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  

The Thrice-Ninth Kingdom VII

Before noon of the 7th day, inside Stribor's Brugh

You wake up a few hours later. The Rusalki are still lying where they had fallen and it smells of sweat and blood and woodsmoke. The flautist has brought you porridge with winter berries. He has one arm around Sir Milos and gestures with the other at white fur coats and matching gloves that lay before the hearth. “A present from my master. He told me to inform you that your offer has been rejected and that you should leave as soon as possible.” He observes the sleeping Rusalki and smiles uneasily. ”He has ordered his servants to fill your mare's saddlebags with provisions and he considers his oath of hospitality to be fulfilled. He cannot vouch for your safety any more.“ He gets up and holds out his hands for the Fox Knight. “Make haste. They won't sleep forever.”

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Milos takes his hands and brings his forehead to Mariusz's. He says softly "Thank you for offering a warm embrace in this infernally cold place. Your artistry is truly sublime and I pray your bargain continues to serve you well." He places a firm kiss on his mouth and then releases him to turn to his friends "We have gained much here and escaped surprisingly unscathed. We should depart at once and not look back."

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Beyond the hall of the Rusalki, Perilake leans in to Sivka. "Does your king desire an audience with us, Sivka? Would it aid our joint cause or merely be distraction?" He glances at the alien horizon around them. "The Rusalki will hunt you and us soon, horse. They will sacrifice by force what they could not win by bargain." "Wherever we go, do you know where we might defend ourselves or where the Rusalki will not dare follow?"

Sivka

Referee

Sivka nickers softly. Her saddlebags are bulging and there is a bundle of dry wood on her back. “When the Rusalki smell blood they fear nothing, in their frenzy they will follow you into conflagration. On horse back they will outrun you, maybe the mountains will slow them down. To the north is a river that they can't cross but neither can we before we find the bridge. They won't dare defy the King but Castle Frost is far away.” She sniffs the air. Lazy snowflakes are slowly falling. “They are stirring in their sleep.”

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Soon after departing the brugh, the knights pause in a snow-covered meadow. Perilake confers again with the mare in earnest tones, as the others look on with concern. The horse nuzzles his ear and the Gilded Knight looks back towards his friends and nods grimly.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

The company climbs a narrow path up into the mountains to the East. Milos turns and faces back toward where they have come, toward the dire threat of pursuit. He raises his left hand and looks through his fingers at the clouds that have been steadily dropping a soft snow on them. The ivory ring stirs and a distinct chill climbs up his arm. A harsh wind screams down the mountain pass, the clouds darken and roil angrily in response. As he turns to face his friends, a wild light plays in the Fox Knight’s eyes. “That should slow their progress and conceal any signs of our passage. For now.

Referee

Far in the east lighting illuminates the dark clouds, single strikes first and and long pauses between them, then more coming in quick succession and spreading over the sky like spiderwebs. Much later the low growl of thunder echoes between the mountains.

Ser Perilake, as you approach the mouth of the cave you see something moving under the surface of the frozen lake that is clear as glass and smooth as a mirror, a face looking down at you as if you were below it, a young man with long straight hair and wearing a tunic the colour of frosted haze and a lushly decorated chamber behind him, peacock feathers and velvet curtains. Although you can't hear the words you can read them on his lips: “Find me, papa!” He looks over his shoulder and the ice shatters and there is only dark water below.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

