~ The Dwarven Blockade: [Home] [Previous Turn] [Next Turn] ~

Naeron is taken aback at Sir, er, King Bryant's ignorance of his own station. He even feels a moment of despair. Then, gathering himself, he drops to one knee. "Can it be that my leige is unaware of his own standing? My lord," he looks up with genuine affection in his eyes, "You, my lord, have been chosen by the Council of Knights to assume the throne of Rinder!"

Emma smiles, but remains standing for now.

"Thess speaks from his heart, Your Grace. He is your dutiful and ever-loyal servant. And his report is accurate," the priestess adds, "During our adventures in Seden, Rinder's Six foiled an assassination attempt upon the lives of the Council Knights, perpetrated by Lady Hannah, daughter of the Duke himself. We revealed her treachery to the knighthood and she was found guilty, stripped of her noble title, and imprisoned in the Temple of Anhur.

"Following those chaotic events," she continues, "The Council Knights were able to hold their annual meeting, and they were kind enough to allow us to speak our minds on the matter of ascension. Naeron, Highbrow Crayne, and myself all expressed our confidence in your ability to lead our people through these troubling times and bring prosperity to our kingdom as you have done for Raimead. The Council agreed and recommended before one and all that you ascend to the throne of Rinder.

"Of course," she admits, "The Council's vote is simply a recommendation. It carries some weight certainly, but the nobles themselves will have the final say in the coronation. I'm certain though that your actions and wisdom in the days ahead will convince them to confirm the choice.

"Following the announcement," she finishes, "Sir Nigel sought us out once more and requested that we make haste for the mountain passes of Raimead. He explained that the situation with the adamantine mines has worsened and that our allies, the Dwarves, are no longer cooperative. On your and Rinder's behalf, we undertook the mission and have only now escorted Captain Delk, the dwarven negotiator, to Parton to explain the reason behind the blockade.

"In light of the knight's death of which your message speaks," she says, "I would still urge caution and patience, Your Grace. There are bandits and goblins about in the mountains as well. He could easily have been ambushed by someone other than the Dwarves. Do not be so quick to lay this knight's death at their feet. We have spoken much more recently with them, and they do not seem the bloodthirsty type unless provoked without just cause. In truth, they accepted us easily enough and listened to our words...even allowing us to leave and escort their representative to meet with you. There is no reason for them to have slain this man. It gains them nothing...and it risks everything. And I do not believe that General Korg would jeopardize these negotiations in such a way."

Sir Bryant is stunned by the news, nodding absentmindedly for a moment as Emma finishes. He steps back, leaning against an ornate desktop to steady himself as he allows it to sink in. He will be king. After so many years, after so many generations, the throne of Rinder would return once again to the Great House of Raimead. (How must the Great House of Merriam feel about this?)

But not, he assured himself, for long, if Rinder could not withstand the threat of the Kingdom of Caerloon, and the Dwarven Clans.

He raises his gaze from the floor, his eyes meeting with Naeron's. Extending a hand, he brings Naeron back to his full height. "Naeron Thess," he says, his voice unsteady, "the priestess is right. You have always been a most devoted member of this household and embodied the utmost loyalty. For that, I thank you.

"And for the good you have already done along with the rest of Rinder's Six. Indeed, as your reputation has grown as a group, I believe it well deserved..." his voice trails off, whispering, "King of Rinder..."

"My lord," Canter says kindly, even tentatively, "please accept my congratulations on your ascension. But the matter with the dwarves..."

"Yes of course," Bryant responds, focussing on the present situation. "You say it is Paros the dwarves have been dealing with?" he asks with a raised brow.

"Yes, your grace," Emma replies.

"Of course," Bryant surmises, "Paros is, of course, appointed to oversee matters of treaty, present and past. He is, after all, a trusted advisor to the House of Raimead."

"But sir," Naeron objects, "it appears that Paros has not been dealing with the dwarves honorably."

"Appears so," Bryant says, "but I will not take the dwarves' word on the matter. I will speak to Paros myself."

"And Captain Delk?" Emma inquires.

Bryant looks to Emma, square in the eye. "Of course, and Captain Delk." He then moves to leave the room. "I must now to meet with the Master Chamberlain. If indeed I am to assume the throne, preparations must be made."

