Chapter 3: The Spyglass and the Spider

Coppery smell of burning flesh filled the air.

Embers leapt from the funeral pyre into the growing dusk, joined the winking
points of light that would later become a blaze of crystalline stars. Around the
flames villagers gathered in dark clots, their faces overwritten with blank,
unreadable expressions. Like moths to a candle they drifted near and mourned and
thought and sniffed. They had come to watch the flames feed.
	Gorath's fathomless green eyes nictitated in the firelight as he turned
and gazed at Owyn who flinched uncomfortably at his side.
	"There can be no uneasier sleep than a warrior murdered in his cups,"
Gorath said, his voice only slightly louder than the spitting hiss of scorched
bone. "They nipped at the heels of the Nighthawks, be certain of that."
	"So you think we're getting close?" Owyn asked.
	Gorath began to speak, but his words congealed on his lips as his eyes
locked with the burning gaze of Seigneur James.

JAMES:
I've had it with your mysterious half-answers, Moredhel! Now for the sake of
your continued good health, I want to hear some explanations fast why you were
here in Romney a six-month before you made your appearance at the Inclindel
Pass.

GORATH:
The only explanation, Seigneur, is that you are mistaken. I have never been
south of the Inclindel...

JAMES:
While we carried the dead from the Black Sheep Tavern, a tavern boy informed me
that a man answering to your description called on three unwholesomes dressed in
black, all of whom wore the trademark silver rings of the Nighthawks. He heard
them refer to the Moredhel as Gorath.

JAMES:
It seems that this Moredhel paid a sizeable sum of money to those Nighthawks
before departing, enough perhaps to arrange the death of a company of the King's
soldiers?

GORATH:
He may well have paid a king's death, but I know nothing of it. I realize it may
impress little upon you, but Gorath is a passing common name in the Northlands
and oft as not your Kingdom fellow folk have mistaken me for an elf! The
barkeeper was likely deceived by enemies of mine.

GORATH:
If I had cause to mislead you or your Prince, I would have found a far less
convoluted means of confusing the royal sanity. Look elsewhere for your enemies,
James. While we may not be friends, I mean you no harm.

JAMES:
I shall look where I wish until you are no longer my responsibility.

JAMES:
We may not be able to strike at the Nighthawk stronghold, but if we can locate
it, we may still be able to get inside and find the information Prince Arutha
needs.

GORATH:
The Nighthawks will shun Romney for a time. However bold they may be in their
murderous nights, they flee when daylight breaks.

JAMES:
No one walks without leaving footprints and these men are no different. However
skilled they may be at assassination, they have never been any good at covering
their tracks. Let me see those things you found in the tavern.

GORATH:
They are here.

JAMES:
Good. Those are our footprints. Of all the items we found on the dead company,
both those items seemed conspicuously out of place and may be related in some
way to our elusive murderers.

JAMES:
We begin our hunt for the Nighthawks with a spider and a spyglass.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

			   The Chest in Cavall Run

Spiders scurried out of the opened chest.

Careful to avoid the miniature albino menaces, James snatched a fresh-looking
scroll out of the box and unrolled it on the floor. As his dark eyes darted
across the page, his lips moved in an incantation of places, names, figures and
dates.
	"Northwarden," James whispered. "The attack will come at Northwarden
very soon. But this is all wrong."
	"What is it?" Gorath asked, also bending to see the page.
	"These figures. If Delekhan takes a force this small to Northwarden, he
hasn't a hope of taking the castle. Far too few soldiers. Baron Gabot will maul
him unless Delekhan can bring something serious to bear. What could the Moredhel
have?"
	"Maybe the Nighthawks have infiltrated the castle." Owyn said. "Why else
would they be so helpful to the Moredhel unless their own necks were on the line
too?"
	Paling, James suddenly snatched an ink horn from his pack and began to
scribble an addendum to the Nighthawk note.
	"It is very important that this note reach Arutha. Although you were not
told this, he has stationed an army outside of the Dimwood to await my word
about the attack," James said, finishing his note. Fixing his gaze on Gorath, he
handed it firmly over. "I want you to make sure that it gets there. I'm going to
have to trust you."
	Owyn gaped. "But what about... "
	"I've got to go to Northwarden. If there are Nighthawks in Baron Gabot's
castle, we stand a good chance of losing it in an attack. I have to ensure that
doesn't happen.
	"Remember, Arutha is outside the Dimwood forest near Sethanon. When you
give him the note, tell him there's a party at Mother's."
	"What?" Owyn sputtered.
	"Just do it. I haven't got time to explain. Good luck, the both of you."
	In a moment the Seigneur was gone, his shadows chasing after him down
the long dark tunnel.
	An hour later, Owyn yawned expansively, his vision growing dim with each
step taken further down the road. Next to him, Gorath trudged without complaint,
his eyes fixed on the dusty cow track.
	"Enough, enough." Owyn murmured. I think my legs are going to crumble.
We can't reach Arutha tonight. Let's stop for a while."
	"Quiet," Gorath snapped, seizing Owyn by the arm. Beneath his hood, his
feral eyes glowed like blood tinged emeralds. "Someone's near... "
	Abruptly patches of darkness detached themselves from the woods, ambled
into the pale moonlight, huddled onto the roadbed. In the shadows, arrow points
gleamed, aligned in deadly sights, quivered...

NARAB:
As much as I would enjoy delivering your carcass to Delekhan I will reserve the
pleasure of your execution for him.

NARAB:
Do not move, Gorath. You are completely surrounded.