Narration 20
Tuesday, 7 April 1571 P.C.E

     As the group studies the assorted objects before them, Folly and Martin discuss something off to the side.  Finishing their short conversation, Martin goes outside the circle of light made by the fire and prays for a time.

     When he returns, he motions the others aside, and begin spraying in Church Imperial.  In response, several items in the hoard begin glowing in a pale, electric-blue light.  The banded armor glows the weakest, while the elaborate crucifix sheds a light brighter than the fire.  The others: the ring, the blade, the cloak, and the drinking horn fall somewhere in between in intensity.

     Grinning at his achievement, Martin sets aside the known magical items and begins another prayer over them.  As the spell goes off, the young priest is forced to cover his eyes.  The crucifix glows with a pure white light that burns away the shadows around it.  The drinking jack as well glows white, but a softer light.  Even softer, the odd-shaped blade glows white.  The rest of the items lay inert, except for the armor.  About it twists and turns a sickly combination of red and green.  Yet, as the group watches, the colors are slowly fading -- as if the taint of evil is slowly seeping away.

     With the new discoveries, the group sits about the fire and discusses them -- finally deciding to divide them up later.  As the embers in the fire slowly fade, silence begins to filter into the clearing.

     Finally, Castus yawns as he stands.  Stretching his bulky frame, the older monk looks to the rest of you.  "Well, I'll stow the trinkets in the wagon, then we should get to bed.  The next few days are apt to be long ones."

     With mumbled assents, the party rises and moves to their beds, well ready for a night's rest.

     Rising with the sun, the group awakens to find Castus, as usual, already risen and ready to travel.  As the rest of you hurry to pack up camp and prepare the horses, the monk sits hunched over by the firepit, working with a nub of charcoal and a bit of paper.  Everytime someone asks what he is doing, he mutters, "Give me 'til evening.  I'll have some answers for you then...but for now, let me be."

     Rebuffed by the grouchy monk, most of you avoid him for the rest of the day -- a fact that seems to please him.  Throughout the day's ride, Castus continues to clumsily work on the paper, hiding it from anyone that tries to gaze on its mysteries.

     Finally, later in the evening, he seems to return to his normal self.  A sheepish grin on his face, he talks to the lot of you as you relax by the fire.  "I'm sorry about the foul mood I've been in.  Mathematics is not my strong suit and I had to double-check my figures 'cause they are so bad."

     Sketching a rough map on the ground, he continues.  "Here we are, just south of the fork that goes to Three Rivers and Tigreyton.  We are supposed to reach Three Rivers no later than the 13th.  As we are going, we should make it...if we don't run into any problems.  Also, the longer we are on the road, the thinner the supplies are going to get with the increased numbers...Squire Gilles and Lugnut.  So we might have a problem...an expensive one."

     The monk's grimace continues to deepen.  "The ward gave us a travel pass good for eleven days.  If we don't make it by the 13th, they'll come looking for us...and not for free.  Doing some rough calculations, if we are two days late...they'll nail each of us for 325 marks.  Also, at the rate we are going through supplies, we'll run out on the 13th.  If we stop to hunt or fish, well...we will have the time-money problem with the 'Ward."

     Castus stalks back and forth.  "What I am suggesting is that we stay in the saddle for thirty-six hours.  I know that is a long bit, but we can take turns resting in the wagon as needed.  If we do that, it'll cut off at least a day of travel time...somewhat making up for our detour with the dryad."

     Although the idea seems distasteful, the idea of possibly paying the Wardens 325 marks apiece is even more so, particularly considering the thinness of your purses.  With grumbled assents, you all agree with the monk.  He smiles grimly.  "Well, now that's settled.  I'd finish up whatever needs to be done, and get some rest.  We have a long couple of days ahead of us."

     With that, you finish up any about-camp chores and retire for the night.

     The next day dawns much too early, but the group makes do. After tearing down camp and eating your last warm meal until tomorrow, the group mounts up and slowly begins making their way northward.

     As the day passes, the party members occasionally climb aboard the wagon to catch a quick nap or a bite of something.  At no point does the whole group stop for anything.  Laboriously, horses, wagon and riders make their way down the gnarled dirt surface of the River Road.

     As the time passes and the day turns to night, Squire Gilles hangs lanterns on the wagon, making it a beacon in the cold darkness.  For the first time in many days, you break out your cloaks for warmth as you huddle on your trudging horses.

     The next day dawns cloudy and chilled.  As fatigue sets in, the weather begins to grow worse as the clouds darken and the wind picks up.  Each of you spends more and more time in the wagon, your backsides sore and your muscles aching from the long ride.

     It becomes even more miserable just past noon.  A cold, drizzling rain begins to fall, combining with the wind to chill you to the bones.  The road turns into a slippery mire and the horses start to slow from exhaustion.

     Castus keeps the group moving.  "If we can keep it up until evening, we can make the Barrows...an old abandoned Ward.  There we can warm up and get out of the weather."

     Towards late afternoon, the rain begins to pound, drenching all of you to the skin.  The wind begins to howl and tear through the young buds on the trees.  Both horses and riders can only move onward, head-down into the wind.  Finally, you hear the words that you have been waiting for from the monk.  "There it is...the Barrows."

     Setting off the road a few hundred yards, you see the ruins of a small fort, sitting on a low bare hill.  After this day, it seems to be the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.

     Turning off the road, the party slogs towards the ruined fort.  As you close, details about the place become clearer.  Around the bottom of the hill, the ruins of a wall lie scattered about.  The tops of the keep and the corner towers are piles of jagged rubble.  Here and there in the outer wall, holes have been hammered through the heavy stone.  Only the gatehouse, surprisingly, seems to be in good repair.

     Noting your looks to the savaged place, Castus mutters, "It was involved in some sort of battle about fifty years ago.  The road wardens never really rebuilt it, but they fixed it up enough to use as a hostel and waystation."

     Threading their way up the rubble-strewn hill, the party rides through the open gate and into the main courtyard of the fort.  As soon as the last is in, Castus motions to the low form of the stable.  "The Wardens keep the stables stocked.  Shardis, take Gilles and Lugnut to care for the horses.  The rest of us will set up camp inside the keep.  There should be a room sealed up enough to keep us dry and reasonably warm."