"Of course, my liege," Naeron says politely and with a deep bow as the new king leaves the chamber. "May the gods be with you always."

"And you, mister Thess," Bryant replies, his voice trailing off into the next room.

That uneasy feeling hits Hannibal again. The way he always feels when around mages, sick to his stomach. As they go to follow Paros, Hannibal let's Crayne lead. He hesitates a moment and then almost answers Paros' question, but stops himself. Every one who knew of Rinder's knew Hannibal was the thief and it didn't take a wizard to figure out that thieves usually ended up in some prison or another...at least for awhile. Nevertheless, he still had an uneasy feeling. Almost like the wizard was reading his mind. Shaking the thought from his mind, he remained quiet.

Paros leans back upon the desk in his library, deep within the bowels of Castle Parton. "Why is that?" he asks slowly.

Hannibal goes to speak, wanting to push his earlier question on the mage again. He sees Crayne's look though and forfeits to the business on hand.

Crayne nods and looks at Hannibal for a short moment and then begins, "I have sought you out for a while now Paros, and it is only time that has prevented our paths crossing. We are of Rinder's Six and I am more than sure that you have knowledge of our various exploits in defending Rinder from Caerloon's attempted invasion, so no introductions are needed."

"Ahh yes," Paros interrupts, "the famed Rinder's Six. Word of your...'exploits'...certainly have reached this castle. Continue."

Crayne swallows, then resumes his speech: "We are both here today having just come from the Raimead mountain ranges. Having been previously notified about the dwarven blockades to the mountain passes we made our way to speak to the dwarves. From them we have learnt that they are angered and believe that they have not been adequately compensated for by Rinder. This compensation involves the discovery and mining of a much more valuable ore known as adamantine.

"It seems to me that the dwarves are entitled to a higher price. It is a simple matter of economics for a product offering a greater quality should surely be paid for with a higher price. Is that not the case, Paros? It seems astonishing that Raimead would not agree to the terms of the dwarves especially in such hostile times as these. It is clear from the attacks so far instigated by the invading Caerloon that all help is of a great value at present. The alliance with the dwarves is nothing to scough at, for that is quite evident. Why then, I must ask myself, are these dwarves being refused a higher price? Why is it that their proposals have been rejected on countless occasions and the treaty between the two races is at its lowest?

"This is why we are here, Paros! It was your name that they uttered as the person who represented Rinder in these negotiations. Why, Paros, have you turned these negotiations away? Please answer me, Paros, for I am intrigued and very interested in having to hear what you say." Crayne smiles at Paros in a sardonic manner. He stands there tall looming over Paros.

"And when you're done with that friend I'd like to know why you have such an interest in the life of a common thief?!!" Hannibal states, his voice rising slightly but not to the point of shouting.

Paros stays there for a moment, silently peering at Hannibal, but then focussing his glare upon the mage Crayne. Slowly, he pushes upon the desk beneath him, raising himself off the surface and standing at his full height, which matches Crayne's. There is a moment of clear tension as he stands directly face-to-face with Crayne, reflecting back the younger mage's implicit challenge.

"Mage Crayne you are well traveled, would you say?" Paros begins asking, not really stopping for an answer, "wise to the ways of the world? This would be your opinion, of course." Paros pauses, allowing for a dramatic moment of silence.

He then continues, "I would presume differently, Crayne. For you are young, but a baby, nascent in all respects."

Crayne grinds his teeth, severely disliking Paros's condescending tone. Hannibal can feel the sweat on his palms as the temperature in the room seems to rise with the tension.

"I would be more careful, Mage Crayne, when addressing those of higher station than yourself. A foot soldier questions not the orders of his officer. The line officer questions not the orders of his general. The young, independent, upstart mage questions not the wizard."

'Independent?' Hannibal asks himself, 'as in not a member of the Red Dragon School? Would that mean Paros is a member?'

"The Duke of Raimead, Sir Bryant of the Great House of Raimead, has entrusted me--as did his father before him, Duke Michael of the Great House of Raimead--Keeper of the Ducal Treaties. Look around, you are surrounded by them." The tall wizard extends his arms toward the bookcases on either side. "It is therefore my duty to see to the maintenance of such treaties, including the Great Dwarven Pact to which you refer. Far be it, I think, for a mage such as yourself, to question an official of such standing."

