Letter 32—We Must Protect the Kingdom

Dear Pino,
I left you last time in the midst of battle.

“Which one of you kilt my daddy?” Young Villamor, Jr. snorted. Trask looked up weakly, then read something in his eyes. “Nooooooooooo!” he cried as Koth's greataxe cleft him in twain.

Paizo

“By the twelve raging gods!” I yelled, flinging myself upon Koth. I wish I could say I beat him, but like his daddy, he soon held the upper hand over me. The only thing that saved me was that, also like his daddy, he paused to gloat over his helpless victim. This gave Cane time to come up from behind and garrote him.

“Tough about Trask,” he said while wiping his hands on a fallen banner.

“Yeah.”

I could see Irovetti standing on his throne, gesticulating wildly with his weapon, now seemingly empty, as Lev and Vlad slowly advanced towards him. Suddenly, the air shimmered around the throne and he was gone.

“Dag!” said Lev. “We almost had him.”

Irovetti being gone didn't seem to bother our foes, but losing Koth, Jr. took the wind out of the ogre mage. He threw up his hands, “Enough already. I submit.” Soon the others fell silent, dropping their arms. They looked surprised.

“What's your name?” Lev asked him.

“Avinash Jurrg.”

“Well, now you're my Avinash Jurrg.”

The ogre mage bowed to him, followed by the others. “Get the sergeant in charge of new recruits and then you can visit the quartermaster. What next?” He looked at the rest of us.

“Trask,” I replied plainly. We stopped by where the archer had fallen and were deeply shocked to see that what we thought was Trask's mangled body instead looked like a large doll, severed in half, with beady gem eyes.

“Wha?” Lev cried. “Who—or what—made this? How did they make it so lifelike? It must have heard . . . everything about us, all our plans.”

There was no time to consider what that implied, we still had to find Irovetti. Since he'd stepped through a dimension door  there was no reason to think he was nearby, but still we searched the building—do you know how many rooms a palace with a thousand doors has?

Sometime later I went back to the kitchen to slake my thirst when I noticed the house staff preparing an ornate feast. “What is this?” I asked, thinking it was for us. “Oh, nothing,” the butler sniffed. “Routine.”

I watched them for a moment, thinking. “Then you won't mind if I follow?”

The man shared a look with the cook. “Of course not,” he said, nodding to the boys pushing the cart. “What you do is your business. Mine is to serve my master.”

I called the others and we followed them through a grand atrium where a fountain tinkled merrily beneath a large gold statue of Irovetti. The vanity of the man was ridiculous. We then meandered through any number of dark hallways and small rooms until we came to a blank wall where the serving man traced a few symbols and a secret door slid aside. “Please follow me,” he said as his boys gathered enough food and wine for ten large men and clambered down a long, dark stairway leading deep into the rock beneath.

Once we reached the bottom we waited in the dark by the stairs while he served the feast.

“You trust him?” Cane asked incredulously.

Lev shrugged, “Sure, why not?”

“Besides, we've got his old lady,” Vlad whispered after Lev had turned away. Still, his instinct was right, and soon the meal had been delivered and the servants gone.

“We'll let him stuff himself for awhile,” Lev smiled, settling back.

We heard talking, one was Irovetti's nasal whine and the other was a softer voice. “Castruccio, darlink, which of these do you think I should wear?”

You always ask me the hardest questions. You look divine in the peach but the the black has more pockets for your weaponry.”

“Showtime,” Lev whispered, opening the door.

“Ah,” said Irovetti, seemingly unsurprised, ripping off the wing of the roast bird in front of him and shoving it into his mouth. A beautiful fey sat across from him, “Engelidis, this is Cane the butcher, Marquand the genocide, Vlad the impaler, and Lev the working class hero. Which do you suppose is most dangerous, my dear?” He looked us over judiciously. “Ah, comrade Lev, they'll die by the millions before you're through.”

Lev snorted, “That's rich coming from you. You kill for sport!”

Engelidis           Paizo

“And you kill in the name of progress—far more deadly.”

“What do you want?” Lev asked, losing patience.

“Not that much. I've been preparing for this day for a long time, I knew someone—or something—would catch up with me eventually.” He shoved a rich slab of bread into his mouth. “I've got a nice little stash of gold waiting for me in the great city of Korvosa and no reason to return to this backwater. All you have to do is let us walk away and you can add Pitax to your little empire—lock, stock, and teardrop.”

“Why would we do that?” Cane stepped forward, a dangerous low rumble in his throat, like right before he'd killed Grigori. Lev reached out to restrain him. “Let him speak.”

“I have information you need to know,” Irovetti shrugged dismissively, “like Restov's plans for you.”

“They plan an alliance with us.”

Irovetti laughed, picking a chicken bone clean before tossing it into the corner of the room. “And you expect New Stetven to sit by and wait for the P.U.R.K. to ally with Rostland against them?” he snickered. “Who do you think asked me to attack Tatzleford?”

Lev seethed. “What else do you have to save yourself, Irovetti? You're a war criminal.”

“I've got some very special gear. . . .”

“I was planning on taking that off you anyway,” Cane smirked.

“Things I keep in very secret places,” he added smugly. Again Cane paused.
“Anything else?” Lev sounded resigned.

Irovetti gave Engelidis's hand a squeeze. “There's an issue with the first world you should probably know about.”

I could hold my bile no longer. “What about the Justice I promised those poor souls in Tatzleford that your men butchered?” I cried.

His face hardened. “The man responsible for that has already paid your price.”

“Koth?”

“Don't take my word for it, look it up in the records, ask anybody in the city. He was proud of what he'd done. He's supposed to have pleasured himself amongst the corpses.”

Lev replied coolly, “If what you say is true, and you turn your treasures over to us, you can leave this region never to return.”

“Aw,” Cane mumbled.

“Don't take it so hard, Butcher,” Irovetti laughed. Now, why don't you all pull up some chairs, pour some wine, and we'll get down to business.”

“You were going to tell us about the political situation up north?”

“Dear,” he said turning to Engelidis, who was busy pouring our drinks, “while we're talking will you get the sword for the gentlemen?”

“I could use some help.”

“I'll go!” Cane suddenly volunteered, sizing her up as he stood. Engelidis towered over him, sharp-featured with mottled green skin—natural camouflage—and taut muscles that seemed almost too perfect. He followed her through the curtain that served as one long wall.

Irovetti took a long drink of wine before continuing. “Basically, why do you think you were sent to the Stolen Lands, why were any of us sent?”

“To secure the southern border and provide trade with Brevoy without getting New Stetven's nose out of joint.”

“Good so far, what then?”

“We form mutually beneficial alliances with Brevoy and everyone profits.”

Irovetti laughed, shaking his head. “I'd imagine your pal Marquand has a better idea of what's going on.”

All eyes turned to me. I shrugged. “The Swordlords probably thought that if our four groups were successful at taming the Stolen Lands, then they would be able to play us off one another until we fell—one by one.”

“Go on.”

“Then they would pick up the pieces, using our resources and soldiers against New Stetven and settle old scores.”

“But. . . .”

“But nothing, Comrade Lev,” Irovetti smirked. “Little did they expect you to unite the region under one banner, much less the way you united it: by appealing to the common people, by ending the distinctions between race and class, by making everyone and everything equal! My gods, both Restov and New Stetven hate and fear you. If this—creed—of yours ever catches on, all their world is at risk.”

That's when Cane and Engelidis returned, dripping wet and laughing, both of them nearly naked. As you know, all nymphs are beautiful, but Engelidis especially so. She was leaving very little for our imaginations.

There was the crash of breaking glass as Irovetti pulled the tablecloth away, scattering dishes, glasses, silverware, and food everywhere. He handed it to Engelidis, growling, “Cover yourself!”

Cane looked up, startled. “Hey,” he protested. “Nothing happened. We just had to swim underwater to retrieve this baby.” His face broke out is a grin as he unwrapped the beautiful, etheral shawl the treasure was wrapped in.

