Ghosts of the Past

[Bynw]

Feyd watches the approaching towns people with a bit of a laugh. "I think you were spotted while you were dangling for your life." He says to Washburn knowing that Wash can't do anything about it. "It is high time to remind them about the troll and this place is haunted."

[Laurna]

Eleven men stood shoulder to shoulder on the outcropping of rock which had long ago supported the bridge to the south transept.  The climb had been easy for most, Remy and Egon going up first; the captain and John taking both ladders last, equally going slow to lift their sore knees up each rundel. When Captain Stev reached the rock ledge, he noted not one of the group ventured close to the ruins wall. The South Transept was the only opening on this side of the ruins.  Even so, there were numerous scattered stones that needed to be traversed to climb through the opening. The light from the flame of their torches did not seem to penetrate the blackness that oozed out of the empty space.

"Why is the moon not up yet," mumble Wiley.

"Won't be up until round midnight," Matt said with a clap to his friend's shoulders. "And I ain't waiting around here that long." Determined Matt and Wiley nodded to each other in silent agreement. They hefted their torches high and took the first steps to wade across the rubble strewn entrance.

"Kind of a creepy feeling wouldn't you say?" Wiley joked to his friend (2d6 = 5, 5).

"You just thinking of the troubadour's stories, that one about the spiders of Derbyshire," Matt teased with a laugh (2d6 = 5, 6). "Come on, we've climbed through these ruins as kids many a year ago."

"In the daylight," Wiley remarked.

The guard Egan moved out with the two friends, "Wait for me to come with you, I have my sword, just in case you stumble on a rats nest-- ah-- or a spiders," he added nervously as he entered the ruins (2d6 = 5, 4). He concentrated on what was ahead and was relieved the anxiousness left him as he joined Matt and Wiley.

The guard Hamish quoted an old king as he hurried after Egan, "Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our Gwynedd dead." Raising his torch high in one hand and hefting his sword up in the other, he conquered the breech(2d6 = 4, 6). Then not willing to claim he felt any uneasiness,  he turned to taunt his fellow guardsman, "Andrew! Come man, what is your hold up?"

Andrew never liked night watch, he was always a man of the rising sun. "This place speaks ill to me with evil intent, I should be sleeping for the march South at first light. Remind me again why I volunteered for this?"

"Didn't you say, you wanted to be a hero." Hamish goaded.

Andrew smirked. "No, I believe you said you wanted to be the hero." Andrew squared his shoulders. "I am here because a man needs our help, matters not to me, he be the duke's brother. He needs help. I intend..." Andrew stepped over a stone finding himself in the middle of the archway(2d6 = 1,1) . A bolt of cold evil zapped through his feet and up his spine. Several screams echoed from the dark space ahead of him, they weren't his. He pushed his torch out waving it left to right. Before him four men struggled in cocoons of webbing.  Their bodies being turned round and round by great hind legs of giant spiders, the men's screams going muffled and quiet as the last spider's webbing encased them fully. Done with the four, the spiders turned their beady red eyes upon the Droghera guard.  This time the scream "No!" was Andrew's as a spider attacked him and he was pushed down against the broken stone to be wrapped up too.

Men from all sides came toward Andrew, none understanding what had seized the guard and taken him down. Hamish on one side and Remy jumped through the archway (2d6= 2,5) to support the other side, both hefted Andrew off the ground. But they could not hold him. "Let me go, let me go! Tis evil, tis not but evil here!" Before anyone could stop him, Andrew bolted back toward the ladder. The captain reached out a restraining hand to stop his guardsman. Andrew's fist went wild, all he saw were spiders at his back. His fist hit the captain square in Stev's good eye (Captain 2d6 = 3,3 ) blinding Stev with all but shooting stars that filed his vision.  Andrew scurried down the rungs of the ladder and was gone.

Wiley, Matt, Egan and Hamish thought they understood what had happened. But none of them was willing to step back through the archway to stop Andrew. The four remaining men at the outer wall: Uncle John, Cletus, Roy and Jeb, assisted the captain to sit against the nearest stone. "Damn! I really can't see much." Stev moaned. "I can't go on just now, give me a minute or two. You men go in find a way to save Sir Washburn. You must find a way!"

"We will do that, Captain," Uncle John said. He took one last look over his shoulder to see that three torches stood back near the road, his boys were safe, and that one more torch was waiving its way through the reeds to get back there too. John then turned back and took Cletus by the arm. The two bravely entered the south transept archway ( 2d6 +6, 4 and 2d6 = 1,5 respectively) they shivered, but they closed their eyes and breathed heavily allowing them to reach the inner first room.

Roy and Jeb held back, each hesitating, each heartbeat building fear, wondering what Andrew had seen. Guards don't normally clobber their captain.  The black smith with his sword and the church deacon with his candlestick took tentative steps forward (Roy  2d6 = 4, 3) (Jeb 2d6 = 3, 3). What ever covered the transept it was like walking into a thick series of webs. It stuck to them and slowed their steps. Sets of Four red eyes set in hairy black bodies on eight spindly legs crawled down from the archway above them.  Roy's sword swung at the creature over his head. It lunged at him and entangled his feet as he fell backwards. He slashed the cobwebs, cut himself loose, and he stabbed at the beast who made another lunge. He caught the beast in an eye, yet more spiders came on.  This was Roy's second injury, it was enough for him. As he freed himself and scrambled away he yelled, "I'm done!" and he charged away, to disappeared down the ladder, too.

Jeb hated spiders! He was always having to sweep them out of the church bell tower. These spiders here who turned on him were the largest he had ever seen, near as large as a man. Only nightmares could make them so big.  Fear filled instinct took over his actions. He lit his candlestick with a wave of his hand: something his grandma had taught him to do long ago.  He raised the flame to the cob-webbing, starting it burning freeing himself of this entrapment. A desperate plunge of the candlestick into his tormentor's evil eyes, and he was able to pulled away. Jeb nearly too ran to the ladders but he saw the captain sitting there, blind and unprotected.  As yet Jeb had no injury, he had made it through the causeway unharmed (had rolled 1d6=6  and 1d6 =6). Knowing he couldn't tolerate what ever it was that lay upon the transect and he could not leave the Captain alone, thus, Jeb took up guard duty before Stev, keeping his candlestick between them and whatever evil lay there.   

((Congratulations to Wiley, Matt, Remy, Hamish, Cletus, John, and Egan for making it through Feyd's first Ward, the Spider Ward. The seven men will continue on.  Please make three new rolls.  2d6 (this one will not lose you hit points if you don't succeed- unless you roll 1,1,(don't roll 1,1) Then roll 2d6 (failure on this roll has consequences). Whether the last was a Fail or a Success, please continue to roll 1d6. Please PM me your results with your character's name. Thank you, I am enjoying what you all roll and adapting those rolls to the story. (Just know, I am following plans given to me by Feyd, so yes they are tough.) So that is: !roll 2d6    !roll 2d6    !roll 1d6.))

[Laurna]

They were seven, a full half of their number had fallen behind.  Egan and Hamish made eye contact across the ruin's open room. Both were of equal rank in the Droghera guard, yet Egan had more years, so Hamish nodded for Egan to take the lead.

"We're here, but we're still not where we need to be." Egan announced. Six faces behind six flickering torches all looked his way. "There is a man being held against his will up in the old bell tower on the west side. We have to find our way through all this rubble, through the nave, and to that tower. The lower half of the tower still stands so he will be somewhere in the middle of it.  On the way in, we saw no evidence that any one rode out from this place, so I am thinking the nobleman is still in there. Sense we have gotten no resistance so fare, I'll bet he was stashed there for hiding until a ransom can be made. Most likely he is injured and he can't climb out himself. So let's find our way out of here and over to that tower."

"In all this rubble? How we gonna even get out of here?" Cletus remarked looking about him. He was standing precariously on an overturned stone, the tines of his pitchfork were balanced into the cracks between the stones.

"It weren't that many years ago that me and Wiley crawled through here. Should be a passage like tunnel out of this room," declared Matt.

Only Wiley was quick to add under his breath. "I recall you wouldn't go into that tunnel, back then."

Matt ignored his friend. "I think it was over here somewhere."

Matt held his torch out before him and climbed over the rubble to the far side where a wall still stood strong and tall. "I swear it was along this wall..." he said moving the flame right, then left.

Egan didn't have much faith in Matt's memory. "Spread out! Find us a passage out of this room."

The backsides of the Droghera men could be seen as the torches all moved in different directions. Several minutes passed before two of their number disappeared together from view in the distant corner.

