The party entered the Eastern Gate on 77 Newinter, some 14 days before End Year's Day. While crossing the outer ring of the city it became clear that they shared a journey's end with hundreds of other people. Refugees had flooded the area, the lucky ones had set up a ramshackle town just inide the gates. The unlucky stragglers had set up outside the walls, gathering safety only in their numbers and their lack of value to an advancing army.

For Tegg, Tivar was everything he hated about Bridgetown compounded by size with the added squalor of refugees. For hundreds of feet on either side of the road between the lower gates and upper gates there were makeshift tents, quickly cobbled shacks and the impossible stench of open pits of sewage and refuse. Adding to the horrid smell and riotous view was the noise. A constant rumble of people talking, yelling and generally existing combined in Tegg's mind, forcing him to withdraw into a nearly blind and deaf stagger.

The gate guard had a haggard and sullen look of a man having a long and repetitve argument. When Tegg, Vallen, Jenk, Ren, Arasen, Talbert and a leashed Cathnoma approached, he actually brightened at their appearance.

“News, sirs?”, he asked, noting their frayed but identifiable uniforms under their cloaks.

“A message for the Duke”, Talbert answered, “from Bridgetown.”

The gate guard nodded curtly and called a runner from the gatehouse..

“And we are in need of a medic”, Ren interjected as the guard seemed about to dismiss the runner.

The guard surveyed the group and nodded. He turned back to the runner and after a brief discussion the runner dashed off into the city.

“If you'll wait a moment, sirs, one of the Blueward will be here shortly to escort you.”

The wait proved short, information on the enemy carrying a premium in Tivar. A group of men in blue-trimmed uniforms bearing the crossed sword and oar of Tivar on their shoulder arrived within minutes. They escorted the group into the city and into the main keep near the center, where two broke off. The last guard, a young man barely ready to hold a sword motioned for them to follow and took them into the heart of the main ring of Tivar. It was a sobering walk. Although Tivar appeared bustling and busy, it was clear once inside the walls that the core sections of Tivar were largely empty. Abandoned shops and houses stood shuttered on every street, outnumbering the last few occupied buildings by a wide margin. The only real population seemed to be soldiers. At every street crossing they spotted soldiers in various colored uniforms, all bearing the symbol of Tivar, moving along the streets in groups of 5 or more. Some seemed to be briskly marching somewhere while others were simply moving around, off duty but still in uniform.

After several minutes on the main thouroughfare their guide turned down a side street and entered a large building that had the appearance of a tavern. Inside the appearance was confirmed, although it was compeltely vacant. The bar and most of the tools of the spirits trade were still in evidence, but he seating area had been rearranged into two long tables. The area behind the bar was stacked floor to ceiling with casks on stands, all with taps already set. Rows and rows of tankards, chalices and even glassware was set on hooks or stood in line between the casks. The walls were decorated with battle scenes, pleasant vistas showing farmers and fisherman and a few bawdy depictions of tavern wenches serving drinks. The party glanced around a bit dazed and exchanged confused looks until the guide noticed their expressions.

“There is a lack of useful rooms large enough for meetings, especially since so many have joined the Ward”, the guide said. “They've converted some of the larger buildings after the main evacuations, mostly taverns and inns.”. The guide started toward the exit, opened the door and paused, saying, “You are welcome to anything, one of the Redward will be here shortly.”

Jenk immediately made his way around the bar and located a set of unsoiled tankards. He then turned to the wall of casks and thumped a few, checking for contents. When he found one that satisfied him, he drew a full tankard of lager and turned to face the group.

“Anyone for a drink? I think we've well earned one.”

Uron arrived at the main campsite the day after the thirtieth set. His main task was to discuss logistics needs with the commander so as to organize deliveries of initial goods and put the set on the schedule with the others. These were mundane duties, even with thirty full sets camping in the valley. His second, heavier duty was to meet with the set's om'Ja, their leader of religion. Normally this would be an informal bit of recognition, as one might pay respects to a visiting priest. But not this time.

With the new burdon on his shoulders, Uron would have to pass along the message from Intos, the elder who had now changed his path. All new Dom Tohri and their elders would be told of the gathering of voices, the swelling of righteous anger at the suspected transgressions of the Siv. With their ranks swelling, the Dom had to quell any rumors and replace them with solid information and direction. Without the elders working to hold the Dom in check, there would be sparks of rebellion with no focus and these would be quashed by the Siv.

Uron got out of the small cart and worked his way over to the Siv commander. He regretted that the Tohri had never adopted horses, but years of isolation in their homeland prevented it. Horses required space they did not have and would eat grasses that their foodstock required. Even after spreading through their neighbors richer lands, horses were viewed with skepticism and mistrust.

Uron assumed his kneeling stance, his position indicating that he had urgent business from another Siv.

“You have our logistics orders and camp assignments?.”, the Siv commander asked, with a tone indicating impatience.

