Turn 111

And explore they do, for the remainder of that day and on into the evening. The palace appears clean of any taint such as they saw so vividly in Myrr, but Pham remains uneasy. Surely the cult would try to exert some influence over the king if they could possibly manage it? Later on, talking to one of the more garrulous servants, the man says, "Oh no, your holiness, they don't all stay here. Some of the lords have houses in the city where they stay. I hear the wizard has three houses, and a dozen chefs in each of them, though of course he does stay here often. Lord Peric has a house, and Lord Holleb. And of course the general has that great pile by the river, what they say is haunted, and the poor man with no family alive."
    Away from prying ears Lynden shares his thoughts with Pham. Perhaps it had been naive of them to assume that all the King's nobles would have been accommodated within the castle but the news that some lived elsewhere raised an eyebrow. Were these men of particularly high status to be allowed such freedom or just those with the wealth necessary to maintain their own households? Either way Lynden resolves to make discreet enquiries about them as and when the opportunity arises.
    As the two priests continue their investigations, chatting with others during the next few days reveals that it is a matter of both finance and prestige--it is no small thing to maintain a household in the city and entertain at the proper level *and* keep one's own demesne running while one is away for months at a time. The lords with town houses tend to be from the oldest families, ones with many generations of service to the realm behind them. Aron is an exception, but then people everywhere fall over themselves doing favors for such a powerful wizard. Not much is known of his personal history, but the king clearly trusts him and the people hold him in awe.
    Peric's family has extensive shipping interests on the sea and river both, giving him access to a great deal of important information as it travels to and from the center of the kingdom. If the army moves next year, it will be on his ships. Holleb's family have for generations been beneficiaries of their guardianship of certain important roads, whose tolls keep them quite prosperous. And then there is General Brosh, about whom rumors conflict. His wife, children, and brother perished, that much is certain, but whether they died of a plague, a fire, a dwarfish attack ("he's got a powerful hatred of dwarfs, that one does, holy sir"), or whether Brosh caught his wife _in flagrante_ with said brother and killed everyone in a mad rage, no one is quite sure -- it happened far from the city. Now he lives alone in a large house in the city with only a handful of servants, during the times when he is not attending the king or making a show of strength somewhere on the world.
    

    * * *

    And they have, as was evidenced in Myrr by the number of items where they make do with wood in place of metal, using a strong, closely grained timber for the purpose. Metal goods are not really restricted by anything other than price; swords cost ten times what they would most other places they've visited. Inez buys a number of trinkets and a beautifully inlaid box to keep them in, and some furs as well, exclaiming over their lushness and subtle color.
    Emmett parts with some coin purchasing a new spear shaft of the harder wood.

    * * *

    "You think something of our handiwork, I see?" he inquires. He does have an unusually cheerful mien for either a dwarf or a diplomat. Perhaps, living amid hostiles, it's how he copes.
    "I admire all handiwork when it's of high quality. And while I'm no expert, that certainly looks like high quality to me. Gond would be pleased." The half man replies, trusting that the diminutive diplomat will ask the obvious question.
    And he does. "Gond being...?"

    * * *

    During the journey, ibn Fadil works at being the perfect gentleman: unfailingly courteous, cheerful, and (unlike most or all of the others) perfectly comfortable with their exalted company and the whole idea of having servants - and also continues to include Nyala in his conversations, whether she actually says anything or not. He asks about the horses' training and the cues and commands they expect, and tips the grooms for taking good care of them. They give him many a peculiar look, but aren't about to turn down money. Mihal later reports that he has been asked if his master is mad, or owns a silver mine?
    "Hmm," ibn Fadil says, absently flipping one of the silver coins in question. "Is it cash money or generosity that is lacking around here?"
    "I guess you would say the latter. It's just not how things are done around here," he shrugs. "They are part of the royal household, however small a part, and they take a lot of pride in that." His quirked eyebrow could mean quite a few things. "They're not using to getting something extra just for performing the same duties they've done their whole lives."
    "How did you answer them?"
    "Said you're definitely wealthy and slightly touched in the head," he replies cheerfully, as if daring disagreement.

    * * *

    There is a distant sound of hoofbeats. The answer comes: Blood spills in the snow/ Secrets whispered to ears not human/ Beware true omens.
    Concluding his communion Lynden gives thanks for the gift of foresight before sitting back on his heels in the leaf litter. The guidance given will indeed reflect events to come but he has learnt that foretelling the future is like looking at the reflections of a cut gem. A successful hunt would certainly be a bloody affair but Gerik's words may be suggestive of other possibilities. As for nonhuman ears there were several obvious characters to be considered including the dwarven ambassador. Watching out for omens was more tricky. Often it was only with hindsight that their meaning became clear. Lynden stands and returns to the main party brushing leaves and dirt from his clothing and pondering Gerik's words as he does so.

    * * *

    The thing is ready to charge right over them when the others attack it from the rear, diverting its attention; they have it hemmed in. Lucky them....
    Stepping smartly up to the King as he reins in his mount Lynden reaches out to touch him with a small piece of parchment saying, "Majesty, may my faith protect you." as he does so. Roald barely seems to notice, he's so focused on the animal before them, but he does give a distractedly gracious nod.
    Ibn Fadil gives a whoop of excitement and moves off to the side a bit, so as to make room for the others, while he readies another spear for the next round.
    Yestin quirks a brow at the thing's appearance. He can't help but note that it is _not_ a whale, after all and tries to conceal the flush of embarrassment over his gaff. The Giff briefly considers charging the thing with his great sword, but quickly reconsiders; it would not advance the trading company's position if the acting captain among their agents were to be impaled upon an ivory tusk.
    Cranking the windlass to reload his crossbow, Yestin plays the role of spectator for the moment.
    The high priest continues to seem as if he will take no part in the attempted kill, perhaps waiting to see if his holy services will be needed. The accompanying soldiers let fly their spears with a yell meant to lift their courage, some of them riding up quite close behind the mastodon, showing off their mastery of their mounts as they hurl their weapons. It turns ponderously and charges in their direction, trumpeting again, until it is turned back by yet more attacks.
    His Majesty's second attempt is more successful, inflicting another bloody gash on the thing--small on its bulk, but enough such stings and the creature must fall. Ibn Fadil's second spear misses and it looks as if the beasts is going to attempt a charge to break free....

    * * *

    And then there is another flicker in the trees. There are two of them....
    "Oh, Crap. Stay Close! Spears up!" Emmett whispers the former and yells the latter. He could swear that the spider actually disappears, then reappears near another of the guards, reaching out with long spindly limbs; the man's frantically plunging horse is moving so erratically that the beast misses its bite, but the rider is thrown at the other spider's feet, where he is easy prey.
    Making an unusually rapid assessment of the situation, Alais takes appropriate action; a bolt of lightning crackles across the glade, almost invisible in the weak sunlight, to where the creature is busy injecting its venom. Three limbs are charred clean off and the long "fur" smolders and smokes.
    Meanwhile, Father Ziven has half-dismounted, half fallen and is busy seeing to the first man, who appears to be succumbing rapidly. The remaining two guards try to fling spears but are so shaken and so busy keeping their seats that the weapons rattle harmlessly off trees.
    Emmett sets his hunting spear as firmly as he can, leaving it as a pointy deterrent to any other spiders jumping onto him from the trees. With that barrier in place he draws his scimitar and raises his hook to form similar deterrents. At the same time he manages to soothe his horse somewhat, though it moves constantly and nervously beneath him.
    
    

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