Egan was about to call out when Hamish ((!roll 2d6   5, 6 == 11)) reappeared. "We found it. And boy is it dark in there."

Matt ((5+6 = 11)) reappeared right behind Hamish looking over at Wiley. "Told you, I knew where it was."

Wiley ((!roll 2d6   6, 4 == 10)) only laughed "Yay, you did, but have you entered into it yet?" he goaded his friend.

"You two are as bad as my boys, " John ((!roll 2d6   1, 5 == 6)) said coming up behind Wiley. The four men ((the four successful rolls go first)) disappeared behind a wall leaving Cletus, Remy and Egan rushing to catch up. ((Tis fortunate that no one rolled 1,1. The trap in the rubble was not activated)).

Matt(( 2d6 5+6 = 11)) being brave, proving he was better than his friend remembered him in their childhood, forged his way into the dark tunnel. It had likely been a hallway to the sacristy and was the only part of the ruins where the stone roof still held over head. A faint dimness of dark sky could be seen in the upper far corner where the wall and roof had crumbled away. It looked like they were gonna have to climb out of this tunnel when they got there.

"What is that smell?" Matt called when he had gotten several steps into the blackness. "Lordy are those human bones?" he waved his torch at the floor. A scatter of long bones, ribs and skulls were crunching under his boots. Wiley(( 2d6   4, 6 == 10)) rushed up to his friend, stopped cold in his tracks. "I swear that Troll's been here. Gad what a smell." The two men hesitant both thinking the worst, thinking that Troll might come back at any instant. Hamish((2d6   6, 3 == 9)) came up behind them and pushed them forward, "Don't stop, you idiots, move on." As the two young men were forced to move up, the smell dissipated and the floor suddenly cleared.

"Those aren't skulls!  We are idiots! It's just a few rocks." Matt said patting his friends back with a laugh. Then the friends both walked out to the collapsed end of the tunnel more confidently. Behind them Hamish followed, shaking off the feeling that the Mayor of Droghera had somehow judged  him of some misbegotten crime and sentenced him to spend time in the dungeon.

Raft's uncle John ((2d6   2, 6 == ) stepped through the tunnel next. Half way in, he was engulfed in flame. He screamed and jumped forward banging into Hamish who yelled,  "Watch it, man!"

John leaned up against the wall breathing hard. For a second there he had been back in his burning home, that had been five years ago, when he had lost his wife and daughter. Unbidden tears filled his eyes. "I should be back with my son and nephew," he cried.

Hamish looked over at the farmer, a hand of remorse touched the older man's arm. "Your boys are fine." he said sympathetically.  "Your a good man, John, come ahead." John nodded, he walked down the tunnel, but at a much slower pace.

Remy ((2d6  1, 6 == 7)) hit the middle of the tunnel at a fast pace. His momentum carried him passed a dungeon cell and a Deryni mind entangling that mind into his. Then the oppressive presence was gone and he was himself again, successfully shaking off the dread of that not quite remembered memory.

The clap of a pitchfork handle hit the stone with every step came forward next.  Cletus ((2d6  2, 5 == 7)) stopped square in the middle of the tunnel. "Ma' what in tarnations hell are you doing here!" A big buxom woman stepped out of the darkness a twitch in her hand. His banshee of a mother was yelling at him again to clean the cesspit. "I done did it!" he yelled back. "Why don't you go look in it and see for yourself." Never had he been brave enough to say that to his mama before. When she howled at him again like a true banshee. He shoved his pitchfork forward, knowing it had to be a ghost he be seeing. 

"Hay! Watch who your hitting with that thing!" Remy grabbed the tines of the weapon and pulled it up, pulling Cletus forward with it.

"I'll get that banshee ghost, you mark my words," Cletus announced, moving with Remy down the tunnel.

The Droghera guard came into the tunnel last, determined to see this quest completed. The others were ahead of him and he was thinking of nothing but the glory of saving that fine young knight. Then suddenly lying there at Egan's feet ((!roll 2d6  2, 2 == 4)) was Sir Washburn dying on the stone floor. Blood gushed out of rents in the warrior's chain-mail. "You'll need to repair my armor again," the knight laughed between coughs of blood. "Not your fault you were late.." The man convulsed on the floor and then lay still. With his last dying breath he said,  "Tell the king it was not your fault."

Egan bent down to pull at the dead bloodied body. "No!" he yelled in anguish. "All for not, all for not!" Terrified the failure was all on him, forgetting that anyone else was here. He ran back through the entrance out through the spider maze and down the ladder. To stop there and sob between the cliff side and the causeway. It would take days for him to be convinced it hadn't been real.

((Thus six men got passed Feyd's second ward of greatest fears.))

[Bynw]

Feyd turns his attentions to the sleeping Washburn. "Wake up", he gives him the verbal command that triggers the controls that are well established. "It is past dusk already and we should be going." He makes no mentions of those men climbing through narrow passage way beneth him. Most will either die or flee in panic before they reach this landing. And by that time, he and Washburn will be gone.

Washburn rises, the man is fully aware of what is happening and might even be able to hear the climbers but his body does not respond to his own thoughts. He a puppet of the Scholar. Helpless he follows the commands and signals given to him by Feyd.

Feyd has Washburn stand motionless next to him as the Deryni mage waves the Wards Major guarding the patrol away. The climb is short be dangerous and those pursuers have already breached his 2nd guardian Ward. He curses that he doesn't have the talent to bring his Ward Cubes to his hands as the magic fades away. So he simply kicks the eight little cubes out of the way, scattering them about the rubble. Hard to find in the darkness or even in the light of day. Only a skilled Deryni would be able to locate them now and that is if they were looking for something magical other than the Portal square.

He leads Washburn to stand on the Portal with him. And with Washburn already controlled. He bends the energies between the Portal in the ruins with another. And the 2 men vanish into the darkness.

* * *

(( <bynw> !roll 1d6
<derynibot> 6 == 6 ))


That night back in Rhemuth, another Deryni in service to his King, Lord Jamyl Arlin again tests to see if can discover the Portal that disappeared. It was there for a minute once and then it was gone like it never existed. Warded or destroyed would be its only option. So out of whim the young man reaches out with his Sight and mind to see if he can feel it. And there is a great suprise and joy that he exclaims out loud that he has the Portal again where the Scholar has taken Washburn.

(( <bynw> !roll 2d6
<derynibot> 5, 4 == 9 ))

He probes the destination without making a jump. And can feel that it is indeed Trapped, like the others. He makes sure he doesn't lose Sight of the Portal and has page running to find his father.

* * *

A heartbeat later and Washburn and Feyd are out of the void. A guard is a bit started by his sudden appearance but quickly regains his composure as he recognizes the School. Within a few moments the castle's old Seneschal arrives with more guards. He is Deryni and Feyd can sense his Shields in place at the ready.

"Master Feyd." The Seneschal greets him. "You are a bit earlier that we has expected."

Feyd answers him as he and the controlled Morgan step from the Portal into the room. "A rescue attempt was getting too close for comfort. But they will come up empty handed again. Has Baron du Chantel followed His Grace's instructions to feign loyalty and join the Haldane's?"

"Aye, m'Lord he left just before dusk to join up with the King's army that marches on Laas. It will fail of course. The battle plans will be given to His Grace the moment they are learned. The Haldane usupers shall be driven from Meara forever."

Feyd smiles and pulls out his dagger, cutting any of the bonds that remain on Washburns wrists and legs. "Take him and see to it that he is washed and dressed for his audience with His Grace. Do your best to make certain that he is dress according to his station. He is a Duke's brother after all. We would not want His Grace to become displeased with your  preparations. We shall not stay here long. I too need the niceties of a civilized estate for a few hours."

"Washburn," Feyd commands. "You will follow these men's verbal instructions as if they came from me." Feyd waves the men to take Washburn away.  He turns to the Seneschal. Put more guards on this Portal. Even though it is protected we should add another layer of protection. Archers, a half dozen of them and a few men at arms. Just to be certain."

[Laurna]

Six men hovered together at the collapsed end of the tunnel. A mound of rectangular stones were tumbled one upon the other, most having been from the collapse of the bell tower onto the abbey walls; two centuries ago, all of it must have come down in a great earth shattering crash. Starlight could be seen through a rift in the ceiling between the fallen stones and the tunnel roof line.

"Looks to be the only way out," Hamish said, taking control as the only guard left in the party. "Looks big enough to climb through. I'm the largest of us, so if I can make it all of us can."

