The Thrice-Ninth Kingdom XII

 Dawn of the 12 day, inside the trophy hall

“Riders approaching” hisses Zoltan who is peering through the door, the ancient blade Zuraw in his hand. The dead inside the walls seem to moan and over the howling winds that hits the bone hill you hear heavy thumping of hooves on snow. While you scramble to your feet Zoltan shouts in surprise and flings open the door: “It's Sivka!” and four horned stallions with ornate tack erupt into the hall in a chaotic tangle of limbs and flying snow. They skitter over the floor, hooves screeching on stone before they come to a halt, chest heaving, snorting and nickering. Behind them Sivka gracefully follows and still at the entrance raises her head and neighs sharply: “We need to leave! Vesper is here!” An arrow is stuck in her saddle.

Sir Heldris the Dove Knight

“What a sight for sore eyes!” Exclaims the Dove Knight. He takes the reins of one of the strange horses and mounts. "Let us leave this mournful place and ride to Avert."

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Milos follows suit without hesitation. "To the Halls of Desire!"

Referee

You dash out of the mausoleum into the snow storm, the stallions with unrestrained wildness, Sivka with the grace of age. “The King sends his regards, Gilded Knight, and steeds as implored.” She tries to keep up with her brethren and needs to remind them occasionally to slow down when she falls behind. It must be mid-morning when you hear the sound of the horn for the third time and dark shapes emerge out of the blizzard, three riders and hounds. For a moment you feel you heart stop and a cold shock grips you into the marrow. The stallions' eyes roll back and their ears lie flat against their skulls and they bite on the iron bit, foam dripping from their mouths. Sivka rears and neighs a high pitched order but they do not listen. One of the riders stows her horn and grabs the bow.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

The third blare of the horn overwhelms the Fox Knight's defences and an irrational fear consumes his entire body. All thought and consideration are eclipsed by a primal and irresistible urge to flee. His steed is only too willing to join him in this fever and the two lower their heads, speeding together into the blinding white of the snowstorm, without a look back.

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

In the pale light of the snowstorm, a look of terror is illumined on the Salt Knight's face as he hugs his steed tightly, spurring it away from their pursuers.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake readies his weapon and prepares to charge the elves. But Zoltan wheels his horse between the knight, and yells out a warning. The Gilded Knight turns and sees their companions bolt into the snowstorm, unable to control their horses. With an oath, Perilake and Zoltan follow, racing away from their foes

Referee

Before you turn around you get a last glimpse of the leader of the group raising her bow. She has opened her beak and croaks in triumph and lets fly an arrow.

Anastaz, snow and wind hits your face and you feel the stallion's heart beating between your legs and Perilake is shouting something but your ears are still ringing from that terrible sound. Suddenly you feel an impact in the arm that tightly grips the reins and an arrow is stuck in your armour and then the snow storm swallows you and you ride for a long time until you see the ground plummet before you and in the last second you manage to bring the stallion to a halt. Far below you is a wild river foaming around rocks and further north you see a white bridge, majestic and pristine. A Knight in smoothbark armour is standing on the bridge, holding a goldfalx. A moment later your brothers are beside you.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

"Ride!" Perilake yells through the storm, and urges his steed north, towards the bridge. Where he would once have normally been a beacon in the blizzard, his smoothbark armour and helm offer no such gilded light. But the steel of Rzeznik still glimmers as it is lifted into the air.

Referee

As you ride onto the bridge, gusts of wind cause you to sway in the saddle and you hear the clattering of Sivka's iron-shod hooves. The Fae Knight raises an arm and shouts over the winds. “Halt! On the order of the King, you may not pass!” You feel a sense of superiority in her voice as if the mere thought of fighting her seems ludicrous. “I am Olwen, the Bridge Knight.”

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake does not fight Sivka as she pulls to a halt on the bridge, and he raises his sword in greeting. "I am Perilake, and this is the King's own steed. Do you not recognise noble Sivka?" He gestures towards Milos and his ring."My companion bears the king's favour. We are allies of your liege, and are pursued by his enemies." "Do you stand aside Olwen, in the name of the King and his cause?" He lowers the sword to a point. "Or do you stand between a father and his stolen son?"

Referee

Olwen bows deeply before the old steed: “Hail, pale tempest, oh mare of the King! It pains me to see you carry a fool. May you ride with the King into battle, wise Sivka, when your time finally comes.” She steps closer until Perilake's blade touches her armour. “Who are you, false Knight? A peasant? Then you may pass.” She presses against the blade with her body until it bends slightly and threatens to cut into her. “Or are you a vagabond in stolen armour ready to lash out? Make sure to cut out my tongue before you kill me or I will curse your blood for generations.“ The King's mare starts to prance back nervously. “Do you think Sivka will carry you for a moment longer if you spit on our traditions ... do you think the bridge will?”

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

"Your traditions? False knight?" Perilake laughs bitterly, then vaults off Sivka as she backs away. "The horse is the only creature here with honour, or more sense than a rabid dog." He spits on the ground before Olwen. "You are all mere puppets in a mummers farce. No matter how gilded your strings, you can only play your part. Let us be done with this." As he is about to bring Rzeznik up in to a fighting stance, the Fox Knight spurs his horse forward and steps between the two.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

“Hold your swords, noble Knights!” The clatter of his steed’s hooves on the time-worn flagstones echo sharply, even in the hushed embrace of the fallen snow. The Bridge stirs and listens, a looming presence, witness to the tense exchange between the knights. Milos briefly locks eyes with Perilake, urging restraint. Then he turns to the other. “Proud Olwen of the Bridge! You are quick to speak words of scorn to strangers but I wonder if your wit and discernment can withstand a true test? By the old roads and the ancient ways, I challenge you to the Duel of Three Truths - to speak with true depth about one another and this glorious world.” He gestures widely to the expansive landscape upon which they find themselves. “If I speak a truth you cannot answer, we all pass.” He cocks his head to one side sceptically. “That is, unless your long lonely vigil on this bridge has dulled your mind and coarsened your more elevated faculties? Perhaps you are not prepared for a true game of knightly mettle?” He flashes a bright smile as snow and wind whip the blood-speckled fur of his coat.

Referee

“What do you know of the King's roads, young squire, which were built under star light when the sun hadn't been born yet? What do you know of our ways?” She narrows her eyes and takes a step towards you. “You are the King's slave, human - I can smell your chains.” She thinks for a moment and then shouts: “I'd rather we crossed swords ...” Olwen motions towards the tower. “ … but if we need to joust with words I would prefer to talk in the comfort of my holding.” As you follow her over the bridge you hear the white ravens of the hunt croaking angrily behind you, unable to cross.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

The Fox Knight looks over his shoulder at the ravens and smirks to himself. 

***

The Game of Three Truths

The spire of the tower shoots up and almost disappears into the mist. The make is peculiar, the stones on different levels of varying sizes, as if the tower had been stretched upwards at irregular intervals over the centuries. As the knights enter the great hall, a legion of marble soldiers stand vigil. They resemble the brothers much more closely than the Rusalki or the Heralds of Tizra, and the stonework is extremely precise, with individual wrinkles and calluses showing up. Their eyes have been "put out," and replaced with gleaming gems, glittering rubies and emeralds which seem to be lit from within.

The Knights follow Olwen up a winding staircase, into a large room with a simple fireplace. The walls are covered with heavy tapestries to keep the cold out. Woven with dark colours, all depict night scenes with black skies punctuated by golden stars, over snowy hills. Resting against the tapesties, are numerous weapons of all shape and kind, trophies from the Bridge Knight’s foes who could never cross the river. Olwen points to some faldstools to be brought before the fire.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Milos takes his seat across from Olwen, immediately in front of the fireplace. The others arrange themselves in a semi-circle around the duellists. “You know the tradition. Three times. We will each speak a truth to the other and then allow them to respond. If either of us falters, they lose the duel. These knights and this place will be our witnesses.“ As if in response, the stones of the Tower emanate a dense and watchful presence. Milos closes his eyes briefly in acknowledgment and upon opening, they are clear and lucid. “You have chosen the ground for our duel and so it falls to me to speak first.” The fire pops and crackles. The silhouette of the duellists starkly outlined against it.

