6th Day of Harvester, 565 CY

Laurellinn, Furyondy

For a moment, Cygnus and Zantac had a flashback to Suderham.

Like The White Knight inn of that city, Laurellin's mess was one large, open room. There were no individual tables, but numerous rectangular tables had been laid end-to-end around the perimeter of the room, with benches on either side. These were filling up rapidly with woodsmen, all engaged in boisterous chatter with their neighbors. Many were smoking pipes. A door at the far end of the room led to an attached annex- no doubt containing the kitchen- from which boys and older men were emerging with large trays of food. These were unceremoniously dumped on the tables before they headed back for another load.

The men tore into the food, which looked and smelled wonderful to the two mages. The staple seemed to be roasts; mostly venison, although several game birds were also present. There were sweetbreads, assorted berries, apple and karafruit sauces and a seemingly never-ending supply of baked beans.

The noise level had receded for several moments before the party realized that it was due to their entrance. Or more specifically, the entrance of one of them.

Nesco Cynewine knew exactly why the occupants were looking at her.

There were two reasons. The first and lesser one was simply because she was a woman. All the females of Laurellinn, even the young girls, ate supper at their homes. The evening meal, with its usual copious consumption of alcohol, was considered too dangerous for women to attend. Not for their own safety or honor; the woodswomen here were just as tough and hardy as the men, but because of the danger of friendship-breaking brawls that would otherwise erupt from the men over ogles and drink-fueled bawdy suggestions and propositions. Nesco, unattached and attractive, drew their eyes like iron to lodestone.

The second and more distressing reason was as Nesco had feared. She turned her head, looked to the near right corner of the room, and saw what she expected to see.

In the area of the mess called "Knight's Corner," sitting where they usually sat, were Sir Damoscene, Sir Murtano, Sir Juntaros and Sir Gideon. At their side were several warriors of the Azure Order, including Joseph Cynewine. Among the assembled squires with them was Grimdegn.

Their expressions conveyed all that Lady Cynewine needed to know. Her dear sweet brother Joseph had wasted no time in telling everyone within earshot of Nesco's resignation from the Order.

For a moment, Nesco stopped dead in her tracks as guilt washed over her. It was so strong as to be almost akin to fear.

But then she remembered that a mere two weeks ago, she had been in single combat with an ogre mage and triumphed. And that had been only one battle out of many.

You've got nothing to be ashamed of, Nesco reminded herself. You're the equal to any of them in battle- except maybe Sir Damoscene. She tried to convince her body to fall into step with her desires.

As it always seemed to be, the first step as the hardest, but soon Nesco Cynewine had detached herself from Cygnus and the others and strode over towards Knight's Corner.

Joseph wasted no time.

"These tables are for the Azure Order or those in their charge!" her dear brother said loudly, standing up so abruptly his shin bumped the table and knocked half of his food off his plate. "You're not wanted here!"

Nesco was about to retort, but- to her surprise- it wasn't needed.

"Be quiet!" Sir Damoscene barked at the young man, suddenly rounding on him. "Have you forgotten chivalry already, Joseph? The Code of the Archpaladin? His Duty to a Lady? Still your tongue or it'll be you sitting elsewhere!"

Joseph's mouth worked uselessly. He glanced around, but none of the faces held sympathy, at least not overtly. He sighed and sat down so heavily he caused an audible crack in the wooden bench beneath him, although it held.

The men stood up and cleared a space for her to sit between Sirs Damoscene and Juntaros. Despite his defense of her presence among them however, Damoscene did not smile at Nesco. The Ranger Lord's face was carefully neutral as he signaled a server to bring another plate of food and ale.

The knights Juntaros, Murtano and Gideon all greeted Nesco with wide smiles and welcoming hugs, which warmed her more than any cooking fires could have done. Grimdegn's smile was so wide it was a wonder the teenager's face didn't split in two, but as a mere squire he was forbidden from running up and hugging people in public, even if said person was his older sister. When he came over and bowed low in greeting to her, Nesco had leaned in close to him.

"We'll talk in private later," she whispered. Grimdegn nodded and backed off.

Nesco looked around. There was no sign of Lencon, or any of the other pages for that matter. She wondered aloud about that.

"They're eating elsewhere," Sir Gideon explained. "It's been a rough trip, and that damn rain today did little for them." His gaze wandered over to meet those of his fellow knights, and he seemed to be almost bursting at the seams with questions that they all shared.

Questions that Nesco Cynewine knew she did not want to answer.

Cygnus grunted as Zantac sat down, squeezing in between him and Tojo. The space created for him hadn't been quite wide enough, but the Willip Wizard had apparently decided to simply demonstrate that fact rather than mentioning it beforehand.

The tall mage scowled at his stouter companion, but Zantac's smile did not falter. The Willip wizard merely grabbed two mugs of ale from the approaching boy server and thrust one into Cygnus' hands.

"Drink," he half-explained, half-commanded. "A good ending to a bad day."

"We still need to find out if Agarth has come through here recently," Cygnus growled back at him. "Let's at least do that before you degenerate into even more of an incoherent slob than you usually are."

Zantac seemed not to have heard this, or if he had, was pointingly ignoring it. Content with a turkey leg and an ale, the red-robed wizard was tucking into his dinner as if he hadn't a care in the world.

Cygnus hadn't eaten since midsun, but he suddenly didn't feel particularly hungry. In fact, he felt slightly ill. The wizard tried to shift into a more comfortable position on the bench but failed. He and Zantac had stowed their quarterstaffs below them before they sat down, but Cygnus's left foot kept bumping into the end of one of them. That, combined with his various aches, pains, robes still damp from the rain and overpowering pipe weed aromas, made the magic-user desperately wish he were back at the Brass Dragon, sleeping in his own bed. Even a shelterdome would be preferable to this.

He looked around. The place was a maelstrom of laughing, yelling and occasionally, off-key singing. Although the center area of the mess hall contained no tables or charges, it was full of men standing around, talking and drinking, hiding the far side of the room from view. Hooded lanterns hung from the ceiling illuminated the tobacco smoke cloud that made all the woodsmen's faces look somehow slightly sinister to the mage.

