Francis' Diary

=== There (and back again?), being the Diary of Francis Urquhart of Urquhart ===
A record of his adventures since the fall of Riverside in 218
==== Preface ====
As I broach this new volume, which may one day rest alongside my journals within Castle Urquhart, it occurs to me that I should spare some words to introduce myself and describe life on the Eastmarch. 
I was born 23 years ago in Castle Rock, the second son of Lord Thomas Urquhart of that Ilk (the Da), eleventh thane of Castle Rock, and of Lady Ysbell, of the line of Atholl, and I was given the name of Francis after my grandfather. James, my brother, was two years older, and was destined to become the Laird, but I never felt I was simply the “spare”. Indeed I felt I had a busy and useful future ahead of me, aiding my brother as needed, and protecting my kinsmen, clan Urquhart. Since I had no other siblings, it seemed natural that the world revolved about Jamie. I was no creature of introspection. My life followed the path my father, and the clan, expected, and that was just fine by me.
My days were busy, since the Da insisted I had the same education as Jamie, though it was often hard to catch up, and I soon learned to dread the tutor’s cane. Jamie took pity. He spent many hours helping me with my studies, and lessons gradually became more bearable. At least I could sit comfortably for most of them.
Outside the classroom our time was Alistair's. He was Master-at-Arms to my father, and the only paid soldier in the castle. His real job was to drill the clan, and teach the lads who served in the Da’s levy, between planting and harvest, how to make proper use of spear, shield and bow. He taught Jamie and me the sword, shield and bow. Jamie was a natural with the bow, and could hit a quail in flight, I had enough trouble hitting our orc-sized practice target, but by the time I was twelve I could equal him with the sword. I remember the first time the Da came down to watch me training with Alistair, and how he smiled at me as he quizzed me over what I had learned. I would travel far, do much, to earn that smile.
The evenings were spent in the hall. After supper Jamie and I would read to our mother, or we would all listen to the skald singing tales of our ancestors. This was how I learned to flesh out my pedigree, and how those ancestors became very real to me. Sometimes the Skald would sing of my grandfather, who had died before I was born, or of my father, in the days when he served with the Markgraf, and rode with the Eastmarch Lances, or when he expelled the Orcs from Blackwater. On those nights I felt my heart swelling with pride. I had so much to live up to.
When he was twelve Jamie became my father’s page and messenger. He still had some lessons with me in the morning, mostly politics and geography, but most of his time was spent attending on the Da and learning how the Lairdship was run. Also, he maintained the Da’s arms and armour.
==== Promotions ====
At fourteen Jamie became the Da’s squire, and I became the page to the Da, under Jamie’s supervision. Jamie was an easy master, still more a brother than a superior. Also he was often away, either travelling to Eastmarch or Riverside with the Da, or visiting with the blood cousins within the clan, getting to know their strengths and weaknesses, and letting them get to know him. When they were both away I would stay at Castle Rock, nominally as steward, but actually supervised by Uncle Simon, who was also our local priest of the Wyldwood.
I remember those days as days of peace, but in truth they were not. The Orcs were restless, and the Da often had to ride Urquhart and Blackwater, or take his household carls to Eastmarch at the Markgraf’s summons. Often Jamie and I rode with him, though I was only the Da’s messenger. In this way I experienced my first battles, though in truth I was merely an observer. Jamie got to fight though. And sometimes Jamie was left at Castle Rock, to act as steward and defend our homes, advised by Alistair. Meanwhile, I continued my training, which now included riding, and fighting from horseback. I proved a fair horseman, though not so brave as Jamie, and came to like riding, though I preferred to fight on foot.
Perhaps those peaceful memories centred around harvest time, when we all, even the Da, worked together to bring in the crops. This was usually a time of peace, when even orcs were too busy for military adventures, unless their own crops had failed.
As a member of the Family, I was expected to ride out with Jamie and the Da hunting boar. And as part of my training I would ride out alone to stalk the deer. I became quite adept at stalking, and, if the deer cooperated, I could kill, gut and butcher the it in timely fashion. The Da always insisted I keep a haunch back for the family and a cut for Uncle Simon, and give the rest to our clansmen’s families. This was meant to help them through difficult times or to reward some service done. He left me to decide who should receive these spoils, and again I was proud when he approved my choices. 
