# Curse of Darkness VIII - The Wild Hunt



## Greenfield (Jul 7, 2012)

There is a break in the stories between Britannia and this one.

The characters were sent on a mission for the gods:  To get the gates to the Land of the Dead re-opened, we were given the task of spreading the word of the afterlife in the only land that doesn't have one:  China.

We traveled across Asia, and in the process, lost the Barbarian/wizard Seburn.  Because the gates to the Land of the Dead are closed, though, he was able to climb back into his body and keep going.  

So as we begin this tale, Seburn is living on borrowed time, literally.
******* 
 The wheels of the heavily laden wagons were a chorus of creaking complaints as the caravan entered the walled city of Shandu.  Carralon made a show of grumbling as he paid the entry fees, but was really quite pleased.  Although they’d been plagued by troubles, they’d weathered them well, and in fact had made remarkable time on their long journey.

  Penn pulled his hood tighter, to shield against both the early winter cold, and against prying eyes.  The last thing he needed was someone else accusing him of being a demon.  They were near the end of their long road.  The caravan master had said that he planned to sell about half of his goods here, then travel by river barge to the port of Tsanjin.  He’d ply his trade about the country for a few months, then sail for home.  But whether he left tonight or next spring, his need for caravan guards was nearly at an end.

  Sylus scowled slightly as he entered the city.  It wasn’t that there was anything wrong, he just didn’t like cities.  Of course, they’d been traveling past villages and farm steads for weeks, but for him cities were just too many people and not enough green.  The only song birds you heard there were in cages.  The very thought made him ill.  One thing caught his eye though.  There were long, fluttering pennants beside the gate, pennants depicting an animal he’d heard of, but never seen before.  It was a great cat, gold and black, and the depiction ran a chill down his spine.  “I’ve seen that before.”, he said quietly.  “I dreamed about a cat like that.  It was huge, magnificent.”  The vision so entranced him that his scowl faded, and his horse shuffled to a halt.

  “Move along, don’t block the way.  You can gawk later!”, barked one of the gate guards.

  Sylus touched his heels to the horse’s flanks and they began to move again, but still Sylus craned his neck to look back at the banners.  There was something compelling about them…

  “Better watch where you’re going.”, Imagina chided him.  “If you’re not careful, you might run into something you like.”

  “If you want to look at tigers, go to the grand temple in the main plaza.”, Carralon laughed.  “This is the City of the Tiger.  It’s their emblem and their patron.  In the mean time, we’re off to the inn.  You’ll like it.  It’s called the Teak Tiger, in fact.  You can meet with us there, when you’re done sightseeing.”

  “The temple is in the main plaza?”, Seburn asked.  “I was told that that’s where the Palace is.”

  “Aye, and the Imperial Guard as well.”, Carralon added.  “The three faces of Chin are the church, the Emperor, and the army.  Everything in the entire land revolves around one or more of those three.”

  “Why do you care about the army?”, Marcus asked his fiery-headed friend.  

  Seburn drew forth a folded and sealed packet of papers.  “We sold the Mongol weapons we took from the field back in Nengoa, but we get paid here.”, he reminded the others.  “And since they don’t like our gold, the more of theirs we have, the better.”  Then he smiled, and added, “The more gold of any kind we have, the better.”

  And so the companions se their sights on the towering spires at the civic center, and tsk-ed their horses into a soft canter.
  *** 
  The crowd was quite deep in the central plaza, despite the nearness of sunset.  A group of men stood on three raised dias, addressing those gathered.

  “Yau Chun!”, the man in elaborate armor called, reading from a long list.  “Yee Chang!  Quo Leung!”  The list was long, and the recitation continued.  And with each name called, a young man would step forward.  In some cases, if the man called was too young, an older man would hold him back and step forward in his place.

  “What’s going on?”, Penn asked in a whisper.

  “We are going to war, and each house must send their eldest to join the army.  If the eldest is too young, or is a girl, then the father goes to service.”

  “And if there is no suitable man in the family?”, Penn asked, again in a quiet voice.

  “Then a duty is paid, enough to hire someone to fulfill their obligation.”, the helpful man replied.  “But don’t worry, outlander.  They’ll call for mercenaries soon enough.  You’ll get your chance.”

  Penn nodded, then drifted back to his companions to share what he’d learned.

  “I guess we’ll have to wait until they’re through.”, Seburn said, impatience grating on him.  He wanted his gold so he could go get a cold bath and a colder drink.

  “We aren’t broke.”, Penn reminded him.  “We have all that coin we found in the Ogre’s fortress.  We can get paid tomorrow.”  Then he saw the look of determination on his friend’s face and sighed.  The hardy Scott loved his gold, and loved it most when it was in his hands.

  Sylus attention was elsewhere though.  The speaker had taken the center platform.  To his right stood a tall man with pale skin, in robes of richly embroidered silk.  His clothing and the entourage behind him marked him as a man of great importance.  But to the speaker’s left stood another party of men.  Their robes were simple and clean, saffron and jet in color, and beside their leader lounged a tiger.  The creature really was as large and as magnificent as depicted on the city’s standards.  It seemed at ease, neither collared nor caged, and it rubbed its head against the leader with obvious affection.  The hunter was entranced by the very sight of the creature.

  Finally the long list was finished, and the soldier called for mercenaries or other volunteers.  Many people turned to stare at Seburn and Penn, the obviously armed and armored outlanders.  A way was made clear for them, and the soldier gestured, beckoning them forward.  They advanced, as that seemed to be expected of them.

  Penn bowed, as he had seen so many others do, and waited to be addressed.

  “You have the look of warriors about you.  Are you seeking employ?”, the soldier asked.

  “We are already employed.”, Penn explained.  “While it would be an honor to serve under your command, our current master has not yet released us from his service.”

  “Then why are you not with him now?”, asked the soldier curiously, though there was a hint of accusation in his tone.

  “Our caravan has just arrived this day, and our master has granted us the freedom of the city while he conducts his business.  However, when he leaves in a few days, we shall accompany him once more.”

  The soldier nodded, satisfied.  While the smooth tongued outlander’s frightful appearance might inspire the men, he might also intimidate them, so it was probably best if such a being were not to march with them.  

  “Do you have other business here then?”, he asked, preparing to turn away.

  “Yes, sir.”, Seburn declared, offering the sealed document.  “We fought Mongol raiders before we reached Nengoa, and took trophy’s from the field.  The captain of the guard there bought the weapons from us, for the army, and gave us this.  We were to be paid here.” 

  The man unbound the folded packet, examined the seal on it, then broke the seal and began to read.  “Hmm.  An impressive array.  How many did you lose in the fray?”

  “There were six of us on duty when the raid began.”, Seburn said with a hint of pride.  “Each of us accounted for four of their number, and none of us fell.”

  The soldier raised an eyebrow in doubt at the boast, but then tallied the arms and armors listed, and nodded.  Such men would help their cause greatly.  He began to stroke his narrow beard thoughtfully.

  “They came at us in waves, allowing us brief respite to regroup.”, Penn added to explain their apparently miraculous success.  “I believe they were scouts who saw the caravan and got greedy.  They thought they could take the whole prize for themselves.”  He didn’t want to mention the use of magic, as they had been warned that the Emperor was seeking arcanists and alchemists in his quest for immortality.  

   “Hmm.  You were lucky.”, the soldier concluded.  “I’ve never heard of Mongols traveling in such small groups.”  He gave the documents another good look and, satisfied, folded them under his arm.  