“By Erastil!” I croaked. The bastard sword he unveiled was like nothing I'd seen before. The blade looked as if it had been grown, not forged, and the gemstones embedded in the handle's inlay were of deeper, otherworldly, hues than I've experienced before. It seemed to fit my hand naturally. I tried several cuts in the air.

“Hey, I think we have a winner,” Cane laughed before remembering Irovetti, who sat glowering at him from across the table. Restraining himself, the deposed ruler turned to me. “That blade is very special, you see. It is probably the most important artifact in the River Kingdoms,” he coughed. “There are places where our world meets with other worlds and the realm of Thousandbreaths—her realm—is one of them.

“Nyrissa, that's her name, is a nymph from the old school—before time, before our world existed.” He glared again at Engelidis, who had returned wearing a simple maroon shift, damp hair casually done up, showing the back of her long, thin neck. “Her grip on our world is growing,” Irovetti rumbled on. “This sword you hold, called Briar, an intelligent vorpal blade, is the only means there is of defeating her plans.”

I noticed Cane sneaking shy glances at Engelidis, who ignored him while studying Irovetti in her turn. “Could it be?” I thought. Our Cane has never loved anything but animals before this, although the fey are wild enough to satisfy anyone, I suppose.

“You'll need to stay down here until we can arrange your safe transportation.”

“You're a gentleman, Comrade Lev,” Irovetti sniped, tapping his razor-spitting rod significantly.

We started back upstairs but had barely shut the door when we heard Irovetti break out in abject cursing. Engelidis was silent. Cane turned back but stopped. “No,” Lev warned.

“I can't leave you alone with any man,” Irovetti complained.

“It's all in your mind, Castruccio,” she replied coldly.

“Was your little fling with Koth in my mind?”

“Oh, him.”

“And Koth, Jr.?”

“That was an accident.”

“An accident?” he shrieked.

“He was so sad when his daddy died, how could I not comfort him?”

“Comfort? That's what you call it now? Comforting? I have another word for it!”

“. . . Besides, he wasn't taking no for an answer,” she went on, as if chatting at the fair. “Just like his daddy—ow! Who do you think you're . . .” There was a grunt, the sound of crunching bone, a terrible scream. Cane ripped the door open and what we saw froze the marrow in my bones forever. Irovetti was held in the coiled embrace of a spirit naga twisting off his head.

Paizo

“I think it's time to go,” Cane whispered, shutting the door. We could hear her slithering after us but, fortunately, the door seemed to be designed for just such an occurrence and we soon had it securely barred. Lev and Vlad hurriedly warded the area as we climbed back upstairs with Engelidis's thumps, shrieks, and curses in our ears.

“She's cute,” said Cane, “but what a temper!”

“Better put some guards in here,” Lev said distractedly when we'd returned to the top. “In case she gets out.”

But she never did, not that way. When we finally got the nerve to enter the underground room again we found Irovetti's moldering corpse, his Rod of Razors and Mindrender Baton, and not much else. The spirit naga that is Engelidis's true form apparently escaped through a long conduit leading down to the river.

We managed to get Pitax prepared to join the P.U.R.K. in about three weeks. Bert Askew showed up one day, in the same caravan that brought Queen Ilse, to inventory the wealth of Pitax. “You gotta pay for this some way,” he scolded. “You think armies run on promises and regrets? It would'a helped the balance sheet if more of your guys had died. What were you thinking?”

“I don't know, Bert,” I replied, seeing Lev and Ilse together in the distance holding hands, chatting with some local burghers about the width of the street.

“It's a shame about Queen Ilse.”

It took a moment to register what he was saying. “What?”

“Oh yes, she's been seeing men day and night, everybody knows it, even while carrying the Comrade's child—if it is his,” he added with a tsk.

“What?”

“Yeah, they say she was favoring Vlad and Trask around that time.” He looked at me blandly. “Of course, you were always above suspicion.”

I admit, dear Pino, that I wanted to kill him on the spot, but something stopped me—the certain knowledge that Askew could not be the brains behind this conspiracy. I needed to know more.

We dispersed most of the army with as little looting as possible thanks to Comrade Lev's “share the wealth” program. It was mostly Pitax's wealth, but the locals were persuaded once they saw the fortune that would be flowing their way when we opened the borders and free trade commenced. Many of our army veterans he recruited, sending them to the border with Brevoy, just in case.

As soon as we could, we left for Whiterose Abbey, to take the shawl back to the nereid Evindra, parting with Ilse, who was going to Tuskland to finish her term.
Our return to Whiterose was without event, except for the troubling things I'd learned, Trask's mysterious death not the least of them. And what to make of Askew's reckless gossip? Dear Pino, it seems the more problems we solve, the more come our way.

Below the hill, the Abbey grounds had changed little from our previous visit, but the Abbey itself had been cleaned up, even though most of it was still in disrepair. Evindra greeted us near the entrance to her cistern. “We can put you in the Abbot's old quarters, the roof don't leak and it'll keep out the coyotes. Oh, and the Abbey's spirits have been laid to rest, so don't you be worrying about that! I even got most of the bloodstains out!”

Cane and ZzzzzAaaah soon left to make their own place in the wild. “I'll be back in two or three days,” he mumbled as they disappeared into the tall grass.

Paizo

That evening we presented a delighted Evindra with her shawl. “I saw that ye were carrying Briar,” she said. “I hope you know what you're getting into.”

“Not really,” I replied, “I know that I feel a certain kinship for it.”

“Kinship it is, 'cause Briar was forged of a woman's love and won't be at rest until it lies nestled once more in her bosom.”

As darkness fell, we sat around a campfire and listened to her tale from a long time ago and another place, the one we call the First World. Now the First World is an unfinished place—unfinishable—in constant metamorphosis, dominated by the Eldest, who are spiteful and jealous beings, as close to unknowable as there is.

Nyrissa was just another nymph in that insecure place until she dared love an Eldest. His fecund seed transposed her, gave her power to rival the Eldest themselves and doomed him. Within this chaos she created an island of stability that she called Thousandbreaths, and gave it anchorage in our world, “very near this place.”

Unsurprisingly, the Eldest found Nyrissa presumptuous, sending a powerful dragon, the Jabberwock, to take her down a notch. Then, to control her—and punish her—they took her power of love away, fixing it within the sword Driar. “Yes, the very one you carry, this sword is far more than a weapon. It's an intelligent being and the closer you get it to Nyrissa, the more it'll wake. Yeah.”

The Eldest cast it into our world to keep it away from her, but they didn't consider that her need could last such a very long time, longer than their will to punish. All she wants now is love. “She received the visions and prophecies that would come to haunt her so—that Briar would be returned to her, but only as an instrument of her own death, wielded in the hands of a mortal hero.”*

Once she'd tracked it into our world she set up shop along the southern base of the Branthlend Mountains, in the area knows as the Forest of a Thousand Voices.

“And why should we care?” asked Lev, studying the fire.

“Because she knows you have her sword, you fool! She felt it as soon as you lifted it from the water and unwrapped my shawl. While she may be something of an outcast in her own land, here she has the power to lay waste to everything you've accomplished. You must stop her first.”

Lev sighed tiredly. “We must protect the kingdom.”

Later, before sleeping, we studied the books left in the monastery's library, which was near the rooms where we were staying. “Ah, here it is,” Said Vlad, holding up a copy of Zuddiger’s Picnic. Calling Lev, we read it carefully. It's basically a description of Thousandbreaths as a fable but, if the stories are interpreted correctly, they offer some idea as to the creatures we may encounter there. Also, there's a map, as fanciful as it may be.

Once we'd finished breakfast the next morning, Lev said, “I guess we might as well get going.”

“Yep.”

Stopping at Evindra's cistern to say goodbye, we were surprised to find her mounted on a sturdy mule and ready to ride. “You're gonna need my help,” she explained beneath her big floppy sun hat, adding demurely, “Can't let my skin dry out.”

