After an amazing amount of coin travelled from one side of the pristine desk to the other, the dockmaster's assurances of possibility and potential finally changed to absolutes and timetables. A ship was indeed leaving very soon, in but two days and bound directly for Sartull. The details of the journey seemed to involve only the money on the desk and a time to arrive on a certain dock, which Talbert and Dar both objected to at the same time. The dockmaster was nonplussed, scooping the money into a purse and noting that other arrangements would require weeks of waiting. Weeks, he pointed out with some bit of relish, in a city where every tiny crevice worth sleeping in was long since rented out. The pain on Tegg's face at the prospect of weeks in or around Cattras silenced the few critics in the party, and the arrangements were final.

After spending a long night and day huddled in an alley that smelled of fish and the waste of countless animals, the party arrived at the required time at the end of the most decrepid pier they had ever seen. That the wood holding the pier still carried their weight was astonishing, as was the amount of cargo that was being loaded at breakneck speed onto the ship. Carefully picking their way between boxes and crates, they reached the fore gangplank where a seedy character in leather armor was ticking off items on a roll of parchment.

Tegg approached the man, who glanced up briefly and scowled a bit “We spoke with the dockmaster, he..”

“Yes yes. Passengers, nine and a dog. I doubt anyone else has the means or motive to masqarade as you. Up the plank, turn fore, through the doors, down the steps, big room on the right. You'll be in a hold, not very cozy but its all yours. ” The man made another tick mark as a crate was lofted above his head and swung over the ships deck. “You'll be allowed in that hold or on the main deck. Stay foreward and out of the way.”

Tegg started to respond, but the man wasn't really paying attention and Tegg suddenly lacked the energy in the relief of getting out of Cattras. Only Vallen seemed to have any passing interest in the ship as she waited to board. She had worked with a number of small and large ships in her business in Bridgetown, many of which found their way in and out of Cattras. The ship was clearly old and the wooden sides were battered and cracked, but the lines and battons were clean and fresh oil gleamed from tack. Spring lines were expertly laid, but only aft lines were set, meaning the ship had been docked ready to move at a moment's notice. The ship's four masts were already rigged for sail, carefully set and tied. In fact, the more Vallen examined the ship, the more she became convinced that the old derelict had a fine ship lurking under the grime and wear. The shine of brass had been buffed down, rather than soiled by tarnish. The outer wood was cracked and worn through, looking every inch like it would fall free in a wind, but Vallen started to suspect below that facade was a solid oak wall. Pausing to check the name, Vallen noted there was no traditional name plate on the ship. There were no flags, no identifiable figurehead, not a single drop of paint or engraving to name the vessel.

Vallen smiled slightly, and made her way up the gangplank. At the top, she saw a sailor in drab uniform carefully watching the docks. He noted her presence without looking at her. “What ship are we sailing on, sir?” she asked sweetly.

“You're aboard the Grey Rat, ma'am” the man said.

The Grey Rat sailed before dawn into a bright, cheerful summer morning. With no clouds and a strong breeze they made great time and were soon sailing with full masts and runners, launching spray as they cut through the choppy seas that formed the entrance to the bay and made their way into the Sea of Sorrin. Tegg, Vallen and Ren found their way to the deck and enjoyed the breeze while most of the remainder of the party stayed below and got their sea legs. Dar, however, was soon hugging a gunwal and leaning out over the water, moaning in agony.

The pattern of the days at sea settled in quickly. By midmorning they would have eaten and moved out onto the deck to avoid the smell and heat of the lower deck. The crew ignored them completely, moving swiftly and purposefully across the deck, paying little attention to the passengers trying to stay out of the way. Aside from Dar, the party managed in varying degrees to come to terms with the sway of the ship. Cathnoma was especially thrilled, jumping up beside Dar as she leaned over the side and sticking his nose into the wind. They skipped the afternoon meal, having no interest in returning to the stifling humidity of their "cabin" instead opting for a very late dinner and more time chatting on deck.

On their third day from Cattras, Jenk and Winstin stood at their normal spot on the railing and began to note some changes in the pattern of the crew.

“There's more of them on deck” Winstin said, in a tone that was not entirely confident.

“Maybe”, Jenk said softly, failing to remember how many were normally on deck previously. “I don't know, they're just.. moving faster or something.”

The two continued to watch the crew until Tegg and Vallen came up and interrupted. “Stop staring” Vallen warned in a harsh whisper.

“What's going on?” Winstin asked.

Vallen looked out over the water and shrugged “I think we're being chased. I've worked with sailors before, and they're all nervous about something”

Winstin looked aft, but couldn't see anything beyond the ship itself. “So... who's chasing us? Pirates?”

Vallen laughed. “Have you even looked at the ship we're on? What flag are we sailing under?”

Jenk looked up, but if there were any flags in or above the rigging or sail he couldn't find them. Vallen shook her head. “I'm pretty sure this is a smuggling ship. If we're being chased...”

