Turn 95

"I *think* it was around here," their guide says, squinting at the distant mountains. "That angle looks right, and this lake is where I remember it."
    "Seeing things from the sky will do that to you." Emmett says to the nervous young man. "But this is as good a place to start as any. Pham, can you bring her down over there?" The half man points to a small natural clearing near the lake. "I'm going to go out and take a look around for recent travel and other movement. Anyone else coming down, don't wander off alone, keep steel on hand in case Pham's right. Tomek, you're coming with me. Carry this knife - it's good steel, and I borrowed it from the Captain for just this purpose."
    He meets Nyala's withering glance with a shrug. "What? He's got about thirty of them."
    This is most likely true. She sighs silently and checks her weaponry, wishing she had done better the previous night; some of those bruises are still painful. She's also keeping half an eye on Tomek, who clearly has no idea whatsoever how to react to the two women now that he's spending more than a few minutes in their company, and appears to have settled on ignoring them as much as possible. Inez has been making this difficult for him, with no little malice on her part; the elf has adopted a more compassionate attitude. She's glad to be out of the city as well, though concerned that ibn Fadil might be in danger from the local thugs.
    With that the Half-Man is out of the ship, sliding down a rope from the hatch by the expedient of wrapping it once around his hook and using that as a brake to slow his descent. Once at the bottom he moves out of the way of others with his usual springy step--insofar as such is possible in two feet of snow--taking in the chill with several deep lungsful of fresh air. It's been years since he was on foot in deep woods, and while he swore at the time he would never miss it, it's obvious that a little part of him has.
    Still, it's a pity there wasn't room for a mount on the ship - it would make the hunt easier. Dredging up what he remembers from his youth and applying what he knows about land tracking from altitude, the former griffin flyer bends his eye to the task of seeing if anyone has been in this area of late before the others come down and muddle the snow. Shadows under trees fall prey to the arcane light from his crystalline eye, and from the ship he looks a little ridiculous - a character detective from a penny drama hunting for clues.
    There's nothing to suggest a human being has ever been here before. From what Tomek has said, and what they saw during the flight, towns and villages cluster mainly on waterways, and while people do go into the forests in the winter--hunting for food, or on less innocent errands--few who cannot muster a large and well-armed party venture far into their depths.
    Fortunately, Emmett is sure that they constitute a well-armed if not large group. He glances back to the ship, glad to see that Nyala has taken the precaution of getting on deck with her bow. He trusts the elf's aim and eyesight to prevent anything from clambering onto his back during his little forest jaunt, and he does what he can to keep a clear line of fire between them. He is also, admittedly, showing off for the women.
    "Pham, Alais, anything you can contribute about what these things might be? or where they might be?"
    Drawing on the stories he has heard from a hundred spheres' travelers, Pham says, "Many tales suggest they might dwell in caves, or trees." He looks around. "Given their apparent size, we might be looking for something that would seem to us quite small... I suggest we look for rocky outcrops."
    Once Tomek has caught up with his flamboyant exit, Emmett turns to him. "Still look like the place? If not, which way should we go?" He realizes that re-living these events could be hard on the young man, but it's probably for the best - if he can put these things behind him by dealing out some violence on the perpetrators, Tomek will likely sleep better at night.
    Tomek looks around, brow furrowed as he casts his mind back to a different season several years ago. "That way. I think." Deeper into the forest.
    "Hmmmm... Could I get a couple of people to come down here with us? We'll follow on the ground, the rest of you keep your eyes peeled from the air and be ready to either pick us up or provide air support if something jumps out at us?"
    Hiro and Alais join them on the ground, and Emmett indicates to Tomek to point the way, staying parallel and close to the young native - both to bolster his nerve and to keep his advance passage from altering the landscape. His eye is focused more on tracks and other signs of life, trusting his shipmates to keep a look out for attackers or other threats.
