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The paladin ponders Captain Parst's assessment of his men's moral. Why could not his men seek inspiration through other means, such as by worship or prayer? It did not take a cleric or paladin to have faith. Anyone could pray, anyone could gain inspiration and have faith in the powers above. Did not the god of war preside over every battle, every conflict? A king, on the other hand, was just another man, a mere mortal. Imperfect. Corruptible. Why did they put so much weight on a single position of power that in the past has caused so much strife?

Responding to the discussion of Caerloon troop movements, Emma says, "I would advise caution on your part then, Captain. Deploy your scouts. Your men may be the first discover this new strategy and respond to it."

Skandor ponders the words that are spoken. His mind goes over the geography as best it can, trying to remember the locations of the places the Captain mentioned.

A shift in strategy...A feint? Or a new objective?

Could it possibly have anything to do with the Ring? El-Balans? Didn't the captain mention that he and his men were headed in that direction? Or was it possible--however remotely--that someone on the other side was watching Rinder's Six, and was making to intercept them? He makes a mental note to discuss this later with his comrades.

El is irritated by the pomposity evident in Crayne's voice -- as if he were responsible for the King's coronation. Who knows, maybe he was, he's been with group a lot longer, El thinks.

'Rinder's Six says so...' Crayne's voice echoes in the elf's ears. Rinder's Six says so? El finds it hard to believe the group has attained enough repute to make sweeping statements verifying the accounts of kings.

"Who's in charge of the main lines?" Emma asks, wondering if any of her fellow priesthood might be involved.

Parst sits back in his chair, scratching his cheek. "General Stinger is in charge of the forts now, appointed by the Council Knights, due to the lack of a king to make the appointment, following Sir Logan's murder some months ago. Stinger is a good man, a brave man. He is experienced in the ways of battle, having fought the Orcs to the east on many occasions. He has trained some of our best officers, and he himself was a student of Sir Samuel, the Council Knight.

Having finished his stew, Captain Parst leans forward over the table. "Does El-Balans still exist? They said it had a magical, mystical aura about it, that for some it was as close to pure happiness as one could get while on this plane. But doesn't that sound a bit too fantastic? Did it ever exist?

"Why would you venture in search of El-Balans, I wonder." His eyes narrow and he regards the group, trying to read Emma's facial expression. He is intrigued, and his brows furrows. "Is this some mission from the Knights?"

Skandor, too, turns his gaze towards the Shield Maiden. It was almost as if the captain was directing his questioning towards her, and the paladin did not feel that he had the place at this time to step in and interrupt. Instead, he sits there and like the captain, awaits her answer.

"Of sorts," Emma concedes, "Though, it has been given to us by the High Priest Towers of Raimead. Take heart that Rinder's Six will continue to find ways to thwart our adversaries plans. And it's possible that the troop movements you're seeing in Caerloon may have something to do with the search for El-Balans as well."

"Captain, as your orders are for you only, our orders are for us only. We hope you understand--there are many elements in Rinder itself that would see us dead," El says pointedly. "And I hope you did not misinterpret my interest in your troop movements as anything but the hushed whisperings of one concerned citizen to another. We wish you and your men the best of luck."

El smiles at the end, trying to soften the sting of his words to the Captain. Damn, this Captain, as nice as he seemed might seem, could well be an informer for the Red Dragon mages--or worse--the Blood Clan. After which, El gathers his belongings and prepares to leave.

"I see, then," Captain Parst replies to Emma, staring at her intently. How did he feel about Rinder's Six taking orders from a priest? He certainly hid his true feelings well. Still, so far he had shown no outward signs of contempt or disloyalty, plus he had traveled a long way to come and serve his kingdom. "Well then," his eyes flicker to Skandor, El, and Crayne, "I wish you and your unit the best of luck in the days to come. You are always welcome at this captain's table."

Emma nods her head respectfully as the others do as well. Then they take their leave of Captain Parst and his troupe, heading back to Hannibal at their own camp. Once there, they fill him in on the discussion.

Hannibal strokes his beard thoughtfully as he listens. The last time he had heard of troop movement like this it led to war, and not the type of war Rinder's Six had been familiar with. This would be the type of war where two great armies lined up against one another and proceeded to destroy one another. The screams of the dying momentarily fill his ears as the sights, sounds and carnage of battle replay in his mind. He doesn't look forward to such a war, it killed good men in droves.

"Great," Hanibal mutters quietly to himself. Yet another conspiracy to worry about. Casually Hannibal returns to his rations, acting as if talk of war with Caerloon meant nothing to him. But inside, deep down inside, it scares him badly!

Soon watches are set and all go to sleep under Nire's sky.

Morning arrives with a chill, the sky offering flurries of white snow. All rise, shivering in the cold and preparing to continue the journey westward toward El-Balans. Breaths form clouds in the air as camp is struck and the horses are mounted once again. As they ride past Captain Parst's camp, Crayne offers a nod to the stable boys combing the officers' horses on the outskirts.

Onward they ride, to the south along the main road. By evening they reach Jilten, the large town marking the entrance to the Rinder Lowlands. The towns people are all about, scurrying from shop to shop before they close as quickly as possible so as to stay out of the cold. After a quick stop for some warm food, the party continues, slowly altering their course west until they are riding parallel to the Rinder-Caerloon border, passing the place where Fort Mitchend once stood. As night falls completely camp is once again set, and once watches are chosen (and this time doubled, considering the proximity to Caerloon), the party heads to bed once more.

The following morning arrives with a clearer sky, though the day-old snow on the ground crunches beneath heavy feet and hooves. After the morning meal and prayers the riding continues. By late afternoon smoke from Fort Farenhead can be seen to the south. According to Canter's speculation, it will take two more days of travel--past Fort Rycote and Fort Ironlast--until they reach the vicinity of El-Balans, on the very western edge of the kingdom.

