Aftermath of the Red Death Plot

It was a cold, wet night after the battle in the forest clearing. Drake and Denik helped the caravan guards move the bodies of the Darikazi sailors and the diseased acolyte off the road at the far end of the clearing, while Vulk and Mariala tended to the wounded and aided in the set up of a secure camp. A cold rain began before the evening meal was ready, and continued on and off throughout the night.

They kept a watch, of course, and the caravan master, Kenis Alvar, insisted that two people stand each watch – one from his own guard and one from the group. Their actions had spoken loudly, to be sure, but he was a cautious man who hadn’t arrived at his station in life by being too trusting… and Captain Bokelan, despite his wounds, needed close watching.

After a cold breakfast in a misty dawn the enlarged caravan set out for Kar Devok, the prisoner slumped onto the back of one of the pack mules. Three hours saw them to the central square of Devoktown, just as the rain let up and the winter sun began to break through the clouds. While the caravan master’s men set about arranging his goods, the man himself accompanied the group, and the prisoner, to the castle itself.

Kar Devok stood on a small island in Kelin Bay, at the mouth of the minor River Thes, accessible by land only across a fortified bridge. The party crossed from the shore to the Middle Island, where a gatehouse blocked the entrance to the shorter section of bridge that spanned the water to the island castle itself. When the guards demanded their business, both Vulk and the caravan master stepped forward, Captain Bokelan supported between them, and demanded the Earl’s justice for “this pirate captain of Darikaz.”

Bokelan was quickly hustled off to the castle’s dungeon by two men-at-arms, while his captors were escorted into the castle proper to await the Earl’s pleasure. The wait was short, as the Earl’s son, Ser Ronalt Hanorn, soon summoned them into a small audience room to hear the whole story. His father, he explained, left the day-to-day running of the earldom to him, but would be told of all that had transpired.

Ser Ronalt’s face darkened quickly as he heard the story of the ambush in the forest unfold, and cast suspicous looks at the four “turncoats.” Vulk quickly explained how they had come to be on the ship, and as proof that they had been acting under orders from Ser Ronalt’s own uncle, Ser Owain, produced the bronze token his lordship had once given him. This seemed to calm Ser Ronalt down considerably, and when the tale was fully told he stood to thank them all for their service to the Realm. As they were ushered out, and told not to leave town just yet, he began issuing orders to his secretary to have two ships sent in immediate pursuit of the Sea Hag.

“Tyvos knows, she should be easy enough to overtake,” he laughed, “with no more than two men crewing her!” He also ordered patrols into the countryside to seek out any other Darikazi conspirators or spies, and sent word to the temple of Cael to alert the soldiers of the Order of the Bronze Shield.

Once they were back in town Master Alvar bid the others farewell, thanking them again for their aid in the ambush (and the gold taken from the pirate captain) and heading for his regular lodging in town, his mother’s home. At a question from Mariala he turned and suggested the Inn of the Broken Shield as a fine establishment, clean and with decent food.

Denik seemed to have attached himself to the group, and when they took rooms at the inn so to did he. Vulk looked more than a little askance at this, and wasn’t shy about sharing his distaste with his companions.

“I don’t trust the Darikazi bastard,” he said to the others as they entered the room he and Drake were to share. “He may seem innocent in all this, but for all we know he’s still a spy… just a very clever and skilled one. And in any case, no good has ever come from any Darikazi scum, peasant or lord!”

“Vulk,” sighed Mariala, “you’re being unreasonable. He was ‘pressed the same as us, and he fought well at the ambush – and on our side, once he saw what we were doing. I sense no evil intent in him, although I’ll admit he seems to have secrets…”

“And who doesn’t,” laughed Drake, dropping his pack on the bed nearest the window. “He seems a decent enough fellow to me Vulk.”

Vulk just shook his head darkly and turned away to rummage through his own pack for a change of clothes. Mariala sighed again and departed for her own room just down the hall. Denik’s room was a small one on the same floor, near the stairs, so he had not accompanied them down the hall.