   “I am Captain Yee.  Seek me out tomorrow, at the training field, and I’ll see that you’re paid.  I’d give you your gold now, but the paymaster’s office is closed.”  He waited for the outlander’s to nod agreement, then turned smartly and marched away to join the new recruits.
  *** 
  The crowd was thinning, though some of the curious stayed to watch the demon and the red haired savage talk to the Captain.  Sylus, while waiting for his friends, found himself drawn towards the temple priests, and the great cat.  They had stepped down from the dias and were discussing the coming war amongst themselves.  One of them saw Sylus in his plain robes and noted his almost glassy-eyed stare.

  “Welcome, traveler.”, he began formally.  “Do you seek the guidance of the temple?”

  “I’m not sure.”, Sylus admitted, tearing his eyes away from the great cat.  The man he faced was of wiry build, his head shaven, and only slightly taller than the Half-Elf himself.  Yet he had a peace about him.  “Centered” was the word that came to Sylus mind, as if he knew himself completely and was content with it all.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”, Sylus said, in an effort to start over.  “I’ve never seen a cat like that one before, yet I’ve been dreaming about one for a week now.  Each night he’d visit my dreams.  He was smaller than that one, and his colors were white instead of gold, but he was the same.”

  The monk was startled, a look that was startling in itself, for he had seemed beyond such things.  He excused himself, gesturing for Sylus to wait there as he hurried to talk to his companions.  There was much discussion, and a few looks of shock before the leader came to address Sylus directly.

  “You say the spirit of the tiger visited you in your dreams.  How can this be?  You are an outlander, and of the forest fey.  Your people neither sleep nor dream.”

  “My father was of the forest fey.”, Sylus explained, adopting their local term for Elves.  “My mother was not.  I sleep and I dream.  As for me being an outlander, well, yeah I guess I am.  But I had the dreams anyway.”

  There was more hurried discussion before a decision was made.  “Do you seek the tiger, as he has sought you?”

  “Yes.”, Sylus said firmly.  “I ran with the wolf for a time, but that didn’t last.  Now I know why.”

  And so Sylus was ushered into the temple of the Tiger.  
  ***


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## Greenfield (Jul 7, 2012)

The inner courtyard was kept clean by the labors of many acolytes, and several could be seen hurrying about as Sylus entered.  As he waited there more seemed to be finding reasons why their business might take them there, for he was an odd sight, and the rumors were spreading fast and furious as the iron pen was assembled.

  They were confirmed when one of the senior handlers brought out a young tiger, white and black just as Sylus had envisioned.  The animal was wild and anxious, pacing his cage and occasionally throwing himself against the bars in rage.

  “This is the test.”, the handler explained.  “You will enter when you are ready.  You will either walk out together, or you won’t walk out at all.  Is this truly your wish?”

  Sylus nodded sharply and approached the cage.  Carefully he settled down outside the bars, just beyond the reach of the great cat’s claws.  He bowed to the beast, then brought his magic to bear.  Soon he and the tiger were in communion.

  To those who looked on, it seemed as if he had been possessed, for he rose onto all fours, his body moving in a sinuous imitation of the tiger’s own.  The senior monks, however, had seen this before, and explained to the younger students:  “He is now speaking to the cat as an equal.  We will see if the tiger accepts him as one.”

  Sylus caught the tiger’s gaze and held it with his own.  “I would hunt with you, away from iron and stone walls.  Will you hunt with me?”

  The cat matched his stare and grew still, his posture a mirror of Sylus’ own.  “I hunt quickly, in snow and silence.  Cold wind, hot blood, mountains and forests.  Can you hunt with me?”

  Sylus replied, “My home is mountains and forests, snow and silence.  I have hunted in cold night, and known hot blood.  It is far from here, far from iron bars and the walls of man.  The journey is far, and needs patience.  Are you a patient hunter?”

  And so the exchange went on.  Sylus entered the pen with the creature, and they faced each other with no barriers between them.

  One of the older students looked angrily to his master, questioning why such a rare prize might go to an outlander.  The master silenced him with a look.  

  “Your heart betrays you.”, he admonished the boy.  “If you enter the tiger’s home with such anger, seeking to own him, you will surely perish.  See how this one moves?  He seeks neither domination, nor offers submission.  It’s possible that he may truly understand the spirit of the tiger.  If he lives to see the sunset tomorrow, the two will be as one.”
  *** 
  The innkeeper at the Teak Tiger was surprised by the generosity of the foreign mercenaries.  Carralon had taken a private room, as befit his position, and the drovers had taken a common one, but each of the mercenaries wanted separate chambers.  The dark skinned woman’s desire was understandable, for it would be improper for her to share a bed with any but her husband.  But the horn-headed one had also asked for a private one, with a large bed.  That left the red haired one and the balding one, who might have taken a shared room but chose instead to pay the extra and get private ones as well. The tiny drover had even paid for one of his own, which meant his private rooms were all but filled.  He rubbed his hands together in glee, for with most of the men in town leaving to join the army this was a windfall when he needed one most.

  Imagina had headed for a bath house, while Penn and the others got settled in.  She could clean herself with magic just as easily as any of the others, but no flit of the fingers could match the sheer luxury of soaking in hot water, especially after weeks of travel by wagon and horseback.

  When she returned, cleansed and perfumed, the front room of the inn was overflowing with people.  

  To the locals, travelers meant news, which was always welcome, and despite his odd appearance the foreign demon told a good story and sang well.  So the music played and the rice wine flowed, and the party went on into the night.
  *** 
   “Captain Yee?”, asked the soldier on duty at the gate.  “Yes, he’s working with the new recruits.  You can see his standard there, at the south end.  The golden Dragon.”

  “Thanks.”, Seburn said casually as they left.  Then he got a good look at that standard.  “That’s a dragon?”, he asked in surprise.  “It doesn’t have any wings.”

  “I think that’s what the dragons look like around here.”, Marcus answered, though he was confused as well.

  They found the Captain red faced with fury, gesturing with a fan and getting more angry with each passing moment.

  To call the formation before him “disarray” was to insult disarray, and it was a stretch to even call what was there a “formation” was a severe stretch.  The air was thick with dust and the training instructors kept shouting at them to pick up their feet as the drilled. 

  Seburn was inclined to wait until the Captain was ready, but Penn thought that it looked like the Captain could use an excuse.  He caught the Captain’s eye and bowed with a smile.

  The Captain made a slashing gesture with the fan, then stormed over to the companions.

  “Calm down Captain.”, Seburn advised.  “You can’t control them if you can’t control yourself.”

  “Oh, I’m calm.” Said the captain with a smile, all traces of rage melting from his face.  Of course, he waited until he was sure none of the soldiers could see the change.  “I’ve trained raw recruits before, and these are no worse than any other.  Better than many, in fact.  More than half of them know their left from their right, which can’t be said for the ones from the farms.  But I need them to fear me, at least to begin with.”

  The Captain walked with them as he talked, explaining how a commander controlled the battlefield, and how his sub commanders could read the fan signals.  The paymaster had their monies ready, and they concluded their business happily.

  But before they departed the Captain had a suggestion.  “If you’re looking for a few days work while you’re in town, the city guard could use some help.”  He gestured towards a group of men who were already drilling with weapons.  “We ended up taking almost half of the city guard last night, so their commander is recruiting as well.  Just kids, most of them.  They need someone to help train them in street fighting.  It probably won’t match your usual fees, but…”

  “But it will keep us out of trouble.”, Penn finished for him, laughing.
  *** 
  The next day, Pen, Marcus, Iggy and Seburn all reported to the local constabulary.