“Olwen of the Bridge, you stand between shores because choosing one would cost you something.”

Drinking Sweet Tea

Referee

Olwen shifts slightly in her seat. A servant had helped her out of the armour and placed a samovar on a table nearby and now she is staring into the fireplace sipping her sweet tea. The wind outside had died down and you hear the low growl of the river grinding against the bridge. “You are young of years, Fox Knight, but you do have a keen eye … “she turns to you and gives a sardonic although not fully convincing smile, “ … that is unless you are dealing with the Fae who had tricked you … the King I serve but don't love.” She looks down at her cup. “Well it is the opposite for me and my Lord Coredis … who I love but cannot serve. I would lose my honour if I followed my heart and I would lose my soul if I followed my duty." She is silent for a while before adding. "A strike to the heart, I did not think a creature of such short years .... You speak the truth of me but you too have to answer truthfully: There is a shame in your heart you haven't revealed before, a shortcoming of heart or hand or character.”

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

The Fox Knight leans back and scoffs. His eyes narrow sceptically in a squint. "Who of us is free of all shame? Such would be a flawed creature indeed and certainly no knight. I expected a more precise blow from such a venerable warrior, but instead only receive a clumsy lunge with a blunt weapon." He turns to ponder the fire for a moment and then raises a finger. " In the spirit of truth, I will acknowledge this much. I have indeed been tricked by your kind before and rue my youthful naivete. The lesson was hard-earned but I will not succumb to faerie subterfuges again." He sits forward again with a glint in his eye. "I offer you a second truth then: You speak as though humans are beneath you. Yet you dwell in their tower and remember its builders.”

Referee

She laughs brightly. “I let the horse carry me and the birds sing for my pleasure and yet am I not above them? Your words ring hollow.” She leans back and closes her eyes. “Your coat shows the tell of the Elf. The Kingdom has touched you more than you are willing to admit.”

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

"Again, so obvious!" Milos slumps in his chair in mock disappointment. He dismissively dusts off a nonexistent speck from his coat. "The Elf's hospitality was bargained for and we have paid the price in full." He manages to resist the urge to glance toward the Salt Knight, knowing that Olwen will leap upon any such tell. "I offer you a third and final truth: You let us enter here because you were curious whether one of us would remind you of someone.”

Referee

Olwen raises her eyebrows, feinting surprise. “YOU paid the price in full? - Or is it the one you adore?” She stands up, walks over to the hearth and grabs a fire fork. ”There lies a hidden truth worth revealing - in dreams … if you even remember them.” She smiles cruelly at the Salt Knight before turning back to the hearth speaking into the flames: “Human children learn so fast – they have to, for they burn quickly and oh so bright." She lowers her voice. "You worry about your quest, Fox Knight. You fear the Gilded Knight's son has already learned too much to return.”

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Milos winces and let's out a short breath. "Your kind know nothing of love, whether for a comrade or for a child. Whatever you think you feel for Coredis is a pale shadow of the human heart." Then even more quietly. "But you speak true that I fear for the child and for his father if we fail on our quest. This realm can corrupt even the most innocent. Even so I still hold out hope and that also burns true." He stands and faces her squarely. "The Three Truths have been told and the duel is complete."

                                                                                ***

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake places a hand on Milos shoulder and squeezes, nodding gratitude as the fox turns briefly. For Olwen, he has nothing, not even contempt. The path is open once more, and that is all he cares.

Referee

In the silence that follows only the roaring river can be heard and the crackling of the fire. “You haven't faltered, Fox Knight. I am bound by the laws of the King's Road to allow you passage over the bridge.” She has formally addressed all the Knights but now she turns back to Milos and her robes the colour of a sapphire aurora flow around her and darken. “But you are mistaken again, Fox Knight, the duel is not over. “ She steps closer and musters you without expression: “You may have the keen eyes of a Fae to spot weaknesses in others but you lack our cruelty and wit to follow through. You owe me a fourth truth and I will collect the debt at a time of my choosing.”

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

The Salt Knight broods before the fire, his arms crossed behind his back. When Olwen speaks of debt, he looks back at the Fox Knight with a sad expression.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

The Fox Knight accedes to this with a short nod. “It is settled then.” Suddenly he gasps in pain and his hand comes up to cover his left eye. A trickle of blood seeps out between his fingers and disoriented, Milos leans unsteadily against his comrade Perilake. When the bloody hand is removed, the eye has been transformed. The green iris now shot through with flecks of ruby red. The eye weeps only tears of blood now and will remain changed until the day Olwen claims her fourth truth.

Referee

The servant escorts you outside and through the falling snow a figure with a wolf's head approaches from the east. ”You run, little foxes” Stribog snarls “ … but the Hunt is upon you”. Behind you the bridge knight raises her arm and answers. “Halt! On the order of the King, you may not pass!” Anastaz and Perilake help the Fox Knight onto his steed and lead him over the bridge. Milos, the way ahead is a blindingly white, shifting shape that hurts your eyes and at its end you see though watering eyes a sea of green and red and yellow and the others see lush hills and blooming meadows while Stribog and Olwen fight on the snow covered bridge. It is late afternoon and the sky is puffy clouds on dark azure silk and the mossy road leads into the slowly setting winter sun.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

As the knights break into a gallop with their goal almost in sight, Milos senses the excitement and hope lifting all their spirits. He glances back over his shoulder at the Tower and his heart is gladdened that the duel, harrowing though it may have been, achieved just what he had hoped it would. He turns his gaze to the road ahead and revels in the new warm wind on his face.

The Lake blinks

Referee

You follow the road between forested hills where lies a lake and swans flutter and take flight in panic as the lake blinks and you know: What it sees, the Elf does as well. The last rays of the sun disappear behind the western mountains and you gallop between frozen craters, wounds of an old war and unwilling to melt. Finally standing on a last hill you see between trees a glimpse of the Halls of Desire, a hostile citadel of marble turrets, spiked walls and jagged battlements and above them towering trees forced to grow in twisted ways and forming towers. In the distance you spot a coach sitting on the road intricately carved and drawn by twelve horned wolves. Sivka snorts and shakes her mane: “I can't carry you further, Ser Perilake, the Elf might spare you - he wouldn't think twice to have me sacrificed. I will wait here for you with my sons.” In the distance you hear the barking of hounds.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

"You have carried us far enough." Perilake dismounts, and bows to the horse. "You led the hunt astray from our path, and you gave us the means to outpace them." He turns his head towards the sound of the hounds. "Good luck. Do not let them catch you." He looks to his brothers, then begins walking towards the coach.

Sir Heldris the Dove Knight

The Dove Knight peers at the twisted shapes of the citadel. Despite its name, it seems to exude a sense of confinement and captivity. He turns to the Fox Knight, and comes back to that night at the campfire near Bohat. “Don’t ever feel shame for your curse or even your heart’s desire." He says, glancing at the Salt Knight, who’s studying the horizon attentively. “The path of knighthood is full of thorns and brambles, but you walk it more bravely than many ever did. I can only name one man more humble before sacrifice.” There is a tear hanging on Heldris’ eye, that shines with the reflection of the trees and the much missed spring that is blossoming all around them.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Milos looks up at the Dove Knight with gratitude and some relief. "Thank you, my friend. Olwen did not always strike true during our duel, but when she did, her sword cut deep. I knew upon entering the contest that my innermost preoccupations would be laid bare by the Fae, but our need seemed of greater import than my propriety. I confess to feeling exposed before you all, my august companions. And I pray I have not unsettled things between us." His eyes wander momentarily in the direction of the Salt Knight and then onto the harsh citadel he contemplates. "I know we enter where we must for our quest, but I have a presentiment that something much more terrible than the Bridge Knight awaits me within those walls."

