For the companions, Richfest offered a welcome respite from the fighting and traveling they’d been doing for the last several months. They were feted as the heroes of Highfolk, and were rewarded with a fair share of the Council of Crippled Helplessness’s treasure. For the first three days, the companions joined in the festivities.

The fourth day was a special one for Luna. It was Midsummer’s Day, the holiest day of the year for Pelor. It was also the one night of the year that Luna and Celene, the twin moons of Oerth that the human Luna and Seline were named after, were both full. Although the people of Highfolk were not generally followers of Pelor, some of the independent Flan peoples of the Vesve and the Yatils were devoted to him. Some of those Flan came to Highfolk for Richfest, and Luna joined in the drumming and dances to honor the god and the moons who reflected his light.

Revafour was in a fine mood as he walked through the streets of Highfolk, the lights of bonfires, ceremonial fairy-fire spells and the twin moons lighting his way. He’d been reinvigorated not only by the rest, but by participating in the rituals to honor Pelor. He’d also seen how much better Luna seemed to be doing, finally putting the despair she’d been feeling behind her.

Revafour was smiling, and he smiled all the more when he saw Weimar approaching from the other direction. Weimar’s clothes were heavily rumpled, his belt undone and his boots unlaced, and Revafour suspected that he’d been enjoying the company of some of the young women who wanted to show him their own unique kind of gratitude.

“You look like you’ve been busy,” Revafour said, as Weimar burst out laughing.

“What kind of cad would I be if I didn’t reassure the lovely maidens about their beauty?” Weimar said. “You look well yourself-I take it everything’s right with your friends from Blackmoor?”

“Yes, now that we’ve dealt with the Spine Breakers,” Revafour said, as he and Weimar started walking towards a pavilion where several large tents had been set up. “They’ll live here in a good way.”

“So we’ll be ready to leave Highfolk once Richfest is done?” Weimar said.

“We likely will,” Revafour said. “The question is where, though.”

“We have other things to discuss,” Weimar and Revafour heard a familiar voice say. Turning around, they saw Airk and Seline approaching them, both bearing grim expressions.

“What’s wrong?” Revafour asked, suddenly alarmed.

“The leaders of the Knights showed us all of the letters we brought back from the Spine Breakers’ lair,” Airk said. “We’re-“

“-not interested in dreary politics, especially not during a festival,” Weimar said, rolling his eyes. “You can tell me along with the rest of our friends,” he said, breaking away from the group as he continued towards the pavilion. Several large barrels and casks were being set up among the tents, and Weimar had an eager look in his eyes.

Airk, Seline and Revafour watched him go, before Airk resumed speaking.

“We’re mentioned more than once in those letters as the people who rescued Jolene and saved the Furyond Knights from being assassinated in Baranford,” Airk said. “That’s what led to us being attacked by another group of assassins here in Highfolk.”

“I take it they were sent by whoever that Hurarrin Westward person was working for?” Revafour said. “And whoever tried to show the Horned Society as the Spine Breakers’ backer?”  

Airk just nodded grimly.

“So who were these people?” Revafour asked, shaking his head. “Luna already told us about Eirene, and I take it Hurarrin and that hobgoblin leader, the one who Ma’non’go killed, were some of the others. Was that all of them?”

“No,” Seline said, shaking her head. “There were four of them. The three you mentioned, and a Furyondian earl named Philandis Highcastle. He was the one behind it all. He directed the others, he arranged the assassins’ attacks, he knew how to undermine the Knights’ discussions…”

“So why’s some Furyond nobleman so interested in the Knights’ meetings?” Airk said. “What does he gain from the loss of Highfolk?”

Revafour thought about that for a moment.

“You know the old Flan saying about Oeridians and Suel speaking with forked tongues?” he said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if this came from politics. I used to hear stories in Tenh about how Furyondy tried to be an empire after it broke away from the Great Kingdom. They attacked the Shield Lands, and held onto Perrenland for a time…”

“And wouldn’t Highfolk be a fine new province if it was freed from a hobgoblin conquest?” Seline said, disgusted. “What would a little bloodshed matter?”