  “Iggy, I’m surprised at you.  This seems out of character.”, Marcus admonished with mock severity.

  “No’ really.”, the Gnome replied in his heavy Londinuim accent.  “They’s recruiting kids to this job, and the little ones need to be able to stay safe.  Besides, it never hurts for someone like me to get in good with the law, now does it?”

  They each had their own small group to work with.  Iggy taught teamwork, advising each of the smaller ones to pick a larger partner, then back them up.  He showed how to flank, how to take advantage of their small size in tight quarters, and how to protect themselves.

  Penn taught it almost like a dance, showing them the advantage of the light blade and the quick step.  

  Marcus tried (and failed) to treat them like students in a religious school.  He ended up trying to inspire them with tales of Hercules, but he was no story teller, and the tales of foreign demigods left them disinterested.

  Seburn tried to teach them the way of fighting from a position of strength.  He worked on training dummies, showing them how to put your weight and power behind every blow, but his outlander style and barbarian fighting technique earned him little respect.  Finally, infuriated by their lax attention, he laid into the practice dummy with a single power swing, releasing the stored spell from his weapon.

  The result was spectacular as his blade clove clean through the timber frame, and the entire thing nearly exploded into flame.

  They finished the day with mixed levels of success, and retired to the Inn for an early supper.
  *** 
  “Seburn of Dumphreys?  Marcus de Roma?”, asked the guard captain as he entered the common room.

  “Yes?”, the pair responded, almost in a single voice.

  “The Magistrate would like to see you.”, the man said, semi-formally.

  “You two have fun.”, called Penn as the pair rose.  He moved towards the clear spot by the fireplace, unlimbering his lyre as he went.
  *** 
  The pair were escorted to a small garden area where a well dressed man was just finishing his supper.  They recognized him as the second most important looking man in the plaza the previous evening.  An aide addressed the two outlanders.

  “This is Provincial Magistrate Qwang See.” He announced, then paused expectantly.

  Marcus realized that some response was expected, so he bowed to the Magistrate and replied, “I am Marcus de Roma, and this is Prince Seburn of Dumphreys.”  Seburn didn’t think to bow, and after an uncomfortable moment Marcus straightened and took on an expression of interest.

  The Magistrate gestured to his aide, who continued.  “His excellence has heard reports of ‘Prince’ Seburn’s battle prowess, and in particular of his marvelous magical weapon.  He asks if the Prince’s blade is available, as such a weapon would inspire and rally the troops in battle.”

  Seburn paid attention this time and responded directly.  “The blade was the dying gift from a dear friend.  I couldn’t part with it.”

  The aide looked at the Magistrate, who frowned slightly and tapped the arm of his chair with one finger.

  “His excellence would hope to see a demonstration of its power, to be certain that what he has heard is true.  He suggests that, if it can’t be sold then perhaps an exchange of gifts might be in order.  He says that he has a fine collection of blades of his own.”

  Seburn carefully took his blade and scabbard off, and offered them to the Magistrate’s body guard.  “Better to know that the power is in the blade, not the man.”, he explained, though he had a bad feeling about what was to follow.  

  As training dummies were set up in the garden, he felt he had to warn the Magistrate.  “The power of the blade doesn’t manifest with every strike.  It needs time to regain the power.”  He didn’t want to admit that he had to replace the magic in it for each use, as admitting to being a spell caster was problematic.  He also wished Marcus hadn’t addressed him as “Prince”.  The Magistrate was clearly skeptical of the title.

  As the bodyguard drew the hand-and-a-half blade his face lit with wonder, for he felt the power stored within.  He took a couple of practice swings, to get the feel of the foreign weapon, then struck at the first of the wooden forms.  Again, the power of the blade flared, and the wooden manikin burst into flames.

  “The power is gone, Excellence!”< the guard exclaimed in surprise.  “It is still a masterful blade, but the fire is gone.”

  “Fascinating!”, declared the Aide, after exchanging looks with the Magistrate.  “His Excellence has never heard of a blade whose power must rest.  Extrordinary.”

  “Yes, it is unusual.”, Seburn agreed.  “Typically the power can be used once per battle.  Sometimes I use it to drop my first foe, and put the fear in my enemies, sometimes I save it to finish a mighty enemy, if such a man is present.”

  Your excellence, if I may ask, why was I summoned?”, Marcus interjected.

  “Oh, that.”, replied the aide, apparently reading his master’s mind again.  “You preached heresy to the city guard today, did you not?”

  “Well, I, uh…”, Marcus stammered, caught completely off guard.

  The Magistrate looked at the Cleric with disdain, as if being forced to attend to some unpleasantness, then waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal.

  “Ah, very good your Excellence.”, beamed the aide.  “To the mines with him!”  He then turned his attention back to Seburn.  “Are you sure you couldn’t be induced to sell the blade?  As you say, with proper tactical use its ability to inspire the men would serve our Emperor well.”

  Seburn looked on in dismay as guards appeared to either side of Marcus, ready to take hold.

  “I’m sorry, but the blade is not for sale.”, he finished sadly.

  “Obscurous”, Marcus intoned, ducking and twisting as he did so to avoid the grasp of the guards.  Instantly the region was covered in billowing, thick mists.  He curled his legs beneath him, drawing into a tight ball and rolling backwards, beneath and away from the grasping hands of the guards.  Then he slow-sprinted across the grassy garden, to vanish in the silent darkness beyond the circle of torchlight.

  “Well, that was rude.”, came the voice of the aide from somewhere within the fog.  “The guard will have him before dawn, in any case.  Do you need a safe escort back to your Inn?  The city can be confusing at night, particularly if you aren’t familiar with it.”

  Seburn was stunned by the complete separation in the man’s attitude.  To casually condemn a man to a life in the salt mines, and then pass pleasantries with the next breath.  

  “I think I can find my way, thank you.”, he replied, and made his way out of the mist shrouded gardens.
  *** 
  “Penn!”, came the loudly hissing whisper from the doorway.  The Bard looked up and saw his friend peeking inside, but for some reason trying not to be seen.  He nodded to show that he’d heard, then looked pointedly towards the rear door before continuing his song.  Breaking off mid tune would draw more attention to the moment than it needed.  Marcus would have to wait a minute.

  When he reached the end of that ballad, he bowed, announced a short break and took his leave, making a point to leave his hat where it was, to show that he’d be returning.  Even the best of us have to go out back eventually, and that was where he headed.

  Marcus was standing in a deep shadow by the side alley.  “Penn, I need to hide and stay hidden.  They sentenced me to the mines.”

  Penn looked at his friend dubiously.  “What did you do this time?”, he asked.  

  “I just told stories, like you do.”

  “If you told them the way I do, you be getting silver, instead of getting sentenced.  Still, it’s not as if we didn’t expect to have at least one of us in trouble.”  He drew out the drab silk sweatband they had picked up from the other travelers and handed it to Marcus.  “Use this to disguise yourself.  You’re a boney-thin man, about my height, with a curved scar on your right cheek where a horse kicked you.  Western, not local.”, he added, as Marcus began to invoke the magic of the circlet.  “You speak the local language well enough, but you have an accent.  Oh, and you shouldn’t admit to speaking the local language very well.  You’re just another drover, at least until we’re clear of this city.”

  By the time the pair had finished, the magic was complete, Marcus looked like just another teamster from the caravan, and the pair went back inside together.