    Alais trails along behind the two of them, Hiro keeping close by, inspecting the area thoroughly for metallic deposits or tracks, also for any signs of corpses or the like.
    Again, the shadows of the forest are split asunder by the eldritch glow emanating from the Half-Man's prosthesis, but once in the woods his affected stride slows and the terrible reality of being surrounded by a deep and possibly dangerous woods envelops them.
    "Tomek, how big were these things again?" Given the descriptions he'd been given, Emmett is unwilling to let any sign of passage go unmarked - these things could have the feet of stags or wolves or men, judging from what Tomek had mentioned.
    "Some of them maybe a few feet tall, others smaller." He scans around the shadows, frowning, and almost seems to be listening more than looking.
    There are plenty of animal tracks about, from the delicate trails left by mice who braved the surface to something the size of a moose. On a sudden though he stops short and looks up, to see if there is any sign of passage through the trees - any areas where the snow has been knocked down by something moving across the evergreen canopy. Nothing up there looks out of the ordinary. But small winged creatures might well leave no trace.
    Continuing the pause, he sheathes his cutlass and quickly draws his scimitar. The woods seem to have an almost unnatural barren silence, as if the Gods had left them unfinished until just the last moment and other *things* had crept in. Assuming Pham is wrong about the Fey vulnerabilities of their prey, better to be armed with a blade that is both steel and enchanted.
    Picking the right tool always helps. "Besides," he adds in a whisper, "maybe this has other properties that Alais couldn't detect. One can never tell about strange swords found in dwarfish caches."
    He takes a couple of long (well, longer than usual for someone as short as he) strides to catch back up with Tomek, being careful not to lose his balance in the snow and ice. "See anything familiar?"
    "Yes..." He seems more confident now, looking around with a stronger sense of familiarity in these surroundings. "This way."
    Slowly, the four of them climb a low ridge, paying careful attention to the rocky places, but the enormity of the search is quickly apparent. They are in the middle of hundreds of square miles of forest, and not entirely certain what they're looking for anyway. The only sounds are those of their own feet in the snow, their own breath in the biting air, an occasional distant birdcall. The thick pines make it quite impossible to keep the ship in sight during the climb.
    Emmett notices that there seem to be no animal tracks at all up here, and his guard sharpens.
    When they reach the top of the ridge and can see into the next small valley, Tomek stops short, disconcerted. "This can't be right! I don't remember this at all."
    The valley before them is filled by a swamp. Dead trees stand in the ice, a stark black and white landscape, shadows stretching as evening comes on. Skeletal reeds rattle in the wind. The _Distraction_ stands by overhead, surreally large and soundless.
    "We must have come the wrong way," the young guard says, crestfallen. "I'm sorry, but now I have no idea if we're in the right place. I suppose this could have formed since I was last here, but...."
    Alais walks unconcerned down the slope, still looking for signs of their quarry, and taps at the ice along the edge with a branch to see if it is solid. He pauses and pokes again, more cautiously, then looks up with a startled expression.
    "Oh my."
    "What is it?" Emmett asks, catching up with him
    "This land is under an illusion. Do you see?"
    And with some help and effort, they do, and stand staring until Inez yells down to find out what's so interesting about a bloody swamp?
    They are looking at a recent battlefield, centered on a small meadow. The trees for some distance around it are dead or dying, and a strong chemical odor fills the air. Downslope lies the wreckage of a dragon, its scales a brilliant green in the fading sunlight, standing out against the snow and the brown and black of dying vegetation. It is too far away to make out details. On the upper part of the field is... a cairn? Head-sized stones are heaped into a long pile almost as tall as Emmett.
    The snow and bare earth of the meadow is full of the tracks of many small boots.
    "Who are you," says a voice from the air in their midst, "and what do you seek here?"