His hand stretches out to the dark water, his mind whirling, before the fingers clench into a fist. Perilake steps to Sivka's side and begins unburdening the mare. "We will shelter here for the night, and if the storm does not cover our trail, we will fight them here too." He pulls the saddlebags of provisions on to his shoulder, passing the other to Zoltan. He looks into the mare's deep eyes. "Sivka, the Rusalki will certainly catch us on foot. But though you may be old, you are still swift, and you are wise." "This may be your chance to escape the Rusalki's blades, which hunger for you most of all. Whilst the storm rages, you might run to the King, free of our slow steps. If the Rusalki find a trail at all, they will find us - and our swords. I would not have any companion, beast or man, butchered for sport." Perilake rests a hand on the mare's muzzle. "And you may bring a message to your master; The Elf not only has my Son, he has made him a vessel for his ambitions against the Winter Court." "I will not serve anything other than those I love. But I swear I will take my son from Coredis, from Tizra, from any who would keep him from me. And I know this serves the King. Take this message to your master, and if he wishes to retain his throne, return to me - with steeds for my brothers all. And we will ride on Coredis."

Referee

The mare flicks her ears back and forth while you speak, listening with her eyes closed. She bows her head in submission or resignation and snorts softly:

 “Vesper will lead them, her head a raven's and wielding a sceptre, warning everyone in their way to flee. Stribor will follow, his head a wolf's and with eyes of glowing ember. And then comes a warband of wild Fae on their steeds and bloodhounds between them.” 

When she opens her eyes there is a fire you haven't seen before and she shakes her mane proudly. “One cannot outrun a storm nor the Wild Hunt” she whinnies and it sound like laughter”... but there are still those in the Realm who serve the King. Your message will be delivered.” Sivka lightly touches your face with her nostrils and turns around and is swallowed by the darkness. You hear her hooves thumping the ground for a little longer until it is drowned out by the sound of thunder.

A Cave in the Mountains

Sir Heldris the Dove Knight

Deep within the cave, the knights start a feeble fire to avoid unwanted attention from outside. The Pigeon Knight has cooked a simple meal, and as Heldris helps him serve the food, he finds himself moving slowly and silently, the ladle not making any noise. “I hope Sivka will make it to her king,” he says quietly, “From the little I’ve gathered, this seems to be a land of wolves; they have no love for one another and will stab each other in the back at the first opportunity.” The Dove Knight stares into the pale fire, “let’s hope their love for war be their doom. Otherwise our swords will have the honour.”

He hands a bowl to the Fox Knight, “What did you see back there in their dark tunnels?” He sighs, “My head started spinning and my stomach clenched, when I realised where you had lost yourself, it was as if the hall were upside down and we were all drowning...” The Dove Knight stares back into the feeble embers, and you can hear his tone soften "you should be more careful..."

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

The company lays out their furs and settles down for the first watch. "Old ghosts and lingering wounds. The Fae revel in meaningless cruelty at times. I'm sorry I needed rescuing yet again. I will be more careful, I promise." He reaches out and squeezes his comrades hand.

Milos sidles up next to Anastaz and asks tentatively "Were your dreams disturbed by any unwanted visitor last night, my friend?"

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

Anastaz turns to the Fox Knight. "I..." a flicker of confusion crosses his face. "I couldn't say. I don't remember."  

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Milos' brow furrows in concern. "The thief may be going about his business undetected. We must find a way of curtailing his liberties. This arrangement cannot persist unchanged or your losses will become unbearable... I will not see you diminished in this way." His eyes moisten and he turns away slightly.

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

The Salt Knight places a hand on his companion's shoulder. "I have borne more than you know. Let us focus on finding the boy. Then we can revisit our deal."

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Milos nods tightly and meets his friend's gaze with tenderness. "Very well. But promise me you will not bear this burden alone and in silence."

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

Anastaz sighs. "That vow may be the hardest of them all." He stares into the fire, but you suspect you can make out the faintest trace of a smile.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

In low words, Perilake tells the others of the youth he saw in the ice. The youth who he knows as his son, years older than the boy who had barely begun to grow up in their midst. Beyond the strange horror of this lost time, there is still pride and hope in Perilakes voice that Avert rebels... that he remembers. A strange and sad smile glimmers in the firelight.

