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At reaching the city, Hannibal suggests lodging in a local tavern, one preferably away from any great deal of activity. His desires for that day are: Rent the finest lodging he can find and take a hot bath, help himself to a large meal and head out to see what the local merchants have to offer.

As Crayne and Hannibal enter into the city of Parton, Crayne smiles as he takes a strong sniff of the city air. It was good to be back to normality, Crayne thinks to himself, happy to be away from the dwarves. He pats his horse and nods at some passers-by. It's at this point that Hannibal makes the suggestion to head for a local tavern.

Crayne acknowledges Hannibal's request and lets him lead the way. On reaching the bar, Crayne also purchases lodgings for the night. Making his departure from Hannibal after agreeing with him to meet later in the evening, he heads for his new accomodation. Pleased with the room Crayne heads to one of the small side cabinets and rests his staff in the groove between the bed and cabinet. He then empties the contents of his rooksack on the bed.

Hannibal, meanwhile, heads out of the inn and into the city streets. It was good to be alone, for the first time in a long time. He felt the unfamiliar, yet satisfying feeling that he was completely free; away from the careful watch of the others. What's more, he could do whatever he wanted to.

First on his list is some shopping. He makes his way to a nearby market square, eyeing some of the goods on the sidewalk carts and in some of the more trendy shops along the way. Parton, indeed all of Raimead, certainly was a prosperous city. Similar to Seden except that there was definitely more of a commercial feel to this city, whereas Seden had more of an academic aura.

Dismissing these thoughts Hannibal gladly purchases some new clothes, as well as rations, to replace those stolen by the goblins. He continues his shopping in some of the alleys, taking in the wares not so publicly displayed as well...

Back at the inn, Crayne is still enjoying the comforts of his room. He sees his book on herbalism and the herbs he purchased back in Seden. He also sees the scrolls which he retrieved from the Adamantine mines that belonged to his mage friend Dire Luthor. How he had meant to ask Dire about the scrolls but it had escaped his mind. He would nevertheless make sure that he asked him next time they met.

Crayne also sees Mazen's spellbook. Moving these aside for the moment, Crayne flicks through the herbalism book; something which he had had an outside interest in since he was young. Uncle Karelth's good friend Balrak had always kept a herb garden

and Crayne was always intrigued by different smells and colors that they bestowed. As a youngster he had got into a fight on a few occasions and it was Balrak he had gone to for some herbs to help ease the pain. It was from then that Crayne had picked up names of the herbs and what each of them could do. Through the years Crayne did take interest in the making of potions and administering of herbs.

It is now perhaps that this knowledge might come in to prove quite handy. Crayne looks up in the index some potions that help to send the drinker to sleep. A simple start, Crayne thinks to himself as he begins to mix together a rudimentary sleeping potion.

Once satisfied, Crayne stoppers a small vial that he found in the bathroom and pops it in one of his pouches tied around his waist. Pleased with himself, he then lies on the bed and takes his spellbook. If he was going to meet this Paros he needed to be prepared afterall. (Crayne memorises Color Spray, Charm Person, Detect Magic and Levitate) Seeing that he already has invisibility he keeps that. Although he still has Audible Glammer Crayne dosen't wish to keep it so uses it by scaring a passer by in the street. Pleased with himself Crayne, passes about an hour memorising spells.

When Crayne is satisfied that everything is memorised he heads out of the door of his new room and enters into the streets of the city. By now it is the end of the workday, and the vendors are beginning to pack up their wares. Still, Crayne hurries through the market square as he knows what he is after. Passing through the market, Crayne purchases a reasonable dagger seeing that the dwarves didn't replace the one they took off him.

Later that evening Crayne and Hannibal meet up again. After a filling dinner, they decide to head to the castle the next morning and demand a meeting with Paros.

"Shall we?" Naeron asks, beckoning Emma and the others into his home city of Parton.

Emma nods and nudges her horse to follow behind Naeron's. The diplomat probably knew the best routes through the city of Parton. The last time she was here it had been under the escort of her temple priests. There really hadn't been much time for sight-seeing or learning the streets of the city.