Paros draws a deep breath. "Let me give you a little advice, Mage Crayne. Let me do my duty to my Duke. Do not interfere in my affairs, and you will find I will not interfere with yours. Cross my path...get in the way, to use the common expression...and you will be sorry you did so."

Crayne almost explodes in a fit of anger. But Paros cuts him off, turning suddenly toward Hannibal. "And you, Hannibal Smith," he says sternly, using Hannibal's full name once again, "may think yourself a 'common thief,' but travel with company such as the famous 'Rinder's Six,' and you will find it much more difficult to blend in with the crowd."

'We have our eye on you...'

The voice echoes within Hannibal's mind. But it wasn't Hannibal's voice. It strangely resembled that of Paros. But the imposing wizard's lips did not move, did not articulate such words! The idea of someone else planting thoughts within his own mind, making him hear voices, sends a shiver down Hannibal's spine. All the more reason to hate magicians.

"Come," Canter suggests to Emma and Naeron, "let us find lodging for the night. In the morning we can find Crayne and Hannibal and see what they have found."

"A fine idea," Naeron replies, leading the way out of the Castle and into the streets of Parton.

After a few minutes walk, they are led to an inn where rooms are secured for the night. Seeing that she still has an hour or two of daylight left, Emma decides to head to the market district to replace some of her stolen items.

By nightfall Emma returns, arms full of clothing. That evening, she joins Naeron and Canter in a nearby tavern for a good hearty meal.

"So you think," Canter says, chewing on his meat, "that the Dwarven Clans aren't responsible for the knight's death?"

"I don't think they'd be so foolish," Emma replies, sipping her wine.

Naeron nods, "Agreed. But that begs the question, who do you think did kill the knight? We heard what Braynt said, the killing of a knight is not something to be taken lightly. Someone will be held responsible. And right now the Dwarven Clans have adopted a very aggressive stance."

"Not all dwarves, Naeron, follow along with the Clans," Emma says, eyeing the half-elf.

"Perhaps."

"Take our friend, Storm, for example," the priestess continues, holding out her cutlery to make the point. "Hardly your typical dwarven clansman."

"Still," Canter says, lowering his goblet to the table, "we don't know who is responsible, or why the knight was killed. Is it a political matter? Or someone taking advantage of the perilous situation in the mountains?"

"I don't know, Canter," Emma replies, "that I just don't know..."

"[Patrol?]" Storm asks, directing the question more at himself than at Gellick, his old, young acquaintance. A smile slowly creeps across his face as he imagines himself on patrol with a dwarven party. "[Aye, I be goin' with ya!]" he finally declares. Then, as if catching himself, he turns to Karelth and Cy.

"Don't worry," Cy says placing a hand on Karelth's shoulder but addressing Storm. "I'll stay here with Karelth," he turns to older mage, "the battlefield is no place for you, I think."

As if set free from decades of imprisonment, Storm happy follows the younger dwarf, Gellick to join the rest of the patrol near the entrance to the cave. In total there are twelve of them. The other dwarves are all armed with short swords and clubs. The leader of the patrol, named Brauenok, also carries at his belt a couple of daggers and a small crossbow. He doesn't seem to mind Storm's appearance and the fact that he is joining the group. "[If ye can fight them goblins, ye can come along,]" he says to Storm.

They depart from the cave as the sun begins its descent from its zenith in the sky above. Heading out of the cave and to the south, along the mountains, they begin their patrol route, climbing through the large rocks and boulders, trying to maintain approximately the same position up the mountain as they go.

"[We gotta keep an eye out for thems goblins,]" Brauenok explains to Storm, "[they be more of a pest lately, ya see. 'Specially since we got more troops out than normal wit ta blockade n' all.]" Storm nods, taking in the leader's words but also just enjoying the march. It had been a long time since he was last in the mountains like this. Ten long years, long even for dwarves--or at least this one.

"[And 'course, keep an eye out for thems humans,]" Brauenok continues. "['Slong as da general says, we gotta keep 'em off our mountain. It be ours an' they know it.]"

