9th Day of Coldeven, 565 CY
The Royal Palace, Chendl, Furyondy
Aslan tapped his finger on the map which was sprawled out on the table before them. He glanced up from his chair at Sir Rahldent, who was standing across the table from him.
"How accurate is this map?"
The knight bristled.
"His Majesty's cartographers are the finest in the Flanaess," he said. "Years of effort went into this map, and you will find none better, anywhere. The features are true are depicted, and the scale accurate as shown. What more could one want?"
"That accurate?" Argo chimed in, placing his finger down on the Sea of Gearnat. "Is there really a sea serpent here that's," and here the ranger consulted the map's scale depicted in the lower right corner, "twenty miles long?"
"Argo," the paladin raised his hand to try to squelch any potential arguments. "Good Sir Rahldent", he looked at the knight in earnest. "I have never been to the Pomarj. Using my Talent to teleport to an unknown location is potentially quite dangerous. At least as much so as attempting the equivalent by spell, if what my arcane colleagues tell me is true," he added, with a glance at Cygnus and Zantac.
Sir Rahldent glanced at the two magic-users, then over at the Court Mage, Karzalin.
The Master Elementalist (as he had been so introduced) looked to be in his late sixties or early seventies and was a picture-book representation of a wizard, right down to his long gray beard and pointed hat. He moved ponderously though, as if he were wearing heavy armor instead of gray robes. His eyes were auburn, perhaps even a shade redder than Argo's, and he did not hesitate to stare directly into the eyes of whoever he was talking to, at an uncomfortably close range. To date, this had been only the two mages, and his conversation was strictly limited to arcane matters; the selection of spells and so forth. Both wizards, while impressed at the obvious power they could tell this man possessed, were disquieted by an almost palpable heat that emanated from the man.
Karzalin nodded slowly at Rahldent. "He is correct," he said in a thin, hoarse voice.
The knight took a deep breath and returned his attention to Aslan. "It will serve your needs." He pointed at the city of Highport, situated on the northern coast of the Pomarj peninsula. "The lands near the city are fairly flat, but the coastline has many small coves that you could use as your base camp." He shrugged. "There may well be old farmhouses and such nearer the city, if you would dare lairing there."
Aslan leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard. "That will probably depend on exactly where our initial transport lands us."
"Are we decided then, that we're going to utilize your Talent, Aslan, as opposed to going down on horse?" asked Talass.
"I'd be happy to put it to a vote if you'd like, Talass," the paladin replied, "but I think it's the best way to go, despite the risks. It would take us a long time to ride down there, and we're just as likely as not to encounter troubles that might sap our resources before we really need them."
"I'll go along with that," Zantac added. "I've think I've ridden horseback more these past three weeks than the rest of my life, and I've got permanent sores in places I dare not mention."
"Better get used to it, Zantac," put in Elrohir. "We may not ride as often as we used to, but we need to keep the option open at any time. Our good friend here is not always available."
"I know, I know," the wizard replied. "I just prefer riding a steed I can talk to, I guess."
Karzalin raised an eyebrow at that but said nothing.
"What will be your cover?" asked Sir Rahldent.
By way of reply, Aslan looked over to Elrohir, who was seated to his left.
The ranger ran his hand through his hair. "A mercenary band, looking for work. It seems like the most plausible idea."
The knight eyed the party leader. "Do you speak orcish, or goblin?"
"No," Elrohir admitted, then looked across to Aslan's right. "But Argo does." Rahldent glanced over at Bigfellow, who gave him his pained smile.
"My good friend here praises me too highly. I know a few phrases in orc. Enough to get by, but don't ask me to debate any orcish philosophers."
"It won't be philosophers you'll be dealing with; I can assure you," Davos replied grimly. "Enter the city by daylight. You'll meet more humans, and less humanoids that way."
Argo nodded.
Gaereth Heldenster, who had been standing off to one side, walked over to the paladin. "Are you familiar with the place you will transport to when you need our services, good Aslan?"
