Raceel almost dropped his sword. Everything he'd ever been taught, every tactic and rule of the Path of Noble Combat, had expressly forbidden raising your blade against a woman. Women – old and young alike, armed and defenseless alike, friendly and hostile alike – were all protected by Rahena's law. Even now, with all other aspects of the Path having since become as a poison in his mind, he had never reconsidered that first, fundamental law.

This woman was telling the truth. She was no Rahenian. What she was, Raceel couldn't even imagine, but she would never have been taught the Path of Paladins in the Fortress.

“I'm not looking for trouble,” the armored woman repeated, clearly still shaken. “I'm the Paladin of Cereth, from King's Circle. I came out north to hit the new Teru Quest, see if I could get some easy marks, and... I'll admit it, I clearly misunderstood what was going on here. What I said earlier hasn't changed; I'm looking to join up.”

“The Paladin of Cereth?” Metcenzerin asked incredulously. “Aren't paladins supposed to be noble or something? Live by a really restrictive code of conduct?”

The woman drew herself up, scowling slightly. “Yes, and?”

“Noble and Cereth do not belong in the same sentence.”

“Let me guess... Iylihe, right? Or Teru?”

“Both. Iylihe's my patron.”

“Thought so. Listen, birdy, you don't know anything about Cereth, so don't go throwing around accusations like that. I do live by a code – it's just not the same one those over-dressed horsemen have tried so desperately, and succeeded, in turning into the standard paladin law.”

Raceel's shock had faded sufficiently to allow other considerations, and now he eyed the short-haired woman with a more critical eye. She wore the armor of a man, bore a man's sword, and she didn't seem crushed beneath the weight... there was clearly more to her then her soft-featured face would imply.

“A paladin must be able to fight,” he said, drawing her eyes back to him. “Is that sword just for show, Cerethian?”

“My name is Eany,” the woman said, then, “and no, it is not. I do not claim the title lightly. The Paladin of Cereth is only one to Rahena's hundreds, and it's my duty to fight on behalf of all Cerethians, so I've trained as much as I can without getting caught. Frankly, sir Black Knight, if you weren't so khitzing huge I probably would have accepted your challenge, but you've got a charge that'd scare a mountain boulder.”

A center-city accent came slipping back into her voice as she retreated into more familiar language. Raceel let out a long breath, then sheathed his sword again and nodded to the silver paladin shortly. “I would not suggest lying to me again, Cerethian, but I accept your explanation for now. However, I see no reason to risk Teru's wrath by allowing a sixth m-- person to join our party. He was very clear in the Dungeon how many he expected to complete this quest.”

“Ah!” Eany held up a finger in triumph. “I disagree, sir. I have been surviving in these woods for three days, ever since the First Commander's lot were caught by Teru, and I haven't been harassed or attacked by anything greater then mosquitoes at night. One person, alone, allowed into the next stage. If Teru didn't want me here, I'd be dead. Here I am, so he wants me here.”

“She makes a compellingly straight-forward argument,” Metcenzerin muttered at Raceel, but he did not seem to hear.

“Five are allowed. Do not take the threats of a god lightly if you wish to keep your skin.” He turned to look at the other four, then nodded sharply towards the road. “We're going to go stop Teru. You, Cerethian, may continue surviving or not as you see fit, but I will not allow you to drag us down with you.”

“No need to waste,” commented Kwanai darkly, speaking for the first time all day. His thick south-marsh accent had returned in force, making it much harder to understand him then it had been the previous day. “If not yours, she is mine to claim.”

“You really don't care about people at all, do you?” Daerth asked, unnecessarily. Kwanai didn't even grace them with a confirmation.

Eany the Cerethian considered for a moment, then stepped aside off the path. “Fine. Do what you must. You should at least return my favor and tell me your name, black knight, before you go. When I follow the Quest to Teru and stumble upon your party once more, I will need to know how to carve the headstones.”

Raceel smiled humorlessly, but inclined his head to her in near-mockery of the respect due between paladins of equal rank. “Raceel the Shatterblade, Paladin of Koruen. Kwanai, leave her and come. We have a Quest to complete.”

The path looked so old and unused that they stumbled upon the little forest village completely unexpectedly. A few dozen small wooden cottages sat close together, huddled around an only slightly larger inn and shop, clearly the only businesses in the village. Chickens wandered around freely, pecking at the ground, and a half dozen pigs wallowed in the muddy pens behind the houses.

The villagers looked exactly like their village – unnecessarily pathetic, yet somehow exuding an air of pride about their patheticness.

“Prey,” Kwanai summed up, and for once his overly-dismissive attitude towards humanity seemed almost warranted. The five men stood at the edge of the jagged clearing between the forest and the village, examining the village, and each one of them silently came to the same conclusion.