"Unless that is bigger than it looks from here, I don't see how you're going to fit." John said shaking his head. He stared at the gap in the ceiling and then at the twelve feet of mounded rocks that needed to be climbed to get there. "The footing will be treacherous from here on out. Looks like you'll need both hands to climb."

"Got to have the light." Matt chimed in, not looking forward to darkness after what he imagined was in this tunnel.

Hamish took the first testing steps onto the tumbled stones.  They seemed solid and unshifting at least here at the base. After a few feet up he found John's words to be true. He stuffed his torch into the highest crevasse that he could reach giving some shadowy light for what lay ahead. Remy gathered his courage and followed two steps behind. Pointing to Hamish that he thought going to the left would be better footing. Hamish took the advice and after a small struggle was close to the roof line crouching down to crawl the last space before his fingers grabbed the edge of the ceiling cleft. Testing it, the stones here were rock steady and unshifting.

"Going through! If I do this I expect you all to follow." Hamish ((!roll 1d6   6 == 6 )) pulled himself up and kicked off a flat stone. With a strong arm press, he was out of the whole and standing under the stars of the night's sky. Just as he suspected, the mound of stone and rubble continued its slope up to the edge of the bell tower. It looked to be about twenty paces or so away and some fifteen feet higher than where he stood.

Looking down Remy's hands were on the edge of the gap. Remy ((1d6  5 == 5)) happily took the hand Hamish lent him and with the guard's strong arm, the herdsman was pulled from the hole. "So glad to be out of there," Remy said brushing off the dust.

"Amen to that," Hamish agreed.

The next to climb up was Wiley ((1d6   6 == 6 )) his wiry frame made the squeeze through the hole look easy. With two hands to pull him the last bit up, he was standing on the rock mound above the hole looking at the stars with a grateful breath. "We never made it this far as kids." he said. "Come on Matt, hurry up, there is no Troll of Draghera up here." He happily snickered at his own childhood fears.

"I would if Cletus would get out of the way," Matt called from down in the tunnel. Matt's face could be seen half up the mound. Also half up the mound was Cletus, he was swinging his pitchfork from one cleft in the stone to the other, determined to use it to help him climb. "Hey! Watch it Cletus! I'm up here too and don't need to be skewered by you. Put that thing down!"

"I'll make it!"  Cletus called. He stuffed the pitchfork into the ceiling cleft causing the three men uptop to step back. No one would get near the farmer with his weapon of terror. Without their help, Cletus ((1d6  1 == 1 )) was determined he could do it on his own. He pulled this way and pulled that way and shimmied into the hole. Trouble was the pitchfork was too long and too straight he could not curve his body around it.

"Cletus, now what you doing? Get out of there, so I can get up." Matt called ((1d6= 2))

After another leg kicking struggle, Cletus finally settled into a half twisted position. "I think I am stuck." Hands from above tried to lift him up, to no avail.

"There is no continuing up. Cletus you have to go back down." Hamish said in exasperation. Then he heard something. Sounded like a voice saying Wake up   "shush!" Hamish said to the others as he turned all his attention to the sound over the tower wall ahead. A deep voice called out two Torenthi curse words.  Then there was a scattering sound of things hitting stones. Someone was in the tower, Hamish was now certain of it and that someone knew a rescue party was near.  "Damn it! Matt! John!" Hamish yelled to those below. "You get Cletus pulled down from blocking this hole. We're going on to see what is up in that tower, before it is too late."

"I messed up, didn't I." Cletus made it a statement more than a question. Dejectedly as he watched the three men tie a rope about each of their waists at a good distance apart from each other. The three move out onto the stony rubble mound to make the last climb; none of them looking back, too intent on what lay ahead were they.

(( OK! I know this may seem pointless, but we need to see this through to the end. So I need some new rolls and I am really looking for some success ahead. Honest. To that end:
Hamish, Remy, and Wiley please roll two more rolls for me:  !roll 1d6   and !roll 2d6. For the climb ahead.
Cletus, Matt ,and John please roll: !roll 1d6  this is to see if you can help Cletus get free. Need at least two of the three to have successful rolls to pull Cletus back down out of the whole.))

[Laurna]

"Your Grace, why am I finding you in here? You should not be here. You should be in the queen's company, with her strength to hold you up." Archbishop Duncan stood before the weeping dowager of Corwyn, his voice compassionate, his caring hands reaching across for the frail hands that encased a small cross that the lady held to her lips as she cried. Richenda could say nothing. Her eyes were puffy, her cheeks wet. She looked up at Duncan beseechingly. Duncan enfolded his hands over hers. "Araxie thought this is where you went, she says you missed dinner."

"I can not eat," Richenda managed to say, her voice breaking with her despair. "My boys, what is going to happen to my boys. Tell God please, I can not lose them. Not any of them! All three are gone from me and I am helpless!"

Duncan sat on the Royal library bench beside the elder lady whom he considered to be as close to him as a sister. She was his cousin's widow and she was family. "On your behalf as well as my own, I have been speaking with God all day. I swear to you that He is listening. He will not let Alaric's children fall. Know that He has Alaric by his side, with a warrior angel such as Alaric, God is not in need of more Morgans. He will want them here in this kingdom to fight on the side of Light. Know that Brendan, Kelric and even Washburn are being watched over."

"I want..." the dowager looked up at Duncan with eyes so sad; eyes he had not seen since the death of his cousin. "I want to have faith, to believe, believe they will come home, but ... I... I'm afraid."

"Know this, my lady, they will come home, all three of them. Lighted candles for your boys are filling chapel steps, chapels all throughout Gwynedd. Prayers are being said on their behalf, everywhere. Hold your faith and your heart my lady, I will not let it break again."

Unable to contain her emotions, she leaned into his shoulder. "I came here hoping that there was a sense of Washburn here. that it would help me contact him. But I.. touch only emptiness. He is lost to me!"

"We will find him," Duncan said firmly, as much for himself as for Washburn's mother. Duncan softly spoke a prayer as he held the Dowager's shoulders. Nearly to the prayer's end, his words were interrupted by the patter of quick footsteps racing out of the Library garderobe. Here came a royal Haldane squire, Prince Kalin.  He was one of few who had privilege to come and go from the library annex. "What is the rush?" Duncan asked. The boy halted for a moment, surprised to find the archbishop in the library. He bowed and quickly announced. "Laird Seisyll says for me to tell his brother Sextus the Portal has reappeared. And then I am to tell the king."

"Indeed?" Duncan questioned standing with more enthusiasm that he had displayed all day. "Go then, find Lord Sextus." Even before the royal squire had left Duncan was pulling Richenda to her feet.  Together they entered the library annex, finding Laird Seisyll on his knees. His hands flat on the central portal stone.

For all of Duncan's age, Duncan was fast to kneel beside the Portal stone himself. In quick rapport, Seisyll shared the signature of the long missing portal with both senior members of Kelson's court. This was the signature of the Portal that had been first felt in the Portal down by the river. The one that was unattainable to anyone for more than a full day. The monitoring for that portal had been transferred from the river warehouse to the library for ease and for comfort of the watcher. "I sense it is trapped." Seisyll said bluntly. "I have not tried yet to untrap it from here. The trap may be far more dangerous than the first one. Perhaps with the skill of both your Graces, we can defeat it."

Clinging to hope, Richenda nodded, "I will do it." But Duncan was instance. "No! It shall be I, you must save your strength!" With those words, he place both palms flat upon the hearth stone and he focused into the gleam in his bishop's ring, centering to breach the spell.     

((Duncan 3d6  Spell Master, Disabling the trap on the portal in the ruins, need a roll of 9 or better. rolled 1+1+1 = 3 Verification Number: 4gcc7cwk0d ))

Almost instantly Duncan's shields flared. Even then, the backwash of energy from the portal rendered his hands numb.  Stunned, he fell backwards. Only Laird Seisyll kept him from hitting the floor. Neither man saw the desperate tears in the dowager's eyes as she slipped to her knees and placed her hands on the portal stone.

((3d6 Richenda Spell Master, Same. Looking for a much better roll. Disabling the trap on the portal in the ruins, need a roll of 9 or better. results=4 + 5 + 6 = 15 Verification Number: 3mb47n59qk))

Too late, Seisyll tried to reach for the lady's arm. Too late, because Richenda Morgan, Dowager Duchess of Corwyn  had used the Portal and was gone.