“What about Cane?” I asked Lev.

“He'll find us,” Lev assured me.

And sure enough, about ten miles out, he did,
Sleep well,
Uncle Marquand

*From Kingmaker: Sound of a Thousand Screams, p.7

Letter 31—A Bird in the Hand

Dear Pino,

We celebrated our victory briefly, then quickly turned our attention to our march on Pitax. I said a final goodbye to Alexandoss and Aria as they prepared to return home with the few pitiable survivors of their contingent. Alexandoss had become much more formal in her dealings with me since her return with our townspeople and I could see that there was no swaying her from her intended course. So, on one golden morning, I bid them farewell, thanking them for their sacrifices and swearing the eternal gratitude of the P.U.R.K.

“Come see us, friend Marquand,” she told me, cupping my hand in hers. “Every year, on the first day of autumn, we honor Desna by releasing cages full of swallowtail butterflies in memory of a blind child who once saved heaven. Please join us for our celebration.”

“At the first opportunity, my lady,” I answered gruffly, my voice choking with unaccustomed emotion.

Then the small group cantered away, the lady Aria saluting as she moved past. I watched them go until they were out of sight and was turning to reenter the gates when a familiar shape emerged from the woods. It was Sweet Sugar Cane returning to us. He was leading a large, skittish orange tiger.

ZzzzzAaaah                 © HDWallpapers

“This is ZzzzzAaaah,” he said as way of greeting, following me into town.

“She won't bite,” he added, noticing the wide berth we were given as we passed through the streets. “Unless I tell her to.”

We joined Lev, Vlad, and Trask who were already planning our assault on Pitax. “We lost half our army,” Vlad grimaced. “Everyone except the commandos and the main force.”

“Everyone who fought for Marquand died,” Trask added. “No offense, Marquand. Cane, my man, am I glad you're back!”

The others crowded around him as I watched with ZzzzzAaaah, scratching her behind the ears.

Then we sat down around Baron Drelev's great war table, Vlad continuing with the briefing. “Skot Skevins told me that Irovetti had thrown everything at us. He's only got one army left and they're demoralized.”

“Well, we better get over there,” Lev grimaced.

A week later, we were looking at Pitax's walls from a hidden place in the woods. As Lev started discussing our strategy, he was continuously interrupted by Primo Askew, Bert's younger brother, acting as his proxy.

“What are you gonna do now?” he said while shoving a steaming meat pie into his gob.

“Well, we're gonna march our army nearby and start setting up siege machinery,” Lev replied distractedly.

“You mean, camp within sight of the walls?” Askew sneered, noisily licking gravy from his grime-encrusted fingers. I shuddered.

“No.”

“So, are you gonna set up, like, ten miles away?”

“Well . . .”

“They'll see our camp fires if nothing else,” Trask observed.

“So, you're going to be far enough away that they can sneak through your lines?” Askew moaned.

Lev glared at him. “We're going to get within a short march of the walls and set up a base camp.”

“Aw, it doesn't matter,” Primo slapped his forehead in disgust, leaving a spot of gravy on his forehead. He pointed to a Pitax scout running in the distance. “Yoo-hoo!" he cried, waving at the man. “Grab your ankles, honey, we're acomin' for ya! You rat! Run back to your mama!”

By this time Lev had had enough, and had him sealed in an empty wine cask and shipped back to Tuskland. “Don't let him out until you get back, but don't let him die, either,” he told the drovers, who tossed him with a thump into the back of a rickety cart. “In fact, the more you feed him the better!”

Once that was taken care of, he turned to us. “While our army is setting up, we'll go around the back of the city and sneak in. And then, as the army is moving in and laying siege, we'll try and kill Irovetti and open the gates.”

“It's going to be well guarded!” Cane objected, putting his arms protectively around ZzzzzAaaah, who licked his face with her big rough tongue.

“This entire administration is going to collapse like a house of cards—checkmate!” Trask growled. Let this be a lesson to you, dear Pino—never mix your metaphor!

“I'm going to leave ZzzzzAaaah behind,” Cane said while rubbing the big kitty on the head affectionately. Her purring was so loud it spooked deer from the brush nearby. “She's won't be stealthy in a city.”

The next morning, as the fog rolled off the river shrouding the city, Lev cast wind walk, which transmuted us into large billowing clouds and, thus disguised, we wafted from nearby the harbor into a quiet city. Only the distant cries of the boatmen, and the occasional bark of a dog, disturbing the night air. Soon we were standing in the city, Irovetti's extravagant Palace of a Thousand Doors looming on the bluff above.

Palace of a Thousand Doors   Terfloth/GixGa

I tried to interest my colleagues in making contact with the local opposition, but was met with the stony crunching of morning rations.

“What we should do is march brazenly down the streets and collar Irovetti for his crimes!” Lev declared loudly. “Right out in front of everybody!”

While we argued about whether or not to don disguises, the city bells began tolling the alarm. “It's Cane the butcher!” a night watchman yelled.

“That's torn it, lads.”

We crept around to the service entrance where twelve Pitax wardens awaited, guarding a wide passageway leading inside, long arrow slits along each side, two portcullises ready to slide into place blocking our way in. At the far end, two iron portals stood against further entry.

Lev, who had made himself invisible, sneaked past the wardens to the end of the hallway where he found the doors locked. He could hear voices behind them but, thankfully, it seemed no one was manning the murderous slits. There he overheard a conversation in low, guttural troll-slang.

“Hee hee, what an an asshole.”

“Shh! The wrong person is going to hear you one of these days.”

“Ah, he's not going to last much longer. Did you hear what happened to his army? Eh? Totally wiped! I hear that Villamor Koth is hanging from the wall in Fort Drelev.”

“Listen man, you shush! I don't want to be around you if you're going to talk like that.”

“Just relax,” the first one grunted.

From the slit, Lev spied a hallway. Using his most honeyed tones he whispered. “Friend, it's me. Open up.”

“It sounds like someone wants us to open the doors,” he puzzled.

“Yeah, but we're not supposed to.”

“Quick,” Lev pleaded. “Quickly!”

“Just hold on a second.”

“Get the doors opened!” Lev urged, whining desperately.

“We're supposed to keep them closed,” the second troll insisted.

“Who says?”

“I said so, I mean, the boss says so.”

“We're supposed to keep them closed?” There was a dreamy cast to his voice.

“Just do it, guy, come on!” Lev urged again.

“No, I'm not going to open it.”

“Dude, come on. Imagine the rewards,” he whispered desperately, then heard a click in the door as a third voice suddenly growled, “Who's opening the door over there? Shut the door!”

But it was too late, Lev was inside.

Obviously I heard this story later, because at that very moment outside, I was watching the wardens intently when I suddenly heard a loud cawing behind me. “What are you gonna do? What are you going to do?”

Looking up (along with everyone guarding the gate), I saw the large body of a crow with the head of Bert Askew flickering like a flame in the place of its own. “Come on, Marquand, times a wasting!”

The eyes of the guards turned quizzically back to me. I sighed. “If you don't get out of our way,” I told them, “we're going to do to you what we did to your armies.”

They drew their swords. “You're the bloke they call Marquand, ain't you?” their captain grinned back at his mates before replacing his helm. “This should be easy as pie!”

Paizo

Suddenly, the crow was beside me. “You were about to sneak in, you know that?” it hectored, little Askew head bobbing like an angry cock. “Lev was about to get you guys snuck in and you just poked the hornet's nest, you know that?” It flew to a higher perch.

“I just wanted to give you a little constructive feedback,” it added disingenuously.

“Damn you, Marquand!” Vlad grumbled while stepping past me.

“Excellent!” the Askew bird cackled happily.

Meanwhile, Lev had cast a spell on the first troll, making him his own.

“Hey, what's wrong with you?” asked the troll's pal as he wandered away from the door without locking it.

We heard the familiar sound of bells from inside.

