will be nothing here for you. If they do not, they will lie in wait forever for your return.

I looked around at my friends. You could tell from their faces that each of us that had been in that crypt had experienced these visions (even poor Kelda, who had stubbornly refused to admit that she had been in over her head before). All the plans we had made for that day—cleansing the temple to Desna, repairing Kelda’s boat, tying up loose ends in the ruins of the keep—were abandoned.

While the caravan was hastily prepped for the return to the road, I had a growing sense of unease. I felt myself getting weaker and light-headed. I sat down in the grass behind the covered wagon, out of sight of the others, and started shaking as the panic swelled. All of this…it was too much.

Nihali landed on my shoulder, and I found her presence soothing. She brought me down. A minute or so later I got up, wiped away the tears, and rejoined the others. I don’t think anyone saw. If they did, they’ve been kind enough not to say.

We reach Riddleport in four days. The plan is to take Ameiko, and ourselves, across the Crown of the World to the kingdom of Minkai in Tian Xia. We don’t know what we’ll find there, but it’s clear the road will not be easy.

Both Spivey and Kelda have chosen to join us. Spivey will be with us indefinitely, and Kelda at least as far as Kalsgard. I don’t know what Kelda will do after that, but I hope she stays on. She is gruff and occasionally crude, but I have to admit that I like her because she’s so open and direct. As for Spivey, I simply find her presence reassuring. I don’t know how to explain it beyond that.

Our first stop on our journey will be Kalsgard to hopefully recover Suishen as we may need the knowledge it possesses, and Ameiko deserves the opportunity to reclaim a piece of her heritage. I don’t know how we’ll get it back, but one problem at a time I suppose. First, we have to find it.

Erastus 19 (Noon, Brinewall Castle dungeon)

Radella is meticulously and patiently working the locking mechanism to the hidden passage in the cavern in order to coax it into opening. There is a striking dichotomy in watching her finesse her tools like this: her movements are slow, gentle, and precise, in contrast to the enormous sword laying on the ground at her side which she normally swings with a terrifying strength. I don’t really know how to characterize her. I’ve been exposed to enough grafters, vagabonds, and thieves to recognize the archetypes when I see them—my time spent in Magnimar was all too instructive—but she defies such simple classification. In this way she is a lot like Ana: neither of them fits the mold into which their kind are typically cast.

Where does this door lead? It has been cut from the stone of this hollow and worked in a manner to hide its existence. That, combined with the complexity of the lock, suggests it was intended as an escape passage, a secret entrance, or perhaps both. The Historical Record does mention this network of caverns below the castle, and it would seem that the builders incorporated them into the dungeon’s construction (even if they blew it on the structural planning). Using them in this manner certainly makes sense.

Before descending from the ground floor we explored the outbuildings on the west end of the keep. The wooden structures were almost certainly horse stables in their time, but now they were home to an ettercap and its giant spider companions. At learning this, I completely froze. I am not afraid of spiders so much as their venom; I know what it does, I know what my limitations are, and because of that I did not want to be anywhere near them. Fortunately, my companions were more than up to the task and I was not only not needed, but likely to have gotten in the way had I been part of the battle. So far I don’t think anyone has noticed my reluctance (inability?) to engage with these creatures—this is the second time that it has come up—but I worry that one of them will make the connection if it becomes a recurring theme.

We had our choice of three stairways for coming down here and we opted to follow our noses, which meant starting from the room where we first encountered troglodytes. I couldn’t really find fault with the logic, as we suspected there were more of them down here and we’d have to deal with them eventually, but it did mean beginning in the midst of a foul stench and descending into far worse until we were nearly choking on it.

It also provided an opportunity to correct an oversight from earlier, which was to search the debris in that room for anything of value (in our defense, we were expecting reinforcements to arrive at any moment, so we had more urgent matters demanding our attention). And it’s a good thing we did because we would have missed some valuable clues about Brinewall’s fall: that room appeared to have been a meeting room of some sort, and buried in the trash were tattered and torn reports from the night the castle was attacked.  The remnants were incomplete, but we were able to assemble enough pieces to reconstruct the night’s events. The guards in the castle were preparing to respond to what they thought were riots in the town. The implication here is that the attack on the town came first and was misinterpreted as civil unrest. The guard probably learned the truth only when the invaders were inside the castle walls.

Sparna took the lead in descending the stairs, being perhaps the only one of us who is heavily armed, heavily armored, and capable of seeing in the dark. As we suspected, there were more troglodytes down below, but rather than launch an attack through a narrow doorway we opted to try and bring the fight to us. This almost worked.