[Laurna]

Wiley stepped from stone to stone, picking his footing with care. Far to the east, seen over the jagged walls of the ruined abbey, shining on the water of lake surrounding them, was the moon rising like a tilted smile of a Cheshire cat. The light it gave off was half its strength; it eliminated only the very tops of the stones before him leaving all else in an eerie shadow. The placement of each foot was therefore made with care.  The three men climbed the tumbled walls at a pace that seemed like a crawl to them.  The rope between them did not drag, but it was not taught either, allowing each of them to choose their own path. The rope at least gave confidence that a slip or fall would not find them thirty feet down to the footing of the tower base. The guard Hamish was highest in the climb, his footing most precise, his desire to make rescue most keen.  Wiley was second and Remy was behind. Each man concentrated on their next step. Other than watching for the tautness of the rope, they paid little heed to one another.

It was half way up the shambling mound when a skull splitting rock slammed the back of Wiley's head. ((Wiley !roll 1d6  14:18   derynibot 1 == 1)) Never knowing what hit him, the merchant's son slumped to the stone in agony, then the rope tugged at his middle and pulled him off his feet.  He fell then, slipping down the mound of stone at a dizzying rate.

"What!" Hamish yelled as the taught rope nearly pulled him off his feet. He balanced against the stone with one hand and pulled on the rope with the other. Between him and Remy they managed to stop Wiley's precarious fall. Unconscious they pulled him back up to a safe spot on the mound. Blood dripped down the back of the young man's head. He must of hit a corner of the stone when he fell.  Remy only stared on august at the sight of blood. Hamish was faster getting cloth from his pack and holding it firm to Wiley's skull.  The bleeding slowed, Hamish sighed in some relief as he felt Wiley's pulse and still found him breathing. With more cloth he fully wrapped the young man's head, tight enough to hold the pressure against the cut. 

"He'll live, likely with a damnable headache. We'll come back for him, but right now we need to know what is going on in that tower," Hamish said this realizing he had not heard a sound ahead of them for several minutes.

Remy untied the rope from around his own waist and started back up the pile of stones. (( <remy> !roll 1d6 <derynibot> 5 == 5)) Hamish wondered what had happened, why had the herdsman's attitude seemed to have gone so cold. Had he always been like that and he just never noticed it.  Leaving Wiley where he lay, Hamish untied the rope about himself, then slipped a part of it closest to Wiley's waist into a crevasse of rock so that Wiley would not fall further if he rolled or moved.  Grudgingly Hamish followed Remy upwards. ((Hamish !roll   1d6  @derynibot 5 == 5)) His pace determined to catch up with the herdsman.

The tumble of stones ended against the tower wall which still towered a hands height above them. It seemed an impossibility that they could get over it. This was the highest side of the tower, the part that had once been at the center of the church roof. The lowest point of the fallen tower wall was on the far side, overlooking the lake. This mound did not go that far around. In fact the mound fell away into a deep crevasse, like the stone had been cracked and splintered by a bolt of lightening, Looking into the crack it appeared to extend into and through the tower wall. Remy hovered over the opening afraid to let himself down into it. Hamish was leader now. His pride and his courage filled him up. "I'll go first," he declared. Thus he sat on the edge of the broken stone he lowered himself in.

Here the stone was pulverized like gravel, loose under his feet.  He had to use both hands on the side walls to keep himself from slipping down with each step. Ahead he could see the tower floor, unless someone was hiding, he saw no one there. But he did see in the growing moon light a scattering of things that shouldn't have been there. A fur laid out on the stone. Bowls and a pile or red string. A burnt down pile of logs that still seemed to smolder after being doused recently with water.

So intent was Hamish on what lay before him that he did not hear Remy come close from behind. ((Hamish !roll  2d6 @derynibot 1, 3 == 4 ))  A rock smacked his head and he fell forward. "No one will reach the tower!" Remy said in a possessed voice that was not his own. "You're to make certain that no one does!" growled Remy repeating what his orders had been.

Hamish twisted his body and moved forward to turn and catch his attacker. His vision swarmed in a dizzy spell, essences of light circled his head. Faces of ghosts glared at him and danced around him. "Soon you'll be one of us," they cackled in tandem. Stepping on his chest to hold him down, Remy pulled his axe from his belt. He hefted it high, ready to bring it down on his victim's head. Hamish struggled in the gravel and could not find substance to push off from and free himself.

Then there was a wailing, the crying of female anguish. Both men looked up from their struggle to see a women in green at the center of the tower floor.  She looked around her and cried.  The gauze of her veiling being pulled away, her hair, stripped in coppers and silvers, fell over her shoulders and down to her knees.  As they watched, her body caught the moonlight. She shown like a banshee, majestic in her age and in her beauty, the queen of all banshees was she.

"No one will reach the tower," Remy hissed, forgetting Hamish as he stepped on him to get to the one at the center of the tower floor. ((<remy> !roll 2d6 <derynibot> 5, 6 == 11)) Remy flinched only a little as he passed where Hamish's head lay. The third fear ward of Feyd did little to stop the herdsman's intent.

Feeling the ghosts of this place pressuring all around him, Hamish realized the banshee queen's danger. His greatest fear was failure, coming before the mayor telling him how he had failed in this task. Ghosts or no ghosts he would not, could not fail. Hamish pushed himself up ((Hamish !roll 2d6 @derynibot 5, 6 == 11)), he launched himself passed the fear ward, and attacked the man with the axe. ((2d6 rolled 5+1=6 Verification Number: 5pkmct9f2k)) his hand managed to grab the axe and pull it away.

Angered Remy turned back on the guard, his fist drawn back for a punch.

[Laurna]

Seisyll's hands covered Duncan's forehead easing the shock of the bolt of energy Duncan had tripped. Healer to the library, need a Healer now! broadcasted Seisyll to all in Rhemuth Castle. He desperately wanted to follow Richenda, to protect her and to rescue her if she had jumped into the arms of the enemy. But he needed to stay with Duncan to be sure the Archbishop did not slip into shock or worse a coma.

It seemed forever, but reality couldn't have been that long. Two Healers, the castle infirmarians, one who had access though the garderobe veiling arrived by escorting the one who did not. They raced to the Archbishop's side, assessing their patient quickly, after Seisyll's near instant Rapport of what had happened.  Shaking like the laird had not shaken in years, Seisyll stepped to the portal. A quick feel and he knew Richenda had disarmed the trap on the portal that was his destination. But what would he find there? He did not know. He pulled his sword out  and held it to his chest ready to parry an attack if need be.

Then he felt the unique signature of the place he had never been. With a blink he was gone.

[Laurna]

Two men locked in battle fell from an unseen crevasse in the wall. Their hands scrambled to be the owner of a small wicked axe. First one man had it and then it was in the hand of the other. Both men rolled about the floor wanting to be the weapon's owner. Richenda jumped back, she did not know who was who, only that an axe looked sharp and dangerous, whether it belonged to the wiry framed fellow or to the broad shouldered man in the jerkin of leather and mail, she did not care to pursue. Only that these men were here in a place that her youngest son had so recently been. She could feel his unshielded presence in the items that were scattered about the floor. The fur especially held his spirit, Washburn had slept here for some time. Where had he been taken, she desperately wanted to know. The fight between the guard and the commoner disrupted her questing to learn more. They tumbled this way and then that way, they seemed evenly matched. If not for that axe held between them, Richenda might have dared to intervene. She had stopped fights before with just the power of her voice. Few could ignore the Arcane Mastery of her years of study.  First, that axe had to go. Blood-shed didn't recon in with her finding her son.

((Rolling for Richenda to pull the axe out of Hamish's hand with telekinesis. Where do you think Washburn got that skill from, LOL. Our Dowager Duchess is Spell Master Advantage 3d6. Success on 5 or 6  /r 3d6  SidekickBOT Today at 9:54 PM @Laurna: 3d6 = (4+1+5) = 10)).

From Hamish's peripheral view, the Banshee Queen straightened her back and lifted her hands out before her. Wide cornflower blue eyes focused on the movement of the axe held briefly again in his hand. The Banshee Queen grew angry as the men fought over possession of the weapon. The woman chanted words unheard. Her eyes shined with an inner focus. Her fingers seemed to wrap around a thing. One tug, two tugs, than a third, an unyielding pull in that last. The axe spirited itself out of both men's hands. Hamish could not hold it. ((Hamish !roll 2d6 @derynibot 4, 2 == 6)) It flew away from him, just above the tower floor toward the Specter Queen. Then as if throwing it aside, she flicked her fingers and the axe skittered to the far side, into the midst of the rubble there.

