The Dark Frontier

A Moonsea Adventure

Chapter 3

The Feast of Darkstar

Ezeroh Keep, Mirtul 15

It was almost sinful, the pleasure that could be found in a long, hot bath. Despite her fears, despite the guilt that threatened to consume her at the thought of relaxing while Anya remained in the clutches of Emistil and his cronies, relax Rhia did. The hot water and soap washed the grime away. The filth of Emistil's touch, the sorrow of Emma's blood, the cold of the Moonsea wind, all of it was soaked away. It felt so good, she began to cry. She sobbed, burying her face in her hands, letting the frustration and guilt and relief at simply being alive escape through her tears. Rhia cried until her throat was raw, and her body no longer had the energy to shake with sobbing. Exhausted, she simply floated in the hot water, letting the ache seep away. In a matter of minutes, Rhia was asleep.
It was a matter of hours before she awakened, floating in water that was considerably less warm. The Mikhail stood around her, silent sentinels in sopping robes, supporting her head and body to keep her from slipping under the water in the deep, recessed tub. Shivering, she pulled herself out of the bath, toweled off quickly, and looked at her clothes. Rags, really. They were shredded, filthy, wet and cold. Well, I have another shirt and breeks in the saddle bags. I'll just have to nip down there and grab them, I suppose.
Wrapping her towel around her middle, Rhia headed for the door. Just before opening it, she thought better of her dress. With a sigh, she re-wrapped her towel around her chest, tucking the loose end in beneath an arm. It certainly wouldn't meet Moonsea standards of dress, but it did manage to (barely) cover all the important parts. More to the point, it would simply have to do.
Quietly, she cracked the door open and peeked her head out into the hallway. Moving quickly, Rhia had made it down the stairs, grabbed her bags, and was half-way back when it occurred to her that she could just have sent the Mikhail. Of course, by then the towel (more accurately, one end of the towel) had fallen free twice, and just at the moment of revelation, she was trying to re-wrap said towel end without dropping her bags. It wasn't going well.
Eventually, a frustrated, mostly-covered (from the front) wizardess made her way back into the bathing room. Once there, she dressed herself in her spare shirt and trousers, brushed out her hair, and gave the Mikhail some rather careful instructions about cleaning and drying (after removing) their clothes, and re-dressing themselves.
She then threw her saddlebags and belts over her shoulder and headed out to where she was going to-
Where am I supposed to sleep?

She found the Lord in his chambers, dressed in clean clothes and inexpertly attempting to make his own bed; a pile of blood-soaked sheets lay on the floor, ruined. When his attention was drawn to his visitor, the old man's face flushed and he hurriedly ushered her out, with many a sidelong look.
The huge hall behind the armory and the Lord's chambers had been used by the bandits as a barracks; a few bedrolls were crumpled near the great hearth, and Heimdall lay dozing atop them. Leading her to a table at the far end of the room from him, Lord Harkon gestured for her to sit. "Ah, I see you have the clothes of your own, neh? You vould not, ah, prefer a dress?" His race still red, the Lord pressed on. "Vhen you go to the village, you take the road to the left - so, you see? - and ask for Atjets Hugo of Talona. Somevon vill show you vhere he is. Assure him and whomever else is there that all is vell, and send him here vonce he has arranged to bring some servants, and found qvarters for you and your friends. Of course, this evening you must return - ve vill have a feast in your honor!"
Rhia smiled softly at the older man. "If I'm to ride to the village and back today, what I am wearing will serve better than would a dress, Milord, but I thank you. If we are feasting tonight, well, I may just take you up on that offer when I return. A girl always likes to look nice at a party."
Rhia spoke with a cheerfulness she did not feel. She hadn't even realized the time. The events of the day had left her so shaken and exhausted that she had been sure it would be evening, or even full night by the time she emerged from the bath. The effort of manipulating the Weave as she had that morning was only adding to her weariness.
"Milord, Heimdall needs his rest, as does your niece. I am loath to take Kerri with me, as she is the only other help you have, but I do not know if it is wise to ride this mission alone. I will, of course, should you feel it best, but the Mikhail are cleaning their clothing and dressing themselves a bit more... properly. In their current state, they will not travel well, and so I would leave them here to assist you while I am away, if it please you, and take Kerri with me."
Rhia figured that Kerri's inability to speak Damaran would be less of a hindrance to Rhia on the road than to the members of the keep, though she supposed they could always wake Heimdall if translation was needed. Rhia would have no such luxury, but truly, she had little to defend herself with on the road, should she encounter bandits lying in ambush, and the brash freesword was a comfort to her. Gods know why.
"Of course, of course," the Lord agreed, though he still eyed her clothes surreptitiously. "Ve are safe enough now, vith the bandits gone and the Keep gate closed. You go, and tell the beadel that you are to have vhatever meat you vish."

Kerri was in excellent spirits, jabbering away animatedly as she held off what appeared to be an invisible army with an equally invisible rapier. Still, the freesword's eyes never rested, always moving along the treeline, and when she spun to take on an opponent behind her Rhia was sure she was watching their backs as well. All the same, it was a relief when they crossed a small bridge and the road became more worn, running through open fields that were being tilled for the spring planting.
As they stepped out into view of the fields, a child ran ahead of them, shouting. The field workers immediately abandoned the tilling and raced towards the encampment, a thorp perched on a rise and ringed by a wooden palisade. Long before Rhia and Kerri reached the tiny knoll, the gates had been pushed closed, barring their path. Kerri had ceased her chatter, and her look was serious as she turned to Rhia and said something accompanied with a tap on her chest and a thumb jabbed at the encampment.
Rhia sighed. She had suspected this would be difficult. She wished she was still able to Weave understandable speech for Kerri, but until tomorrow that would be impossible. Carefully, trying to adapt the hand signals Vhivi and Heimdall had taught them the other morning, Rhia attempted to have Kerri keep watch while Rhia spoke with those behind the gate. After a few moments of gesturing, the wizardess had to simply shrug, hope she'd been understood, turn her head back towards the gate, and raise her voice in Damaran.
"Hello the thorp! We are sent at the bidding of Lord Harkon Tjesnitjérs! We seek Atjets Hugo of Talona, and bring word that all is well at Ezeroh Keep! Open this gate, in the name and authority of the Lord Tjesnitjérs!"
Once again, lungs used to shouting commands over gale winds and crashing surf carried her voice boldly towards her intended listeners (she hoped). When she had finished yelling, Rhia looked at Kerri and shrugged. If that doesn't get us in, we're not exactly equipped for a siege, so I don't know what we'll do.
Sarai, slightly startled by the shouting, flicked her ears in annoyance and bumped Rhia's back with her nose. Rhia stumbled forward a step, turning to frown at the horse behind her, who, with her point made, smugly went back to munching the sparse grass on the side of the road on which they stood.
Kerri hadn't seemed terribly enthused with whatever she'd gleaned from Rhia's gesticulation, but when the gate cracked slightly open after a short wait, she walloped Rhia in the shoulder with a gleeful shout, pointing. Rhia stumbled again, propelled from the other shoulder this time. Kerri's shout had the secondary effect of bringing Sarai's head up again, ears flat back. Pulling her hat down firmly, Kerri began the climb up the knoll without waiting for her comrade. Rhia sighed, and started up the hill after Kerri, pulling an irritated Sarai along behind them.

