The camp still slumbered as the morning arrived, only Chief and another warrior standing guard, tiredly observing the camp’s perimeter in the clearing, standing up so they could both see behind the tents and stay awake. Even with one of the hunters patrolling the woods around the camp, and the duo inside it, they all failed to notice the appearance of the Druids. The handful of woods’ mages seemed to blend with the trees whenever someone’s eyes passed over them, and they calmly arrived, bringing baskets and bags bearing fruits and berries, seeds and hay.

The forest’s dwellers settled down right into the middle of the camp, around one of the previous night’s campfires, and still no one’s perception managed to dispel their potent natural capabilities of concealment. The horses didn’t make a sound, as they didn’t mind the presence of the strangers, neither did the other sounds of the forest abate - all the animals felt comfortable around the green-robed men and women. The Druids emanated a calming presence to animals and beasts, specially the leader of the Westernwoods’ Commune. He was gnarled and ancient man, yearning for his old pipe he refused to light so they could fool the camp for a while longer. The man made Lowa seem like a spring chicken.

To everyone’s surprise, it was Romer who noticed the intruders first. The majordomo’s reaction would become a motive of laughter for the days to come. He rose early, the first one to rise, and he promptly made himself presentable before leaving his tent. As always, Romer started the day checking the inventory, confirming everything was in good state, and nothing was missing. Following his routine, the still sleepy man automatically moved to get started on brewing the strong-flavored tea that his Master preferred, and making breakfast for the camp.

But as he brewed the tea at one of the fire’s, something started nagging his sense of propriety, and he stopped. Though the guards had passed right next to the sitting Druids many times, they hadn’t seen anything unusual, unable to pierce the Druids’ concealing veil. They actually saw everything, even stepped aside to avoid one of the sitting mages, but they didn’t realize what they were seeing. Romer, however, had an impeccable sense of decorum, and something started bothering him greatly, making him stop. The majordomo focused, and his temple started throbbing with the effort, veins uncharacteristically appearing on his increasingly creased forehead.

“Would you please take your finger off the stew-pot?!” He asked angrily, almost shouting, as his mind finally broke the veil of concealment.

“Errr…” sputtered the young Druid caught in the act, as the majordomo started dressing him down. The guards came running and the camp stirred as the prim man started chastising the whole group - even the ancient Druid ended up being reprimanded by the time Garner and Lowa appeared. The whole camp woke, and people gathered around the commotion, watching from a safe distance, grinning and chuckling at the scene. It was good to see others getting on the bad side of the majordomo for a change.

“…and you, kind sir! I would expect better of a man of your wisdom, barging into camp unannounced? How could we be ready to receive you properly then, would you please tell me?” Romer finally ran out of steam, having to breath left after his long tirade. The whole camp started laughing while the Druids apologized for the inconvenience they had caused. Garner and Lowa laughed the hardest.

“Are you sure he isn’t a magician, Garner?” She asked, still smiling, as the druids hurried away from the campfire and Romer started hastily directing his people to prepare breakfast, putting the woodsmen gifts to good use while on it.

“Sometimes I wonder.” He replied honestly. “The man made Druids apologize for their lack of manners, for gods-sake.”

As his two sleepy apprentices came to him, Garner, Lowa and the teenagers approached the still flummoxed Druids, followed by Chief. “Greetings, honorable Druids. I see you’ve incurred the wrath of my retainer. He’s… intense.”

“Greetings, master Garner, honorable elder, I’m Gyojen, the leader of this commune. My people told me you wanted to have a talk about what’s going on around the ‘civilized’ lands.” Said the elder, his distaste at ‘civilization’ clear by his tone.

His followers, a mix of old and young persons hailing from a broad swathe of the Realm, nodded and mumbled their greetings. However, Garner knew they would likely keep silent for the rest of the conversation unless asked a question directly, in deference to their leader. The Druids were a lot more reverent than most. Maybe it’s for the best. They can get pretty long-winded when they start talking about revering Nature.

“Yes, Elder, I am. Are you familiar with the Wizardly Order?” He had to ask. Some of these isolated practitioners could get really out of touch with civilization.

“Bah, young one! I was there when they activated the Spires! I saw them defeat the Elfey when I was just a small boy, still starting to commune with nature.” told them Gyojen, caressing his long white beard.

Garner and Lowa were impressed and the apprentices even more so. The Dome had been raised almost a hundred years ago, delivering victory at the last of the Elfey wars. Now, the old Spires were shrouded in mystery and legend. To have seen such an important moment in the history of the Realm must have been awe-inspiring.

