They arose early in the morning again and continued northeast. They didn't have far to go, and by the early afternoon the road broadened, showing signs of wheel tracks and hoof prints. Strangely, they saw nothing pass by. Though this was an important route through the Cloud Peaks towards Crimmor and Athkatla, it was now completely silent.
On the final push to Imnesvale, the road ran past several empty fields. At around this time, these fields ought to have had some trace of last year's harvest: broken stems and brown tilled soil ready for seeding. Instead, they were hard and grey. The forest surrounding them also bore scars: bare, empty tree trunks, stripped soil, blackened boles upon the ground. Nothing besides themselves moved or made a sound. But here and there, small traces of green were springing from the ground, encouraged by the winter's passing.
A massive, charcoaled tree trunk blocked the road, far beyond the two companies' ability to move. They strayed off the road into the fields for a moment; the soil barely yielded beneath their feet. Sir Grady stopped his horse, dismounted, and looked about him, a look of dismay on his solemn face. "The crops were burned here in the fall of last year," he said. "We heard no report of this."
Lidia took in the sight around her. If an invading army wanted to cripple eastern Amn ahead of an invasion, denying Imnesvale food would do the trick, as would driving off the farmers. Half a mile away, a group of charred wooden beams were carelessly strewn, suggesting that these once were simple, wood-frame homes.
The two companies returned to the road and left the downed tree behind, continuing forward. For the next mile, the land bore the scars of fire, with no sign of relenting. But when the road branched around another group of burned homes and bare gardens, they discovered something that the surrounding calamity had left untouched.
To their right, the road ran towards a distant stone and mortar house, a stout watchtower flanked by two wings. It was surrounded by a stand of tall mountain elms, which were healthy, strong, and showing traces of green on their branches. When the trees' leaves fully grew, it would be enough to hide the house from the road altogether.
Lidia's knowledge of armies and full-scale warfare was restricted to what she'd read in books; she'd been secluded within the stone walls and magical protective fields in Candlekeep and then had mostly conducted her business independently. But the sight of the house still struck her as unusual. During times of war, goblins, kobolds and ogres made little distinction between human social classes. Why Sythillis's army would burn the fields and leave the manor house alone, she didn't know.
Before long, they had reached their destination. Imnesvale lay between two imposing cliffs, which had been carved by a network of small streams that watered the land. The road the two companies had taken was the only one to pass through here; a dozen homes, carefully built from roughly hewn timbers and a jumble of rocks, flanked this road on each side. These places gave a stalwart impression, as though they had been hewn from the bones of the earth, always had been there, and always would be. Cast off to one side of the village, however, was a hastily assembled collection of wooden shacks.
In better times, Imnesvale had always been ready to welcome travelers from the Cloud Peaks. The route through the town was not as well-trod or as well-known as the one that led directly south from Nashkel to Crimmor; it was mostly used by lightly burdened caravans and travelers who wished to skirt the Peaks and go straight to Athkatla. Now there was a listlessness about the place, as though it was awaiting some oncoming doom. Scouts were always kept posted at each end of the road, ready to accost anyone coming through. Soldiers in the village square were a regular sight. And more and more, the people were obliged to feed them, which was of course much less profitable than sending the crops west. The villagers here usually kept to themselves, hosted strangers who made no trouble, and measured their lives by the seasons and the trade traffic. But a force stood ready to drain its life.
The two companies made camp outside, not far from the collection of shacks. After they had settled in, Yoshimo announced that he wished to explore their surroundings, and for the most part the others were eager to join him.
Lidia decided against it. She'd taken the second or third watches during the past several nights, mostly because her sleep had kept breaking anyway. And that was without the long days of travel behind her and the sun warming as the day waned.
So as the others prepared to leave, she wrapped a blanket around her and curled up in her tent, not even bothering with her bedroll.
She dozed for some time, but awakened when she heard voices outside. Unfortunately, she'd had too much practice being roused by ambushes.
She recognized Sir Grady's voice, and relaxed again. She tried to drift back off to sleep, but found herself listening to his talk - he was discussing how much strength the Order could muster here before the enemy attacked.
"And Garren Windspear will be home soon," he said. "Our scout and runner are there keeping watch over his daughter. As soon as they are relieved of duty, they will arrive here, likely within the next day or two."
"That's hardly the reinforcements we'd hoped for," said Sir Shamus. "The Sythillisians have been sending out more than mere scouts this way."
"A good thing, then, we have the strength of right upon our side," said another voice. Lidia recognized it as belonging to Elotte.
"Perhaps," Sir Shamus said, "Sir Grady, our need is great, but can we truly trust the Bhaalspawn?"
The older knight replied, "My judgment on the matter has not changed, and the High Hall will countenance it. But also I've alerted Nashkel, Trademeet, and Crimmor, lest things go awry."
Lidia involuntarily stiffened, hands clenching her blanket, before she caught and chided herself. She stopped listening and let go of the conversation's thread, for she'd already overheard more than she should. She stared up at the tent's cream-colored linen, willing herself to let go of any thoughts that might hinder her rest. It was childish to think that all would be forgiven or forgotten, of course. And she had a chance to prove she was something other than a monster; it was far more than what she normally got.
Still, her last thoughts before she again drifted off to sleep were ones of loss and quiet regret.