The wiry peasant took advantage, his fist completing an uncontrolled swing ((Standard 2d6 roll Remy attacks Hamish = (4+6) = 10)) Hamish lost a tooth as that fist connected with his jaw.

With the last of his breath, only one thing crossed his mind. Rescue! Rescue the lady queen from the madness of his foe. ((Hamish rolled disadvantage one last attack before he passes out. !roll 1d6  @derynibot 6 == 6)) The punch he gave flattened Remy's nose.  ((does Remy have enough in him to attack again at disadvantage 1d6 Remy attacks Hamish = (1) = 1, No! )) With barely a yell between them, both men fall away from each other, unmoving on the floor.(( both are down to 0 hit points))

'What Hell is this!" the lady swore. Richenda flared her aura extending out her protection around herself. She stepped between the men, one hand on each of their heads. Their life energies were spent in their battle. If she could not help them now, they would die where they lay. The  energy she held was filled with undeniable spirit. She knew men's hearts and she knew their souls. She was not a Healer, but she knew what it was to Heal. ((rolling for Richenda to share her energy  /r 3d6 SidekickBOTToday at 12:20 AM @Laurna: 3d6 = (1+5+6) = 12)) Willing these men into stable breathing, she kept them in the here and in the now.

That is how Laird Seisyll found her. Her aura keeping back the darkness and filling two downed men with light. He ran forward checking the pulse of each man. They were both strong, her energy had been enough to stave off the darkness. One with a broken jaw and one with a broken nose, they would hurt when they awoke. Yet awake they would in do time.  Reading both was an easy task. The possession of the one had been a hastily placed command, someone with arcane abilities hadn't taken the time to cover their actions. Someone back in the Mayor of Droghera's office, Someone who was part of the Mearan rebellion.  Seisyll was sure he could find the man if he went looking for him. The other man the Guard Hamish was an honest loyal man. He hopes for rescuing the noble knight who had been imprisoned here was foremost in his thoughts. For indeed Seisyll realized this is where Washburn had been held for more than a day. Could they follow him to the next portal. Seisyll knew they did not dare. They would likely enter the belly of the beast and be slaughtered before their first step. When Richenda gravitated to the portal square to  learn what that next signature might be. Seisyll distracted her.

"I see a white cube, there under that rock. Could that be a ward cube? If it is there will be others. Your Grace could you please find them while I collect the other things that are left here. Gads! Don't touch whatever drug is in that pessel. It could be the poison that Morgan was given. We'll get that back to Rhemuth to see if they can learn what the substance is."

About then, Seisyll's brother appeared with two Haldane lancers. Each posed for battle. "Secure the area, my brother. I think you will find other's scattered about these old ruins. Pray that no one has lost their lives in their attempt to rescue Morgan. I know Morgan well enough to know he would not want men dying on his behalf."

[Laurna]

Sir Washburn Morgan was lead away from Feyd and the Seneschal of this "civilized estate,"  as Feyd called it. Wash caught the name of one Baron du Chantel.  The name had no meaning for him. Chantel wasn't anyone he had meet in opposition at tourney, at least that much he was certain. Other than the knights Sir Washburn competed against in the Grand Tournaments of Gwynedd, Wash was not one to pay much attention to the courtiers of the king's court. What use was it knowing the lesser nobility, especially those from along this barbaric land bordering on Meara. Obviously this man Baron du Chantel didn't have a son old enough or good enough to enter the Grand Tournament at Mollingford Fields nor even the mercenary tournaments at Seerhowy in Howicce. Now those events were where Washburn was his best. He had no equal in the games. Both his brothers grudgingly admitted that at least in this one thing, Wash could uphold the Morgan name high and do something right. Thinking this, Washburn squared his shoulders  and walked with pride behind the guard who lead him down a long corridor and passed a number of doors. Interested, Wash slowed to look at a partially open door, the two guards behind him instantly shoved him forward.

"Hay! Your supposed to treat me according to my station. A Duke's brother, remember?" Washburn said with a scathing rebuke.

"Your nothing but pig's swallow," the guard spat out, "You follow our verbal instructions, and I say you shut up and move on!"

Wash so wanted to reprimand this guard, but he found he could not. Put this stupid guard in a arena with a sword and Washburn would teach him a lesson he'd not soon forget. Washburn gave up on the thought, it was beneath him to chastise a lowly guard. He moved on like it was his own idea, and ignored the two men at his back.

There were only four men that he had to suffer abuse from: his brothers, his uncle, and his king. Only those four had the power to order him about-- there was Master Feyd, but Wash didn't want to stop and think about his current predicament-- instead he dwelled on the life he had lived until now.  His brothers were harsh taskmasters, determined that he would not sully the Morgan name with his lack of schooling and social graces. Little that he did outside the tournament was good enough for them. He grew up being told he was nothing but "The Spare to the Heir" of Corwyn. A Spare just in case some disaster had brought down his brother Kelric. Trouble was Duke Kelric was strong and hale. Kelric had married the Royal Princess, of all ladies, and now he had three sons of his own. What did Wash have? Well he wasn't the "Spare" any longer. Not needed to keep the Morgan name to pass down the next generation, he was just a sideshow, an embarrassment. He had been given nothing, no land and no title. No woman would take him without both. His brothers knew that and they kept him poor on that account. His middle brother, the Duke, didn't seem to think he was worth much for an allowance either; even when he diligently kept the affairs of Lendour in proper order for his nephew. In fact, Wash was certain he had not even received his allowance this past season. Just thinking about it made him resentful and angry.  His anger grew as they marched him down the corridor, likely to his doom.

Sir Washburn considered the pride he held firm for himself. In one aspect, he had gained his own place in the kingdom. With prowess in the arena, he had earned the title Champion of the Grand Tournament for four consecutive years. It was that acclaim and even more importantly, that purse won from the yearly event, and from a few other events around the kingdom, which gave him enough prestige and coin to get him through the winter months. No matter what happened next, he still had his strength of arm, his jousting ability, and his aim with the a bow that was deadly, to keep him alive. 

"Do your best to make certain that he is dress according to his station. He is a Duke's brother after all," Master Feyd had said. Hah! Washburn had nearly laughed at that; if he had been allowed to speak he would have given these men an ear full. He was brother in name only. Why else was it that Wash was dressed in such shabby clothes, like that which he currently wore.  Stains and tares, that was part of his daily attire. He couldn't afford new clothes, at least not the silks necessary to enter the King's council meetings. The king looked at his shabbiness as if he were a mere peasant. And his eldest brother Brendan? What did Brendan do the other day? He took one look at Washburn, brush him aside, and took over the care of their nephew, Kenric. With Kenric of age, Washburn had no purpose left, at least not one that involved the family name of Morgan.

Why these memories were swarming in his mind just now, he couldn't say. He figured it was because he was anticipating even greater abuse, likely physical abuse, in his near future from this Grand Duke fellow. He determined it would be the anger from the abuse already survived that would allow him to suffer through the future. If he had to submit and obey to these people's every command, he would do so with his head held high. He would hate everyone of them and he would get his revenge on each of them in due time. Starting with his brothers and ending with this Grand Duke.

When the three guards and he reached the bathing room, Washburn had worked himself up into a resentful anger. Two days and no attempt at rescue. Two days of abuse by the enemy that was in truth no worse than the abuse he gotten on most days from family who was supposedly cared for him. One thing was certain, he was in this alone. He owed his parents for birthing him, but he owed his family nothing more, for they had given him nothing. He owed these men before him nothing, for they had given him even less.

Full of anger and prepared to protect himself if these guards turned on him to beat him senseless, Washburn stepped into the center of the bathing room, tense and enraged. To his amazement, the three guards said nothing and spread out around the room, simply to guard exits so he could not leave. Expecting brutes to arrive to brutalize his body, he was shocked and surprised to see two women entered through the far door. They stepped up to a large copper tub and poured steaming hot water to top off the bath that was prepared for him. A third lass entered with clothes in her arms. A green silk tunic embroidered in black Celtic knots, a black undershirt that looked of silk as well, and black leggings of fine linen. Taken back, Washburn realized these people really did mean to see him cleaned up. Perhaps these people were not the enemy, as he thought.

"You pretty ladies are going to give me a bath?" he asked.

The three serving girls looked at the tall warrior who flexed an elbow for them and they giggled.  A guard from behind gave him a new verbal order.  "Take your clothes off and get in the tub, and I don't want to hear any mouthing off from you."