“Were the Elfey as terrible as the tales say?" asked Tealdin, breaking the moment of silence. The boy couldn’t help himself, hearing a first hand report was a lot better than reading a heavily edited version version from a moldy old tome. Chief grunted as he foresaw a long answer coming, and sat himself at a nearby stool, scratching the back of his head.

The druid thought ponderously before replying, “Yes, and no, wizardling. They were people, like us, and they had their share of monsters, like us. Some people hated them for it – I did when I was a boy and they told stories of atrocities – but I’m not so sure now, with the benefit of experience, that we would have done better were the roles reversed.”

Tealdin listened attentive to the long and slow reply, but Leanor grumbled, earning a sharp glare from Garner, “That’s not what the books say.”

Gyojen took no offense, and chuckled at her naivete. “Girl, who do you think wrote those books? Or at least who paid for them? Don’t believe everything you read. It could be argued that we have done far worse at the end of things, and to a lot of innocent Elfey…”

“Quiet now, kids. Let us old geezers talk about our more pressing business.” said Lowa when the elder’s gaze wandered off, thinking about old times and old wrongs.

“Yes, you can grill Elder Gyojen for information if he decides to come with us, or later if you happen to visit his Commune.” complemented Garner. “So, what do you have to say to our proposal, Elder?”

Tealdin and even Leanor nodded gracefully at the dismissal, and kept their mouths shut from that moment on. At least, I’ve managed to teach that, thought Garner.

“Thanks for the offer of shelter, Master Garner, but we will endure this situation at our commune. We are hidden and well-protected.”

Lowa looked uncertain at the decision, as she heard it, and replied, “Are you truly sure, Elder? If they find you, things will get ugly fast.”

“We know,” He acknowledged, “but we can move faster than them in the woods. We’ll run towards you, if we can, or even away-Dome, if we must.”

The kids blanched at the notion, but Lowa and Garner just nodded at that. If there was someone who didn’t care for the unnatural borders, it was the Druids. It was no surprise that they came and went away borders. “Very well, we wish you luck.” said Garner. “Is there anything you can help us with to prepare for the Lotharians?”

“Yes. We’ll deliver some supplies to you later, and we can help you with information.” He answered. “Report, Balmia.” commanded Elder Gyojen, turning to one of his subordinates who stepped forward, a woman with surprising green hair, and bright black eyes. She seemed young, but it was hard to tell if that impression was true by her confident demeanor.

“Sure, Elder. There are horseman on your trail.” Balmia said, talking in a lazy draw.

“We weren’t expecting to be chased so early. Can you tell how many of them are there?”

“Yah. Only eight, and I don’t think they are Lotharians either. Four of them reek of death, one of them of filthy magic, and the rest of fear.”

The apprentices looked puzzled at that, but Lowa clarified it for them, “Necromancy. Druids hate it, even though they share some blood rituals.”

“Allies or foes?” wondered Chief aloud, as he stopped picking his teeth, and thought about his friends.

The explanation earned her irritated gazes from the Druids, but Balmia continued, unruffled: “Allies, I think. They fought a larger group, took captives. I was impressed they won, actually, they were pretty outnumbered.”

Chief had to smile at that, already believing it the handiwork of Orwin. Romer passed through the talking groups, offering skins of cold water taken from a nearby creak. The apprentices whispered to each other as they watched the talk, and the servants waited patiently around the campfire after raising camp and packing it tidily at the carriages.

“And ahead of us?” asked Chief, thinking about the dangerous beasts that could inhabit the woods.

“There’s the fort a ways north of your path, as you probably know. We don’t deal with them much, a prickly and insulting bunch. We’ll free your way of most dangerous beasts, warrior, or at least give you forewarning.”

Chief grunted pleased at that.

“That’s it, basically.”

“Good intel.” commended Garner. “And thank you for your kind offers. We’ll rally wizards and mages to the Spire, and would be pleased if you could extend your good-will to them too, if it doesn’t endanger you.”

“We shall.” promised Elder Gyojen. “We’ll take our leave now. Good luck in these troubled times, friends.”

“Thank you all. Count on us if you need help. Goodbye.”

Everyone traded pleasantries, and the wood’s mages left the clearing and the camping, fading back into their beloved forest. “Goodbye, treehuggers!” Lowa added the old taunt, grinning mischievously. They heard receding laughs from the woods.

“Where to now, Master?” inquired Chief, still grinning, and everyone turned to Garner.