I haven’t known many dwarves so I don’t know if this is typical or not but Sparna has a somewhat crass sense of humor that tends towards blue, and while I can appreciate this it seems that the troglodytes did not. I say that the plan almost worked because he succeeded in goading some of them up the stairs, but I was ultimately too clever for my own good and may have been our strategy’s undoing. The grease my spell placed on the landing was effective, and unexpectedly entertaining, but it presented one obstacle too many for the enemy. The remaining troglodytes were smart enough to withdraw, retreating to a fortified position and leaving us with the original problem, only now with them alerted and better prepared.

Still, we are a resourceful group and Qatana and I were able to deliver some unpleasant surprises that softened their ranks, and after a fierce and intense battle, our party was victorious. This was no easy task, as the troglodytes were not only dug in but highly, if not surprisingly, disciplined and remained so even after Sparna had felled their commander.

A small armory near there yielded a surprising find: a case containing several flasks of alchemist’s fire. I glanced over to Etayne and she gave me one of her ominous grins. The witch is downright obsessed with fire.

(Mid-Afternoon)

We are taking a few moments to rest and to heal. Especially Olmas, who took a severe pounding.

With the ogres dead we could finally turn our attention to the Ulfen woman being held prisoner in one of the cells. She was tall and slender, but hardly slight: there was no mistaking the muscular build of a warrior. She had watched the entire fight in stoic silence, and cold, hard eyes glared at us through dirty and matted blond hair after it had ended.

Etayne, ever the diplomat, started the conversation.

“Who are you?! What are you doing here?!”

I suggested that we tone down the interrogation a bit, but too many people had questions they wanted to have answered and they all came out seemingly at once. Eventually, the woman had had enough. “Am I your prisoner now?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

“No.”

We took the keys off the bodies of her former jailers and opened the cell, but she did not step out. Her eyes kept wandering to a pile of armor and equipment on the floor next to the wall.

“Are those your things?” Qatana asked.

She nodded.

“Go ahead.”

And at that, she softened. Just a little. After she had donned her armor and weapons, I asked, “Was that your longboat we saw docked in the lagoon?”

She was reluctant to talk about it at first but confirmed that it was. Kelda Oxgutter—that is her name—came here some days ago with companions from the Linnorm Kingdoms. They had heard the stories of Brinewall and assumed, wrongly, that the abandoned town and keep would be ripe for looting. When they came ashore they were attacked by the sea drake and Kelda was the only survivor. She was captured while exploring the castle on her own.

In turn, she asked why we were here. I explained about Ameiko, her condition, and the connection to her past and her family. Maybe that was more than I should have said, but she had shared quite a bit with us, so it seemed fair to respond in kind.

“It is possible that what we learn here may take us farther north. Perhaps, eventually, across the crown of the world to Tian Xia.”

“If that is the case, I’d be willing to accompany you as far as Kalsgard.”

Honor and reputation matter a great deal to the Ulfen people, in the Kingdoms in general, and the way she spoke of her companions and her capture suggested that it meant a great deal to her, personally. But could we trust her? She seemed as wary of us as we did of her. The story she told did not contradict anything we had seen, and it also answered some questions of our own. So, I believed her. If this was a ruse, it was ridiculously elaborate.

She also looked more than capable in a fight, too. So why not take the chance?

(Late Afternoon)

That may have been the most frightening encounter we’ve had, and among the most difficult. Qatana has been badly hurt; likely poisoned. It is dead, but we threw everything we had at it, and in my case even things that we didn’t.

It began in the crypt. The sarcophagi had been broken open and despoiled. Everything of importance in there had been taken including the bodies of the dead. The entrance to it was in the center of an intricate iron screen: a wooden door adorned with a beautiful painting of Pharasma, goddess of birth, death, fate and prophecy, seated on her throne. To Pharasma, what had happened in here was a terrible crime. Her priests are stewards of the deceased and protectors of graves.

I was immediately suspicious when an image of her manifested at the far end of the tomb where the wall had partially collapsed to reveal a cavern beyond. But being skeptical is not the same as being certain, and though I am knowledgeable in matters of religion Qatana is the expert when it comes to Pharasma. She began her life in that church before…well. Before.

“Qatana…? We need you here.”

I needed time for my spell to work, to confirm my suspicions that this was merely an illusion. The image of Pharasma spoke to us, encouraging us to lay down our arms and approach; this was almost certainly a trap. The brief exchange that followed was enough to confirm for Qatana that this “Pharasma” was a fake, and for me to recognize the source of the image as mortal magic. Radella put an arrow through it, and it was gone.

