Start the book with Crea and Malcolm. They are now in Land’s End. Malcolm picks a fight with his superiors when he realizes they aren’t going to do anything about Solveny and gets kicked out of the service. He doesn’t care. He’s all too happy to leave and start a proper life with Crea—only when he gets outside, she’s gone.

Next, Crea meets Tahoran, and also Celesi, Andrus, and Meu.

The siege of High Plains needs to happen early. Many of the refugees go north, into Pulbouge lands.

Krumpus, Creigal, Carringten, Scurra, Roustich, Elpis, Toar, Maligno

Wrote 3.1 — 32m18s — 2023/05/25

Polished and extended 3.1 — 23m56s — 2023/06/16

Krumpus had little interest in watching Homoth and Baet try to kill each other. He liked both the men and wished they could resolve their differences, but Homoth would not be dissuaded. Creigal also felt it was best if he was gone before the fight was resolved, so they finished packing the horses, and rode north.

In all, there were thirty odd members of the small caravan heading to Melmorahn—though some were going to other destinations along the way—but over a dozen were determined to see the blight with Creigal, Carringten, and Toar. Roustich and Elpis were resolute. They wanted to see the haunted land for themselves, along with eight or nine more that joined them shortly before leaving Azra’s lands. Krumpus joined them, but he was only going as far as Melmorahn. He ambivalent about the blight. He simply wanted to see that the people were cured of the distress. Scurra still attended her brother, mostly because she had a new nephew in the city that she’d never met, which was half the reason Sephonie was so upset with her brother.

Initially, Creigal expected they would simply travel through the foreign lands of the Trohl. He expected there would be no more men to join their party—but the Jindleyak had other ideas. Any number of strangers rode with them a ways, asking if they really meant to go into the blight. By the end of the first day, there was another dozen men that had joined him, and the second saw their number swell to fifty.

By the time they reached Melmorahn, a small army of several thousand men have followed the duke.

In one of the villages of the Untu, a wise man confronts the duke and asked to see the one that was coerced to join them. At first, Creigal is unsure just who the man is speaking of, since all are there of their own accord—but Toar reminds him of Maligno, the naga that’s been left to Toar’s care. This wise man buys the captive off Creigal and releases him, then askes the beast to join them.

As they are traveling, Toar complains to Elpis that he can barely see out of his right eye—then turns to Elpis and remembers that one of his eyes is constantly staring off in another direction. He askes Elpis if he can see straight out of both his eyes. Elpis says no. That although he sees out of both eyes, one is inevitably staring off at some strange angle. He tells Toar that this has ruined his focus and tends to give him headaches—but as he gets used to it, the headaches are less frequent and less severe.

Krumpus wards off the mandingoes. Then comes the battle with the elementals. After that, he duels the walker-and-talker.

What purpose does Maligno serve?

Crea, Malcolm, Tahoran, Methys, Andrus, Celesi, Meu

Polished 1.1 and 1.2. Created 1.3 — 1h19m23s — 2023/04/08

After growing up on her farm and only going among a few local villages, Crea used to think that Solveny was crowded—but that old town was dwarfed by Land’s End which seemed to go on and on forever. The city walls didn’t appear until they’d walked at least an hour among houses and buildings all crammed together.

Malcolm has been to Land’s End before. He knows just where to find the Keep of the Post.

Malcolm talked incessantly about how he and Crea would find a place here, that they would get married and have babies together. They were about to make a fine new start with nothing but milk and honey before them! He went into the keep of the Silver Service with nothing but optimism in his heart.

Inside, Malcolm quits when he’s told to ignore the war. Oh, well. At least he still has Crea.

Or so he told it. Crea had her doubts. Indeed, she wanted nothing to do with Malcolm’s fantasy future, and so when Malcolm went into the keep of the Silver Service, quite sure that she would be there when he was finished, Crea turned immediately and left without even saying goodbye. She felt guilty for this. She was very welcome for Malcolm’s company as they’d marched across the endless prairie of the noeth. How much worse would it have been without him? But she did not want to stay with the boy, nor did she have any interest in telling him that his fancy was not reciprocated—and so she waited until he was occupied—then simply walked away.

