The Knight and the Knave

Chapter 1     The inn was called "The Pilgrim's Rest." It was aptly named, for though it lay at the heart of the Foreign Quarter, it was devoid of noise and activity. The common room was nearly empty, even for a chill winter morning. Only a few merchants sat there, breaking their fast and quietly discussing the day's business. A sober place indeed. The same could be said for the rest of the city. Wintershiven, the capital city of the Theocracy of the Pale, was a most austere place, reflecting the ascetic character of its people. The Theocracy had been founded by followers of Pholtus, god of light and justice. While the deity was worshipped elsewhere as an important figure of the Oeridian pantheon, the God of the Blinding Light was the only divinity recognized by the Palish Church. Descended from devout and outspoken followers of the god Pholtus, who had withdrawn from the increasingly corrupt Great Kingdom of Aerdy as the rot of cultural and social decay penetrated the land, the Palish had created a religious state dedicated to preserving the purity and integrity of their souls. Worship was the main focus of life in the Theocracy. Being a very formal and ritualized affair, services were conducted daily, with the entire population expected to attend regularly. A very detailed and strict code of conduct, the Pholtian Laws, formed the backbone of this society. The Palish waged a constant battle against sin. And the Church's Questioners saw to it that those who transgressed the Law were properly purified. A truly dreary place, Sunder thought. But this was where their travels had led the Company of the Raven. The path from ancient Grimrock had taken them to the eastern border of the Palish lands. It had taken them nearly a fortnight to cross snow laden fields, farms and vineyards to reach the city of Wintershiven. Fortunately for them, the kind Palish farmers had offered them hospitality, as prescribed by their moral code. Food and shelter had been provided, even by the poorest of families, and naught had been asked in return, save that the travelers joined in the daily prayers of thanksgiving to the Lightbringer. Like people in most of the civilized nations of the Flanaess, the members of the Company of the Raven were polytheists, worshipping the different gods. Some nations favored the worship of a single pantheon, be it Oeridian, Sueloise, Flan or Baklunish, to the exclusion of all others. Some nations were torn by religious conflict. In the Kingdom of Keoland, the worship of the Sueloise pantheon was divided between the followers of the ancient deities of the fallen Suel Empire and the adherents to the Jmarvic faith, that branch of the pantheon favored by the barbarians of the Thillonrian peninsula, comprised by Kord and his peers and their enemies, the evil Beltarin. Other nations revered all gods, and some bowed to none. The Pale, however, followed Pholtus and none other. These people were not noted for their tolerance of other beliefs. And so did the Company conclude their long journey, arriving at the city on the eve of Needfest, the week-long festival marking the end of the year and celebrating the beginning of the new one. The five hundred and seventy-seventh year of the Common Calendar, dating from the coronation of the first Overking of the Great Kingdom of Aerdy: Nasran I of the House of Cranden, who had brought a golden era of peace to the land. Unfortunately, his successors had ultimately succumbed to evil, and the Malachite Throne was presently held by the cruel Ivid V, of the demon-seeing House of Naelax. The celebration proved to be very disappointing for the members of the Company. It consisted mostly of hymn singing and prayer services officiated by priests in gold-trimmed white robes, who spouted long sermons on purity and righteousness. The sweet Palish wine, made by monks and prized throughout the Flanaess, was consumed, but only in limited quantities. The Theocracy frowned upon drunkenness. A sin in the eyes of Pholtus. The ubiquitous Templar Knights of the Church Militant, resplendent in their mirror-bright silver-plated armor over black leather, patrolled the streets and kept the peace. The beautiful Palish girls, with olive skins and copper overtones reflecting their Oeridian and Flan heritages, resisted the advances of the lusty mercenaries. The strict morals and prudish ways of the Palish women would allow for no improprieties. The music was gloomy and solemn, not lively and festive, as it surely was in the rest of the Flanaess. Eventually, the "festival" ended. The Company was anxious to be on its way. Sunder sat with Lotheneser, Keras and Durlan at a large table, breaking their fast on cheese and bread, discussing the preparations for their departure. Ghallar, the dwarven thane, stood next to Sunder. The dwarf had taken his pledge of honor quite literally, and stood guard beside the lanky ranger day and night. Sunder drained a goblet of the green Palish wine as he listened to Durlan's report. The Company sergeant delivered his report with his customary efficiency. "Asharak and Jerem have gone to purchase mounts for the Company. Since they are the best horsemen, I trust they'll pick the finest steeds." Sunder approved. It would be nice to ride again. They had walked a very long way since losing their horses at the pass of Kelten. "Eliazar and Jisander are procuring supplies." Everyone grinned at this announcement, including dour Durlan himself. "The local merchants are in for a rough time." Lotheneser smiled. Those two were nearly as good as he was at trading and haggling. Nearly, but not quite as experienced as the long-lived half-elf. They were scoundrels and thieves, through and through, so they were very good at this. Durlan chuckled softly. "The rest of the lads have gone with Arngrim and Thaddeas to scout the marketplaces for any departing caravans." It was their usual practice. The burliest members of the Company would parade around the markets, advertising their services as mercenary guards. As captain, it would be Sunder's duty to handle the actual