They were ushered in through the narrow opening, and ringed by a crowd of peasants as the gate was closed; it seemed they had no intention of going back into the fields just yet. There were about three dozen of them, all told, and while they kept a respectful distance from the openly armed Kerri, they bowed and bobbed nervously to Rhia, their faces sober and watchful.
The village was tiny, a collection of wooden houses surrounded with a few raised boards to keep the villagers from having to slog through the well-churned mud. From where they stood, they could see all the way to the other end of the village. The smell of smoke and animals hung damp in the air; there were no children in sight.
A cadaverous man in the robes of a Talontar pushed through the crowd, moving up before the visitors. "Bane smile on you," he said, adding to himself, "Yes, yes, I know they are. She told me." He gazed at Rhia with flat-eyed calm, seeming not even to notice Kerri. "I am Atjets Hugo."
Rhia's eyebrow raised on its own accord when the man began talking to someone not visibly present. Not that this was unusual for her, but most Moonsea folk didn't seem the type to tolerate such behavior. Then again, he was an Atjets, and the locals seemed to give them a bit more leeway.
She smiled at him. "I am Rhianna Morrolan. Sent here from Ezeroh Keep by Lord Harkon Tjesnitjérs. He wishes me to tell you that, while bandits did attempt to cause mischief for your lord, all is well now at the keep. He bids you arrange to bring some few souls to work as servants to the keep, find quarters here in the village for me, Kerri Greymantle here, and a half-elven companion of ours, who awaits us at the keep, with three others.
Once these arrangements have been made, we are to return to the keep with you this night."
My, didn't that sound official and pompous?
There was a murmuring among the crowd when she mentioned Heimdall, and more than one spat through their fingers, warding off evil. The Atjets, however, seemed unaffected. "Very vell. You, take the horse," he commanded, pointing at someone in the crowd. To Rhia he continued, "Come, Saer Morrolan, I vill find a place for you at the boarding house." He gestured towards the building to their right, a large house with many shuttered windows. A few rough-looking men hurried inside ahead of them, no doubt to ensure that they wouldn't lose their own rooms. Seeing it, the Atjets frowned, and pointed out several men and women. "They are unmarried. You come also, to guard their door."
Atjets Hugo waited politely as the two clambered up onto the muddy, unstable boards, then led them inside. As soon as they were out of sight, the peasants began talking among themselves.
Rhia did her best to knock the mud from her leather sailor’s boots. She grabbed her saddlebags off of Sarai just before the horse was led away, nearly falling back into the mud, but managing to keep her balance thanks to Kerri tugging quickly on her belt. Together, the two foreign women followed Atjets Hugo towards what Rhia assumed was the inn. The whispering of the locals did not go unnoticed, and she frowned a little as they turned out of sight, reminded once again of just how difficult things were likely to be in the cold Moonsea.
The room they were granted was ascetic; it contained nothing but a small hearth and two beds with straw-filled ticking. The Atjets promised them blankets and firewood shortly, then left them in peace, stationing the peasants who had followed them in the narrow hall outside the door.
“Well,” Rhia said, leaning back against the door and surveying the room, “it’s not exactly the Captain’s cabin on the ‘King’s Buccaneer,’ but it’s better than sleeping on the ground outside Jarrow’s - my tower, I suppose, and with better guards.”
A mischievous grin spread across her face as she thought of the peasants posted outside their door. “I wonder how secure they’d feel with all their virtue-guarding if they realized girls don’t necessarily need boys to have a good time? And vice-versa, to be fair, though that’s not really applicable just at the moment.”
She looked at Kerri for the freesword’s reaction, forgetting for a moment that the woman couldn’t understand her. Then she sighed. “What now?”
Kerri grinned, pointing to herself and jerking a thumb at the bed. She knelt by the hearth, starting a fire as Rhia wondered what to do. Rhia had the sneaking suspicion that the freesword intended to make the room cozy and take a nap.
“Er, Kerri?” Rhia opened her mouth to say something more, but figured there was nothing she really could say that would mean much. Despite the rough-looking straw ticks, a nap in a warm room did seem very inviting. So she waved her hand instead, indicating the freesword should continue to do as she pleased. Kerri shrugged, unbuckling her sword belt and leaning her rapier against the wall. She threw herself onto one of the cots, tipping her wide-brimmed hat down over her face. It was amazing that she wasn't from the Dragon Coast, her pose was so reminiscent of a siesta.
Rhia slid down the door to sit on the floor. She leaned her head back and just let her mind wander for a few minutes, enjoying the growing warmth of Kerri’s small fire. In a few hours, maybe less, they would again be on the cold road to Ezeroh Keep, this time with servants and supplies. Perhaps rest was in order. Who knew what tasks the lord would lay upon them all once they returned? What new dangers would Heimdall lead them into?
Rhia sat up suddenly.
“Heimdall! The Mikhail!”
Kerri jerked up, going for her rapier. When she realized Rhia was talking to herself, she gave the diviner an eloquent look of disgust, setting the sword aside again and re-settling herself, grumbling in Illuski.
Heimdall’s clothing, like her own, had been ruined in the fighting. Rhia wasn’t sure he had extras, given that the shirt he had been wearing had been second hand. Lord Harkon was not Heimdall’s size, and given the locals’ reactions, Heimdall was likely to have a hard enough time without being naked when he met with them. She didn’t even want to think of what would happen when the superstitious mooneyes met the Mikhail - dressed in the remains of Jarrow’s finery. No, she needed to get them - all of them - something reasonable to wear. But how? Where? And what was Rhia to do with Kerri while she was out looking?
“Er, Kerri?” She started again, then stopped.
Kerri slowly tilted the brim of her hat up with her thumb, revealing one glaring eye.
After a few moments of thinking, Rhia slowly made broad gestures, using the group handsigns where possible, trying to explain her intentions to Kerri. She pointed to herself, made the sign for ‘scout’, pulled at her shirt and pants, made the sign for ‘get,’ then rubbed her fingers together in the near-universal sign for money. Rhia then pointed to Kerri, made the sign for ‘sleep,’ with a questioning look on her face, the sign for ‘follow me,’ again with a questioning look.
Kerri shook her head, jerking her thumb at the shuttered window and signing, "few." Then she pointed at the other bed and mimed sleeping with a truly horrendous faux-snore.
Rhia shrugged. "One day, you're going to have to teach me Illuski. Then again, if we have to fit the lessons in between naps, it'll likely take more than just one day. We'll be lucky to manage it in a year at that rate."
Raising one eyebrow, Rhia gave Kerri one last opportunity to come along, then turned at opened the door. She stuck her head out, gesturing with one hand to get the attention of their protectors.
"Excuse me, I need to go shopping for some clothing. Could you assist me?"
The man and woman perched on chairs in the hallway sprang up, offering her deep bows. "I do not know this 'shopping,' saer," the woman said, "but if you vish clothes, I can bring them to you." She ran a measuring eye over the diviner, judging her size. The man had turned bright red at the mention of women's clothing, and was staring down the hallway, pretending to be stone deaf.
“Er,” How does a woman not know what shopping is? I was raised on an island, and I knew what shopping was by the time I was eight. Of course, I didn’t do much of it, but still. Rhia looked at the woman for a moment, before trying again.
“Well, it’s not for me, you see. I need clothing for my… for my servants, I guess.” She stopped for a moment, trying to think of a way to phrase this so it wouldn’t cause an uprising. “I need four sets of men’s clothing. I have coins, or even some goods to trade…”
She tapered off, trying to read the faces of her ‘protectors.’
The woman brightened at the mention of coin. "Four men? This I can do. How big these men are? Baljev, go find some clothes for the maga!" Baljev, his flush fading, clutched his hat in his hands and stared at Rhia, clearly ready to leap off to do the woman's bidding the instant he heard what was needed. The woman ignored him, also looking to Rhia for an answer.
Rhia gave the woman the best dimensions she could remember for Heimdall and the Mikhails, trying to guess larger rather than smaller where she was unsure. She toyed with the idea of asking for some new boots for Heimdall, but decided against it, given the size of the village - and the half-elf’s feet.
“How much will you require? To pay for these things?” Rhia dipped her fingers into her purse.
The woman pursed her lips and stared at Rhia for a long moment. "You give to me... forty thumbs." Before Rhia could answer, the woman turned towards the man and cuffed him. "Baljev! Vhat you are vaiting for, Vanka? Go!" Baljev started and ran down the narrow hallway, his clomping boots leaving clots of dried mud behind.
The woman watched him go, then took a breath and turned back to Rhia. "This coin, you have so much?" Rhia could see the effort it took for her not to stare at the maga's purse.
"Forty thumbs? That's..." Rhia did some quick mental arithmetic, "Yikes! I'm sorry, Saer, but I do not have that much copper on me."
The woman nodded as though she'd expected as much, then froze as Rhia continued, "I can give you a falcon, but I do not know if you can make use of a single coin, and I doubt you could provide change. I don't know how many need to share in this. Can you make use of a falcon? Can we make some arrangement?"
The woman stared at her as though mesmerized, mouth slightly open, shocked. "A falcon? A silver falcon?" Her hands fluttered about, pressed to her face, then her breast. She looked as though she might faint, and her voice was breathy when she spoke. "Maga, no von in this village could give to you so much coin in return! Not even Alba!" She hid her mouth, eyes wide, and it made her look much younger.
Rhia smiled gently. Is this how I must have seemed to Yunta? To Morrolis, even? How worldly one can seem to another, for naught but being from somewhere else.
"I have silver, Saer, yes. I would not, however, put you in a position that would bring danger to you or your family by putting such a tempting thing in your care. I will show it to you, if you wish, and perhaps while you look at it, I can convince you to come to an arrangement that may serve us both in better stead than such a trinket."
Rhia removed the coin from her pouch and held it extended on her palm, so the woman could look at it. She had looked puzzled at Rhia's mention of danger, but the sight of silver drove the expression from her face, replacing it with a fascination that bordered trance. While she stood thus, the wizardess proposed her proposition.
"I can give to you ten thumbs for now. Then, when I have had a chance, I will see to it that you receive the other thirty. I will also see that you receive another few thumbs for your trouble, and you will have a maga in your debt. Will that suffice?"
The woman nodded enthusiastically, though Rhia wasn't sure she'd heard her. "Of course, Maga, vhatever you vish, right avay." The woman's hard-headedness had vanished, replaced by this childlike awe. She lifted a kerchief from around her neck and dabbed at her face with it without seeming to notice what she was doing. The diviner suspected that the poor thing would have agreed to set fire to the house with the same distracted agreeability.
Now was not the time, however, to quibble. With a deft twist to her fingers, the mage made the silver coin dance across her knuckles, then she palmed it, replacing the silver coin with ten shining copper coins in her open left hand.
"Here are the ten thumbs we have for now then. Thank you."
The woman blinked at the coins, but put out her hands to catch them. "I- oh no, Sae- Maga! I thank you!" She bowed deeply enough that Rhia was afraid she might chip her teeth on the floor, and bobbed curtsies until the door hid her from view.
Rhia sighed as the door closed. What was she doing to these people? She had never been one to put on airs, and the bowing and scraping was almost more alarming than the stares. As a woman on ships, and a mage at that, she was used to being stared at, whispered about. She knew how to handle that kind of attention. The obeisance and near-worship was new, and she felt doubly bad about it when she realized how little it took. Merely the shine of copper and silver.
With a shake of her head, she realized there was nothing to do for it now but wait. And if she was going to wait, she might as well follow Kerri's advice.
She made herself as comfortable as possible on the cot across from Kerri, leaning back and closing her eyes. She was tired. It had been a long day, and the night was liable to be longer. Gradually, she felt her eyes growing heavy, and the comfortable fog of sleep began to envelop the wizardess. Her breathing deepened, evened out, and settled into the rhythmic pattern of sleep. The buzz of a deep snore cut the silence of the room, signaling to all within hearing distance that someone was finally getting some much-deserved rest.
Rhia sighed. A long night, indeed.