Considering that he could not disobey, Washburn decided it best to comply. He might as well enjoy this while he dared. The three pretty fillies helped him disrobe. He said nothing, enjoying their hands undoing his belt, the strings of his tunic, and the leather ties that held his mail-shirt taught around his neck. Fully disrobed, when all pretense of nobility was gone, the strong knight puffed his chest and stepped into the steaming bath. Oh a moment of pleasure in this harsh harsh world was not to be frowned upon. Thinking of nothing more than pure carnal joy, he slowly sank down in the relaxing water. The water surged up to his shoulders; he closed his eyes and dreamt of that which rarely came his way. Content for the first time in months, he let the women scrub the dirt from his skin with soup and soft brushes. They even massaged the knots from his shoulders and his back.

Perhaps, just perhaps, he had been wrong about Master Feyd. Wherever Feyd was taking him, just perhaps, it would not be as awful as he had originally imagined. 

[revanne]

As Richenda stood with the sense of her missing son around her,  desolation had seized her the like of which had not felt since the loss of Alaric. O God, how she wished he was there with her now.

Suddenly there he was, standing in the corner of the ruins, with his old mischievous smile. With no idea whether it was his spirit there, or merely a projection of her desperate longing, she nevertheless heard his words encouraging her as she turned to deal with the men fighting around her.

"You are more than a match for such as these, my beautiful Richenda, my Banshee Queen." It was Brendan who had first called her a Ban Side, when one of his more foolish adolescent misdeeds had called the full force of his mother's wrath down upon him. He had paid for his cheek to his mother, of course, Alaric had seen to that, and she had had words to say to Dhugal about the tales he told, but Alaric had taken hold of the name, using it not in anger but in love, to show his pride in her courage and passion.

Feeling his pride and love, she had put forth her powers to disarm the fighting men but had not been quick enough to prevent them from laying each other out. Again, it seemed as though she saw Alaric smiling at her, seemed to hear his voice telling her that even common men such as these were worth saving. She felt his energy flow into her, and, as she stood keeping the two unconscious men in life, she almost thought she could feel the brush of the long gone personality touch her mind.

Then Seisyll was there, with his busy Arilan efficiency, taking over and telling her what to do. As he issued his orders she knew that he was distracting her away from the portal. Her head knew that he was right but her heart rebelled and she turned to where she thought she had seen Alaric for his support. Young and handsome, as in the first days of their courtship, he shook his head at her as his voice laughed into her mind, but with a serious undertone of concern.

"Bloody Arilans, always right. Stay safe, for Washburn's sake, my heart." Then he was gone, leaving her wondering whether the strain were driving her out of her mind and yet strangely comforted.

[Jerusha]

Cedric Archer rubbed his face briskly with the rough towel.  It seemed a bit pointless to him to shave before starting his night shift guarding the fortress's dungeon, but according to the Captain, the Grand Duke expected his men to look sharp.  Archer did not expect to meet Grand Duke Valerian in the dungeon, but if he did, he hoped they were standing on the same side, preferably the outside, of a cell gate. 

It had been difficult find a private moment to contact King Kelson, but Archer had finally made contact the night before.  Feigning sleep, he had reached out to the king close enough to the appointed contact time to get a response.  At least His Majesty now knew he was in the fortress, and Valerian and the pretender queen were here.  Archer now knew what had transpired in Rhemuth and the king's suspicions that Sir Washburn Morgan would end up here.  The focus of his mission had not been changed; his goal was Valerian.  Archer was disconcerted to find out that his long-lost little brother had been sent north with a country priest and Robert to find the fortress and be ready to do what they could for Sir Washburn.  He had not needed that additional complication.  Archer's presence here was precarious enough; Darcy would have to look after himself.

Archer donned his dark cap and headed across the courtyard to the keep.  He noted the small group of men and horses waiting near the inner wall gate.  It was dusk; who would be leaving the fortress at this hour?

As he approached closer, three men exited the keep:  Lord Brioc, the new man who had arrived earlier in the week whom he did not know, and Valerian!  Archer quickened his pace as much as he dared to try to catch any of the conversation that passed between them.  The Grand Duke was already motioning the new man toward the waiting horses.  He managed to discern something about battle plans before courtesy demanded he stop and bow before proceeding. 

"I do not accept failure, Baron du Chantel," Valerian said as the man bowed and turned to leave.  He stood watching long enough for the men to mount and ride through the inner wall gate.  He turned back to the keep, Brioc following closely behind him.

In the brief span of time that it took Archer to enter the keep, the Grand Duke was already proceeding up the tower stair.  Lord Brioc, on the other hand, was heading toward the dungeon guard room.  The senior guard stood at the door and saluted as Brioc entered the room.  He motioned to Archer to hurry up.  As Archer entered, Brioc addressed the senior guard.

"We are expecting a special guest to join us soon," Lord Brioc said, his voice loud in the small room.  "I need to make sure suitable accommodations are ready."  The glint in the cold eyes did not bode well for the expected guest.  "Show me what we have available."

Archer was again paired with Piers for the night shift.  The senior guard nodded in Piers' direction.  "Show Lord Brioc our finest," he said.  "Archer, go with them and make sure none of our guests get out of line.  Dispatch anyone who tries."

Sir Iain Cameron touched his finger to his cap in salute and followed Brioc and Piers down into the dungeon.  He feared he knew who the special guest would be.  God have mercy, if he was right.

[Laurna]

Washburn sat on a pallet in the corner of this tiny cell in nothing but clean white brais, his shoulders bare, his feet bare to ensure he did not attempt an escape. The clothes he'd been shown during the bath were for his visit to the Grand Duke; he was to be displayed like stolen treasure to impress His Festilic Highness of Master Feyd's prowess at acquiring special goods; clothes too nice to be soiled by the usual wear of a prisoner.  The cell Washburn sat in was clean, free of vermin, having not been used in years, and recently swept out for his arrival. The straw was fresh: the bedding free of moth holes. Other than the confines and the darkness-- nothing but a narrow slit high in the wall which let in only a small amount of moon light -- Wash felt he was almost a guest in this place. Not quite, with armed guards on the outside of the door and the door bolted with a lock. Wash had not seen Feyd since they had arrived. This was good. Perhaps Feyd would forget that Washburn's shields would revive on their own before the night was done. Or so Washburn hoped, that is until some time in the late night the bolt on his door clanked against the wood, sliding back from its catch and allowing the door to open. A well dressed man, the one whom Feyd called the Seneschal walked through the opening. He was flanked by two guards and a pretty lass at his back.

"Master Feyd insists that I give you some wine to help you sleep. As I see you have not had a wink of sleep yet in the baron's home, we would be poor hosts indeed if we kept you awake all night."   

"I've had plenty of sleep. Feyd can keep his wine," Washburn assured his host. He tested his meager shields against the Seneschal. Unprepared for the backlash, Wash cringed, palms pressed to his head, as the proven Deryni seneschal bombarded his weak defenses and tore them down.

"That is punishment for acting against your betters," the elder man said, letting up when Wash surrender all pretense of defense. "Feyd has taught you, but not taught you well enough, I see. There is no one from here on out that you can best, not any of us. You are puny, against the might of Valarian and those who follow him."

The Seneschal waved the timid girl forward. She held a full goblet in her hand.  "I command you to drink this wine. Do not waste any more of my time."

"Hurry on, Ellia! Give him the cup. Do not spill a drop, either of you, or you will both feel my wrath."

The serving girl was looking at the knight with pity in her eyes. She was not used to seeing a noble man, one of such good looks, unclothed and mistreated. Ellia held the goblet out to the prisoner, not knowing what the wine held. Washburn gave her an apologetic smile "It's alright miss, I'll take the wine from your hand, willingly." Thus their fingers brushed each other, through the touch his meager returning mental powers assured her that he put no blame to her for what was in the wine.  Without a fight, knowing this was not one he could win, Wash drank most of the wine, leaving a shallow puddle at the bottom of the goblet.

"Perfect, you do know how to learn." the old man said. "Come Ellia, Come away." With that the Seneschal left the room in a whirlwind, the girl behind him, followed by the two guards. Washburn could hear the head man of the manor house  giving orders to the guards as the door began to close. Then suddenly the door slipped open a few inches, the girl slipped back in, she stood against the wall, her body giving a slight quiver at what she had just dared to do. Then the guards must have returned, for the door shut with a clunk of finality and the bolt slammed home.