“Now the alarm has been given!” the Askew bird cried, sounding for all the world like Little Billee mocking his grandpa, Old Billee. “Marquand's to blame! Marquand's to blame! Now the entire palace knows you're here!”

Trask ran inside, past the guards as they flailed away at him fruitlessly, bull rushing the door and banging it partially open. “Breaaak bad!” he hollered.

“If you can dodge a ball, you can dodge a wrench,” Cane noted, following him in.

“We've got them surrounded, now,” I called after him, casting flame strike into the midst of the guards as they mocked me, killing two-thirds of them.

“You want to use up those high-powered spells on Pitax wardens?” I heard the Askew bird scoff mockingly from behind. “That's a good one!”

As the portcullises fell, trapping Vlad and me outside with the remaining wardens, I drew my holy sword.

Inside, as the trolls fought over the door, Trask squeezed between the legs of one of them to join Lev, who was trying his persuasive best with the trolls. “Stand aside,” he wheedled. “We're just here for Irovetti. You can go your merry way.” 

While the second troll seemed uncertain, he didn't move. Lev then instructed the troll he'd already dominated to grapple his partner, who twisted away to relock the door. It was too late—Cane was inside.

With wardens hanging off me, I slipped their grip, running to a clear area where Vlad stood fidgeting. “Come on! For the love of Pete!” he cried, grabbing me while casting dimension door. With a thump, we landed on the hard, stone floor inside just as Cane was opening the iron door. Inside was a large chamber with tables and chairs scattered haphazardly across the floor. Large bins by the wall held refuse, soiled laundry, and dirty dishes.

Lev grabbed the troll he'd been keeping in thrall. “Where's Irovetti?”

“Uh, he's probably in the throne room.”

“Show us the way,” Lev commanded.

We followed the obscene creature through a door and down a corridor where we immediately came to the throne room!

“Really?” Trask asked, frankly incredulous. “The throne room is right next to the gatehouse?”

“Yes,” the troll answered pendulously.

Beneath a high dome several towering stained-glass windows depicted the great King Irovetti himself, posed heroically. In one, he was butchering a helpless animal, in another, marrying an elf-Queen, and in the third he was “lecturing the scholars.” Remember this, dear Pino: propaganda only serves its function when there is an iota of truth to it. There was nothing here but vanity.

In front of the windows stood a regal throne of burgundy stone atop a broad dais of red-veined white marble. Frowning there, like a man who hates his in-laws, sat “His Supreme and Inimitable Magnificence,” Castruccio Irovetti.

Irovetti                        Paizo

“You have come for me at last,” he croaked, somewhat drunkenly. “I knew you would—very well,” he stood. “No more games. No more tricks. No more decoys, my friends.” He gestured to those who stood glaring at us at the base of his throne—more Pitax wardens, an ogre mage (an obscene spirit impersonating an ogre), more trolls, and vengeful young man looking for all the world like a young Villamor Koth.

“Koth, Jr.,” Lev stage-whispered helpfully.

“Skill against skill. Strength against strength,” Irovetti snarled. “We shall see who deserves to rule and who deserves to die!” He sounded for all the world like one of those cheap melodrama villains that Little Billee's uncle, Lumpy Billee, favors.

Lev attacked with fire and soon the room was filled with the sound of bellowing trolls. Cane took on a warden while a troll leaped from the balcony to attack Vlad. As Trask walked through a dimension door to land on the far-side balcony, Lev commanded his troll to attack the ogre mage.

Irovetti, a look of delight in his eyes, fired razor after razor at Trask from his rod. Suddenly, a covey of singed trolls joined the attack. We heard a screech from the zen archer.

“Somebody get over here!” Trask cried. For the first time, ever, he seemed rattled. “Remember me fondly, friends,” he called. “Marquand, save me!”

Thinking that the quickest way to save him was to kill Irovetti and end the battle, I cast flame strike in hopes that a tower of flame would roast him, the ogre mage, and several of the trolls at once, but they proved sterner stuff than the wardens.

The fighting became fiercer as we grappled in the middle of the room. I heard a rending crack and the ogre mage let out a triumphant bellow while killing Lev's troll. Suddenly, Trask popped gasping into the air next to Vlad, collapsing into his arms. 

“Mon oncle,” he cried.

I had killed one troll and ducked the attack of another when I realized that Koth, Jr. had joined the fight.

Here, I regret, I must pause my narrative.

Say your prayers,

Uncle Marquand

Letter 30—Where Oh Where is that Sweet Sugar Cane?

Dear Pino,
We parted company with Cane after leaving White Rose Abbey. Inconsolable with the loss of his great cat, he simply disappeared into the wilderness. Let this be a lesson to you, Pino. As much as your mother and I have tried to protect you, life is brutish and short, we must cherish every moment given us with our loved ones and forgive them their shortcomings.

But I've finished with lecturing you. Growing up means taking responsibility for ourselves and our actions and our mistakes. Don't let my mistake with Lily be the cause of one that you make with me. Life is an eroding process and the more a person's regrets, the faster they erode. For your sake, as much as mine, forgive me.

We made it back to Tatzleford without problem. There, Lev inspected the rebuilding effort, kissed his wife Ilse, patted her swelling belly, and gave a speech calling on all good patriots to join our cause against Irovetti's thugs. Then he sent the speech to the far corners of our realm and to Brevoy, just so there would be no misunderstanding between us and our sponsors. Shortly after, the centaurs arrived led by Alexandoss Thundering-Spirer, who introduced herself as “Nomen Centaur priestess of Mother Moon, assistant to Aecora Silverfire, and prominent spokeswoman for the tribe.” Lev greeted her cordially, naming me his liaison to the centaur force.

Alexandoss      paizo

“And this is my assistant, Aria Stormmane,” she said, introducing us to a fierce centaur warrior whose lip curled with disdain when she saw me.

“Aria,” Alexandoss cajoled. “This is one of the men who freed Xamanthe and annihilated Vordakai.”

“And died in the process,” I added helpfully.

She continued glaring at me. “He might be all right for a two-legger,” she grudgingly allowed. “We'll see.” She then galloped off to lead her waiting sisters to their camp upstream.

“She'll come around eventually—if the campaign lasts long enough,” Alexandoss laughed and I found myself wanting a woman's company for the first time in, well, a very long time.

But, of course, Alexandoss is not a woman.

Soon after, the army that had been gathering in Tuskland arrived and we began training in earnest. The charming little town that had once been the arts and crafts hub for this entire region was reborn as an iron-willed military camp.

Since the centaurs are already well trained in the art of warfare, we concentrated on coordinating with human troops and acquainting Alexandoss and Aria with our tactics while learning about theirs. In the evenings, I would sit with them at their campfire and exchange stories, theirs about life on the open prairie before men arrived, and mine about what it is to be a man and to follow Erastil.

They were most interested in our encounter with Vordakai, a name they had come to dread. Mostly, they were in awe of my dying, asking me over and over, “What is it like on the other side?”

“Well, there's a lot of waiting around,” I shrugged.

“Since you're told us so much about your Erastil, maybe we should tell you about our Desna,” Alexandoss smiled. The others crowded around eagerly, careful not to step on me.

“Desna is the Mother, she gave us the sky,” she began, gesturing upward where the sky glowed softly with a million points of light. “Desna is one of the oldest deities, yet she has changed little since the dawn of civilization. She gifted us freedom—the freedom to roam the great plains; she gifted us knowledge—knowledge to witness and appreciate the wonder and beauty of her world. When you see a butterfly, you see the spirit of Desna flitting through our realm. The nomads of the north worship Desna as a statuesque human woman riding an elk—an elk like the symbol of your Erastil,” she looked down on me challengingly.

“Desna is said to dwell in a palace called Cynosure, visible in the northern night sky as the pole star, around which all others dance. Most importantly, Desna visits us in our dreams, speaking in language that can be plain, symbolic, or extremely arcane.”