The Atjets was an effective beadle; early in the evening he came to fetch them, leading them out to where Sarai stood saddled and a handful of peasants stood uncomfortably around a small horsecart filled with bundles - no doubt the food the Lord had ordered brought. As soon as Rhia mounted up, Atjets Hugo led them out the gate, which thumped closed behind them.
The trip was slower on the way back, and to Rhia, despite the additional eyes and weapons, felt more dangerous. The ones who weren't pulling the cart carried strung bows, and they scanned the treeline constantly. In contrast, the Atjets strode ahead of them, seemingly fearless. Mist rose around them, dampening the mood to the point where even Kerri didn't chatter away; the peasants muttered among themselves about bandits, and wolves, and bugbirds. Everyone was visibly relieved when the Keep came into view.
Rhia's eyes lit up at the sight, and she sat up a little straighter in the saddle. Her joy quickly turned to worry again however, when she realized that the villagers with them would now have to face Heimdall (Dear Gods, let him have returned to normal by now!) and the Mikhail.

Upon arriving, Rhia found herself with a few minutes alone, while Lord Harkon met with Atjets Hugo to determine who was to go where. She quickly grabbed her saddlebags from Sarai's back and slipped off to one side, where one of the Mikhail stood quietly. Rhia whispered quietly in his ear, then handed him the package that had been so... interestingly come by that day and sent him off to find the other Mikhail and Heimdall.
Well, they might not be accepted as normal, but at least now they'll be dressed as such.
After speaking quietly with with his beadle, Lord Harkon approached Rhia as the Atjets sent one of the peasants back to the village with her horse and the rest scurrying into the kitchen with the food they'd brought. Offering her and Kerri both his arms, the Lord led them up the now well-lit staircase, sconces filled and burning at even intervals.
"Manakja Alexana, she is resting," - no doubt a euphemism for "collapsed and unwakeable," considering how she'd looked when Rhia saw her last - "but she has set vhat dresses she thinks vil suit in the bath. Also there are clothes for your comrades," he added, turning to Kerri. She gave him a bright, blank smile. "Your guardsmen, they can fight? I think it vould be best if they stand the guard, in case the dogs return," he paused to spit on the floor, "but of course they are yours now. I look forward to hearing the tale of how you came to be at the mag Jarrow's tower, and how you found him dead and came to help my niece, eh?" Though his tone remained friendly, his eyes glittered with suspicion. Rhia wasn't sure, but she had the distinct impression that with time to think things over, the Lord was no longer entirely sure that she'd found Jarrow already dead.
"I vill send somevon for you vhen ve eat, neh?" Reaching the bath door, he nodded a farewell and left them. Kerri scratched her head, her hat dangling from one hand. She gave Rhia a questioning look.
Rhia watched the lord go for a moment, the now familiar sense of being alone returning once again. Of course. It's the Moonsea, and I'm both outsider and wielder of 'forbidden powers.' Worse, I'm a commoner.
She sighed, and looked to Kerri. With a semi-forced smile, she motioned Kerri to precede her through the door to the bath. Once through, Rhia pointed to her clothes, pointed to Kerri's clothes, and then waved her hand beneath her nose as if something stunk. The dresses she gestured towards, however, did not stink.
At the sight of the huge bath and more luxury than she'd seen in far too long, Kerri let out a whoop and began shedding her clothes in a hurricane of randomly flung garments. Before Rhia could grab her attention she'd jumped into the water, sending cold water splashing up everywhere.
The Diviner shook her head - mostly to get the water out of her hair, but also in wry amusement. While Kerri splashed around in the bath, Rhia decided to size-up the dresses. She was taller than Alexana, though perhaps not quite as full in the bust. That limited her selections somewhat, though the fact that she would be barefoot would help. She finally selected a black and silver number that would leave her arms bare below the shoulder, but cover everywhere else. Tonight is not the night to challenge social conventions.
She turned to watch Kerri, trying to eyeball the freesword’s size. She failed. Kerri just didn’t sit still long enough. With a Rhia whistled to get Kerri’s attention, signing for her to get out and get dressed.

With a little effort, Rhia managed to get the now-clean Kerri out of the water and both of them into their borrowed clothing before someone rapped on the door. The sound was almost lost under Kerri's bright and unintelligible babble, but with a few quick finishing touches to her attire, Rhia led the way out to where a child stood waiting. The girl gawked at their fine dresses until Kerri gave her a friendly poke, then bowed deeply, stammering out an invitation to dinner.
The girl led them down to the entrance hall, now full of the smell of food rather than horses, and on to the dining hall, where two long trestle tables stood before the raised dais where the Lord sat, Atjets Hugo at his side. A gesture from the Lord brought the girl and her wards up to the high table, where Lord Harkon invited them to sit at his side. "Bane vatch over you," he greeted them, adding with a sparkle in his eye, "and Loviatar send you suitors!" The look he gave them was more than approving; fortunately, Kerri had been persuaded to leave her feathered, wide-brimmed hat with their other clothes. The Atjets greeted them with neutral calm, his clothes as worn and dirty as before.
"The Manakja, she did not vish to eat vith us, and your friend, still he sleeps," the Lord told them as they seated themselves. "Come, sit. Perhaps they join me another evening, eh? Tonight, the feast is all for you." Scurrying out from the kitchen, the peasants-turned-servants brought huge platters of food to set before them, awkwardly bowing their way back to the kitchen before bringing out another dish. When they had brought what there was to bring, they withdrew to the long tables with food of their own, quietly laughing and grinning with pride to be eating at their Lord's own tables. Now and again one would clumsily bow his way to the high table to make sure their cups were filled, pausing to gawk at the foreign visitors. Rhia had the feeling that her status as a "mag" had become known, as Kerri drew fewer stares than she. The Atjets directed them with gentle words, the Lord being indulgent of their awe and clumsiness.
The fare was simple and a bit foreign - roast pork garnished with onions, boiled cabbage and hard, dark rye bread with goat butter, small, sour baked apples, and a strong dark beer that no doubt came from the Keep's own cellar - and Kerri looked faintly disappointed, but Lord Harkon attacked his plate with great enthusiasm; no doubt the invaders hadn't kept him very well-fed. Between bites he said, "Come, the feast is in your honor! Tell me the story of how you have earned it! Such a tale of danger and magic cannot go untold!" The peasants fell silent, turning to stare up at her.
The food in Rhia’s mouth turned seemingly to ash. She swallowed. With difficulty. She had grown used to stares, but being the center of attention and expected to tell a story, that was a bit different. She tried to clear her throat, failed, and quickly gulped some beer, which, of course, nearly made her choke. After a moment, she managed to get words out.