Jenk groaned. “Cattras' Navy.”

Winstin looked back between Vallen, Teg and Jenk before flairing his palms. “So?”

Jenk patted Winstin on the shoulder. “The Navy of Cattras is... brutal to pirates and smugglers.”

That evening Tegg collected everyone into the hold to have a meeting about their situation. There wasn't much to do except wait to either escape or get caught.

Vallen did not improve the mood with her descriptions of how smugglers might react. “If we get caught...” she started, pausing for effect “they'll either hold us for ransom, throw us over as a distraction or kill us so we don't interfere.“

When everyone turned to Tegg, he frowned. “If the Navy reaches us, we strike first. Everyone clear?”

Uron's duties had returned to normal routines, which was a relief after the double duty he'd been performing for both the Siv and Elders. The pride he once took in getting a job done quickly and precisely had dimmed, though. His reports were a little less specific, took a little longer and were not nearly as clean and neat as they once were. Each slight to his duties approached a point of pride for him, a mindset that aggrivated him whenever he considered the implications. The absolute worst of it, however, was that his superiors noticed none of it. Not once was he taken to task for his often incomplete or unkept uniform. Never a mark or notice that his reports were incomplete or even wrong. He seemed to be craving a rebuke or reprimand, if only to establish that his superiors cared in the least about his job, his tasks or the ever decreasing effort he applied to them. Finally, in a last attempt at repairing the image of the Siv his mind desperately tried to hold on to, Uron intentionally omitted an entire report. He completed the report and sat in his hut, waiting for his Siv superiors to send for him, demanding to know why he had not delivered it. As the hours ticked by with no word, his hopes dwindled. He was nearly ready to deliver it late when the small bell on his door rang softly. He jumped to attention and rushed over, except it wasn't a guard or runner from the Siv, it was an apprentice he recognized from Elder Adsentis with a basket.

“Elder Morsoni wished to thank you for your donations at prayer time, and sends this basket of food in thanks.” The apprentice passed the basket and left Uron in a state of confusion.

Uron went to his small table and set the basket down. He knew no "Elder Morsoni" existed in the Dom, and the tone of the apprentice made it clear it was a play on words. His cadence had suggested caution, his tone was off to indicate a false word... it was a confusing message and the basket was an odd touch. He opened the top to reveal several small bits of stale bread. The rock-hard loaves were arranged carefully, and Uron started to understand that they weren't for eating. A quick snap opened the loaf and revealed a tiny bit of lambskin inside, on which there was a brief note.

“Song of War, fifth verse, slowly in low time. Tell every Dom to sing quietly until the Elders sing aloud.”, it read.

Uron frowned, and rushed through the "Song of War" in his head until he got to the fifth verse. Singing anything slowly in low time changed the mood of the song drastically. For the Song of War, it held a dangerous meaning.

In march time the song was rousing, driving, patriotic and inspired. In slow, low time, however... Uron held himself close and shook his head. The song became a growl, a whisper of violence to come with enemies close and listening. It was a call for war against those around you, a rising up, a civil war.

Uron quickly packed his belongings and fled his hut. If a guard was sent, he would not be there, but it didn't matter. Every Dom he could reach would have sung the verse by morning, and when the Elders sang, voices would rise to meet them.

By midmorning it had become clear that the crew was in a practiced frenzy. Although they continued to be outwardly ignored, occationally one of the party would catch a sideways glance or measured look. They had taken to carrying long knives and daggers in tucked away locations and watching the crew carefully. The tense standoff was finally broken by a cannon. Everyone in the party jumped and reached for a blade, looking around in shock. The massive splash off the side of the ship sent them into action and they assembled near the door to the hold.

Tegg and Winstin stood guard as everyone else retrieved weapons, only to find themselves facing a handful of armed crew.

“The captain has asked that you head below, it seems we've encountered some pirates” one said with a hand on his sabre's hilt.

Tegg waited, hoping the rest of the party would arrive “I think we'd rather stay out here, in case we have to defend ourselves.”

The sailor hesitated, unprepared for resistence. A second cannot shot seemed to rattle him and when the remainder of the party arrived with full arms, he balked. “The captain won't like this”, he grumbled, turning and walking aft with the rest of his group.

Tegg and Winstin grabbed their weapons and the group quickly found a defensable position atop the forcastle. From their higher vantage point they could see most of the deck and could even make out the captain on the aftcastle at the wheel. Of the chasing ship there was no sign beyond the regular thump and splash of cannonfire. They stood there, swords ready and looking around vainly for something to fight for several minutes until the Arasen started to chuckle. Jenk and Tegg gave him a sour look and he made a face at them, which caused Vallen to giggle, which caused Jenk to laugh.