“Sir”, Uron answered, holding out the rolls of parchment and tablets. The Siv took them and nodded, barely glancing at them before handing them off to an assistant.

“Good. Now, do something about all the noise the Dom are making. There seems to be no end to their unrest. I will not tolerate it.”

Uron found himself dismissed and hurried to find the ranking Dom. He was a remarkably young Dom with moderate rank. The few tattoos on his nose marked him and there was a sense of power that only elders carried. “I have urgent information” Uron said, signalling respect and urgency.

The young elder nodded. “I am elder Ontororas. There are... rumors. Disquieting rumors. How serious is it?”

Uron glanced around, but saw no real reason to hold back. “The elders are assembling.”

The elder looked surprised, and his tone carried a tiny song of doubt and worry “Here? What would require such an act during this conflict? This is most disturbing.”

Uron carefully extracted a set of beads from his belt. They were held together by a leather strap and had the appearance of prayer beads. On closer inspection, however, they exposed their true nature. The lustre and tone, marks and lines were clearly worn bone, carefully covered with a maze of tiny runes and lines. They could only be the personal death beads of an elder, made from the palm bone of his master, his master's master, and all the masters before him. They exposed a lineage of generations beyond understanding. A common bead set, if such a thing can be called common, would include five or six generations of elders and would the most highly revered posession of any elder and his flock. Uron held forth an ancient strap with sixteen small beads of bone. He nearly shuddered to hold them in the open, and he paused breifly before handing them to the elder, who took them with wet eyes as wide as saucers. “Master Adsentis has sent these with me to show his.... ”, but Uron fumbled. Each time he sang these words, he faltered in delivery. The extent of reverence that this act required was simply beyond his ability to sing. In legend, there were Dom who could reach notes of such rare purity, such length and perfect rythm that they might have somehow come close to conveying the weight of this act. Those legendary Dom could help him now, though. To send death beads as a message of urgency was not just unheard of, it was shocking even to consider.

Uron respectfully cleared his throat. The elder had a sea of tears in his eyes, holding the beads to his chest, his knuckles white with effort. It would have been extremely rude for the elder to interrupt, to assume the meaning of the message, but there could be no other meaning. His lip quivered and tears ran openly down his cheeks, a low groan was quickly silenced.

Again Uron sang.

“Master Adsentis has sent these to all of the other elders as a sign of a gathering in urgency.”, he sang, his voice holding every ounce of reverence he could muster. Dom on all sides of him paused and openly listened, abandoning their long revered rules of privacy in shock and disbelief. Uron's voice lifted in tone, reaching and failing to find the notes he needed. It was a simple song, and Dom on all sides gaped in shock at his attempted reach. That he could not reach the notes and hold them broke the hearts of his audience, and slowly they joined him in somg. The harmony was one of agreement, support and help, carrying his lonely note where it could not reach alone, until finally Uron's voice faltered and was silent.

Ontororas nodded solemly and the surrounding Dom fell silent, their heads held down out of respect. Uron choked back a sob and steadied himself. “Master Adsentis begs”, Uron started, and was interrupted by the elder at the word. The shock of such a song had broken the great cultural ban and Demsin stared at his hand now grasping Uron's shoulder. Uron shook his head and held the elder's arm in place silencing him. It was an amazing juxtoposition of authority, but one Uron's message required. Notes of surprise and awe passed through the assembly quickly, and were silent as well. “Master Adsentis begs that you hold your Dom silent while we investigate rumors withing the Siv... of blasphemy.”

The elder slowly handed back the death beads and embraced Uron for a long time. Uron broke down and wept, feeling the shoulders of the elder shake with sobs as well. All around voices carried the song of blasphemy, a crushing bass of anger and pain. Finally the pair steadied themselves and Uron stepped back. The elder grasped Uron by his shoulders for a moment, then performed a full blessing. “Tell Elder Adsentis that the Enristatin Set and Elder Ontororas will be silent and ready.”, he said quietly. “Sing strong, Uron.” With a respectful bow, Uron headed back to his cart.

The elder turned to his assistants, whose eyes were wide and wet. “Find every Bearer in this camp. Tell them to meet me at my tent, one at a time. You are to be silent and secret. They are to be silent and secret.” he said with a stern look. The two nodded and ran off. “Know this.” the elder said harshly, looking in the eyes of every Dom in the circle, “You are all bound to this now. You must speak of this to no one, not your mates, not your comrades, not even to each other. ”

A party from the Redward arrived nearly an hour later. Tegg and Jenk had managed to pass the time over tankards, discussing their future plans while the rest of the party felt forgotten and bored. The Inn had nothing aside from the alcohol to provide a distraction. The dartboard had no darts and although Ren managed to find a stones board behind the bar, no one else knew how to play. Eventually they had all simply found comfortable places to stretch out.