Just then, one of the other soldiers, the one out in front, calls back to the leader, grave concern in his voice. Brauenok looks away from Storm to see an arrow streaming through the air, striking the lead dwarf in the chest and sending him falling backwards into the arms of another dwarf.

"[Goblins!]" another yells.

"[Arr!]" Brauenok growls, yanking a dagger from his belt. "[Take cover, draw 'em out and slice 'em ta bits!]" he orders his men.

The path, which is relatively level in this part of the patrol route, is about five feet wide, bordered on each side by tall boulders. On the left, the boulders are easily eight to ten feel tall, on the right (the mountain slopes down to the right as you are heading south), the boulders are only three to four feet tall. The path is relatively straight, and there are nooks and crannies in amongst the boulders large enough for the dwarves place themselves in for a little cover.

"[Storm!]" Gellick calls over the battle-cries of the dwarven soldiers and the yells of the goblins on the attack, "[ya gonna do the two-sword thing?]"

In the morning, Emma, Canter, and Naeron head back to the Castle, arriving a few hours after the market opens, midmorning. In seeking their mage and thief, Naeron knows exactly who to go to:

"The Master Chamberlain," Naeron explains, as if giving a guided tour, "he is in charge of all events pertaining to the Duke--er, King--,his Castle, and his staff. If anyone has seen them, surely he has."

As they enter the castle's main chamber, Naeron spots the man in question and immediately approaches him. The old gentleman is sitting at a desk, writing something on a piece of parchment with his quill. His white pointed beard brushes against his chest as his head bobs with each character drawn.

He slowly and painfully rises from his seat as Naeron approaches. But suddenly Naeron's attention is drawn elsewhere: over the Master Chamberlain's shoulder and down the corridor to the spiral staircase, from which Crayne and Hannibal are emerging.

"Can I help you, sir?" the Master Chamberlain asks politely.

"No, good Chamberlain," Naeron replies with a kind smile, "you have already." Then, motioning to Emma and Canter, Naeron leads them down the stone castle corridor, their feet gliding along the soft red carpet. Just seconds later they are face to face with Crayne and Hannibal.

"Highbrow!" Emma says with a smile, "so good to see you again. And Hannibal, I am pleased to see you are in better spirits, yes?"

"Perhaps...better..." Hannibal mutters, still disturbed by the voice echoing in his mind.

"Tell us, then," Canter begins, "have you found the mysterious Paros? What have you learned?"

"This Paros is an infuriating character," Crayne seethes, "he leads us down this staircase to his laboratory and library in a show of power and strength, then dares to lecture me on a man's proper station!" Emma's eyes widen as she can see how angry Crayne is. "He is also a clever man," Crayne continues, his voice low and concentrated, "he chooses his words carefully. He recognized that the Great Dwarven Pact is the treaty at issue, but did not specifically mention the attempts of the dwarves to renegotiate it, or his refusal to do so. Then he threatened..." Crayne is overcome with venom at the thought of being threatened "...he threatened me to stay out of his affairs."

"And he did something," Hannibal says, his voice shaking a bit, "to me...I...I heard a voice..."

"You have met with the King, yes?" Crayne inquires.

"We have, and we have informed him of the situation," Naeron explains, "He says that he will speak with Paros. But he places a high degree of trust in that man Paros and I fear that until we can prove his malice to Bryant, our efforts will be seen as outright betrayal to Sir Bryant's trust."

"Is there no one else we can talk to? Someone who might be able to shed some light on this mysterious and covertly malicious man?" Crayne asks.

Emma thinks for a moment, then arrives at an answer: "Towers. The high priest. He might know something about Paros, and he can certainly get the ear of Sir Bryant. Perhaps he can be of service."

"Good," Hannibal says, "getting out of here is good. The sooner the better--no offense Naeron."

"Of course," Naeron replies. "Whatever he did to you, though unprovable, will not be forgotten."

"Hannibal," Canter says, approaching his friend, "you mentioned a voice. What did it say?"

"Yes, Hannibal. Wizards have been known to plant voices inside the minds of others. That is, if you recall, how Dire Luthor contacted me. What did the voice tell you?" Crayne asks.

Hannibal shivers again as he repeats the words: "It said, 'we have our eye on you...'"