“This is ridiculous”, Jenk said, throwing his arms up and chuckling. “We're officers in the blasted Ward and we're standing on a smuggler ship being chased by the Cattras Navy.”

“You might want to keep our... jobs quiet on this ship” Vallen said, putting her daggers away. “I'm sure these guys are already thinking about throwing us overboard.”

Tegg moved to the rail and leaned out, looking back to catch a glimpse of the ship. He would catch glimpses of it as the ship rocked and pitched. It was massive, a ship of royal proportions with sweeping triangular sails stacked to the sky. One of the foreward sails was emblazoned with the symbol of Cattras and her upper masts carried huge flags and pennants. There was no mistaking this ship for anything else.

Aboard the Naval Ship "Baron Dorrel", Captain Devereson stood at his post on a low platform on the front of the aftcastle and waited while his Lieutenant read signals from the watch aloft and afore. The ship ahead of them was now just on the edge of cannonfire and his warning shots had done nothing except spook the thieves into running. The smugglers had turned to starboard and were in a full sprint toward the coastline, every inch of sail now unfurled and tight. Their current course was a desperate run for the shallows of the eastern bay where his ship could not afford to follow. He also had to watch out for any dumping of the illicit cargo. It would both lighten the smuggler's ship and pose a danger of damaging his, but they would hold off as long as they could, hoping to make a profit in Sartull. The forecannons had maintained their regular shots, mostly to keep the thieves wondering when he might stop firing warning shots. It also served as an excellent messenger, The Duke could waste shot day and night without concern.

His Lieutenant finally finished with the signals and stood at attention until the Captain nodded. “No colors, sir, as expected. She's running at 16 legs with a wind at twelve points.”

The Captain nodded. The math of it was simple, he needed only turn and set his flying masts to gain enough speed to pull abeam, then tack back to align his cannon. It had all been done a dozen times before in better and worse winds. He smoothed his dress coat and glanced to his weatherspotters, who signalled no change in the winds, then turned to back. “Set to run, Lieutenant. Hail the Cannonmaster to have gunner crew for chain. Boarding crew to starboard positions.”

With barely a hint of strain or creak masses of wood, rope, steel and sail shifted to port. Massive running sails slid into place as their yards tilted out over the port side of the ship, ropes came taut and the wind snapped the sail into position. The crew felt the shift in weight and a call went out from the wheel as the ship turned northward, running fast. On the gun deck below, the gun crews heaved the massive ropes that pulled the cannons flush with the starboard side of the ship, forcing the gun doors open. Sighters called back from their forward posts as chain, ball and powder were heaved up from the safety of the lockers in the bilge. Every step was practiced and precise and every man was at his post, ready and focused. Captain Devereson flexed his shoulders and leaned in time with his ship as it found it's new tack.

The change in direction of the Naval ship was not long lost on the Grey Rat. From the forecastle, Jenk called back when the first group of sailors seemed ready to storm their position.

“Everyone get ready!”, Tegg shouted.

The first sailor to reach the stairs to the forecastle was armed with a cutlass and a knife, which was thrown expertly up the steps at Jenk. Falling backwards, Jenk opened the way for the man to rush up the steps, only to find Talbert's sword blocking his swipe. On the other set of steps, Tegg and Vallen held a flanking crew at bay, jabbing wildly downward to prevent them from climbing.

The Baron Dorrel's tack took them left of the Rat, a move which the Captain knew would send the Rat eastward. It was a risk, but if the Rat turned to avoid him and ran for the coastline the Duke would tack right and overtake her easily and potentially block her wind. If the Rat continued to run in the wind as she did now, she would slowly be overtaken. This could give the Rat a chance to fire on the Dorrel, but probably not before he could have chain in her rigging and a broadside obliterating her gun deck. The captain smiled slightly and waited for it all to play out. His only concern was any loss of men on his side, but superior training and equipment had kept that blessedly rare.

Tegg and Vallen had stalemated the left group of attackers on the stairs. The attackers lunged and parried, but had the disadvantage of height and the railings blocking most of their options. As they fought, Ren and Cathnoma vaulted the railing and crashed into them with a staff, followed closely by Cathnoma in full fury.

Winstin and Talbert had the right group struggling on the stairs while Jenk fell back and readied his bow. In one smooth move he put a shaft through the rearmost sailor's eye, dropping him onto the stairs and hampering the retreat of the reamining three. Dar was groaning on the deck, firing small bursts of smoke at the attackers to keep them distracted. Arasen was beyond using his magic given the lack of stone, and was simply trying to stay out of the way when he noticed the foreward anchors. The massive steel chain held potential, but more interesting was the huge drum that held the chains.

Tegg managed to kill one of the sailors on the steps while Cathnoma was severely mauling another below. Ren's attacks were being blocked, but only because the sailor was hastily backpedaling toward the back of the ship. His yells, however, were causing a lot of attention to focus forward.