The rest of the day, and all of the next, passed quietly for the group. Drake found sparing partners in several of the caravan guards, especially Obras Arven, while both Vulk and Mariala devoted their time to catching up on studying and meditating, activities sharply curtailed in recent days. Denik disappeared for much of the day, but joined the group for dinner in the common room, and seemed more talkative… though his voice still grated a bit.

The next day the weather turned cold and wet again, but was brightened for the companions by the arrival, on the late morning tide, of the Earl’s two ships, with the Sea Hag between them. They arrived on the docks in time to see the one-eyed pilot and crazed bosun being lead off in irons to join their captain in the dungeons of Kar Devok. Mariala pointed out the cantor of Mara, the Immortal Healer, aboard the captured ship swinging a censor of burning incense and chanting.

“To cleanse the ship of any remaining taint of plague, no doubt,” Vulk commented. “I’m surprised they even brought it into harbor, actually.”

“Perhaps they took the cantor with them, and she’s been performing the cleansing rites all the way back,” Mariala suggested. “Although I suppose just burning it at sea might have been easier…”

“No, it seemed a solid ship,” Drake replied. “No sense wasting a valuable prize when it can be saved with just a little extra effort; and I’m sure the Earl will appreciate the addition to his little fleet.”

Word came to them that evening that their presence would be required next morning at the Earl’s Court, where the Darikazi pirates and raiders would be tried. It was Ser Dalan Eristern, aide-de-camp to Ser Owain, who delivered the news as they sat down to the evening meal.

“I have come from Virzon, at the request of Ser Owain, to debrief you on your mission for him to Darikaz, “ he told them as he joined them at table.

“He certainly has his methods,” was all he would say, with a thin smile, in response to questions about how he knew about their return so quickly. He then had the story of their adventure in Izmirk and on the high seas out of them, listening intently and asking only a few questions.

“I meet with the Earl later tonight,” he told them as he rose to leave. “Be prepared to tell your story again tomorrow under his questioning.”

The trial took place in the Great Hall of Kar Devok, and the Earl of Devok himself presided. Older and more frail than his brother Owain, his mind was nonetheless sharp and incisive, as evidenced by his penetrating questioning of each witness to the events of the past tenday. Vulk also noted that he carefully avoided any mention, in this public venue, of he and his companions acting as agents for his brother.

The testimony lasted into the early afternoon, and when it was done the Earl took little time in pronouncing his judgement. Bokelan, “erstwhile captain of the Darikazi vessel Sea Hag,” was found guilty of espionage and attempted murder, and sentenced to be “hanged by the neck until he is dead, then drawn and quartered, his remains to be cast into the sea.”

His crewmen were found innocent of their captain’s crimes, having followed orders they were bound to obey and without prior knowledge of the diseased nature of their passenger. But they were ordered to be quit of the borders of Arushal within a tenday under penalty of imprisonment.

The companions, including Denik (much to Vulk’s annoyance), attended the hanging of “Blood-eagle” Bokelan the next day at dawn. As the sun rose over the eastern hills into a clear, cold winter sky, the Darikazi captain was led to the gibbet in Victory Square, cursing and swearing the whole way. His almost unintelligible tirade was only ended when his heels finally danced on the air at the end of a sudden drop.

As the sombre group left the square to return to their rooms they met Ser Dalan, who informed them that the Sea Hag had been formally seized by the Earl, and that Sharm Norel, her former pilot, and Krydel Storex, the crazed bosun, had been forced to watch the execution before being shown the road west.

The next several days were spent in study, meditation, and practice at arms as the group considered what to do next. Mariala met a fellow T’ara Kul, a man of middle years named Kiril Vetaris, while researching at the Guild of Arcane Lore. He was impressed by her during their chat, and eventually offered to tutor her and let her use his private library. His secluded home, in the woods on the other side of the river from town, was the perfect place to delve into the deeper mysteries, and Mariala began to spend most days there. She soon became convinced that he might be a Gray Mage, the mightiest of the T’ara Kul, though he remained reticent on the point…

The friends were surprised, near the end of the tenday, to find Ser Dalan once again joining them for dinner, this time in a private room of the inn. Vulk had hoped this might mean Denik would be excluded, but Ser Dalan seemed perfectly happy to have the damn Darikazi interloper there…

“ I have good news for you all,” Ser Dalan announced, once the food had been laid out. “As a reward for your service to Arushal, Ser Owain has urged his brother the Earl to bestow upon you three a great gift.” He paused for dramatic effect, and seemed a little disappointed that no one was inclined to beg him to go on.