==== Francis Urquhart Esquire ====
When Jamie turned eighteen he was knighted by the Markgraf, and officially installed as the Master of Urquhart, and I became the Da’s squire. My sessions with the tutor ended – he became the Da’s secretary and archivist – but my sessions with Alistair continued, since he saw in me a talent for swordplay which he wished to encourage.
That was also the year my mother first fell prey to the sickness which eventually took her. The Da continued with his usual duties, though Jamie perhaps spent more time presiding over the manor court. He still enjoyed riding out, leading the household at the summons of the Markgraf, though he was saddened the Da had to stay by mother. I began to see the signs of age in the Da then, together with the sorrow that would never fully leave him. He was becoming deliberate, more absorbed in his own thoughts, slow to reply and slower to speak.
==== Knighthood ====
When I reached eighteen I was also knighted, but by Eomanrich, the Markgraf’s brother, since I was no Master, but only the Master’s brother. Still, it was no disgrace to be knighted by Eomanrich who was a mighty man of valour, and already the subject of skald songs in Eastmarch and beyond. It was a mark of how well the Markgraf regarded the Da, and I was grateful. I understand that the city dwellers place some store on knighthood. It means less in the Marches, where clan and family mean much more, but it can prove useful dealing with outsiders who do not understand our ways.
That year Jamie and I led the household to the Markgraf’s levy. There was no campaign, but there was a tournament. Jamie placed second in the melee, only knocked out by Eomanrich himself, and I did not disgrace myself in the dismounted combat for the knights bachelor, winning a full chain-mail harness from the hands of the Markgraf himself.
While we were away, mother’s condition had become much worse, and as the autumn set in the colour left her cheeks, and she could eat little save broth. The Da sat with her for much of the day, and we sat with her in the evening, after our work on the harvest. There was always a fire in her room, but still she felt the cold, especially in her feet and legs, which were white and clammy. Then she began to cough.
I still hear those heavy liquid coughs in my nightmares. They would convulse her, then she would fall back gasping for air, the reflex of one drowning in her own lungs. Her breath crackled and creaked, a ship working to ride out a storm, and her voice, when she could attempt speech, was a nought but a breathy croak. If some errant fey were to grant the black bog the power of speech, I believe it might sound like that.
By year’s end it was over. Jamie and I dug the grave. It lay next to grandfather’s, and was dug deep. Eventually the Da would lie with her in the graveyard hard under the Old Tor, where ten generations of our family already lay buried.
But that would not be for some years to come, if at all. The Da often rode out in the weeks that followed. He preferred to ride alone, but we sent out Alistair to shadow him in case of ambush, or so we told ourselves. Gradually he began to reconnect with us and the lairdship. He began to notice what had been done to his liking, and what was to be redone at pain of his displeasure. He sat in the manor court again, and his judgement had lost nothing of its acuity, and nothing of its essential kindness, for where not all clansmen of the name our kin, cousins however remote, and worthy of his consideration? Indeed, as he aged the Da really seemed to become the true father of the clan, and our clansmen loved him for it.
Life went on, and Jamie and I spent more time on military matters, though the Da still had Jamie sit with him in manor court. I gradually spent more time scouting out the surrounding lands, the better to understand the lairdship’s defences. Sometimes I rode with the heirs of the other septs, often alone, and the Da trusted me not to make a fool of myself in front of them.
==== Riverside ====
That was the year the Da took me to Riverside to buy a horse. I had travelled with the Da before, when I was his squire. This time he went on business, his own and that of the Markgraf, but part of his business was to buy two mares to improve our bloodstock, and a palfrey for me. I wouldn’t need a courser like Jamie’s, since I preferred to dismount and fight on foot, though I could fight from horseback if necessary, but I would need a good mount to scout our borders.
We went to the horse market, and I soon found a dun yearling I fancied. The Da found no fault, the price was reasonable, given the weight of our purses, and even the horse seemed satisfied with the bargain. I called him Zander 
As I said, the Da had visits to make on the Markgraf’s business, but that evening he took me to meet one of my mother’s kinsmen, Aldred, who served the Steward of Riverside, The man was very distant kin, but jovially acknowledged the kinship, and we spent a pleasant time discussing the news of the north and of the Kingdom. The Da later explained that he had once been in a position to do Aldred a service, putting in a word that eased a marriage agreement for his second son, and that the son, and his father, were both honourable men who could be looked to if I ever came to Riverside. 