A dream

Anastaz, you're back in the Brugh, dancing with the Rusalki to the tune of a single harp. You are separated from your partner and you see her simple white dress disappearing between the dancers and your fingers almost touch again but when you reach out to her she always seems one step away. You shrug off other hands and follow her through the rondel and you don't want to see who is playing the harp and when you are finally united she leans in for a kiss and whispers. “I had hoped we could have more time together.” and her lips are soft and warm and a thin line of blood trickles out of the corner of her mouth as she smiles. You are whisked away from her and and you see her simple white dress disappearing between the dancers and your fingers almost touch again and the dance will never end.

You wake up with aching muscles and Adler sits next to you, much too close, watching with their half smile and you startle and then you wake up and Zoltan hold you in his arms and whispers words of comfort. “Shhh … it was only a dream ...”

The Thrice-Ninth Kingdom VI

Morning of the 6th day, a cave

Mist rises over the frozen lake when you leave the cave at dawn. The white mare leads you down a winding mountain path and the world is hidden in the fog as if it hasn't been fully formed yet. After some time there is a glow in the mist and you pass an elder tree split by lightning and still burning inside. From afar you hear music of a kind you haven't heard before, the sound of harps and flutes and a swelling of inhuman voices shrill and wild and although you don't understand the words you feel a wicked celebration of past cruelties. Then you reach a hill on a meadow with a wooden gate adorned with antlers and rich carvings of leaves and berries. The music stops and the door opens and Adler is waiting for you.

Sir Heldris the Dove Knight

After a moment of silence, the Dove Knight approaches the Fae: “Greetings Adler,” He turns to his comrades with an hesitant look and back to the Fae. “We have come to seek shelter and rest, and the means to recover our spirits, as agreed between us on the day before yesterday.”

Referee

Now that the gate is open, the entrance to the Brugh resembles a mouth and its throat is dark. There is a heavy smell of Hyacinth and exotic spices wafting from the halls beyond. Adler is showing their teeth again, their lips red from wine: “Ah but we agreed to so much more, a feast for the body … and the soul.” They gesture you to enter but remain at the entrance. “Stribog is waiting for you.”

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

As Milos passes Adler and crosses the threshold, he sings in a soft but clear voice:

By step and breath, we cross your line 

As guests, not thieves, by ancient sign. 

What’s freely given, we receive, 

And leave you whole when we take our leave.

The Twilight of the Corridor

Referee

You hear Sivka whinnying worriedly behind you as you enter. Your eyes adjust to the twilight of the corridor and you get a glimpse of the Rusalki in their robes of unearthly colours lining the walls and eyeing you with curiosity. They resemble the androgynous Adler only more visibly male or female, with long black hair and blue slanted eyes. You feel warm hands reaching out for you and lightly touching your faces and arms and legs with their fingertips. After you have passed they follow you into a great hall, smoke-filled from a roaring fire and a perfectly round banquet table woven from roots and reeds and chairs of the same make. On an antlered throne sits their master in a robe of ivory rain. You are taken to your seats among Rusalki on both sides of you and far away from each other. Stribog gestures Perilake to join him at the front of the table.

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

As the Knights are herded to their seats, Anastaz finds himself seated beside a particularly lanky, almost spider-like Rusalki. The... man picks up a cord from a strange-looking apparatus on the table, sucks on it for a few seconds, and offers it to the Salt Knight, who waves it away. The Rusalki exhales a cloud of fragrant blue smoke directly into Anastaz's face, and smiles a wide rictus grin before returning to another conversation.

Referee

Heldris, the Rusalki next to you is served a platter from a human slave in gaudy clothes and with candles in his hair. “Broth boiled liver from rare songbirds, a delicacy reserved for special occasions” the Rusalki purrs, her robes the colour of verdigris clouds. When the slave pours wine into her goblet he spills a couple of drops and she slaps him without much force but with a blinding speed. “Foolish creature” she hisses and then she turns around to you smiling. She is young and very beautiful and her skin is unblemished and almost translucent: “I am Vesper. ” Behind her you see the slave scurrying away to bring more wine. ”Few plump folk visit us willingly and even fewer return to tell the tale. How do you like the Thrice-Ninth Kingdom?”