In contrast, aboard the Duke orders and movement were precise and direct as each crew memeber followed the familiar plan to the letter. The cannon were ready, the ship was performing perfectly and the Captain stood at his post watching it all unfold. Normally this would be exciting, but after chasing enough pathetic smugglers it got to be a bit repetitive. The First Lieutenant had come back on duty to assist and the three command officers stood on the aftcastle, patiently waiting for the next tick of their clockwork operation.

“I almost pray something interesting happens”, the Captain said idly.

There was a soft chuckle from his Lieutenants.

While Tegg, Talbert, Jenk, Vallen, Winstin, Ren and Cathnoma battled with the sailors, Dar had been barely aware of what was going on as her stomach and bowels continued to betray her. Finally, noting the increased number of sailors trying to fight their way up the steps, she had decided to take action. Gathering her magic around her she fought the spasms of nausea and swallowed to keep the bile down. In a fog of sickness, she pulled all the magic into her middle, cohabitating with the demons in her stomach, and lashed out.

At the same time, Arasen was trying to puzzle out the workings of the windlass and drum that held the anchor chain still. The chains ran from either side of the forecastle and up to a pair of drums on the deck. Arasen saw a massive steel pin that held the drum from spinning, but there was no obvious way to dislodge it given the tonns of weight holding the drum still. Finally, frustrated and desperate to do something to help his comrades, Arasen also gathered his magic. He focused on the steel pin holding the drums still and gathered his earth magic. Because the metal was so difficult to work with, so unlike the earth and stone he was familiar with, Arasen decided to use all his magic just to make the pin move. With a mighty grunt, he unleashed his attack just as Dar unleashed hers.

For the sailors, the first sign that something was wrong was the blast of hot air from the front of the ship. It wasn't unusual to go through odd weather here and there, but in the hot summer afternoon this air was sharply hotter. The second sign was the flames rushing up the rigging lines. The final sign was the distinct sound that solid wood makes when it suddenly snaps under a heavy load.

Dar's magic was the most noticable at first. Every rigging line within ten paces of her erupted into flames. Several lines snapped instantly, swinging wildly, showering the deck with sparks and and spreading the flames to the lower sails on the foremast. Calls of "fire!" rang out across the deck and the combatants froze in place. Several crewmembers sprang to the fire stations, dragging buckets of sand out of lockers, only to freeze when something on the forecastle snapped loudly.

Arasen had finished his magic and opened his eyes, noting with satisfaction that the large steel peg was gone. It had sailed some fourty feet into the air and would eventually land on the main deck, largely ignored in the ensuing chaos. Also up in the air were the massive anchors and a good bit of the chain that was attached to them. With Arasen's magic gone, they reverted to normal and crashed back down onto the deck in an explosion of splinters. Both anchors missed the decking by inches, falling into the sea and slamming into the bow of the ship. The anchor chains slammed down on the deck of the forecastle and easily passed through into the galley below, destroying railings and chain holes.. As the chain ran out, the two drums started to spin faster and faster and the damage to their axles became clear as they wobbled horribly, slamming into the deck on each revolution. Arasen first backed away, his arms slashed and bleeding with cuts and gashes, then turned to run as smoke and wood chips flew around the deck.

Tegg's group and Talbert's group met at the door to the galley in a state of shock. Smoke poured around them and waves of heat beat down from the lowest sail as it burned. Everyone looked around in horror as new sounds of destruction came from every direction. Dar hobbled down the stairs and retched violently over the side, then looked up in shock as the next sail was engulfed in flames.

The sighter aboard the Duke focused intently through his eyepiece, waiting for the main mast to line up in his sight. Chain shot was already loaded in the three foreward cannon, and the gunners stood ready with their fuses. The moments ticked away until the main was directly under the fire line, and he dropped his arm to signal the fuses. He turned foreward to resight, and noticed the foresails of the Rat were burning.

Arasen crawled as fast as he could while the deck below him buckled and groaned. The chains to the foreward anchors were now unrolling at a blinding pace, shredding the decking of the forecastle as they ran down into the bow of the ship. In seconds, all of the decking between the chain drums and railing was gone until the chains were pulling out of the drums nearly straight down into the bow. The combination of wobbling and pull of the chain caused the axles to bend and the drums eased up and over. There was a massive squeal of steel and a snap, then both of the drums were gone, crashing down into the deck. Eruptions of wood, creaks, groans and echos came up from belowdecks and Arasen simply stared in awe.

“Fire in the rigging on the target!” The sighter yelled, turning to the Gunner.

There was a moment of confusion as the Sergent wound his way through the cannon and cannoneers to reach the sight. There were scant seconds to order the fuses stopped and a Captain on deck who would not be happy at determining a new attack if they missed their key shot. As he pushed by, cannoneers looked up from their line sights. Pushing past a pair he bellowed out “Keep to your sights! I've not given any order except to fire on that ship!”