As they ride along, she glances in Bernigan's direction. "Well, we've seen you safely here," she replies, "What plans do you have in mind?"

"I have a variety of meetings to attend to, but I won't bore you with details," he says with a grin toward Emma. "Don't you worry, we shall be out of each others' sight soon enough."

The priestess listens to the evil diplomat's reply but inwardly she wonders if she should simply truss the man up like a spring chicken and drop him at her temple's doorstep. 'A member of the Blood Clan would surely warrant a trial of some kind, with or without Hannibal as a witness,' she thinks. But, instead, she just sits her horse, swaying with its every step. How could she take such an action when she had no proof of anything? And, besides, doing something like that would certainly be against Hannibal's wishes.

Nonetheless, she tells herself to keep alert. A little investigation into Bernigan's "venture" might uncover the proof to take matters into her own hands. And that would be in Hannibal's best interests...or so she believes.

Finally, the priestess sets her thoughts aside concerning Bernigan and calls ahead to Naeron. "Shall we head directly for the King?" she asks, "Hopefully, Paros is suitably occupied by our 'scouts'. If we can weave our way past the rest of the magistrates and supplicants, we should gain the King's ear before too long, don't you think?"

"Agreed," answered Naeron. "I think reaching Bryant with all of the news is of utmost importance. From there we can set strategies to proceed and to deal with the dwarves." Though he tries to hide it, Emma can still hear traces of disdain in his voice...

Naeron raises his head to look at the sun, which is at mid-afternoon and halfway through its course toward the moutains. Deciding they still have time, he tightens his grip on his horses reins. "This way."

The ride to the castle is not long. Naeron certainly does know his way around the city. Every so often he nods to various people on the street, merchants, shop-keepers, constables on patrol, soldiers, even a few women--though always in a polite and diplomatic manner. Soon the large, tall stone walls of Castle Parton loom above the street, and four more guards stand at the gate.

"Naeron Thess," one of the guards says with a short bow, "welcome home. It is good to see you, though I admit, unexpectedly. How did you survive the blockade unscathed?"

"Unscathed?" Naeron replies, smiling at an old friend, "I would hardly say that..."

"Sounds like a good story to tell over a tale glass of ale, then!" The guard replies. "I am sure Sir Stenwick will be happy to learn of your return, to say nothing of your father."

"Yes, I am sure," Naeron says, smiling proudly to his friends, Emma and Canter. "Tell, me is Gladstone about?" As the guard asks one of the other soldiers, Naeron leans over to Emma and Canter. "Perhaps, as the King's Man-At-Arms, he can offer us a direct route to the inner court..."

"A good idea," Canter offers. Emma nods in agreement.

"I believe so," the guard returns, "perhaps try in the map chamber?"

"Thank you, good friend," Naeron says, patting the soldier on the shoulder with his delicate--yet strong--elven hand, "hopefully we will meet again soon before I must leave once more."

"I hope so!" the guard calls after Naeron as he and his party ride past the gate and onto the castle grounds.

"This is becoming ridiculous," Cy sneers as he looks through the bars of their cell. "I will not stand by here while our friends confront what could be the most dangerous man in the realm!"

"Calm yourself, warrior," Karelth says. His eyes remain closed as he lies on the bench, hands behind his head. "All in good time, you will fight the battle you seek."

"Out of deference to your nephew, I won't argue. But my frustration with our captivity is making me angry enough to do so!" Cy spits back. He felt instantly guilty for yelling at the older man. Of course, Karelth had done nothing to deserve being reprimanded. He was, after all, only trying to calm him down.

Then a dwarven soldier comes pacing toward the cell.

"[On your feet, prisoners!]" the soldier calls. The orders wake up Storm, who had also been snoozing. And Karelth, though he doesn't understand the words, understands their intend well enough.

The soldier reaches into a pocket, removing a key. Cy watches, eyes wide, as the key is placed into the lock and the door opened.

"[We are free then?]" Storm asks, still groggy from his nap.

