In which nearly everyone makes it back in one piece

My Dear Alwyn,
 
Firstly, allow me to apologise for the rather stream of consciousness flow of the past few letters. Being out in the swamp, I barely had time to do more than note down my impressions of what was happening, and I’m afraid that the courtesy of a proper letter got rather lost. We are now back in Drynna, safe and warm again, and I will endeavour to do better!
 
This particular missive is made up of all the notes I collected on my way back from Bel, but I will write them up now as one continuous narrative. I’m pleased to say that the journey itself was not so eventful that you would want to read every detail of more than a week’s trek back into town. I’m hoping to be able to post this packet of letters soon, maybe even tomorrow if things work out, so you could, with any luck, actually be reading this in maybe only a few weeks time.
 
I will resume the tale where I left off last letter - we were in the village of Bel, where we had failed to penetrate the madness which had gripped Barithia, and so we had fought, and she had been killed. The villagers were unhurt, but clearly in shock, and unsure whom to trust. I don’t think that any of them remember actually witnessing the battle, but even so, this must have been a terribly disorienting experience for them all. We decided that it would be best to withdraw to a camp just outside the village limits, and to rest before trying to engage with them about what to do next. We were, after all, still very tired, and they would need as much time to adjust as we could afford to give them.
 
We slept for a long time, and the sun was high in the sky before everyone was up and about. By the time we had breakfasted, half the morning was gone, but we had badly needed the sleep and so no-one begrudged the time.
 
As we ate, we discussed among ourselves what should be done next, and it was agreed that we would offer to escort any villagers who wished to return to Drynna. Hopefully that would be all of them. The issue of the leylines which Zeni had sensed earlier remained a concern, but she did some further spellwork and declared that she thought the disruption was fading. This, she said, was good evidence that the curse was lifting now that Barithia had died. I thought that that would be logical, based on what Barithia had said about it being linked to her own life force. Both Sabali and Raphael said that they could sense in some way a lessening of the evil, but I felt nothing really. The swamp seemed to me as dismal and as unprepossessing as it had done for the past three days, but I had never felt that it was exactly evil, just dreary. Still, I was glad to hear that they felt the situation was improving.
 
Zeni volunteered to remain at the camp and start to pack up our own things. She has always seemed wary of the people of Bel - of almost everyone that we have met for that matter - but I don’t really understand why. I know that Rithuia has been keen to speak to her since we arrived, but she always seems to manage to be elsewhere at the crucial moment. Whatever the reason, she seemed content to allow the villagers to settle their own matters, which was fair enough, I suppose.
 
We could already hear raised voices coming from the village - a babble of excited conversation, sometimes brimming over into angry words. As we got closer, it appeared that almost every person living there had gathered in the central space between the houses, and that a major argument was ongoing about what to make of all that had happened, and what to do next.
 
It seemed that Sabali, unnoticed by the rest of us, had sneaked in ahead and seemed to have already done something or other to stir things up somewhat. Returning to the group, he shrugged his shoulders and let us know that they were having some problems deciding what to do. Some wanted to stay, others to leave.
 
Spotting Rithuia standing quietly at the side of the square, we spoke to her discreetly, asking her about the mood of the village, and the disputes taking place. She explained that the village was indeed divided, with half the people keen to return to Drynna, and half determined to stay on, just as Sabali had reported. She told us that, although the charm was much decreased in its influence, people were still feeling the after effects, and it was making it harder for them to think clearly, causing tempers to thin and arguments to break out. Beyond that, the vision that Barithia (or perhaps more likely Seleena, before her death), had offered had been a genuinely alluring one for many people, charm or no charm. They might have been lied to at the beginning, but that did not mean that the current state of affairs was straightforward.
 
I explained that we would gladly assist anyone who wanted to leave, but that, of course, those who wished to stay had every right to do so. I hoped that she herself would choose to come with us. Rithuia looked rather downcast at that, and shook her head - too many of the capable hunters and fishers wanted to go, and the chances of a viable community forming from those who wished to remain was very small. Nonetheless, despite the fact that she herself favoured leaving, she would remain if any chose to do so. I nodded at that, as a leader, even an informal one, it would be difficult for her to make any other choice. As she listed the names of those who wanted to go, I could see the problem. They would be left with no healer, and very few craftspeople or hunters. Living in the swamp was hard enough on its own, but when the gnolls were factored in, their chances of survival were almost non-existent.
 