These people were going to be useless.

“We could at least ask about for a lay of the land,” Metcenzerin suggested optimistically. “If the inn is better then the rest of this mudhole, I might be able to get enough tips to afford some more supplies. I have a feeling we'll need them before this is over.”

Raceel's expression twisted in mild disgust at the notion, but he nodded. “Perhaps they will have heard rumors that can guide us to the next part of Teru's Game. Strange happenings, another dungeon... we should split up and see if anyone has heard anything like that.”

~

Eany tucked her bundle of heavy armor in a hollow between tree roots and brushed some wrinkled leaves from the previous autumn over the top. It wasn't the perfect hiding spot, but it would do as long as there was no one actively searching for it. The sword was harder to find a hole for, so she simply laid it flat in its sheath among fallen branches and made sure the hilt was fully covered to hide the metal glint from sunlight.

The rest was easy. A few ragged clothes slipped from the branches where they'd been hung to dry, a square of cloth to hide her city-styled short hair, and a quick handful of dust to take the shiny edge off her Paladin facade. Droop the shoulders, allow the spine to bend a little, allow weariness to dominate the thoughts...

There. A perfectly pathetic country peasant.

She slipped into Moron Village behind the group of men, unnoticed. If they wanted to get anything out of these people, they'd be stuck here a while, and she saw it as the perfect opportunity to do some scouting.

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Just who are these people?

Raceel... she had heard that name before. With any other company, the passing comment probably would have gone unnoticed and unremembered, but she'd been working her way into the Rahenians' trust at the time and a pair of guards were gossiping just a little too loudly. The Paladins she rode with had noticeably stiffened at the name, looked darkly at one another, and when the guards noticed they went nervously silent.

That kind of reaction sticks in the memory. Eany would have investigated further, but at the time she didn't dare risk blowing her cover.

A black knight – no, paladin – whose very name makes Rahenians fume, and the notorious King's Circle Stitcher... and these two in a group sent to stop Teru only days after a full party of Rahenian Paladins tried and failed. There was something very specific and very odd about it all, and Eany's curiosity refused to be silenced.

They all split up to investigate the village, so Eany flipped a mental coin and then followed the bard into the village tavern, the Squeaky Wheel. She'd been there before, when she first stumbled alone out of Teru's final deathtrap, and a petty part of her wanted to see these newcomers discover the same frustrations she had when first trying to figure out what was going on. And the Squeaky Wheel was the absolute gold mine of frustrations.

The tavern's chimney didn't work well, and smoke constantly lingered about the ceiling and lent a murky air to the big commonroom. A dozen tables crowded the floor, but only two chairs were occupied. The same two old men Eany had seen playing checks-and-kings three days ago were still playing checks-and-kings now, occasionally making obvious moves in one of the dullest, most uninspired contests of wit she'd ever witnessed. The tavern-keeper sat beside a keg of ale behind the counter, staring blankly at the opposite wall as he waited for a customer and slowly working his way through his own stock.

The bard was already at the counter when Eany slipped in the door, so she took a seat by the wall and laid her head on her arms like she was sleeping, peeking at the counter out of the corner of one half-closed eye.

“No, thank you,” the bard was just saying, “I can't get a drink just yet, but perhaps you could help me with directions? My companions and I are a little lost, you see, and I had hoped to find somewhere to play for some coin. Are there any other, perhaps larger, settlements around here?”

“Nothin',” replied the tavern-keeper unenthusiastically. “Just ol' Woodsylane for as fa' as the eye can see. Jus' us.”

“Well, yes, I can see that, but how about further out? Where's the nearest city?”

“City? No cities. Just ol' Woodsylane. No one goes out int'er the woods... there's evil out'der, dontcha know nothin'?”

The bard's tone remained remarkably even and friendly – he had more patience then Eany had expected.

“Ah, yes, it can be dangerous under the shadow of dense old trees. When did evil come to the woods?”

The tavern-keeper scratched his shoulder as he thought, then, slowly, “I dunno. A'while?”

“Any idea where it came from? The source of the evil?”

“I dunno.”

“Ah. Well, in that case, perhaps I could play here tonight? I don't suppose you get many travelers through here, so your village regulars might appreciate a few new songs or tales from beyond the forest before bed.”

“Naw, but I tell you what, I'll let'cha sleep by the fire if ya' can find something for me.” Eany smiled from within the safety of her arms. She'd heard the same request days ago. “M'girl went out, int'the woods, last night and she ain't been back. Find and bring 'er back safe, and I'll 'ave a bit of coin for ya', too.”