"[By order of the general,]" the soldier replies, obviously unhappy with the order.

Cy asks, still in a state of shock, "[But why? How?]"

"[It seems Thorn of the Strongblades had a little conversation with General Korg.]" He looks to Storm, "[someone is looking out for you...]"

"What have we here?!" the man asks with a wide smile. His sky-blue tunic is tight enough to allude to his strong, muscular build beneath. And his short, well-kept beard indicates his maturity.

"Gladstone," Naeron jests, "has it been so long you no longer recognize me?"

"Naeron Thess," the man replies, "it is so good to see you again. And at such a joyous time for our lord and for the Great House of Raimead. And who is with you? Do I recognize these faces?"

"You do, sir," Emma says politely, "I am Emmalya of Serralund. We met some weeks ago at a banquet with King Bryant and Rinder's Six. As a Shield-Maiden of Anhur, my loyalties are, as always, to serve and protect my lords, both in the heavens and in our own realm."

"And I am Canter Tarp, of Rinder's Six," Canter says, nodding to Gladstone with a look of recognition.

Gladstone looks to Bernigan, who pauses before introducing himself. "My name is Bernigan. Liege to Duke Patrick II of the Great House of Marlond. And you are?"

"Gladstone, Sergeant-At-Arms to King Bryant."

"Wellmet, Gladstone." Bernigan then draws in a breath before continuing. "And at this time I do believe I will take my leave of you. Canter, Emma, Captain Delk. It has been a pleasure travelling with you." He looks to Delk, "And the best of luck in the upcoming negotiations..."

Delk nods as Bernigan nods quickly to Gladstone. Then he heads out of the antechamber, seeking out a herald to guide him on with his own business in the castle.

"Captain Delk," Delk says to Gladstone stiffly, "of the Warhammer Brigade."

Gladstone looks Delk over, shifting his stance to a more defensive one. "I see. The Warhammer Brigade."

"Gladstone," Naeron says, quickly changing the subject so as not to incite a small riot right there in the antechamber, "we must speak with his majesty as soon as possible. We bring news of the rest of the realm and vital information regarding the Dwarven Blockade. It is of the utmost importance."

Gladstone nods, scratching his chin and thinking. "Sir Bryant," he begins, using the kings older, but more familiar title, "is in a closed session with his financial ministers as we speak. Perhaps before his next engagement we could..."

"We must," Canter says, impressing Gladstone with the sense of urgency.

Gladstone looks to Naeron, whose face says all he needs to see. "We will."

Early in the morning, Crayne and Hannibal rise and make their way to the main castle gate. There they are stopped by the guards.

"Let me pass, soldier," Crayne addresses, "I am Mage Crayne of Rinder's Six and I will speak with Paros."

The guard holds out his hand, halting Crayne--much to the mage's frustration. "Hold it there." He then looks over his shoulder, "herald!" he calls. Soon a young boy is seen running from the stable.

"Where is the herald?" the guard demands.

"I'm sorry, sir," the boy says, his high voice giving away his age. "He's not around. But I can help!"

"Fine then. These men wish to see Paros. Take them to the Master Chamberlain."

"Master Chamberlain, right!" the boy repeats.

"But you will leave those here with me," the guard points to Hannibal's long sword and bow and arrows.

[Hannibal: will you leave your weapons?!]

"May I help you?" the older man asks. His flowing robes and trimmed, pointed beard indicate his age. His spectacled right eye squints as he strains to look up from the parchment scroll in his hands.

"We are here of Rinder's Six," Crayne explains, growing frustrated by the minute. "We must speak with Paros."

"Oh, Paros," the Master Chamberlain repeats, his voice cracking and almost fading away. "I'm afraid that's not possible..."

"Not possible?" Hannibal questions.

"Why is that?" Crayne demands.

"You see," the Master Chamberlain explains weakly, "Paros...he does not...he does not take visitors."

"Who, may I ask are you?" another voice booms from behind Crayne and Hannibal.

They spin around to see a taller, younger man in long black robes.

"Paros..." Crayne whispers.

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