But where would she go?

Crea considered her options as she stared at the fantastic buildings all around her. She knew she would not stay in Land’s End. She thought that maybe she should go to High Plains after all, but her heart wasn’t in it—and so she wandered the city aimlessly, as the day carried on. As she considered her direction, Crea made her way across a lush green park. She felt she should leave the city and go anywhere—but simply wandered instead. She had no interest in going, just as she had no interest in staying. She walked, stopped, turned, started again—only to go a block or two before she turned again and went a different way altogether. She cut across major roads, dipped through alleys, doubled back in parks. She never considered that anyone might be watching, that anyone might have noticed the contrast between her rough and dirty clothes and the fancy falchion she wore on her hip.

With a pastry in hand, she cut into an alley, only to realize that three men wearing the uniform of the local watch had followed her. Crea continued through the thin alley as it turned and divided, only to find herself at a dead end. With a huff, she turned to find herself cornered by the three watchmen, and immediately realized her predicament. In her previous life, she might not have feared men in uniform, but now she saw passed their neat clothes and observed their murky hearts. Deciding that she would rather die than have another man take advantage, she drew her falchion and snapped at her confronters. “Get back, or I’ll gut you!”

The first one tsked as he took a step forward. “Now that’s no way to talk to the watch, missy.”

“Keep up that kind of behavior and perhaps we won’t treat you so nice,” the second one added.

“Now put down the sword and behave as we say,” the third ordered. “Otherwise you’ll force us to be unpleasant.”

“I’ve done nothing and you have no reason to stop me,” she replied. “Come close and I’ll prove your folly!” she glared.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 1.2 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Cleaning the stables was never so terrible, mostly because Horsewind never let it get that bad. At the very least, mucking the stables was an opportunity to clear his head, to try make sense of the things he’d seen and heard, and generally a chance to exercise his demons with some honest labor. The honest work certainly didn’t hurt. There wasn’t much physical about his true purpose—and even less that was honest—so shoveling shit kept him in shape both physically and mentally, and it didn’t hurt that the smell of it kept others from getting too close.

Today Horsewind was troubled. He leaned into each shovel of manure and thought of the strange news he was hearing about Solveny. There were rumors that some of the invaders wore Gaur uniforms, implicating his true master in a great and terrible crime. His latest report home included a dire warning, one that he hoped wasn’t too late.

It wasn’t long before Horsewind had mucked the last stall. Now the cart needed to be taken to the lot next to the mill, where the manure would be mixed with chips and dust, then left to rot until winter; when it would be spread over the duke’s gardens as a fine fertilizer.

But that was work for other hands.

“Tahoran!” a small porter called into the stables.

Horsewind grumbled as he often did when someone used his proper name—but the porter was trained always to do so. Despite the insult, he preferred the nickname—even encouraged it—since it’s use made him seem stupid and weak. He wanted others to see him as anything but a threat—anything but what he really was.

“Hey,” the porter smiled as he saw the kind and simple man. “Deneroe wants you to stop by the blacksmith and pick up a shipment of shoes and such.”

Horsewind scratched his head and acted like it took a bit of thought to come up with anything. “Tackle by Ternce?”

“That’s the one,” the boy answered with a smile.

Horsewind scratched a thumb of shit into his hair. “I know it,” he said with a nod.

“Deneroe said to make sure you clean the cart out real good, before you load it,” the porter stammered as a way of apology. “It ain’t just the usual shoes and tack this time.”

“What is it?”

“Weapons,” the boy whispered, with wide nervous eyes.

“Oh…” Horsewind said with a slow appreciative nod. “Don’t you worry, young master. I’ll take special care for you. I’ll stop by the well and throw a couple buckets once I unload,” he smiled. “Gotta keep the soldiers smelling clean!” he smiled. He liked the boy as the child often went out of his way not to give offense—which wasn’t like many in the castle. Most were all too willing to insult a lowly stable worker. It showed the true character of the masters—but also made it easy to get a position in their service—which is just what a good spy wants.