She said that Oteas was one of the foremost voices advocating for staying in Bel - this surprised me, because from what she had told us of her long and varied life, I would have expected her to embrace change more readily than many others, even despite her age. We agreed to try to speak to her, and see if we could change her mind. Ruithia thought that if we could, then many others would likely follow her lead. Enessa and I went to speak with her, having made at least some connection when we were here two days ago, and I know that others had their own conversations with people who were reluctant to leave.
 
As well as settling the question of who would leave and who would stay, there was a lot of work to be done in packing up, and so Arin, Zeni and Wind were not so much involved in this business, having more than enough other jobs to keep them busy, but Raphael, Orlando, Enessa, Sabali and I all worked hard to bring as many as we could along, with varying degrees of success.
 
Before I go on with the tale, I want to take a moment to tell you about the different ways in which we attempted the task at hand. I think that we all drew on those arguments which might best have persuaded ourselves, were we in their shoes, and, when I later came to think on it, it seemed like quite a revealing exercise.
 
Raphael’s weapon of choice in this battle was a simple one - fear. He emphasised again and again, and in graphic detail, the fate that would likely await anyone who remained there without the protection of Barithia. He did almost nothing to soften the blow, explaining that they had been used by the hags for their own ends, and even showed as evidence the scraps of journal that we had found in Barithia’s home to some of the elven folk who could also read sylvan. He was calm and measured throughout, even when some fool of a boy, angry at hearing unpalatable truths, drew a knife on him. He even spoke about a hierarchy of predation, and their newly demoted place within it. It was logical in every way, but it was also a bleak and desolate vision, and one that placed personal survival in a hostile world above any other good. If this is how he sees the world, then living with that picture constantly before one’s eyes cannot be easy.
 
Orlando, as I would have expected from him, focused very much on personal connections. He attempted no large scale persuasion, but spoke quietly to those few that he had come to know a little, particularly the gnome, Spocksmith. Orlando has always had a gift for seeing past the general situation to the individuals within it. Where I might propose a good and virtuous general rule, and try to apply it as widely and equally as possible, he would already know the half dozen ways in which it must be adapted to fit each individual circumstance. I have come to see over the years that it’s a surprisingly rare gift, and it’s certainly one that I would give a great deal to be able to emulate.
 
I am honestly not entirely sure what the main thrust of Sabali’s argument was, but the antics which surrounded it were certainly eye-catching and amusing enough to help to lower the temperature of the discussion. At one point he appeared to be composing poetry extempore, which entertained the locals no end. He made no secret of the fact that he thought Barithia had been out and out evil, or that he thought that they would be complete fools to remain in Bel now that the charm had been removed, but somehow he said it with enough of a smile that no-one really took offence. Of all of us, I think he sees the least grey area (and this is me talking!), and that sort of certainty can be very appealing, although of course it also has its dangers.
 
For myself, my overwhelming instinct was to appeal to duty, to remind people of the need to put the interests of the group ahead of one’s own preferences. Although I tried hard to weave all the threads of argument together, there is no denying that this is where my mind first went. Duty is undoubtedly a kinder, and a richer, field than fear, but it is still a stern one and demands from the individual both sacrifice and self-denial. My argument was just and fair, but it was also austere, perhaps too much so for people who had already been through an ordeal. In hindsight, I might perhaps have taken a slightly different tack.
 
It was Enessa, however, whose words really changed things. Instead of focusing on the need to give up on the dreams that had brought people to Bel - either because of their false roots, or because they were too dangerous, or because they must now be sacrificed to the greater needs of others - instead she took those hopes and focused on what might be salvaged. The idea of Bel as a home, as a community, was what people were mourning, and were reluctant to surrender, and so she proposed transplanting it to a safer location, closer to Drynna. She made extravagant suggestions about the support that might be forthcoming from the Drynnan authorities, and I don’t know how realistic they were, but nothing that she said sounded outright impossible.
 