Another uncomfortable parallel with the White Knight was that almost everyone seemed to be wearing armor, albeit mostly leather armor or jerkins of one form or another. Cygnus told himself that was only natural, considering Laurellin's location in the Vesve, a forest known to shelter hostile humanoids in the thousands. No one seemed to be carrying weapons however, and that made the mage feel a little better. The Azure Order seemed to be the only exception. Ironically, none of them wore armor. Cygnus supposed their pages and other servitors were currently cleaning them up.

Nesco seemed to have settled in as far as Cygnus could see. The magic-user couldn't make out any of the conversation, but he could see she was talking now to a knight sitting on her left whom he recognized as Sir Juntaros, a nobleman who had joined them for that luncheon at the Cynewine manor, somewhere between four months and an eternity ago.

Juntaros saw Cygnus looking at him and frowned at the mage.

As often happened when she was not in a position to notice him, Cygnus had trouble taking his eyes off Nesco. Then Tojo's body trembled next to his and Cygnus abruptly looked to his right.

Yanigasawa Tojo was very uncomfortable, and it showed.

The samurai sat polearm-straight on the bench, showing no interest in either food or drink. His violet eyes, which had been darting around non-stop at the raucous atmosphere all around them, now shot over to the face of the woodsman sitting next to him who had just addressed him. The man was young; about Tojo's age. He was holding an ale mug in his hand that, judging by its bobbing and weaving, had already received a few refills. More importantly, he was much too close to Tojo for his comfort. The samurai usually kept even his tomodachi at a physical arm's length, but these cramped quarters allowed for no such luxury.

"I said, are you from Kara-Tur?" the man repeated, raising his voice to be heard above the general din.

Tojo knew the accepted answer to this question. It was one he had received many times since his arrival here on Oerth. The accepted answer, designed to avoid awkward follow-up questions and subsequent sidestepping about the existence of The Three Worlds, was of course, "yes."

Tojo allowed his eyes to latch onto the lumberjack's blurry brown ones and hold them. The samurai felt an odd feeling. An old feeling. One that he had not felt since his training days at Yama no Tsyoi.

It was the buke's contempt for lessers who did not know their place.

"No," he snarled at the man.

Tojo did not look down, but he knew that his hand was slowly moving towards the hilt of his katana.

The man's face blanched. He mumbled an indistinct apology, then got up and staggered off into the smoke.

Tojo hardly noted his departure. The feeling had faded, but he was unsettled by its reappearance after several years. Technically, it was not wrong- indeed for a samurai, it was part and parcel of the code they lived by- and everyone in Nippon, from the highest social class to the lowest, knew it and understood their place.

To insult the honor of a samurai was a sure road to a quick death back home.

Tojo knew of course that he wasn't home now, though. He also knew he owed it to his friends to try and adapt to the gaijin ways. At least as much as he could losing his honor.

But now the samurai began to wonder if that was really possible after all. Even finding the Pearls of Hamakahara would not redeem his honor if he came back to his Yanigasawa daimyo a gaijin himself- the soul of a barbarian underneath his buke exterior.

Tojo could hear Aslan's voice reverberate in his head now.

I think you didn't come back for your quest at all, Tojo. I think you came back for us.

"Personal reasons."

Those two words, spoken in as much as a subject-killing tone as Nesco could manage, were all she would give her fellow- no, her former- Order members concerning her resignation from their ranks.

Their reactions to this varied. Joseph said nothing. Sir Gideon, who was about Nesco's age and had never viewed her as anything other than a good friend, seemed most in sympathy to her, as well as downright awed by her exploits down south in The Pomarj.

Sir Juntaros was outwardly also gentlemanly, but Nesco knew he had gotten enough meaning out of her two-word explanation. She saw him glance constantly over at Cygnus. An involuntary frown appeared on the knight's face every time he did this before he erased it and turned back to Lady Cynewine with a freshly-minted smile on his handsome features.

Sir Murtano seemed at ease enough. She and Nesco hadn't really known each other that well before all this, so there were no prior prejudices.

In fact, Nesco suddenly realized, they had saved each others' lives. Selzen had saved her from Blackthorn, and she had saved him from Tojo. No doubt this went a long way towards his acceptance of her new standing.

Sir Murtano in fact seemed relieved that Nesco was able to corroborate many of his fantastic details about The Aerie of the Slave Lords, which she now realized the other knights had not quite accepted as gospel. She couldn't blame them, though. Sometimes those horrible days in Suderham seemed like a terrible and unbelievable tale, even though only a fortnight separated her from them.

Sir Damoscene, Nesco's former mentor, retained his cool demeanor. He was polite, civil and courteous. In fact, his attitude even seemed genuine to Lady Cynewine, not a false veneer.

But those occasional flashes of warmness she had seen him display when she was his pupil were now absent completely.

Nesco knew why. It didn't take a wizard to figure it out. Damoscene had taken it personally that she had resigned after he had spent so much time training her. Even religion factored into it, she knew. A Zeus worshipper inducting another Zeus worshipper into the hallowed ranks of the Azure Order? There were some of the Furyondan Old Guard that looked askance at such a thing. And these people did hold power, prestige and influence.

Nesco Cynewine had been brought up to both respect all three.

Having accepted her two-word rebuke when he had finally shot the question at her like a crossbow bolt, Sir Damoscene was now instead asking questions about Nesco's experiences on her adventures with Elrohir and his companions. However, his queries, she belatedly realized, all centered on what Nesco had done as a ranger. How had she fared in making shelters, finding game for their party to eat, tracking foes and so forth. She wasn't quite sure why Damoscene seemed to be so fixated on this, unless it was to make sure she hadn't embarrassed him still further by performing at a substandard level.

That thought made Nesco angry enough to clench her left hand, currently out of view, into a fist, but then her brother's voice, which she hadn't heard since her arrival, now broke through.

"So why are you here, then?"