  Seburn entered about three ballads later, and Penn smiled and nodded to him to let him know that everything was under control, at least for the moment.
  ***


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## Greenfield (Jul 7, 2012)

The evening finished quietly, with a final song, a final drink, another final song, and the innkeeper finally herding the people out.  Penn made it a point to share his evening’s take with the man, even though the inn had had a full evening selling rice wine and cakes.

  The guard had visited several times seeking Marcus, but no one had seen him all night, and there were far too many people there to keep a secret.

  Marcus bedded with Penn that evening, since his own room would be watched.  

  And all was quiet and restful.  Until the scream…
  *** 
  The peace of the night was shattered by the piercing scream that came from the hall, and Penn tumbled out of bed and headed for the window, out of sheer habit.

  Marcus, however, reacted more directly, grabbing his weapon and heading into the hall, beating the Bard to the door.

  Seburn, Iggy, Carralon and Imagina were on the scene in an instant, and the drovers thundered up the stairs from below a moment later.

  A maid was staggering back from an open doorway, her face a mask of shock and fear.  The coppery stench of blood that came from the opening was almost overwhelming, and as the crowd jostled to see, the reason became clear.  The bed was absolutely soaked, dripping red, and a young couple lay sprawled across it, their throats cleanly cut.

  The Innkeeper shouldered his way forward, then blanched and began to shake in fear.  “No, not them, not here!”, he stammered, over and over again.

  The night watch was sent for, quickly.  While waiting for the guard to arrive, some bits of sense came out.  These two were aides to the Imperial Magistrate, who was visiting the city to oversee the military recruitment drive.  They were the children of noble houses in the Imperial capitol, training with the Magistrate to prepare them for the high positions that they were destined for.  Their murders, in this inn, probably meant death for the Innkeeper and his entire staff, and didn’t bode well for anyone else present either.

  “Did you notice?”, Iggy asked, pointedly speaking the Roman tongue instead of the local dialect. “The blood on the bed is fresh, but the edges of the wounds are black and clotted.  They were killed a while ago.  Somebody tried to make this look like a fresh kill, but it isn’t.”

  At that point the night watch arrived, and the inn was surrounded by guards.  Nobody was going anywhere until this was sorted out.  A holy man was sent for, to investigate.
  *** 
  Marcus and Imagina looked on in professional interest as the circle was drawn and the candles set out.  No one had yet even touched the bodies, but instead stood back to give the Sukenja plenty of space to work.

  The candles were lit, along with a small brazier of incense, and the holy man sat down cross legged on the floor to begin his prayers.  After proper supplications were made, and after what seemed like many long minutes, his prayers were answered.  Two spirits appeared in the room, one to each side of the bed, directly adjacent to the slain bodies.  

  The Sukenja bowed low (quite a trick from his sitting position), and asked them directly, “Do you know who killed you?”

  Without hesitation they pointed directly at Pen, Marcus and Seburn.  The girl said, in a quavering voice, “I will never forget that face!”, while pointing to Marcus, of all people.  It was quite a shock to many there, since he was wearing the face he had made up earlier that evening, courtesy of the disguise magic.

  The guards made to seize the outlanders, and they surrendered their weapons with good grace.  Pen, however, got the Sukenja’s attention.

  “Look at their wounds.  They weren’t killed here, nor were they killed recently.  Ask them when and where, please.  It’s important.”

  The Sukenja looked at the Half Satyr’s demonic face with obvious distaste, but did as he was asked.

  “We were killed during our evening repast, at the Autumn Teahouse, near the river.  The sun was just setting.”, they replied together.  This lead to other questions, but at least this news would spare the Innkeeper and his staff, and probably all others not specifically accused.

  The guards were stern and far from gentle in their handling of the prisoners, yet the trio had oddly serene smiles on their faces as they were hauled off.
  *** 
  The Palace  of Justice was ablaze with lamplight, and the square outside was ringed with gawkers who took dark delight at the sight of the outlanders being dragged within.  It is a universal truth that, no matter where you go in the world, there are those who will flock to see an execution, and that was exactly what these people were hoping to see.

  Within, the trio were taken to one of the larger court chambers, and a crowd of onlookers followed them inside.

  All bowed as the Provincial Magistrate entered, his makeup hastily applied and he was still in the process of adjusting his robes.  The Imperial Magistrate followed, and if it was possible the people bowed even lower.

  “These three have been identified as the killers, Excellence!”, the guard captain announced.  “They await your pleasure.”

  It was clear from the Magistrate’s face that there was no pleasure to be had here.  He would have to answer for the deaths of these favored ones while in his service, and it was clear that he would not suffer alone.

  “Do the accused have anything to say before sentence is passed?”, asked the man to the Magistrate’s right, apparently speaking on his behalf.

  “Yes, Excelence.”, answered Pen, looking up from his supine position.  “May I rise to address his most excellence?”

  The speaker looked at the Magistrate, received a nod, and gave permission.

  “I would like to question a witness, if I may.”, Penn began.  “Will the Provincial Magistrate consent to this?”

  Surprised, the lesser Justice agreed before even his spokesman could intervene.

  “According to what was learned, the victims were slain at sunset, during their evening meal.  May I ask where you were at that hour?”, Penn began.  “I am not accusing, of course.”, he added quickly, “I merely need to confirm the relevance of your testimony.”

  The Magistrate spoke in a clear, firm voice.  “I was in the Garden of Jasmine, watching a demonstration of a particular magic weapon.”, he said.

  “Who was with you?”, Penn asked.

  “My spokesman, my guard, and someone who resembles that man.”, He said, indicating Seburn.  “Also a foreign heretic who fled justice.”

  “Was it not his very man?”, Penn asked, seeking a firmer answer.

  “It looked like him, Fey ears and flame hair, but it’s hard to be certain, in light of the murders.”

  “The weapon, was it rare?”, Penn pressed.

  “I’ve never seen one like it, though I didn’t handle it myself.”

  Upon request, Seburn’s blade was produced, and the head of the Magistrate’s guard came forward to examine it.

  “Yes, it’s the same weapon.”, the man said.  “The same odd balance, the pommel crest matches, and…”, he paused as he drew the blade, “… the power in the sword is unmistakable.”

  “Thank you. Sir.”, Penn said with a small bow.  

  “I myself was at the Teak Tiger inn at that hour, in the common room, playing and telling stories.”, he added.  “It is my profession, and there are any number of witnesses.  More than a few are members of the city guard, in fact.”

  There were murmurs from the crowd, as many present had also been attending the performance.

  “In my land there are magics that can separate truth from lies.  If such are known here, I beg that they be applied in our case.”, Penn asked in closing.  “The bodies were arranged so as to make it appear they were killed late this evening, far from the actual crime scene.  It’s obvious that someone is trying to cast blame as far from themselves as possible.  If the magics are too costly for common criminals, then I will pay the cost for there is nothing common about this crime.”

  The Magistrate considered the request for long moments, then looked to his spokesman.

  “You are outlanders, and do not deserve any special treatment.”, the spokesman began.  “However, the judgment and perception of the Provincial Magistrate should not be left in question, for he speaks with the voice of the Emperor, and none can be permitted to doubt that voice.  Have the True Telling prepared.”

  A different Sukenja came forth, richly if hastily dressed, apparently part of the Imperial Magistrate’s entourage.  Like his predecessor he began with prayers and supplications and the burning of incense.  Then he produced a candle, as thick as a man’s forearm and as red as blood.  He lit this from the incense brazier and solemnly handed it to Pen.

