Chapter Twenty Seven: Crouching Wizard, Hidden Maiden

The farmer was quite annoyed to have a party appear on his property, fully armed and armored. He had no fear that he was under attack, the reason being that Preyd had a very robust justice system, and it heavily favored those who grew crops for its citizens. Besides, he knew a questing party when he saw one.

His annoyance was mollified by the news that they were interested in his grandfather’s old records pertaining to the Hallowed Mills and Ardent Glen environs. Aylmer Stogar might not be the historian that his ancestors had been, but he could pinch a penny with the best of them.

His great disdain for the fancy book learnin’ that folks put so much stock in was readily apparent in the sorry state of the records. They were piled high in the corner and along one wall inside a dusty, unused greenhouse. It was clear to Zuglah that some angry creature had definitely used a lot of paper as a nest to give birth in, perhaps two summers gone. And a cat was currently making the stacks a home. “Beware of the cat,” he warned. “It smells feral.”

“All Stupplah wants is a leg to rub on, and a rat to chew. But yes, keep your distance. He’s a mean old bastard.” Aylmer sounded somewhat proud of the beast.

Zuglah gave the man a gold coin for permission to root through the stacks and boxes of books. They were able to sort through it rather quickly because there were five of them, and they were only looking for maps. Older maps from perhaps a hundred years ago? Two hundred? This was the part that they weren’t sure of.

It turned out that there were a lot of maps and a couple of almanacs with beautiful, hand-drawn, full color renderings of the entire province. And they were ordered by date.

The only problem was, they were all too small to have the kind of detail that they were looking for. Chayah asked Aylmer if they had anything more localized.

He gave his chin a good scratch and thought. “Old Tholand Howl that lives not more than three miles from here has a map under glass, mounted on his wall like it was high art. I accused him of only displaying it because it strongly implies that most of this whole tract used to belong to his family. I told him that’s nothing to be so proud of! It means that some ancestor of his lost it all!”

He sure sounded like the person they were after. If this map was not old enough, perhaps this Farmer Howl would know where there might be one older.

Zuglah gave the farmer another gold coin, which made Warwick choke. “Zuglah, forfend your purse strings, I beg you. Perhaps I can handle the negotiations? Otherwise it is going to cost us a fortune to find this Constant Maiden of yours.”

Aylmer laughed. “What would you want with that old haunt? You can’t bring a bright young lass like her into a bawdy house!”

“You know of the Constant Maiden?” Zuglah could not believe his luck. Perhaps it wasn’t even that old.

“Everybody does. Constant Maiden’s been in this province for three hundred years. Of course, it wasn’t always a cat house. And it wasn’t always in Crimson Crossing, either. The one on Old Howl’s map, for example, shows it as being a tavern in Fording Loops.”

Hmmm. Zuglah asked, “Have you ever heard of the Stanish Manor? Or Lord Stanish? He has a crypt a couple leagues to the East.”

The farmer was nodding. “Of course. Who do you think Old Howl’s family used to work for? Entire Stanish bloodline got wiped out, and Howl’s great great something or other just took it up. Been falling apart in stages ever since.”

“And the Tar Witch? Have you heard of her?” Denton asked quietly.

The old man’s face was like stone. “We don’t call her that. Mistress Stinda or even The Wren, but never Witch. She doesn’t like it any more. Best you go see Old Tholand now.” He explained to them exactly how to travel from this lane directly to the farmstead, then wished them good fortune. When he closed his heavy farmhouse door, they distinctly heard the lock fall into place.

The feeling of the sky began to change as they walked. First, the sweltering heat of the summer afternoon began to wane, and then a breeze ran through the wheat and corn grown tall. After an hour, they were peering nervously at the sky and the black and gray clouds that were quickly overtaking them. The air grew chilly, and began spitting on them.

Zuglah regretted not buying or borrowing some horses. He could see now how the riding lessons were necessary for getting along on quests. He started to worry that the others might want to go home for now and come back with horses and warmer clothes. He wouldn’t mind a snug cloak himself.