But who, or what, created it?

We entered the cavern beyond the crypt and found ourselves on a wide ledge a good twenty feet above another passage. And then I saw it floating up near the ceiling. It looked like a deformed octopus, only with a giant maw filled with sharp teeth, and ten tentacles that were writhing in the air. I quietly spread the word, but its senses were keen and it hit us with a powerful spell before we could react.

Tentacled creature in the dungeon of Brinewall Castle

One night last year, as we were discussing magic theory, Eudonius told me that it was possible for wizards to perform spells beyond just what we had prepared as part of our morning rituals, only that doing so meant drawing upon the very energy that sustains us. He cautioned that it was not a decision to be made lightly because of the toll it exacts, but I looked up at that thing as it swooped in for an attack, at our weapons bouncing harmlessly off of its hide, and I knew that this was the time. I had memorized a summoning spell—my sole remaining spell for the day—but the creatures I could conjure with it were not up to this task. So I did it. As I worked the spell I reached deep into myself and shaped it into a more powerful form, one that I was not yet able to prepare on my own. I could feel a wave of fatigue wash over me as I did it, but I succeeded in bringing forth a powerful ally to assist us: a lantern archon.¹

The glowing ball of light materialized in the air behind the decapod and began searing it with beams of light and energy. In the meantime, my friends had figured out that it was vulnerable to either weapons made from cold iron or enchanted with magic, and the sum total of these attacks exacted a terrible revenge for what it had done to Qatana. It quickly broke off and flew back up to the ceiling where we had first seen it, and cried out to Pazuzu.

“Father! Help me! Pazuzu!” it shrieked, over and over.

It was…almost pitiful. Almost. And then Qatana hit it with a spell, a burst of sound, and it blew apart in the air.

Afterwards, the others told me it seemed to flinch and hesitate during the fight, that it singled out Qatana, and was distracted easily by their taunts. And I recalled the riddle Ameiko had spoken:

The key you seek lies in the grip of the ten-handed one. His fear is your greatest ally.

Another one down. Only two remain.

Erastus 18 (Night, Brinewall Cemetery)

Kikonu is dead. Who is Kikonu? I’ll be honest: I am still not sure and I don’t really know what is going on. I am trying to piece it together from the scraps of information we have uncovered so far, but there is too much that we don’t yet know.

This began with exploring the tower. What was formerly the library (and, arguably, still is as the books are still intact) had become the private room of Zaiobe, a mute, oracle harpy that has been living in the castle for many years. She was the first being we have encountered since stepping foot in here that did not try to attack us on sight.

Who is Zaiobe? She is, or rather was, Kikonu’s lover. So you see the problem: some of these answers are circular.

She could communicate telepathically with whoever she was touching, and she had a lot to say. Most of that boiled down to this: she had “grown tired” of her lover and she wanted to kill him, but she needed help. There was obviously more to this story than she was telling us because you don’t just kill someone because you are tired of them, harpy or not. She must have been wronged in some fashion, severely enough that revenge was her answer. In exchange for our help, she would give us information.

Who is Kikonu? He came from Tian Xia, and specifically from Minkai. He is an outsider of some sort, able to take the form of a man-sized bird with black feathers. When in his human form he looks like a Tian man with red skin and a rather large nose, but with raven-black wings sprouting from his back. In Tian Xia she says he is considered a horrible monster, but what kind of monster she didn’t know. Some might consider him a demon, but that is as often as not just a colloquial name for an outsider of any sort.

Zaiobe believes he came here when the castle was initially attacked or shortly after that, but possibly for his own reasons. That is conjecture on her part, but it would be an amazing coincidence if she was wrong about the first. Regardless, he is the de facto man in charge and if we want answers we will have to confront him.

We had several more questions for Zaiobe, but what made me most inclined to believe her was the seemingly innocent one that I had Qatana relay (reluctant though she was to do so). “Why was he writing a play about corbies?”

I knew at once that I had struck a nerve. Watching her communicate with Qatana was fascinating because it was like watching two people talk without the words: there were still the facial expressions, gestures, and other non-verbal cues we all rely on in conversation to convey meaning and emotion. Up to this point, all of Zaiobe’s responses had been controlled and measured. I could see her expressions change, and follow her emotions to some extent, but she was managing her part of the duologue carefully. At this question, though, that mask slipped away and there was just raw Zaiobe, channeling years of frustration and anger.

Qatana, who was trying to relay to us what she was “hearing”, could barely keep up.

“Because he’s….he’s changed! In the last several years he’s become obsessed with becoming the king of these corby things. His latest amusement is writing this play and having them act it out and making me watch them and it’s horrible!”