Nesco glanced over at him, but Joseph's face now seemed to show only curiosity. His friends- the other young Order warriors not yet awarded knighthood status, also peered at her intently now, as if she had brought some great new adventure with her.

"You came in with them, right?" one of them asked, pointing across the room at an angle. The great mass of people clogging the center floor made it hard to see, but Nesco could just make out Saxmund and Aelfbi supping and chatting amiably with Jasper, Cassius and several other river pigs. Not only had Aelfbi healed Jasper's leg, but their previous stays here as contract employees made their presence here appreciated by the populace.

Nesco turned back to the Order members and explained the bare bones of her situation, avoiding any mention of the Mary Celestial itself.

Sir Juntaros shook his head. "We've only just arrived tonight ourselves. You'd have to ask the locals."

Out of the corner of her eye, Nesco saw Sir Damoscene frowning at her. It seemed the Ranger Lord was about to ask another question when Lady Cynewine decided to redirect things.

After all, there was another reason for their presence here, and just maybe Lady Cynewine could help out her friends in that regard. The ranger jerked a thumb back over at Saxmund and Aelfbi while still looking at her teacher.

"Those two, along with a fighter named Garoidil, were here twice before; first back in Readying and then again last month; helping out against the orcs and so forth?"

Damoscene seemed momentarily taken aback, but then nodded. "I wasn't here last month, but yes- I heard that they had returned."

Nesco's eyes narrowed as she addressed her next question to the Order at large.

"The last time they were here; was there another woman with them?"

Belston nodded.

"Of course I remember. You couldn't drink enough to forget someone that tall! Night before last, they arrived. Him and three warriors. He did all the talking, though. Spread around some gold asking questions. By the time I got to where he was, he wasn't giving out any more, though. My luck all over," he groused. "Next morning, they were gone. Headed up the road north."

Cygnus tried to put his headache on hold and focus. "What was he asking about, specifically?"

The woodsman pointed towards Saxmund. "She and her friends found something in the forest last month." He shrugged. "Don't know much about it- they were based out of Ironstead, not here. Something big, though- too big to move apparently. Ironstead commander's got soldiers stationed there day and night from what I hear, so it must be something worthwhile. That's what the blue giant was asking about. Ol' Red there ain't talking though," he grimaced, referring again to Saxmund, "so I got nothing to say."

Cygnus handed the man a wheatshaff. "Here. Hope that makes up for Agarth's miserliness. Let me know if you remember anything else."

With wide eyes and an even wider smile, Belston thanked Cygnus repeatedly until the mage waved him off. He then turned to his left.

"Nesco's estimate was just about dead on, Zantac. We'll leave tomorrow morning, ride like Fenris himself is at our heels, and should catch up to Big, Blue & Ugly just about when he hits Ironstead."

"And then?" Zantac asked, not looking at all eager at the prospect.

Cygnus' smile was bitter. "We renegotiate. Make Agarth an offer he can't refuse."

Zantac was about to reply to this when Cygnus saw his fellow wizard's head turn towards an approaching figure. He followed his gaze.

It was the young woodsman who had been sitting next to Tojo earlier. Despite his obvious inebriation, the man made an elaborate show of courtesy, bowing low to the two arcanists and speaking in an exaggerated formal manner.

"A thousand pardons, gentlemen! Forgive my rudeness in interrupting your arcane discourse, but may be I crass as to borrow your staffs there- just for the briefest of moments?"

Cygnus and Zantac looked at each other, and then back at the lumberjack.

"No mischief intended, good sirs, and I shall have them back in your worthy hands in just a minute!"

"Why?" Cygnus asked.

The man's eyes darted off to the side. It was patently obvious to anyone not sharing this man's drunkenness that he was trying to think up an explanation. His gaze soon returned to the two mages and a self-satisfied smile appeared on his face.

"Instruction."

Cygnus frowned, but saw then that Zantac had bent down and retrieved both quarterstaffs and was holding them out to the man. Cygnus began to protest, but Zantac cut him off.

"Keep calm, Ciggy. How much harm can he do with them? Besides, we need to keep on good terms with the locals."

The tall mage shook his head in disgust, but just sat and watched as the man took the staffs and with much thanks and more bowing, turned and headed back towards the center of the room.

The knot of people there had begun to thin out. There seemed to be one man standing off apart from the group, but there were still too many intervening bodies for the wizard to get a good look at him.

"You tell him, Seward," one of the crowd said to the staff wielder, apparently egging him on in what endeavor he was planning.

Seward walked up to the man standing apart.

A quick sidewise glance at Tojo revealed the samurai staring at this scene with absolute stillness.

Just as someone blocking Cygnus' view moved off, Seward stepped in, so that he was now blocking the wizard's line of sight. Cygnus groaned in frustration and leaned to the side, but still couldn't get a good look at the other person; just a glimpse of leather armor; studded and of a better-looking make than those around it, but not exceptional.

"Here you go, Laertes," Seward proclaimed loudly. Those two wizards that came in tonight wanted you to have these."

He thrust the two staffs at Laertes, who grabbed them out of reflex rather then desire. Laertes stepped back as the crowd around him began to guffaw and Cygnus got his first good look at the commandant's son.

"Two quarterstaffs, Laertes!"Seward all but shouted, his eyes alight with malicious glee. "A half-staff for a half-orc!"

Laertes took a step forward.

Although Cygnus had heard the term used as a general insult more often than not, there was no doubt that in this case it was quite literal. Laertes was indeed of orcish descent; perhaps not as obviously as Hogarth in the Willip Wizards' Guild, but there was no doubt about it.

He wasn't very large as half-orcs went; a few inches under six feet and perhaps a hundred eighty pounds. This was probably due to his young age. Orcs aged somewhat faster than humans, so Cygnus wasn't completely sure, but Laertes looked to be only about sixteen in human years. He had the impressive musculature and coarse grayish skin that all the half-orcs Cygnus had ever seen possessed. His shoulders were broad, but his waist was surprisingly small. Most distinctive were the two small tusks that jutted over his upper lip.