The lane sloped down and seemed to be heading towards a fork. There wasn’t a signpost, but it appeared that one fork went to the right behind a copse of trees and sloped downwards. Zuglah unconsciously picked up his pace, hoping that the trees would afford them some small measure of shelter from the wind. Everyone else began moving eagerly also, and before long they were trotting.

Zuglah had time to wrack his brains. It made no sense. Aylmer Stogar had said that this lane would run for another league at least, yet the road forward ended abruptly. There had been no mention of a fork. Denton was the first one to round the corner, and he stopped with a sigh of relief. Zuglah saw that down the hill, tucked into the back of the forest with a wide yard for horses and plenty of stables and cottages, stood a large brick and stone building of at least five stories. The activity in the yard alone was thriving, with three young stable boys tending to a large, steaming train of horses that had clearly arrived moments ago. The team of six horses had been pulling a large luxury coach with a pursuant wagon attached.

While the boys watered and brushed the horses, a footman was handing down a pair of ladies in colorful, elaborate gowns and petticoats. A group of men were decoupling the wagon and manually shoving it backwards around the side of the building that was out of view from them. Zuglah assumed there would be a storage or cold room around that side.

A rather large delegation, led by another fancy lady, was just exiting the front of the building to greet the two newcomers. Their bags were secured and umbrellas provided by men who would not dream of sharing in the shelter the umbrellas afforded. The rain was turning cold, and everyone was bustled inside. This seemed to be what Denton was waiting for. “Okay let’s go.”

“Thank the Gods,” Chayah said, shivering. Her tunic was thicker than Zuglah’s, but her blood was a lot thinner. Zuglah had been much colder than this when he was younger.

They piled onto the path and trod down the hill eagerly. Without the welcome delegation, nobody in sight was turned in their direction. It seemed that they weren’t used to people coming from this path. Zuglah could see that there was a much larger, more active crossroads here, and a tall stone guidepost sat directly across from the front doors. They were well down the hill and approaching the inn when one of the stableboys happened to turn and spot them. He called out, waving, and the rest of the boys and men stopped to look. Some looked behind them up the slope, as though they were expecting to see more people behind them. Or perhaps wondering where they might be coming from, knowing better than Zuglah what might lay beyond Farmer Stogar’s fields. Perhaps there was nothing.

And yet they were welcome enough. Before they were well inside the yard, the same resplendent lady was at the top of the landing, regally ignoring the ever colder rain. Her large salmon-colored hat was lavishly adorned with vibrantly colored feathers of some humungus bird, and her many petticoats were pinned high up on her hip to display the sheer number and variety.

“Please forgive the weather, fine gentlemen. And lady. I have never succeeded in teaching it proper manners. But the table is full and close to the hearth. My name is Landie Jentrugh, and if you need anything just ask for me. I’m the owner.”

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Warwick looked around admiringly. “This’ll do. But I don’t see the name of the establishment on this sign, or that one either.” He pointed towards the crossroads with his chin, then towards the front of the inn where the sign was absent.

Landie merely shrugged. “There’s never been a need for one. The stagecoach goes through Huxton, Allini and Borgh. But there’s no town between Borgh and Sheleh, so it stops here instead. The Constant Maiden has been on this spot for well over a hundred years, although the name has changed, sometimes frequently, over the span. It has always been a point of contention in my family.”

They thanked Landie as she ushered them inside. “We are here doing some local research,” Chayah told her as they entered. The lady slipped an arm through Chayah’s elbow and held it as they talked. “Do you know Aylmer Stogar and his kin?” Landie shook her head.

Almost every table was occupied with peasant farmers and tradesmen, drinking after a long day’s labor. The two women who were traveling on the stagecoach were stationed in the corner, at a table by the stairs. There were the occasional dwarf, gnome, halfling and half elf scattered through the crowd, but wearing the same drab homespun as the rest of the locals.