I knew from this that the Da was beginning to think of the travels, which were the traditional lot of a younger son, while the elder learned to rule at home. I had not thought about this, since I was committed to support Jamie in all things, and neither of us looked to the succession while the Da was still in good health. But obviously the Da had something in mind.
==== Making a Name ====
I remember the Da talking to Jamie and me in the solar. He seemed very serious, and curiously shy, as he asked Jamie and I about our plans for the future. He was keen for us both to go abroad to gain military experience. He had intended when he was younger, to build a stronghold on the Blackwater Lake, linked with watchtowers on the Claybourn Hills. This would give us a much stronger southern border, and perhaps encourage farmers to settle the richer lands by the lake. Now he felt too tired to do this, but he looked to us to see if we approved the plan. We did, and Jamie even suggested this would be a good place for me to build a house when I married, which showed he could think like a laird, and I like a laird’s true kinsman. 
The Da seemed pleased to see us both adopt his plan as our own, I can even remember his eyes tearing up for a moment – I believe he was thinking of mother, and how she would have resisted this to keep her chicks at home - as he explained how it would work best if we could develop the sort of reputation which attracts followers, and this would require us to travel. Jamie would go to the Markgraf, since he was already liked and well-known there. I, on the other hand, would travel to Riverside, or beyond, and try to find some honourable position which might allow me to develop the skills needed, and so it was agreed. On the next day I would leave bearing letters of introduction to every kinsman and friend we knew of between Urquhart and Riverside excepting those who were known to favour Solara, who were mercifully few.
My last memory of Urquhart is the Da’s farewell. His pointed to my cap badge and read out the motto, “My Word, My Faith, My Deed.” and added, “Stay simple my boy, but never simple-minded. Watch, listen and learn before you speak. I know you will do nought to bring shame on the name. Go with my love. May the Tree extend its branches to protect you, and its roots to shelter you.” With that, he turned to inspect a point on the far horizon which seemed to require his urgent attention. Jamie rode with me to our border, and we parted as brothers should. I knew I had no truer friend. Nor had he.
But I never reached Riverside … 
March 219
Once again I set pen to paper. Since the fall of Riverside and the flight to Northlake one step ahead of the Elven host, I have been constantly on the move, first with the Northlake scouts, and then seeking to support myself as best I could while seeking news of my family, and some way home.
The time with the scouts was interesting. I was with other refugees, trying to forge a route to Northlake while avoiding the Elven looters when a troop of scouts rode past. One noticed my cap and badge, and called out, asking what I was doing. When I told them, they said they had better work for me to do, and their lieutenant asked me if I was willing to join them. I jumped at the chance, and they accepted me as a recruit, since some knew of my family, and could confirm my suitability. 
I saw much of how they operated to track the progress of the Elves, and report their location and their tactics, but I am ashamed to admit I lacked local knowledge, the skills and the experience to be of much use to them as more than a rather inefficient messenger. Indeed I was earning the nickname “Useless Urquhart”, though they were kindly men, and thought not to use it in my hearing. Word arrived that dome sort of truce was being discussed, and it seemed a good time to review my position. I was taking up the space that rightly belonged to a seasoned scout, and, under pressure of war they had little time to teach what I needed to learn. I saw no recourse but to raise the matter with Captain Fergeryk, who admitted that I was right, and provided me with an honourable discharge, and a little coin to help me until I could find means to cover my keep.
I walked back to Northlake, a fish out of water, intending to search for word of my kin, but though I met many seeking refuge from the Elves, I found none from the Vale of Blackwater, and none who had knowledge of the fate of Urquhart, Dundonald, or Cochrane. As my enquiries led me nowhere I became discouraged. I watched my coin shrink, and as it shrank I wasted more on drink. Darkness closed round me, and I began to wonder if I would ever see Urquhart again.
At this point, if this were a minstrel’s tale, or a skald’s, I would shake myself, and resolve to undertake some heroic quest, some act of daredevilry that would illuminate my name forever. So I went to the library. 
I had become an habitué of the Library to the College of Imperial Studies because it stayed open for long hours, offered better shelter than the hovel I shared with eight other refugees – men whom I’d trust with my life, but not my coin – and provided reading materials to extend my education, if not my means. The Library, indeed the College as a whole, had fallen on hard times. I struck up a passing friendship with the librarian, Sparrowsight, a dry old stick to be sure, even for an ariel, but a kindly one and honourable. She it was who found me work when a posse of servants of the King came to plunder the library of “historical sources.” I suspect she also checked with them that I wasn’t on any wanted list, it’s what I would have done, but I cannot know for certain. Anyway, the portering earned enough coppers to prolong my newly pauperised existence, and Sparrowsight seemed to approve.