This is what transformed the mood. First in Enessa’s own words to Oteas, and also to Galoti, and then in my retelling of her vision to the village meeting later on. This suggestion is what moved the conversation from one of acceptance of a loss to one of real hope for the future. When the priests speak about Kindling the Light, this is exactly what they mean. It was thanks to Enessa that people packed their bags with a sense of purpose, and not merely with resentment or a dread of the alternative. She displayed an insight and a compassion that belied her young age, as well as contradicting almost every stereotype that the common gossip would attribute to her people.
 
Anyway, this all culminated in a village meeting called by Rithuia. Despite our best efforts, there had been a few holdouts who were determined to stay on despite all warnings and pleas to the contrary. This group was led by Sprocksmith’s wife, Galoti, a handsome elven woman of middle years, and it was mainly the other elves and half elves who supported her. This was interesting to me, because it was the elven folk who should have been least affected by the charm that Barithia had used, and the quickest to shake it off. Perhaps they had a more genuine personal stake in Bel than the others, and that made them less inclined to give it up. My own feeling, after several long discussions, was that perhaps it was time to respect their choice, and focus on preparing those who wished to go to leave, but Enessa set her jaw at that, and was not content to leave things as they were. At her urging then, Raphael and I agreed to make one last attempt, and so the meeting was called.
 
Now, you will probably remember that, back in Vasselheim, I took the sword rather late, at least as these things usually go. Before that - indeed, before I knew you, now I think on it - I had intended to be a preacher, and not a warrior. It was only after two years of the cloister that I was called to my true vocation. Although, I’m sure in some alternate reality somewhere there is a Ceridwen who is a fat and happy priest somewhere in a warm office in a church in Vasselheim! I must confess that I do envy her every time I have to bed down under a hedge, or when I am spending countless hours cleaning some monster's blood from my surcoat.
 
Anyway, from that experience I know at least the basics of how to craft a sermon, how to sway the congregation, to stiffen their resolve towards virtue, or to persuade them away from danger. The rough logs on which I stood to make this address were no pulpit, but the principle was much the same. I tried to weave all the treads of what had been said together, but I allowed Enessa’s voice of hope to run through everything I said, offering the possibility of something new, and better, to compensate for the necessity of giving up what was lost. Raphael assisted me most ably, adding a far more chilling finality to the picture of what might befall those who remained than I could have managed on my own. I could see Orlando in quiet conversation with Galoti and Sprocksmith afterwards, no doubt rendering my more abstract words concrete and personal to them.
 
After we were done, and the last stragglers had agreed, somewhat reluctantly, to begin packing, Enessa thanked me for my efforts. That was kind of her - I’d been quite nervous about it, and I had seen her dark eyes fixed on me as I was speaking, full of expectation and confidence. I was very glad that I hadn’t disappointed her, but really, she is the one who most deserves thanks in all this.
 
For the rest of the day we assisted the villagers in packing up anything that could be carried out. They had very little by way of coin - this had been discovered when Sabali had attempted some busking (with the improvised poetry), and had passed around his entertainer’s hat - and so every possession was precious, and would be needed in whatever life each family chose next. As well as that, no-one really wanted to leave things for the gnolls to plunder. Everything that could physically be carried was stowed away, which meant that it would be a slow and heavily laden progress back to town.
 
Having seen the lack of coin, Sabali proposed that we donate some money to the village to help them to make a fresh start in Drynna. People were generally supportive of the idea, with the exception of Wind and Zeni, who seemed extremely sceptical. It was then that Raphael made the unfortunate discovery that his coin purse had been lost somewhere in the swamp. It could happen easily enough with everything we have been through the past few days, but a real shame even so. I don’t suppose that there is any chance of finding it now, unless it has been caught up in the baggage somewhere.
 
Anyway, it looks hopeful that we will be able to persuade the town authorities to do something for the villagers, but if not, then Sabali is absolutely right, a plan will need to be made to support anyone left friendless.
 