Her rage was so plain she was practically steaming with it. “Tired of him”, indeed.

This was the point where I truly believed she wanted him dead (this play was merely insult piled on top of injury), and both wanted and needed our help to do it. And, based on her description of him, Kikonu was not going to be an easy opponent even for the eight of us, so we would need her help, too. And so we struck an agreement, and the wheels were put in motion.

The ambush was set in a large, ruined building on the edge of the abandoned village, at Zaiobe’s suggestion. We agreed to this, figuring that she would know best where to arrange a meeting with him without arousing his suspicion. At the appointed time, she flew in and stood in wait while we got into position. A few minutes later, Kikonu came up the path along with a retinue of four dire corbies. His personal guard?

“My darling, I have the greatest new scene to show you! Wait until you see this!”

I could almost feel the waves of hatred radiating off of Zaiobe in that brief moment. There was no question about what she wanted.

As soon as he stepped in the door, we struck. At first, he was confused and cried out to her for help, but Zaiobe responded with a black arrow that burst into flame when it hit. And then he realized he had walked into a trap of her making. Rage overtook common sense, and in the blink of an eye, he disappeared from the doorway and reappeared at Zaiobe’s side to strike. This fight was bitter and personal.

For the most part, I stayed out of it. I saved what remained of my spells for his guard, who were trying to circle around through another entrance in order to even the odds. Etayne and I held them at bay while the others focused on Kikonu. It was an intense and brutal fight, but with Zaiobe’s help we were victorious.

I ushered us out of the building as quickly as I could, fearing what was coming next, wanting it to happen in daylight rather than shadow where confusion would reign. And she did not disappoint me. Within minutes, Zaiobe’s broken body lay in the street. I am still upset by this.

Spivey had offered the cemetery as a place to rest and heal, and we took her up on her generous offer. Over the next hour, we told her what we learned of the castle and all that had transpired. Nihali agreed to relay messages back to the caravan and we learned that Ameiko’s condition was unchanged, but for the first time I felt like we were finally closing in on some answers.

As night settled in I walked down the hill to the northern edge of the cemetery and laid down in the grass just a short distance from the shrine to Desna. The white, marble statue was gleaming in the light of the waxing moon. It was relaxing, just being there and watching the stars come out.

We had been traveling together for over two weeks, now, pretty much living on top of one another the whole time. Even when spending the night in settlements and cities, we stayed together with the caravan just out of an abundance of caution. I certainly enjoyed the company of my friends—I wouldn’t be traveling with them if I didn’t—but seventeen days is a long time to go without any sort of privacy. I just needed some time alone and the sanctuary of this place was our first opportunity for it since leaving Sandpoint.

I rolled onto my side and ran my fingers through the grass absentmindedly as I watched twilight fade. Nihali landed in front of me and settled in. I could barely see her outline in the moonlight.

Spivey may have sensed something, or perhaps she was just curious why I was out here (mostly) alone in the dark because after some time had passed I caught the faint glow of the tiny azata out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head to follow her progress as she skimmed over the grass and landed next to Nihali. My familiar stretched out her head and neck, allowing Spivey to stroke her gently.

“You’re not sitting with your companions?”

Her tone was very tentative and something about it suggested that she was, very politely, asking if something was troubling me. A couple of years ago I would have just smiled and blown off the questions, both the one stated and the one implied, but I had since learned not to equate vulnerability with weakness. Not always, anyway. With the right people.

“I wanted to clear my head. This seemed like the right place for that.”

Spivey gave Nihali one final scratch just above her nape. Nihali raised her head slightly and opened her beak momentarily before closing it again. That was certainly the right spot for that. Spivey looked at me and smiled.

“It is. Is it something you want to share, or would you rather I left you alone?”

“I can’t stop thinking about Zaiobe.”

Spivey considered this for just moment, then said, “You said she turned on you.”

“Yes. It was stupid, what she did, and completely senseless.”

I don’t know what possessed her to do it. Did she really think she could overpower the eight of us? How did she think that could possibly work? I remember keeping an eye on her after the battle with Kikonu and his personal guard of corbies. She just stood there, watching us as we wrapped up. She had that look on her face of someone who was waiting for us to get distracted enough to be ambushed. It’s why I suggested we go outside and finish our business in the light where we could see, instead of the dark of the ruined building. A thinly veiled ruse? It didn’t matter. The point was to let her to know that I knew, without me having to actually accuse her of something. It was intended as a deterrent, and an excuse to get everyone else outside and paying attention.