Laertes threw the staffs back at Seward, who let them clatter to the floor.

"You take 'em," Laertes growled. "A half-thaff for a half-wit!"

There was laughter, but most of it was directed at Laertes, not Seward. Even from here, Cygnus could make out the lisp that a few unfortunate half-orcs suffered from their tusks while trying to pronounce the Common tongue.

"Aw, lay off him, Seward," Cassius called from his bench.

"Lay off 'em? Jasper got his leg crushed because 'ol Snaggletooth here wasn't doing his job today!" Seward shot back.

"I'm fine," protested Jasper, who seemed eager to stay out of this.

"Only 'cause there was a healer nearby! What about the poor river pig who's out with Clumsy tomorrow? That jam formed in the first place 'cause he wasn't paying attention!"

"Thath not true!" shouted Laertes.

"Oh, ithn't it?" replied Seward, mocking the half-orc's lisp. "We all know it is. What kind of a fool do you take me for?"

"You'd know that better than me."

There was more laughter; this time directed at Seward.

"Your father's not here to protect your ass, Laertes." Seward's eyes narrowed. "I'd tell you to be a man for once, but that's just not possible in your case, is it?'

More laughter, back again at Laertes.

"There's plenty of us what are tired with working with the same enemy that's trying to slaughter us and our families every day!' Seward continued. "You better start showin' some respect for your betters, Laertes. Don't make me get unpleasant!"

"I can't improve on nature."

Again, Laertes drew points from the crowd. Even Cygnus had to smile. Half-orcs were not generally known for their brain, but Laertes seemed to have almost an Argo-type wit.

"I saw the way you were looking at that warthog we saw on the bank right before the logs started backin' up? Hard up, are you, Laertes? We all know you filthy orcs will mate with anythi-"

Cygnus never actually saw Laertes' fist move, but Seward hit the floor with a thud and suddenly there was a mass of people yelling and shoving. Cygnus jumped to his feet, as did his friends, but a voice boomed out from the doorway before he could act.

"Enough!"

The scuffling stopped. Quickly.

The man whom Cygnus assumed was the camp commandant- and Laertes' father- calmly strode into the mess hall. His every step was slow and deliberate. All the men near him stepped out of the path he was taking.

Cygnus glanced over at Zantac, who was frowning in puzzlement at this new arrival. The tall mage could understand his fellow mage's confusion.

For one, Laertes' father had no orcish features at all that Cygnus could discern. This would make Laertes' mother the orc; the reverse of the usual situation, which involved the rape of a human female by a male orc. The man also seemed younger than Cygnus had expected. No more than thirty at the outside. That seemed a bit young to have a son Laertes' age, but given the shorter orc lifespan, not outside the realm of possibility. The newcomer had black, extremely curly hair and light tan skin. Oeridian, at least in part.

The man wore a green tabard over chainmail, but no helm. Both a longsword and a light mace dangled from his weapon's belt, and a small metal kite shield was strapped to his back. As he moved by the two mages without so much as a glance at them, they saw that the shield's surface was decorated in a green-and-yellow diamond pattern.

"Elredd," Zantac said.

"What?"

"That design. It's the device of Elredd. It's a city on the Wild Coast," Zantac explained to Cygnus. "It's as much of a noble crest as anything for the people who live there."

"His name is Sir Corvis."

Both wizards were startled to see Saxmund standing by them. They had not noticed her approach, and still found it hard to take their eyes off the new arrival. When Cygnus did look over at the rogue, he saw that she too was gazing at him, even as she continued to speak to them. Even Tojo was watching.

"I don't know him, but the woodsmen say he arrived yesterday. He's a knight from that area you mentioned; the Wild Coast." She grimaced. "Of course, that means nothing to me."

"So that's not Laertes' father?"

"No."

The others turned. Nesco Cynewine had rejoined them.

"Laertes' father is named Burnwald," the ranger explained. "He's not here; he rarely sups with the others. Laertes is his adopted son. Burnwald rescued his mother from an orc encampment and stayed with her even after she had born the ill fruit of her imprisonment."

"It sounds like you don't care much for orcs, Lady Cynewine." Aelfbi Gemblossom, along with Garoidil, had apparently arrived just in time to catch this.

Nesco sighed, finally dropping her eyes from Sir Corvis to stare at the floor.

"I don't bear the boy any ill-will. He can't help who he is. But when you've fought as many orcs as I have, it's sometimes hard to remain neutral."

She raised her head to look at the half-elf. "It's a weakness I'm still working on."

Aelfbi nodded in understanding.

"So what is this Sir Corvis doing here?" asked Zantac. "He's no lumberjack, that's certain."

"He may not even be a knight," Cygnus said grimly, recalling Lord Dak. "It's an open secret that noble titles are for sale in the Coast."

"Don't pre-judge, Cygnus," warned Gemblossom.

"It saves time," the wizard muttered, and then turned his attention back to Corvis. The knight- real or feigned- had just broken up the scrap between Laertes and Seward and was now admonishing the latter's friends.

"Are you such fools as to be blinded to a person's true worth by their skin?" Corvis asked. His voice was surprisingly melodious, even in rebuke. "I hear tell that Laertes is at the forefront of every battle you've had with the orcs; even more so, since they seek him out to slay with a special ferocity. If your enemy marks this young man as a hated foe, should that not make him your trusted ally?"

The knight shook his head in frustration. "Do I, as a nobleman, look upon others not so fortunate as worthy of ridicule? If I did, I would be a traitor to all the ideals that I hold dear. You people here are no less important. The lumber you ship south from here is invaluable. It may not seem that way to you, cloistered here as you are, but if the logs stopped flowing, you'd hear about it soon enough."

He sighed.

"Take pride in who you are and what you do. And give this same courtesy to those you live and work with. They deserve it as much as you do."

The knight had the entire hall in silence. All eyes were upon him. His expression shifted from solemnity to resignation.

"Speech over. I'm not your Lord. Do as you will. I only came over for a drink."