While we had been speaking with the villagers, Zeni and Arin had been doing the practical work of assessing the food supplies situation, they had made a few calculations and declared it adequate, as long as we also did some hunting and foraging along the way. With this heartening information, we planned to set out the next morning, at first light.
 
The next morning dawned grey and misty, and the empty houses of Bel looked very forlorn as people made their final farewells to the homes which they had built with their own hands. At least they were not saying goodbye to friends and neighbours. All in all, there were 40 people on the road - 8 of us, and 32 villagers. A very large number to be making our way through the wilderness.
 
The trek back was long. It was nine full days of hard travel, with many in the group very ill-suited and poorly equipped for such a journey. Enessa guided us as usual, but it was a difficult task, and she often struggled to find the easiest way through. Too often we found ourselves doubling back or hacking our way through dense thickets to make any headway at all. People grumbled and muttered under their breath at each new delay or diversion, and tempers easily frayed.
 
Anyone who fell behind, or who pitched their sleeping space too far from the central fire, was at risk of attack by beasts who could easily snatch a person and drag them into the swamp before anyone had a chance to react. We lost Jeimun that way on the third night of the march - he had said that he couldn’t sleep well enough with everyone snoring and shifting all the time, and so he took his bedroll a little way off from the company. In the morning all we found were blood stained blankets and the footprints of some large beast with webbed feet. After that, everyone slept close, snoring or not, and the watch was doubled.
 
Hunting and foraging were absolutely necessary, with so many mouths to feed, but both had their risks as well. The dwarven brothers Unvon and Hekron were felled by a group of angry wild boar which turned at the last moment and charged them, goring and then trampling both men before they could jump clear. They died from their wounds before they could be returned to camp, and were interred by their companions in the dark waters of the swamp.
 
The foraging team, which you might have expected to have a safer job, had problems as well - the elven woman Idrab (who was one of those who had most wanted to remain in Bel) ate some berries which turned out to be so immediately deadly that her corpse was stiff and cold before she could even be brought to a healer, despite being not 200 yards from camp at the time. After that, all food gathered from the wild was subjected to a purification spell before it was consumed. That kept Arin very busy, casting and recasting the ritual prayer again and again. I tried to help where I could, but I haven’t yet grasped the knack of ritual casting, and so there was very little I could do to ease his burden. Between that, and seeing to the medical needs of the party alongside Zeni, his work was really cut out for him.
 
As we walked, there was much talk of what might come next. Some people were very taken with Enessa’s idea of a New Bel, somewhere safer than the swamp, while others wanted nothing more than to get back to friends and loved ones who they had not seen in months. As the last vestiges of the charm wore off, and people began to really process what had happened, some struggled to come to terms with what had happened to them. They were a tough bunch, but even so, this was a hard reality to adjust to. We offered what support we could, of course, but it would take a good amount of time for people to truly heal.
 
Wind, for her part, spoke often and enthusiastically about her close personal relationship with Councilman Loriette and how she would be able to use her influence on him in the service of the villagers. Now, I have seen no evidence of such a friendship, but this is Wind’s hometown and perhaps there is something to what she says. I would guess that the Councilman might not be too keen to advertise such a connection, should it exist, so I suppose that it might be true. Seems quite unlikely, to be frank, but if she is willing to help, then that is all to the better.
 
Every evening we gathered around the fire and people told stories and tales to pass the dark hours around dinnertime. Everyone heard something which was new to them, I think, and certainly there were many variants of old stories that I had never heard before. Over the course of the week I must have sung every ballad that I knew which focused on the themes of hope and renewal, trying to get people to see in themselves those doughty adventurers who refused to give up, even in the face of catastrophe. I think it helped to lift spirits and keep people going. At times, I could almost feel golden threads of magic tracing through the notes, but I was never able to sustain them for more than a moment.
 
The tales that we choose to tell always speak volumes about us, and sharing stories with the villagers, I think I came to understand them a little more. With the right narratives, people can absorb and transform even the most difficult experiences, until they become something quite different from what they were at the start.
 