Gathered around Dar at the railing, the party was split between watching the fire above them and gazing dumbly at the explosions and eruptions coming from the bow. Arasen finally appeared at the top of the stairs, his arms covered in small streams of blood. He rushed up to Tegg to explain when the sounds of wood breaking and splintering suddenly ceased. There was a moment of silence, then a sound of straining wood started to rise up from below them. A thunderous crash as something below decks gave way was quickly followed by another, then another, each sound coming further and further from the front of the ship. The sounds passed underneath them and there was the sound of wood exploding and the entire ship lurched, sending everyone to their hands and knees. Massive spars and yards, tangles of burning rigging and sail fell to the deck all around them and screams rose up from the crew. The crashing below deck continued back until it reached the main mast, and there was a sound of wood straining, then holding fast. The Grey Rat's bow plowed downward into the water as the anchor chains bit into rocks below and the drum-held chains stopped fast around the bottom of the main mast and keel, holding the rat still for a long second. There was a thunderous snap, the entire ship shifted and turned and the great main mast fell over, rigging lines popped like popcorn while the huge main mast crashed sideways across the gunwals into the water.

The cannoneers aboard the Duke watched in stunned silence as the ship they were pursuing suddenly froze in the water. Her front spar and forecastle dove into the water, sending a shower of wood and debris forward. The Gunner stared in stupid silence as the target sight suddenly went white, now inexplicably filled with sky. “TURN YOUR GUNS AFT!” he yelled out, grabbing a fistfull of hair in each hand.

The four gunners hesitated, then heaved the lines to drag the cannons around. Two managed to get to their sights, astonished to see the Grey Rat's stern turning hard into their range. But all attempts to find the rigging were too late, the fuses found powder and the cannons roared. One of the shots of chain went wide, flying harmlessly into waters already littered with detrius from the Rat. A second shot flew through the rear windows of the Captain's Cabin and emerged downward onto the gun deck, killing several stunned smugglers. The last two shots, the two that had actually had a chance to resight, flew upward through the rails of the Rat's aftcastle. There at the wheel, the Captain and Lieutenant were desperatly trying to determine what in the seventy hells was going on with their ship when eighty pounds of red hot steel chain permanently ended their confusion.

With a heave and splash, the Rat listed grossly to port then righted herself. Rigging and sails continued to burn and crash downward and every sailor who could still manage motion jumped ship and started a desperate swim for the far coastline.

For three hours the Baron Dorrel sat at anchor five thousand paces off the port stern of the Grey Rat. Longboats swept back and forth across the seas picking out survivors, never passing further than halfway between the two ships. The Rat had righted herself after the anchor snagged and halted her so abruptly, but was now drifting slightly toward the anchor and badly taking on water at the bow and through her keel below the destroyed main mast. Her rigging had burned itself out after destroying the entire foremast and most of the sails that had fallen off the main, thanks largely to treated rope. So she sat, smoldering and smoking, listing forward and drifting while the Captain of the Duke interrogated prisoners.

Tegg and his crew sat on the deck, sharing space only with a handful of wounded sailors who couldn't manage to clamber over the rails. The dead had been laid in the ruins of the captain's cabin and the stores raided for food. One of the longboats had been obliterated when the main mast fell onto it, the other had been taken by evacuating sailors before anyone could stop them. The only ones who seemed happy in their situation were Dar, whose stomach was much more content with the gentle drift and lean, and Cathnoma, who now had freedom to roam the decks of the ship.

Winstin and Jenk had led an expedition into the hold to examine the cargo and returned describing spices, fabrics and liquors. Most of it had been stored in crates which were now scattered throughout the hold, which was about half filled with water. Vallen had filled them in on the smuggling of untaxed goods, which raised more questions about her background than the motives of the Rat's former captain.

Tegg and Jenk had argued about what to do if, as they suspected, the Cattras ship ever sent an investigation team to the Rat. The ultimate decision was to wear their uniforms and present themselves as they were, describing their use of the Gray Rat as being necessary for speed, rather than out of ignorance. And so, near dusk on the 68th day of Summer, Captain Devereson and Lieutenant Grentis of the Baron Dorrel arrived via longboat to find seven officers of the Ward of Tivar standing upon the decking of a ruined smuggler vessel.

Seated on chests and stools in what little remained of the galley, Captain Deverson was forced to consider the fact that the man sitting across from him was, in fact, a First Lieutenant of Tivar. After an hour of discussion he and his Lieutenant sat exasperated.

“This puts me in an... awkward position”, the Captain began. He stood and straightened his jacket and paused. The cooling evening air swirled through the gaping holes in the roof where the anchor drums had been. The shattered remains of two wooden posts marked where the support axles had run down through the ship to bracing in the hold and bits of the wood crunched under his boots as he paced, trying to collect his thoughts.