Perilake, a Rusalki approaches Stribog and whispers something in his ears and then steps back. She is older than the chief and her robes are woven from shadows. “Your fame precedes you, Perilake. The knight who sacrificed his golden armour, the father who travelled to Elfland, the man who would do everything to save his son. And now you are riding the King's famous mare." He leans forward. "What do you say Gilded Knight: Trade me the mare and I retrieve your golden armour for you from beyond the twilight.”

Milos, you hear the murmurings around the table, Stribog and Perilake in conversation, Anastaz sharing some kind of pipe with a spindly Fae with long spider-like fingers and the Rusalki on your left side turning away to face Heldris, the one on the other side laughing at something and then focussing his attention back to the delicacies on his plate. You are isolated from your brothers and ignored by the Rusalki. There is movement on the stage in the centre of the round table. The music is about to start again.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

"My armour...." Perilake picks up a fine cup from the table, filigreed leaves of gold and bronze, and studies his reflection in the shining metal for a second. "In this land of twisted reflections, it would indeed be a fine thing to wear my own skin, my own name." He sets it down carefully on the table, and tosses his mane of silvery-gold back with a dismissive smile. "But you know my answer, I am sure. The armour is mine now, but it was a gift from another. I do not accept such things lightly, and I do not spend them or bargain them lightly. Much like the horse." His warmth drains briefly, a glint of murderous fury beneath the rekindled charm and courtly manners. "You know the only deal that would truly tempt me. But you do not hold what I desire, do you?" He takes a long drink of the sweet, rich wine, and his seeming of good cheer is restored by the time the cup returns to the table. "Still, we can make a bargain of sorts. You tell me of Sivka, and her fame." He nods toward Anastasz. "And I will tell you how Elves die."

Stribog briefly contemplating to strike down Ser Perilake for his insolence

Sir Heldris the Dove Knight

Heldris frowns at Vesper’s rudeness toward the servant. “I found a harsh and inhospitable land thus far,” he replies. “I would hope to find less harshness in its inhabitants…” He observes the dish in front of him, and although put off by its introduction, its smell is soft and delicate. He tries a spoonful and his mouth is swarmed by a complex taste, rich and spiced and elegant. He meets the servant’s eye and, making sure to be seen by the Rusalki, he thanks them with a kind bow of the head. "Tell me, Vesper, how come humans are here in your service, displaced from their own world?"

Referee

She nods in agreement. “Yes, it is harsh … in winter! But you should see it in spring when the meadows bloom or in harvest, golden and decaying.” She follows your gaze at the slave pouring wine for Sir Milos. “Some are stolen from your Realm, some are saved from freezing." She adds casually, "well ... the ones too weak to be hunted.“ She points with her cup at a young human man on the stage, his eyes closed and a flute at his lips. ”This one made a bargain. He came here willingly to serve and to learn."

Perilake, Stribog looks at you incredulously for a moment and then he laughs “I like your boldness. Your kind is often too scared to be bold or too foolish to be taken seriously and you are not scared ... but you will find us difficult to kill.” He is as slender as Adler but even taller. He leans back again and closes his eyes, swirling the wine with his many-ringed hand. ”Aah Sivka ... wiser than most Rusalki witches, braver than our warriors and as swift as a hunting hawk - she saved the King more times than you can count on your fingers.” He opens his eyes and licks his lips. “ … but there are old … traditions. Rituals to bring in the new age that include sacrifices of that which is holy and pure. What do you want in exchange for the King's mare?”

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

"Surely your kind is not so blind that the question even needs asking?" He laughs. "Even the most scared or foolish peasant would know the answer. Perhaps you do not even know what you are lacking." Perilake's tone is light, seemingly amused. Even the implied insult seems complimentary behind the smile. "My son, safe and home with his mother. That is the only exchange I look for."