Orlando, for his part, spent much of his time deep in conversation with Sprocksmith, and in the evenings the two of them could often be found poring over drawings and plans. Apparently Sprocksmith has an idea for making Bayou a bit quieter, which I have to say, would be exceptionally useful. It’s one thing out here in the wilds, but back in town even a single shot would draw a huge amount of attention.
 
It’s been a while since I have seen Orlando this energised, clearly spending time with a fellow tinkerer has got his creative instincts flowing. Still, it almost led to disaster when he and Sprocksmith were so absorbed in discussing their new ideas that they fell behind the main group.
 
It must have happened very fast, because the first I heard of it was the loud report of Bayou firing again and again, followed by a lot of shouts from the rear of the column - by the time I got back there it was basically all over. Both the gnomes were sprawled on the churned up mud of the bank, with the corpse of a very large crocodile floating in the water beside them, several bullets lodged in its leathery hide. There was a lot of blood, and Sprocksmith’s right leg was badly mangled, but both were in good spirits even so. Orlando raised the stump of his hand to his sodden hat in salute, and then the both of them just fell about laughing. I think a bond has been forged there which will last a long while, and I’m glad of it. For all Orlando’s secrecy about Bayou, and his other inventions, I think his mind works best when he has people to share his ideas with - clever people I mean, who can actually help him to improve things, not just my clueless enthusiasm.
 
Fortunately, that was the last major incident of the journey, and we arrived back in Drynna this morning, having camped early last night so as to arrive at a sensible hour of the day.
 
We had agreed to provide the villagers with enough gold to at least see them through the first few days, until other arrangements could be made, but the collection of this gold, which amounted to some 7gp each, was not without its oddities. Raphael, of course, could not contribute, having left his purse somewhere back in the Rootgarden mud, so I agreed to cover his share, so that was no problem. Then Zeni insisted that she would give only two gold, and that to go directly to Rithuia only. This was very odd, especially considering the lengths which Zeni goes to to avoid Rithuia’s company, but before we could work on how to solve the shortfall, Wind stepped up and rather astounded everyone by offering 25gp from her own pocket.
 
Now, call me a cynic, but this set alarm bells ringing for me. Not only had she been very resistant to giving anything at all away when Sabali had asked her about it a week ago, but more generally I have never once known Wind to make an ostentatiously generous gesture that wasn’t the prelude to some scam or other. I think that she is up to something, but right now I don’t have any idea what it is. I intend to keep a close watch on the situation though, because I am not going to allow the people of Bel to be swindled out of any compensation which they might receive. There isn’t any real malice in Wind, but she finds it much too easy to overlook the consequences once she has a clever idea of how to get something done.
 
On the way into town, we passed by the northern docks, and to my immense relief they seemed peaceful and untouched by any further problems with the sahuagin. I had been worrying about this more and more on the final days of our journey, and I was very glad to see that my concern had been unfounded. I sent up a grateful prayer then and there, and I will conduct a more formal ritual of thanks once I have the leisure to do so.
 
Once in town, the group of villagers began to disperse, having agreed to meet again in a couple of days time to make a more detailed plan of what to do next. Those with family in Drynna went their own way, and those few without anywhere else to go we directed to the Eagle’s Landing. I hoped that Rebur would be able to accommodate them all, even if it meant some sleeping on pallets in the taproom. They had gold in their pockets now, but I suspect that their remarkable story alone would probably be payment enough for the bard.
 
Once the inhabitants of Bel had headed off, our steps turned towards the Sunrise Lodge. Raphael and Enessa both suggested that we might not want to tell the Council everything we knew, at least until we had more information about the part they might have played in whatever had happened twenty years before. I was initially very uncomfortable with this suggestion - it is hardly reasonable to expect openness from others if we refuse to extend the same courtesy to them after all. To withhold information is very often no different from lying, once the context is considered. However, I allowed myself to be persuaded, on the condition that I would speak up if I thought that the line which Raphael was taking could not be maintained with honour. He looked a bit discomforted himself at that, but agreed to my suggestion.
 
