The trip started out well enough, but it was slow. Dwarven legs were small, and not everyone had horses or carts to ride or had enough room for more than a few others. One cart lacked a horse, and the owner pulled it on foot. Instead of adopting an even slower pace than walking, Brando gave up his horse, and with a few loops of a rope and some well-tied knots, the horse and cart kept up with the rest of the convoy.

Fin and Brando took turns walking and riding. When one of them walked, they wore their armor. Olhoff had told them to wear it as much as possible to get used to it. Even with the slower pace, the armor was heavy, and despite the chill of the northern winds, it was hot. By the end of the first day, they had stopped wearing the armor altogether because of the heat and exhaustion.

Meals during the day consisted of travel rations—usually dried meat, dried fruit, or dry bread. Only after they had stopped for the evening did they cook a hot meal. Everyone was surprised when Fin produced multiple cooking pots and pans big enough to feed a large group. No one considered where he had kept them. Rasengold insisted that he assumed the cooking duties. His family gathered the wood and built the fires.

The guards and mercenaries developed a watch plan incorporating everyone except Rasengold, Fin, or Brando. With over forty people, almost every person would have to stand a watch once for the whole trip. Fin offered to join the rotation, but the mercenaries refused. Since he was the customer, he would not stand watch. Besides, there were more than enough people for it already. So, he slept.

As the next morning's march began, Brando felt increasingly uneasy. At some point, they would be traveling through the village they had fled from not too long ago. He approached Fin, who was walking next to a group of miners, talking about nothing in general. Brando asked if he could have a moment, and the others graciously fell back.

"What are we going to do about Eugal?" He finally asked when he was out of earshot from the others.

"We already solved that problem," Fin answered. "He said he would clear our names and we have some pretty incriminating evidence against him. So I'm not worried."

Brando considered it but shook his head. "I don't trust that Eugal did, in fact, clear our names. He's as crooked as a lopsided snake. Even if he did, we made enemies with the village before we left. If we get there and they make a spectacle, we might lose some very important trust with our travel companions."

"What do you think we should do?" Fin asked.

"I don't know," He floundered. "Go around?"

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"That seems like a bad idea. There has to be a better way," Fin stared across the grassy terrain as he thought. "What if I rode ahead, got to the village first, and cleared things up before everyone arrived?"

"That could work," Brando agreed. "But what are you going to do? Walk into the village elder's house and ask him if Eugal cleared our names after we escaped their little jail and fled like a couple of bandits?"

"Actually, that could work," Fin's lips curled into a smile. "But what if Lord Dragonthrone pays the village elder a visit instead of me?"

Fin rode ahead in a gallop. It felt liberating, moving at a faster pace. All too soon, the village boundary came into sight, and he realized he would have to work fast. He unstowed his armor around him and donned his helmet, cautious of the extra weight on the horse. As he approached the center of the village, he saw a group of men stopped and gawked at him.

"Correspondence for your village elder," Fin said, hoping the sense of urgency he put in his voice would aid his disguise.

One of the men motioned for him to follow. "This way, young master."

The man had taken ten steps before the constable intercepted him. The closer he had gotten to the village, the more his sense of unease had grown, and now his heart was racing. Would the constable recognize me? He hoped not.

The villager explained the situation, and the constable made eye contact.

"Thank you, Folgram. I will take it from here." when the villager left, the constable held out his hand. "I can take the letters if you wish?"

He had a curious look, as if he had recognized Fin but couldn't quite place his face.

"It's a verbal correspondence for your elder alone," Fin decided to say. It was one of many backup plans he created in his head.

"Very well, sir," the constable nodded. "If you will follow me?"

Fin sighed in relief as the constable introduced himself: "I am constable S. Seagram. May I ask your name?"

"Lord F. Dragonthrone," Fin said, trying it out. He wasn't sure how he felt about incorporating an initial into his own introduction, but it made Seagram look important. Out of curiosity, he activated True Name to see what the constable's S. stood for. It was also Seagram.

Seagram Seagram led Fin into a normal-looking home. Had he not previously seen other houses in the village, Fin would have thought that it was nothing spectacular. However, he had seen the other houses, and it was quite spectacular. The open-spaced common room had a table, chairs, and a large hearth that was clean but stained black through years of use.

The village elder sat in a chair, smoked a curved stemmed pipe, and greeted them as they entered. While he was old, he had not grown fully grey. He was short, had a short beard, and was dressed like everyone else in the village. Fin wouldn't have guessed his position at a glance.

"Elder Carthage, this is Lord F. Dragonthrone, and he comes bearing correspondence," Seagram announced and stood aside for Fin.

"A lord? In these parts?" Carthage asked with something similar to a scoff. "This must be important to bring the message yourself and not a messenger."

"Yes, quite so. First, I brought my letters of the station so there is no confusion about who I am before I begin." Fin produced pristinely folded papers on expensive parchment from a borrowed satchel. Carthage took the papers and studied them.

"I see," He handed them back. "And the message?"

"First, can you send for your mercer?" Fin asked, placing the papers in his satchel and stowing them. "His name is Eugal, I believe."