You leave Kalma and ride due east along a dusty track. Mile after mile of featureless grassland passes by on either side until, late in the afternoon, you enter a range of gentle, wooded hills. You have not gone very far before you discover a stream of sparkling water that is teeming with trout. Feeling tired and hungry, you decide to rest here and try your luck at catching some fresh fish for your supper.
Within half an hour, you have collected six fine speckled specimens of Palmyrion trout, more than enough to sate your ravenous appetite. You are about to construct a small campfire on which to cook them when suddenly you hear the sound of a wagon and horses approaching along the hill track from the east. Rather than run the risk of being confronted by bandits, you take cover behind a bush and wait for the wagon to appear.
Through the foliage you see six well-armed horsemen riding two abreast. They are followed by a carriage, behind which there are another two horsemen guarding the rear. The coach is quite small, suitable for no more than two passengers at most, and its lacquered black wood looks dull. It is covered with the dust of a long journey. It has curtained windows and a crest adorns its doors.
As they draw closer, you see one of the leading horsemen raise his hand to bring the column to a halt. Your heart sinks when you realize that he has seen your horse. Rather than take the risk of losing your mount, you call out to the horseman, commanding him to continue on his way.
‘Show y’self,’ he shouts in reply, and draws his sabre. ‘Unless you be a brigand, you have no need to fear us.’
You remain hidden for a few moments longer, using your Kai skills to determine their purpose. When you can detect no aura of evil about them, you rise from behind the bush so that you can be seen. A pale hand parts the carriage curtains and you glimpse the face of a handsome young woman with jet-black hair. Judging by the finery of her dress and the elegance of her demeanour, you assess her to be of noble birth.
‘You, Sir!’ she calls, with a refined Palmyrion accent. ‘I … I know you. Please, won’t you approach my coach so that I can be sure?’
(I close up)
intrigued by the young woman’s high-bred charms, you step away from the bushes and approach her carriage door.
‘Why, yes,’ she says, excitedly. ‘You are the Northland warrior they call Lone Wolf, are you not? I was in attendance at the Elector’s court the day he awarded you the Star of Palmyrion for your victory over the Cener Druids of Ruel. I am honoured to meet with you in person, brave sir.’
The carriage door swings open and the beautiful young woman steps gracefully out onto the stony trail.
‘May I be so bold as to introduce myself,’ she says, pausing to adjust a broad-brimmed hat which is trimmed with black corvayl fur, as silky smooth as her flowing hair. ‘I am the Baroness Coryene of the Lucia Province.’
She offers her delicate hand and you kiss it in deference to her noble rank. Out of the corner of your eye you notice the leading horseman dismount and come to stand protectively by her side
Oh, and this is my personal guard—Dorst.’
You give the gruff-looking fellow a slight bow and he nods his head in response, albeit begrudgingly.
‘We are returning from a visit to my cousin’s estate. We were hoping to reach Kalma by sunset, but we were delayed by bandits,’ she says, almost apologetically.
‘We made ’em pay dearly for wastin’ our time, though,’ adds Dorst, with quiet menace.
‘It appears that we shall now have to encamp here in the hills this night,’ says the Baroness. ‘Perhaps you would care to join us, my Lord? I would feel so much safer if you did.’
Despite Dorst’s cutting glances, you agree to the Baroness’s proposal. Then you produce the six trout that you caught earlier and offer them to her as a gift.
‘Why, thank you,’ she says, with a wide smile. ‘They look … delicious.’
You help the Baroness’s entourage to set up camp beside the stream while Dorst, who considers himself something of a master cook, prepares the trout you caught earlier. To your surprise, the meal turns out to be excellent (restore 3 ENDURANCE points).
During supper, you ask the Baroness what news she has heard of events in the east. She tells you that there is war between the principalities of the Stornlands, although this is such a common condition that it can hardly be considered news any more. Of distant Sommerlund she has heard nothing. After supper, she excuses herself and retires to her carriage. Dorst posts two men to guard her coach, and then he invites you to play cards with himself and the remaining five men.
(I accept)
Dorst spreads out an oilskin blanket and you all gather round, seating yourself cross-legged on the ground. He then deals five cards to each man and opens the betting with a stake of five Lune. The game is Taluka—common in the inns of Palmyrion and especially popular among professional gamblers. With your Kai abilities it is easy for you to know every card that is being played, and so, rather than risk being called a cheat, you simply go through the motions of playing the game, maintaining exactly the same amount of money you begin with.
After half an hour or so, you suddenly realize that Dorst is cheating.
(I choose to expose the cheating”
You grab Dorst by the wrist and shake a dozen cards from his sleeve. A deathly silence descends on the group as all eyes look first at the cards, and then at you. Simultaneously, the men start to laugh like hyenas until tears are soon streaming down their faces. One by one, they jiggle their hands over the blanket and hidden cards cascade from all their sleeves.
‘Did you not know, Northlander,’ chuckles Dorst, ‘that cheatin’ is fair in Taluka? Least, that’s the way we play it, eh, boys?’
Feeling a little embarrassed by their behaviour, you fold your hand of cards, pick up your money, and make an excuse that you are tired after your long day’s ride. Dorst and his men bid you goodnight, and as he and his men continue with their dubious game, you go and check to see that your horse is comfortable for the night. You are busy gathering some grasses for his feed when suddenly a shriek echoes through the hills—it is the unmistakable cry of a Kraan.