  “Speak only the truth.”, was his simple warning.

  “I am called Pen.”, the Bard began.  “This evening, at the hour of sunset, I was at the Teak Tiger inn telling stories of my homeland and singing songs.  I have not killed anyone since we encountered a Mongol raiding party several weeks past.  I did not know the deceased I am accused of killing, I did not kill them, and I have no idea who did.  I suspect that they were killed by enemies of ours, seeking to cast the blame on us.”

  The flame burned clear and serene throughout the entire speech, and both the holy man and the Magistrate bore looks of open disbelief at this fact.

  The candle was passed to Seburn who took it without hesitation.  “I was with the Magistrate at sunset, in a garden of this very palace.”, he began.  “The last time I killed anyone was during a Mongol raid on our caravan.  I didn’t even know this couple existed before we saw their bodies tonight, and I certainly didn’t have anything to do with their deaths.”

  The candle flame continued to burn cleanly, and Provincial magistrate looked relieved at this development, for it meant that he had not been fooled and his judgment was beyond question again.

  Pen took the candle and carefully handed it to Marcus, then began to ask direct questions.

  “Did you kill either of these people?”, he asked.

  “No.  The last killing I was any part of was on the way here, when the Mongols attacked.”, he answered.

  “Do you know either of these people?”, Penn asked.

  “No, I never saw them before tonight, and I don’t know their names even now.”

  “Were you at the Autumn Teahouse at sunset, or at any time today?”, Penn asked.

  “No, I was downstairs at the Inn the whole time.”, Marcus answered firmly.  The candle flared brightly at this lie, drawing gasps from many onlookers and a sharp glare from the Magistrate.

  “I won’t ask which young lady you might have take upstairs.”, Penn said, attempting to cover his friend’s slip.  “Instead I will simply ask, did you arrange for someone, anyone, to do any killing at all, under any pretext, at any time, any place in this land?”

  “No.  The Mongol raid was outside this province.  I had nothing to do with these killings, and I couldn’t even guess as to who might.”, Marcus replied, sweating slightly.

  The candle was returned to the holy man, who bowed to the court and pressed his bare hand down on it to extinguish the flame.

  Penn bowed deeply to the assembled Magistrates and their spokesmen, and concluded, “Someone attempted to deceive this court.  It wasn’t us.”

  The Magistrate looked troubled.  He whispered to the Sukenja, an act almost unheard of in such a proceeding, and listened intently to the reply before continuing.

  “There must be a formal hearing convened on the matter, for the crime is grievous and must be paid for.”, the spokesman announced.  “But summary judgment is not in order at this time.  Your weapons will be returned to you when…”

  The formal ending of the hearing was cut short by panicked cries from outside, the clang of an alarm, and the deep, penetrating call of a hunting horn.
  ***


----------



## Greenfield (Jul 7, 2012)

The companions seized their weapons from the guards as the courtroom emptied.  Some of the spectators went towards the Palace  of Justice’ outer gates that lead to the plaza, while some of the more timid souls sought shelter deeper within.

  The plaza still held a throng of the curious, but now it held something more.  At one end stood a being of obvious supernatural origin.  His features were strongly fey, and he stood twice the height of a man.  He wore a hunters garb, deerskin and dark green, with soft riding boots that came past his knees, and a great bow carved with intricate patterns.  His other hand held a huge hunting horn, and he stood poised to blow it a second time.

  About the edges of the plaza were… things, black on black, shapes that could be seen when the moved in the shadows, but which the eye could not clearly discern.  The crowd of onlookers cowered back from them, instinctively recognizing the danger they posed.

  As the people cascaded out of the Palace, the huntsman smiled.

  “Seburn of Dumphreys!”, he called.  “I am here for you.”

  All eyes turned towards Seburn, who immediately fell over, dead.  In his place, his spirit stood, surprised to be freed from the burden of flesh.  He stepped away from his mortal remains, lifting his feet high as if emerging from a pool of water.  And he was magnificent to behold, the epitome of the man, his flawless skin all but glowing in the night, his frame showing that perfect balance between the broad musculature of his Human half and the delicate dancer’s build of his Elven heritage.

  He looked up towards the towering huntsman, squared his shoulders and said but one word.  “Challenge!”

  The huntsman smiled and nodded.  “I was hoping you’d do that.  I’ve come a long way for you, and a true hunt is called for.  You know the terms, of course.  You run as a mortal would, bound by the mortal limits.  If you remain free at sunrise, you live once more.  If you fall, you join the Sluagh, and never know the afterlife in Tor.”

  “Agreed!’, said Seburn sharply.

  “Halt this at once!”, came a new voice, the high priest of the temple.  “This is sacrilege!  You may not be here, and this pagan display may not continue.  You have no power here, and I order you away, lest the gods themselves strike you down!”

  The huntsman looked at the priest as if noting him for the first time.  “There is a law older than your temple, older than the very stones that form it.  A law so old that neither the most high nor the most treacherous of the gods dare break it.  When a man falls, wherever he falls, his soul belongs to his gods and no other.  I am Hern Longwood, companion of Vandos and servant of Arwyn, god of the dead and Lord of Tor.  Your gods will not interfere this night.”

  The priest’s face contorted in fury, and he looked to the Monks for support, but they stood apart, content to observe.

  Pen spoke up, though, to the surprise of many.  “If I understand the laws of the hunt properly, he may take nothing of his mortal life with him.  Can he make use of things he may find along the way?”

  The huntsman looked at the Bard, thought for a moment, and nodded.

  Pen beamed at the agreement, and immediately took off his own magic belt, with the accompanying pouch of magic components, and tossed them on the ground.  

  “Seburn, do you think you can find that?”, he asked with impish delight.  

  Hern’s face clouded over for a moment, then he laughed.  “Well played.  But know also the price for direct interference in the hunt.  The Sluagh will take you as well if you do.”

  Pen nodded.  “The important thing is to know when to break the rules.”, he replied, directing his comment both to Seburn and his hunter.

  Hern stepped aside, clearing a way down the broad avenue, and with a grand sweep of his hand he indicated the way for Seburn.  “This is where the hunt begins.  You will have one minute to flee before we pursue.  Some of my hounds might blood you as you pass, but they will not bring you down.  They’re simply eager for the taste.”

  At this point the Magistrate had had enough.  “This madness must end.  Arrest them all!”, he shouted, waving the guards forward.

  And from the shadows, one of the great hounds growled, a deep rumbling sensation that seemed to come up from the depths of the earth itself, and where it spread madness followed.  Chaos erupted across the square, crowd in turmoil.  Some of the onlookers were petrified with fear, while others fled in mindless panic.  The guard stood their ground, but could do no more.

  Marcus managed to fight down the terror that roared through him.  “Obscuro!” he called, and a cloud of mist came into being around Seburn, Penn and Imagina.

  “Run, you fool!”, Seburn cried from within the cloud, taking his own advice even as he spoke.  “You interfered!”

  Seburn’s legs pumped like pistons as he sprinted across the panic filled plaza, passing the huntsman and his great hounds in a flash.  In seconds he was out of the lit square and into the shadowed streets, the very image of grace and power in flight.

  One of the hounds did indeed lash out, scoring his side and leaving a bloody gash under his ribs, but he had no time to tend to it now.  He felt the fear within, and the need to run!