Seated at the makeshift table, Tegg empathized with the man “I realize that. Our mission in Sartull is imperative, and while I can see how you would want us back in Catras for your investigation...” Tegg paused, waving his hand slightly.

“I don't doubt your word..”the Captain muttered, “But I don't think I can return empty handed. Do you realize the tales that those smugglers are telling? Ghosts. Demons. Spectres.”

Jenk, seated in a corner tilted his head “But not soldiers.” he said suddenly

The Captain paused in his pacing to look back. “No... they never say you were soldiers. They've stopped even calling you human.” He hesitated for a long moment, then grinned slightly. “I can file a report... under seal, that you were aboard this ship and I let you go on to Sartull. It will be reported to the Duke... well, eventually I suppose.”

Jenk smiled and Tegg seemed to catch on. “What about the sailors, their story will be all over the docks... if the Navy says nothing”

“Then everyone will take it as a tall tale told by smugglers who got caught. Covering up their incompetence and stupidity.”

“What about your crew?” Tegg asked.

“My crew will be told nothing. We searched the Rat and found absolutely nothing aboard except wounded soldiers and the dead. I'll have a longboat towed out for you tonight and you can set out for shore. ”

Tegg grumbled, but nodded. “Who knows what they'll tell people”

Jenk laughed. “Who cares? Sailors tell all sorts of ghost ship stories. I'm sure there are more interesting ones out there. Nobody will remember this next year when the next haunted fishing boat gets spotted..”

On the final day of Summer, the eve of Midyears a bedraggled company exited the woods on the Great East Road and caught a distant sight of Sartull.

“Sartull”, Vallen said with a bit of awe.

“Been here before?”, Ren asked with a touch of scorn. Sartull was a legend within the Dukedom. The center of trade of nearly any type of anything, Sartull held reign as a home port of much that was seedy and illegal. Situated on the far eastern side of the Bay of Sorren, it was far enough to avoid the long arm of Tivar's army while still within easy reach of the huge trading ships that headed north into the seas. The centerpiece of her table of illicit dealings was the Great Bazaar. A free-for-all of trade and commerce, only the most horrid or unthinkable items were not on display for sale on her colorfully canopied tables.

Vallen gave Ren a reproachful look and shook her head. “No. I've never been.” She paused as if to continue, but let the matter drop.

Tegg frowned at the sprawling city. It stretched up from the shoreline in a massive arc, cupping the edge of some large hills that ended in cliffs just north of the city's docks. The city had no walls, no defenses, no organization or structure. It simply existed, stretching from the unbelievably complex docks to the west up the hillsides all the way to the edge of a forest to the east. The forest had been neatly cut back in long lines to allow for the sprawl. Thousands of chimneys stuck up over every type of roof Tegg had ever seen. Thatch sat next to brick and stone, next to slate and wood. It was a jumble, a hodgepodge, a game of bones played on a hillside.

Talbert came up to stand next to Tegg and marvelled at the city. “The church of the Lady is on the far side of the city, near the docks. They'll have some record of Vincent's journey.”

Tegg nodded, then looked over “Hopefully there's something left to look at.”

The city was far less crowded at the gate than Tivar or Cattras had been, allowing them easy access to one of the few streets that actually crossed the entire city. The din of traders was distant here, so far from the main bazaar, but the lax rules of trade were still clear. Prostitutes of all description wandered past, openly advertising their wares alongside bedraggled traders and cargomen on their way to one of the endless taverns that lined the main streets.

Talbert took the lead, picking his way carefully through the knots of people. The group had decided not to wear their tabards again, mostly to avoid backlash from a city known for its dislike of authority, but also because it would mark them as visitors rather than regulars. Such a distinction could earn them a pickpocket's attention, or worse. Cathnoma was back on his leash and weapons were openly worn in positions that suggested preparedness. The original plan had been made to get a room on the far side of the city, giving them time to rest and prepare to search for the old temples of The Lady of the Light, but Talkbert had stopped them shortly after entering the city.

“I know where it is.”, he said simply. There were a few looks of confusion, but his tone was so assured that the party simply followed his lead.

Talbert led them without hesitating along a northern path, sticking mostly to the main roads and avoiding all contact with the street hawkers and venders. Their path would take them around the bulk of the bazaar, an area of relative safety given the private security the vendors paid for potential customers, but it would be full of people who might slow their progress or take an undue interest in them. Despite the winding streets, endless sidestreets and alleys Talbert was unflinching in his choices, rarely pausing to consider directions or turns until they were almost to the church itself.

As the group walked out from a narrow walkway onto a larger road, Tegg scanned the area for trouble. There were a number of people on the dusty streets, but few paid any obvious attention to a well-armed group of their size. The buildings this far out from the docks and bazaar tended to be more open, as building owners fought less for space and more for access to the roads. A few gardens even appeared behind shops and houses. The sight of greenery and homey touches was a bit of a wake up for the group. Walking through the legendary city, they had been viewing every passer-by as a potential thief, every group of people were measured for battle and every corner was evaluated for tactical position. Being reminded that these were, in fact, probably just a lot of normal people in a city with a reputation put them a bit more at ease and Vallen, at least, felt a bit abashed for her mindset.