In the end, it wasn’t the best of ideas since she could take to the air and shoot at us from above, which is exactly what she did, but at least we knew when and where it was coming. Had we stayed inside, one of use would certainly have paid a heavy price for our inattention.

I continued, “That’s not what’s bothering me, though. To be honest, I never trusted her. I more or less expected this, or something like this, to happen.”

Can you really trust someone who plots with strangers to murder their ex-lover? What a relationship that must have been.

Not that I am good about trusting people. Early lessons taught me to put more faith in what others do instead of what they promise. It’s not that I am suspicious of everyone, it’s just that reading people is hard and I am not very good at it. It is much easier to just assume that they will act out of their own self-interests until proven otherwise.

“So what is it then?”

“We…made an agreement with her. She really did feel like a prisoner there, and her kind being what they are…I believed her when she offered to help us ambush this Kikonu. All she wanted, in turn, was just to be…left alone. She wanted to stay in the library that she had turned into her own living space. We could do as we pleased elsewhere in the castle, as long as we respected her privacy and her home. And we agreed. Because we needed her help.

“But a confrontation with her, I think was inevitable. We were lucky. By turning on us, she solved a looming problem. I mean, that agreement we struck…it wasn’t really tenable, was it? She couldn’t stay there. We’ll be done here, soon, and people will return to reclaim it. She has no rights to it, and it was not our place to grant her sojourn.

“And on top of that, there’s a shrine to Desna there. How long could such an agreement last?”

My thoughts were still a mess—they still are even now—but Spivey understood what I was getting at.

“You feel that you made an agreement in bad faith.”

“Yes.”

She thought for a moment, looking up at the sky and the stars. Legend says that Desna, herself, placed them there. Her temples are often open to the sky.

“Did it ever occur to you that she bargained in bad faith?” I’ll admit that this took me aback. Of all the responses I was expecting from her, this one was not on the list. “You say you didn’t trust her. I’m saying you were right not to. How can you be sure that ‘being left alone’ was what she truly wanted? You found a symbol of Pazuzu on her person when she fell, after all. That, alone, should be enough to question both her words and her motives.”

She paused for a moment and then continued.

“I think, on some level, you all knew how this would end; you felt safe making that agreement because you knew she had no intention of living up to it.”

She looked at me and smiled.

“You say what happened was luck. Perhaps you’re right. Your actions here have benefited Desna, after all.”

“I…I suppose. Though…I’m not a follower of Desna.”

Her smile turned into a big grin.

“You told me about the temple. I am sure Shelyn would have words about that, as well.”

I am not really convinced by this argument, but it is something to think about.

On the far side of the hill, just below Mercatio’s crypt, my friends had set up a couple of tents in the dark and covered them with a blackout curtain so that there could be light inside—courtesy of Ivan’s cantrips and some common rocks—without drawing the attention of whoever may still be dwelling in the castle (I am not the only one who spends late nights writing down my thoughts). Kikonu may have been the overlord of his little fiefdom, but his death did not necessarily make the castle or the ruins any safer. If anything, the resulting power vacuum could make things worse if we don’t address it soon. So, for now, an abundance of caution made sense.

Tomorrow, we return to the castle, starting with the library and then working our way through the main floor. If Zaiobe is to be believed, Kikonu compartmentalized everything, keeping his subjects isolated from one another and more or less in the dark. Only the corbies seemed to enjoy a run of the castle, and even that is supposition. If true, though, it may make our task easier.

Erastus 19 (Morning, Brinewall Castle)

I‘ve been reckless this morning and I need to get a handle on it. My friends need to know that they can trust me and rely on me, and these outbursts are counterproductive. But I will get to that.

Our first stop after returning to the castle was the library which was in remarkably good condition considering what had happened here. We were able to find maps of the castle, including some old construction drawings, and a fascinating, hand-written tome titled A Historical Record of the Colony at Brinewall. It’s not quite as useful as it sounds because it’s not a true history text: it’s really just annals of the colony since its founding in 4442. It’s not indexed, and there’s no summary of events which means you’d more or less have to read it from start to finish. And it’s the worst sort of reading, mostly dull log entries and recordings of everything that the authors deemed significant enough to write down nearly every day, ranging from the weather to gossip to absurd details about the construction of the castle and the town, visitors, raiders, and so on, depending on the annalist’s whims. Still, it has value; it will just take time to glean information from it. We took all of this with us.

Excerpt from the construction plans for Brinewall Castle.