negotiations and decide on the best offer. A job guarding a caravan would allow them to earn some money while traveling to a livelier place. "How are our funds?" Keras asked quietly. A man of few words, he usually cut to the heart of the matter. Durlan shrugged. "Our stay here and the gear will set us back some, but we're not doing too bad." His eyes swept back and forth, searching the room. Discussing one's finances openly was dangerous business in most places. Thieves were always lurking about, on the lookout for likely targets. No one seemed to be paying attention. Only a couple of merchants huddled in a corner and a nondescript young fellow sitting at a nearby table were in the room. Keras set down his cup. "All seems to be settled, then." He turned to Sunder. "All that remains is to decide where we are headed." "What news have we gathered?" Sunder asked. "Well, we have had no word from Ratik," Lotheneser began. "And we can only hope that the Archbaron has found a way to repel the gnoll invasion. We could always journey back and see if they still need our services." No one was too anxious to retrace their long steps, on the slim chance that employment would await at the end of the journey. "There is word that the Hierarchs of Molag continue to raid the Shield Lands." Durlan reported. This was nothing new. The Hierarchs of the Horned Society, a group of ruthless men, had seized control of the eastern lands of the once vast realm of Iuz, when that wretched spawn of demons had disappeared more than seventy winters ago. The greedy Hierarchs had soon turned to prey upon the Shield Lands, their eastern neighbors, a land of honorable feudal lords and righteous knights. Now, however, rumors whispered that the evil Old One, Iuz himself, had returned to reclaim his empire. The truth of these wild rumors, and the impact upon the Horned Society remained to be seen. Irrespectively, the conflict between those two rival lands offered excellent employment opportunities for a mercenary company. "There is also word that the goblin-folk of the Bone March have continued to raid the North Province of Aerdy. Herzog Grenell's army, under General Shalaster's command, are barely holding them back." Keras added. The North Province had enjoyed a period of near autonomy from the Great Kingdom of Aerdy, but many believed that these invasions would force Grenell to seek refuge under the armies of Aerdy, forcing the North Province to bow to the Malachite Throne once more. "There is also Tehn, to the northwest," Durlan pointed out. "Duke Eyeh sponsored forays into the Troll Fens the year before last. It is said he paid handsomely for burnt troll corpses." Durlan grinned. "Who knows? He might sponsor some trollhunters these year as well." "And Atherstone lies just across the river Yol, only a day's ride from here." Lotheneser added. "We could be hunting trolls inside a week." "We could head for Nyrond. I'm sure it's warmer there." Keras tightened his fur cap over his bald head, shivering as a cold breeze swept the room. One of the merchants had left. "There's always good work in Nyrond. Or we could catch a ship al Oldred, and head for warmer climates." "If you wouldn't insist on shaving your head and would at least grow a decent beard, you wouldn't be this cold!" Ghallar scolded Keras. It was an old argument of theirs. The dwarf had once thought Keras to be a pardoned criminal, shorn of honor and forced to shave his head and beard. Keras had laughed at this and answered that he kept his face and head shaven to signify a vow he had taken. This answer had satisfied the dwarf, who understood and deeply valued matters of honor. The two had become fast friends. Nonetheless, the dwur insisted that this was improper. "At least he agreed to wear boots, instead of sandals." Sunder smiled. "Else he'd have frozen his toes off by now." The men all laughed at this. Good-natured Keras took no offense. His clear, sincere laughter was as loud as the rest.   -----o-----   There was little to distinguish the young man. A causal observer would not remember his plain features, which at best could be called "homely." No one would take notice of his clothes, being no different from those of other commoners; plain and worn. One would even be hard pressed to identify his race. Oeridian, most likely, but certainly not a pure strain. A mixture of heritages, like most of the inhabitants of the Flanaess. There would be no way to determine his place of precedence. Only a keen observer would note the amber jeweled dagger at his belt, half covered by the man's hand. This would set him apart from a common man down on his luck. That and the quiet fire that burned in his eyes, speaking of a quick mind and a passionate character. He had come a long distance from Artonsamay, which lay to the southwest. The region was a small realm of the Free Lords, what most called the Bandit Kingdoms, for their rulers waged war on their neighbors and the borders of their lands changed often, through trickery and deceit. They were Free Lords, for they served no king and answered to none save themselves, and Bandit Kings, for they pillaged and taxed the land without mercy. He felt as if he had been drawn to this cold, drab place. He had ridden his mount hard, seeking both to run from the sorrow he left behind and also to race towards a meeting that he both dreaded and desired. The city was colder than he expected; both the weather and the people. The young man had sought to contact the local Thieves' Guild, thinking that he could purchase the information he needed there. The information trade was just as profitable as the commerce of stolen goods in most places. To his surprise, he had found that no such organization existed in the city. Theft was a very serious crime in the Pale, carrying severe punishment. The Church's Questioners would imprison, torture and sometimes execute those so charged. Still, a small community of very discrete independent entrepreneurs existed on the fringe of the law. The smuggling trade was profitable. Palish wine was exported without paying the heavy taxes to the