He began to look around for an empty seat. His dark eyes fell upon the spot where Seward had sat earlier sat and began to move towards it- and then stopped.

The knight's gaze moved from Saxmund to Aelfbi; then to Nesco to Cygnus to Zantac to Tojo.

It stopped on Tojo, and there it stayed.

With the same slow steps with which he had entered the mess hall, Sir Corvis began to walk directly towards Tojo, who stood up with equal slowness and stood facing him.

Cygnus clenched his fists. Is this going to turn into something ugly? he wondered. After all those high words, is this Corvis just another-

But now Sir Corvis was bowing deeply.

"Greetings, Master Samurai of Kara-Tur," he exclaimed. "I acknowledge the superior station of an honorable warrior."

Tojo bowed back, though not as low. His violet eyes seemed focused, not on Corvis' face, but on his torso.

Then Cygnus saw the sash Sir Corvis had tied around his waist. It was yellow with black writing upon it. Cygnus could not understand Nipponese, but he knew the language when he saw it. When Tojo rose from his bow however, his gaze now rested on the knight's face. The samurai's own expression was as inscrutable as ever.

"May I join you for a drink, fellow travelers?" asked Sir Corvis. "I believe we share a common cause."

"And what cause is that?" asked Zantac, not quite hiding all the suspicion in his voice.

Corvis smiled.

"Why, to find a certain blue giant, of course…"

Cygnus had to admit that Zantac had been right. This day was ending on a much better note than it had started.

The Aardian mage's head and stomach had relaxed with some good food, drink and conversation. Zantac, Nesco, Saxmund and Aelfbi also seemed to be enjoying themselves. Only Tojo seemed unable to relax. The samurai rarely did in any case, but his posture remained rigid and he had not uttered a word in several hours.

Sir Corvis was an excellent dinner companion, and it was soon evident to those assembled why the woodsmen here accorded him such respect after only one day. The knight was good-looking in his way, but not exceptionally handsome. His voice added to his charisma, but even so the effect was not nearly as mesmerizing until after one had spoken to him for a while.

In a way, Cygnus thought ruefully and not without a pang of guilt at the idea- Sir Corvis was the polar opposite of Elrohir. Corvis always seemed to know just the right words to say and furthermore, exactly how to say them.

The Elredd knight seemed intensely curious about Cygnus and his friends. This wasn't surprising. Even discarding their Suderham adventure, which was unknown to the populace at large, the owners of the Brass Dragon inn had begun to acquire something of a reputation after several years, even if the rumors turned out to be wildly inaccurate more often than not.

As the eldest member of their group present, Cygnus took the lead in talking about themselves. He was careful not to let slip any mention of The Three Worlds or other potentially dangerous topics, although the wizard had to cut himself off in mid-sentence several times to do so.

Zantac had looked at Cygnus, his expression darkening for a moment, and uttered one word.

"Thellent."

Cygnus understood immediately. The two mages had obtained considerable information from the Suderham sage by plying him with alcohol. Now the roles were reversed, and it suddenly, if belatedly, seemed like a bad idea to be too free with talk with a stranger, even one so apparently so disarming. Cygnus flushed red as he glanced back over at Zantac and then Tojo.

Both of them knew. Both of them had fallen prey to the ruses of doppelgangers.

His head now buzzing lightly, Cygnus attempted to make amends. "But surely we tire you of all this vain chatter about us, good Sir knight! Tell us of yourself!"

Sir Corvis took a small sip from his mug of ale and smiled.

"But of course. I fear my story is not nearly as replete with exciting heroics as yours, but I must not forget my manners."

He leaned back in his chair.

"I know well the reputation my homeland has acquired in this matter, but I assure you, ladies and gentlemen, that my knighthood is genuine." He displayed a signet ring we wore on his right hand, although that meant nothing to Cygnus. He knew such things were easily bought.

"To be truthful though, our holdings are meager. One manor house, plus property, on the outskirts of Elredd. Further, my elder brother shall inherit all when the time comes, so my options were limited. Either become a servitor, join a church, or seek my fortune elsewhere."

He frowned now, although seemingly in response to a memory, not his dinner companions.

"I must admit my father pushed me along that latter path. While I have been told my words sound noble, I must confess that my actions have not always been so moral and blameless. I- got in some trouble in Elredd, so it was suggested that I could find my fortunes elsewhere; perhaps even enough to send some back home and help in the upkeep of my father's lands."

The knight sighed.

"And so I left, with something of a heavy heart. This was some five years ago, and yet it was a blessing from above that I did so, for I soon met Otoki."

The statue that was Yanigasawa Tojo now narrowed his eyes and directed them directly at Sir Corvis. First to his face, and then to his sash.

Corvis noted this and nodded. "Yes, he was from Kara-Tur. That much must be obvious to you, Master Samurai. He had been driven into exile- I must beg your pardon here my friends, but I can disclose no particulars here. Otoki swore me into silence on this point."

Nesco, Cygnus and Zantac could not help looking over at Tojo. They saw the samurai swallow hard and look off elsewhere.

About half the occupants of the mess hall had retired for the night and every minute another one or two headed out the door. The open space in the center now hosted the squires and young warriors of the Knights of the Hart doing mock battle with each other with practice swords. Tojo stared at them, but Nesco for one knew he wasn't really seeing them. Her brother Grimdegn was now battling Sir Murtano's newest squire, a youth about his own age. A big lad with red hair. She was pretty sure he was Kiprien, Sir Davos Rahldent's son.

"Well," Sir Corvis continued, "we made quite a team, Otoki and I. We decided to leave the Wild Coast, as gold-making opportunities there tend to be reliant on," he paused, "a certain lack of scruples, shall we say?" He smiled bitterly. "I thought it best not to remain where my morals would be tested so severely."

He took another sip of ale.

"We made some money, here and there. Nothing substantial, though. We eventually made our way to Greyhawk-"

"Greyhawk?" Nesco interrupted. "That's kind of Out Of The Frying Pan for someone trying to stay on the straight and narrow, isn't it?"

Corvis laughed in a self-deprecating manner.