Talbert finally stopped next to a high wall over which branches and brambles of an unkempt hedge were peeking.

“This is it”, he said, laying a hand gently on the rough and weathered stonework of the wall.

Tegg looked up and down the street for a gate, but saw nothing. “Which way do you suppose the gate is?”

The group glanced around, then to Talbert who shrugged. “Hey I got us here, pull your own slack” he said with a slight grin.

They headed north, mostly because it would take them to the nearest corner. They turned onto another street, heading west and were dissapointed to see the wall continue the lenght of the street, unbroken. “I wonder why its still here”, Dar asked. When she got a few looks she got defensive “I'm not saying I'm upset, but you'd think that somebody would have moved in or something.”

The next street suggested they'd made the wrong choice initially, as the western side showed the same unending wall of grey slate. Winstin grumbled as the group paused to look down the wall. When they reached the southwest corner and looked east, he cried out in frustration at yet another solid wall. “By Ander's spear and the ninety hells...” he cursed, earning him a sharp look from Vallen and Ren.

Tegg scratched the beard that had slowly been forming on his chin in contemplation, then started off. “Lets be sure of this...”

Turning north at the corner, they found themselves back where they'd started. The garden of the house on the other side of the street was clearly the same and there was little doubt that they'd walked in a circle.

“Ren”, Tegg said after a few moments of silence, “You and Valllen go around the way we just did, check the wall for .... anything. A door, a hinge, a ... hole. Whatever.” Ren nodded and walked over to the wall with Vallen.

“Winstin, you and Arasen do the same thing, but go the other way. When you meet, keep going and meet us back here.”

Winstin gave him a dull look and shrugged, heading off to where Ren and Vallen had been, then started walking along the wall, touching it with one hand.

Tegg turned to Talbert and gave him a quizzical look, to which Talbert shrugged.

If nothing else, the experiment proved there was no obvious gate. Arasen, Ren, Vallen and Winstin returned from opposite sides, dragging their hands along the walls and looking frustrated to see everyone waiting. Winstin muttered another curse under his breath when he spotted Ren coming up the street, and abandoned the last bit of wall to walk over to Tegg.

“This is idiotic. There's no blasted gate!”

Tegg grunted and examined the tall grey wall. “I guess we'll either have Arasen make us a gate or we'll just have to climb over it.” he said.

Arasen grinned but Talbert shook his head, saying “I don't think we should break down the wall, I'll go over.”

Tegg nodded and glanced around. “Ren, you help Vallen over. Winstin and Arasen, you help Talbert and Jenk and I will help Dar up.” he said.

Soon enough Vallen, Talbert and Dar were struggling onto the top of the wall. The stone wall extended only a half pace inward where it met a section of earth in which a massive, thich hedge was growing. The hedge was somewhat unkempt and unruly, and provided an excellent blockade to their vision. After a few secnods of examination, Vallen shoved her way through the hedge with seemingly little trouble. Talbert walked through a few paces north of her almost effortlessly, but Dar seemed to be compeltely unable to find an entrance. She even attempted to follow Vallen and Talbert's paths, but found a maze of thorny, interlocked branches impeding her. After a frustrating minute of moving back and forth along the narrow wall top and getting scratched at every step, she gave up and jumped down.

Talbert emerged next to Vallen inside of the hedge wall where the stone wall reappeared, topped on this side with a larger walkway. Just north of them a stone staircase angled down to the interior of the walls where a simple but nicely kept garden was laid out around a large church. Two individuals in dark blue robes were walking toward the steps, one carried a long pole with an unlit lamp on end. Vallen and Talbert exchanged a look, then headed towards the steps to meet the figures.

“Welcome to the Abbey of Agornasso”, the man without the pole said solemnly before sweeping into a shallow bow. He was an elderly man with a closely trimmed white beard, white hair and bushy eyebrows. He was clearly thin under his heavy robe, small bony fingers emerged from his deep sleeves as he spoke. His companion with the staff was a much younger man, somewhat heavy with a shaved head and sharp, watchful eyes.

Talbert and Vallen both bowed, and Vallen looked back toward the hedge.

“If you have any othe companions, they do not have the keys to pass the hedgewall.”, the man with the pole said.

Talbert gave him a quizzical look, and he replied, “Only certain individuals may pass the hedge, it is a warding to keep certain.. elements from entering.” When Vallen started to protest, he raised his hand and smiled. “I mean your friends no offense, but only priests, monks and others dedicated to a certain life of giving may enter through the hedge. Others must use the main door.”