“Milord, I fear I’m but a poor story teller. Kerri here would be a far more entertaining choice, could she but speak a proper tongue,” Rhia began, “Since it appears that there is no other, poor as it may be, I will give it my best effort.”
"Cannot speak?" The Lord leaned forward to stare at Kerri, who sat to Rhia's left. The freesword froze, mouth full, then attempted a tentative smile. It made her look like a startled woodchuck.
"This Greymantle, she spoke before she left vith you." He released Kerri from his penetrating gaze, turning to Rhia instead. Not an improvement. "More of this outlander magic?"
“Ah, yes. I had Woven for her the ability to understand and be understood in any language. It is, however, a temporary Weave, and has since expired.”
"Amazing." The Lord stroked his newly-trimmed beard, smiling. His eyes glittered with interest. "But please, go on."
“I arrived in the Moonsea some weeks ago, seeking to meet with the wizard Jarrow, who was friend to a wizard who had befriended me as a child. A helpful peshka pointed me in the right direction, and, a few days ago, my horse and I arrived at the tower of Jarrow. It was only after I had approached the tower door and knocked upon it that I discovered a terrible creature perched atop the roof! A Feywing it was, and though it had not yet seen me, I was trapped at the tower door, knowing for certain that if it knew I was there, I would be its lunch within moments. I crouched there, in the shadow of the beast for hours, hoping the wizard Jarrow would answer his door, or appear from wherever he had gone to rescue me.”
The Lord's eyes narrowed at her mention of the feywing. He had ceased eating, and sat motionless, watching her.
“I had nearly given up hope, when the feywing suddenly launched itself from the roof, crying out as if it had spotted prey, and was about to descend upon it with finality. Fearful the creature had discovered me, and knowing my death was coming, I made what little preparations a lonely woman could, only to see the beast dive into the woods. I was saved, if I could find a way into the tower before the feywing returned. I tried every trick I could think of, both mundane and magical, but to no avail! Jarrow was truly a powerful mage, and his door would open to no command but his own. I heard the sounds of the feywing returning through the forest, and I feared I was doomed. Fortunately, it was just at the moment that Lady Alexana and her brave party of adventurers broke through the treeline, and brought death to the evil beast, though in it’s death throes, it nearly took the life of the one I would come to know as Heimdall…”
And so the evening went, with Rhia spinning the story as best she could, at times using salt shakers, bowls and utensils to illustrate formations and movements, breaking protocol by inviting the guests to come up to where she was sitting to get a better view. She glossed over a few details, leaving family secrets where they should be - within the family, and forgetting to mention some details, such as Durn’s ‘heretic’ loyalties, the exact process in which she managed to convert the Mikhail, and the extent of Heimdall’s transformation.
Neither the Lord nor the Atjets interrupted, though a glance from Lord Harkon kept the peshka firmly in their seats. The Lord's face was closed, unreadable. Taking his cup, he raised it high. "A fantastic tale. Tonight ve feast in honor of these outlanders, and in honor of the mag Jarrow who fell." His gaze was hard, and the peshka stared at the table, silent as they raised their own cups and stood. The Atjets stood with them; only the Lord remained seated.
"Atjets, vill you give us your blessing?" Lord Harkon never glanced at his beadle, turning instead to Rhia and Kerri.
"I vill, my Lord," Atjets Hugo said, rising. He raised his voice, looking out over the peshka. "Bane sees us all, and keeps our souls safe. Bane knows all, delivers us from harm. Bane blesses his faithful, and ve rejoice."
"Praise Bane," the peshka answered him with one voice, looking considerably cheered.
"Praise Bane, praise the Hand of Bane," the Atjets finished. He sat without further ado and began eating again. There was no meat on his plate, and only water in his cup.
The peshka sat and resumed eating as well. Lord Harkon leaned against the arm of his chair, regarding Rhia thoughtfully as he chewed. "Perhaps von day you join us at our prayers, eh?"
The rest of the evening passed with more idle chatter. When Rhia began to tire, the Lord caught her hand and bowed over it, thanking her for coming, and assuring her she was welcome to return if she had need. He also gave Kerri a slight nod, which she seemed satisfied with; she had been unusually subdued during the dinner.
"The Atjets, he vill see you to the village," Lord Harkon said. "Vhen your friend, he vakes, somevon vill be sent to inform you."
Rhia nodded in return, but she was puzzled. “Milord, what would you have us do now? Return to the village tonight, certainly, but what of the Mikhail? Do you wish me to leave them here as guards? Or would you that we bring them with us to the village? And what of tomorrow?” Silently, her mind asked the question she couldn’t quite speak aloud. What of Anya?
Raising her hand, he put his other on top of it, leaning forward with earnesty writ large on his face. "If you vould have your servants stay to protect the Keep, it vould be most generous, but of course you may do vith them as you please," he said, then lowered his voice. "But it may be vell if the peshka, they do not get too close a look at them."
Straightening, he raised his voice again. "In the morning I vill see that the next miner who travels to the city, he takes vith him a message to reassure the Family, and... to ask that they send soldiers to aid us." His tone held the weariness of an inevitable task long expected and delayed. "I vill of course be happy to send any message you have along as vell. Your friend-" the Lord's eyes narrowed ever so slightly - "vill be vell taken care of; I am sure he vill vake by midsun. Of course you are free to do as you vish." The beadle coughed, and with a final squeeze Lord Harkon released her hand. "The Atjets, he vill see that you get all that you have need of in the village."
Rhia nodded to Lord Harkon, and spoke softly, "I think it would be less disturbing if the Mikhail stay out of the village. I obtained for them some more fitting attire, and I can instruct them to guard the roof if you like, or some other, less-traveled portion of the keep."
"I thank you for your generosity; I vould indeed like them to remain here to guard the road, if it does not discommode you. If they are as those mag Jarrow, he gave to me, I know their control vell enough."
"In the morning, if you like, I will have them take some of my things and return to the tower, so as to be out of the way, and to prevent looting of the tower." Rhia smiled a bit at the irony inherent in that statement, then straightened.
"You could never be in the vay, mag Darkstar!" Harkon exclaimed, pressing her hands in his. "But if you vish to return to J- to your tover, I vill see that provisions are arranged for you, and animals to take them."
"On second thought, Milord, perhaps it would be best for the Mikhail to stay here until your reinforcements arrive. They can watch through the nights, and provide a bodyguard if needed. We can worry about my- the tower once the keep is secure.
"You speak vith great visdom as vell as great learning, maga Darkstar."
"We will go then, Kerri and I. We will await word in the village, and I will find… something useful to do. I thank you, milord, for your hospitality, and your generosity. Good night."
"Bane keep your soul, and Shar send you fair dreams, maga Darkstar," the Lord said, escorting her to the edge of the dais. He watched her leave as he reseated himself, and Atjets Hugo watched him.