About my behavior. The first incident was when we encountered the troglodytes. One of them called for reinforcements which never came. That in itself is not unusual. What was noteworthy was that their barracks were, quite literally, next door. As in, we opened a door, and there were four more troglodytes in there, deep in slumber. How they could sleep through the sounds of battle and a cry for reinforcements only to be awoken by an opening door is beyond my comprehension. I don’t know why, but I acted out. It was foolish and stupid and tantamount to gloating. It is a sign of overconfidence and overconfidence is what gets people hurt or killed.

The second time…I like to think that I have an excuse for that one, but it still goes against Irori’s teachings. I may not be a member of that faith anymore, but I still owe much of who I am to his tenets.

The quickling was as foul a creature as I have ever encountered, a sadist and bully so far beyond anything and anyone that I ever met or was victimized by that my mental discipline broke down. Once I realized she started her work while her victims were paralyzed and still alive, I was overcome with rage and felt compelled to act (I can feel my temper rising again as I write this). Lacking any other spells that could reach from where I was, and seeing a room filled with that grotesque interpretation of “art”, I filled it with a burst of glittering dust.

What was I thinking? It had a chance of blinding her for one, much better than my simpler spell could manage even if I were close enough to use it. But mostly? I wanted to ruin her “art”. I wanted to defile what she had done.

I am usually in better control of myself. It was a hard lesson I learned growing up. Many of the injuries I suffered were because I couldn’t reign in my temper. I was certainly not responsible for what happened to me, but the very first time I gave in to anger I catalyzed a cycle of torment that lasted for years.

And in the process of losing my temper here, I wasted two of my newest and best spells in the span of a few seconds.

This last room we entered seems to have been the office of the captain of the guard, and the captain himself had become a wight. I remember the words Ameiko spoke to us while in her possessed slumber: Grandfather waits in the dark, but he knows not who he was. Is this what happened to Rokuro as well?

From what we saw of the room, it seems that the captain was interrupted while writing a hurried letter, describing an attack on the castle by men “wearing black robes”. Another possible reference to ninjas from Tian Xia? The story was starting to piece together.

After Qatana and Etayne wandered off on their own and found a giant beetle for their trouble, we paused for a few minutes to discuss what we should do next. I took that time to review the letter again and found an interesting, though throwaway, detail: the attack came in the night, during a powerful storm. To the captain, the storm was just weather, but to me it was a reference point. The Record of the Colony at Brinewall did not go far enough forward in time to cover these events, but I didn’t really need it. The ships that set sail from here, the ones sent by Rokuro, went aground in Sog’s Bay during a storm. The timing had to be the same. At this time of year, it was not uncommon for storms to lash the Varisian coast, some of them lasting several days. Another coincidence that was too much of a coincidence to be just a coincidence.

Had Rokuro anticipated an attack? Had he sent those ships south into, and in spite of, the storms because he feared one was imminent? Did the invaders use those same storms to their advantage, to give them cover as they sacked both the town and then the castle?

I was flipping through pages of the historical record while explaining my theory to the others when I happened across a mention of the reconstruction of the east wall of the castle. It was just dumb luck.

While I could probably figure out the jargon and conventions of the construction plans given time, Radella was far more versed in this than I and I asked for her help in finding any plans for the walls and, in particular, any dates associated with them. Within a couple of minutes, I had learned another valuable and shocking piece of information: the east wall of the castle had collapsed into a network of underground caverns!

“The east wall collapsed. They must not have surveyed the cliff thoroughly, or at all. There are caverns under the castle. A huge complex of them. The weight of the castle caused the ground to cave in, collapsing the wall and part of the castle into the caverns. And listen! Not soon after, ‘Hideous, bird-like men emerged from below. They stood as tall as a man, covered in black feathers but with arms instead of wings…’

“They attacked the colony. This was in the early 4460’s. The corbies…they have been here for over 250 years! The colonists must have thought they drove them off or killed them. But obviously they didn’t, because they are still here. And, the caverns! If there are caverns, there has to be an entrance somewhere, right? A cave? Maybe in the cliffs, or even just in the ground somewhere.

“Right?”

If I didn’t have everyone’s full attention before, I definitely had it now.

Olmas looked thoughtful for a moment and asked a series of questions that was really just one.

“The castle was knowingly or unknowingly built over a series of caverns? The corbies emerged from those collapsed caverns and presumably there was a skirmish/conflict/battle, but there was still time afterwards to rebuild the east wall, and life went on thinking the corbies had been taken care of?

“Is there any record of when they reappeared?”

That was not so easy to answer. I flipped through the book, skimming pages until I found what seemed to be the right place.