  Marcus raised his hands in protest.  “I wasn’t interfering.  The guards…”

  “Are not within your cloud.”, Hern finished for him, a grim smile on his face.  “Neither are you.  You centered it on your friend, to hide him from us.  Flee while you can.”

  From within the cloud, Penn could be heard singing a song of summoning, and Marcus recognized the tune.  “Help me!,”, he cried, stepping into the cloud.  He was nearly flattened by the huge wing of the Hippogriff the Bard had called from the heavenly realm.

  “He’s to take Seburn’s body away.  No matter what happens to us, he’ll need it later.”, Penn explained.

  “Can he carry me too?”, Marcus asked in desperation.

  Penn looked indecisive.  If he aided Marcus, he’d be hunted as well, and the beast couldn’t carry three.  Then he relented and gave his friend a leg up.  He wouldn’t abandon even an enemy to the Sluagh, much less a good friend.  “Take them to the Edgewater, at the north end of the warf.”, he instructed, and with a huge sweep of wings the Celestial beast was away.

  Another song was sung, and another messenger of winged deliverance was called forth.

  “Take me too.”, Imagina cried, stepping into the fog bank.  And the pair leapt into the saddle together and were away into the night, following the first off towards the river.

  Behind them they heard howls of rage as the Magistrate finally managed to get his guards to act, only to find the cause of all this gone like shadows.

  And then came the horn, and the cries of the hounds.  The hunt was on.

  Hern called forth a magical steed, and together they mounted the sky in pursuit of their primary prey.  Half the pack followed, while the others poured through the streets like a flood of smoke, headed towards the river.
  *** 
  Seburn had taken the first corner as fast as he dared, and was cutting a fast path through the city.  He leapt fences, dodged through narrow alleys and bullied his way through crowds of panicked pedestrians, seeking the path that would be most difficult for the hounds to follow.  His side pained him, and he saw that the Sluagh’s teeth and torn a ragged wound across his ribs, one that continued to drip blood.  He’d never lose them while leaving a trail like that, and he knew it.

  But he was more than a just prey, he was a man and saw a way to take advantage of his wound.  Pausing for a moment he drew a bird’s feather from the pouch Penn had left for him to “find”, and after a few words he took flight.  Now he fled with a different idea in mind.  Keeping low to the ground and moving as swiftly as he could, he set a course that took him over walls and rooftops, through alleys clogged with litter and people, ways impassable to those on foot.  He stuck mainly to the streets, to keep the Sluagh thinking they still pursued a man on foot, but his course would be a challenge for the greatest of athletes, and would be nigh impossible for his four footed pursuers to follow.

  He rose up above the roofs for a brief moment, to get his bearings, and was rewarded by the sound of an arrow passing close by.  He looked behind and saw Hern, riding a horse of shadow and moonlight, drawing back his bow for another shot.  Lightning crashed into the city behind him, and Seburn knew that no matter how well or poorly they had spread the word, this night would be burned into the minds and hearts of the entire land.
  *** 
  “What are you doing?”, Penn hissed at Marcus as he hugged his mount’s back.  There were no reins, and the beasts were beating their best time away, for their time in the mortal realm was limited and they had been given a task to do.

  “I’m spreading a bit of chaos in our wake.”, Marcus laughed.  He had called upon the power of Jupiter, and the sky was raining thunderbolts randomly throughout the city.

  “Like father, like son, eh?”, Penn laughed.  “Do you know where you’re striking?”

  “Nope, and I don’t care.  I’m trying to fill the streets with people, to slow the hounds.”

  Pen painted a tight lipped smile on his face, for he’d added a bit of his own chaos as well.  As soon as they’d broken sight of the plaza, he’d redirected their two mounts towards the north wall of the city.  The huntsman had heard him say where they were going, and with any luck that was where the pack would show up.  For as far as he’d ever heard, the best bloodhound in the world couldn’t track a bird across the sky.

  The great beasts suddenly stooped for the ground, for their time in this world was nearly at an end and they wouldn’t leave their charges to fall to their deaths.  They just cleared the north wall before they landed, vanishing away like a dream the moment their claws struck the ground.

  “Well, now what?”, Imagina said as she picked herself up.

  “We keep moving.”, Penn said simply.”
  ***


----------



## Greenfield (Jul 7, 2012)

Seburn dove for the darkened streets below, away from the open sky.  Hern strove in vane to pick him out against that dark cityscape, cursing at the very curse that denied him moonlight, or even good clear starlight to hunt by.  Then his mount dove in pursuit.

  Sebrun darted into an open window, a move which elicited some outraged cries from the residents, but which gave him a path that the mounted huntsman couldn’t follow.  Then he worked his way south and east.  He felt his spell begin to fade, and he settled towards the earth below.  He took a moment to examine his wound again, wishing that Penn had included some bandages.  Then he laughed, for he realized which belt this was and invoked its power.  The healing energies washed over him, and his skin was once again flawless and unbroken.

  A few moments and another spell, and he took to the sky again, this time on the wings of the Avarial, the legendary Sky Elves.  He hoped that this form would have a new scent, and throw the hounds off even further.  Whether they caught him or not, he was going to make this a hunt to remember.

  He changed direction as well, cutting hard to his right and straight towards the southern borders of the city.  He swept over the wall like a cloud, low and fast, and quickly sighted a road heading away from the city.

  Behind him he heard the baying of the hounds fade abruptly, and fear gripped his heart once more.  He had been able to track his pursuers by the sounds of madness and chaos that followed, for wherever they went their cries drove people to flight.  Now he heard only half of them, and had to wonder if the others were somehow sneaking up on him.

  But in any case, the answer was speed.  He marveled at his fortune, for his spirit body seemed tireless.  He was able to beat his wings as hard and as fast as he might, and his breath never came hard, his throat never grew raw, his strength never failed him.  He sped off into the night like the north wind, leaving the city behind.
  *** 
   “We can’t keep this pace.”, Penn gasped, setting down Seburn’s feet as he strove to catch his breath.  

  “Well, they’re not hunting his body.”, Imagina pointed out.  “Can’t we just leave him somewhere?  I’ll stay with him.”

  Penn almost laughed at the sheer brilliance of it, the pure simplicity.

  “That’s right, the pack isn’t hunting you, only the city guards, and they won’t have a clue to look here.”

  He sang his final song of summoning for the night, and yet another of the winged beasts came into being.  “Take them wherever she would go, for as long as you can.”, Penn instructed the creature.  

  “Head for a landmark of some kind, so we can find you in the morning.  A stand of trees preferably, away from people.  Someone would probably report an outland woman and a dead body, if they spotted you.  Now away!”

  Marcus and Penn watched as Imagina and their dead friend winged away into the night.  “Stay safe, friends.”, Marcus prayed, to no god in particular.  Then the pair set off away from the city, following the road north.
  *** 
  Seburn cut sharply left, across the irrigation canal that ran beside the road.  He held that course for a brief time, then cut back across again.  He dragged one foot in the dirt on occasion, to make sure there was a track to follow.  The hounds might be as tireless as he was, but if they were going to catch him he was going to make them earn it this night.

  He kept low to the ground through all his maneuvers, skipping over low walls, weaving across every bit of rough ground and briar patch he could see.  Behind him he knew that the huntsman rode high in the night, trusting the Sluagh to sweep the ground for his spoor, driving him before them.

  And they were fast.  He had seen them as they left the city, pouring through the ways like a wave of shadow, leaving madness in their wake.  Some people had fled before them while others ran or rode with them, caught up in the magic of the hunt.  But those hangers on were mortal, unlike the tireless Sluagh, and fell behind as the miles passed.  Now there were only the hounds, the hunter, and him.