Referee

You approach the palace and as you pass the coach you wonder if it might have been grown from a walnut and inside are red velvet seats and brass candelabra. Root-armoured guards appear holding torches and escorting you through the courtyard with red glowing flowers and a frozen tomb and into the keep. 

The Halls of Desire

The Thrice-Ninth Kingdom XI

 Before dawn of the 11th day, the Chapel of the Hawk

Zoltan returns to the chapel with dry wood and rekindles the fire. The smell of the Rusalki provisions trouble Heldris and he can only manage to eat a handfull of roasted pine seeds and drink tea while Batu is slumped against a column, stroking Liška's fur. When you finally take leave outside of the chapel the world has disappeared behind a thick fog and you can't see much further than your outstretched arm but Batu embraces you one after the other and blesses you and promises that the hawk will guide you.

Shrouded in Fog

Referee

Leaning heavily on his cane the old hermit leads you through the fog to the mouth of a mountain path where he says his farewell. You follow Zoltan closely like blind men each touching the shoulders of the one before him. Whenever the Pigeon Knight is in doubt there is a piercing screech from the hawk to show him the way but the going is slow. At noon you reach a forest in the foothills and make camp in a steep ravine, and you barely see the canopy above you where the hawk rests on a branch. You sit around the fire shivering and shrouded in mist when you hear from afar the croaking of ravens, first inaudible and then close enough to understand their words.

With Whistle and Drums

Raven and Hound

Wherever it runs

The Prey will be found.

They haven't seen you yet but they are circling ever closer above you.

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

As the ravens call, Anastaz quickly acts, extinguishing their fire with the Everflask. Then he beckons the other knights to follow close behind him as he looks around the sunken valley for a hiding spot. They move into a narrower part of the ravine and eventually discover a thin niche in the surrounding rock, just big enough to fit five.

Referee

You huddle together in the tight space while the terrible song goes on and on and you don't dare to move or even whisper but the songs grows ever louder and after some time you hear the barking of bloodhounds from the east, far away but getting closer.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake peers at the sky above, the cawing of the ravens circling above them through the mists. "They have us, somewhere above these clouds. Perhaps they see us despite this shroud, or perhaps they merely track the hawk. But they have alerted the hounds - we must flee."

Sir Heldris the Dove Knight

Heldris shivers at the thought of the devilish hunt. He looks up through the thick fog. “The hawk is doing its best to keep the raven off our trail, but the hounds are coming.” He nods to Perilake, “let's make haste.”

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

Anastaz urges the company on, following from behind with the Bow of Harvest. As they speed towards the mausoleum, the Salt Knight fires covering volleys from the bow, not attempting to kill the ravens so much as to scatter and slow them. The Company of the Black Wolf begins to breathe steadily as a pale hill comes into view, the bleached white of stacked bones reflecting the surrounding landscape.

Referee

As you get closer you see a low wall surrounding the bone hill and a bronze gate etched with leaves and berries that leads inside. Anastaz fires a salvo of arrows and the ravens scatter, croaking in anger. The moment you open the heavy door a horn sounds in the East, dissonant and much too close and you are gripped by a terror that you didn't know you could feel. Inside is a large hall, its walls lined with stacked skulls in grotesque patterns and you realize that this is not a tomb to honour the dead, it is a charnel house. As you close the gate you see between the closing wings half a dozen bloodhounds approaching, all teeth and lolling tongue.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake readies his spear, and looks to Anastasz. "Use the elf's bow, and slay these beasts. I am sure once they come under fire and the scent of their own blood fills the air, they will charge". He pushes the gate open and gestures to the low wall. "You fire from there, and i will use my spear to harry them on the other side as our brothers hold the bottleneck."

Referee

You feel your hands trembling on your weapons and the sound of the hunting horn still echoes in your soul as you step outside into the fog and the dim afternoon light falls into the hall of bones. You hear the hounds barking near the wall and it sounds like “Here! Here! They're here!” and the ravens answer “The prey is found!” but when the hawk swoops in, they croak and scatter.

The Bone Mausoleum

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

Anastaz grimace as he raises the bow, looking into the fog from which the roars of dogs seems to echo, and fires.

Referee

The arrow whistles and disappears into the fog and you hear a sharp yelp followed by angry barks. Out of the fog three hounds emerge, eyes flashing and with one big leap they are between you snarling and biting.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake stands ready with the spear raised as the Salt Knight lets fly, eyes straining to make out the shapes in the mist. As a yelp pierces the air, he hurls the pointed tip at the sound, the weapon flying over the heads of the rushing hounds to land true. With a heavy thud, the yelp turns to a choked whimper. Then the rest of the pack is upon the low wall and the knights standing firm in the breach.

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

One hound leaps toward Anastaz, and he grabs it by the throat and shifts his body weight, hurling it along to meet one of his comrade's blows.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

As the hound comes sailing toward him through the air, Milos skewers it on the blade of his goldfalx

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

The second hound darts in, teeth bared as it lunges for the Salt Knight. But Zoltans blade flashes, sending the beast reeling in a spray of blood. The blade of Kranach flashes again, ending the beast.

Referee

The blood of the hounds is all the colour in the world and they are panting and whimpering as they slowly bleed out. From further away you hear the rest of the pack howling to mourn their lost brothers and sisters. As the last light of the day vanishes in the west the hawk lands on the roof of the bone hill.

Sir Heldris the Dove Knight

A pair of blood shot eyes jump over the Dove Knight, but they meet the end of his sword in a brush of red blood over the white snow. Heldris doesn't waste time and charges into the white fog, almost like a hound looking for more blood.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake hops down from the wall and pursues, Zoltan on his heels.

Referee

You run into the fog and the sound of your boots is muffled by snow and mist. The howling gets louder and turns into a low guttural growl as you approach the hounds, Zoltan and Perilake close behind you.

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

The Salt Knight runs off in another direction to put down the remaining hound.

Referee

You hear it whimpering nearby and find it pierced by an arrow, the spear has torn a hole in its hind legs. It bares its fangs and is ready to attack.

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

Anastaz swipes, and a heavy thud from the coral mace ends the creature's life.

Referee

The hounds snarl and snap at you and bite into padded arms and armoured limbs and you strike them and when you return to the charnel house you are covered in their blood.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Inside the ossuary, Milos has built a fire from the remaining wood. The flickering light plays eerily on the endless rows of skulls that line the vaulted ceiling. The mood is sombre among the knights as they clean their weapons and contemplate the inevitable approach of the Rusalki Hunt. The Fox Knight muses "I wonder if these are the bones of humans or elves? I'm not sure if I would be able to tell the difference. Whichever, we should honor their memory as we take refuge amongst them." He pulls some herbs from a pouch on his belt and sprinkles them into the fire. "Rosemary for remembrance and mugwort to open to any wisdom they might have for us." The offerings blaze brightly for a moment and fill the space with an aromatic smoke.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

As the pleasant scent of the burning herbs fill the air, Perilake takes a torch and studies their macabre surroundings more closely. No place of honour, it seems, but what?

Referee

You wander along the wall of bones and skulls in their baroque patterns until you reach the far end where you find a narrow stained glass window depicting a hunt of hares and foxes. You raise your torch and the glass reflects the dancing flame and you see that many hunters have grotesque animal masks and antlers and the leader rides a three legged horse and has the head of a wolf and their eyes are flashing. And while the riders appear bestial, the faces of foxes and hares show almost human expressions of anguish and terror.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

"For all our efforts, we find ourselves at the end of the Hunt, my friends." He gestures to the walls around them. "These are poor souls who ran before us, and this is a shrine to the cruelty of our pursuers." Perilake laughs, low and without good cheer. "I daresay this would be the last place they expect to find us."

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

Legs crossed by the fire, Anastaz chimes in. "In any case, we've saved the victor the effort of burying their foe."