Loading the last of her necessities onto Sarai, Rhia checked one last time with the Mikhail, to ensure their instructions were fully (and literally) understood. Somewhat wistfully, she bid them good night, took Sarai's reins, and signaled to Kerri and the waiting Atjets that she was ready to go.
She could feel the Mikhails' eyes on her all the way back to the village.

Though she was worried about Anya, the long day, longer night, and seemingly endless trip through the Dark night of the Moonsea were too much for Rhia. When she and Kerri finally stumbled into their room, Rhia collapsed onto her cot, barely enough energy to kick off her boots before drifting into blessed sleep.

Ropominar, Mirtul 16

In the morning, the watchers outside the women's door knocked politely, inviting them to breakfast at the quaintly-named End of the Road tavern across the muddy street. Kerri, who hadn't woken, snored loudly from under her bundled blankets; it was the woman who spoke to them, the man sitting red-eared against the wall, careful not to look in the direction of the door.
Rhia rolled to her feet instantly upon hearing the knock. She blinked her eyes blearily, not entirely sure where she was, but quickly determining she was in no danger. After cracking the door open and assuring the woman outside that she and Kerri would, indeed, make their way to breakfast in a few minutes, Rhia closed the door again, leaning against it.
"Kerri! Breakfast!"
Snores answered her.
It took a bit of effort, but finally she managed to wake Kerri enough to communicate the idea of breakfast. Not long after they were dressed and slogging through the mud on their way to the tavern, their guides keeping a respectful distance but staring all the while.
The End of the Road Tavern had no sign outside to signify its purpose; no doubt everyone who mattered here knew where it was. The windows were shuttered against the cold, and the only light came from the hearth across from the entry and the rush torches that hazed the room with smoke. It was surprisingly large, with what looked like enough room to hold every person in the village - say, to stare at a couple of outlander witches.
The room slowly filled as Rhia and Kerri ate the porridge provided by a stout middle-aged woman who seemed less intimidated by the pair than the rest of the villagers. A few sharp words from her drove out a few young men and, when she decided they'd gawked enough, a number of young women. Her hard stare didn't keep out the miners, who had arrived before the two, but they kept their heads down as she bustled about, clucking disapprovingly whenever she passed the women. A handful of children whispered and stared from the far end of the room. A few dared to approach until one of the outlanders looked at them or the stern barwoman scolded them, sending them scampering back to their hideout to brag.
Rhia had initially felt nervous at the center of the crowd's attentions, but rather quickly returned to a sense of comfort. Oddly enough, it had been the inquisitive children that had done it, reminding the mage of herself as a child. If you don't look at it, you'll never learn anything about it, right?
So, while the villagers watched, Rhia ate her breakfast. Eventually, she caught Kerri's eye, raised a spoon full of the mush, made the signal for `what,' and spoke a single word, "Illuski."
Kerri gave her a surprised look, but mumbled something through a mouthful of porridge. Pleased by Rhia's questions, she was only too happy to begin pointing at various things and naming them in her tongue. At first the children watched, wide-eyed, as the witches cast spells, but when Kerri pointed at one they all scrambled outside, squealing.
Before Rhia and Kerri finished their meal, the adults had all gone - all but the barwoman and the two villagers who had kept vigil outside their room. Atjets Hugo entered, stopping to speak quietly with them before approaching the women.
The beadle was a man who got right to the point. "Talona grant you good health this day. Vhat do you need to take vith you to your tower, and how much?"
"Ah," Rhia nearly choked on her food. Quickly, she composed her self. "I hadn't realized preparations would be made so soon, I'm sorry." She sat back and thought for a moment. "I've not yet managed to get the door open down stairs, so anything we bring will need to be raised to the roof via rope. So, we'll need lots of that. Two hundred feet, I would imagine. Um," her finger tapped on her bottom lip, while her `frown of concentration' appeared above her nose.
"I think I still have a good broom, but I don't know about a bucket or a scrub brush. Mostly, I think we'll need food. Food and bedding. And a cot. No, two cots. So, food for three people for what? A tenday? And fodder for the horses? Um…"
Rhia stopped, shaking her head ruefully. "I haven't the monies for this. I should stop right now. Besides, if we're going after the bandits, we won't be staying at the tower that long anyway, at least, not yet. Perhaps it's best, Atjets, if we hold off on the tower restoration for a few days? Until the bandits are caught and -"
Rhia's face went pale, and tears welled up in her eyes. How could I be so thoughtless? She could be dead by now, and you're here eating a hot breakfast and picking designs for bed clothes?
"Anya," she whispered.
Rather suddenly, she looked at the Atjets again, and began stumbling over apologies. "I'm so sorry, Atjets Hugo, but I need - I need to get back to my room. My apologies, but I have to study. I have to find Anya. I have to - I have to go. I-"
Standing up, Rhia looked about herself as if lost. Finally, she seemed to locate the door and took several steps towards it, only to stop and turn back towards the table. "I'm sorry Atjets, um, I-"she gestured at the empty bowl on the table, helplessly. "How do I? Um, who do I? How much…?" She trailed off, the fingers of one hand in her belt pouch, unsure what coinage was even appropriate.
The Atjets watched her, unruffled as if women abruptly broke into hysterics in front of him every day. "The Lord, he gives you these things you vish vith his compliments. I do not know if I can find all the things you need, but I vill try."
Kerri, who had frozen with her spoon in her mouth, hurriedly swallowed the rest of the porridge and rose to follow Rhia back to the boarding house. The villagers stared from their corner table, silent.
Rhia stood blinking at the Atjets. For quite some time, actually. Her face showed confusion, as if she were a slow-minded child, trying to work her way through a puzzling joke. Her head tilted slowly to one side, as if looking at the Atjets from a different angle would somehow make his words more comprehensible. Her hand did make its way out of her belt pouch, but only, it seemed, to scratch her head. She opened her mouth several times, as if to speak, only to shut it again, having said nothing. Eventually, she seemed to understand, as words finally left her lips.
"Um, what?"
Perhaps not.
"You do not have to pay," the priest amplified. "But ve are only a small village - I do not know if the things you vish to have can be found. I vill search." He gave the huddled group a significant look, then left.
"Whurrr?" Kerri aped from beside her, crossing her eyes and making a silly face while scratching her head. Snickering, she punched Rhia's arm and followed the priest outside.
The mooneyes stared at Rhia.
Giving those remaining as dignified a nod as she could muster, Rhia fled.