Their welcomming party consisted of four men and one woman dressed in the everpresent uniforms of Tivar. They entered in a rush, discussing some other bit of information in short, clipped tones that spoke of a need for efficiency. One member of the group wore a green tabard with no armor while the rest wore chainmail shirts and cowls. The man in green walked over to Arasen without comment and began checking his arm. The two that were arguing ended their discussion just within earshot of the group and quickly surveyed them.

“Welcome to Tivar. I am Captain Fennistid, Second Redguard Command.” He said briskly. He waved his hand at the other men and the woman in red, “This is my advisory group. The gentleman in green is one of our healers, at your service.” The Captain waved them all to sit and one of the Captain's men sat in a chair facing them.

“I'm afraid I have no time to hear your entire tale, I will leave Lieutenant Hastings for that”, at this seated man nodded. “He will deliver his report to me, and I will deliver it to the General. I am interested in the messages you carry, and I will personally deliver them to the Duke's staff.”

Tegg, who had placed all of the message tubes on the table, gathered them up and handed them to the Captain. He broke the wax cap and slid out a sleeve of parchment. “Hmm. The code will have to be broken, I can't do it here..” he mumbed. “Well, that's all for me for now. I congratulate you on a successful mission, and I am off to see the Duke.”

The Captain turned sharply and left, followed by the other men and woman in red.

While the main group situated themselves with the Lieutenant, Ren and the healer discussed Arasen's wound.

“Animal bite?” the healer asked, peeking under the dressing. He set a large satchel on the table and pulling a few items out.

“A dog”, Ren answered, “a big dog.” Ren glanced down at Cath, who was dozing under the table near Tegg.

The healer nodded and opened a jar of clear liquid. “Drink this”, he told Arasen, pouring a bit into small cup. “It tastes horrible, but its better to suffer now than when I start to clean this wound.”

Arasen groaned, and downed the liquid in one gulp. He started to say some joke about the drink, but his face contorted into such a horrible grimace that it came out as a croak.

The healer busied himself with a few items from his bag, and Ren noticed he was counting. After reaching some number in the twenties, he asked Arasen how he felt.

“I'm.... kind of... schleepy.” Arasen mumbed, his eyes closing.

Ren chuckled and the healer started to remove the crude wrap, occationally cutting the strips of cloth. Ren was starting to feel a bit embarrassed.

“Did you wrap this?” the healer asked.

Ren paused, “Well.. yes, we were stuck in the woods... and uh..”

“Its a good field job. Kept the blood in, that's what counts.” the healer interrupted, speaking in a distracted tone as he checked the tissue under the arm.

Ren flushed a bit with pride, but focused on the injury. “Will he keep the arm?”

The healer paused, then answered in a matter-of-fact tone. “Yes. The injury is bad, and he'll lose some use of it. Probably most of his feeling in this hand.”

Ren relaxed a bit. Arasen would keep his arm, and that's what was important. The healer continued his work, applying bits of poltice and snipping out black tissue and Ren answered his questions. The process also gave Ren a chance to watch an unfamiliar healer at work, so he followed the process with great interest.

Tegg told the brunt of the story to the Lieutenant, and the telling seemed to take longer than the actual trip. He understood that the soldier was mainly interested in troop locations and strengths, so he tried to focus on that. Occationally, Jenk would look up from his tankard to add an important point, or describe something he'd seen while they were seperated. It wasn't until Tegg mentioned the dogs that the Lieutenant interrupted him.

“We've gotten confused reports of the dogs. I think they've been described as everything from trogs to bears. Are they bigger than yours?”

Tegg hesitated, “No... they'd be exactly the same size as ours.” He didn't want to incriminate Cathnoma, the dog had proven useful and an assett, but it seemed important to give the Tivar army as much information as possible. “In fact, Cathnoma here was one of them. Our monk converted him... magically I believe.”

The soldier glanced at Ren with some measure of respect, then hunched down to inspect the dog, who was sitting at Tegg's feet. “He's a big one alright, and they're used for attacking?”

Tegg pointed to Arasen, “One took a good sized bite out of his arm. They come with spiked armor, and they're fast. Another nearly took off my head.”

The Lieutant rubbed his chin, then asked Tegg to continue. The remainder of the tale took hours, lengthened by the Lieutenant's demand for deatil when it came to describing the enemy fortress in the southern pass. Tegg couldn't recall some of the information that the Lieutenant seemed concerned about, but Jenk helped fill in some of the blanks. Finally, after telling the tale of Henton's death and the trip through the mountains, the Lieutenant seemed satisfied that he had the useful information.

“Thank you” he said, shaking Tegg and Jenk's hands. “You can bunk down upstairs, the ward has asked that you stay in this building for now. I am to report this to my command, and we'll hopefully have someone here tomorrow to go over anything else.”

“We do have one more thing to add” Tegg responded. “Only Jenk and Talbert are soldiers. The rest of us were pressed into service for Bridgetown after the attacks. We want to ask the Duke for release from duty.”