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

"This is an ill-fated place, this Thrice-Ninth Kingdom. The words in the chronicles... Once, people lived here, and ruled. Then they fell prey to the whisperings of these strange creatures, who are themselves victim of their own fierce natures." Perilake peers around the faces in the fire, and a faint smile intrudes upon the otherwise sombre scene. "Moreso than most, I suppose. The Elf and the King are beholden to the seasons, and this injured realm passes back and forth between them. The Rusalki are beasts, no matter their finery...all is seemingly madness and wild appetite." "And what..." He pauses, his voice lowering and all humour vanished. "What do they want of Avert? Is there a purpose here beyond mere cruel humour or petty vengeance?"

The Stained Glass Window

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

"At the feast of the Rusalki, one of the fae referred to a human child who might one day rule them. The Elf may want Avert to be his successor, though I cannot fathom why he would need one."

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

"His successor...." Perilake mutters, then spits, an action strikingly uncommon for the Gilded Knight. "He is nothing like this Coredis, nothing like these things. He is kind, like his mother."

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Milos pokes sullenly at the fire with a stick."We are pawns to them, nor more than playthings and status symbols in their byzantine political machinations." He winces as if touching an old wound, then shakes his head. "I did notice that some of the Rusalki were less than pleased with Coredis' plan to crown Avert. The poor lad seems caught in a web of intrigue far greater than he can understand. And we cannot know how long the Elf has had to poison his spirit. Time passes differently here. We must pray we reach him while his mother's kind spirit still burns within him."

Sir Heldris the Dove Knight

Heldris nods thoughtfully. "We are as strange to them, as they are to us. And in all of their power, perhaps there is some feature of ours that they wished they had, which might be but an unnoticeable thing in our eyes. But you’re right Sir Milos, even if Avert is raised to power, he’s going to know nothing but misery in this realm. We need to find him and bring him back home."

Referee

You talk for a while longer about the Thrice-Ninth Kingdom, about Avert and how you plan to free him and you wonder what happened to old Sivka, and to Batu and Liška, and whether the Stone Hunter was successful … until one after the other the Knights fall asleep and at last only Milos is awake to stand guard over the living and the dead.

A Dream

Anastaz, in spring the meadow high in the mountains is in full bloom and the sky is golden. You lean against the warm stone, facing the setting sun. And although you are tired and your clothes are full of dust Bijlana and Marko are sitting next to you and you feel their unconditional love in your heart. And you turn to look at them and you see them hugging ...

... Adler and they are showing their filed teeth: “We need to cherish these moments, no? The sympathetic love of others. For we cannot give love, Salt Knight, neither you nor me … only death!”

And when you wake up your face is wet but you can't remember why.

The Thrice-Ninth Kingdom X

 Before dawn of the 10th day, the Chapel of the Hawk

Winds howl and shake the old building as Batu, leaning heavily on his cane, returns from his garden with a bundle of brushwood and some herbs. Soon the room smells of roasted cembra nuts and pine bark tea. “The cursed Winter King!” Batu mutters, blaming him personally for the storm. “I won't be able to call the hawk and you can't leave as long as the storm rages.”

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

With the first light of morning, the Fox Knight approaches the hermit and sits cross-legged across from him. The little fox nestled in the old man’s lap raises her head in a query. “I fear Liška will be in peril if she continues traveling with us, could she stay here with you, grandfather?” She stands slightly and a small bark erupts from her, as if she understood the words and did not find them to her liking. With both hands, Milos scratches under her chin to soothe her and her eyes squint in pleasure. “Little one, the hermit needs your help and your companionship. Goddess willing, we will return to you both soon, but for now, you should stay here where you will be safe and cared for.” Lulled into complacency by the knight’s touch, Liška abandons her protest for the moment and curls up again in the old man’s warm lap. Milos slowly withdraws his hands and rises without a sound.

Sir Heldris the Dove Knight

Black clouds gather above the chapel casting darkness all around. Raging winds shake the twisted trees and the shivering grass. The Dove Knight grasps the hermit’s hands: “Please, old Batu, you need to call the spirit in spite of the ominous weather.” He takes a handful of feathers off his armour and puts them in the old man’s hand, some are hawk’s, most are dove’s. “The hour calls for haste, it is not the time for caution. I’ll be standing beside you and helping if I can.”

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake searches the chapel, curious at this strange shrine to solitude.

Referee

You find a collapsed wooden staircase and manage to climb up into a small turret that is battered by the winds. Through a miracle the narrow stained glass window had survived centuries of similar storms and in its twilight you make out a broken harp, a lectern and a mouldy book that turns out to be a chronicle written in dozens of different styles. The last entry reads: “They hunt us like deer and there is no acolyte to succeed me. May the hawk show mercy to whoever seeks shelter in his temple.”

Heldris, outside snow is whirling all around you and Batu leeches onto you as strong gales threaten to blow you both off your feet. The old hermit has donned the headdress and its feathers violently flutter in the storm. Lightning illuminates the dark clouds and thunder echoes over the summit. Batu raises his arms and shouts his prayers but they are blown away before you can hear them. Then a red-tailed hawk emerges from below the summit struggling against the powerful winds, tilting his wings this way and that to stay balanced. Batu falls to his knees and prays and the hawk spreads his wings and for a moment the fury of the blizzard breaks and in the silence you hear Batu sing and the hawk hoovers in the air and whistles a high and sweet note and under his wings you feel save. Then the winds howl around you again and the hawk is gone. When you return to the chapel you are wet and shivering and Batu slumps in front of the fire and mumbles: "He promises to ... protect you ... as he protected me when I fled the hunters."

Anastaz, you brave the blizzard in order to find the right spot to observe the surroundings but you only see the swirling snow. On your way back you cross the small garden in the lee of the rocks, yellowed herbs and devil shrubs holding on for dear life. You collect fallen branches from the pines and return to the chapel.

Krummholz Pines

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

Anastaz goes back out, a hand in front of his face to keep the snow from blowing into his eyes. He crouches in the garden and pulls small handfuls of yellow grasses. When he returns inside, he is shivering, and crystals of ice cling to his clothes.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

As Milos watches the shivering hermit rest by the fire, he is moved by the man's bravery and simple piety. He casts his eyes across the humble chapel around him and sighs at its dilapidated condition. Without further hesitation, he begins to make what repairs he can to the place. A pile of broken furniture provides wood to patch openings in the walls where the frigid wind whistles through. As the Fox Knight goes about his work, he remembers the flight of the hawk he saw upon their arrival and prays to the spirits of this place, muttering quietly under his breath.

Only in silence the word,

only in dark the light,

only in dying life:

bright the hawk's flight on the empty sky.

When Anastaz returns with an armful of herbs, Milos looks up from his work "What have you found, my friend? Bring them over here so we can sort the herbs and ascertain their uses."

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

Anastaz spreads out the herbs on the floor in front of him and Milos. As Milos surveys the flora, the Salt Knight blows into his hands to warm them, and says under his breath, "I'm reminded me of the fable of the Man and the Satyr."

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Milos cocks his head to the side as he examines the plants in front of him. "I don't recall that fable. Will you recount it for me?"

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

"A man is travelling on a cold winter night and sees a cottage. He knocks on the door and finds a satyr living there, who offers him shelter. The man goes inside and starts blowing on his hands and rubbing them together. The satyr asks what he's doing, and he says 'Warming myself up.' "After some time, the satyr serves the man a bowl of stew, and the man gently blows on the bowl. The satyr asks what he's doing, and the man says 'Cooling the stew off.' "The satyr then demands the man leave. 'I cannot trust someone,' he says, 'who blows both hot and cold with the same breath.'" The Salt Knight looks almost sheepish. "It's childish, and I never quite understood it. But it stuck with me all the same."

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

The Fox Knight tucks his chin to his shoulder and laughs with delight. Then he looks up at his comrade with a broad smile. "I suppose that makes me the satyr in this instance! But for my part, I enjoy your breath whether it blows hot or cold, dear friend." Surprised at his own words, Milos blushes heartily and turns back to the herbs, abashed. After a moment of silence, he holds up a half-frozen clump and exclaims "I recognize this! It is devil's shrub. My mother used to brew a tea from its roots as a tonic for the body and spirit."

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

Anastaz strokes his chin. "We will have no small need of spirit in the coming days."