My luck turns?
Sparrowsight found me another commission. I had noticed the “Braerk Historical Society” when members first arrived, an oddly assorted bunch without an obvious scholar amongst them, but I was wrong. They seemed to be asking rather interesting questions about the Elves, and the “mythical” creatures which seem to be emerging all over the island.
Sparrowsight, knowing I was literate, suggested the “Society” employ me to support the “researchers”, really senior runners themselves, but the closest thing to researchers the library could offer since the servants of the King took all the available qualified researchers to Starport. In this fashion that I was introduced to the “Society.”
The first member I met was Bazin, the dwarven divine, who was acting as senior runner and coordinator. It was not easy to make out his age. He seemed quite affable, for a dwarf, but rather distracted. Sparrowsight told me he had worked as a senior runner when the library was still a working research institute, and that, if he had remained, he would probably have been appointed apprentice researcher by now. Trying to turn our motley crew of runners and amateurs into a focussed research team was enough to distract anyone. He assigned me to Karwen, one of the researchers looking for information about the disappearance and reappearance of the “mythicals.” It was a good match since Alistair, our old Master-at-Arms, had taught me a number of forms and combinations named after such creatures, and, if these creatures were actually real, it opened up many interesting lines of enquiry. Of course, with so few runners, I was also called upon by other researchers whenever I was free.
I met two other members of the Society in the library, Garaf, a young human magus, and Umar, a giant warrior who seemed totally out of place and knew it. Garaf was rather remote, but Umar was helpful, and his great strength proved very useful clearing a path through the lower levels of the library, which had been left in chaos when the servants of the King had emptied it of “useful” documents. At least Sparrowsight had a list of the items removed, to update the catalogue. I hoped the list was complete. So did she.
The first two weeks were uneventful, though I did notice that the members of the Society were being shadowed when they left the Library. The shadowers were not particularly skilful, and I followed them back to the Falling Star, where the Society were lodging. Once the members were safe inside the shadowers left. I noticed one of them again when Bazin and Garaf arrived at the Library the next day, but decided it was not my business.
====Braerk Historical Society====
As I was working I was also thinking about mythical creatures and what it could mean for such things to be reappearing, It was odd. Some of the runners and researchers were fully serious about their tasks, others seemed highly amused, but all kept straight faces in front of their employers.
Slowly a pattern emerged. Some of the runners seemed to be missing requested documents, which I could find quite easily, and some of the researchers seemed not to notice when requested documents were not provided, or were provided late. I made a list and put the items I spotted to one side, so I could find them in a hurry. Then I went to speak to Karwen to find out what was happening. He had been told to investigate harpies, kobbolds and ogres. He was listing references to them, but he seemed not to notice any mentions of other creatures that did not fit on this very short list, and even on the shortlist there were items that seemed to have been ignored, possibly because they held a reference to some other mythical creature as well. Karwen was honest, I would swear to it, but it seemed he was selectively blind.
I gave the matter some thought overnight, and in the morning I resolved to speak to Bazin. I expected to hand over my list of documents, perhaps collect a few coin, and return to my duties, but Bazin seemed much more interested in how I had spotted the significance of the missed files. He called Garaf over and they asked more questions, including questions about where I grew up, and what ancient ruins were to be seen there. I was reminded of the black Tor by the family graveyard – funny how most landmarks from home include the word black, but then it is a black country – and how I could never persuade Jamie to come with me and explore it, though it was nothing of bad repute. 
After about an hour of this, or maybe two, they came down to look at the scrolls I had gathered, which they seemed to find interesting. After this they set me to checking all the runner’s lists, and looking for the scrolls marked not found. I would bring these to Bazin, and leave them with him or pass them on to the researchers as he directed.
I thought that was all, but at close of business Bazin sought me out and invited me to a meal at his lodgings, an invitation I eagerly accepted. And so I met the rest of the “Braerk Historical Society.” It did not seem like any scholarly society that I knew of. My first thought was that they must be a theatrical troupe. What I saw was ten young, and presumably inexperienced, individuals squabbling over a map. Umar and Garaf I had already met, and there were three of four others I had seen in the library. The three halflings and the ariel were new, as were three of the humans. 