We were received with understandable surprise, but also with a warm welcome at the Lodge, and ushered through to Councilman Loriette’s office, where chairs and refreshments were brought for everyone. Apart from Wind, who somehow looked pretty much spotless again, we were all dusty and travel stained, and probably stank of swamp water. It had been so long now that I had almost stopped smelling it, but to the poor staff at the Lodge it must have been overpowering. They were all extremely polite though, and there was not so much as a wrinkled nose from anyone.
 
Once we were seated, and pleasantries had been exchanged, Raphael embarked on telling the tale. As he reached the part where we discovered that Barithia was a hag, I watched Loriette’s face carefully for any signs that this was something which he had already known or suspected. It was hard to read him, politicians learn to control their expressions I suppose, but he betrayed nothing that led me to think this was anything other than news to him.
 
When explaining how we had used magic to figure out what was wrong, Raphael gestured to Zeni, who moved her hands gracefully to demonstrate what I had come to recognise as the detection spell which had been so useful in the swamp. As she did so, some of the tattoos on her forearm began to glow, purple against her orange skin. I hadn’t seen that happen before, and, judging by her reaction, perhaps neither had Zeni. She immediately lowered her arm and half hid it behind her back. After a few minutes, it seemed that the glow had faded again, but Zeni still rubbed absent-mindedly at the spot where it had been. I don’t think that Loriette noticed anything out of the ordinary, but something unusual had happened, or so I guessed, at any rate.
 
Raphael then turned the questions back on the Councilman, his voice light and conversational, as if merely making small talk about something of only passing interest. How long, he asked, had Loriette been on the Council? These fifteen years past, came the answer. Still casual, Raphael asked whether he could think of any reason that the hag Barithia would have taken issue with the town. Loriette said that he could think of none, indeed that the whole story seemed to strain the bounds of credibility - not that he disbelieved us, of course, he hastened to add. Raphael enquired whether there were any Council members who had served for twenty years or more. No, came the reply, that wasn’t how it worked, in fact it was rare for anyone to serve even as long as he had done.
 
Raphael’s manner then grew rather more serious and he explained he had more to tell of what had befallen us in the swamp. We had slain both Barithia, and Seleena, in her spirit form, but that they had appeared to have a grudge against the town which had related to something which had occurred during the time of the dragon attacks twenty years back. A bargain had been made at that time, and then, apparently, broken by the Council. Did Loriette know of any such arrangement? Raphael’s gaze was intense, and I could see that he was trying as hard as I was to discern the authenticity of Loriette’s reaction to this news.
 
The Councilman wore a strange expression - he was surprised, I was sure of it, but also pensive. He leant back in his chair and seemed to ponder how much it was wise to say next. He spoke then of rumours which he said that he had been reluctant to give credence to, but which were persistent. They were never discussed in the open, but there had long been whispers of deals done at that difficult time. Desperate times calling for desperate measures, or so it was said. The idea that some such bargain with hags had indeed been made, and had been reneged upon, could not be ruled out entirely. He looked shamed by the possibility, and I thought that his discomfort was probably sincere.
 
Raphael spoke then with considerable authority about the wisdom of making deals with the fae, and about the lengths to which fae creatures will go should they feel that a promise has been broken. The main focus of his next enquiries seemed to be on why the hags had chosen to take action now, so many years after the alleged offence had taken place. I hadn’t really thought about this issue before, but it is certainly an interesting question, now that I come to consider it.
 
We asked for the details of any Council members of that time who might be able to shed more light on what had happened. Remarkably, it seems that only two men from that era are still alive, and, of these, only one remains resident in Drynna. His name is Erin Albrich, and his mind, apparently, is much diminished by old age. This lack of witnesses is quite strange in itself, for an event only two decades old, and seems rather suspicious in itself. Perhaps the practice in those days was to have much older people serve on the council? That is possible, I suppose, and might account for it, but this is a matter that may bear further investigation.
 