I heard sighs as she finished and the centaurs moved around the bonfire, smiling and holding hands. They began chanting, swaying to an ancient rhythm that became dance as they cantered about the flames, high-stepping and proud. I felt someone take my hand and looked up to see Alexandoss smiling down, urging me to join her in the circle. How could I refuse? Soon I was approximating a highland reel as the others laughed, clapped, and danced far into the night.

Centaur        Kingmaker Campaign

Much later, sitting by the dying embers with Alexandoss, I realized that, for the very first time, we were alone. Although she was seated, she was still a great deal taller than me, so I stood next to her. She looked at me quizzically.

“My lady, I, . . .”

“Wait a moment, friend Marquand,” she said, stopping me. From a small pouch hanging at her side she emptied a handful of tiny red star gems into the sand next to the fire. She continued watching me as she mixed the sand with her gems, her gentle smile so like a mother's smile of love that it filled my heart. Then she flung the sand and stones, to which she'd scooped embers from the fire, into the starry sky, where they sparked, and fell, and, like our lives, quickly died away.

“I thank Desna that we've found one another and have this time together,” she said solemnly, taking my hand. “I pray to Desna that we will spend many such days together.” Here she paused. “I also pray that we can, both of us, accept that the price of our love is knowing that I have my duty to my people—to mate with my own kind.”

I looked into those sad brown eyes and kissed her. Duty, at least, I can understand. Love is another matter. Bowing my head, I said, “I'll see you in the morning then, my lady.”

I saw her smile mischievously. “That doesn't mean we can't go for a ride, friend Marquand,” she said, squeezing my hand while leading me into the dark, far from the campfire. “And you won't need your horse.”

Several days later we reached Fort Drelev, joined by the main body of our army, a rag-tag, if enthusiastic, bunch. One group was calling themselves the “Spooks of Candlemere,” where they'd held their combat practice before joining us. They were dressed in white and carried long thin knives, “in every hand,” as Skot Skevins sings.

I continued to see Alexandoss alone at odd, stolen moments. I even managed to kiss her once, although the risk we were taking had us both shaking afterward—or maybe it was the kiss. I knew I shouldn't love this woman, yet I did.

At the meeting of the general staff I felt distracted and moody.

“What would stop us from going to Pitax and assassinating this dude?” said Trask, meaning their “king,” Castruccio Irovetti.

“Do you want to know Bert Askew's opinion?” asked Baddlin' Billee Weaver (a cousin, I think), our current liaison with Askew.

“I would love to hear Bert Askew's opinion.”

“'If you guys do that, Irovetti's armies are going to burn your kingdom to the ground.'”

“Oh.”

On the road, soon after, we ran into Skot Skevins himself, seated on a burro in the middle of the road. He was playing his guitar and singing a song:

“And there was no man around
Who could track or chain him down
He was never known
To make a foolish move *

“Oh, hey fellas, good to see ya,” he greeted. “Been waitin' for ya. Kinda heard you were headed this way. Do you want to talk about this now or kick back with a few?”

Lev eyed him coldly. “I'd like to know immediately.”

Skevins sighed, sliding from the burro. “Well, you're the king!”

With the troops marching past us, we crowded around Skevins while he drew a map in the dust by the side of the road. “There's a large army camped about, oh, two days march southeast from here, under the command of Villamor Koth. You should remember him, Marquand,” he said leering up at me. “Didn't he best you at drunken jousting?” I heard snickers coming from our group.

“What do you expect? I was drunk,” I retorted weakly. “He won't be so lucky next time.”

“And Marquand did get bonked on the head,” Lev added in my defense.

“Irovetti's got a huge army—trolls, mounted hill giants, barbarians, and two flanks of wyverns,” Evans extolled, as if describing his favorite meal.

“We don't have any flying troops do we?” Trask asked, seeming casual.

“Nope,” came Lev's terse reply.

“Awkward.”

“That's what you and your bows are for.”

We stood around looking at Skevins. “If you guys make a beeline for Pitax, you can't miss them.”

“I say we hit them,” Lev said.

“You got one advantage,” Skevins went on. “The barbarians, hill giants, and trolls don't like each other much, so they're spread out to keep them from fighting among themselves. Now, where can a man get a skin of wine?”

The next day we began seeing outriders from the enemy camp and soon enough we reached a clearing where the forces of Pitax were arrayed against us, like on a chessboard. First and foremost stood the Pitax Hoard led by my old adversary, Villamor Koth. Behind them a gargantuan army seethed in the morning sun. In the distance, hill giants rode atop magnificent mastodons. Nearer by, a gang of trolls made obscene slobbering sounds. “Warm food,” they cried.

“We're quite a bit outnumbered here,” Lev noted drily.

We discussed strategy. “Hit and run,” Trask and Lev agreed, but which opponent? Our only chance was to take advantage of their repugnance for one another. “We should go for either one of the human units or the trolls,” said Trask.

“The trolls would be a very good place to start,” Lev agreed.

We were interrupted by Skevins's men bringing in an enemy scout. “Just let me go,” he whined. “Just let me go and turn around, because you're gonna die!”

Lev nodded and the men dragged him away, smacking him hard in the gob to shut him up. Lev then turned to us. “We'll hit the trolls as hard as we can right away, while our main army holds off theirs.”

“That's a great theory,” Trask sighed, “but I don't think the Hoard is just going to let us hit the trolls.”

“Well, that would come down to who attacks first, wouldn't it?” Lev sniffed as the meeting broke up.

“It's clobberin' time!” someone yelled.

Trask led the commandos into battle, I led the centaurs. “I wish you well,” I told Alexandoss, clasping her hand fraternally, feeling the eyes of all her centaurs upon us.

“Good hunting, warrior,” she raised my hand to their cheers. I bowed my head, feeling humble, praying to Erastil and Desna both to keep her safe. Then I took my place.

(Later, Skot Skevins would tell us that we might have talked some of their units out of battle. “They was mainly skeered of them trolls,” he grinned, “and sick of Koth's bullying. You could a' had them for a song . . . but it's always kill first and ask questions later for you guys, ain't it?”)

As I raised my holy blade and brought it down on the nearest troll's neck, I heard Lev—somewhere far away—crying, “Remember Tatzleford!”

“Remember Tatzleford!” came the cheer in reply as a sudden flight of arrows descended from a hidden sniper unit.

Unimpressed, the trolls, I saw, were laughing. “Buck up,” I cried. “Trolls laugh loudest as they die!” My centaurs once again charged them, hitting hard. I have to say, as little as centaurs like humans, they like trolls even less.

By then, the main armies had engaged. Our soldiers were outnumbered but fought valiantly, perhaps because they are free people and believe in their cause.
The barbarians attacked Lev's army to great and awful slaughter. I saw severed limbs flying and heads in their nut-brown leather helmets rolling across the ground like so many acorns. But I had no time to gawk.

If trolls have any weakness in battle, it's that they rarely fight anything that isn't running away from them in terror. To stand toe-to-toe with them (or hoof-to-toe in the centaurs' case) confuses them. They make mistakes. Even so, their size, power, and sheer ornery dispositions make them dangerous, even to centaurs, and my friends paid a terrible price for their loyalty to us. Just as I feared we were going to have to give way, Lev sent the Knights riding in on their flank and we finished them off.

I quickly searched the battlefield and found Alexandoss there, comforting a dying comrade. “Is there anything I can do?” I asked.

Her eyes searched mine for a sad moment. “Make sure you burn them!”

But the work was well in hand as everyone who wasn't injured was already dragging corpses to a vigorously burning pyre. “Hog fat,” said a farmer seeing me gape at the inferno. “Works better'n goose grease every time!” Soon there was a satisfying dark pall hanging over the battlefield.

Trask's commandos were just reaching the barbarian warriors, who had been harrying us with arrows, when we regrouped the centaurs. With a shock, I realized how many were missing. Quickly gathering the injured, Alexandoss and I led the remaining centaurs off the field. Aria Stormmane, grimly silent at the best of times, glared stonily at the battlefield, seeming ready to bolt back into the middle of combat.