I recognised one of the humans as a druid of Wyldwood, from her symbol and her outwardly calm bearing. Umar, the giant, seemed the only fighting man amongst them. Two of the halfling wore similar robes which I didn’t recognise, and another of the humans could have been a priest of the Universal. Other than that I could form no opinion of their normal occupations, and I couldn’t see quite how they would work as a group.
They were all expecting me, and went out of their way to make me feel welcome, but I was aware of ten pairs of eyes studying me, and weighing every answer. I told them of my military experiences in Urquhart, and since I left. I didn’t keep anything back, or boast unduly, since there were no gentlemen here to impress, and, thankfully, no obvious Solarans to challenge.
====Clearsight====
Eventually glances were passed, some surreptitious, some almost comically obvious, and Quercuis, the druid, asked me what I knew about “clearsight”. I must have looked blank at that, for she began to explain how the whole of North Isle seemed to have suffered from an almost unimaginably powerful sorcery of forgetfulness. I almost laughed at this, but luckily I kept my countenance, and as she described the effects, in particular the fact that people had forgotten how the Elves departed, I suddenly began to see how this might explain the behaviour of the runners and researchers back at the library, as well as Jamie’s lack of curiosity about the Tor, Some ideas, some things, some large pieces of geography were somehow slippery in the mind, they would just fall out of focus, as if they were perfectly normal and totally unimportant. But “clearsight” was new and important. It represented the ability to see through the sorcery. It gave no extra gifts, no extra knowledge, but it did allow one to see what was actually there, and remember it. The sorcery was so powerful it also affected normal communication, to the extent that runners told to fetch one of these slippery items became blind to the entries on their lists which referred to concealed items or entities, and researchers could easily forget asking for them.
But now a few people were gaining the “clearsight”, no one knew how or why, or how many, but some suspected it was linked to the weakening of the sorcery, which she named the “Great Spell of Voids”, and the reappearance of the Elves. I felt ten pairs of eyes on me again as Quercuis began to explain that each member of the Society had the gift, and that was why they had been picked. Apparently the group had come together by chance, fighting for survival in the withdrawal to Braerk, but there they had been spotted by one of the King’s intelligencers, and given a rather irregular commission. The commission was to travel to Northlake, Far Haven and beyond, free to follow up on any leads that clearsight might reveal. Clearsight was so new, and still so rare, that it was worth sending out scouting groups to review whole areas, and even squads composed of relative tyros might uncover something of use to the King. 
At this point Quercuis paused, look directly into my eyes, and asked if I was interested. One embarrassed laugh later, I realised that she meant the mission.
This group seemed hopeless, and my prime concern was finding my family, but even so … This was a serious mission for the King, and if the King needed clearsight … But I might just be throwing my life away trying to keep these tyros alive … But they had survived the Elven invasion. There might be more to them than I thought … And I might find news of my folk … So perhaps … And I said yes.
And that was all I said. Immediately one of the humans, Joshua I think, was making a list of the equipment I would need. Just like that, I was a full sharing member. It was as if I had family again. And they knew how to behave. No question of my obvious poverty, or my reliability. Just the immediate practicalities. Clearly they had already been watching me, even before I found the library omissions. My reservations died in my throat. I would do what I could to make their mission work.
The halflings were already discussing how they could get documentation to cover me against conscription, or other official interference. Clearly they lacked some grasp of human society. At least I could put their minds to rest on that score. I was Urquhart of Urquhart. My duty was to the Markgraf and the King. No lesser man could conscript me, few would try. I could see they were unconvinced, but through ignorance, so no insult was intended. I eventually persuaded them that conscripting gentlemen raised lots of problems. The sergeants’ orders would have to end “Sir”, and if they forgot, their own officers would have to discipline them. So, with my patents of gentility (the letters of recommendation from my father) and my honourable discharge from the scouts (who only recruited amongst the gentry), I was in a stronger position than the rest of the Society when it came to dealing with human or allied guards anywhere on the island. 
Before I left I had a word with Caradoc, a halfling who seemed to know what he was about. I mentioned the youths I had seem tailing the party, and he told me he had arranged a little insurance to keep the party out of trouble, so there was no problem.