Referee

Stribog eyes glint and he smiles coldly. “I am bound by traditions and my honour as your Hospodar to protect you as long as you are a guest in my halls… but I will not suffer the insolence of a fool.” He makes a sweeping gesture at the assembled Rusalki and growls. “Sometimes my people become restless, they yearn to indulge in the great hunt.” He looks at you with narrowed eyes. “But … we are also a forgiving and patient race when dealing with the slow travellers. I will deliberate with my Lord and he will have to decide if your demands can be met. But for now let's forget about politics and enjoy the Feast.” He claps his hand and shouts. “Play us a measure!”

Anastaz, a beautiful young Rusalki in a dress the colour of a glittering aurora grabs your hands and tries to pull you up with surprising strength. “Would it please you to tread a round, valiant Knight?”

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

Anastaz allows the Fae to lead him with a grunt of agreement.

Referee

The music starts to swell, the same unearthly sounds you heard before: a slow beating of the drum and the glissando of the harp punctuated with shrill flute whistles, and one after the other the Rusalki get up to form a circle. A singer on the stage calls out and the dancing Fae answer and their singing is wicked and inhuman. The Rusalki in her robes the colour of verdigris clouds asks Heldris and the older woman dressed in shadows who whispered to Stribog extends her hand to Perilake. Only Milos remains seated for now.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

As Milos eats the lavish meal alone, he listens to the carefree laughter of the Rusalki and an old wound deep in his heart is pricked by some cruel thorn. It bleeds anew and a memory of childhood loneliness seeps out with it. A red haired boy, neglected by all around him and left to grow wild, yearning for a playmate and convinced that he must not deserve one. The weight of it threatens to leave Milos vulnerable and in despair. But he is suddenly woken from the reverie by a sharp chill emanating from the ivory ring on his hand. The cold brings clarity to his mind and he remembers himself, he is the Fox Knight and he dines in dangerous company. Milos gleans the nature of the glamour being used against him and rather than resist it, he leans into the magic and amplifies it. If he is to be ignored, he will be so completely. The Fox Knight slips silently from his chair and begins a hunt of his own. He weaves the strands of the enchantment more tightly around himself as he stalks the Rusalki themselves. “I am no one. I am beneath notice” he tells himself as he circulates among the merry makers. And his ears listen attentively to everything he hears, every rustle of the leaves of discontent, every betrayal of true intent in these naturally duplicitous creatures. Always ready to pounce and devour whatever is carelessly left exposed to him.

Referee

The Rusalki dance around you in their baroque circles, pairs holding hands and letting go and being united again by inscrutable patterns, singing and laughing and breathlessly whispering their secrets. You pick up fragments of conversations, rumours of Stribog's pride and desire for an elfin heirloom that might cement his legacy. You hear a name whispered in fear: Perunja, the Weaver, who holds some power over him and that once she has recovered fully she will become the chieftain - of that they are all convinced and they all yearn for spring and tasting the white mare's flesh.

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

As the dance increases in speed, Anastaz realizes the agility necessary to properly participate in the festivities. Locking hands with his partner at one point, he asks. "You are quite adept at this, stranger. For how long have you been a guest in Striborg's court?"

Referee

“I am not a guest” she says breathlessly “I am born here” and smiles at you over her shoulder as you are taken away from her by other dancers taking her place and when you are united again she adds “Who would have thought that I would one day dance with Elfbane, who slew the mighty Season Destroyers and travelled to the Thrice-Ninth Kingdom to kill the Elf.” She laughs, touching your face lightly and is whisked away again. The next time your hands rejoin she asks “Will you become the next Steward of Seasons … “ Her lips touch your ear as she whispers” … and who will be your queen?”