"Indeed so, fair Lady. Otoki warned me about Greyhawk; he'd been there before, but the allure was too strong for me, I confess. I figured in the Jewel of the Flanaess, there had to be some honest gold to be made, right?"

He laughed again but cut it short. His dark eyes; so deeply brown as to be almost black, went down to his ale mug.

"I forgot that honest money could have as dear a price tag as blood money."

The knight hesitated for a moment and then continued.

"We were at a tavern; the Hanged Man, I think it was, when Agarth strolled in. Tells you about the clientele of this place that he didn't get much of a reaction. Anyway, he heads over to this table packed with, oh, let's call them adventurers, shall we?"

He winked at them and went on.

"From what I was able to overhear, Agarth had hired this band to retrieve some items for him from Acheron."

"Acheron?" asked Garoidil, puzzled.

"The Infernal Battlefields," Nesco replied, her own expression grim now. "One of the planes. A place where armies clash forever without victory, respite or even cause."

Cygnus shot a questioning look at the ranger. She smiled thinly back at him.

"Acheron is the home of Hextor, Scourge of Battle and half-brother to Heironeous the Invincible One. From the dogma I learned as a child before I came to worship Zeus."

"We couldn't see what the items were," Corvis continued. "They were stored in a large chest, but Agarth opened the chest and looked in. Apparently he was satisfied by what he saw because he tossed these people a bag of gold the size of a prize sow, took the chest and disappeared into thin air."

"What are mercanes, anyway? Do you know?" Saxmund asked the knight.

"According to the leader of these men, they're a nomadic race. Not from our Material World. They all belong to large Merchant Houses. Many are also accomplished wizards. Buying, selling and trading magic items is one of their specialties."

Cygnus set his drink aside, folded his hands together in front of his face and peered intently at Sir Corvis. He didn't want to miss this part.

"I couldn't stop blabbing to Otoki. Easy money, I told him! I thought myself a fighting man of no small ability and Otoki had some," he paused again, "skills he'd learned in Kara-Tur. Skills unknown in the Flanaess. Unfortunately for us both, I convinced Otoki against his better judgment."

"How did you get into contact with Agarth?" asked Zantac, but Corvis shook his head in reply.

"We didn't. We introduced ourselves to the men around the table and asked how we could. Their leader; a mage himself," he nodded at the Willip wizard, "said that Agarth had contacted them, and hadn't left means that he could be reached. However, this wizard," here Corvis shrugged again, "I think his name was Morden-something-or-other; said he had a job that he'd gladly contract out to us, if I thought the two of us were up to the task."

Sir Corvis abruptly fell silent for a moment, and then picked up his ale mug, swigged the rest of it and set it back down hard on the table.

"Forgive me," he said, his soothing voice now noticeably harder. "But I don't think I want to go into the rest in detail. Not tonight. In brief, Morden hired us to investigate a place called Maure Castle in the Duchy or Urnst, just east of the Abbor-Alz Hills."

The knight's hands clenched into fists.

"The castle itself was a looted shell, but we found a tunnel leading underground. We didn't get far," he said and gave another self-deprecating laugh. This one however, was without any trace of humor.

"We couldn't get past the first accursed set of doors we came to. Can you imagine that? Couldn't even get past a lousy set of doors! Completely unopenable by any means we could employ. Eventually, we just gave up and turned back."

Corvis' features darkened. "Our first night on the trip home, we were attacked by gnolls. They'd been tracking us, I guess. I killed enough of them to make the rest retreat, but they mortally wounded Otoki."

He dabbed at his eyes. "And the oddest thing was, as I was cursing and howling at the skies above for what a fool I'd been, Otoki grabbed my hand and told me how I'd been right, and he'd been wrong! Said it was better to die in a righteous attempt than live a life of safe shame. He made me promise to continue and try to raise the money for my family."

The knight wiped his nose with the back of his forearm, glanced down at his waist and looked up at Tojo.

"He gave me this," he said, touching the silk sash. "Called it an obi. I don't know why, but it held some special meaning for him."

Tojo said nothing.

"Otoki gave me much more than that, however," said Sir Corvis. "He taught me many things, including how to use language more effectively than most people can. He had- an appreciation for the beauty of the spoken word."

The knight suddenly took a deep breath and addressed Tojo directly again. When he did, his voice was as entrancing as it had ever been.

"A strong blade.
Weapon of the samurai.
Shining in the sun."

Tojo's eyes shot upwards and his mouth opened in astonishment. It only lasted a moment before the samurai recovered himself, but his stony expression could not now conceal the tensing of his jaw.

"Haiku," he said softly.

"What is that?" Nesco asked. "Poetry? It has quite a rhythm to it."

"Poetry of Ni-" Tojo caught himself. "My homerand. It is taught to some members of buke crass. Mastery of it can bring honor."

"Were you taught it, Tojo?" Nesco asked quietly, wondering- perhaps too late- if this question was dangerous.

The samurai glanced at the ranger, said nothing and then slowly settled his gaze on Sir Corvis' face.

Then he spoke.

"Gribness is common-
Surface of a sharrow pool,
Refrecting nothing."

The knight chewed his lip for a moment as he regarded Tojo.

Cygnus couldn't help but note that despite this unexpected common ground of Tojo and Corvis, the samurai's expression had, if anything, hardened further. Did Tojo resent this gaijin's use of a Nipponese art form? Or was it something else? And why had Tojo composed a poem about glibness?

Sir Corvis favored the samurai with a tight smile, then looked over towards a wall, his expression suggesting that he was seeing right through it to the cold, rainy evening outside.

"Deep forest is dark
Chill winds echo through hollows
Humans sleep at risk."

He cocked an eyebrow at Tojo, who did not hesitate in his reply as he looked over at the mess hall fireplace.

"Soothing rog fires
Crackring sticks against the frames
Wrapped up safe and warm."

Cygnus, Nesco and Zantac exchanged glances. Each could see the same realization mirrored in the other two's eyes.

This isn't just recitation. It's a contest.