“You three are to receive,” he said finally,” in joint ownership, the former Darikazi ship known as the Sea Hag, to use as you see fit.” He sat back with a self-satisfied smile. The companions just stared at him blankly for a moment, then looked at one another.

“By the fiery balls of Agara, what are we supposed to do with a ship,” Drake finally blurted out.

“A plague ship at that,” added Mariala, looking a bit pale.

“A Darikazi plague ship,” Vulk said flatly.

Ser Dalan looked more than a little annoyed at their apparent ingratitude, apparently because it had really been his idea to gift the group with the prize ship. He threw a small bag onto the table, a bag that jingled loudly and interestingly.

“His Grace also includes this bag of coin to help defray the costs of refitting the vessel,” he said coolly, rising to leave. “That is to be divided amongst the four of you, which is why I invited young… Denik… to join us.”

With that he rose and took his leave of them without another word.

As Drake upended the bag onto the table and began to count the gold that poured out, Denik took a sip of his wine and addressed the group.

“I suppose this is as good a time as any,” he began in his deep, rasping and somehow unnerving voice. “I’ve been meaning to tell you all for awhile now… you see, my name isn’t really Denik…”

Vulk’s ears perked up at this and he somehow managed to glower at “Denik” and glare triumphantly at his friends as the same time. Mariala rolled her eyes and Drake just ignored him.

“My name is actually Devrik,” the young man went on. “Devrik Askalan. I’m not really a peasant from Darikaz – that just seemed a prudent thing to tell our captors. I’m a mercenary fighter, or at least I was most recently, and I’m originally from the Republic.” He paused before adding, “And I’m a bastard, as well, of Clan Nordaka, if that means anything to you. It’s a noble clan, and proud…” He looked around a bit defiantly at his companions and waited for a response.

“Well, I’m a bastard myself,” Mariala said after a moment, smiling. “I don’t think you’ll find anyone here cares about that, one way or the other. Nice to formally meet you Devrik!.”

As she held out her hand she made one of the seven secret signs of the T’ara Kul, indicating she was a Kolori herself, and asking about his own status. He took her hand, grinning in relief, but didn’t respond to the signal. Did he not see it, she wondered, or is he not T’ara Kul? It was only a feeling, of course… and he did seem rather… physical… for an arcanist…

Drake slapped Devrik on his very solidly muscled back and poured another round of drinks. “Thank the Lady you’re not really Darikazi! Maybe now Vulk will get the stick out of his ass and start acting like you’re actually in the room.” He laughed at Vulk’s expression and tossed back his drink.

“Yes, well, this does put a different light on things,” Vulk mumbled through an embarrassed cough. “I hope I haven’t been too… rude… to you Den- er, Devrik… I have a rather hard time dealing with Darikazi, you see..” He trailed off and knocked back his own drink.

“Not a problem, Vulk,” Devrik shrugged. “Drake did explain about your family’s history with the Darikazi and Korönians during Zarik’s War… I can understand your feelings, growing up so close to the border.” He decided not to mention the fact that his father was a follower of Korön. It has nothing to do with me in any case, he thought, as I’m a proper Eldarian myself.

After this things with his new friends quickly grew better, as they learned more about each other and became friends in truth. Devrik and Drake quickly found they had much in common. And Mariala and Devrik found they both shared a powerful interest in divination and foretelling, which reinforced her intuition that he was T’ara Kul. Things with Vulk remained a little awkward, until he joined the training/sparring sessions Devrik set up for Drake, which warmed up everyone nicely.