The companions let that thought sink in for a moment.

“What should we do, then?” Airk said.  

“Nothing,” Revafour said. “What could we even do?”

“This isn’t like when we went to Flinthold,” Seline said, referring to how Airk’s citizenship and military service had given him some influence when the companions returned the Crown of Arumdina to the gnome kingdom. “We have no standing, no power in all these lands,” Seline said. “How would our swords and spells be any use? Jolene’s better able to deal with something like this.”

Airk smoothed his moustache in annoyance. He was all too familiar with political treachery. The motives of this Philandis, if that was what they were, didn’t surprise him at all.

“We’d best decide what we’ll do next, then,” he said. “What do you think?”

“I don’t care much,” Revafour said. “What about you, Seline?”

Seline opened her mouth, but before she could say anything the companions were interrupted by a voice calling out to them. Turning towards the voice, they saw that it belonged to a rough-looking man with a large spear strapped to his back. An old scar cut across the center of his face below his intense brown eyes, becoming especially prominent where it cut his nose. His hands were marked with small scars and calluses, showing his long experience in battle, and his disheveled brown hair was cut short. Even in the light of the evening fires, the companions could see the fatigue etched into the man’s face. His clothes were in no better condition. The man bore all the signs of having completed a long, intense journey, one that offered little sleep but much hardship.

The man spoke up before any of the companions could say anything.

“I’m seeking a man named Weimar Glendowyr,” the man said. “Do you know if he’s still in Highfolk?”

The companions exchanged glances.

“We might know him,” Revafour said, “but we’re saying nothing else until we know what your business is with him.”

“Fair, then,” the man said. “I’m Marcus Sorrowind, of the Duchy of Artonsamay-“

“From one of the Bandit Kingdoms?” Airk said, interrupting him. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, as Seline scowled.

“The one Bandit Kingdom that’s not a pit of crime and murder,” Revafour said. He was more familiar with the Bandit Kingdoms than his friends, as they bordered the Duchy of Tenh. “He’s worth hearing out, at least.”

“I come bearing a message for him,” Marcus said. Reaching into his pack, he retrieved a rolled and sealed parchment scroll, which he showed to the companions. “It’s an urgent plea for help from someone he loves.”

The companions exchanged glances.

“…We’ll take you to him,” Seline said, “but we’ll be there when you give him your letter. If it’s some sort of threat or trap, your life won’t be worth two coppers.” Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her magical wand and pointed it squarely between Marcus’s eyes.

Marcus’s reaction showed Seline he got her message.

The companions caught Weimar as he was walking up to one of the large kegs at the center of the pavilion. He smiled a greeting to his friends, and was about to invite them to join him when he noticed Marcus.

“So who’re you, then?” Weimar asked. “I don’t recall seeing you with any of the Knights or the Highfolk patrols…”

“That’s because I’m not,” Marcus said. “I’m a friend of Denrik Glendowyr.” He was about to hand the letter to Weimar, when the latter’s eyes flashed.

“How do you know my brother?” Weimar said, sobering in an instant. His eyes gleamed dangerously, and he grabbed one of the daggers at his belt.

“I come from Artonsamay in the Bandit Kingdoms, and I owe Denrik my life. The debt I owe him is why I’m giving you this,” Marcus said, finally handing the parchment scroll to Weimar.  

Frowning, Weimar broke the seal and unrolled the scroll. His eyes widened in shock as he read it in silence. He then read it again, this time aloud to his friends.

Weimar,

I don’t know how it came to this. Maybe it’s just the newest mistake I made. Ever since I left Cryllor and came north, it’s been one fool thing after another. I never had the same skill you do-that was why you always had to duel for me, wasn’t it? I thought I could do well as a mercenary, but then I became a bandit-one too many defeats. Isn’t that like a Keolander?