The entire ground floor seemed to be dedicated to the inn’s tavern, with barely a thought to anyone who might be looking for rooms. Perhaps this was why Landie chose to meet her guests outside, to better determine which of her business’ services they had come for.

She installed them at a large, thick oak table that was indeed close to the hearth and cozily warm. Promising to have a pitcher of mulled, spiced wine sent over immediately, she bade them enjoy their stay then bustled herself into the kitchens.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Warwick leaned forward. “Zuglah, are we inside an Instance? Are these people real? She doesn’t even know her own neighbor.” He didn’t have any answers.

“I don’t know. I really wish Caldwell was here. I could tell that he had some idea about what was happening before, but I didn’t get a chance to ask him. We were on our way back to camp from the Stanish fight when Boland and Steenie just up and whisked him away. It all happened so fast.” He stared into his cup of wine for a minute before he realized that everyone else had gone silent. Staring.

“What was he like? Boland The Bronze?” Denton asked him eagerly.

Zuglah shrugged, trying to recall meeting the man. “Tall. Shiny. Had this insane aura about him. He was the scariest person I’ve ever met.” The Fighter nodded. About what he expected.

“Still,” Pliesson said. “That doesn’t help us much in our current situation. A dungeon can have an instance, because it is part and parcel with the enchantment. But a country lane? Impossible.” The Driole explained to them that he had been educating himself on dungeon creation lately, since Lieber Cant had mentioned him in Zuglah’s letter. It was a deep part of the game, some said the whole point, to embed an instance into a dungeon enchantment.

Chayah leaned forward. “And here’s another thing. This is most definitely not the dilapidated bawdy house that Aylmer Stogar described. This is a thriving tavern and inn that has not moved in a century. Do you think that we have somehow traveled to this Fording Loops? The Priest is correct, the owner is close enough to know every person living at that farm. I wager that if you asked her who her neighbors were, she would give you different names entirely.” Everyone was looking around the room with renewed interest.

“Okay, yes.” Denton pulled the group’s focus back to the table. “I agree that it’s strange and it doesn’t make sense. But you know what? It doesn’t really have to. I’ll bet that whatever version of the Constant Maiden we’ve arrived at, it has a certain item right where it’s supposed to be. That is all that’s important, wouldn’t you agree, Zuglah?”

He nodded to the Fighter. “We need to get behind the stables unseen so we can dig. I think that night would be the best time for that. Nobody will be out who doesn’t have to be.” They all agreed that was the best plan. That meant that they would be staying for supper. Zuglah thought that they should get rooms, because once it became dark nobody traveled, especially on foot.

Chayah said, “Why don’t you let me handle this one, Zuglah? I think she likes me.” He nodded.

When Landie floated near, Chayah summoned her with a smile and a friendly wave. “What time does the coach leave in the morning?”

Landie replied, “An hour after sunrise. You can get tickets from the driver.”

Chayah nodded. “Wonderful. Do you have three rooms available?” She handed a small pile of coins over to Landie, but not before Zuglah spotted the gleam of gold. The innkeeper pocketed the money swiftly. She assured them that rooms would not be a problem.

They ordered dinner. Now that they were guests, it was complimentary. They ate and drank and enjoyed the evening, almost forgetting that they were in the middle of a quest until Denton finished a toast with, “Anybody who’s left, should be drunk enough not to notice us. Let’s go.”

Denton was the only person in the group who didn’t have any sort of night vision. Fortunately, the Driole was able to give him infravision, which is what most of the party was using naturally except for Chayah and Zuglah.

The compound’s fencing was such that the only real way to get behind the stables was to go around the entire inn in the opposite direction. At the back, there was still a fence to hop but at least it wasn’t in full view of the front door and the yard boys, who were still cleaning up.