“Let’s head to the fort then, that you so wanted so much to see. The guards don’t seem like the most reliable people, but it will give time to your friends to reach us.” Garner decided. The wizard didn’t believe anything too dangerous could be waiting for them into the Spire, but it was best not to tempt fate, and join with the other group before trying to enter it.

“Come on, north we go!” bellowed Chief, making the group move to head back to the road and carry on their journey.

***

Orwin's Group

“Wake up,” *THUD* “I said wake up.”

Finally, just before Mons gave the Lotharian noble a second kick to the stomach, the man stopped feigning sleep, and started slowly raising to his feet, groaning. The man’s hands were still tied, and Mons decided to loosen the knot a little as they were starting to get a kind of funny color. Not that he particularly cared, but Orwin and Maia would berate him if he didn’t take minimal care of his prisoners. Rules of war and all that, only this wasn’t a proper war. He would bet that new guy – Rajpul, that was – wouldn’t care much either.

Mons ignored the trembling pages standing up next to the lordling, and turned to look at his people, around the campfire. Orwin was sharpening his bastard sword – Mons never saw the point in swords, he rather liked the sharp point of his own spear – while his sister was taking care of her bow, oiling it with some substance or other. She had tried to explain it to him some times, but he just kind of faded out in the middle of it. Boring. Most maintenance was, though he wasn’t stupid to miss the importance of doing it anyway.

Raj, as he had taken to calling the new guy, as it annoyed him, was eating the last of his breakfast slowly, with that frowned face of someone who was thinking deeply. Mons decided to help him out. He scooped a small rock from the floor and let it fly, hitting the new guy’s forehead. He made a small fist pump, and silently cheered, Beat that, Maia!, completely ignoring Rajpul’s scowl and the others’ mild disapproval – Maia always took one hand to her face when he did something cool, or both if it was a particularly good move. Orwin just shook his head, as always - he was no fun.

“Is he always like this?” Rajpul asked, frowning at the man.

“Unfortunately.” confirmed Orwin.

“You can see what I have to deal with all my life.” added Maia.

“Is he touched in the head?”

“Ouch, Raj! I’ve got feelings, you know?” Mons said, feigning to be upset.

The others just said, “Yep.”

“Quit slacking, you three, I want to reach that Third Tower sometimes this year.” He said, ignoring when someone corrected him. What kind of a stupid name was spire? If it looked like a tower, it was a godsdamned tower, in his opinion – and that was the only one that mattered most of the time. “Let’s interrogate these fellows, and be done with them.”

The prisoners gulped in fear, and Maia threw a rock at his head as he grinned at the reaction. He dodged, of course, Maia could never hit him. “Stop tormenting them. We’ll let them live, if they help us.” Mons nodded sagely, surprising his sister. She didn’t caught on to his decision to interpret “live” as leave. They could leave the camp, and die soon after. That was alright by him.

It wasn’t that Mons was a psychopath, he was just a little miffed at having to leave his fluffy mattress back into the inn at Arburgh and ride all that time. And all that fighting got his blood up, specially when they managed to cut him back into last night’s fight. That self-important lordling had had the gall to ask for his surrender, of all things! Unforgivable, anyone should know that Mons never surrendered, and that if he did, it was a fake surrender, and you shouldn’t be stupid to fall for it. Besides those two pages had even threatened Val…-ena.

Thinking about her, he hadn’t seen her for a while. “Where’s the mage, anyway?”

“Doing necromantic things to those dead bodies. She said we could get ahead with the interrogation.” replied Orwin.

“You would think that that girl would be less squeamish - she messes with dead bodies, after all.” added Maia.

Rajpul didn’t comment on it, but put his bowl aside and rose, starting to walk towards their captives. The duo set aside their weapons, and joined Rajpul and Mons around the prisoners.

“Well, who will we start with?” asked Mons, grinning maliciously.

*

*

*

Though they were ready to do horrific things with the lordling if necessary, the man broke easily, and saved himself a lot of pain, and the group some heavy consciences – for those who could have them, anyhow. The man spilled everything he knew, some of it quite interesting. The pages probably wouldn’t add much, and Orwin was loathsome to hurt boys who had little agency in who they ended up facing.

Rajpul heard it all with a calculating look, and decided in the end that he would stay with the group a while longer. He’d accompany them to the Spire. Now with valuable information for their future employer, the group put blindfold on the prisoners and spun them until they were unlikely to know which was the direction to head back to Arburgh. They left then, carrying on their path.

*

*

They only had to stop Mons from heading back sneakily twice.