“It was finished in 4469. So, they rebuilt the wall and eventually finished the castle. They thought the corbies were gone. Or maybe they sealed off the caverns, or thought they did. The way this is written I’d have to read the whole thing. It’d take hours and hours. But it seems they finished the castle and then…well…it looks like life went on.”

Qatana, on the other hand, was focused on the caverns themselves. She was silent for a moment—she had that look she gets when she’s “talking” to one of her mouse skulls— and then exclaimed, “There is probably an external entrance to the caves, but maybe the corbies tunneled up to the cellars of the castle itself, and then broke through and invaded from within! There are three sets of steps leading down from this level, and I bet at least one of them will connect with the tunnels.”

That sounded logical to me. “Whatever is down there…if we go east, as far east as we can, we’ll probably find out.”

Every answer we find is accompanied by more questions.

Erastus 18 (Late Morning, Brinewall)

Within a half an hour it was clear to all of us that the broadly accepted story of the mystery of Brinewall was an exaggeration. I am hesitant to say that it is an outright lie as I understand that people are fallible and imperfect; even faithful accounts can take on a life of their own in their retelling. There is a game that is often played among children, where the first in a line whispers a secret message to the one next to them, and it is passed in turn down the line to the end. Make the message complex enough, or the number of children large enough, and the message delivered to the last child is significantly altered from the original, sometimes to the point where it is no longer recognizable.

I firmly believe that is one of the ways in which legends are born: each storyteller embellishes the tale in some fashion, omits certain details, blurs times and events, or possibly even makes an honest mistake here or there, making small changes that build over time to shape the new tale. Whatever the source, though, the end result is still the same: a distorted representation of real events, and more often than not done on purpose for greater dramatic impact. And such, I think, is how the mystery of Brinewall came to be.

The story we had all been told growing up, the one nearly all of Varisia accepts as truth, is that the residents here simply vanished without a trace. Even Takkad’s journal—Qatana was kind enough to lend me her copy—perpetuates this fanciful narrative. Within it, he wrote:

Near the mouth of the river a small village, Brinewall, protected by its own castle, once served as an outpost to the region, but the entire population of the town and castle all vanished sometime in the mid 4680’s. All the houses, offices, merchants, shops, and other businesses were left as if the occupants had just popped out for a moment and would be right back. But right back never came.

As soon as we saw the buildings, though, it was obvious that the mystery of Brinewall was far less mysterious than this recounting would suggest. The battle ax scars were unmistakeable, and not all of the buildings were left whole. It was very clear that the residents here had not simply “vanished”. The town, and likely the keep as well, had been invaded and its population almost certainly slaughtered. Brinewall was a ghost town, yes, but it was born out of worldly violence, not supernatural forces.

Those who have come here over the years have seen this. And certainly, any who were sent to investigate in those first few months would have as well. So how did this version of the truth come to pass? It was probably not a huge leap to get from “missing with no trace, and signs of a fierce attack” to just “missing with no trace”. What little we know of the truth is already deeply unsettling.

Yet, obviously, the legend has not been enough to keep looters away as there is nothing of real value left here save for some tools and everyday supplies. The longboat docked in the lagoon, of a design common to the northerners in the Linnorm Kingdoms, suggests that such raids continue to this day. Though, in the grand tradition of Brinewall, there is no sign of the boat’s complement (perhaps the dead sea drake on the shore next to it has something to do with that).

Brinewall village and castle

One of the more curious discoveries was the cemetery. Unlike the village to which it is attached, it was well-kept, with manicured grass and clean gravestones. Therein was also a lovely shrine to Desna: a statue of her holding a copper bowl that turned regular water into holy water. As we were discussing this modest miracle, the answer to the mystery presented itself in the form of a tiny, butterfly-winged celestial being named Spivey. A servant of Desna, the azata found her way to Brinewall more or less by accident some years ago after her mistress was killed, leaving her stranded on the material plane. She has tended to the cemetery and the shrine to Desna ever since.

Spivey knew nothing of the people of Brinewall or their fate as she came to this place long after the town had been decimated. She did, however, know something of the occupants of the castle nearby.

“They are bird-like men. I have never seen them fly.”

When asked about any patterns or habits they might have, she thought for a moment before answering, “They hunt at least once a week. It’s been a few days since I last saw them.”

Informed of our plans to clear out the castle, Spivey offered us sanctuary in the cemetery and healing if we needed it. She also suggested that we stay away from the water’s edge. Creatures living in the lagoon were periodically feeding on the corpse of the sea drake, and if we got too close they would certainly come up to defend their territory. Our interest was the castle, not hostile marine life, so we thanked her and followed her advice.