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Milos retrieves a stone mortar and pestle from a dusty cupboard and begins to grind the roots of the plants into a pulp for brewing. The gentle rhythm of stone against stone and the dim crackling of the fire are all that is heard for a spell in the small chapel. The pungent earthy smell of the roots fills the enclosed space and Milos remembers the warm embrace of his childhood home, for a moment forgetting that they are trapped in a hostile land, hunted by fiendish predators.

Referee

Batu has passed his hands through the herbs, removing dirt and wigglers. While he is listening to Anastaz' story and the soothing rhythm of the mortar he is feeding earthworms to the small fox in his lap. She is looking curiously at the hermit whenever he stops and gently paws the hand with which he feeds her, whining and squealing in delight when he finally offers another treat.

Sir Heldris the Dove Knight

The wind, still blowing, has run out of rage, and the shadow of a winter sun emerges from behind the dark clouds. Outside of the shrine, the Dove Knight dons the falconer’s glove on his left hand. Slowly, the cold iron of his prosthetic begins to warp and soon sprouts silverish feathers. Heldris’ head starts spinning as the rest of his body follows the strange metamorphosis, a streaked plumage sprouts all over his body which rapidly twists itself into a new shape. Before his fellow knights and the hermit, now stands a large peregrine falcon. The striped feathers on his chest and underneath his wings almost seem like a delicate hatching that resembles the Dove Knight’s tunic. His head and his back have a plumage dark as the clouds overhead, broken by a white collar. The left wing, however, remains of a silverish tint, as if it were made of a light and precious metal. Two black inscrutable eyes peer at the knights and the hermit, then slowly turn north. The large wings spread as the falcon pushes itself up and lets himself into a sudden gust of wind, rising up into a feeble ray of sunlight under the dark sky.

Among the Clouds

Referee

The ground falls away and you rise ever higher and the mountains become mere sand hills a child had formed with its hands. In the beginning the winds seem to fight you or gusts seize you and push you away but soon you learn to move with them and let them carry your wings and beak and feathers. You almost touch the clouds and now you are among them and now you fly in the light of the sun and your only regret is that you don't see her lovely face. For the first time in your life you are truly the Dove Knight, free and unrestrained and the world is full of possibilities. When you remember the reason you took flight, you fold your wings and dive through the clouds and catch the next breeze and glide over the snow covered world below. A wild river, raging and foaming, splits the region in half, a wide band of grey water impossible to cross. You follow its meandering course and find an ancient stone bridge and a tower with a banner flapping in the wind. You circle over it and a Knight raises her bow but you rise quickly again before the arrow can reach you. On your way back east you find a hill of bones and when you look closer it seems to be a burial ground of sorts, a tomb with a gate, and although the thought of sleeping among the dead troubles you it would provide shelter from the elements. As soon as you touch the ground on the summit of the chapel you stumble and your left wing becomes heavy and clumsy. The glove slips from it and the world turns around you and when you come by your brothers are with you but you can't speak for a long time. Only when Batu holds you and whispers in your ear you become human again.  

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake sits and reads the chronicle, hoping for some insight into the thrice ninth kingdom.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Milos sits in the chapel's doorway on a small stool, taking advantage of the afternoon light to finish the last repairs on the smoothbark armor. He looks up from his work and sees Anastaz across the room, speaking softly to the old hermit, and smiles to himself in appreciation of the Salt Knight's understated kindness. Then he adds the final stitches to the armor and rubs his sore hands as he contemplates his work with some satisfaction. The Fox Knight rises with the armor in his arms and notices Perilake reading in a nook near a window. He hesitates a moment, shakes his head a bit, and then leaves the armor next to the Gilded Knight's bedroll.

He walks out into the garden to stretch his legs after sitting so long and scans the sky for any sight of Heldris' return. Seeing only clouds, he looks out across the garden and notices somehting unusual under the low boughs of a spruce tree. He kneels at the foot of the tree and pulls a branch aside to reveal a patch of slender mushrooms with pale green caps. "Ah, Death Caps. You are hardy to have survived here." He sighs and looks at the ground for a moment, considering the company's plight and the threats they may soon face. "Just in case" he mutters under his breath and proceeds to collect the toxic caps with gloved hands.

Referee

Perilake, in the light of the stained glass window you flip slowly through the pages and read how the first hermit was guided by a hawk to find the sacred place and how the chapel was built. It seems as if at that time the Kingdom was ruled by humankind who lived in peace with their elfin neighbours and centuries passed in which the duty of the chaplain was handed down from hermit to acolyte and nothing of note was recorded except for a poor harvest in one year or a draught in another. Then the Queen of Realm appointed an elfin advisor and the Realm prospered and harvest was bountiful and bridges and roads were built and libraries and towers to observe the stars and the wisdom of the people of the Thrice Ninth Kingdom was famed in all of the known world. And every ruler desired their own advisor and when they came, they promised knowledge and prosperity but what they brought was envy and spells of ruin for humans and their own kind and the Rusalki turned wild and bloodthirsty. And some say they had been wicked all along and others that the spells corrupted them. You read about a great crusade from neighbouring realms and of protective spells that were woven to keep them at bay. You learn that the rule of the Kingdom alternates between the Elf and the Winter King and that their rivalry goes back to their role as advisors to hostile holdings. The last hermit mentions the chapel far in the north and that they haven't received a message from the hermit of the beaver in years.

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

Anastaz sits down, cross-legged, beside the old hermit and converses with him in low voices about Batu's time in the Thrice-Ninth Kingdom, and the life he has lived in near solitude over the years. 

Referee

Perilake sits at the window reading through the chronicle and Milos joins Anastaz after awhile and you listen to Batu's story when you suddenly hear the screeching of a hawk and when you run outside Heldris lies in the snow twisting and unable to speak. Later you sit around the campfire, the Dove Knight with a blanket over his shoulders and a tea in his good hand.

Sir Heldris the Dove Knight

After the inebriating experience and metamorphosis, the Dove Knight manages to relate what he has scouted in his flight, before falling into a state of great confusion. Batu takes the knight close to the fire and covers his shoulder with a heavy shawl. He casts some dried roots into the fire and patiently waits, mumbling some sort of prayer. The burning roots soon release a dense fog. With two large green boughs, the hermit directs and shapes the fog around Heldris, and nowhere else. He pulls the shawl over Heldris’ head and turns his prayer into a song, as he paces rhythmically around his patient. Through the shawl, the Dove Knight sees the flying hawk in the dark forest, as a strange shadowplay before his eyes. The bird stares back at him, and tends to him like a mother with her nestling. The ritual continues for several hours, until the voices of the birds outside announce the new day.

A dream

Protected from the dreams of the Fae the Knight's sleep is undisturbed and guarded under the wings of the hawk.

The Thrice-Ninth Kingdom IX

The wolf hours before the dawn of the 9th day, a cave

Referee

Sir Anastaz, it is long past midnight when the Dove Knight gently wakes you up. 

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

As always, Anastaz's eyes open without difficulty. It has been a long time since he's gotten a good night's sleep.

Referee

The fire is almost burned down and in its twilight strange shadows move. You poke the ambers and fan the flames and sit for a while with outstretched hands to warm them. Then you hear a short sharp huff from the fox outside as if to warn you.

Out of the corner of your eye you see movement, a long pale creature like a snake or an olm darts towards you purposefully, and silent as an arrow.

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

The creature snaps at the Salt Knight as he barely escapes a nasty bite. He brings up his mace and shield and whips around, a solid hit to the olm's midsection throwing it back. The two eye each other as the olm prepares to lunge again, and as the reptile leaps toward Anastaz's throat, he ducks and slams into it from below. The beast starts leaking ichor as it begins to die, wheezing and gasping.

After putting the creature out of its misery, Anastaz searches around the cave and finds a small tunnel. He cautiously peers in, carries the corpse to the makeshift mauseoleum, and rolls a large rock in front of it.

Giant Cave Olm

Referee

Zoltan nods sleepily and starts preparing breakfast as you wrap yourself into the bedroll. From outside the white fox peaks in curiously.