Seeming to recall some piece of lore which he had heard, Loriette asked then about whether there had been a third hag involved. This was a tricky moment for the conversation, and, if I had been leading it then I’m sure that I would have stumbled over my refusal to answer and made it completely obvious that there was something to worry about, but Raphael was far more deft. Yes, he said, but we intended to make private enquiries into that matter. It was not untrue, either in spirit or in letter, and more than that he managed to make it sound reasonable, even helpful, rather than defensive. Loriette seemed to accept this answer with almost no demur.
 
Almost at once, the conversation actually turned naturally to Althia, and the herbs which she had requested be gathered in the swamp. Sabali began to giggle a bit at that, and Arin and I both gave him a sharp look, but Raphael steadfastly ignored him, and the moment passed unremarked. We promised to visit Althia soon, and Loriette was pleased to hear it. Althia had, he said, been serving Drynna as apothecary for as long as he could remember, and he had an evident affection for her.
 
Before we left, I spoke to him about the refugees from Bel, and about the just claim that they had on the city, if these rumours of a dishonoured agreement were accurate. He agreed readily enough that their claim should be considered, and said that he would speak to others on the Council about it. We agreed to bring some of the villagers to meet with him in the coming days, so that things could be worked out.
 
On the way out, we collected the 200gp reward as agreed. There was some grumbling at the amount being a bit less than some people in the party had anticipated, but then, if you allow two paladins to negotiate on your behalf when faced with a stricken town and children who are sick, then really, what did they expect? The job had, I must admit, been longer, and harder than anyone had anticipated, and it was not even over yet. I knew, though, that everyone involved could be proud of what we had done (most of it anyway), and that is worth more than any pile of gold.
 
Before the matter can be considered properly closed though, we must go and see Althia, and find out what part she has played in all this.
 
I am very concerned indeed about the question of Althia. If she has fallen into the same darkness as her sisters, then we will have to deal with her as well, but I doubt, honestly, that this is the case. We have no real evidence for that hypothesis after all. On the other hand, if she is truly the good woman that she has seemed so far to be, then she is still very likely in considerable danger.
 
She wears the same face as Barithia, which any of the villagers of Bel would recognise at once, and more than that, her name is in the papers salvaged from the swamp. Galoti has seen and read them, and I would bet that she has discussed them with the other elves, if not the whole village. If those folk remain in the vicinity of Drynna, then someone will put two and two together at some stage. Raphael also mentioned the existence of the papers to Loriette, and offered them for inspection by a sylvan speaker in due course, which means that even more people would need to keep the secret. All in all, it seems very unlikely that Althia’s true nature is a secret that can be kept for long if she remains in this area.
 
Once the story about Barithia and Seleena is out, a lot of people will assume that she had something to do with what has happened, and even without that, there are plenty who would make assumptions about the quality of a person’s heart from the nature of their body. I fear that, even in the best case scenario, we must uproot yet another unsuspecting person from their home. That is not something I am looking forward to, but it may be the best we can offer at this point.
 
Once that is done, we ourselves must also think of where our next steps might lead. Our little band has grown quite used to one another’s company these last weeks, but what everyone’s future plans are, I don’t know. For myself, I am tired of walking these distant roads alone. Unless I am called elsewhere by duty, I will go with Orlando and lend him what assistance I can. He seems keen to visit this city of Whitestone, which Sprocksmith mentioned, and I must say that I too would be curious to see such a place. At the end of the day though, I will pray for guidance in this matter, and I will, of course, go where conscience directs me. That dependable guide brought me here, after all, and this last month has been extraordinary.
 
I have written in my previous letters to you about the changes I have felt over the past few weeks, and I would hazard that every single one of my companions has experienced something of similar magnitude. Almost day by day I have seen them grow both more powerful, and more confident in their abilities. It makes me wonder if there may be some catalysing influence in our being together - indeed, I felt something of the sort right at the start of this, and, although it has faded from the forefront of my consciousness, it is still there in the background. Perhaps its work is not yet done.
 
I will be posting this letter, along with the others from the past month, as soon as I get the opportunity. Later today I hope, or perhaps tomorrow at the latest. If I can, I will add one more note to let you know what becomes of Althia, and also what my plans are for the next few weeks at least.