Now that she wanted peace and quiet to prepare Weaves for casting, Kerri was impossible to shut up. She chattered cheerful nonsense incessantly, jabbing a finger at Rhia to emphasize her points and frequently breaking into muffled snorts of laughter, repeating her impression from the tavern. Rhia was finally able to get rid of her by managing to sign that Kerri go out and scout around, managing to restrain herself from adding out loud, "the ninth level of the Hells" with a supreme effort of control.
Once the sell-sword was gone, Rhia took a few minutes to meditate and get her mind attuned to the Weave. Then she opened her book of Weaving and began to study. A small sigh escaped her lips as she drifted into the comfortable and regimented world of magic. She managed to remain that way for the couple of candlemarks her studying required. Rhia closed her book, a wicked smile on her lips. She might not be one of the mages Morrolis had told her of, those who specialized in Weaves of fire and death, but as a Diviner, few could match her ability to find things, or people.
Rhia stood, packed her book safely away, and retrieved the crystal ball and its stand. Before she could utilize them, however, there came a knock at the door.
"Saer, the things you have asked for, they are ready." The Atjets' voice was muffled through the door. "All that I could find, it is prepared and vaiting for you by the hitching post." His steps receded down the hallway.
“But I-“ I canceled that order, didn’t I? Rhia left the thought unspoken. It would do no good to finish it, with the Atjets down the hall already. Besides, she wasn’t sure if she had actually cancelled her order. It was probably best if she did take the gear to the tower, anyway. Keeping Heimdall and the Mikhail out of the public eye was likely more important than where she slept - or for how long.
For now though, she needed to find Anya. She carefully sat herself on the floor, the crystal in its stand on the floor before her. With thoughts of Anya held firmly in her mind, Rhia looked into the crystal ball, willing the crystal to show her Anya.
At first she thought she must have done something wrong; the woman she'd found was a hunched, dirty thing in an equally dirty oversized tunic, lying in a strange small room beside a cot. The darkness in the room made it difficult to make out any details, but she could have sworn the walls were moving, as though the room was alive and breathing. The motion brought sails to mind, and she realized that the walls were of cloth - it was a tent. Thinking the woman was no doubt a camp follower, or perhaps some strange hermit, Rhia almost ended the vision to try again... but some subtle thing about the scene gnawed at her, and instead she looked more closely, trying to make out the dark figure's face.
The woman started up as though alarmed, and shuffled slowly towards the tent flap; there were bloody bandages wrapped about her feet. As she brought her face close to the tent flap, a stray line of firelight crossed it. Her face was a mass of bruises, her eyes swollen nearly shut; blood had run from her nose and split lip. She was almost unrecognizable... but not quite.
It was Anya.
Drawing back to see what Anya was listening to so intently, Rhia found a knot of men not far from the tent, whispering together; they were far enough from the ranger that Rhia couldn't quite make out what it was they were arguing about. Moving back to Anya, she found the ranger had moved to the back of the tent and cut a long hole. She watched as Anya hobbled out into the night, clearly too badly injured to run or even walk. She clutched a dagger in the mangled ruin of her hands, making her way slowly, slowly away from the tent and towards the pitch-black darkness, her bandaged feet leaving a trail of glistening prints. She made no sound apart from the rustle of leaves and branches and her labored breath.
Knowing that she couldn’t help, and that watching would only make things worse, Rhia quickly withdrew from the crystal orb. Moving with determination, she packed the remainder of her things away, put her gear on, and opened the door. As if her fully-loaded appearance wasn’t enough of a clue, she indicated to her chaperones that she was ready to go downstairs, then led the way.
Outside, she took stock of the people and goods that awaited her.
The darkness was almost as complete as it had been in the woods outside the light cast by the lantern hanging from the door of the tavern. It appeared that the Atjets hadn't waited for her. In the churned mud of the street stood a donkey cart, complete with donkey. Wrapped bundles similar to those she'd seen taken to the keep lay beside several coils of rope. Sarai, saddled and waiting, stretched his neck at her in welcome, lipping among her hands and pockets for treats. The Mikhail stood by the donkey, heavily cowled in rough peshka burlap.
Her guardians came out into the watery light carrying large bundles of their own; they dropped the bed linen into the cart, went back inside, and returned carrying one of the bundled-straw mattresses. Their eyes flicked between her and the Mikhail, glanced towards the gates furtively, but they didn't comment, working quickly.
When they finished the cart was piled high, and they hovered on the boardwalk, uncertain if they were required for anything further. The woman stared at Rhia for a long minute, then stepped forward, taking her hand tentatively and pressing something into it.
"The Forest, it is not a good place. You take this to keep you safe," the woman said, folding her work-gnarled hands around Rhia's. "Shar vatch over you."
Rhia accepted the token with a smile and a soft “Thank you.”
She wasn’t really sure that heading out this late was the wisest of courses, but with everything ready, she had little choice. Now, where was Kerri?
Her answer came in the form of shouting from inside the tavern, where light leaked out between the shutters. With a sigh, Rhia made her way across the boards to the inn door. With a warning knock, she quickly entered.
The room seemed much smaller than it had earlier, full of people, and it was bright and hot enough that coming in from outside was a shock. Smoke from the numerous rushlights nearly hid the ceiling, and peasants standing, perched in the windowsills, some shouting encouragement and clapping with children on their shoulders, blocked her view of what was going on.
It only took a touch for the villagers to turn, take her in and move aside with a bow or curtsy; she moved through them like a ship through water, and they closed in again behind her. She hadn't quite reached the front of the crowd when she spotted Kerri.
Kerri was easy to spot. She squatted on a table with two men and a young woman, her broad-brimmed hat held in crossed arms. The four were back-to-back, and as the crowd around them chanted rythmically, they somehow shot out a leg in a weird kicking dance, slowly turning in the center of the table. Obviously less practiced than the others - and maybe more than a bit drunk - Kerri fell out of the awkward position to the tabletop, and the crowd cheered as several young men immediately leapt to help her up and hand her a mug, which she swallowed in one gulp and held high. The crowd cheered, though somewhat more subdued now that Rhia was among them. The dancers laughed and helped her resume squatting with them, as did the men. In fact, Rhia realized, other than the one with Kerri on the table, there were no women in the circle surrounding the table. There were in the crowd around her, old and young bright-faced and beaming or staring at her sidelong, but just around the dancers there was nothing but men strutting about and shoving each other a bit.