A loud thunk and a groan drew their attention. Kiprien was doubled over in pain from a punishing blow to his midsection. Grimdegn looked over at his sister and smiled.

"Idiot and sword
Come together in practice
Need a creric now."

Sir Corvis acknowledged Tojo's latest with a raised eyebrow. The next verse shot from his lips.

"Your predestined fate -
When rash words precede sound thought
Cold blanket of dirt."

The samurai's violet eyes narrowed now into slits.

"Diamond pattern of shierd.

Coat of arms of honesty

Once berong to snake."

Corvis' dark eyes blazed, but then the knight gave a deep sigh and inclined his head towards Tojo.

"I am clearly but a poser. I acknowledge your superiority once again, Master Samurai. Please forgive your humble servant."

Tojo gave a barely-perceptible nod. All those present relaxed.

"I was recently blessed to be able to afford a divination," Sir Corvis was now resuming his earlier line of conversation as if the haiku duel had never happened. "It told me Agarth was in this area. Whatever this mercane's faults may be, he's a cunning merchant and appraiser, I'm sure. That tells me that whatever he's after is worth the effort of finding and retrieving it. Whether I'll wind up working for or against him I don't know yet, but I'm willing to put everything on the line to get a piece of it. Even my life."

The knight looked around at each of his dinner companions in turn.

"I'm sadder but wiser these days. I'll need help. That much I'm certain of, and more than just one person's aid this time. That Morden wizard had six allies around his table, and I just happen to count six of you. What do you say, good people? Will we work together, with an equal share for all?"

"There are more than six of us," Saxmund said. "Four more are still two days ride away."

"And our leader is among them," added Cygnus.

Saxmund scowled at the tall mage. "That's not what I-"

"In any case," Cygnus cut off the rogue while still addressing the knight. "Time is against us. Agarth probably reached Ironstead tonight. Tomorrow morning he's sure to begin acting on whatever information he's acquired."

"And we're still a day from Ironstead," Nesco offered, her face sour. "That gives him a big head start."

Sir Corvis seemed to consider.

"Then let us postpone this question. I ask only to accompany you when you leave tomorrow morning. The talk is here that no portion of the Forest Road is safe from orc ambush these days."

"We would be delighted to share your company, noble Sir Corvis!" Aelfbi Gemblossom said with a wide smile and an encompassing gesture.

We? You got a familiar in your pocket? Cygnus' sulkiness was caught by Zantac's eye. The red-robed wizard gave his peer a commiserating look and then shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

"Agreed, then." Cygnus rose to his feet, and the others followed, heeding the mage's unspoken signal that it was time to turn in.

As they were leaving the mess hall, Nesco leaned in close to Cygnus.

"I think Talat is staying at Ironstead. At least she was as of a week ago. She's in disguise; blonde hair and such. They call her Hilda, but I'm sure it's her."

Cygnus took a deep breath. What with everything that had happened tonight, he'd completely forgotten about Talat, but now the cold knot reformed in the magic-user's stomach.

"Makes sense. She'd not get a very warm reception if they knew she was Nodyath's consort- and a former priestess of Hextor to boot." He frowned. "Hilda. That's the pseudonym Talass chose for herself when we were in disguise ourselves in Suderham, wasn't it?"

Lady Cynewine nodded. "Talass told me Hilda was the name of a childhood friend of hers."

"Then she was probably Talat's friend, as well. You're right, Nesco. That's got to be her." Cygnus could feel the anger slowly building in him again as he thought of Talat; of Nodyath. Images flashed his mind's eye. Writhing on the ground in agony. His son, bruised and crying-

"Cygnus."

He looked over. Nesco had laid her hand on his shoulder.

"Remember your promise to Aslan."

The mage took a deep breath.

"I will, Nesco." He gave a short, humorless chuckle. "You know what the most ironic thing about all this is?"

The ranger shook her head.

"My counterpart, Kingus. When we first met him, he was brooding on thoughts of vengeance, too. His younger sister had been murdered."

Nesco nodded. "Saxmund told me."

Her green eyes were full of sadness- and caring.

"Don't forget how that turned out, Cygnus."

Cygnus couldn't sleep.

The mage turned his thoughts over and over, throwing them out into the near-total darkness.

He was laying on the top cot of a bunk bed in one Laurellinn's long houses. Several families shared each one. Almost two dozen people were sharing the cramped confines of this one. The barest glimmer of light came from the dark woods through a small windowpane; less than a candle's worth.

Cygnus listened to the steady patter of the rain on the cabin's roof, felt the bunk bed shift as Zantac tossed and turned on the cot beneath him. The Willip wizard's sleep might be fitful, Cygnus thought, but at least it was real.

The mage's brain felt like it was spinning around inside his skull. He'd had too much to drink, and too much to think about. Studying to replace spells was out of the question.

What was he doing here? In theory, he was doing all this for Thorin, but tonight his son seemed as far away as he had ever been. He began to wonder if he should have come here at all.

Cygnus heard the front door open. Slowly. Then he heard it close in the same manner.

The wizard frowned. Everyone who lived here, and their current guests were already inside. Furthermore, he heard no movement from any of the other bunks. Apparently, everyone was asleep but him.

He suddenly wished Tojo was here, but the samurai had chosen to sleep outside in a one-man tent. The he relaxed. This probably was Tojo, come to tell him something and reluctant to wake up anyone else. He knew how silent the samurai could be when he wished. With some difficulty, he rolled over on his right side so he could see the approach of his friend.

A monstrous face was staring up at him, only inches away.

A hairy hand shot up and clamped down over the wizard's mouth.

"Thygnuth!" a rough voice whispered. "Thygnuth! Pleathe don't thrcream! It'th only me- Laerteth!"

It took a moment to register. It was the half-orc youth. Although Cygnus was not proud to admit it, Laertes looked a lot uglier this close to him. The mage could see the grayish skin, the unruly hair, the jutting tusks. Even his breath was unpleasant; perilously close to foul, in fact.

Cygnus nodded to show his understanding and Laertes removed his hand.