Speaking of spying, an extra load of weapons was a thing he found to be rather interesting. There’d been a steady increase in military preparation—even before Solveny—as if the Dunkels knew what would happen.

Horsewind thought he’d have plenty of time to think it over, but he was barely a block from the castle walls when he saw the most incredible thing, a young lady with a very intriguing sword on her hip, one that looked rather fine for such a dust-covered woman. Indeed, she was more surprising than the three young soldiers that followed at a distance as she stepped into an alleyway that he knew for a fact took two turns before ending. against several high walls.

Normally, Horsewind wouldn’t bother with a bunch of ruffians in uniform picking on some tart, no matter how undeserving it all might be. He had a job to do, and he wasn’t in the habit of playing small-time hero when it might jeopardize his real work. But the falchion at her hip was of fine and specific crafting, a weapon he’d seen quite often in the hands of another, in the hands of it’s proper master, Duke Creigal berDuvante. He paused and considered being brash. Perhaps it was time to burn his cover and return home.

Tahoran picked his shovel off the mounded manure and stepped into the alley. He came around the corner to find that two guards had her by her arms, and a third was inspecting the weapon. “Leave her alone!” he barked.

Alarmed, the soldiers turned and stared at Tahoran, though they all relaxed when they saw who was there. “Horsewind!” One of them scoffed. “Piss off, before you anger us!”

The other two snorted and turned back to the girl, unconcerned by the simpleton.

“Go on!” the first soldier called, a tall and well muscled youth. “Leave your betters to their sport!” he stood, arms akimbo.

Tahoran stared back at the man as he leaned on his shovel.

“I said, git!” The soldier snapped, then swaggered toward Tahoran. He tried to grab the old man—and only when the youth was about to touch him, did Tahoran move—then he moved so fast the youth was uncertain exactly what had happened. He was simply back on his ass, his face stinging, as he cried out in pain.

The other two soldiers turned from the cornered girl and stared at the older man, who was suddenly the greater threat, despite only having a shovel. “Did he just…?” One of them asked the other.

“I said leave her alone,” Tahoran repeated. “If you turn and go, no one gets hurt.”

“We ain’t the ones about to get hurt,” the second soldier stated. He stalked down alley with his friend behind him. He pulled a dagger and waved it at the stableman. “This don’t concern you!”

The first soldier started to get up, but stopped when Tahoran put the shovel to his chest. “Stay down, or I’ll really put a hurtin’ to you,” he said as he glared at the advancing toughs. They were pinched in by the walls of the alley and had to approach one at a time.

The second soldier pulled his sword and rushed the stable sweep. Tahoran dodged, then parried the second swing with the handle of his shovel. He spun and speared the second man in the chest with the tip of the spade, then caught the third with the flat of the shovel against his face—maybe a touch harder than he planned. The second soldier staggered back and the third crumbled altogether.

Tahoran stepped past them so he was now between the woman and the soldiers. “Go on, now!” he said as he brandished the shovel. “Git yourselves!” He kicked at the first one still on the ground.

The soldiers collected themselves and hobbled from the alley as they stared bloody murder at the stable sweep.

Tahoran turned to the woman. She had the falchoin in hand and was threatening to use it. “You better leave me alone!” she shrieked.

Tahoran stared at the girl as he leaned on his shovel. “Those boys won’t be gone for long, and when they come back, there’ll be more than you and me combined can handle. So although I need you to tell me about that fancy weapon of yours, first I’d like to get you somewhere safe, where we’re likely to have less trouble,” he stated.

“Or maybe you should just leave me alone before I’m forced to use this on you,” she replied.

Her threats didn’t phase the spy in the least. “Those three cornered you without even going to their weapons. They pulled them on me and I still beat their asses,” he noted. “If we start fighting, do you really think you have a chance?”