Aria Stormanne    Obsidian Portal

“Aria.” I said, but she continued staring angrily beyond me. “Aria!” She looked over with a start. I rode up to her and, for once, she didn't shirk me. “I need you to accompany Alexandoss and your tribe back to Fort Drelev.”

“Of course,” she snorted. “That's my duty!” She stared at me defiantly until I'd lowered my gaze. “Make sure she gets back safely.”

Aria stared at me for a moment longer, then turned away. “Idiot.”

Dispirited, I made my way to where Trask and Lev were heatedly discussing our next move. “I think that we want to take . . . them out,” Lev said, pointing to the map.

“There is such a thing as knowing when to fold them,” Trask protested, quoting one of Skot Skevins's most popular tunes. “And knowing when to hold them.”

“I don't think losing a unit . . .”

“All I'm saying is that we are still outnumbered,” Trask pleaded. “We lost the centaurs and they still have armies in reserve. If we do what we did last time, and their armies do what they did last time—which is, they all attack you—they'll probably do some damage.”

“I can take them,” Lev insisted.

“Unless they all attack you at once!”

“They can't get here in time,” Lev scoffed. “I say we pound them in the dust—revenge!”

“I say we hold on the frontier and don't engage,” Trask insisted, despite Lev's stirring words. “We've got everything committed. If we lose, well . . .”

“Running away now means we've effectively completely and utterly lost the battle,” Lev replied evenly.

Trask shrugged. “Sometimes you just lose battles. It sucks but I'd rather lose a battle and have three armies in the field than . . .”

“The next time we come back,” Lev interrupted, “we're not going to be better off than we are now.”

“It'll take awhile but we'll have another army,” Trask pleaded. “This is not about one decisive battle—that's what they want. They want one decisive battle because they outnumber us and are presumably stronger.”

“We're going to hold and let them come to us,” Lev replied resolutely. “That way only two of them can hit us rather than three or four. Then we'll withdraw if needed.”

“So say we all!”

Our armies cheered as we resumed our positions. Lev had given me the Knights (who had lost their captain, Plaxico) to lead.

“Murghlll!” yelled the barbarians as they approached us. “Kill the hofflings! Kill the hofflings!”

The huge army engaged us fiercely, yet Lev's center held as Trask's commandos swept in to attack. Although outnumbered, they prevailed, much to Trask's delighted surprise. As the mastodons strolled bellowing toward us, I led the Knights into the fray, killing many a farmboy holding a wooden pike against me. Dealing Justice to our enemies, I suppose, although it felt more like murder.

Honestly, dear Pino, the fighting was so fierce I thought it was the end of me. Once again my army was broken and I held rear guard with three “Ghosts of Candlemere”—sheets torn and streaked with blood—as we hurried off the field.

Lev and Trask immediately ordered their own retreat, but the enemy continued it's hot pursuit. “Fort Drelev,” Lev called. “Everyone to Fort Drelev!”

Sending word ahead to alert the militia, we quickly followed, stalked by the wyverns all the way. Riding together, Lev calmly listened to our advice before stating his position: “We will beat them.”

After two days, staggering more than walking, our army reached Fort Drelev. We were greeted with feverish activity as every able-bodied citizen was helping to reinforce the wooden palisades and bringing supplies in from the countryside.

Paizo

“Sharpen your shovels, grave diggers!” cackled an old man as he watched us working. “Get ready to dig a big, big hole!”

I went over to talk with him, but he assured me he'd be standing his place on the wall in the morrow. “I've just seen too much of this shit in my life,” he said, leaving for home.

We quickly evacuated the civilians, giving Alexandoss and her remaining centaurs the task of guiding them to a safe place until the battle was over, and then they could either return, or flee. We said goodbye in a quiet glade outside town. I noticed that Aria was carrying two laughing human children on her back and seemed to enjoy it.

“Death makes life all the sweeter,” Alexandoss replied as I embraced her.

“Is there no way for us?” I asked one last time.

She frowned.

“You, yourself, said that the males of your tribe have been all but wiped out. Maybe it's time for your people to accept new blood, strong blood, human blood.”

“No!” she retorted sharply, pushing me back, voice cracking like a whip. She watched sternly me for a moment, then reached for my hand. “Half-children of centaur blood are trampled—that is the law! Our feelings have nothing to do with it.”

“But that's . . .”

“That's Justice.”

We embraced silently after that. There was nothing left to say.

“Miss Alexandoss,” we heard a small voice call from far away, “We're worried about you.” Sighing, we made our goodbye.

Watching her trot away, I reflected that I, to the contrary, believe Erastil smiles on all consensual unions—even Cane's.

Retuning to Fort Drelev, I began drilling the militia, mostly old men and boys, although more than a few of the women joined. They reminded me of Piea and her strong arm, so I really gave them a workout.

All too soon the Pitaxians arrived, setting up camp just outside the range of our archers, although sometimes when he was bored, Trask would pluck one off, usually on the far side of their camp. In reply, they began pelting us with the rotting heads of our dead. Sadly, I recognized some of them, the ones that didn't splatter. As we buried them, I promised them one thing—Justice!

With the red morning sky came the beating of war drums.

“Why don't we try to parlay?” Trask muttered while we studied them from the wall.

“It's too late for that,” I replied grimly as they serenaded us with their war song: “Wahooahaugh, wahooahaugh, hoohyah, hoohyah, hoohyah!” If only Jaquizz could see what his dream has come to, I thought.

Then the mayhem began, with Trask's commandos letting loose a savage volley that decimated the hill giants riding their tall mastodons. With a bloodthirsty roar, my militia followed them into the field and we finished off the large, nasty brutes, although I saw a junior cobbler I knew by the name of Robinette get his head bitten off like a plum by one of the giants.

Lev concentrated on bringing down the wyverns while Trask sent him notes imploring him to go after Koth's barbarians instead. The center of action was concentrated on Trask's commandos but, I'm afraid, our little corner of the battle proved too much for my simple militia. “We can't hold the walls!” someone shouted just as a courier arrived from Lev to “Pull back!”

I heard later that, after a short argument with Vlad, who had brought him the message and, against his better judgement, Trask attacked the damaged wyverns, as our retreat quickly became a route. “Oh my god!” I heard a young man cry pitifully. “We're just militia!”

“Where, oh where, is that Sweet Sugar Cane?” I lamented, following them back into town.

Behind us, Lev split his army, giving one wing to Vlad, as wyverns dived after Trask's commandos. Beneath the walls that my militia had left empty, the barbarians hooted, flinging shit when they had no stones.

“We must hold the line!” Lev's courier cried, finally catching up with me.

“Yes, but we're going to have to hold it over here for awhile,” I replied, sending him back.

The greater struggle continued as I helped my lieutenants round up the fleeing militia, many of whom were wandering dazed in the streets. We then herded them back to the square, shoving weapons into their hands, imploring them in the name of Erastil to fight for kith, kin, and the P.U.R.K.

We reached the wall just as the barbarians burst over the top. I remember little besides the desperate fight to stay alive, although I became aware of a hesitation in the enemy, as if those in back were no longer pressing forward. Then Lev called for the old switcharoo and my bewildered militia traded places with his soldiers, giving them the stronger foe. But it was too late, my militia turned into a gaggle of frightened townsmen and there was nothing I could do to stop them.

A tyrant would have searched for those men after the battle and punished them severely, but I am not a tyrant. They are citizens, not soldiers, and I know the difference. Far more than their lives are at stake. Besides, in the distance I could see Trask's commandos also preparing to retreat. By tomorrow, I feared, anyone not outrunning Koth would be hanging from a tree. I rushed to join Lev, whose army had encountered Koth's barbarians beneath the inner wall.

Suddenly, Trask's commandos reversed their movement, and with a shout of “Remember Tatzleford!” they charged.

Somehow the barbarians held on, becoming even more battle-deranged and savagely deadly. The army reeled in shock as Trask desperately grabbed their standard from its dying bearer and waved it aloft defiantly. “For the Queen, for the baby, for our freedom!” he cried.