Talbert shook his head, but moved on. “This church was once that of the Lady of the Light.”

The man without the pole nodded. “It was. After that church fell, we took over healing and teaching duties here. I am Brother Yassentos and this is initiate Mos. I sense you... are an aspiring Lambert?”

Talbert nodded as Vallen looked at him askew. “I am. We are looking for records from years ago, logs and inventories from the old church.”

Brother Yassentos rubbed his chin and nodded. “We've moved all the church's items and records into storage, but it isn't in any order. There was some looting after the fall of the church, but mostly gilded items and some of the armory was taken. Books and papers were tossed to the floor. We've simply stacked or shelved them. You're welcome to any of it, of course.”

Talbert bowed, then asked “We have some friends outside. A few may make it through the hedge, but others...”

Yassentos smiled and interrupted with a held up palm “We have simpler means of getting visitors into the church.”

The simpler means turned out to be a tunnel from a neighboring tavern, under the street and into the basement of the church. Two initiates were waiting for them as Tegg and the group climbed down the stairs of the tavern and the entire group was reunited inside the church. The building was made of layers of a soft yellow stone interrupted by thin layers of a black marble stone. The roof was domed in the center with two outlying arms and a large structure at the southern end. There were no towers or spikes as with more familiar churches. Inside, the building had faded and damaged murals on the walls and large stone archways. Two of the arches had fallen over and one was supported by two huge logs that were braced and roped in place. Despite the damage, the building had an air of serenity and peace.

Brother Yassentos escorted them trough the large domed area to one of the wings, where very average rooms lined each side of the hall. Some were open and other monks could be seen in rooms set up for bedrooms, classrooms or storage areas. They decended a set of stairs at the far end into an identical hallway below, where fewer doors stood open or had light coming from below. The circular stone staircase continued and the monk's assistant lit his lantern using a brief incantation. At the bottom of the steps the staircase ended in yet another hallway with no light coming from any of the doors.

“The last two rooms on either side are where we stored everything from the church we could not use.” the brother said. He sounded almost embarrased for a moment.

Talbert turned and reached out a hand “Thank you for saving it. I'm glad you were here when the church could not be.” The old monk took his hand and smiled broadly.

“Mos will escort you. If your friends wish to wait upstairs, they can follow me.”

Only Tegg, Ren and Vallen elected to stay in the dusty basement, the rest of the party returned upstairs with the older monk to wait. Without comment, Mos started down the hallway, pausing to unlock each of the four doors with a large, tarnished brass key. “Its a bit... disorganized. I don't know that we ever expected anyone to look at any of this... except maybe a historian or something.”

As the door opened, Mos's lantern revealed stacks and stacks of books, crates and papers in every inch of the room, as high as they could be stacked. A bit of candlabra, book stand or piece of furniture stuck out here and there among the chaos. The only good news was that it was all dry.

Talbert rubbed his face and turned to look back as Mos opened the door behind them, revealing much of the same. “This is... going to take a bit.”

Ren nodded, “I suppose we'll help.”

Talbert eventually recruited the rest of the party to read through endless books and scrolls. They emptied a room, then used it to carefully store everything they had searched through in the other rooms. Finally on the fourth day of searching, Jenk stumbled across a list of provisions that had been given out. Scribbled in a tiny note on the fiftieth day of Spring was the line, “Two weeks provisions, sack and gear. Lambert Vincent for journey East to the Tower of M.”

Talbert burst into the chapel dorms and rushed over to one of the monks, “Tower of "M", east of here, what does that mean?!.”

Dawn broke over the far forests and fields near Tivar to reveal the Tohri army on the march. The watchtowers of Tivar lit with warning flames, then exploded as Tohri mages unleashed their spells. Beastly monsters appeared out of thin air within the walls, howling as the few remaining refugees fled and soldiers spun in confusion to find their invaders.

Sitting in the huge command wagon, Siv commander In'Tet Ponsin sat with his guest, reviewing the maps and issuing orders through the small windows. The attack was progressing smoothly, despite an odd feeling of disquiet and unrest among the Dom troops.

“These animal monsters should work well”, Ponsin noted, sliding his finger across the spy reports of the city.

His guest stirred in the shadows. “I'm glad you like them. ”

Ponsin smiled when his finger came to rest on a small garden in a far corner of the city. “And you know for certain, this is where it is? This... garden?”, he asked again. It seemed such an odd and unprotected location for the artifact his guest desired so much. One of several, it seemed, that had forged the alliance between them.

There was a slight shuffle from the shadows as a bulky frame shifted. “Yes.” the voice replied with a deep authority. “There can be no doubt. The protection will be... formidable, I'm sure. You will bring it out to me.”

Ponsin smiled, here was his bargaining chip and he had played it for great profit. An entire war fed on the greed of his guest's inability to do something that seemed so simple. “The sword will be yours. All we require is the city.”