Church, while other illegal liquors, such as mead, ale and brandy were imported and sold in the black market. Whoring was also a successful trade. Not all the Palish were as devout as they claimed, it seemed. The young man's discrete inquiries were met with unfeigned ignorance. The name he whispered in dark corners was not recognized. The more he questioned, the uneasier the people became. It seemed that his search was leading him towards the Theocracy itself. The common people were deathly afraid of meddling in the affairs of the Church. If word were leaked to the wrong people, it might attract the attention of the Church and the Questioners. So he had decided to look for an alternate strategy to search for what he wanted. He would take an unexpected approach. He would ask the Church itself. The matter would have to be handled delicately, though, to avoid arousing suspicion. The inquiry itself was a rather innocent matter, but he had no desire to draw the Church's attention to his affairs. Perhaps if he performed some sort of service for a high ranked Church official, he could gain the man's trust and gratitude, thereby enabling him to resolve this matter discreetly. At the very least, working for the Church would likely allow him to pursue his investigation without fear of persecution. He had received word of a way to accomplish this. An opportunity had presented itself wherein he could ingratiate himself with the Theocracy. But he would not be able to do this alone. He would need the help of others.   -----o-----   Laughter from the table next to him interrupted the young man's reverie. Once more, he took notice of his surroundings. Life had taught him that attention to every detail was the key to successfully negotiating any situation. He had once heard a Ketite merchant say: "If you keep your eyes and ears open, sooner or later, an opportunity for profit will present itself." So he reassessed the men next to him. The tall man called Sunder sat at the head of the table. His tanned skin, dark hair and gray eyes revealed his Oeridian ancestry. His long mustaches were groomed in the manner of Sunndi. A large hand-and-a-half black hilted sword was slung across his back in a sable scabbard inset with rubies. A magnificent weapon, worn with confident ease. The man's calm and graceful demeanor showed him to be a skilled warrior. A dangerous man to cross.  The deferential manner in which he was spoken to and the dwarven bodyguard at his side clearly pronounced him the leader of this mercenary band. The dwarven warrior presented little mystery.  Fine platemail armor and open faced horned helmet marked him as a wealthy dwur or a respected warrior or both.  The blocky, rune carved war hammer, was likely a family heirloom. A formidable weapon, no doubt.  The dwur's brown hair and beard showed him to be in his prime, young for one of his race.  What he was doing in this company was still a mystery to the young man, but a debt of honor seemed likely,  judging by the way in which he stood guard. The older man was likewise easy to read.  Dark, swarthy with black hair and beard.  His plain yet well kept breastplate and clothes bespoke of a veteran soldier.  By the crisp, clear way in which he made his report, it seemed likely that this Durlan was the drill sergeant in the group.  Efficient and trustworthy, yet a man uncomfortable making decisions for others.  A follower, not a leader.  Probably quite good at his work.  A Yeoman, by his accent. The other two members of the group were the most interesting by far.  They were the same height and roughly the same build.  Slender but wiry and strong.  The similarities ended there, for one wore long black hair and a closely trimmed goatee, while the other was shaven clean, both face and head. The shaven one, Keras, had a kind face with brown eyes. A small horizontal scar beneath his right eye marred his otherwise handsome features. A fur cap covered his bald pate; the object of some fun. He spoke little, but smiled warmly. He conveyed a sense of peace.  An ascetic of some sort, the observer concluded.  It was hard to pinpoint his place of origin, though the Sheldomar valley was probably a good guess. The man's racial origins were difficult to ascertain form his features. The other one, Lotheneser, was a different matter.  Golden eyes and pointed ears betrayed his elven blood.  The leather bracer on his left wrist marked him an archer.  The basket hilted broadsword and multiple knives meant he was probably deadly at close quarters as well.  His fine green and russet clothes showed him to be a man of refined tastes.  With such an exotic heritage there was no way to know where he came from. The young man had been amused by the sergeant's feeble attempt at secrecy when discussing the group's finances.  Their voices were loud enough to be overheard without even trying. Judging by what he had heard, he knew the mercenaries to be at least a dozen strong. The door to the inn opened with a frigid blast of crisp morning air. The fire in the hearth wavered before the door closed. A giant of a man came in. Pale skin and wild red hair and beard proclaimed his pure Suel blood. He wore a chainmail hauberk over fur garments and a large, double-bladed axe inscribed with the runes of the Sueloise hung from his belt. The manner of his dress, the gold bracers and neck chains he favored, along with the conical helm with eyeguards borne on his right hand confirmed the young man's assessment that this was a barbarian from the Thillonrian peninsula. The man's scowl and black patch over his left eye completed the picture of a dreaded Northman warrior. "No luck, Captain," the barbarian announced, sitting at the table. "No caravans are expected to depart for at least a week." The man poured himself a cup of wine and broke off a piece of cheese. "And there seems to be no work for mercenaries in the city," he added, ravenously devouring his breakfast. "Ralishaz's luck!" Sunder grunted. "In that case, the sooner we leave, the better." The young man smiled. An opportunity had presented itself...   -----o-----