The same words, spoken in the same way, with barely any energy behind it. There was something wrong with every single person in this village, far beyond normal backwater dullardry (not that Eany had any actual experience with real backwater folk, but she'd heard the stories in King's Circle).

The bard clearly had a great deal more patience with these people then Eany did and leaned against the counter to try and poke further into this 'missing girl' thing. Eany wasn't interested in listening to more unintelligent mumbling from the tavern-keeper and, without any amusing or informative reactions happening on the bard's part, decided to quiet slip back outside and find the other “heroes”.

She spotted the black paladin almost at once, standing stiffly outside the little general shop. For all his talk of hating the Rahenians, Eany only had to imagine his armor in silver to see him as one of the other stiff, humorless paladins she'd spent weeks getting close to. The posture, the expression, even the way he looked at things around him... he'd fit right in among the silvers.

Ah, got it.

She trudged right past him to get into the shop, and he barely even glanced at her. She could hear the raised voices before reaching the door and had to hide her smile. The bard's patience, obviously, was not shared by the rest of his companions.

“I am not going to go pick flowers for you!”

The sheer indignation almost broke her. She turned away so that the cloaked hunter at the shopkeeper's counter wouldn't notice.

“An' I an't selli'n ya' naughting if ya' won' do one semple t'ing fa' me,” retorted the heavily-accented greenman shopkeeper. Unlike the stubborn swamper Eany had seen with the group, the Moron Village greeny was one of those who'd tried desperately to fit in with Kingdom life after the first takeover, with... obviously mixed results. “Getcha'ou, or ge'ma kebbin fla'ers.”

The hunter stormed out without another word, and Eany could hear him and the paladin exchange a few tense words. She let them gain some distance, then followed them out.

Where did their swamper go?

It was really easy to tell a swamper from a greeny. The greenies – city, country, didn't matter – always looked out of place and uncomfortable, and their accents were all messy from attempting and failing to emulate Kingdomer accents. Swampers... Eany had only ever seen a handful of them, usually at executions in the Prisoner Square, but they'd all had a particular look. A certain way of either looking down their noses at you, or tucking in their chins just so to glare at you from under their sharp brows. The glowing eyes were new, but she figured that was some sorcerer thing, and it merely added to the effect of swamper-glare rather then replacing or defining it.

She wandered around the village, keeping her eyes out for either of the other newcomers. It took a minute, but she finally spotted the man they claimed was the Stitcher wandering back from the village well with a bucket full of water. She leaned against the wall of the nearest building and watched as he set it down in front of an old villager lady; as the old lady pointed towards another hut and handed him a basket; as the so-called Stitcher walked where directed like some trained dog. Back and forth he went, from the old lady to the house, from the old lady to the store, from the old lady to the edge of the forest to gather sticks.

Eany eventually gave up and straightened. Clearly, there was something wrong with this scenario, with someone's perception, if the skinny little man doing errands for someone's grandma was being called the King's Circle's most notorious murderer since the Founding War. Maybe it was her, maybe not, but something was off.

She turned to walk away and found herself face-to-face, so close they were almost touching, with the sorcerer-eyed swamper.

Commit to the lie.

“Oh, 'scuse me,” she mumbled, mimicking the inn-keeper's slow backwater accent. “Pardon.”

The swamper said nothing, made no move as Eany stepped around him. She could feel his unnatural gaze following her, though, and somehow it seemed to linger on her back even after she turned around the corner of the building.

These people are odd.

The thought struck her that this could be some trick, another game put in place by Teru. Perhaps to see how she would react? But where is the game, then? They aren't giving me anything to work with.

Or, maybe, they were really who they said they were. And these weirdos are my only hope of getting back to civilization alive.

Ugh, not a pleasant thought.

The group continued to poke around the Moron Village, and Eany continued to spy on them. Most of the time, she watched as they hit the exact same barriers she had. The hunter, especially, seemed easily frustrated by the villagers' inability to solve even the most basic of problems. Most of what they asked for help with was fairly simple, of course – finding lost things, doing chores, etc. - but the hunter seemed to take every petty request as some kind of insult to his intelligence. The black paladin, meanwhile, remained stubbornly aloof, barely engaging with the idiots. And the swamper...

The swamper was giving Eany an increasingly uneasy feeling every time she saw him, lurking around the edges of eyesight, watching the others. His blazing yellow-green eyes seemed capable of seeing more then they should, and she didn't like it at all.

When the men began gathering outside the village to compare notes, Eany was forced to take to the trees again. They had chosen their location carefully, no doubt, so they'd see anyone coming from the village before they were close enough to hear what was being said. But, thankfully for Eany, that left their backs to the forest.

She wasn't giving up on this Quest yet. Not when a fresh batch of companions had just wandered into her path...