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Milos spies upon the dancers with open interest, standing in plain sight but unnoticed. The musicians play a sweet seductive melody in the Lydian mode, redolent with dreams of long-awaited springtime pleasures. A mischievous smile crosses the Fox Knight’s face as he regards the imperious bearing of the Rusalki lords and ladies. He retrieves his pennywhistle from his pocket, brings it to his lips, and closes his eyes in concentration. At first, he plays delicate notes that weave in an unassuming high counterpoint to the melody. The dance continues unabated and not even the musicians notice the new voice. Then the Fox subtly shifts his playing and the notes become akin to a frozen wind whistling through a high mountain pass. The ivory ring glows softly on his hand as he plays and gently illuminates his face with a ghoulish white light. With clever half-holing and cross-fingering, Milos creates a counter melody in the Locrian mode, dissonant and disturbing, never finding rest or pleasant resolution. It evokes images of a late frost cruelly nipping the tender buds of a naively hopeful spring.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake nods at the Rusalki in her shadow-woven robes, and takes her hand, joining her on the floor. The steps are strange and quick, but such things have always come easily to Perilake. For the first time however, the spring of his steps is not matched in his heart. He rotates through the ball with a measured and precise alacrity, and only his brothers would mark that there is none of the ebullient cheer that graced even the most meager celebration in their youth. As he dances, he enquires of his umbral opposite. "I see Stribog values your whispers and words, my lady." They step around each other, and back again. "Perhaps you can tell me the truth of those I have heard, even from the very birds themselves." "Is it true that Tizra has won the pleasure of his master once more?"

Vesper

Sir Heldris the Dove Knight

The Dove Knight politely accepts the Rusalki’s hand, and joins her in the dance. As her verdigris robes flutter nimbly, he struggles to follow her; his iron arm hanging clumsily on her shoulder. “Tell me,” he says, out of breath, “what can you tell me about the Winter King? No love lost between them and your master, it seems.”

Referee

She looks at you coldly. “We don't love. Love is for the plump folk … we Rusalki desire and crave.” She passes under an arch of outstretched arms and twirls and adds “The Voyvod of a wolf pack is challenged when he is getting old, there is no love for him nor the challenger.” The dance brings you very close together now and she quickly bites your lip still staring at you without sympathy. “ I believe you too enjoy to snap at your foes when they are weak, don't you?” A trickle of blood runs down your chin.

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

The Salt Knight does not seem to react to the ethereal lady's provocations. "It would not be place to dominate your people. There is much still to do in Barowia."

Referee

“You are too modest, Salt Knight. Your cruelty is well known – and valued! - among men and Rusalki both ... they say you even killed your lover, is it true? Besides some of us wouldn't mind to be dominated by a human, better you than the child who ...” but she doesn't finish her thoughts and just smiles with filed teeth.

Milos, to your surprise you realise that one of the musicians has picked up your frosty melody and adds wintery patterns like rigid snowflakes to the Ceilidh dance. When you look at the stage a young human man, playing the flute, chirps a flourish like a quick icy gale that seems to warn and greet you at the same time but he doesn't look up. His hair is long and straight like a fall of dark brown water fashioned in the way of the Rusalki. An angry shrill sound of several pipes from the other flautists try to melt your frost with late spring Fohn and snow eater winds and the young man falls in line with them.

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

Anastaz grimaces. "It is a long story, and not suited for a celebration."

Referee

Perilake, the old Rusalki moves more stiffly than her kind. Her eyes are milky blue by age and for a moment it seems you are looking into Sivka's eyes but without the humour. “Tizra is a fool and the Elf despises the weak.” She curls her lips. “They say he has a new champion now, a talented boy he teaches his craft: Your son, Gilded Knight.” The room around you seems to darken and tendrils of shadows flicker around you. “They say the boy is becoming more Fae every day, wild and bloodthirsty, he killed a bird that refused to obey him.” “Hurry my golden Knight” she hisses, “or it will be too late to save him.” The shadows retreat and a young Rusalki has taken the place of the old one. When you look around she stands next to Stribor again whispering something in his ears.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

Milos takes note of the warning as well as the moment of fellowship. He lowers his instrument and shutters his mischief for the moment. Then the Fox slips away from the centre of the revelry and toward the dark warren of tunnels that lead off of the great hall. He wonders what more he might glean by stealth in this place.