For the longest time both Wash and Ellia did not move. They stared at one another, amazed and unsure. The time slipped by, letting the drug in the wine crumple Washburn's shields away and bringing about a wave a nausea.  For a moment he was sure he was going to be sick. But to be sick before such a pretty lass was not something a noble knight would dare do. So he swallowed his spittal and held his breath feeling light headed and dizzy.

The girl must have recognized his distress at last. She tiptoed across the tiny space and put a hand to his head. "Your so cold!" she whispered in concern.

"Aye, You shouldn't be here." he managed to say. 'That was a stupid thing to do."

She looked around like a caged bird. "Your right of course. But how could I not. Why are they treating you in this way?"

"Ellia, is it,  I am a hostage of war, a man of ransom or worse. Go knock on the door now and tell the guards you got locked in here by accident when you came to retrieve the cup. They will let you out. Do that before worse befalls you."

"One of those guards thinks I'm his," the girl whispered with a small cry.  "I am not, and I've tried to tell him so. Yet, he'll beat me for coming back in here even for that small pretense. I have no doubt of it.  So I think I will wait for the guards to change shifts," She decided, her tone meek.

Washburn wanted to question why she had come back in the first place. His words were stopped as her lips were suddenly kissing his. Sweet as honey, as soft as silk.  Washburn was thinking of her beauty just as the mix of sedatives and Mandragora drugs took him out and down. Down into a pleasant dream of fresh flowers on spring hillsides.                       

[Jerusha]

Kelson Haldane, King of Gwynedd, felt like he had lost all control of the current situation.  Archbishop Duncan McLain was in the castle infirmary under the care of skilled healers, recovering from the psychic blast of a trapped portal.  The Dowager Duchess of Corwyn, without a thought to her own safety, had untrapped the portal and impulsively used it to find her missing son.  Laird Seisyll had followed shortly afterward, at least making sure Duncan was under proper care before following Richenda to who knows where.  They had not yet returned.

It was approaching midnight and Kelson paced the floor of his withdrawing room.  Kelson had left word to be contacted immediately when Richenda or Seisyll returned.  He was tired and considered returning to his quarters to try to get a little sleep.  But before he would get a chance, he would have to explain to Araxie what had happened, and she would tell Grania...Kelson decided to stay in his withdrawing room until he had better news to share.  Assuming there would be better news.  He sat down heavily in his chair and closed his eyes....

***

Duchess Grania Haldane looked out of her window overlooking the Queen's Garden.  It was late morning.  After the commotion of the night before, they had all slept later than normal. Her mother's distraught return without Washburn, knowing she had just missed him, had been hard on all of them.  Queen Araxie had joined them, and they had talked over the events and done their best to comfort her mother for well over an hour.  Finally, Grania had asked Richenda's permission to allow her to help her sleep, and although she resisted at first, she had finally agreed and allowed her daughter to help her into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Someone knocked quietly on her door.  "Your Grace," said Lady Anna, one of the young ladies-in-waiting, as she curtseyed.  "Breakfast has arrived."

"Perhaps we should call it the midday meal, but either way, I confess I'm hungry."  Grania followed Lady Anna into a bright sitting room.  "Has Duchess Richenda awakened yet?" Grania asked as she looked at the array of tempting food arranged on a centre table.

"Not yet, your Grace," Lady Anna replied.  "Shall I wake her?"

"No, let her sleep.  We'll set aside a plate for her for when she wakes."  Grania nodded her thanks to the selection of food set before her by a page.  She munched on a slice of bacon as she looked around the room, noting who was there and who was not.

"Is Lady Aliset already up and about?" Grania asked. "I'm surprised we didn't wake her last night."

"I haven't seen her, your Grace.  Would you like me to check on her?"

"Please.  I have a feeling she may have cried herself to sleep last night."  Grania sympathized with all Aliset had been through, but she would have to begin to adjust. 

Lady Anna returned a short time later.  "She is still asleep," she reported.  "She did not even stir when I knocked and opened the door."

"That's odd," Grania said thoughtfully. Something was not quite right. She finished her food and decided to check on Aliset personally.  She could not imagine how Aliset would sleep so soundly after she had retired early the night before, even if it had taken her some time to finally sleep.

Grania knocked firmly on Aliset's door, not hesitating to open it when no reply was heard.  The window shutter was firmly closed, and in the dim light she could see Aliset curled up under her blankets on the bed.  It was too warm in the room for those blankets.  Suspicious, Grania crossed the room and opened the shutters.  The form under the blankets did not move.

Grania approached the bed and began to gently draw back the blankets.  Suddenly, she threw them back to the foot of the bed, revealing the pillows beneath.

"Sweet Jesu!" Grania exclaimed.  "Where has she gone?  Lord Darcy!  He was to leave early this morning!" She turned to the somewhat frightened looking Lady Anna.  "I want every inch of the tower searched, including the garden!" she commanded.  Lady Anna curtseyed and hastened to obey.

The ensuing turmoil woke the Dowager Duchess of Corwyn.  She thought it best not to disturb Queen Araxie with the news quite yet and accompanied her daughter to begin questioning the guards.  The guard at the door to the Queen's Garden, who had relieved the guard on duty the night before, reported that Lady Aliset had entered the garden early in the morning before dawn.  He had assumed that she had returned before his shift and had not checked on her.  With her teeth clenched and a scowl on her face, Grania entered the garden, followed by Richenda, Lady Anna, and the guard. 

It was Lady Anna who found Aliset's cloak crammed under a bush near the far wall.  Grania was about to send the guard off to search for Lord Darcy Cameron, when Richenda suggested they should talk to Queen Araxie first.  Lord Darcy was off on a mission for the king, and it might be wise not to raise the hue and cry too soon. 

***

King Kelson Haldane sat in his council chamber surrounded by most of his Deryni advisors who were still present in Rhemuth.    Laird Seisyll Arilan, Sir Jamyl Arilan and Archbishop Duncan McLain were again reviewing the events of the night before.  Archbishop Duncan was still a bit pale, but he had insisted on being included.  As he listened, Kelson toyed with the unopened message from Lord Darcy that Sir Jamyl had given him earlier, his eyes on the ward cubes piled in the middle of the table.

There was a sharp knock on the door.  "Enter," Kelson responded.

His squire, Prince Kalin, entered and bowed.  "Your Majesty," he said, looking slightly nervous.  "Her Majesty, Duchess Grania and Dowager Duchess Richenda would like a word with you."

Kelson sighed.  This did not bode well.  "Show them in, Kalin."

Araxie, Grania, and Richenda swept into the room, looking grim.  All three curtseyed and declined his invitation to sit at the table.  They had the attention of all the men in the room.

"Lady Aliset de Mariot is missing, and we believe on her own accord," Queen Araxie said, anger evident in the tone of her words. 

"Pray explain," Kelson said.

The Queen of Gwynedd related what they had discovered.  "We believe she has run off with Lord Darcy."

"Forgive me, your Majesty," Sir Jamyl said.  "I do not believe that is the case.  I spoke with Lord Darcy, Father Columcil and the squire Robert just after they disembarked from the ferry this morning."

"She could be meeting him somewhere," Duchess Grania pointed out.

"I saw no young woman leave the ferry, your Grace, and they rode out immediately after I spoke with them," Sir Jamyl replied.

Kelson suddenly remembered the message from Darcy.  He unrolled it and quickly scanned the contents.  "I don't believe he knows anything about it."  At the questioning look from all in the room, he continued.  "Apparently our young seaman managed to put away a tidy sum of money while he was at sea.  He has asked me to see that it goes to Lady Aliset if he does not return."  Kelson paused to gauge the reaction of his wife.  She did not look convinced.  "When he returns, he intends to pledge it as her dower, if I will entertain his suit for her hand.  I don't believe he would write this if he was running away with her."

Richenda looked thoughtful.  "He certainly wouldn't advise you he had finances to live on if he was taking her away.  But why would she run off?  I see no purpose to it." 

Another knock sounded at the door. "Now what," Kelson muttered under his breath.  "Enter!"

The total silence that fell on the room and the dumbfounded look on the king's face caused the three women to turn to see who had entered. 

Robert O'Malley turned red as he hastily bowed.  He expected to be severely reprimanded by his king for his failure to report to Lord Darcy.

"It can't be him!" Sir Jamyl said.  "I saw him ride off with the others this morning."

"I rode nowhere, Sir Jamyl," Robert responded, confused.  "I overslept and didn't wake until noon.  I beg your forgiveness, your Majesty; I have failed in my assignment."  Robert went down on one knee before his king.

Duchess Grania's eyes widened with disbelief.  "Surely, she didn't do it again!" 