The commandos' line hardened like steel and the barbarians, in a frenzy, like an overexcited pack of dogs, fell on themselves in their rush to die.

Soon, there was only the groans of the injured and the dying.

“Tra-a-a-a-a-sk!” I turned and saw Villamor Koth, surrounded by a small retinue, walking quickly toward the part of the wall Trask had been defending.

Koth              Paizo

“I'm sorry, do I know you?” Trask thinly replied.

“You and me, brother, for the whole ball of wax!” Koth screamed.

“Accepted,” Trask replied, calm as a sophomore accepting a challenge to a slap fight. “Marquand, will you take over the commandos for me?” I saw his men cringe, but I accepted. “Let's do this!” he said.

Facing one another, they circled intently until Trask whipped out his bow and let fly a barrage that nicked Koth but once.

“Is this the end of Trask of the Hundred Arrows?” Cyyrah, the camp gossip, trilled.

“Hit me! Hit me!” Koth bellowed, pounding his chest savagely and swinging his Great Axe. “Hit me!” he yelled again.

Trask stumbled, but held onto the bow, whipping it level and riddling Koth, who sneered like a bully spying the class clown aiming a spitball at him.

Trask laughed in reply as the behemoth thundered toward him. “I have no regrets!” he suddenly called to us. “It will be a good death!”

Koth hit him twice, and I thought the fight was over. Yet Trask stood! He stood!

“Revenge!” called Lev helpfully.

Trask lifted his wavering bow. We heard a shriek, “Bleaargh!” and Koth fell lifeless to the ground.

Standing above him, Trask said, “Valmore Koth, I will remember your name.”

“Vi-Villamor,” the warrior gasped, coughed blood, then died.

“Whatever.”

And like that, the battle was won.

Love to you and your Mother,
Uncle Marquand

* Bob Dylan John Wesley Harding 

Description of Desna taken from several Pathfinder sites, copyright Paizo.

Letter Twenty-nine—Yeorrrgheeeeouwourghfaeourghhheouhhgh!

Dear Pino,

I continue writing you even though recent events have left our friendship less than cordial. Yet, I insist that you still need instruction about the wicked ways of the world. I can only hope that someday you will understand that duty demands sacrifice—even the sacrifice of those you love.

Paizo

On our way back from the games at Pitax I left you with our entourage as I rode beyond our flanks, and well behind, to make sure no one was following. While the main party skirted the remains of poor Tatzleford, we picked through the ruins, burying what scant pieces of the dead remained unmolested by wild things. I promised their spirits whatever Justice these old hands have left to give.

Your mother looked askance at me when you hurried to your room after our homecoming. I explained to her that you had heard a version of the Gyronna tragedy that had angered you against me.

“Well, you can't blame her,” your Mother sniffed. “We welcomed Lily into our home. She was Pino's friend—and mine!”

I left without another word, soon after sending a boy to move my few and paltry things to the Inn. Afterwards, as I paced the streets morosely, I discovered that the city didn't share my dour mood, but instead was celebrating the welcome news that our Queen was pregnant. Returning to our citadel, I found Lev surrounded by courtiers and taking their congratulations jovially. But his mood changed when he saw me, quickly pulling me aside with a worried look.

“Something's going on,” he said once we were alone, lighting incense in one corner of the room by an altar of Erastil. With a start, I realized that he feared someone was using magic to spy on us. “My people are restless, shifty, uncomfortable around me,” he complained. “Citizens stop talking when I enter a room.”

“I'm sure they're worried about the threat from Pitax.”

Lev shook his head as Vlad entered the room. “It's Kelm I'm worried about. He watches the city from his tower like a lord and people are starting to think of him that way—'The lord of two cities,' they call him. When he's not here he's in Vordakai's tower. People are wondering about the strange treasures we've collected and to what use he's putting them.”

“I wonder that myself.”

Vlad handed him the dispatch he was carrying and, after a moment, Lev sighed resignedly. “Try to find Cane and Trask. We need to talk.”
That evening we gathered in our usual spot, a back room at the tavern. I noticed that Lev hadn't invited Bert Askew to join us. Did he fear that Askew was Kelm's man? I wondered. The serving wench brought us tankards of ale and a large platter of pastry and sweetmeats. Her saucy manner reminded me of Lily, but I studiously ignored her.

Once she had gone, Lev quickly cut to the chase. “One of Skot Skevins's spies heard a rumor that Irovetti is working on a mass cloud kill device under the tutelage of an elven alchemist and master poisoner from Daggermark.”

“No can be!”

Lev frowned. “Skevins thinks they're at an abandoned vineyard north of Pitax called the White Rose Abbey of Cayden Cailean. It was once known for the quality of its wine but has been abandoned for decades. It's said the springs underneath the Abbey have magical properties that enhances both wine-making and the mixing of spell components.”

“That horn of cloud killing seems like it would be really sweet to use,” Trask giggled.

“Give me a few days to give the marshal a boot in the ass to start mustering that army and to announce the annexation of Lake Hooktongue and Fort Drelev to the P.U.R.K." With a look of determination, first comrade Lev Davidowich stood to leave. "Then we'll look into this horn of cloud killing.”

With the time remaining, I tried to make it up to you and your Mother but in the end had to admit defeat. When I left town—for the very first time—you weren't there, among the cheering crowd, to say goodbye.

We took the Queen and her entourage of soldiers and engineers to New Tatzleford to oversee its rebuilding. From there we headed northeast to the Glenebon Uplands. It's a harsh place of rolling black hills, dry, tall grass, impenetrable scrub, hot gusting winds, and vicious, biting insects.

At night, we tore away a patch of the grass, clearing a small space where we carefully nurtured our campfire so as not to set fire to the entire prairie. It's said that manticores roam these hills but we were fortunate and encountered none. Finally, we saw the tall peak of Mount Branthlend, like the knobby skull of Arn the stonemason, peering over the horizon.

I guess I can't tell you what to do anymore, Pino, but I can advise you to read the tale of of Noarra, she who loved the barbarian lord, Targran. When Targran made another woman his queen—because of his obligation to his people—jealous Noarra climbed Mount Branthlend to hurl curses over the land. Legend says that a great cyclone of fire and brimstone swept over her and when she emerged, she had transformed into a great black dragon that ravaged these badlands for a great long while after.

But that was long ago. What remains of the dragon's fire erupts sporadically from the ground in the form of geysers, which startled our horses and provided some relief for the boredom of our long ride. 

We headed more towards the west after that, finally reaching our destination, a modest knob towering above the grasslands on the top of which stood the White Rose Abbey. Around the perimeter of this knob's base, ran a low stone fence where, just inside, several buildings had fallen to ruin. A path, overgrown with drying and dead grass, wound its way determinedly up the west side of the hill to the Abbey above. As we carefully made our way around I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, the grass inside the enclosure shift, as if being pushed aside by an invisible force.

Paizo

As we carefully searched for traps, Lev read from the scroll Bert Askew had thoughtfully stuffed into his backpack as we were leaving:

“Some think the exceptional water used by the winery was due to the presence of a naiad below the abbey, who taught the monks how to use the water to make their exceptional wines and beers. . . .

“The last Abbot, Il Debin, was murdered and the residents poisoned by a gardener, mad with jealousy, it's said, after being repeatedly passed over for advancement. This same gardener practiced dark magic and was sometimes heard raving about the voices of the stars!”

The stars! Dear Erastil knows the voices I hear come out of the woods.

We entered the property through a gap in the wall on the west side, following it around to a large, crumbling building. “Here we go,” Cane said, slipping through a ruined door with Alley as the rest of us followed. 

Inside, the building was framed with huge, dark timbers that had probably been harvested from the nearby Thousand Voices Forest. The floor was cluttered with dusty wine-making equipment. In the cellar, we found a long tunnel extending deep into the hill. Every few feet were side branches, which they had once used for storage, ransacked long ago. At its far end, the tunnel opened into a large cave filled with water. 