The Lieutenant looked around in surprise, “I see. I'll pass that along as well..”

While Jenk and Tegg discussed their miserable journey with the Tivar soldier and Arasen and Ren were medically involved, a recently conscious Vallen found herself measuring her life. In the last few years she had made some tremendously bad decisions. It had clearly started with the questionable switch from legitimate importing and exporting to the smuggling of contraband. While smuggling had been a nice boost to her income, it forced you to live a paranoid lifestyle. Spending too much would draw guard attention, while a lot of the income went to close the mouths of people who might still sell you out. Even within the loose trust of the smugglers, there was always the threat that someone might get caught and start naming names under a hot poker. Potentially worse were when shakeups occurred in the groups peripheral to the smugglers. New bargemen might raise their rates, or turn in a few names to quietly earn benefits from the town guard. New traders from outside could decide that their legitimate pay and bribes didn't quite cover their needs and could start eyeing reward money. Finally, your own circle of smuggling associates might decide they wanted a bigger slice of the pie and you could be turned in simply so your bit of business could be divided up.

The long nights led to long days, and Vallen had found that a bit of ariss in the morning added an invaluable boost. It had been vital in a few encounters with rival smugglers or ambitious thieves, and so the quantity and quality had been adjusted. By the time she was deeply addicted, Vallen was made painfully aware that the hassle of maintaining her habit was nothing compared to the sufferings of withdrawl.

It was humbling to think that Ren had saved her life, but it was worse to think that he did so without hesitation, without payment and without any interest in a reward. Such altruism threw her selfish and self destructive lifestyle into sharp contrast, and Vallen found that she really did not like what she now saw in herself.

Sitting in an unfamiliar Tavern in a distant city, suffering through the last stages of withdrawl, and for the first time in a season safe from dying, Vallen made a difficult decision. What few ties she had to her old life could whither and die, she was better off without them. Ren's brotherhood, whatever it was, had shown her an incidental bit of selfless concern and it had likely saved her life. Vallen had no idea what his order did, where they did it or what motivated them, but to have a well of selflessness so deep as to save a person's life without pause was a possession that Vallen would do anything to come close to understanding. Whatever it took, however long she had to atone for her life, she would earn the right to join that order. She would follow Ren whever he decided to go just for an opportunity to one day earn his respect. With that, Vallen got up, went upstairs to find a bed and slept in peace.

The healer finished with Arasen and made his way through the party. Tegg's shoulder and chest were heavily bruised, but the minor cuts were long healed over and there was little the healer needed to do. Jenk and Talbert had minor cuts and abrasions, but also needed very little care. Even Cathnoma got the once over. His leg was still stiff, but the damage from the arrow was but an ugly scar.

“It looks like you are in good hands” the healer told the dog, scratching his head. He then turned to Ren. “Before you leave, come see me in the Greenward. I'll get you some gear that will serve you better than ripped up cloaks.”

Ren smiled, nodded and thanked him as he walked him to the door.

“Well, that was exciting”, Jenk said, pouring another tankard.

“I think Vallen had the right idea.” Talbert said, stretching and organizing his gear. “I'm going to bed.”

Vinsinto, the Dom hawktender, braced as the huge creature landed on his outstretched elbow with a solid smack, its claws embedding themselves deep into the heavy leather pad. The raptor was enormous by local standards, Vinsinto had to crouch to let the bird's wings clear his head and even Vinsinto's might was not sufficient to catch and hold the bird on a normal wrist gauntlet. Generations of living in the widely spaced islands of the Tohri, with long distances to fly and huge fish to feast on had made them giants of the air. Here the hawk was unmatched in size, free to roam and hunt in the rich lands of the Southerners. Trained from the egg to their last flight, the creatures required constant vigilance and a careful hand, a fact illustrated in the numerous scars and two missing fingers of the Dom who quickly took the eye-orb from the clip on the hawk's chest and hooded it. The hawktender stroked the dark grey predator gently to calm it and placed the bird into the pen, a large enclosure where two hens would keep it docile for the night. The hawk might be allowed two days to hunt and return with food, depending on the needs of the war.

For twenty six years the Dom had been a master hawktender, plus six years as journeyman before that, three as an apprentice tying leathers and dragging training bait before that and his four years of tending eggs and shoveling filth out of the cage. In all of those long years he had never done what he was about to do, had never considered doing what he was about to do. For he had been a Dom longer than he had been a hawker.

When the messenger had come to see him in the night, Vinsinto had dismissed him with a grunt and sharp word but the boy was insistent. “Begone! I've no time for you or your master, boy. I've work to do and two lazy apprentices and no journeyman to help me.”

“Sir, my master is Ayarensi. He bids you come to this meet.”