Over the next tenday the group settled into a routine of sorts – Vulk was the most heavily involved in the repair, refitting and re-crewing of their prize ship, Mariala spent most days with her new mentor, studying deeply, Drake explored the town and worked on outfitting himself with clever devices and objects, and Devrik went a little giddy with more money to spend than he’d ever had in his life.

His first action, once things had settled down, had been to send a message, and an usurers note for 100 silver pennies, to the captain of his mercenary company to hold his possessions (especially his saddle bags, which contained his priceless grimoire) until they should meet up again in the coming months. He trusted Colith absolutely, his only concern being that the letter should find the company if they’d started on a new contract…

Over the next tenday, between training with Drake and Vulk and full-out sparring with several of the caravan guards, Devrik methodically went about outfitting himself as he’d never been able to do before. His biggest purchases were a hauberk of good scale and a finely made battlesword – he got a sense that the young weaponcrafter might be a Tykizu mage, but true or not, his work was very fine.

Devrik also spend some time alone with Mariala, when she was free from her studies, to discuss arcane matters best kept from the others. He was still a bit shy about telling his own story, and downplayed his esoteric skills , but he did finally return her secret signs of the T’ara Kul. They were both pleased to explore their shared interested in divination and foretelling. When they each admitted to a strong desire to possess a tarot deck, they decided to set about making it happen.

The day after they found and acquired their complementary decks (Mariala’s green and black, Devrik’s blue and black, both ornamented in beautiful matching Torel patterns of interlocking snakes and geometric shapes) they were having breakfast in the common room of the inn, examining them in the morning light, when a short, thin man in good, if travel stained, clothes approached their table.

“I’m so sorry to intrude madame, ser,” he began, “but I wonder if you might spare me a moment of your time? I couldn’t help but notice the beautiful decks of cards, and wonder if you, either of you, is skilled in the reading of them?” He smiled ingratiatingly and plucked nervously at his vest cloak.

“I’m afraid these are merely curios,” Mariala said quickly, before Devrik could tell the poor man to bugger off… he was clearly rather nervous and she wanted no hostility or fuss when she disappointed whatever request he was obviously going to make. “We’d hardly know where to begin, trying to do an actual reading. Why do you ask?”

“It’s my brother, you see,” the little man said, seating himself at the table and actually wringing his hands. “He’s gone missing this past month and more, and I’ve travelled all the way from Delfarin seeking him. But the trail grows cold here in Devok, and I had hoped, perhaps, there might be someone who could divine his location for me with, er, more… esoteric means… I­–”

“As the lady said,” Devrik interrupted, “we are not practitioners of any arcane arts – we just dabble in curious and beautiful bits of arcana.” His expression didn’t invite continuation of the conversation, but the little fellow seemed not to sense it, though he started a bit at Devrik’s harsh harmonics.

“Oh, excuse me, how rude… my name is Fornat Sanza. I’m a dealer in fine luxuries, especially rugs and perfumes. I would be more than able to pay–”

“Then I’m sure that someone at the Guild of Arcane Lore would be more than happy to take your money,” Devrik snapped. “As we said, we are unable to help you.”

“But good luck finding your brother,” Mariala added, patting Master Sanza on the arm. “I’m sure they can help you at the Guildhall.”

The odd, nervous man finally seemed to take the hint, and with much apologizing and head bobbing, he took his leave. With bemused shrugs Mariala and Devrik tucked away their decks and returned to their meal.

Vulk spent the balance of his days arranging for the needs of the group’s new “prize,” and it left him less time than he’d have liked for his own meditations and study, especially once he began training with Devrik and Drake. And Devrik’s polite refusal to buy into co-ownership of the Sea Hag (they really needed to find a new name) complicated the finances a bit.

Fortunately, he and his friends were in good mettle with the townsfolk, thanks to the garbled and increasingly grandiose tales of their heroic rescue of the region from the Red Death. The local shipwright, Davil Synolkantar, was a large, taciturn man with a pockmarked face and graying hair. When he learned who Vulk was, on their first meeting to discuss repairs and refitting, he broke into a great grin (apparently shocking his apprentices, by their looks), and pumped Vulk’s hand vigorously.