And so it was arranged, I would stay in my lodgings and meet Joshua and Caradoc, who by now knew the local tradesmen, to buy my equipment, as well as supplies for the party. They had also found a reliable armourer to restore my hauberk, and a swordsmith to restore my grandfather’s blade. After that I returned to my regular duties at the library, and such errands as the Society might require.
A couple of days later the sword and hauberk were returned in very good order. After that I worked armed and armoured. It raised a few eyebrows, but I prefer that to using armour I haven’t oiled and checked. Creaking leather and rattling chain can betray anyone at a crucial moment.
Leaving Northlake
At last we were leaving the sink hole that was Northlake. The Society had booked passage on one of the barges that made regular crossings in groups, taking advantage of weather control to cross the stormy lake. The voyage would take two days, and I agreed to stand the night watch, but nothing untoward happened. I had been impressed by the precautions and arrangement the Society had made. They seemed to work well together. There was no obvious leader, decisions were taken by consensus, but in each situation they seemed to have a feeling for who was best placed to take the initiative. Either someone had trained them, or the road to and from Braerk had been tougher than I had imagined.
We decided to travel with one of the caravans at first. There was no trouble along the way, but I resolved to exercise with each member as far as I could. The other members were helpful, I think they wanted to check me against my account of myself, since they only had my word what I could do, but no one was so tactless as to mention this. 
With Quercuis I practised working with her “pet”, Khuraque”, learning to recognise when she signalled prey, and when she indicated danger. It made the hunting easier, and I was usually able to contribute meat of some sort for the evening meal. 
With Umar it was practise with axe and sword. In his hands the axe was a fearsome weapon. I was lucky it was only practice, for I could not have parried even his lighter blows, but he was a giant, and I did know a thing or two about fighting giants. We agreed that our best tactic was for him to choose a target, and for me to keep the enemy from flanking him, though he might send me to protect another member of the Society if they were in trouble.
Caradoc and Joshua showed me various tricks, sleight of hand and pickpocketing, and had I had a full purse it would soon have been empty. This way I began to learn what to look out for in the city, and what to avoid, though they warned me that rogues in the city would be much more skilful. Even so, I began to see a pattern, how they moved round a mark, where they looked, what they said. Some of this I had already seen where I was living in Northlake. It was the movement of a human pack marking its prey.
Hamish and Dougal, the hobbits with the strange robes, showed me what Monks could do, using hands as weapons, and moving round the practice green at a surprising rate. I was not entirely convinced how this would work on a real field of battle, but they had other skills they could deploy.
Druids and clergy I understood, at least a little. They can fight, but the time and the concentration they have to apply in their priestly role, and the other limitations they must accept, mean that they can rarely function as front rank warriors. That said, their other gifts can easily be the difference between life and death, so they always deserve respect.
Garaf and Twoo did not exercise with us, but they watched occasionally. It was not arrogance. Rather they only needed to see roughly how we would move, the rest is magical inspiration, improvised during battle itself.
I found myself beginning to like the Society, and to enjoy time spent with them, They were easy company, though I suspect each was sensible of the weight of responsibility the King’s men had placed on their shoulders. Of course you never really know a man till you have fought shoulder to shoulder.
The trail we were following was well used. It lay through open country, often giving us distant views of other caravans ahead of us and behind. Since any threat would be obvious at range, it gave us many chances to get to know the guards. They seemed to enjoy giving the greenhorns tips and local knowledge, but in truth they did not know much, apart from taverns they would spend copper at. It seemed Far Haven was a border town, smaller and rougher than the cities we knew, and ruled with a firm hand by Saratak and his officers.
The free time allowed us to work up a cover story. The “Braerk Historical Society” didn’t have legs much beyond Northlake. The times were out of joint, and it became less convincing that the party was motivated by simple antiquarian curiosity. Here I was able to offer a solution. I had a genuine reason to search for word of Jamie and the Da. I was loo0king for them. So we would split the Society into my “original” party – the three hobbits and Quercuis, who had been “selected” by the Da from travellers already heading for Riverside – and the remainder who had joined us for safety in numbers. The implication would be that I was trying to mould them into a rescue party, and they were the best I could get, given my limited resources. The story was consistent with our behaviour within the caravan, and allowed the others full initiative, while maintaining the fiction that they were acting for me. It was close to the truth, perhaps closer than some of the party knew, and easy to remember.