"I'm thorry," the half-orc replied, looking down at the floor now and twisting his hands together. "I didn't mean to thcare you. I know how ugly I am- I juth wanted to talk to you alone. If I can."

Suddenly, Laertes looked and sounded a lot closer to Thorin- or to Tad- than anyone else. A burning shame rose in the mage's chest.

"Of course you can, Laertes. I'm sorry. You just startled me, that's all."

Laertes looked up at the wizard with an expression that indicated he knew that wasn't all it was, but his next words were on a completely different topic.

"You and your friendth- you're leaving for Ironthead in the morning, right? Going after Agarth?"

There wasn't any point in denying that. Half of Laurellinn probably knew it by now. Cygnus nodded silently.

Laertes hesitated, and then asked. "Can I come with you?"

Cygnus blinked in surprise.

"Why?"

"Well," Laertes said, shuffling his feet. The teenager looked embarrassed, but he also seemed to be trying to choose his words with care.

Words that would not highlight his dreaded lisp.

"The woman with red hair," he began. "When they were here in Goodmonth, at Ironthead, I thaw her. Her, the man, the half-elf and…"

"The other human woman?'

Silently, Laertes nodded.

"Why were you at Ironstead?"

"I go there a lot," Laertes replied. "Every tho often, they capture an orc near there. Thome of them don't know Common, or don't thpeak it very well. Like me."

He shrugged, wiped his eyes and continued. "I'd been helping them interrogate an orc. I don't remember exactly when, but thomhow the converthation got around to- Hilda."

"Hilda?" Cygnus repeated in astonishment. Below him, Zantac grunted and shifted again in his too-small cot.

"Hilda?" Cygnus whispered the name this time. "Are you sure?"

The half-orc nodded. "Yeth. The orc said hith tribe had been promithed much gold if they could kidnap her and bring her back alive to their lair."

Cygnus felt his throat go dry.

"Promised by whom?"

Laertes shook his head. "The orc didn't know hith name. Thaid he was a human, that wath it. He thaid the orcth called him Devil Chimeth."

Devil Chimes? thought Cygnus. What in Valhalla did that mean?

"According to orc, human told hith chief that Hilda wath a very bad woman."

The youth's brown-grey eyes abruptly looked in Cygnus' face.

"Hilda is heavy with child, you know."

He nodded. "I know."

"Orc thay human want to take Hilda away. Thaid her baby muth be taken from her when it ith born."

Cygnus closed his eyes. By the All-Father, he thought as his stomach tightened up still further into painful lumps. He could feel a cold sweat form on the palms of his hands and he wiped them off on his sheet.

Could this be Nodyath? And if it is, what happens if we run into him before Aslan's back with us?

"According to prithoner, orc chief not care about Hilda, but Devil Chimeth give him thome gold and tell him he get much more if they bring Hilda to him. Other thingth, too, like magic itemth."

Laertes looked down at the floor again, apparently finished.

Cygnus tried to think. A charm spell would certainly loosen this orc's tongue. "Do you think the Ironstead commander would let us speak to this orc prisoner, Laertes?"

Laertes hesitated before replying. "He dead by now. People here not like orcth."

The teenager's voice caught in his throat. "But you already thee that tonight."

There was silence in the cabin, except for a brief sniffling from the half-orc.

Cygnus tried to slow it all down. His mind, his breathing; everything was happening just too fast-

"Laertes," he suddenly found himself saying. "I would be very honored if you would accompany us to Ironstead tomorrow."

A wide smile came over the boy's face.

"Thank you, Thygnuth. Thank you."

He turned to leave, but Cygnus reached out and put a hand on Laertes' shoulder. The youth turned to look back at the mage.

"Laertes," Cygnus asked. "You still haven't told me. Exactly why do you want to go?"

The half-orc hesitated. "I think Hilda in great danger. Hope maybe you can help protect her."

Cygnus could never have imagined anything throwing his mind into even greater chaos than it already was, but this did.

Protect Talat? he wanted to scream at the boy. Do you know who this woman really is, Laertes? Do you know what she's done? Done to boys not much younger than yourself? Done to her own family? To my own counterpart? If you knew, you wouldn't want to protect her. In fact, you'd be helping the orcs to-

Cygnus heard the sound of muffled crying and closed his eyes, suddenly wishing that Laertes would go away, wishing he hadn't agreed to-

Then Cygnus felt the tears well up behind his closed eyelids.

Laertes wasn't crying. He was.

Everything seemed to drain away from the mage. Right then, Cygnus wanted to do nothing more than sleep. He didn't want to think or feel about anything anymore.

If Laertes had noticed Cygnus' tears, he said nothing. He seemed to be peering around the cabin, avoiding the wizard's gaze.

Cygnus took one more deep breath. He had just one more question and then he would everything go until morning, hoping to the very gods themselves that some of this would make sense under the morning light.

"Laertes," he asked. "Why do you want to protect Hilda? You don't even know her."

Laertes looked back up at him, and now tears were in the half-orc's eyes as well.

"Hilda wath very kind to me. We would thit and talk thometimeth. Thee know orc language. Not afraid to thpeak it with me tho I not have to hear mythelf lithp."

He shrugged helplessly.

"I juth think- I think Hilda not a bad woman. I think- think thee may be a very good perthon after all."

Sleep still wouldn't come to Cygnus, even after Laertes had crept back out of the cabin. The wizard knew now he wasn't going to get any sleep at all tonight and prayed that he'd be able to make it up on the two-day journey to Ironstead. Prayed that the orcs or whatever fell forces laired in the nearby forest would leave them alone just this once.

Prayed that, when the time came, he would know whom to trust.

Who could he trust? Sir Corvis? Laertes? Hilda?

Didn't these people know how much trusting the wrong person could hurt you?

Cygnus felt his heart pound like a hammer in his chest as he waited for the first rays of morning light.

And the very worst thing about the idea of trust these days, he thought to himself with a sickening lurch that made him want to vomit…

The very worst thing of all was that Cygnus didn't even know if he could trust himself.