Erastus 18 (Brinewall Castle, Mid-day)

Look. I don’t really know what I am doing. The only reason I suggested that we attempt to lure some of the bird-men out of the castle was because castles are designed to prevent the very thing we were wanting to do. If it sounds ridiculously naive now, it felt even more so when we were hiding at the edge of the forest, staring up at walls that were two stories high. Waiting until a hunting party emerged on their own seemed more logical to me, but many of the others wanted to move quickly, especially Etayne who felt that every delay was more time with Ameiko in peril and us doing nothing to address it. So instead, we adopted this silly and complicated plan involving illusions of pigs and animal calls to communicate with one another, and of course lying in wait. I remember thinking that there was no way something this ridiculous could possibly work, but I was proven wrong in short order. To my astonishment, the gates opened and a group of bird-men emerged, intent on finding their next meal in their own front yard.

Our ambush was not perfect but it was effective. If I had been thinking more quickly, I would have moved up along with Olmas and been there in time to prevent the guards at the gate from raising an alarm, but that did not matter in the end for there was almost no one to hear or respond. As soon as we made it through the open gates and up onto the walls, we spotted the remaining bird-men on guard duty on the opposite parapet, manning an aging catapult. They did not expect us to approach from atop the walls and were quickly dispatched.

Corbies. Specifically, dire corbies. These were our foes: a race of bird-men with arms instead of wings who were known to mostly live underground and not in abandoned castles. In retrospect it all fits, but of course I wasn’t expecting to find them here and so the thought hadn’t occurred to me. How did they come to this place?

In another odd twist, it appears that the castle may be haunted after all. In a small storeroom off of the dining area on the upper level, we found a strange undead creature: an emaciated human child with the skull of a fox for its head. It was a terrifying being and a grueling fight, apparently denying Qatana the use of her voice and leaving Olmas fatigued at its touch. After it was destroyed we were able to get a better look at the room and saw the skeletal remains of a young, human child pinned under a pile of firewood. It appeared that he had been placed in here for safekeeping, only to have the contents of the room collapse on him and crush his legs. He left crude drawings on the walls, childish images of bird-men, ogres, and men that resembled ninjas of Tian Xia. More evidence that the castle and village had been attacked and its occupants slaughtered.

The presence of ninjas is one of those coincidences that it feels we shouldn’t dismiss or ignore. Rokuro’s letter hinted that her family’s enemies would lie in wait forever for their opportunity to strike. It seems Brinewall was where they finally caught up to him.

Erastus 18 (Brinewall Castle, Midafternoon)

The chapel was once a shrine to Desna but the corbies’ priest or priestess—I do not know how to sex a corby, nor am I particularly interested in learning—has completely defiled it. While enough time spent with simple cantrips can be used to undo the defacing of the walls (foul paintings reminiscent of Pazuzu, done in blood) the statue of Desna has been damaged extensively and neither Ivan nor I believe it can be repaired. At this, Sparna remarked, “It might be better to just completely take it down.” I am reluctantly forced to agree.

Their cleric, dressed in tattered and disgusting robes, was every bit as loathsome as the corbies themselves and then some more for good measure. Though it managed to hit us with spells, it was quickly boxed in and killed. Good riddance. Strangely, it had managed to thoroughly befoul the chapel proper, but it left the small priest’s cell alone. Inside the tiny living quarters was a small but impressive arsenal: four enchanted arrows, bane to evil outsiders.

The other rooms in the upper level of the castle appeared to be communal living quarters for the corbies, themselves, but there was one that seemed to house only a single occupant. It, too, had black feathers in it, suggesting that there is a head of their flock that we have yet to meet.

In  another room, this one likely the armory, there was a ghostly manifestation: walls that ran with blood, with faces emerging from them, shrieking. It was enough to frighten even Sparna who does not scare easily. I know little about such matters, but an obvious explanation would be that many of the castles defenders had died here.

The last room we explored on this floor appeared to be a study of sorts. Inside were stacks and stacks of paper filled with dense handwriting in Tien. I took the time to translate just a few pages on a whim and was shocked to discover that someone has been writing a play. A play about a family of crows that turn into humans. The stacks of papers were endless drafts and revisions of the would-be playwright’s epic masterpiece. That it was written in Tien was noteworthy, as it is something I would not expect of a corby. Curiouser and curiouser.

Crow play excerpt (PDF version)

And, there is something profoundly amusing at the notion that one of the occupiers, and perhaps the conqueror, of Brinewall castle spends their free time—and based on the enormous stacks of paper there, quite a lot of it—writing a play. I guess everyone has a hobby.