After about a week on the trail, we reached the Griffin caravanserai. It was fully occupied, but it gave us a chance to fill our waterskins and water the oxen and mules. Talaris, the caravan master, decided to press on, but we had only travelled for about an hour when we were overhauled by a Northlake cavalry squadron. The squadron was obviously in haste, but followed the courtesy of the road, and passed the news on to Talaris. Torgan had fallen to the Orcs, there was a coup. Most of the Giant tribes under Grih had retreated South, but some have joined with G’houl-a-gabba.
The news was troubling. Alvera had turned Grih Torgan into a trusted ally. Now the Orcs threatened Hightower of the Dwarves, and could cut off Northlake from the rest of the Kingdom if the Elven truce failed, but if the Elven truce held there was no chance of recovering the other cities of the North. Interesting times. I wondered if the Solarans were facing similar difficulties.
==== The Centaurs ====
The next day we spotted centaurs with pack horses heading for the caravan. As they come closer it is clear that the pack horses have no reins or bridles, and follow the centaurs willingly. 
Talaris went out to greet them, and set up for trade, while the rest of the caravan set up camp. The centaurs had brought the makings of a fire – obviously they were familiar with these meetings and knew wood would be in short supply.
Over the campfire Talaris introduced us to the four. I don’t know quite what I had expected. They were more, yet somehow also less. I hadn’t expected it, but I felt at home. They spoke and thought like my clansmen. Tellef L’Urin, Trader of the Badger clan, Con D’Rait, Q’Ran L’Tarkin and Philan L’Tarkin., chatted affably. They told us of the eight great centaur clans, Badger, Hawk, Owl, Wolf, Bear, Drake, Wolverine and Snake, plus any number of minor clans or septs. Each clan is organised with a Chief or Khan who leads the tribe in times of peace, a Knight or Warlord who leads the tribe in times of war, a Shaman and a Speaker who is the keeper of knowledge.
They told us one thing of surpassing interest, that there were tales of Elves, then Orcs and then Humans first arriving at Far Haven. The elder races were the Ariel, the Maratasen, the Lizardmen, the Giants, the Trolls and the Centaurs. I remembered the lower carving at the Defiance clan, which showed the Giants looking back towards the Wild. 
Also it seemed they anticipated war with G’houl-a-gabba and Trollheim, but they were very reticent about this. It was clear from what they were buying that they expected war, though I could not understand how they intended to use cavalry sabres. I assumed they were buying for a third party, presumably one that could not bargain for itself.
One thing particularly surprised me. Contrary to tales we had heard in Northlake, the Centaurs were no idealised followers of Wyldwood. Apparently many also followed Shanah, even Con D’Rait, a candidate for training as Speaker. Even the current Ur-Khan, Drovan was a Shanah warrior priest from the Hawk tribe.
The next morning the Centaurs headed off for Larkstone. The Society was ready next, and we decided to go directly to Far Haven, since we now knew we could make better time than the caravan, and keep ourselves supplied.
====Centaurs Again====
About a day out from Far Haven we met another group of Centaurs, three members of the Hawk clan who were also on the way to Far Haven. The Hawk clan were physically quite different from the Badger clan, nervous thoroughbreds as against the Badgers sturdy sumpters. They were closer to the human ideal oi the Centaur, each one speed made flesh, but like their cousins they were affable and talkative. Again I felt at home with them, they reminded me so much of my kinsmen
I will take this opportunity to explain how our society works, how similar it is to the Centaurs, and how different it is to city life. City dwellers tend to think of clansmen as uncouth simpletons, lacking the guile to survive. Guile is clearly necessary in the city, which allows two-legged predators free range, limited only by the forces deployed by the ruler, who may be little better than a wolf wearing a human skin. On the frontier life is different, we have to depend on each other. A single sword or bow may be the difference between life and death. So we treat a stranger as a friend, we talk freely and share what we have, but we keep our secrets, we watch and wait. Perhaps the stranger wishes to become a friend, and feels as we do. Perhaps not. Time will tell. Often enough it works out well, and we make a genuine friend. If not, we do have one thing on our side. We foster the reputation for being savage and unforgiving. We will cross the island to avenge a betrayal, sometimes over many generations. Between ourselves we have priests and magistrates to settle our arguments and avoid the blood feud. With outsiders, the feud runs until the blood is exhausted. 