*** 

Morning of the 9th day, a tiny cave in the mountains

Zoltan is serving warm bread with a sweet nutty paste and luke warm tea. From the fire only embers remained. Outside puffy snowflakes are slowly falling. The fox is sitting in the entrance, gnawing on a bone that Pigeon Knight must have thrown her.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

"All quiet then?" Perilake stretches, and wanders to the cave entrance, peering over the horizon for any sign of the Rusalki... listening for the song of a blackbird.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Perilake sees Milos returning to the cave after an early morning patrol. The Fox Knight stops, hesitates a moment, and then gestures for his comrade to join him on the slope just outside. A chill breeze shifts the snows as the two knights come together. With his jaw set and his eyes steely, he says: "If you wanted that elf dead yesterday, you should have slit his throat yourself. Anastaz is not your executioner."

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

"If I acted on everything I wanted, Milos, I would not be a knight. But if I decided that warrior had to die, I would have done it myself." He shakes his head in disappointment. "Anastasz, my executioner? The insult to my brother you give by even suggesting such a thing - !" He bites back harsher words, and his voice continues as hard and cold as polished gold.

"I would not argue on behalf of a villain such as this, but I did not ask Anastasz for anything. I merely did not stop him. I would have left the elf to die a lonely and painful death. In truth, he gave that warrior a greater mercy than I, in my cruelty, or you, in your silent sanctimony, would."

He sighs, sadness softening his voice. "Anastasz has always chosen the hard path. Though it may be neither easy or pleasant, he believes it to be the right one. This deserves respect. and I will never sit in judgement of his bravery." His face betrays a disappointment. "I thought better of you."

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

"We are all complicit in the act and share the responsibility, but he looked to you for counsel in that moment. If you did not believe the elf merited death, then why did you give your consent? You say that Anastaz has chosen this path but you all walk it with him, it has become your habit to rely upon him for these darker deeds." He kicks at the snow beneath his boot in frustration. "I do not know what the right course was, but I do know that the Salt Knight's soul is unduly burdened by this grim role and it breaks my heart to witness it so plainly." He wipes angrily at his eyes as the tears well up.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilakes irritation and disappointment is clear. "You offered no counsel or complaint, no promise to tend the creature's wounds. Do not speak to me of my habits, when you are such a fool as to say Anastasz's value to me, his brother, is only in grim deeds." "You think it some revelation that we walk this path together?" Perilake's eyes blaze with indignation. "I know that you do not listen, for I told you what value I placed on the creature's life, yet you are still confused. Listen now, and make your peace: speak to Anastasz if you wish to help him, but do not insult me again with this ignorant perversion of our brotherhood." Perilakes voice never raises, never warms but the cold frost thaws into resignation. "It is only that you care for him, and that you are here at all, that I excuse you this. For I am grateful to you still for both."

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Milos gets a hold of his emotions and attempts to speak in a more measured way. "I never said that his only value to you were his grim deeds. I know you care for him and have a deep bond. And I do blame myself for not speaking more directly in the moment. I will endeavor to be braver in the future." He peers back toward the cave with a pained expression. "Let us leave this matter for now, so both our tempers may cool." And he turns to make his way back inside.

Referee

Milos almost bumps into Zoltan who squeezes through the fissure, sets down pots and pans and starts cleaning them with snow. “The map seems to indicate that the chapel is somewhere close by ...” he says to no one in particular, “ ... and I sense it lies to the West. But it could be in the next valley, hidden behind the next peak or further to the west.” ”I wouldn't want to spend another night in that tiny cave … and we are out of wood … but we could use this place as our base and search the area.” He doubtfully looks at a perilous climb up to the summit. “Or we might get a glimpse of the chapel from up there if we are lucky. Visibility is worse than yesterday but if the chapel is on a mountain top we should be able to see it .... or at least a route to traverse the mountain range. ”The fox has watched the Pigeon Knight attentively and gives a short bark in agreement - although to which suggestion remains unclear.

Sir Heldris the Dove Knight

"We trust your nose Sir Zoltan." The Dove Knight looks towards the mountain path. "I suggest we travel west. If we miss the chapel we can come back here for shelter or push forward to the Halls of Desire."

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

"We are waiting for Sivka, who I have faith will find us. We should do what we can to improve our situation in the meantime." He peers up the perilous climb. "If we head west, and you sense it is now to our east, then we will know if we have gone too far. I grow tired of mountains."

Referee

You slowly make your way down the northern flank of the mountain looking for a path west. All is silent and the snow is falling slowly and you only hear the heavy breathing of the other wanderers, each alone with his own thoughts. Mid-morning you reach a valley between peaks and you rest in their cold shadow outside of a cave, its mouth covered in icy spikes. You manage to make a small fire from juniper shrubs while Zoltan is studying the rock. The smoke smells rich and crisp and you warm your stiff fingers over the fire. “We can't climb up here and I see no other way forward.” he finally says frowning. “We need to ...” From the north, far away and still way too close you hear the sound of a terrible horn. You freeze, your heart starts racing, you struggle to draw breath and the hairs in your neck stand up. Then the moment passes and you can act again.

Sir Heldris the Dove Knight

At the horrifying sound of the otherworldly horns, Heldris’ blood runs cold. He feels his limbs frozen, like the cornered prey before the barking hounds. 'I wish Colmán were here,' he whispers in his own mind. And at the thought of his dear steed, he snaps out of it and says in a hoarse voice: “No question of coming back to the cave, we need to push forward. Sir Perilake, we follow your lead now, like the old times.”

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

A rare look of alarm flashes across Anastaz's face. His attention drifts back to his companions, and he nods hurriedly. "The less time wasted, the better."

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake nods, and pulls Zoltan up from his crouch by the rock. "I think if we retrace our steps, and descend down the gully we passed earlier, we may find a way through."

Referee

You retreat your steps for a while making haste as much as the terrain allows. Finally Perilake spots a steep narrow ridge in the rock and starts climbing and Zoltan follows him, the snout of the fox peaking out of his bundle. You feel the sharp stones beneath your elfin gloves and soon despite the coldness you start to sweat. After an hour you reach a plateau covered in grey moss between even higher peaks and catch your breath. You realize that the mountain is as alive as everything in the kingdom and it looks down at you almost gaily and the shadow of clouds pass by and seem to make it dance. Later you cross a razor sharp ridge west and when you reach the other side you find a path of worn out smooth stones in the twilight of the coming night and the echo of a flickering light from above.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake smiles at the others, but checks his scabbard as he leads them up the path. "We have found the chapel of the Hawk. Let us greet the Hermit that is said to live here, and find shelter for the night. From what Alder said, I doubt they are any friend to the Rusalki."

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Milos looks up into the sky and shields his eyes from the last low rays of the setting sun. He sees a red tailed hawk high above them, floating effortlessly on a thermal. The distant lingering call of kee-eee-arr reaches his ears and he whistles in greeting to the noble bird.

The Chapel of the Hawk

Referee

The wind combs through the branches of the small twisted krummholz pines that grow alongside the path and at its end lies a decrepit structure from wood and stone under the first stars. A hide is covering the entrance and through its seams shines the light of a fire. The symbol of a hawk is painted in red on the pelt. Inside it smells of herbs and smoke and rancid fat. The hermit sits on the floor before an iron trivet over the central fireplace. He is wearing a hooded cloak against the cold, patched and black from smoke. He has turned his head towards you but his gaze is hollowed out and he stares at a random spot on the brushwood covered floor. “You don't walk like the demon-kind.” His voice is thin and brittle with age. He puts away his knife. ”Are you here to take me back?"

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

The Salt Knight crouches next to the old man and puts a hand on his back. "Do you want to go back, grandfather?"

Referee

The old man listens for a while. His skin is paper thin and dirty except for old streaks under his milky eyes. “Yes, my son" he finally says, "I would like that very much.” And he blesses you in the name of the sky spirits and invites you to sit with him on goat hides and drink tea from his garden. “I heard a terrible sound in the morning and I thought they would finally come for me ...” he absent mindedly feels the ground for his knife. “Do you know the way back?”