My latest failure led me to the Free City of Stoink, where I was stupid enough to try and duel someone myself. One insult led to another, I was bested and made a slave. Now you’re my last hope. Marcus managed to smuggle me parchment and ink so I could write to you as my last hope. He’d find wherever you were and bring you this letter.

You’re my last hope. I know I likely don’t deserve your help, but you know what this would do to our family if they heard of it.

Please, I beg of you!

Denrik.   

Weimar reread the letter several times, as his friends looked on anxiously. Finally, he looked up at Marcus.

“How long ago was this?” Weimar said.

“Scarce less than a fortnight,” Marcus said. “That’s how long it took Mercor and I-“

“Mercor?” Weimar said, interrupting Marcus.

“My hippogriff,” Marcus said. “Resting now in Highfolk’s stables, and a rest well-earned. It took me near a fortnight to fly here from Stoink, after a diviner who owed me a boon gave me your location. Passed straight over White Plume Mountain,” he said, referring to the infamous dungeon and former wizard’s lair.

“Are you sure this letter is from your brother?” Airk said, as Weimar read the letter yet again. “It could be a forgery-“

“It’s not,” Weimar said, cutting him off. “I know my brother’s writing when I see it.”

“Fair enough then,” Airk said, stroking his moustache. “I’ve heard bad rumors about Stoink, though. Called the ‘Wasp’s Nest’, isn’t it?”

“Some people call it that. The people who’ve suffered its raids often just call it a wretched hive of scum and villainy,” Revafour said, scowling. “It’s earned both nicknames. The bandits of Stoink strike like angry wasps, and they fight like them too. They’ve made Stoink one of the most powerful Bandit realms.”

“Like I give a damn,” Weimar said, clenching his fists. “I’m going to find my brother, and I’ll do it if I have to kill every bandit between here and Stoink. You’re all with me, I hope?” he said, his expression turning anxious as he regarded his friends.

Their reassuring smiles relieved the anxiety he felt.

“Weren’t you the one who said I wouldn’t get away from you all that easily?” Airk said. His guilt over Laessar Bradon’s death led him to try and search for the Crown on his own. His friends quickly caught up to him, showing that they’d be with him no matter how long the search took.

The companions all laughed at that. It dismissed the tension for a moment, but soon Weimar had a new concern.

“Denrik wrote this nearly two weeks ago,” he said, holding up the letter. “How will we know if he’s even still in Stoink? Would you be able to find out?” he asked Seline.

“I don’t know any magic that could help us find out,” Seline said, shaking her head, “but Luna might be able to do another divination.”

“Even if we find out, how will we get to Stoink?” Revafour said. “It’s in the Bandit Kingdoms’ southeast, near their border with the Theocracy of the Pale. We’d have to pass through the Horned Society’s southern lands, and then cross the southern Kingdoms until we reached Stoink.”

Weimar’s shoulders slumped at the realization. He tried to answer Revafour, but he couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Kashafen Tamarel might be willing to teleport us to Stoink,” Seline said, speaking up. “He’s already teleported Jolene and some of the Knights. Given all we’ve done to help save Highfolk, I’d think we’ve earned it.”

Weimar took a deep breath at that realization. Walking up to the keg he’d been approaching before his friends found him, he tapped himself a full tankard of ale and downed it in one long, hefty swig.

“This means the world to me,” he said. “I’d likely be lost without your aid,” he said to his friends.

As tense as he was, their beaming expressions gave him comfort.

“Would you return with us?” he asked Marcus.

“It’d mean my life,” Marcus said, shaking his head. “People in Stoink still want my head, and they don’t care if the rest of me comes with it. Denrik’s troubles came from his helping me. I’m returning to Artonsamay after Richfest, but I’ll tell you all I can before I leave.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Weimar said, gripping one of the daggers at his belt again, before he closed his eyes.

He knew that Luna, Amyalla and Ma’non’go would agree with everything the rest of his friends said about accompanying him to Stoink. He also knew that Kashafen would teleport the companions if they asked him.

He also knew that if he had to live up to his promise to kill every bandit between here and Stoink to save his brother, he would.

Without a moment’s regret.