"Cursed Red Dragon mages!" Canter swears, struggling to keep his voice low so that prying ears in castle walls don't hear. "Doesn't that prove it then? Doesn't that mean that Paros is Red Dragon?"

"He did deny any knowledge of the School when we first met him, remember?" Emma reminds the others, knowing also that Naeron was not present at that first meeting. "But given what we know of this man, I would say deceit is not out of the question."

"We'll get no more accomplished here," Naeron says, looking to the others and eyeing the Master Chamberlain who, although out of earshot, is nervously watching the heated gathering in the middle of the corridor. "Let us seek out this priest, Emma, and see if his authority and," with a sympathetic look to Crayne, "his station can help us uncover what is really going on here."

The trip across the city to the great Temple of Anhur in Parton takes about an hour; they arrive just past midday. The large temple resembles the one in Seden, with its large columns in front and impressive facade. Heading up the tall steps at the front of the temple, Emma leads the way into the building's cool interior.

The scene is expansive (the ceiling seeming to be as high as the sky itself), with a large altar at the far other end of the room, faced with rows upon rows of wooden pews. Colored glass panes fill the wall behind the altar, filtering a cool blue- and gold-hued light into the room. Ancient shields and weapons line the other walls, reminding all present that Anhur is, indeed, a god of war.

After taking in the view, Emma leads the party down the center aisle toward the altar. Once at the front of the sanctuary, she turns left (remembering the temple from her prior visit, the day before her introduction to Rinder's Six), heading to the side of the room where the tall ceiling comes lower, closer to a more usual height, and three clerics sit about a table, reading from books and manuscripts.

"Greetings, and the blessings of Anhur be with you," Emma announces with a quick nod. The clerics look up from their studies, rising from their seats as Emma addresses them. "I am Emmalya of Serralund, Priestess and Shield Maiden of Anhur."

"And member of Rinder's Six," Crayne adds from behind.

Emma nods slowly, acknowledging Crayne's addition, though in all honesty, not appreciating the interruption. "I am looking for the High Priest, Towers."

One of the clerics steps forward, his simple brown robe tied at the waist with a piece of beige rope. "And greetings to you, Emmalya of Serralund. I am Fallon, Cleric of Anhur." He briefly looks over the rest of the party, taking in their various appearances. "You wish to see Towers, I see..." he glances over his shoulder to the other two, whose frightened faces return the gaze. "I...I can take to toward his chambers, but I do not know whether he will receive you..."

"Of course he will," Emma replies, sensing the youth and naïveté of these students, "show me to his chambers, I will take care of the rest."

"Alright then," Fallon says, picking up his manuscript from the table. He leads the party to a staircase along the wall behind the table, all the way to the far left side of the building (as viewed from the entrance) and a great distance from the altar in the center of the large sanctuary. Down the stone stairs and descending into the depths below the temple structure, Fallon leads Emma and her party into the tunnel system of subfloors.

The corridors are built of ancient stone, illuminated by torches affixed to holders along the walls. The party passes numerous doors, leading to study chambers, sleeping chambers, scroll depositories, and offices. All the way at the end of the corridor, Fallon stops.

"This is as far as I go," he says, "I must return to my studies. May the will of Anhur be with you, Emmalya of Serralund."

"And with you, Fallon," Emma says, looking down upon the young man. Perhaps she envied his innocence? His naive, blind faith in his studies? Or was it simply that she enjoyed a glimpse at the cleric she used to be, as if it solidified within her the knowledge that a significant portion of her training has taken place outside the temple walls.

With a deep breath, Emma pushes on the great wooden door. It creaks open to reveal a moderately sized chamber, perhaps ten feet square. Lit brightly by torchlight, the walls are lined with books and scrolls. In the center of the room is a wooden desk, behind which a man sits. He appears to be of later-middle aged, perhaps fourty five to fifty years old. His hair is beginning to thin and gray, but he still maintains a vitatily, evident in the quickness and firmness with which his head snaps up as the door opens.

"What is this?!" the man howls, "I ordered no interruptions!!"

"My apologies, your holiness," Emma apologizes. She swallows hard, sending a nervous glance over her shoulder to her friends and comrades behind.

"Well!?" Towers demands, lowering his quill to the desk and leaning back in his chair, "what is it, then?"

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