Vinsinto paused. Master Ayarensi had blessed both his weddings and personally carried one of his boys to the blessing of birth and had stood at passing for the youngest, Minsinto, after a grass viper had killed him. “Ayarensi?”, Vinsinto gasped.

“Aye.”, the boy whispered.

Vinsinto turned to hide his shame, knowing full well the song would tattle on him. “You have my apology.”, he sang softly. “Anywhere that Master Ayarensi wishes me to be, I will be.”

As he had when the boy left nearly six days before, Vinsinto clutched the string of tiny bones on a leather strap that hung from his neck and locked the cage. Nearly every Dom carried a small set like this, memories of loved ones lost, of those who had served before, and of those to whom you were in debt. What Ayarensi had asked him to do was hard, but the request, the proof had come down from even higher. The first time he had done this, it had been difficult, the next less so. Now, Vinsinto barely paused. The eye orb from the hawk he had sent into the mountains to spy on the Siv meeting with their blasphemous friends went to Ayarensi. The orb sent to spy on the Southerners went into the pile to be cleaned and an older orb was sent in its place to In'Tet Ponsin.

The party spent the next morning investigating the Inn and found enough food to manage a breakfast of biscuits, spiced apples and meat. It was simple, but far and away better than the hard bread and salted meat they were used to. A messenger arrived late in the morning to tell them that a group would be visiting them in the afternoon to escort them to see someone in command. He also delivered a package of food.

Jenk and Talbert proved themselves to be relatively able cooks, despite the joking protests of their fellows. Lunch was extravogant by their newfound standards of eating, and their moods were high when the Duke's men appeared to escort them.

The walk from the Inn, named the Dancing Badger they noted, dampened their lunchtime cheer. Street after street showed clear signs of the evacuation with empty shops and deserted buildings lining the sides. They passed several clusters of guards, all showing the familiar pattern of colors, which Tegg was starting to work out in his head. He decided to ask one of the younger guides about it.

“The tabard colors, the wards, they represent jobs?” he asked as they turned onto a main road leading toward the keep.

The guard nodded, “Mostly. The Redward are command officers, blue is the main army, green are support troops. Those are the main ones.”, he said. “There are a few others, like grey, white and gold.”

The group passed under a large archway and into the main keep. Inside its walls the level of activity rose dramatically, and they found themselves surrounded by other groups of soldiers. Many wore the colors and insignia of distant towns, apparently on messenger missions themselves. They were then led into one of the large, fortified buildings that lined the outer wall of the keep. After travelling down a hallway, they found themselves outside a large meeting room.

“I believe General Kenv will see you.”, one of the escort said, pointing towards a door.

The table that filled the room was beautiful, ornate and massive. Made of a dark, polished wood with huge clawed feet and elaborately carved legs it was topped by a slab of dark, polished marble and was surrounded by beautiful padded chairs. On top of the table was a large, hand-drawn map of parchment, held down by marble pieces that matched the table and looked like giant chess men. Two lanterns sat at either end of the map, carefully shielded with polished steel to both reflect light and protect the valuable map. Small red, green and blue chessmen dotted the map as representations of something, although no one was exactly sure what.

They were left alone in the room, so they all found seats around the map and examined it. They had all seen maps of one type or another, but this one was fascinating both in its level of detail and its sheer size. After a few moments of awed silence, the door opened and several soldiers in red and blue walked in. Among them was the Duke himself.

“Good afternoon”, the Duke said as everyone in the room stood in surprise. “I thought I would come and thank you all for your service, and I am sorry for your loss.” The Duke surveyed them for a moment, then motioned for them to sit. “Who is your commander?”

There was a long silence as everyone looked around. Talbert finally spoke up. “I believe that Jenk and I are the highest in rank, but Tegg has been leading us since Sargent Henton died.”

Tegg looked surprised, but there were murmurs of agreement. The Duke seemed to accept this and moved on. “We have a few issues to discuss, although I'm afraid I have very little time. First, I am inclined to grant any requests for release. You've done your duty to Bridgetown. All I ask is that you hear me out. ”

The Duke and his men took seats on the near side of the table with the Duke directly in front of the map. Everyone else took his cue and returned to their seats.

“I am officially going to transfer you all into Tivar's army. You'll be in the Blueward for now, under Colonel Prolin. If you choose to leave, it will just be a very short tour.”, he said with a sad smile “The messages you were asked to bring did have some useful information. The mayors were aware of some troop positions near the waystation on the caravan road and they've informed us of their numbers and position. However, this information really just confirms some things we strongly suspected.”

“Excuse me sir,” Jenk interrupted. “They already knew about enemy forces on the caravan road? We were ordered to take that road!”

The Duke nodded, “I'm sorry to say it, but you were given poor information on purpose. ” the Duke said, taking a bit of parchment from one of his aides. “Your messages contained false information, locked behind a weak code and designed to convince the enemy that Bridgetown was undermanned.”

“They expected us to fail...”, Talbert said in disbelief.