Sir Heldris the Dove Knight

"I'm afraid we are the game of this hunt." The Dove Knight says. "We know the way back, but we came here to rescue the Gilded Knight's son from the Halls of Desire, and we won't leave without him." He accepts the tea offered by the old man. "How did you end up here? And what is this chapel that you guard?"

Referee

“All my live it seems I had to flee: The small town that was burned down by order of the Safiya Kathun, and I fled the bordedom of the library when I was dreaming of the stars.” He says that his name is Batu and that he was born in the Northern steppes of Waldochia and studied Astrology in Mohacz and that when he became a Maister he dreamed of heavens that couldn't be and promises were made and he accepted. He lived in Nettle's Brugh for seven years until one night after a wild feast he fled and reached the mountains. He climbed higher and higher until he couldn't climb any further and he saw that the cursed ravens of the Rusalki were looking for him and he prayed to the sky to save him. “I think the hawk killed all the ravens or drove them away and I followed the spirit up to this chapel where I found a spring and a garden and the falconer's glove and with it I could fly” his smile falters “ ...that is when I still could see more than just grey shapes in the darkness.” Batu tells you that his eyes sight is getting worse and while he can fetch water and twigs for his fire and tend to his garden he has to rely on the birds to bring him hares sometimes or he finds a goat with a broken neck that had fallen off a rock and he thanks the hawk for his gifts

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Milos comes close to the hermit and speaks with admiration in his voice. "Noble Batu, you have outwitted and outmaneuvered the Rusalki for many years. The Hunt is now riding for us so we are perilous traveling companions. If we could evade or defeat them, then we could return to bring you home with us at the completion of our errand in this land. Can you perchance offer us any guidance on how to thwart the Hunt?"

Referee

“I lived with these demon for so long, they are not … “ Batu is wringing his hands failing to describe their nature. “You cannot … defeat them not when ... .” He shakes his head. ”The ravens croaked and sang something about the hunt … ” He closes his eyes and frowns: "Wherever it runs the prey will be found. - And I believed them and if not for the hawk they would have found me. I hide like a mouse before the cat and can't offer you advice. If you wish so I will ask the spirit for guidance.” He reaches out for you and pulls himself up. “But I will show you the gift of the hawk.” He steadies himself against you and with your help walks shakily over to a small altar with a feathered headdress and a falconers glove, brittle, cracked, and darkened by centuries of sweat and oil. There is faded gold embroidery of feathers along the cuff, now mostly unravelled. It smells of old leather and pine needles. “I found this when I arrived at the chapel and I tried to fly away, to flee from this place but … however I tried - the glamour the Rusalki have woven around the Thrice-Ninth Kingdom prevented me from leaving.” He caresses the leather with trembling hands. “I cannot fly any more but anyone wearing the glove can. It shall be yours.”

Sir Heldris the Dove Knight

“Your generosity is like warm sunlight in this cold heartless land,” The Dove Knight bows his head to old Batu, “and if you have the means to ask the spirit for guidance, please do so.” He follows the old man over to the altar, where he feels the texture of the falconer's glove and studies the feathers on the headdress. “A handful of hawk’s feathers,” he says, as if talking by himself, “hide within the dove wings of my armour.” He raises his head from the streaked feathers on the altar. “Perhaps the gift of the hawk will save us all from these devilish hunters.” He turns to Batu, “You managed to escape them, but not to escape this realm. We’ll do our best to grant you this wish, I promise.”

Referee

Batu puts his bony, calloused hands over yours as if to bless you. “Be careful” he says, while holding your hand, eager for a human touch. ”The freedom of flight can be very seductive. Never forget who you are.” Later at the fire he refuses to eat from the elfin provisions and only drinks his tea and listens to your voices and soon he falls asleep with the small white fox in his lap and a smile on his face, leaning against a pillar carved with the symbols of the hawk and Zoltan puts a blanket over his shoulders and lightly kisses his forehead like a mother would.

A dream

This night they all dream of home.

 

The Thrice-Ninth Kingdom VIII

 Morning of the 8th day, inside a cave in the mountains

It is still some time before dawn when the others wake up to the smell of cardamom and sweet bread. Zoltan looks out at the frozen lake.”The sky is clear” he mumbles, “We should hurry.”

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

As the knights put away their bedrolls and gather their equipment, Milos speaks to Perilake in a sober tone. "If your son speaks to you again, ask him of any vulnerability the Elf may have. The boy has been among that court for some time and may know things that could advantage us."

Referee

Zoltan turns around. “I wonder how much Avert has learned from the Elf. Weaving spells it seems ... and maybe more ... " He spreads out Adler's map on the ground. "Where should we go? We could move north-east and hope to evade the Wild Fae or move north-west and try to sneak past them or we move directly north and try to stay hidden, maybe the chapel will serve as a shelter once we reach the northern mountain range.” He points at the fountain south of Nettle's Brugh. “For whatever reason this was added to the map on the wall of the temple of the heavens. Maybe we could move east to try to outrun the Rusalki?” He considers this for a second. “Or we might be able to climb higher above the cave and get a better overview of the surrounding regions, it's a clear day, we should be able to see for miles. … but do we have the time?"

Adler's Map 

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

"North, to the chapel. It puts distance between the Rusalki, and if they find us there, we will have walls to defend." Perilake looks to the north. "And I have faith in Sivka, and if not in her master then at least in his own interests. She will return to us, given time."

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

Anastaz nods. "We must be prepared to make a stand, if need be."

Referee

You leave the cave at dawn. The sky is turning pink in the east and all clouds are blown away by the Fox Knight's storm. It is bone chilling cold as you descend deeper into the shadow of the mountains. Before noon you reach a valley of frozen marshland and yellow grass. Zoltan studies the rocks that lead up onto a mountain ridge. “We should be able to ... mumbles ... but it won't be easy.” His lips a blue. From deeper within the tall grass a black bird is singing and you all hear it call. “Come and find me!”

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

The Fox Knight sings a simple response in a high childlike falsetto. 

“Blackbird, blackbird, reed and sky, 

Tell your father where you lie. 

Also this, and answer true— 

What kind of hand is holding you?”

Referee

Under the cloudless sky it is silent for a moment, there is only the lashing of strong gales as the reeds bow before them in wave after wave. Finally the bird chirps six dissonant tones: “A single elfin hair” and for a moment you hear it flutter within the blades of grass.  

Frozen Marshland

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

"Your voice echoes within my sleep

Soon we make our way to your captors keep

To end the nightmare of your mother's hell

We must know how to free you from this spell"

Perilake sings back

Sir Heldris the Dove Knight

As they walk the trail against the cold wind, this bird’s song seems just another mockery from this hostile land. Heldris finds himself whistling an eerie tune from his homeland, something he had forgotten and that brings back haunting memories.

Referee

You wait for an answer but it won't come and finally you follow Zoltan towards the eastern face of the mountain. Then there is movement behind you and when you turn around the trap springs and something emerges from the grass. Two figures clad in smoothbark armour rush towards you and they fan out and the next moment they are upon you, striking with their curved golden blades.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake has just turned around as the warrior thrusts his blade forward, trying to impale the Gilded Knight. Zoltan draws the Crane in a flash and parries the curved blade but the Fae uses the momentum to strike again, aiming for Perilake's throat and the Gilded Knight barely manages to raise Rzeźnik to deflect the strike.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Milos slips low behind the elf and slices precisely across their shanks with Tesák. Their knees lurch forward, opening them up to the Dove Knight's brutal stroke.

Sir Heldris the Dove Knight

The Dove Knight turns suddenly and unsheathes his sword. He wastes no time as he recognises the elfin armours and the perilous weapons. The wings on his armour quiver with nervousness as he slashes rapidly at one of the soldiers, leaving a gaping wound from shoulder to hip, blood dripping profusely.