“As you might guess from my face,” he said, his smile fading, “ I once had an encounter with the Red Death. It was when I was a lad, 12 years old… an outbreak in our small mountain town. It took my whole family, and left me marked.

“I hope never to see such a thing again, especially now that I have a wife and children of my own. So to those who prevented this terrible crime, I offer my best services at cost for materials and labour – I’ll take no profit myself, my friend! Now let us see this former ship of the Darikazi…”

In the end they agreed to a very fair price, but still one that ate up a great deal of the purse of gold the Earl had gifted them. And after meeting with Kenis Alvar, the mercantyler whose caravan they had attacked and then saved, he saw the rest of it, and more, flying away on the wind.

“It’s no use you trying to run that ship on your own, Vulk,” Kenis said as they took the mid-day meal in the common room of the Mercantyler’s Guildhall. “Take my advice, hire a competent captain and let him crew and provision the ship. In fact, with the right man you can even leave the finding of cargoes and trade in his hands.”

“I take it you have someone in mind, Kenis,” Vulk commented dryly. He liked the fellow, but knew him to be a sharp man of business, and experienced. Indeed, his mother, Helain Alvar, was the Mercantyler’s Guild Master in Devok and her sons had learned the trade at her knee.

“Indeed,” Kenis smiled back. “And I see an advantage to both parties in this… and possibly to myself.

“Barin Levtor is an experienced man, of middle years but still hale and vigorous. He made money for many a ship owner, and enough for himself to buy his own ship. He is a member of my guild as well as the Seaman’s Guild, so he was able to buy and sell his own cargoes, and was on his way to becoming quite rich.

“Unfortunately, last year his ship was set upon by Darikazi pirates. He and his crew fought valiantly, and he was grievously wounded, but to no avail – his cargo was taken and his ship sunk. The pirates were impressed by his mettle, however, and agreed to ransom him, and he insisted on ransoming his surviving men as well.”

“A tragic tale, but you’re not inspiring confidence,” Vulk said, ripping a leg off the capon. “Has no one hired him again since this unfortunate encounter?”

“No, it’s been hard for him to find a berth again… not due to the loss of the ship (which, after all, could happen to anyone… Kasira is fickle that way), but rather because of the loss of his right arm, from infection in his wounds.

“He had little left after the loss of ship and cargo and the paying of the ransoms, so financing his own business again was impossible. And so far none of the sea-going merchants here have been able (or maybe willing) to provide him a command.

“But he remains a good mariner and trader, and his crews tend to be fiercely loyal to him, knowing his history. And I can vouch for his absolute honesty and integrity – if I was in the sea trade I’d hire him myself.”

Vulk considered this carefully. He and Mariala both felt that Kenis was an honest, if sharp, man and it was unlikely they were going to get a more trustworthy recommendation elsewhere in town.

“Well, if you feel that strongly,” he finally said, “then I should certainly meet the gentleman. Let’s see how we feel about each other, and then perhaps we can come to an arrangement.”

In the end they did, indeed, come to an agreement. Vulk was impressed with both the one-armed man’s gravity and the hint of humor that lurked in his gray eyes. He agreed to captain the ship, help hire a crew and, on this first voyage, help find a cargo. He would be happy to deal with everything himself, in future, but felt that the owner ashore should be involved in the initial preparations. He also agreed to work for a small stipend and shares in the profits.

Kenis also proved very useful in finding cargo lots for their first run, which Captain Levtor and he both agreed should be to Ralux, on the southern shore of the Sea of Ukalus. He himself invested 20% in the venture, while Vulk, Mariala and Drake were able to pony up 10% each. With a prayer to Kasira, Vulk plunged in and borrowed the last 3,760 silver pennies from a local usurer, at a mere 20% per tenday. Captain Levtor was certain he’d be back in just two tendays – certainly no more than three.

Hiring the crew was an experience Vulk hoped never to repeat. Levtor insisted he be at the table in the low dock-side tavern where he’d let it be known he would interview prospective crewmen. Vulk had imagined they’d simply go to the Seaman’s Guildhall, but the captain assured him it was a worse dive, with a shadier clientele, than the Safe Harbour, a reputation that questioning others about town soon confirmed.