A thin, sandy beach stretched along the far side of the cavern with a rickety wooden bridge to span the water. There, a large cistern rusted among unused casks stacked haphazardly against it. We could see all this because a wide beam of sunlight lighted the dark vault through a large round hole in the ceiling above. 

That's when we noticed the strange glowing lights following us.

Paizo

“Yeorrrgheeeeouwourghfaeourghhheouhhgh! 
Yeorrrgheeeeouwourghfaeourghhheouhhgh! Yeorrrgheeeeouwourghfaeourghhheouhhgh!” An anguished howling erupted from the cistern, echoing off the far walls, as a glowing blue shape emerged from the water. 

“Yeorrrgheeeeouwourghfaeourghhheouhhgh!” It blithered. For all its noise, it was very small, maybe three feet tall. A halfling ghost? I was guessing here, but by this time we saw the lights descending from the ceiling and recognized our old friends from Candlemere Island—Will-o'-the-wisps! We quickly crossed the bridge before the Wisps could finish swooping down on us.

Like the colorful balls children play with, Wisps are spongy and round. Unlike those balls, their color is bright and always changing, making patterns to intimidate . . . children. How can a death's head scare someone once they've been dead?

We've fought so many battles since the Wisps sent us packing from Candlemere with our tales between our legs. Here, they were almost laughable. Unfortunately, the ghost was not.

“Yeorrrgheeeeouwourghfaeourghhheouhhgh!” The halfling seemed to become a riot of mold and decay, his ghostly body a hideous garden of fungus and ruin. A wave of fear washed over us, but, like the electricity sprinkling from the Wisps, I shrugged it off. 

Alley, Cane, and Trask weren't so lucky, Trask running screaming back across the bridge as electricity sizzled around his head. Lev responded with what he's best at—speechifying, focusing our attention to the task on hand.

Suddenly, black tentacles erupted from the ground, one grappling me. I saw the others had also been caught. I managed to free myself but was immediately grabbed again. Fortunately, Lev was able to suppress the tentacles.

There was a scream as the ghost caressed Cane with its corrupting touch. Suddenly, several arrows thumped into its side and I realized Trask had overcome his fear and returned to the battle. “Ghosts suck,” he yelled from far away.

Desperately, knowing the next ghost attack would be his end, Cane lashed out and, with a moan, the infernal critter disappeared as Lev killed the last Wisp with an anemic swing of his morning star.

Trask marched back over the bridge, which creaked and swayed alarmingly under his portly frame. We'd only a short time to exorcise the place before the ghost returned and we looked for clues to how he'd met his end. Trask sniffed the water in the well suspiciously, finally taking a small sip.

“It's delicious!” he crowed, filling his waterskin.

The casks were empty but in one of them we found a latched door leading into a tiny apartment fit for a halfling. There we found a rod of lesser quicken metamagic and a beautiful and intricate water clock of colored glass, bronze, silver, and darkwood.

Deciding to take the clock with us, we were emptying it of its water when a beautiful shimmering Nereid appeared before us. 

“You saved me,” she gushed. “How can I ever thank you? . . . Where's the gardener?”

“If you're talking about that nasty ghost,” Lev said, “we dispelled his spirit for the time being.”

“Oh, he was destroyed, then. Now that I'm free he'll never come back.”

“Yay!” everybody cried.

“But I must ask your assistance,” she batted her big, beautiful eyes and I found myself wanting to help her very much. “He stole my shawl and within it lies much of my power. If you were to help me retrieve it," she smiled heartrendingly, "I'd be eternally grateful.” She looked puzzled. “Where's Briar?”

“Briar?”

“The sword in the cistern. It's been taken . . . by them, I suppose.”

“Them?”

“The people who killed the gardener.”

“What are the powers of the sword?” Cane asked, suddenly interested.

“It has strong ties to the first world,” she sighed, seeming to slide from my sight for a moment. “It's precious.”

“Precious!” I seemed to hear Bert Askew purr in the back of my head.

“Do you know anything about the people who killed the gardener?” Lev interrupted.

“They were . . . human . . . he was handsome . . . for a human.” She then described the leader for us, “A florid, fleshy man, powerfully built, twirling a long rod fitted with thin blades.”

“Irovetti!” Lev gasped.

“I'm sure whoever killed the gardener and took the sword also took the shawl,” she continued.

“It sounds like your enemies are our enemies,” Lev declared, clapping his hands. “We can work together.”

“Do you know how long ago?” Cane asked. “You were imprisoned in a clock.”

“It's been many many years since the gardener imprisoned me,” she replied. “He took my shawl. That's how he was able to imprison me.”

“What does the shawl look like?” Trask asked her.

“If you can find it,” she went on, ignoring him, “I will tell you much that can aid you." Lowering her voice melodramatically, she added. "This entire region is threatened by a great, great power from the first world.”

She then told us about the magical waters of her spring, which improved all things made with it, be they magic potion, elixir, antitoxin, beer, wine, or stew. “We better take a few gallons of this back to Kelm,” I urged my comrades before we left.

“We'll find your shawl, Mam,” Lev assured her as we made our way back across the bridge.

“I will be here,” she told us with a lilt to her voice as she waved goodbye. “In the spring.”

Outside, we rested in a small glade before climbing up the steep trail to the Abbey, which was crumbling under the weight of the fiercely blowing wind and the harsh heat of the sun. Nearing the top we found an empty well and, looking into it, we saw that we were staring down at the Nereid’s cistern below. She waved up to us. “Yoo hoo!”

From the back entrance to the Abbey a hallway led deep inside, every few feet was a small cell fit for a monk. Out front a bridge spanned a dry creek bed. Crossing, we found a wall that had been broken open, behind which were two doors. Inside one door were broken basins—a washroom or a lavatory. Behind the next door were stairs going up.

Climbing the stairs we found a large sanctuary, dark rafters overhead, with rounded bays that ran along either side, each containing dusty old barrels and benches long since fallen to ruin. We also found barrels of more recent vintage.

“Alchemical regents,” Lev noted thoughtfully.

Paizo

“Let's rummage through their junk,” Trask giggled.

A yowl escaped from Alley as Cane suddenly cursed. “Incoming!”

Looking up, we saw two figures crouching in the rafters with long bows—wererats! I realized with horror as more arrows whizzed past us and, with a sinking feeling, we saw that we were surrounded by a squad of heralds and wardens, from Pitax judging by the distinctive red swords they were carrying.

A loud boom rolled over us as Lev went after the wererats with a sonic attack while Cane leaped into the fray, killing two as Alley hissed and slashed at another. Like the Wisps, they proved no match for us.

“Y'know,” Trask grumbled when he realized how inadequate were our foes. “I resent being hired by Kelm to work with you psychopaths. Before we left, Bert Askew said to me, 'Laddie, sweet laddie, I like you but you guys are really dumb! You'll fall for anything.'

“And you know what? I had to agree. We once chased 25 gold pieces into a fangberry bush!”

“You hadn't even joined us when that happened!”

“Exactly.”

“We survived,” I objected. “And it made us stronger.”

“Did you?” he sneered. “Maybe all this is just an illusion because you're still in a coma in that fangberry bush.”

“Cane will bring the pain!” We heard the great hunter challenge while killing several more of our foes. It was a massacre except for the wererats, and even they soon fell from their rafter perches.

Unfortunately, we suffered a casualty of our own when Alley—that big, fluffy man-killing alleycat you loved to snuggle—was killed by one of the wardens, who took her when she was down and unconscious.

He was the last man standing, looking around fearfully as he fell to his knees. Whining, “Please don't kill me.”

We started to question him but Cane, furious about his cat, decided to kill the man despite our pleas. Only I stood between them. “He may have valuable information!” I cried, hoping to get him to see reason.

Cane shot him dead anyway.

I hope we don't regret this.

Your uncle still,

Marquand