And as it is with people, so with holdings. Occasionally some bandit thinks to build a stronghold amongst the simpletons, and live by fraud, theft or intimidation. Such strongholds rarely last a generation. Legitimate rulers, like the Markgraf, live off their own. Taxes are only levied to allow us to field larger forces to defend our own. The Markgraf fields his own forces and coordinates ours. He is our shield against the Orcs, and against human rulers who mistakenly think they can levy taxes as they please. Together we hold the line, for King and clan.
The Centaurs confirmed that the folk of the North East were becoming tense. And another new Mythical had emerged, as if appearing on the spot. Their tracks started as if they had been magically transported to the spot in question. And for some obscure reason they were heading North. The speakers had identified these Orc-like creatures as Bugbears, a name with which I was already familiar.
The Centaurs galloped ahead, and we followed towards the Far Haven ferry, which we found at about noon the next day.
====Far Haven====
The ferry consists of a couple of captive barges, pulled across the river by oxen on either shore. It is guarded by a simple fort on the eastern side of the river. The guards were friendly and relaxed, but they did ask about Mythicals. They seemed to think the Centaurs had been at the fire-water – I should perhaps explain that Centaurs have a reputation for drunkenness, and it is true they cannot handle distilled liquor, though they can drink wine, ale or mead with no ill effects. I told the guards that the party had met Kobbolds and Ogres outside Braerk, and heard of Minotaurs there and Harpies in Northlake, but that they had seen nothing on the road since Northlake.
By mid afternoon we reached Far Haven itself, and I was in for a surprise. Orcs wandered round the city, just as if they were law-abiding citizens, and not feral beasts masquerading as real folk. I managed not to draw, and kept my hands on my belt. It would not do to break Saratak’s peace unprovoked.
From outside the walls we could see what had amused the Centaurs about Saratak’s new defences. Massive artillery towers up to sixty feet tall dwarfed the city, Each tower mounted a huge ballista. At first sight the towers seemed haphazard, but as I studied what I could see it became clearer. Each tower was covered by at least three others, often by more. The towers would project a defensive network over the city, if it were threatened by giant flying beasts. Somehow the words “Dragon Riders” slipped unbidden into my mind. I did my best to flush them out. No luck. The towers were not all complete, but work details had been assigned. Work on the city’s conventional defences was not so far advanced. 
First we went to find stabling for the mules at the meeting ground. And I was in for another shock. The best stable we saw when we arrived was run by Orcs. We were to trust Orcs with our mules? By Root and Branch they were Orcs. Quercuis confirmed their animals were well treated, and we waited while they completed a transaction with a Maratasen and another Orc. On closer inspection they wore Wyldwood Leaf brooches.
When they came to deal with us the Orcs were civil, and surprisingly fluent in common given their protruding tusks. They introduced themselves as members of the Warskull Tribe, which, it appeared was allied to the Centaurs in their campaign against the deathcultists. of Trollheim and G’houl-a-gabba. That was certainly a point in their favour. They obviously read my expression, and their replies became rather more hostile, and defensive, so I left the business to the others, wishing them “Branch and Root” with a stiff but courteous nod. The Orcs returned it with interest.
Once that was settled, we went back and entered the city proper. More Orcs. We made our way to the Flagon Inn, and booked rooms for a week. It was still early evening so the Society decided to discharge Olg’s errand, which was to deliver a couple of pieces of jewellery, magically endowed jewellery, to a seamstress, Miriam Siverhair. It transpired the gift and Olg were equally unwelcome, and Miriam threw the gift in our faces, and we departed, loudly telling her where we were staying, in case she reconsidered.
Back at the inn, we booked a private dining room, which gave us some privacy, and allowed us to keep our weapons close by. Here I discovered that they had spotted a familiar face and were half expecting a visit. And a visit duly occurred.
====Master Intelligencer====
I shall not describe or name Monsieur A, in case this diary falls into the wrong hands. It would not do to aid the King’s enemies in this.
After dinner Monsieur A appeared. He was expected, but none of us quite expected the way he came, and I found it disconcerting. To be quite truthful, I was caught unawares, which is not a feeling I enjoy. He clearly wanted to know who I was, and when the Society introduced me he came over to talk, and I spoke of my family. Outwardly his manner was affable, perhaps overly familiar. I almost objected, but I followed the Da’s advice, and I was glad I did. There was something about his eyes. They were wolf’s eyes. They took in and stored every detail, and I suspected I would be a footnote in his next report.
...
Later events proved that Monsieur A was not all he appeared, and that it might be unwise to confide too much to writing which might fall into the wrong hands.