“In part. They expected some of you to make it. There is some useful information buried in the message, information that would probably be overlooked by the Tohri but which we would certainly find. They wanted the false information to make it to the Tohri and the useful information to come here. ”

Tegg slammed his fist into the table and stood up angrilly “Bastards!” he yelled. “Henton died for their cursed plan. We wandered through the wilderness for this whole season for their lies!”

The Duke waited for Tegg to stop fuming, then continued. “Sadly, you unwittingly thwarted that part of their plan by bringing all the message tubes to us. I am very sorry, you have been poorly used by Bridgetown. ”

There was stunned silence in the room. Tegg, Ren and Jenk all started to speak at different times, only to shake their heads in shock.

“Sir, you must meet with the Avendoor group”, one of the solidiers whispered to the Duke.

The Duke nodded. “Again, you deserve better. Which makes my next request all the more difficult. I would ask you all to stay on as soldiers for Tivar.” When Jenk and Tegg started to protest, the Duke held up a hand. “I understand you objections, believe me. It is unfair that I ask, but my days of late are filled with injustices. The simple truth is that I need more men, and you have shown yourselves to be resourceful and capable. You also have experience with the enemy's locations and tactics and I'd like you to use that to do some good in all of this. ”

“What would you ask us to do?” Tegg asked with an edge to his voice, “Defend your walls? Tend your horses?”

The Duke stood, placed his palms down on the table and looked at them, then at the map. “No. I have enough people to defend Tivar and her horses.” he said with a bit of humor. “What I need is information and people who can bring it to me. I need people to find the enemy's positions and return to me alive. You have proven yourselves able to do that, even in the worst situation.”

“Why should we?” Jenk asked with a bit of a sneer.

The Duke nodded, “A fair question.” He paused, looking at the map again. “I have thousands of people camped outside my walls. I cannot feed them.” The admission came easily enough, but the Duke's weary look sobered the party considerably. “If this army attacks Tivar, I cannot protect them. There are thousands more walking to Avendoor. There are thousands more in Bridgetown and beyond.” The Duke paused, then pointed at cities on the map “Port Redcap. Probably destroyed. Cattra is still intact. Obittan... I have no idea. These people need my help, but I am blind. My messenger birds are getting slaughtered on the wing. I cannot find this army's headquarters despite dozens of scouting parties. I have sent scout troop after scout troop out to be massacred or wander aimlessly in search of an army that seems to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Then, without warning, you six walk up to my East gate and tell me the exact location of a fortress sitting square between Tivar and Bridgetown. ”

There was a long pause. The Duke motioned for his men to stand. “I ask that you help me. I can't promise much, but I swear you will not be lied to if you serve Tivar.” He looked around the table for reactions and said, “Go back, consider this. I will need answers tonight.”

I was a silent walk back to the Inn. Everyone seemed to be lost in thought, considering their situation and fuming over Bridgetown's betrayal. When they reached the Inn, Jenk, Tegg and Talbert all drew tankards of ale.

“Those low ... ” Talbert searched for words, drank deeply and winced at the taste of the dark beer.

Tegg chuckled sadly and rubbed his eyes. “Nothing like a good kick in the ribs followed by a cry for help.”

Jenk swilled his beer in one pull and slammed his tankard onto the table. “Well, I'm out. This is my chance to escape this whole sack of dung. Who's with me? We'll head all the way down to Kirrichen!”

There were a few exchanged glances, but no one volunteered. Ren spoke next, breaking the silence. “I'm staying.” he said simply.

Jenk looked at him in shock. “What? What in the hells would make you stay on?”

“I have a duty to help anyone who asks in need. Tivar is in need, no matter what Bridgetown has done.”

Jenk started to respond, but Vallen interrupted, “I'm staying, too.”

Stunned looks were exchanged betwen Talbert, Tegg and Jenk. Ren looked surprised, but said nothing. Talbert glanced between Jenk and Ren, then said. “Shades.. I'm staying.”

“Now hold on!”, Jenk said. “After all this?”

“I joined the Watchguard because it gave me a decent job. I got to help people and protect my city. I never got any kind of respect before I put on those colors. Even if its a different city...” Talbert said, trailing off a bit and studying the Bridgetown insignia on his armor. “Even if its a different city, people need help. Besides, I'm still enlisted in Bridgetown, what am I going to go back to?”

Tegg chuckled, stood up and clapped Talbert on the shoulder. “Well said. ” Talbert blushed a bit and Tegg grinned. “I guess I'm in too. You three sure as stones aren't going to last long without your "leader".”

Talbert smiled and Ren chuckled. Jenk, however, looked frustrated and disgusted. “So be it. I'm still out.”

When the Blueward group arrived that evening, Jenk's sour mood had only improved slightly. The rest of the party was in good spirits and had spent the afternoon taking turns joking about their collective sanity.