Referee

You grab a candle off the banquet table and follow a narrow, curving hall that is stretching out of sight. After a while you pass under a low arch inscribed with elfin runes and shadows move in the corner of your eye and there is a stillness around you, the unbearable loneliness of being cut off from the beating, breathing world outside. Then two passageways cross and you feel a sense of vertigo like when you spin around and around and suddenly stop and you are questioning which way you came and there are no footprints in the dust of the large natural stones of the floor.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

The Fox Knight slows to a stop at the juncture of the passageways, takes a breath, and gathers his wits. A Fae labyrinth, then. Not a puzzle to be solved by clever turns or careful marks, but an invitation to conversation, and possibly revelation. He begins with a deep bow to the place that holds him. “Well met. I walk without claim and take no path that is not given. Lead me in this dance and I will follow.” Then he closes his eyes and listens to the silence, feels into the stillness. Which direction feels patient? Where does the air feel like it is waiting for him? He senses deeply into the inscrutable stirrings of his body, long attuned to the fancies of the Fae.

Referee

It is utterly silent. Whatever glamour is placed upon the labyrinth silences the music from the great hall and you only hear your own breathing. Nothing moves and the air is cold and still. You feel the wax from the candle drip onto your hand and you welcome the pain as the only anchor that prevents you from losing yourself. The walls seem to despise you, the ceiling wants to crush you and an unconquered fear from your past seeps into your soul.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

From within the silence, Milos hears the unmistakable rasping cough that punctuated his mother’s last days in this world. His heart constricts with pain at a child’s memory of seemingly endless days at her deathbed. Helplessness and despair threaten to overwhelm him. But from somewhere else inside him arises his mother’s voice singing him a time-worn lullaby. A sweet golden light warms his chest and melts the grip of the terrible memory. As he regains his senses, the Fox Knight's mouth tightens in anger at the unprovoked cruelty of the assault and his green eyes harden with resolve. "If you do not answer courtesy, then I will not offer it." He turns and follows the passageway to the left. As he walks, he runs his left hand along the wall, never breaking contact with it. And he sings the ancient lullaby aloud, in open defiance of the malice emanating from the labyrinth walls. Daring it to challenge him directly.

Sir Heldris the Dove Knight

Suddenly, the Dove Knight’s head starts to spin. At first, he thinks the fast paced dance and the wine are getting to his head, but he soon notices a strange feeling of loneliness and abandonment lurking underneath his physical discomfort. “The Fox... trapped…” he mumbles an excuse to Vesper, and moves away from the dance and toward the mouth of a dark tunnel. “Sir Milos!” His voice echoes slowly, unnaturally, throughout the eerie darkness.

A narrow, curving Hall

Referee

You stumble through a group of dancers who turn their heads as you pass, the taste of your own blood on your lips and you call for your brother, the shrill pipes and unearthly choir in your ears. The Rusalki start whispering to each other.

Milos, over the sweet lullaby you sing, you hear a faint calling of your name, stronger than the glamour put upon you. You sense the alien nature of the corridors around you, thousands of years of woven spells and cruelty from deeper within the labyrinth. It might hold ancient wisdom and riches but it won't give it away freely.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

The Fox harkens to the sound of his name drifting across the black void. He recognizes the voice of his dear comrade and catches the familiar musky scent of wolf on the air. His spirit warms in response to the call and turns toward it, following the lingering scent and the soft echo like Ariadne’s thread to guide him out of this forsaken place.