  Ahead he heard a familiar sound, one which chilled him to his core.  The baying of the hounds behind was being answered by a second pack up ahead.  Somehow they had managed to sweep past, catching him between.  He had seen many a deer in this plight, suddenly sprinting to one side as the jaws of the trap closed.  The deer seldom made it, and he had little hope for himself in that path, but he wasn’t a deer.

  He knew that his wings would fail him soon as their magic expired, so he began to cast anew.  

  He hit the water with a splash, thrilling to the new sensation as the water surged through his gills.  He had grown up in a port city, and the Sea Elves were no strangers to him, but he had never realized the pure exhilaration they felt in their home element.

  He twisted like an eel in the water, doubling back on his previous course and driving himself through the shallow canal faster than most mortal men could run.  Let them follow his scent now!

  He flashed back towards the city, and was looking for a way to the river when something struck the water nearby.  It was an arrow the size of a javelin.  He had turned back directly into the path of the hunter, and while the hounds couldn’t scent him, the rider in the sky had had a perfect vantage point to see into the canal.

  He surged forward, desperate for an escape.  Pain burned through his leg as the next shot scored true, and in desperation he diverted into a narrow culvert that cut directly beneath the road.  He took advantage of the cover the bridge provided to pull the arrow from his leg, and reached for the magic of the belt again.  It wasn’t there.  Penn must have used the rest of it sometime during the day.  He flashed back to the sight of the Bard laying hands on the two slain aides, hoping to grant them even the shadow of life. But these people didn’t have a “land of the dead”, no gates to be closed, no way to cheat death by such a ruse.  And apparently, Seburn wasn’t going to be able to cheat Arwyn much longer either.

  He doubled back again, towards the canal he had just left, sinking low into the deep mud at the bottom and creeping slowly.  With luck the huntsman would be waiting for him at the other end, and he could creep away.

  It almost worked, but Hern had been hunting for centuries, and had seen great heroes and crafty villains all try to best death.  He had seen every trick a hundred times.  He rode high above the bridge, and fired down the moment he spied movement.

  Pain poured through Seburn as the stout shaft nearly pinned him to the bottom of the canal.  He reached back and snapped the shaft off behind, then drew the rest through to free himself.  Then he surged ahead like a dolphin and breached the surface, to land in the field where he hit the ground running.

  And run he did, long powerful strides driving him towards the tree line of a nearby orchard.  Lacking any undergrowth, it wouldn’t offer him the cover of a true forest, but it might hide him from the eyes of his high pursuer.

  To his amazement he reached the treeline and took a moment to look behind.  Hern had ridden in low, scarcely thirty feet from the ground, to allow him the angle to see beneath the canopy of the trees, thin as it was in a cultivated orchard.  And flowing across that field came the Sluagh like the things of nightmare that they were.

  His left hand found his pouch one last time, and fire poured from his right.  The explosion caught the rider by surprise, scorching the field below and washing up over him and his mount.

  Seburn had had no hope of defeating Hern with a single bit of fire magic, but his mount was far less formidable.  To the Barbarian’s surprise, it fell beneath his blast, and the huntsman tumbled from the sky.  He didn’t wait to see what followed.  He turned and ran once more.  With his pursuer on foot, he just might have a chance.
  *** 
   “We don’t have a chance if we stay on the road.”, Penn gasped, staggering to a halt.  “We need cover, a way to break the scent, a place to rest.”

  “Can’t you fly?”, Marcus asked.  “They couldn’t follow you then.”

  “And leave you behind?”, the Bard asked in shock.  “We’re better off if we stick together.”  But the Cleric’s suggestion had sparked an idea.  “Brace yourself.”, he advised.  “And you may want to cover your mouth and nose.”

  He began to sing a song of change, and his form twisted in the night. Transforming into something horrible.  A stench of dark corruption rose all about him.

  “What did you do?”, Marcus gasped, struggling not to retch at the foul emanation.

  “Troglodyte.”, Penn explained.  “They’re following our scent?  Let’s give them one they’d rather not follow.”

  “How long can you keep that form?”, Marcus asked, backing away quickly.

  “A bit more than an hour.  It won’t last to dawn, but it might buy us some time.”

  “Well let me get upwind of you.  Better, I’ll lead, you follow.  Just keep a distance, will you?  We’ll head for the river.  Maybe we can find some help there.”
  ***


----------



## Greenfield (Jul 7, 2012)

Seburn saw no help in sight.  Hern was taking his time now, stalking his prey carefully.  Gone was the smile, the joy of the hunt.  Now he was angry, for the prey had turned on him, slain his horse and burned a field to foul the scent trail with smoke.  But the Sluagh didn’t need a scent trail now, and neither did he.  The trail was as clear as a road, the drops of blood pointing the way.  

  Seburn made a dash for a low stone wall, hoping to gain some cover.  He vaulted it easily, and dodged among the trees as best he could trying to deny the hunter a clear shot.

  The end came as a surprise.  He was running, heading back towards the canal, and then suddenly he was facing a tree, unable to move, a long solid cedar shaft pinning him in place.  He knew he should be dead, for the arrow had entered near the center of his back and come completely through his ribs, but the dead cannot truly die.  

  “Well run, my hound.”, came the words of praise, directed not at the pack, but at Seburn.  “May all your hunts be as good, now and forever more.”, Hern whispered softly as he claimed his prize.
  *** 
  “They’ll have us soon.”, Marcus said, hearing the pack in the distance.  They had had a good run, stretching the chase out for miles and hours while the pack struggled to find their trail.  He sagged back against a low stone wall in exhaustion.

  “I’ll try to lead them off.”, Penn said.  “I’ll double back, circle, cut across my own trail.  You hide, maybe they’ll miss you.”

  “No.  There are enough that they’ll just split and pursue us both.”, Marcus whispered, defeat in his voice.  “I’m sorry I got us into this.”

  “Not your fault.  You couldn’t leave him behind any more than I could leave you behind.  And we almost made it.”, the Bard laughed ruefully.  “Less than an hour til sunrise.  If there was a tree we could climb it and hide out until then.  Or a burrow, we could go to ground, hope to wait them out.”

  “Go to ground?”, asked Marcus, his face brightening.   “We’re going to make it.  Go, lay a trail, confuse them, then get back here. “

  Pen did as instructed, spreading the last of his foul stench through the area as best he could in the short time his spell had left.  He circled, crossed, turned and cut for the few minutes before his transformation ended, then staggered back to his friend.

  “They’ll be here in less than a minute.”, he advised.  “Whatever you have, it better be good.”

  “Oh, it’s more than good.  This is the gift of Gaia, and it will last for over an hour.”, he explained, and began his spell.  Taking the Bard’s hand, he lead him to the wall, and they stepped inside it together.  From outside, there was just a stone wall and nothing else.
  *** 
  Slowly Iggy raised his head to look around.  The city was in turmoil and fires dotted the horizon where random bolts of lightning had scored on dry roves.  People wandered about the plaza, their faces a mixture of exhaustion and shock.  

  Slowly, carefully he extricated himself from his hiding place, taking great pains to stay quiet and draw no attention to himself.  He’d had no real part in the madness of the night, but neither the guard nor the people of the city would bother with minor details like that, they’d simply see an outlander and tear him to pieces.  He muttered a simple spell, straightened up, and a slender child, a girl of perhaps ten years with straight black hair and a tear streaked face stood where he had been a moment before.  He carefully twisted his legs slightly, bringing his knees together so he’d run like a girl, then “she” went dashing off, looking as lost, exhausted and shocked as everyone else.
  *** 
  “What of the night?”, Sylus asked as he finally emerged from the iron enclosure, his new friend at his side.