“I am Colonel Prolin”, a portly man in heavy chain announced with a slight bow. “I've been ordered to form a scouting group from anyone willing to stay on. The remainder will be dismissed and given enough gear and provisions to reach the safety of Avendoor.” He surveyed the group with a long measured stare.

“Which of you is Bertegg?”

“I am”, Tegg answered, getting to his feet.

The Colonel looked him over, “and are you staying on?”

“Yes, I am.” Tegg said.

“Good. Welcome to the Ward. You are hereby promoted to the rank of First Lieutenant.”

“What?!?”, Jenk shouted as he jumped to his feet. “You're making him an officer? And First Lieutenant!?!”

Prolin gave Jenk a sour look then answered, “Yes. The Duke has ordered that anyone volunteering for this group be promoted to officers. Tegg as a First Lieutenant, the rest as Junior Lieutenants. Now, who else is in? ”

Jenk stammered for a moment, then answered “We all are.”

Ignorant of the stunned looks of the group, the Colonel launched into a quick discussion of their new roles. Tegg was the leader and Ren their medic. Jenk, Talbert, Vallen and Arasen were grunts. “You'll meet the rest of your team tomorrow, Lieutenant.”

“The rest?” Tegg asked.

“I've got two soldiers who are tranferring in from Greyward, their group lost three in a skirmish.”

The Colonel's exit was followed by a bewildering delivery of gear. Four seperate trips were required by a set of couriers, resulting in a massive pile of clothing, equipment and assorted gear. Everyone also got new armor and uniforms. The cloaks had the now-familiar symbol of Tivar in blue while their new armor consisted of a heavy padded leather with chain reinforcement. It was lighter than their current chainmail, but a bit stiff to move around in.

After the deliveries, Tegg finally turned to Jenk.

“What in the ninety hells was that about?” he asked, bewildered.

“I'm a Lieutenant, Tegg. An officer.”, Jenk said with the trace of a chuckle.

“Horray for you, so what?”

“My father is a Watchcommander for Bridgetown.”, Jenk started, his voice souring a bit. “He pushed me for years to stay in the army, to make something of myself...”

“So you're hoping to impress him?”

“No... I'm hoping to outrank him.”

The next morning the party sorted through the gear and attempted to prepare themselves for their new roles in the Tivar Blueward. Tegg, Jenk and Talbert tried on several pieces of armor before settling on decent sets. The padded undershirts and leather armor were lighter than the chainmail they had acquired in Bridgetown, and each took a tabard and cloak with the blue trim. They also switched from their standard Bridgetown weapons the the much nicer officer swords.

“I guess being an officer has some perks” Talbert said, strapping his scabbard on and picking up a long knife.

Jenk grunted something, but didn't seem too upset by the quality of the war bow he had selected. A quiver and two knives followed, and Jenk stretched and flexed the armor to help break it in. “I suppose. ” he said, noncommitally.

Vallen collected several knives and weighed them before strapped them to her lower legs and behind her back. Tegg noted her demeaner and improved dexterity, wondering if she had found a fresh supply of ariss since arriving in Tivar. He studied her for a moment, until she caught his glance. Vallen looked down and face flushed a bit in frustration, but she finally met Tegg's stare and shook her head. Although Tegg was still a little skeptical, he got her message: she was clean.

That afternoon they finally met the new members of their group. A group of Blueward soldiers arrived at the Inn and collected the remaining equipment. Two were obviously staying, and there was a bit of an uncomfortable moment as everyone sized each other up.

Winstin Nallmorrin was first to introduce himself. He was a native to Tivar who had joined the Blueguard partly out of a sense of duty and party to avoid serving time for some youthful pranks that had resulted in property damage. He was average height with close cropped brown hair and a muscular build. Tegg and Jenk exchanged glances as Winsten talked, both had come to the conclusion that he was worse than Talbert in terms of youth. Although he had seen several skirmishes, he was still overly energetic and far to anxious to prove himself to somebody. Talbert seemed to take a disliking to him, grumbling a bit under his breath while the man talked. When he finished, Winstin smiled a bit at everyone and then glanced over at Vallen and smiled slyly. Vallen gave him a curious glance and frowned when he winked at her.

Radarias was older than nearly everyone in the group, although she evaded an exact figure it was somehwere in her mid forties. She was tall and fit, with very short, spiky black hair and sharp, angular features. Radarias wore no obvious armor and had tailored her standard cloak to reduce its bulk and she wore no winter gear, no heavy undershirt or quilted clothing. Jenk didn't think much of it until he walked up to shake her hand. As he came close, he encoutered a wall of warmth radiating out from her. At first he was convinced he was imagining it, but when Tegg startled when he shook her hand, he realized there was something going on.

Radarias noticed their reactions and chuckled, “Call me Dar, by the way. I see you've noticed my magic. I move heat around. It's particularly useful in the winters.”

Arasen's eyes lit up “Another mage! That's great! You can help me develop my magic!”