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

Anastaz brings up his shield just in time to block an attack from one of the warriors and deftly brings up his mace. The two trade blows, another swipe of the golden blade falling impotently on the Salt Knight's coraline mail. The blade catches in the elaborate mailwork, and Anastaz pulls the Fae warrior as he smacks them with the mace. The warrior goes down in the grass, their delicate features crushed and bleeding.

Anastaz gestures toward the fallen warrior with his mace. "A prisoner could prove useful, if it doesn't slow us down."

Wild Fae warriors (depicted in their favourite season)

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake blinks, and smiles. "My brothers..." he breathes, and slaps Zoltan hard on the back. "I walk beside more than just one knight worthy of Elfbane." He picks up the golden blade dropped by the fallen fae warrior, and hefts it as he ponders the former bearer. "We could bind them and carry the weight between myself and Zoltan, it would not slow us much" He takes a few practice swings. "They could tell us of Coredis, of my son...but i do not know if we could trust those words." He raises the blade thoughtfully, then lowers it, leaning in to pull the Faes broken face up by its hair, shaking it lightly until a moan escapes from their lips.

"What do you say? Do you wish to live? Is there anything you could swear by that would buy another beat of your heart?"

Zoltan peels the helm off the dead warrior, studies it then dons it. His eyes catch Perilake's, who nods at the warrior in his grasp. Silently the Pigeon Knight begins to unbuckle the stricken warriors armour and helm. The fae's attempt to push him away is feeble, and ceases immediately when it feels its own golden blade at its throat. "My question is more pressing than your possessions, servant of Coredis." Perilake hisses.

Referee

The Fae looks up at you with bloodshot eyes and says through smashed teeth.”My lord … sends his regards ....” His face is swollen and bloodied and he is hard to understand. “ … and invites you to … the … “ he swallows blood. “ … the Halls of Desire .... a coach is waiting for you.” ”As for me … if warriors of inferior races … “ He turns to the side as much as your grip allows and spits out a tooth” ... can defeat me ... my life is worth nothing.”

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake drops the fallen Fae to the ground, its head bouncing heavily in the dirt and forcing another groan as its battered skull makes contact. "I suppose even the fae can speak the truth in their own fashion." He mutters, his hand tightening on the blade and then loosening, reaching down only to help Zoltan strip the fallen warrior before both step away from their defeated foe

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

Anastaz glances between the fallen warrior and Perilake. Something unspoken passes between them, and the Salt Knight silently takes the golden scimitar from the other knight. He lifts the warrior's head and sighs before he quickly slits his throat.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Milos frowns as he watches the silent exchange between Perilake and Anastaz. Eyes suddenly smoldering with anger, he turns toward the Gilded Knight as if to speak, but then with an obvious effort holds his tongue. He looks down and busys himself stripping the armor from the other fallen elf.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake sighs heavily, and lays a quiet hand on Anastasz shoulder for a long moment. With a squeeze, he lets go and looks to the path above. "We should take what we can. Perhaps we can repair the other armour, and those blades may prove useful too."He moves to help Milos. "But we should be quick"

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Milos grunts his assent but does not look up from his task.

Referee

You leave the corpses behind you, stripped of their armour and weapons and climb up the rock. The Pigeon Knight places his feet slowly and deliberately, using one hand to pull himself up when needed and offering the other in support for his brothers. An ice cold eastern wind greets you at the top of the mountain ridge in the afternoon and the sky is spotless azure silk. As you take a break on the leeward side a small, white fox sniffs around the provisions. She is cautious and skinny and won't take her eyes of you while she searches for something to eat. Zoltan throws the bone of a roast pheasant at her and looks to the north: “I reckon we'll reach the summit before it is getting too dark to find shelter.”

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

"Good." Perilake stretches, and looks back down the ridge line, along their trail. "Darkness will slow the Rusalki down too... I hope."

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Milos' eyes soften as he takes in the animal's state. He dips slowly to one knee so as not to frighten her."Winter has been hard, hasn't it little one. Maybe it can give back a bit." He tosses her one of the last pieces of jerky from the White Stag. "We will be making camp soon, hopefully under some shelter. You are welcome to join our fire if it pleases you."

Referee

The fox jumps back and looks over her shoulder for an escape route but then licks her lips with a tiny pink tongue and crouches closer to the jerky. Zoltan pours tea for you all from the pot on the small fire and ostentatiously ignores the fox and soon she whimpers in delight as she feasts on the piece of meat. When you make your way north over the ridge she follows you at a safe distance.

You arrive at the summit in late afternoon and search for shelter while the sky turns into a dark sapphire, spotless and beautiful. The last rays of the sun disappear and it is already dark when you find a fissure in the rock and behind it a small cave. You squeeze through the crack and built your fire, burning the last dry wood and huddle around it. The acrid smell in the cave is soon replaced by the aroma of exotic spices from the Fae's provisions. From outside you infrequently hear the fox's raspy barks and she won't follow you inside.

A skinny white Fox

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

Anastaz leans up against a boulder and observes the Fox Knight repairing the bisected cuirass. Occasionally he points out minor flaws in Milos's technique, where the other knight's experience in mending other kinds of vestments does not apply to the maintenance of armor.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Milos smiles to himself as Anastaz reaches across to point out a missed stitch and softly recommend a different approach. He basks in the easy companionship of the moment. When they hear some faint barks from outside, the Fox Knight looks up from his work and says with tenderness "I'll take her a few more scraps when I start the first watch." Then he returns to his exacting work and the murmured commentaries of the Salt Knight.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake watches the Fox and Salt Knight work, and takes comfort that the young knight and his old friend can find companionship even in this strange place; even with the former's obvious bad temper at the latter's execution. He is young, Perilake thinks. As young as we were when first we rode out. He has not had mercy thrown in his face, as Anastasz has. He has not seen friend spill the blood of friend, as we all have. He has not seen the joy fade from the desperate faces of the misguided, as we slew the coming of their great saviour, or so many other things. He does not yet know that his oaths will place burdens of regret upon his shoulders as much as any glory. But he is a good man, and he is kind. May he come to know Salt as we do, and may he continue to see so clearly what my brother has buried so deeply within himself. The Gilded Knight turns, and sleeps. He dreams of Farkash, and of a white dove flying from its tower, searching for the song of the blackbird over the horizon.

A dream

An expanse of wheat ripples in the breeze on a bright Harvest day. Milos is in shirt sleeves, tossing heaps of grain onto a wooden threshing sled. His pitchfork lifts the golden wheat high into the air in slow arcs. Warmed by the early morning sun, the seed fills the air with a sweet nutty aroma. Drops of sweat fall down his brow, his throat, dampening his shirt so that it clings to his skin. The simple work fills his heart with contentment, a relief to be so far away from courts and intrigue and bloodshed. His footsteps raise a fine dust as he leads the sled across the hardpacked threshing floor. He pauses to stretch and looks toward a cart on the edge of the field. In the shade underneath it sits a familiar fox, now in her tawny colors, watching him with curiosity and tilted head. Someone’s legs hang over the back of the cart, swinging slowly back and forth to the rhythm of a tune, a tune played on a flute. It is Mariusz, looking radiant in the bright sunlight, beckoning him with his eyes. Milos drops the pitchfork, leaving his work unfinished. He is enthralled by the music, taken by the young man’s beauty, flushed from the sticky heat of the day. The distance between them disappears and as he places his hands on Mariusz’s knees, his legs stop swinging and he lowers the flute from his mouth, but somehow the music continues. Another pair of hands seize his shoulders and spin him around. The Lord of the Hidden Grove stands before him, resplendent and inviting. Milos’ knees weaken at the sight of him and the feel of him so close, he feels his body surrender but here there is no resistance, only desire. Now he is Anastaz towering over him and wrapping him in an impossibly warm embrace, murmuring words incomprehensible but achingly tender. Then a strange laughter rumbles through him and as Milos pulls back from the embrace, the Salt Knight is gone and the Elf now stands in his place. “So many desires, young Fox. You can have them all fulfilled and more. Remember that when the time comes.”

 

And Milos awakens, his heart racing, his body damp with sweat despite the cold air of the cave