Dear gods please tell me this is not some form of mating ritual. I do not want to have to spend tomorrow morning explaining to Kerri that not only is she hungover, but also engaged. I don't think either of us would handle that well.
Rhia quickly realized two things: First, that Kerri was not in any shape to travel tonight; and second, that her presence was dampening the fun of the locals. Not quite as quickly, she made two decisions, and acted upon them. As politely and unobtrusively as possible, she made her way to the bar. Again, people melted from her path - this time she didn't even have to tap anyone's shoulder. The villagers stared, but dropped their eyes if she looked directly at them. It was much different than the Mooneye stare everyone had given her when traveling to Jarrow's tower the first time, and it was unnerving.
Once Rhia had the barkeep's attention, she pulled the silver falcon that had seemed such a difficulty only yesterday from the pouch at her belt. The woman - the same one who had served her breakfast - froze, only her eyes following the glint of silver in Rhia's hand. After a moment she blinked, visibly getting ahold of herself; with some effort, she met Rhia's eyes, though they kept sliding toward the coin.
Leaning in, Rhia spoke so that (she hoped) only the barkeep could hear her. "Tonight, these people are my guests. If they do not drink it all, any monies left are to be entrusted to -" she hesitated, realizing that she still did not know her guardian's name. "Please give any change to the woman who the Atjets has tasked with ensuring the safety of my... of my honor. Can you do this?" She pressed the falcon into the barkeep's hand and waited.
"It vill be as you vish, Maga," she assured in an almost even voice, wrapping her other hand around it as though to shield a light. The tip of her small finger was missing. When Rhia released the falcon into her hand, she jerked as though it were much heavier than mere silver.
The woman bowed low. Holding the coin in both hands, as though afraid she might drop it and it would disappear, she disappeared into the kitchen. When she returned, fanning her face with her hand, she beamed at Rhia. Raising her voice, she shouted down the chanting mob.
"The good Maga, she says to me that all of you, you are her guests this night!" Silence spread like a wake after that announcement. Everyone turned to stare at Rhia. She could hear Kerri giggling something incomprehensible, unaware of what was happening.
A loud crack made everyone jump. The barkeep stood with one hand on the bar, the other planted on her hip. "Vell, do not just stand there, slack-jawed like Vanka! Vhat do you drink?"
A roaring cheer went up, and mugs were raised to Rhia all across the tavern. Villagers crowded the bar, though they never so much as jostled her, and the clapping and chanting resumed. All around her people bowed and curtsied and called out praise and thanks. She spotted the couple who had guarded her at the center of their own crowd, gesturing towards her as proudly as if she'd been their daughter. Two young men offered her their places at a table, only to be cuffed by their elders, who apologized to her for some bizarre reason. Somehow a mug of dark liquid made it into her hand, and the people around her beamed so widely their heads were in danger of falling off.
That went over well. Smiling to those who were brave enough to catch her eye, Rhia made her way towards the now-familiar couple. Once within the circle that surrounded them, Rhia waited the brief moments required to have their attention. She then leaned in close to the woman's ear.
"Saer, I think we are not going to be traveling tonight. I will send the Mikhail to tell the Lord we will leave tomorrow. What can be done about the equipment and animals?"
The woman smiled, reaching out tentatively to pat Rhia's hand. "It is good you do not go now, maga Darkstar. Do not vorry for the things - I vill take care of them for you." Turning slightly she said, "You see, Baljev? Already it brings to her luck!" Baljev, who clearly had no idea what she was talking about, nodded agreeably. "Yes, Cosmina."
Giving Rhia's hand a final pat (the daring of which which made adults and children alike suck in awed breaths), Cosmina curtsied, then strode out into the darkness, lifting a lantern from the windowsill by the door before she left. Baljev bowed, hurrying after her as he waved and grinned to his friends inside. The crowd didn't part for him the way it had for Cosmina.
A commotion drew Rhia's attention back to the corner where Kerri hung on the other young woman's shoulder, yelling along with the rest of the crowd as two men wrestled on the floor, knocking aside benches and tipping mugs as they rolled about kicking and punching. The older villagers were looking on indulgently, but the circle of men around the fighters looked on with identical expressions of envy, though what on earth there was to envy wasn't readily apparent.
Rhia lightly tapped one of the older men on one shoulder, and leaned in close enough to be heard, without having to yell loud enough for he whole inn to overhear.
"Saer, what are they doing? Why are they wrestling?" Oh, please let me get Kerri out of here un-married!
The man started, shrinking back from her hand. His wife clutched his other arm, eyes wide. "Ve mean no trouble, Maga - ve vill stop them if you vant. Vasili! Zan!" He bellowed over the noise for the men, and instantly a number of them hurried forward to pry the fighters apart.
Kerri yelled something at Rhia, scowling, and pointed to the purse on her belt. At a guess, she'd been gambling on the outcome. The villagers froze, appalled, then melted away between them, staring wide-eyed and expectantly at Rhia.
Rhia raised her hands apologetically. “I did not mean for you to stop, I apologize. I simply wished to know what was going on. Please, continue with your revelry.” Rhia turned to go, but stopped, struck by a thought. A rather wicked smile spread across her face as she turned back - to the man and his wife.
“Good saers, I only asked what was happening out of concern for my companion, Kerri. She is… somewhat impulsive. If I knew that someone of good character - someone safely and happily wed - was watching over her, and would make sure that she is returned safely to our room after the night’s revelry, well… My mind would be greatly eased, and I would be able to sleep while those of stronger constitution enjoy the night. Do you know some one who would be willing to undertake such a duty? It is not an easy one, Kerri is quite the handful, and she speaks no civilized language, but I would appreciate it greatly.”
"Of course, Maga, ve vill see to it." They bowed low, quickly followed by the other villagers until she was looking at a sea of bowed heads and Kerri examining her mug for some hidden trace of drink.
Her arrangements concluded, Rhia made her way out of the common room and into the night, glad to let the people behind her celebrate through the night while she got some peace. Enjoying the quiet night air, Rhia made her way to her room upstairs, stopping only to inform the Mikhail of the delay in their travel plans, send two of them to inform Lord Harkon, and to ask the remaining Mikhail to watch over the cart during the night.
Once safely inside, Rhia spent some time studying her Art, then went peacefully to sleep.