* * *

Back in Town

    Val looks distinctly annoyed, but says, "We'll talk later."
    "It is entirely up to you, sir," ibn Fadil assures him. "I did explain that."
    Val doesn't comment on it any further. If ibn Fadil offered such a thing to the young man, there's probably a very good reason that Val himself could certainly understand. Besides, better to ask than to stow away...
    The following day is a busy day in Myrr. Shortly after dawn, the bodies of the murdered men are burned on massive pyres. Most of the town turns out to witness the burning, but there is little evidence of emotion; the actual funeral ceremonies were conducted privately, earlier in the morning. Because the dead were from wealthy families, the ashes are placed in brass containers sealed with iron, and taken to an inner recess of the temple.
    Ibn Fadil keeps away; he no longer trusts the authorities' control, and spends much of the day talking with Michal. - his life, any gossip he's heard, etc., just trying to get a better feel for the place. Michal certainly likes to talk and is happy to recount stories of his escapades, most of which are certainly exaggerated. Ibn Fadil does learn a lot--anecdotal, of course--about the people who operate in Myrr's shadow society, and something about escape routes in case he should lift a purse in the marketplace and get chased any distance... Aside from some charitable efforts by the temple, the poor are virtually ignored here, particularly old women, who have no choice but to beg for their sustenance and are liable to have that taken away from them. Although judging from Michal's contempt only the absolute lowest of criminals is so reduced in pride as to steal from women, and Stoat's folk generally stalk more rewarding prey. Michal's role since he was old enough to be useful has been one of watching and listening, in return for which he received an occasional penny and occasional pain, but was mostly on his own when it came to actually providing for himself. Stoat apparently takes a sink or swim approach to apprenticeship.
    Val attends the cremation out of courtesy. One thing certainly caught his attention though; brass urns sealed with Iron? Odd. Strange use for the metals if they're short on it here... It must have some significance that escapes the sailor.
    Late in the afternoon, drums beat around the city, announcing a column of mounted men approaching. Their banners are similar to that flying over the castle; His Lordship's eldest son has arrived, with a small retinue. They had planned to be in the city much sooner, he explains, but one of the horses threw a shoe and another came up lame that morning... townsfolk nod their heads. The curse is already at work, it seems, blamed for everything from dry cows to dropped plates.
    Dorek's arrival also means that, with many apologies, the starfarers have to find some new lodgings.
    With a little help from the castellan, the abbreviated group finds an inn with enough room to hold them all (except those who'll stay, in shifts, on the ship). There are many visitors in town for the festival, and rooms are scarce, but the travelers are both wealthy and in favor with His Lordship, and eventually they do find a place that has three rooms all together on the second floor, two of them adjoining and one on the other side of the narrow hall. As seems to be the usual fashion here, they are small and rustic rather than luxurious, but decently comfortable. These people do take keeping warm seriously, at least.
    No questions are asked about who will be staying where; as with so many cultural norms, unless it gets broken everyone assumes that everyone else does what is, well, normal. That settled, and with Michal somewhat nervously ensconced with Yestin--the giff doing his best to be friendly and reassuring--the two prepare for the banquet.
    It is, as expected, a somewhat subdued affair given all the goings-on, but not uninteresting for all of that. From a place at one of the lower tables, enjoying course after course of very good (if somewhat heavy) food and trying to avoid consuming too much wine, ibn Fadil and Valarin can see the high table quite well. Lord Tesfaye, his lady, and the newly arrived son all have places of honor. The pretty younger woman who acts as their servant is apparently the lord's concubine, and also the most interesting thing in the room to said son, a fact which occasions some whispers among the guests.
    After dinner, more of that delightful wine is served. It does not need to be kept cold while in its cask, though it is traditionally served so.
    "Strange and terrible times, these are," one of the guild masters says to ibn Fadil afterward, shaking his head. "But, we must carry on, I suppose. Come, there is something I wished to ask of you visitors." He leads the way to one of the alcoves lining the large hall. In them are displayed the masterworks of the guild in the past year, and as the meal is cleared away the guests are mostly circulating to admire them, and negotiating with the guild members on how much it would cost to acquire similar items.
    "One hears little from Durrell's lands, but what one does hear these days is much concerning iron," Master Wiktor continues. "Little indeed passes out of his hands, but I thought to seek your opinion concerning this." From a cupboard in the back of the alcove--which displays a beautiful short sword--the portly smith removes an iron ingot, which he hands to ibn Fadil. "We are, of course, very pleased at the prospect of communications with the wider community it seems your ship represents."
    Ibn Fadil's trained ears hear gold in that statement, but for a moment he is busy staring at the ingot in his hands, which can only have come to this world on a V&S ship. He knows this because the stamp on it is that of the Havath clan, quite possibly the most powerful dwarfish family in space.They would no doubt be interested to know that V&S is selling their iron to people who have a nigh-fanatical hatred of dwarves.
    After the presentation of gifts and a blessing from the priest concludes the event, when they return to their rooms Yestin informs them, "Someone was here asking questions of the keeper; I don't think he told them anything that isn't already common knowledge, but it may be well to be on our guard. Friends of our, er, guest, perhaps?"
    

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