The morning after the disastrous feast at Zebarin Keep, and the resulting discovery of the Zalik-mal drug cache, was a hectic one. Both Erol and Vulk were still a bit singed from the encounter with the trapped lantern, but no more. However, despite Vulk’s best ministrations Devrik remained badly wounded, in pain and unfit for any serious duty. It fell to Drake and Erol, under the command of Ser Kovar, to catalogue and secure the contraband, while Vulk and Mariala assisted in the interrogation of the surviving Zalik-mal.

While the surviving criminal did give up several of her local accomplices, some (but not all) of whom were seized before they could flee, none could say who was responsible for the overall operation. It seemed that only Joet, Captain Kovar’s double-dealing informant, was privy to that information. He led the Zebarin cell, receiving his orders when he would ride out of town for two days, passing on instructions as required. Around the first of each month he would load up a pack horse with drugs and, under his cover as a simple tinkerer, head south, returning after five or six days.

None of his henchpeople knew where he went or who he received orders from, although one fellow claimed to have followed him on one of his two-day excursions. He swore that he witnessed a meeting between Joet and two shadowy men in a ruined farm on the outskirts of Dinmel, a village west of Dür Keep. He feared to get too close, and could give no certain description of the men, save that one was large, with muscle or fat he couldn’t say, and the other smaller and thin.

The volume of illicit substances, both herbal and prepared, that Drake and Erol helped to secure was rather shocking. If this amount of drugs were being shipped out each month, half the kingdom could be supplied for a year. In fact, this was a somewhat oversized lot, as they learned from the interrogators over diner that night. It seems the usual routine was interrupted a little over a tenday ago, when Joet suddenly had them drop everything and begin to prepare the “worried woreen.” He himself had delivered it to the keep the afternoon before.

By evening it was known that the Constable of Zebarin would survive the poisoning attempt, news which Ser Andro received with what might charitably be called cool indifference. Other’s would also survive, including Nursemaid Hila, but four members of the entourage and two of the keep’s residents were not so lucky. Services would be held in the morning, before the cavalcade departed on the next leg of the Progress, which the Earl was adamant would not be delayed by this outrage…

Ser Petral pulled aside Vulk and Mariala after the subdued evening meal (no woreen was served, or indeed any alcohol but beer) to report that his traveling pharmacy had been broken into last night, no doubt after he had come down to the feast, and all his medicines and herbs had been stolen.

“I’m certain that it was all part of the poisoning plot,” he said grimly. “To leave me without any possible antidote. Fortunately I always carry certain remedies and useful potions on my person, and so was able, with Ser Vulk’s aid, to save the Constable.

“Equally luckily, my current store of torazium is kept in Lady Lania’s carriage, so there is no danger to her at present. But I now have no ingredients to make more, a lack that must be addressed soon.”

After assurances from the friends that they would assist him as they could, he departed distractedly to go and check on his primary patient, before making his last evening rounds of the recovering poisoning victims.

Exhausted as they were, the companions, joined by Alakor, gathered in Devrik’s tent to discuss the progress of their goals and compare notes on the day’s activities. Devrik had slept much of the day, but he seemed no less tired then his friends, and Raven sat anxiously at his side, with a cool cloth for his forehead.

Vulk removed the bandages from his face, and frowned at what he saw.

“I don’t like the look of that eye Devrik,” he said, probing the wound.

Devrik flinched and growled, but said nothing. He was feverish and sweating, and seemed restless. Vulk and Drake exchanged looks and Drake stuck his head outside the tent to speak to Cris, who was standing guard with Blackhawk.

As Vulk changed the dressings on Devrik’s wounds (and tried the healing touch once more), Alakor summed up what they had learned over the course of the day.

“We’ve put a serious hole in the Zalik-mal’s operation in this area,” he concluded. “But with Joet dead there’s nothing to connect it all to Danyes Burnan. We need to find something solid, something that will see the man dancing on a gibbet!”

“But what in the Void killed Joet,” Devrik mumbled, frowning. “I know it wasn’t our weapons…”

“I for one would like to examine Constable Burnan’s wrists,” Mariala said. “I’d bet a large sum that we’d find one of those mysterious tattoos…”

“You may be right,” Vulk agreed. “And I’d love to know what they mean. If it was just here that we found the sigil I’d assume it was some Zalik-mal marking; but they have no reach into the Sea Kingdoms that I’ve ever heard. Besides, the attempted coupe in Sha Hesima was clearly political…”

“I wonder if this drug trade is as simply criminal as you assume,” Drake interjected, a thoughtful look on his face. “As the Earl mentioned the other day, the increasing drug use in the realm is creating trouble in every class. Could there be some larger political agenda behind it?”

“One of the potential heirs you think?” asked Mariala.

“Or someone else who simply wants to take advantage of maximum chaos during a Succession Crisis,” added Erol.

The conversation lulled as everyone considered these possibilities, and a few minutes later the tent flap was pulled back as Cris ushered in Ser Petral.

“I understand there’s a problem with your friend, Ser Vulk,” he said as he stooped to enter. “Let us have a look, eh Devrik?”

Removing the just applied bandages swathing the left side of the fighter’s head, he clucked in dismay.

“Oh dear, this is a mess, isn’t it. It was a taloxta attack, correct? Yes, nasty little creatures, and crawling with disease I’m afraid. Of course you’re lucky they didn’t get the eye out, eh? Though it looks like it was a close call…”

After applying a salve of his own to the wound the physician replaced the bandages and poured a dose of white liquid into Devrik’s untouched wine cup.

“Drink this young man; it will help you sleep, and you need to sleep to give your body a chance to fight this infection properly.”

Devrik grimaced, but silently took the cup and drained it. He then sank back on his cot, and in just a few minutes had drifted into a restless sleep.

Ser Petral turned to the companions and shook his head.

“I’m afraid it doesn’t look good… if I had all the herbs and medicines in my pharmacy, I could create a potion that would certainly fight off this infection and allow him to keep the eye. But as it is, if there isn’t a marked improvement in the next day or two, I’m afraid I’ll have to excise the organ.”

“There must be something we can do to help,” cried Raven. The others nodded anxious agreement.

“If we could gather the correct ingredients,” Ser Petral said, “perhaps…”