Ropominar, Mirtul 17

Rhia awoke in the morning feeling rather refreshed, and dove back into the study of her Weaving. As she was only refreshing her memory, and felt in a bit of a hurry, her study took little time. A bit more than an hour later, she was dressed and ready to go. Kerri, on the other hand, would pose more of a problem. She was (as expected), neither ready nor willing to wake up, let alone travel. Eventually, Kerri and her things were unceremoniously wrapped in bedclothes, rolled up like a rug, and dumped into the back of the cart - much to the embarrassment of the local men.
By the ninth hour of the morning, they were on their way to the keep once more. It took them a while, but the keep was a welcome sight as it rose on the horizon. Rhia put the cart into the safe-keeping of one of the young servants and a Mikhail. She intended to continue on to the tower, but first needed to check in with Lord Harkon, and check in on Heimdall. Kerri had managed to get herself upright, mostly through the liberal self-administration of spirits she had managed to find in the cart. Truth be told, Rhia was certain Kerri wouldn’t have found the bottle had it not fell on her head on the short trip from the village. As it was, the freesword was able to (barely) stagger up the stairs to the common room, where she promptly collapsed next to an unconscious Heimdall.
With apologies, Rhia explained to Lord Harkon of the villagers’ welcome for them and the subsequent delay in their travel plans. She also told him of her intent to return to the tower, but acquiesced to his demand that she stay for a meal first.
Given some time, Rhia stole a private moment to look in on Anya via her crystal ball. The mage cleared away some pebbles, sat on the roof, where she would be undisturbed, and focused on the crystal in its stand before her. She was a bit apprehensive, but eager to know more of her missing companion.
With some small effort, the mists formed, and then parted, revealing the form of Anya sitting on a horse. A rather scarred- and scruffy-looking man walked beside the horse, holding reins Anya’s broken, bandaged - bound? - hands could not. The man’s appearance made Rhia’s heart sink, for no regular soldier would look so poor and shabbily equipped, which meant the attempted escape Rhia had seen earlier had been thwarted somehow. Anya’s head was bowed, and she showed no signs of the fight Rhia knew had been in her. She looked defeated. Resigned to her fate. When her head came up,Rhia saw tears. It was too much, and the mage let the vision fade.
She went downstairs, thinking of how to phrase her report to Lord Harkon, and stopped as her mind put together some of the other details she had seen. If possible, her feelings of dread increased. The horse and man had been together with many others, and headed north. Towards the keep.

Not knowing what the next day would bring, Rhia agreed with Lord Harkon’s decision to close the keep, bringing everyone inside, including Rhia and her cart of goods. It would do no good to clean up the tower if the bandits had regrouped with enough strength to besiege the keep again. If Ezeroh fell, taking a lonely tower with no soldiers to guard it would be child’s play.
Kerri took the news that they would not be leaving rather well, as she blinked twice, then rolled over and went back to sleep. Rhia, on the other hand, decided she had best try to find some way to be useful to the keep’s defense, if it came to that. She retreated to the far end of the room, near the staircase, taking a lamp with her. Once there, she arranged a cushion and her backpack into a position comfortable for study, and pulled out Jarrow’s giant tomes. Carefully, she began to study them, Weaving her magical sight, carefully tracing the strands of the Weave that surrounded the books, trying to discover their intent, and - if needed, how to safely unknot any security measures she might find.
They were there, as expected, and Rhia felt a moment of crushing despair. She could not decipher the Weaves protecting the books, which meant it was far too dangerous to open them. Which meant she would not be able to use their secrets to help. Tears welled in her eyes, and her vision blurred. It was in that blur that she found what she had thought was unknowable - at least on two of the books.
There was a way into the Weaves that looked to, if not unravel them, then render them harmless. It only required a key of some sort...

With a sharp tug on a previously hidden strand, the Weave came loose. First one book, then the other. The third book she was still unable to affect, but perhaps that wouldn’t be necessary. She would be hard-pressed to fully understand what was in even one book, much less all three. Happily, Rhia moved the third book aside, settled back, opened the first tome, and began reverently turning the pages.
She was amazed to see, described in Jarrow’s distinctive handwriting, the process for unraveling the Weaves of another. A process she had half-discovered herself, out of desperation. In fact, had she not already attempted the complicated loosening of the Weave, she doubted she could have understood the methods described in Jarrow's scratchy writing. With the proper ritual motions and words of power now described to her, she could easily duplicate the Weave as needed.
She broke for dinner, which she ate as rapidly as possible, and then returned to her studying. When the lamp failed, Rhia finally fell asleep.

The Second Cycle