Fortunately, with each passing mile the weather becomes more temperate. Not warm, for indeed the dead of winter is upon the realm, but no longer biting cold and snowing. The Endless Desert must be nearing.

The smoke from Fort Rycote can soon be seen the following afternoon. And the next day, Fort Ironlast, the western-most fort on the border. The party makes camp a few miles past Ironlast, thankful that the snow is no longer falling around them, and preparing for whatever they may find of El-Balans.

The following morning arrives and once again horses are mounted. Riding westward, Emma leads the group into the unknown, coming closer and closer to the abyss of the Endless Desert. The search is tiring, for all that can be seen on every horizon is open land, tundra. The dead, dry earth sprouts no seed, and the frozen, chilled, hard pebbles and dirt do not form pleasant hills or steep mountains. It is simply flat, liket the famed Sea of Wheat, but empty. Desolate.

It is late afternoon, with the sun not more than an hour from setting, when Alara spots it. Off to the south-west, a small dot on the horizon.

"Could that be El-Balans?" she asks, pointing and pulling her cloak around her more tightly.

"Perhaps," Skandor replies, squinting his eyes in a strained effort to see.

"If we ride that far," Hannibal warns, "we will have to plan on making camp there, whether we like the spot or not."

"Come on," Emma urges, "our goal is to find El-Balans, and if that's it, I don't want to stand here and freeze while we discuss it."

With a strong nod, Storm kicks his horse uncomfortably, spurring the mount on toward the structure, whatever it may be.

An hour later the sun has set and lanterns are lit. Closing in on the structure, it gradually becomes clearer in shape and nature. It is, indeed, a large stone compound of somesort, roughly square in shape with a stone wall running its outer edge. In the center is a square stone tower, at least two stories taller than the outer wall. There are, presumably, other smaller buildings inside.

Along the way, Storm happens to glance down at the ground beneath their feet. He is momentarily confused, as we can see many footprints there, both of horses and men, as well as some wheeled vehicles, as best he can tell at first glace. And there were very many tracks. Still, Storm doesn't mention it, figuring it was probably the monks from that place doing whatever those religious humans did. Hardly worth mentioning.

A small, steady stream of smoke rises from behind the wall--fire. Habitation. Encouraged, the group presses on, closing the distance until they are arrived.

"Yahk!" a voice calls from the tower inside, a small figure pointing toward the party below, at the large wooden gate. "Who goes there'n?"

"We are Rinder's Six!" Crayne announces. "We have come in search of El-Balans!"

"El-Balans you say?" the voice replies. Then there is a moment of silence.

'This is strange...' Emma thinks to herself.

"Yes, El-Balans!" the voice calls again. "You'n have found it!"

With that, the large, heavy, wooden gates are slowly opened by shivering clerics. Their tabards depicting the standard of Hathe hang from their chests, and they eye the party while they ride into the compound. Directly ahead is the main building, a stone structure with the tower on top. To the right appears to be a stable, kitchen, and other storage areas for hay, barrels, etc. To the right are two smaller, wooden buildings, the shutters of which are tightly shut, but light creeps out from underneath the closed doors.

"You'n have found El-Balans," the familiar voice says, stepping out from the main building toward the party. He is a middle-aged man, perhaps fourty or fourty-five years of age. He is bald and round, wearing a loose-fitting tabard and a small green skull-cap. He wipes his brow with a brown cloth as he rushes to greet Rinder's Six. "You'n are welcome here'n. I am the Priest Amos, Director of El-Balans."

Amos reaches out a hand, searching for someone to greet. His eyes first fall on Storm, then dart to Alara and Elloharin. Then he looks to Skandor, then to Emma. Finally, his eyes rest on Crayne. The mage, having dismounted, shakes Amos's hand, noting how warm and moist it is, as well as Amos's generally nervous complexion.

Hannibal, ever alert, notices another man leave the main building, walking briskly toward the two wooden buildings off to the left. His dress is markedly different than Amos's, or the clerics who opened the gate. Moreover, he appears to carry--though Hannibal couldn't be sure exactly given the darkness about and how quickly the man was moving--that he carried at his hip a sheathed sword. The man's curly, short black hair seemed familiar, but Hannibal just couldn't place it. In a matter of seconds, the man had arrived at one of the wooden buildings (the one closer to the main building), quickly opened the door, and hurried inside.

"Come inside the hall," Amos says invitingly, "I am eager to hear what brings you here."

The horses are given to a younger cleric who sees them to the stable, and Rinder's Six follows the Priest Amos to the hall--the main building. Inside is a small sanctuary, with a few wooden pews for worship. A large space before the pews is, at the moment, empty, though Emma knows that the clerics of Hathe probably use such a space for their artistic endeavors, which are probably part of their worship. Amos leads the group off to the left of the pews where there are a few wooden tables, all empty, and benches. In fact, the entire hall is empty, except for Rinder's Six, Amos, and two other men in the shadows at the end of a pew, way on the other side. The men just sat their, their barely-audible whispers the only evidence of their presence.

"Now," Amos says, sitting down. He folds his hands in front of him on the table, quickly passing one finger over another. Then he unclasps them, bringing them into his lap. Sighing loudly, he continues, "What brings you here, Shield Maiden and Sword Bearer?" He looks expressly at Emma and Skandor, catching their eyes but then quickly looking away, toward the two men on the other side of the room. Their whispers have stopped. Amos's gaze returns, noting the daggers on Storm's body. With his eyes darting about, Amos awaits an answer.

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