The paladin nodded. "Yes. And thank you again, Your Grace. I devoutly hope we will not have need of them."
The High Priest nodded in return. "As do I. Well, then, if you will excuse me, I leave you all with my heartfelt prayers for your swift and safe return."
The others said their goodbyes as Heldenster paused by the open doorway. "Praised be Heironeous, Archpaladin" he intoned, and then left, squeezing past another servant boy who had come in to add more sundry items to the party's backpacks, which were currently lined up on the table next to the map. Cygnus and Tojo were comparing their inventory against the list of items they had requested. Cygnus looked up at Elrohir and gave him a satisfied nod. As far as supplies were concerned, they were all set.
"I suppose you're as ready as you'll ever be," stated Karzalin hoarsely, and then walked out without another word.
"Sociable type, isn't he?" commented Caroline.
Sir Rahldent shrugged. "He's been that way as long as I can remember. Some say the study of magic does that to a man's mind," he said, before looking over at Cygnus and Zantac with a guilty start. The latter merely nodded sagely, however.
"I've heard the same," he said with a disarming smile, resulting in the first thing approaching a smile they had yet to see appear on Davos' face.
"So," Elrohir asked. "What's our schedule, Aslan?"
The paladin looked thoughtful. "Well, tell me what you think of this. Tonight, I'll make the first jump with one of you. We'll find a good place to camp, and the next day, I'll start my services as-"
"Pack mule," cut in Argo, grinning. "Don't worry, I'll have plenty of sugar cubes on hand for you, Aslan."
The paladin drummed his fingers on the table. He appeared to be counting to ten in his head, then he resumed. "As I was saying, I can bring two of you per day back with me to the Pomarj. In four days, we'll all be together again."
"A sound plan Aslan, but who goes with you tonight?" asked Talass.
Aslan again stroked his beard. "A ranger. Finding a suitable shelter and covering our tracks may turn out to be crucial affairs the first night."
Elrohir nodded. "Agreed. Who's it to be then?"
There was silence. Slowly, all heads turned to regard the young woman who was trying hard to flatten herself up against the wall.
Aslan stood up and approached her, smiling.
"What say you, Nesco Cynewine?" he asked, with a slight bow. "Will you be my-"
He stopped, looking concerned. Nesco, who was trying and failing to keep a cold sweat off of her forehead, looked back at him in wonder. The paladin turned back to eye his party, then returned his gaze to Nesco, looking somewhat sheepish now.
"Forgive me, Nesco," he began. "There's nothing witty I can say that Argo here won't pervert into something dreadful."
"Too late," Bigfellow countered, a wicked grin firmly in place on his face. It quickly proved contagious to Elrohir, Cygnus and Zantac, although the others remained unmoved. For some reason though, the sight of those smiles helped ease Nesco's nerves somewhat, and she smiled, first back at Argo, and then at the paladin.
"When do we leave?" she asked.
It was a little more than an hour later. Everyone had partaken of a last meal prepared here at the palace, but despite the quality and quantity of the food placed before them, no one had done more than pick at their food. Little had been spoken. Everyone was deep into their own private thoughts. Now, they were again assembled in the planning chamber.
Nesco fingered the shield she held in her hand. This was an older shield of hers, her present one festooned with the symbol of the Order of The Hart being a poor choice for a jaunt to the Pomarj. This one had been a gift to her from Sir Damoscene. It bore the image of a white eagle in flight. She glanced up. They were all watching her, expectantly.
She smiled, a little embarrassed. "I'm ready, but I've never teleported. I don't know what it's like."
Aslan gave her a comforting, if brief smile.
"It doesn't hurt at all. A momentary disorientation until you get used to it, that's all. Place your hand on my shoulder."
Tentatively, Nesco did so.
"Hey. Lovebirds!" came Argo's voice from behind.
Aslan gave an exasperated sigh and whirled his head around, but Argo cut him off before he could speak.
"Be careful, you two,"
he said, his voice deadly serious.
Aslan hesitated, then nodded slowly. A thin smile crossed his face.
"We will be."
And they were gone.