Somewhere along the endless path of twisting turns, the candle burns its last and Milos continues on through the darkness led only by the Dove Knight's call. Then finally he sees his comrade at the end of a tunnel as if he is looking down a deep well. The Fox quickens his pace and stumbles through the carved archway into Heldris' arms. Holding him in a fierce embrace, he says "You have again saved me when I was most lost." Then he turns and spits at the base of the archway and utters a curse: "You are corrupt and without courtesy. May you never enjoy commerce with another being and rot in your own malice forever." With an exhausted sigh, he leans on his friend and looks out toward the continuing festivities. "Come, I crave the warmth of your noble companionship, and something strong to drink."

Referee

You return to the banquet and taste the spiced wine and watch the dancers. In the course of the night the music becomes stranger, the droning of bone shaking horns resonates with the sound of pipes and drums and cries of the Wild Fae. Ever wilder they dance, Stribog in their midst, laughing and singing and sparks flying from his eyes, while the Lady of Shadows watches silently from the throne. Ever higher they leap and one after the other approaches and urges you to dance with them, pleading and touching your hands and faces and whispering promises they don't intend to keep and their eyes shine from pure bliss.

Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight

Perilake finds the music and the dancing not to his tastes, though the food is fine enough. But the true feast this evening has been intelligence. As the festivities continue, he passes Zoltan, engaged in a tryst with two Rusalki youths. He pauses a moment to observe, and judges that the pigeon knights revelries are for their own sake, not some ploy by these Rusalki. Perilake then makes his way to Sivkas stable. In the dark quiet, he whispers what he has learned to the Winter Kings Steed...

Sir Heldris the Dove Knight

After the Fox Knight reappears from the dark corridor, the Dove Knight feels too tired to dance. He sits at the table with his comrade and observes the dancing and the plotting that is going around the hall, sipping some sweet fortified wine. After a while, he longs for some fresh air, and steps outside to watch the strange firmament that shine over Elfland. A longing for home replaces that of fresh air, and his thoughts go to his dear Hedwig and young Annegrit, he wonders how well she fares in the service of Lady Gundhilde.

Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight

As the festivities wind down in the wee hours of the morning, the Salt Knight finds himself before a roaring fire, recounting the tale of his duel with the Iron Knight to a small group of Rusalki. The crowd seems evenly divided between those disappointed at Anastaz's lack of open bloodthirst and those - including his erstwhile dance partner - delighted by the ironic turn of events and the fickle nature of fate.

Referee

The Brothers of the Black Fleece meet at the open hearth, Zoltan, Perilake, Heldris and Anastaz and talk for a while and fall asleep one after the other under wolf pelts.

It must be close to dawn when the last dancers slip to the ground and only the sound of a lone flute can be heard playing a simple shepherd's song that feels like a cool breeze after the feverish night.

Sir Milos, the Fox Knight

At first, Milos stays close to Heldris in quiet conversation but when the Dove Knight excuses himself to go out for some air, the Fox ventures out onto the dance floor with a colorful series of Rusalki partners - male and female, transitioning easily between leading to following. As the night wears on, the Rusaliki seem less intent on intrigue and more abandoned in their own merriment. As the first hint of dawn approaches, Milos reclines satiated by the feast and the evening's strange dances, complicated ballets of both body and mind. He listens to the flautist's tune and feels relief in its simple humanity, so unlike the baroque convolutions of the Fae. The Fox Knight clambers delicately across the spent bodies of the Rusalki and makes his way next to the lone flautist. He pulls out his pennywhistle again and plays some delicate notes in a plaintive harmony high above the shepherd's song. After the last note fades in the quiet hall, he smiles warmly at the young man, in thanks for the musical fellowship they have shared this night. Then with outstretched hand, offers invitation to something more...

A dream

Sir Anastaz, the Salt Knight, dreams his favourite memory of childhood

but when he wakes up

he can't remember what he dreamt

and he will never have that dream again.