The very first person to present himself for consideration as a young physician, looking for experience treating the ills and injuries of seagoing men. The captain snapped him up without hesitation, saying it would be a plus for other crewmen to know they already had a doctor aboard. For the next five days they spent their mornings at the tavern, interviewing and debating the merits of a scurvy bunch of seadogs, untrained boys and a few good men. Between the brawls and general mayhem of a dockside tavern, Captain Levtor assembled a crew he assured Vulk would work out just fine. Vulk was just glad he wasn’t going to sea with them, at least not on this voyage.

At the ceremony on the 9th at the shipyard, to re-dedicate and rename the old Sea Hag, the entire crew was gathered and bought a round of grog. Mariala dedicated the Fortune’s Favor by smashing a bottle of very expensive wine over her prow (the ship’s, not Mariala’s), and the shipwright unfurled the sails to reveal the surprise he had arranged with his bonded sailmaker – they had been dyed in six broad vertical bands of alternating purple and yellow, in honor of the Immortal Kasira, Lady of Luck and Chance.

Drake noticed one sailor in particular, a tall, scrawny fellow, who quickly became very drunk. All the men were a bit merry, but this Brin seemed to take it to a whole new level.

“Oh yes, we were scrapping the bottom of the barrel when we got to him,” Vulk said when Drake pointed him out. “I was all for skipping him, but Captain Levtor says he knows him of old, and at sea he’s a competent enough sailor.”

Drake shrugged and went back to fiddling with the lock picks in his pocket, practicing his blind technique while sipping his wine (he’d tried the grog and just about gagged on the stuff). He’d managed to secure the lock picks from a pair of scrawny street kids, Cris and Dani, several days earlier The boys had also been helpful in showing him around the seedier side of town, and didn’t ask why he’d wanted picks. In return he didn’t ask where they’d got such a fine set, which was well worth the silver he’d paid for it.

With things coming together nicely with the ship, and her own studies going so well, Mariala decided to rent one of the meeting rooms in the Mercantyler’s Guildhall for a private party for her friends to celebrate the double full moons that would grace the night sky on the 12th. She planned the menu, and even visited the local food stalls and farmer’s market to make sure the kitchen got only the best.

At the butcher’s, with Devrik along for the heavy lifting, she selected a prime haunch of beef, eight plump pork chops, and several capons, among other delicacies. Devrik charmed the butcher’s 10 year old son with sleight of hand (something he can do with minimal speech), while Mariala was equally charmed herself by the 4 year old daughter, Mirala. The little girl was delighted that their names were so similar… she gave her a copper for a sweet, “if mommy says it’s OK.”

The party the next night was a wonderful treat for everyone. Aside from the four companions there was Captain Levtor, who enthralled them all with stories of his years at sea, Kiril Vetaris, who told amusing stories of local lore, and Kenis Alvar and his mother Helain, the Guildmisstress, both of whom told stories of adventure and danger on the road. The food was excellent and the drink flowed, although Devrik disappeared sometime after the sweets but before the port.

“Well Brother Vulk,” Captain Levtor sighed, stretching his legs toward the fire and sipping his port, “it seems you might have been right about seaman Brin after all.”

Vulk raised an inquiring eyebrow towards his companion, as the others chatted quietly in various corners of the room.

“It seems he hasn’t been seen for two days,” the captain went on. “Since the evening of the re-naming ceremony, in fact. I’ve had to hire an extra hand for stevedoring these past two days, but we should fare well enough at sea if he doesn’t show by the 16th.

“Several of the men say he was staggering along the docks that night, and are evenly divided between those who believe he fell into the harbour and drowned, and those who believe the Rigath’mu got him.”

Vulk smiled at the name of the Downdragger, the sea monster alleged to have made these waters its home since Men first settled here. He’d been thrilled by tales of the Rigath’mu when he’d been a child, but took a more skeptical view these days.

“Well, I hope it’s neither of those things,” he replied, “and that he’ll show up hung over and ready to sail before the tide turns on the 16th.”