The young lady lowered the blade.

Tahoran smiled. “On the plus side, I’m not out for a cheap thrill like those ruffians. I just want to know about that sword.”

“Why do you care?” she asked.

“Because that sword belongs to my master,” Tahoran told her.

That got the lady’s heckles up. She raised the sword, her eyes mere slits.

Tahoran cocked his head. “You take issue with it’s owner,” he noted. “And what did my master do to offend you so?”

“He tried to rape me,” she glared.

With a heavy sigh, he took a step forward—and before Crea could do anything about it, he was inside her guard. He grabbed the hilt of the weapon and twisted it out of her hand.

“Ow!” she cried as she let go of the sword. She leaned heavily against the wall, dejected and miserable, as tears came to her eyes.

“I apologize, but that could not have been my master,” he told her. “Let’s go, before trouble returns. You can tell me your story as we go, after which I will give you back this sword, if only you tell me the truth.”

“And why should I trust you?”

“Because the owner of this sword is an old and gentle spirit that would never force a young woman,” he said. “If you took this from someone that meant to rape you, then you took it from someone that took it from my master, and I would know of this man.”

“He was older than I. Maybe thirty turns,” Crea replied.

Tahoran stared into her soul with a grim expression. He gave a nod, then held the sword out to her. “Wrap it in your cloak,” he said. “It stands out against your rags.”

Surprised, Crea took the weapon, sheathed it, and wrapped it in the dingy folds of her cloak.

“Good. Now, if you’ll follow me, we’ll go somewhere safe and have us a talk, like civilized people. No waving weapons around and all that horseplay. He smiled and held out a hand. “I’m Tahoran.”

“Crea,” she told him and put her hand in his.

“Well, Crea. Let’s get off these streets,” he kept her hand, turned, and pulled her down the alley. He threw the shovel in the cart, then left it, which surprised Crea.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 1.3 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Crea could tell the woman was staring at her.

“Who is this?” she asked—though she asked it of Tahoran—as she tapped her foot and glared.

“Leave it alone,” he said as he stepped by.

“You have visitors,” the older woman replied. “I hate when you have visitors.”

With a huff, Tahoran stopped and turned. “This is Crea,” Tahoran said of his charge. “Crea, this Methys.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Methys said in a crisp manner that made it plain it was not a pleasure whatsoever. “You have another visitor—and she’s prettier than this one!” she glared.

“I do not choose those that wish to call on me,” Tahoran stated.

“I know,” Methys took a step back. “You say not to ask questions—but your making it very difficult!” she snapped.

“And this lady—”Tahoran began.

“She’s barely more than a girl!” Methys cut in.

Tahoran turned and stepped to the door. “Come inside, Methys. I have work for you—and they compensation will be as good as it always is,” he noted.

At first, Crea was insulted that Methys should say someone else was prettier—but when she entered the room, she understood not only why someone would say something so rude, she also understood why it would be only thing noted about a person. The girl that sat before her was absolutely radiant, her beauty magnified by a most incredible bird perched upon her shoulder!

“What is that?!” Crea asked of the creature.

“That is Andrus,” the beauty stood and answered with a smile. “I am Celesi,” she held out a hand. “I come seeking a man named Tahoran. Do you know him?”

“I know him,” said Tahoran. “Is this a matter of politics?”

Celesi shook her head, “politics are none of business.”

“How do you feel about religion?” he asked.

"I feel a lot,” Celesi smiled.

“Then how will you proceed?” he continued.

“I will do harm, and I will take no shit,” the young woman stated.

“And is our duke now hiring children to run his messages?”

Celesi blinked.

Tahoran smiled and shook his head, “Don’t fret, child. That last question is one of my own. I do not mean to insult you. If you come from the duke, it is because you are capable; and if you keep friends with a phoenix, well, I shall certainly not worry about your safety.”

“Quite right,” Celesi smiled. “These are for you,” she gave him a small stack of letters, the top one addressed to him. He noted the seal of his duke as he peeled it open.