  “Madness.”, came the simple reply from an acolyte.  “The spirits of great hunters strode the streets seeking prey, and the green horseman rode the sky firing lightning from his bow.  Parts of the city are burning, and there are riots in the eastern quarter.  Soldiers from the palace guard the inner wards, and we are tending to the injured as best we can.”

  “I am a healer of sorts.”, Sylus replied.  “May I help?”
  *** 
  Imagina sat rocking back and forth slowly, tears of grief still sliding down her cheeks as she cradled Seburn’s head in her lap.  Dawn had come without awakening for her friend.  He was gone.  

  She looked up for about the tenth time at the sound of people approaching, ready to hide once more.  But this time it was Penn and Marcus, looking filthy, torn and exhausted.  She waved to them, happy that they at least had survived.

  The pair staggered in and collapsed in the small clearing, looking like they needed sleep even more than she did.

  “Marcus saved us.”, Penn said simply.  “He found a hiding place even the shadow hounds couldn’t ferret out.”

  “Tell me tonight, when you wake up.”, the enchantress said.  “Here, take a drink.”, she encouraged, passing them Seburn’s tiny flask.  “I’ll keep watch.”  They slipped off in seconds, and a few minutes later her own exhaustion caught up with her as well.

  And so they slept, all three, leaving the dead Barbarian to stand watch.
  *** 
  Iggy came down the stairs, having slipped unseen into his room through a window.  He feigned a yawn, as if just waking, and grumbled about all the yelling in the night.

  A small cadre of guards stood at near attention in the common room, their armor showing them to be not simply the city watch but palace guards.  All eyes and weapons were fixed on the Gnome as he stood frozen on the stair.

  “Come down here, now, Korobukuru.  Tell me where you were last night?”, the commander demanded.

  “Well”, Iggy began as he chose his strategy.  “I went with my friends to the hearing, but couldn’t get past the crowd.  Then the really tall guy came and blew his horn.  Things got crazy so I ran, and got back here.”, he said, carefully choosing which version of the truth would best fit the occasion.

  “The Magistrate ordered the arrest of all involved.”, the commander informed him, glowering down at the Gnome in his best threatening manner.

  Iggy cowered back in fear, sputtering, “But I wasn’t involved.  I got scared and ran.  I nearly got trampled! “, hoping his performance was convincing.  The way he read the commander, the man needed to be in charge, which meant that Gnomes like himself had better let the man think he had scared them.

  The man straightened up smugly.  “Such a coward.  Are all outlanders as soft as you are?”

  “Well, I’m just a teamster on the caravan.  Not my job to fight, if’n you see what I mean.  I’m sure there’s harder men than me around.”

  “Well, we’re looking for them.”, the captain emphasized.  “The slick tongued demon, the red haired madman, the dark skinned woman, the bald warrior priest and the driver with the horse hoof scar on his face.  Where are they?”

  “I don’t know.”, Iggy said, shaking with mock fear.  “You arrested them all last night and I haven’t seen them since I ran from the plaza. “

  “Bah, this one is a fool as well as a coward.”, the commander shouted, the room itself as his audience.  “Keep him here until the Magistrate gives the caravan permission to leave.  Then make sure he leaves town with it.  And arrest any of the others who show their faces.”  Then he marched out, taking half the guard with him.
  *** 
  It was after sunset when Penn came wafting in on silent wings.  A thin blade slid between the shutters on his room, and he carefully lifted the bar and stepped inside.

  He moved quickly and quietly once within, gathering his things and stowing them in his pack.  He listened carefully at the door before slipping out and entering the next room, using the key that Marcus had given him.  The first thing he did was unbar the window, so he could escape quickly if the need arose, then he packed up his friend’s things as well.

  He saved Seburn’s room for last.  They had decided to see if there was a way to take his body home to his family, and his wealth had always been important to him.  Leaving it behind just seemed wrong.

  Then he left, a dark shadow against a dark sky, away and gone.
  *** 
  They were on the road for a week before they sighted the freight barge that bore the caravan.  They had known of Carralon’s plan to sell his horses and wagons to the military and finish his trip to the sea by barge, and had stayed by the river to intercept him in transit.

  He and the rest waved to them and signaled that they’d wait for them at the next portage point.
  ******* 
  Out of character, the Meld into Stone trick saved our bacon.  Penn could have flown away if he wasn’t exhausted from running all night, but abandoning Marcus isn’t in his nature.

  Mr. R chose to have Sylus sit out the hunt scene, and the Blind Bard ran Iggy.  Iggy’s main thing is hiding, and he’s not one to put himself at risk for someone else.  Unless he’s being paid, of course.  His Hide check is something like a +23, so when he decides to find a hole and pull it in after him, he’s pretty much gone.

  I’d hoped that Pen’s trick of “Think you can find that?”, would throw the clue to the Blind Bard to have him let Seburn “find” Iggy’s boots of Striding and Springing.  No such luck, but it made no real difference in the end.  

  If Tinker had just stayed in the air he could have flown over the second group of Sluagh.  They had Shadow Walk, and half the group that was after him had shifted over to get ahead of him.  They hadn’t known where he was, but once they knew his direction they could jump past and work their way back.

  I worked out a set of pursuit rules that was based on skill checks and randomly generated obstacles.  He always had several choices at any juncture and never got a dead end.  The pursuers had to face the same challenges, plus the tracking roll, so he was encouraged to pick challenges that a man could do better than a hound.  Climbing a ladder would be an easy example.

  With Fly, though, he could beat any Climb, Jump or Balance check out there.  His first real mistake was deciding to weave back and forth across that canal.  That limits him to double moves, when he could be doing quads.  As a pseudo-dead type, he had no CON score and could never get exhausted.  He could sprint forever, and with wings (and a flight speed of 50) he could outrun the hounds.  They had the same base speed but had to contend with rough terrain and other obstacles that he could bypass.

  His second mistake was locking himself into the waterway.  Even that was survivable if he’d pressed ahead and just passed by the second group of hounds.  They couldn’t smell him underwater, his scent wasn’t one they knew in the new form, so he could have made it.  At a quad move of 160, though, he was leaving a wake like a torpedo, and was relatively easy to spot from the air, so when he doubled back he was doomed.

  We all agreed that Mr. M’s Call Lightning at random into the city was bordering on a “dark side point”.  We rolled percentile for each shot, since he wasn’t really aiming, with him trying to avoid high numbers.

  Out of all his shots, two were below 50%, and one was in the mid nineties.  The low shots hit empty space, streets or things that wouldn’t be harmed.  The 96 hit a person, someone out there who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.  And, being a low level commoner, the guy died, regardless of what he might roll on his Save.  The other strikes hit buildings and the like, damaging roofs and starting fires.

  The Sluagh are based on Shadow Mastiff, and their bay or growl calls for a DC 18 Will save from everyone within 300 feet.  Fail and you’re Panicked, which means either run in mindless fear or be paralyzed with terror.  And with 30 of them roaming through the city looking for the escapees, they pretty much turned the city into a rolling disaster area.

  Needless to say, the authorities are extremely pissed, and we need to skip the country as quickly and as quietly as possible.

  I may chronicle more of our adventures, if you like.


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