The next day, while Vulk finalized the last lots for the Fortune’s Favor, Drake lounged in the pleasant morning sun in front of the inn. You could tell that spring was just a few days away, and he was looking forward to the trip to the country for the High Holy Day. It was nice of Vulk’s father and aunt to invite them all to Elidar Manor for the Saridás feast.

As he drowsed, contemplating fresh young farm folk and the rising sap of spring, he was suddenly yanked awake by a kick to his crossed feet.

“It’s your fault!” Cris, the young street tough almost cried. “We stole those lock picks for you, and now they’ve taken Dani!” He did his best to loom over Drake, but didn’t really have the build, height or presence for it.

At the mention of the lock picks Drake was instantly awake, looking around to be sure no one was within earshot. He quickly stood up and grabbed Cris by the arm and dragged him around the corner of the building.

“OK, whatever’s wrong it would be best for everyone it you kept your voice down. I’d hate have to call you a liar in front of the Watch, with this wild accusation.”

“But they’ve taken Dani,” the youth said again. “The damn Zalik-mal, there always hassling us, trying to get us to join or get out of town. Now they’ve taken Dani and I’m afraid they’ll kill him… he’s my best friend.”

The boy was actually crying now, to the mutual embarrassment of them both. Drake awkwardly patted him on the shoulder.

“Did you see them take him?” he asked.

“No,” Cris said, getting himself under control again. “But I know it was them, we stole the picks from one of ‘em, they must’a found out was us. But no one believes me and no one cares anyways!”

With that the ragged youth whirled away and dashed off down the alley beside the inn. Drake watched him go and wondered what, if anything, he could be expected to do about this. They were obnoxious little would-be criminals, but for all that, they were young and he’d sort of liked them. He sighed and went into the inn to find some breakfast.

The next night, as Devrik led he and Vulk in nighttime fighting exercises in the moonlit expanse of the Alean cemetery south of town, Drake brought up the issue of the missing street kid with his companions, who agreed the boy had probably just had enough and run away. Drake thought Cris might have followed him there, having seen a shadowy figure pacing him; that same figure had been watching them for awhile now. But when Devrik had called out to him, the figure had slipped away towards the beach, giving them a better look – probably a male, but older and larger than Cris. Odd, but no harm done, they all agreed.

The next day the group left mid-morning for the leisurely ride to Elidar Manor. It was another pleasant near-spring day, and everyone was pleased to get out of town for a bit. Devrik rented a horse for the trip from the ostler next to their inn, but hoped to return with one of his own, if Vulk’s promises about his uncle’s horseflesh proved true.

They arrived not long after noon, to the excitement and bustle of a large extended family preparing for a major holiday. Everyone seemed glad to see Vulk, and pleased to meet his friends who had been so brave in helping him stop the dark Korönian plot to kill them all.

Devrik’s voice rather frightened some of the younger children, and fascinated the older ones, but they soon grew used to him and by the time came for bed they were using him as a climbing tree and general rallying point.

Saridás dawned gray and misty, but by late morning the sun had burned away the clouds and a sweet breeze brought the smell of new life beginning to stir to the outdoor feast. The eating, drinking and dancing went on all day, interspersed with religious and secular rituals to ensure a fertile and fruitful year to come. And fertility rites of a different sort continued well into the night, at least for some…

The next morning the group bid a reluctant good-bye to Clan Elida, and headed back to Devok. Devrik was riding his new Azirdad warhorse, Immelen, and leading the mare he’d rented behind – a man very satisfied with his new steed. He’d have to find suitable tack and saddle for this fine beast once back in town…

And when they arrived in town he did just that, while the others headed for the docks and the “maiden” sailing of the Fortune’s Favor, and their financial futures. Vulk made a speech, the Captain made a shorter one, and then the tide was changing, the ropes were cast off, and the sail billowed into the wind as the small group on the dock cheered and waved.

“Kasira and Tyvos see them safe back here in two tendays,” Vulk murmured under his breath as they turned away to make their way back to the Inn of the Cloven Shield.