Zuglah tried to recall what the Lord of Stanish Manor had said, exactly. The last stable. All the way towards the back. There was another fence here, and two trees growing alongside them. They were directly beside where they should be digging. Denton and Zuglah took the first shifts, the third shovel that he had pulled from his Bag laying on the ground nearby. There was not room for three to dig, unless they started another hole.

After making an awful lot of noise they finally found an iron-bound wooden chest with glyphs carved into the front, top and sides. When they had uncovered it fully it was a rectangle, four feet across and three feet wide. Zuglah put a corner of the box into his Portable Hole and snapped it like a bow string. The gronnibox, if that was indeed what it was, disappeared inside with a shudder. Zuglah rolled up the Hole, and stuffed it inside his potion sling.

A male’s cry of alarm, high pitched and scared, sounded from the front yard. Zuglah’s blood ran cold, having picked out the word “Orcs!” from that shout. He fumbled in his Bag until he finally found Redda Mo. He looked at Denton.

“What do you think?”

The Fighter was not shaken. He calmly pressed his finger to his lips, and Zuglah realized that he had probably spoken a bit loudly. Perhaps he should try to emulate Denton’s calm.

They crept the way they had come, the long way around the building in the dark. It began to grow louder around the front, with more shouting and the sounds of horses. The voices were now harsh and guttural. “Are they speaking Goad?” Chayah whispered.

Zuglah was growing hot in the cheeks. Was that what he sounded like when he spoke with The Skeeley Hag, or the Southern Taurens? He hoped not. They snuck around the side of the building, trying to see what was happening.

It was a full party of Orcs. Their horses were all loose and standing around the front gate, where the Orcs had entered on foot. This was wise of them, because an untrained mount could panic badly in a fight. More than one overly eager adventurer had perished because he had thought that a horse was a horse, and they were all the same. It seemed that these Orcs were cheap with their coin.

The footmen and the stableboys were lined up at the bottom of the stairs, the six of them looking laughably overmatched by the Orc warriors confronting them. The men were visibly shaking, holding pitchforks and wood axes in front of themselves in the hopes of defending their lives from the savagery before them.

The Orcs were nothing if not eager. The one who was clearly in charge was massive, as tall as Zuglah but almost as heavily muscled as a Dwarf. He had a cured leather breastplate over a mail shirt, and he was casually wearing a long falchion with a flared, serrated tip that seemed designed to disarm opponents in brutal measure. He had a cruel intelligence in his eyes that was every bit as frightening to Zuglah as his sword.

The two fighters flanking him on either side could have been brothers. They both sported the warrior’s topknot favored by Orcish heroes, The man on the left dressed in an iron torc and bracers stylized like sleeping dragons, and the one on his right-hand side, banded leather. Both men held small wooden shields and had sheathed short swords.

Behind them, a Cleric and Wizard stood back, both looking bored with the whole situation. Or perhaps they were distracted, Zuglah saw. The pair was standing close together, discussing something. They were holding a map in front of them while the Cleric pointed a softly glowing finger back and forth. The Cleric was wearing a flat, black set of armor that reminded Zuglah of Stanish, although he carried a long-handled war hammer instead of a mace. The Wizard had on a dark brown robe with a deep cowl and golden, stitched letters in Orcish running up the left sleeve. His quarterstaff was plain, but iron shod.

Zuglah barely had time to register the group when Denton was pushing them back around the corner. They moved back until they could whisper. “If it comes to a fight, I can take the big fellow, and the far one, too. Me and Warwick. Zuglah, can you handle the other swordsman? With the banded leather?” Zuglah was about to nod, reluctantly, when Pliesson stepped in.

“I can take that fellow down, Denton.” The Fighter gave him a stern look, trying to detect his thinking. Finally, he nodded. Then he turned to Chayah.

“Chayah, can you and Zuglah get that caster? He looks tough.” Chayah assured him that they would do so, then attack the Priest as hard as they could. The Fighter nodded, satisfied. “Good. Then let’s go see if they want to fight.”