Dar gave him a smile, but her tone didn't match “Oh? Yeah, that'd be great.”

Jenk caught the sarcasm, but let it go. “You can create heat? That's a powerful magic”

Dar shook her head, “I don't create anything. I can move heat from one place to another. Its like moving buckets of water, you're not creating new water you're just dragging it from the well and putting in in the pot.” Dar moved her hands a bit and Jenk felt a bitter chill go by. “I make one area cold, and I can make another area warmer. If there's a lot of heat, I can do more with it. ”

Jenk nodded while Arasen had a look of concentration. He seemed ready to ask something when Vallen piped in. “So, is there anything to do around here? We've been stuck in this Inn for three days now.”

Winstin and Dar reviewed the recent history of the city for the party, although Winstin did most of the talking and turned to Dar occationally for an opinion on some date or name. They had sat down in the midst of the party, with Winstin hunting for a seat next to Vallen only to be flanked by Cathnoma. Vallen was relieved, and gave the dog a thourough petting. With all but a few shops abandoned and only the military left in the city, most people had to be content with just getting out of the weather and occupying themselves however they could. Even so, the new pair within the group were at least sources of new stories. They described what little of the war they had seen so far, which mostly consisted of random fights in the woods with the Tohri. No one was sure where they were coming from and the morale of the army had slipped constatly since the first encounters. Everyone was waiting for the hammer to fall and wondering which direction it would come from.

Their boredom didn't have a chance to re-emerge, because Colonel Prolin summoned them all to discuss their first mission. They were escorted to his office, which was a stark contrast to the beauty and organization of the large meeting room they had met the Duke in. The walls of the Colonel's office were layered with army memoriabilia, including several broken bits of armor, the tabards and flags of different companies and quite a few bits of women's clothing. Tegg noted the portly and unshaven Colonel and blocked the obvious connection out of his mind as best he could.

“You are now Blueward squad one eight six, special scout squad under my command.” He said, with a bit of a mock grandeous wave. “Your first mission starts tomorrow morning, you are to backtrack through the grasslands to these roads you found.” The Colonel brought out a rolled map and laid it on top of dozens of other half-rolled maps on his desk. His attempt to smooth it out crushed the pages under it, and he held it down with a rusty spear-tip and a bit of pottery that might have once been a flower pot.

“Here is roughly where you said that road was, it must lead south to the edge of this range. Go up into these hills and scout it out, find out if the enemy is camped here and if so, what in DiKennet's name they're up to.”

Tegg glanced around for questions and nodded. “Yes, sir. Anything else?”

The Colonel looked up and grinned a bit. “Yeah, don't get yourself killed.”

On the way back, Ren found a soldier in green and headed off to gather some supplies. Back at the Inn, there were some puzzled looks, but no one seemed to have any idea what to ask. Finally, Tegg gathered everyone together at the tables.

“Is everyone ready for this?” He asked, finding everyone's eyes.

Jenk answered first, “Probably, but you don't know either.” he said with a smirk.

Vallen sat and toyed with one of her newfound daggers. “We're just supposed to look and get back, right? No killing these Tohri guys? Sounds easier than our last gig.” she said bitterly.

Winstin and Dar just sat and glanced around, trying to get a feel for their new comrades. Tegg wanted to disperse the despondent mood, but had no idea what might help. Finally he passed around a few tankards and set about making something for them to eat. When Ren arrived back with a pack bursting with medical gear, the atmosphere had lightened a little and they managed a cordial dinner before finding their rooms.

“Is this... plan of yours really likely to work?” General Kenv asked with barely the slightest tinge of doubt. The General knew the Duke's plans were often rash and had learned to measure how much doubt he displayed when the Duke was exhuberant about a plan.

The Duke sat heavilly in his chair and lifted a mug of spiced wine. “No, not really. But the seven other scouting parties have found nothing, or they've fought skirmish after skirmish without making any headway. Maybe these Bridgetowners found something on accident in their detour. By Gron's hairy ass, if their luck holds...”

“Are they so expendible?” the General asked, with a touch of accusation.

The Duke looked a bit sad, “If they die without helping us, then it was a poor roll of the dice.” he said, looking distractedly into his wine. “I will have been honest with them, though. I sent them into danger where they knew danger to be. I did not hide that.”

The General shrugged slightly. “If these Tohri are in the west pass exit as you suspect, ” the General hesitated. “I'm sorry, m'Lord, but I can't see why! It barely offers any protection, they'd be bottled up in the mountains!”

The Duke chuckled, “I know, Kenv. I know. But just because we don't understand...”

“Doesn't mean that they're not doing exactly that.” The General finished with a sigh. He took a long drink of wine, wiped his moustache and set the cup on the table. “I hope they find something of use, Sire. By Grom's stones I do.”

The Duke set his wine on the table, untouched. “So do I, Kenv.”