"Robert," Kelson said with a growing suspicion as to what had happened, "rise and come forward.  I need to have a look at your memories."

Robert rose and quickly moved forward to stand at Kelson's side.  As a royal Haldane squire, he was used to having his mind touched by his king.  Seisyll moved a chair forward, and it the king's nod, Robert sat so that Kelson could place his hands on either side of his head.  Robert relaxed and closed his eyes.

Kelson did not linger in the squire's mind for long.  "That is exactly what she did," he said after a moment.  "She even left an apology in Robert's mind for me to find, totally absolving Robert and Darcy of any knowledge of her plan."

"But why?" Araxie asked.

"Although she tried to give Lord Darcy as much training as she could before he left, she knew it was not enough.  She is aware of how skilled a Deryni we are after.  She felt duty-bound to supply the knowledge Lord Darcy and Father Columcil will need, so she shapeshifted into Robert and went off to take his place."

For the first time, Archbishop Duncan spoke.  "They have no idea who they are really travelling with."

"They have to bring her back," Araxie said firmly.

Kelson looked out one of the windows and noted the position of the sun in the afternoon sky.  "They are probably beyond Arx Fedei by now.   They will lose too much time if they return."

"Your Majesty," Grania interjected, "her reputation will be beyond salvaging, if she does not return immediately."

"She made the choice," Kelson responded firmly.

"I think," Duncan said placatingly, "Father Columcil will insist on a betrothal.  In fact, I may suggest it myself when I contact Columcil."  He looked sidelong at the king. "I am assuming you want me to inform Columcil at the earliest opportunity."

Kelson looked thoughtfully at the ward cubes on the table.  "Perhaps we can turn the situation to our advantage."

All in the room looked puzzled and waited for the king to continue.

"These ward cubes were used by the man who took Sir Washburn and has been holding him for several days.  Lord Darcy is not so far away that I can't send them to him by courier, although they are really for Lady Aliset.  She is skilled enough to scry for the man and perhaps determine if he still has Washburn."

"Any of us could do the same," Laird Seisyll objected. 

"True, but they will be closer to act if she does locate Washburn through him.  Having someone close enough may avoid the narrow miss we just had."  He looked at Richenda, who blinked back momentary tears and nodded. 

"I'll let Columcil know to expect the ward cubes and why," Duncan said.

Kelson nodded and looked at the three women before him, who were just barely mollified by the solutions presented.  "Forgive me if I am brusque, but I have a rebellion to put down."

Recognizing dismissal, the women curtseyed and left the council room.  Kelson briefly wondered how Father Columcil and Lord Darcy would react when they received the news.  He decided he would rather not know; they would have to sort it out.

[Evie]

Aliset shifted uneasily in the saddle of the unfamiliar mount she rode, already missing her beloved Papillon, still housed in the stables at Rhemuth Castle. She could hardly have taken her own horse, after all, while slipping out of Rhemuth disguised as a Haldane squire!  Her conscience was pricking her for her multiple deceptions, not to mention her manipulation of poor Robert's mind. She had stopped short of setting any actual compulsions, and had any genuine emergencies occurred during the previous night, the squire would have had no trouble shaking off her psychic suggestions to do what needed to be done. Still, she fretted inwardly, hoping she would be able to unburden her conscience before too much longer.

Definitely not right now, though, with the walls of the city still not all that far behind them! If Darcy and Columcil were to catch on to her guilty secret so soon, she had no doubt they would turn right around and bring her back to Court, if they had to do so with her trussed and squealing like a pig headed to market!

She thought back to the previous evening, after she had sent Robert off to bed and had made her final preparations for her escape at dawn. She'd lain awake, unable to sleep despite the comfort of her borrowed bed and her need for rest.

***

Restless with anxiety, she had risen, stealing into the ladies' solar in hopes that some light reading might help to make her drowsy. The solar had been empty, of course, for it was well past Compline and perhaps even approaching Matins, and the ladies of the court had retired to their bedchambers over an hour earlier to seek their slumber and prepare for their own busy mornings ahead. Guided by the faint sheen of moonlight shining through the mullioned window panes, Aliset crossed the room, wondering if she dared light handfire at this hour or if some passing guard might notice and send someone to investigate, or perhaps some lightly sleeping lady of the Queen's entourage might be awakened by the light seeping through the crack underneath her bedchamber door. She decided not to take the chance, but while pondering what else she might do to pass the time until her nerves settled enough for her to become sleepy, she spotted a goblet on the nearby window seat, next to what appeared to be an open locket.

Curious, Aliset entered the window niche, wondering who would have left a filled goblet standing untended on the Queen's expensive silk seat cushion. She lifted it carefully, about to take a sip from its contents to keep them from sloshing over the rim of the cup, when her gaze happened to fix upon one of the portraits in the locket. It was Lord Washburn Morgan. Aliset's arm stilled as she realized what she had come upon.

One of the Deryni ladies of the court--the dowager duchess, perhaps, or maybe Wash's sister Grania--had clearly been attempting to scry for the missing lord at some point earlier in the evening. Whether she had succeeded or not, Aliset had no way of knowing, but seeing Washburn's portrait looking up at her gave her the idea to make her own attempt at it also.  Carefully positioning herself so that the moonlight streaming into the window was not blocked by her body's shadow, she studied Wash's painted features, committing them to memory as she cradled the locket loosely in her left hand while holding the goblet on her right side so it caught the pale rays of the moon. The psychic imprint left upon the locket was its owner's, not Wash's, yet it seemed familiar enough for all that, with certain underlying resonances that indicated its owner was clearly a lady of Wash's direct bloodline.

Armed with Wash's portrait, then, to reinforce her own memories of the nobleman's appearance, and with a psychic reminder of how Washburn had "felt" to her own inner senses, Aliset gazed into the depths of the goblet before her.  Falling into a light trance, she began to scry for his presence.

((Spending 2 xp to roll 3d6.  4, 5, 6 == 15))

It took some time for the image of him to form. Aliset pondered whether that might mean he was now some distance away, rather than somewhere close to Rhemuth Castle. That seemed likely. It also took her a few moments to figure out what she was seeing, for the image resolving on the dark reflective surface did not make sense to her at first. How had Lord Washburn managed to sprout an extra set of arms? How ridiculous! Surely her focus must be off.

And then, even as the image grew less clouded, the distant lord stirred in his sleep, shifting slightly to one side, and Aliset saw a decidedly feminine breast peek out from behind one of Washburn's muscular shoulders, and as she stifled a gasp at the unexpected sight, Aliset realized that not all of the long, flowing hair on Washburn's pillow was his own.

The shock nearly caused Aliset to drop the goblet she held. As her hand clutched the stem of the vessel convulsively, the ensuing ripples in the wine erased the faint image of Washburn and the unknown woman. Her focus shattered, Aliset hastily set the goblet down on a nearby table, heat flooding her cheeks as she considered the tableau she had seen. Who was that woman? No, never mind that! What in the blazes was Lord Washburn up to? No, that much was certainly clear! Gadding about the Kingdom engaging in bedsport with disreputable lightskirts while his family and friends were all so worried sick about him!  Wherever he might be, he clearly wasn't hurting!  Aliset shook her head, stifling a disdainful snort. Men!

She gently set the locket next to the goblet, resisting the temptation to simply slam it down onto the table instead. Storming back into her room, she slipped under the covers, although in her anger she despaired of ever getting any sleep the rest of that night. As her initial flare of temper began to cool, though, she realized she was perhaps being somewhat unfair. While it seemed evident enough that Washburn was safe and sound for the moment, he clearly was still taken from Rhemuth against his will, to a location none here knew where, and if he had not sent a message back to the King and his family that he was safe, then in all likelihood he was unable to do so.  Yes, that squared a bit better with the honorable lord she had come to know.

So where was he? With a sinking sense of shame, Aliset realized she had let herself be so distracted by the sight of the clearly naked nobleman entwined with his unknown light-o'-love that she had utterly neglected to notice any other features of the chamber that might help her identify his current location.

***

Still bleary-eyed with lack of sleep and upset with herself for having blown a perfectly good chance to discover any useful information about Lord Washburn's whereabouts, in addition to feeling overwhelmed with guilty thoughts about her treatment of poor Squire Robert, Aliset was hardly in the best frame of mind the following morning, although she did her best to conceal her discomfiture. Hopefully her traveling companions would ascribe her continuing silence as they rode through the green lowland countryside together to the natural weariness any dutiful squire might feel upon being asked to wake up before dawn at the outset of a long journey.