The stout in Thalmiir’s mug shivered when the knocking began.
He watched the little rings travel across its dark surface. Morning had scarcely established itself; he was still in his robe, and Barnaby had only just finished with his spellbook. Somewhere in the building, breakfast was becoming available. It had seemed a promising arrangement.
“Arise, ye scallywags!”
Barnaby looked up. “Is that us?”
Thalmiir slapped the loxodon’s shoulder. “That’s right. Us. You’re one of us now. Come with me to the door.”
The knocking grew louder as they approached, acquiring the persistence of a man who had mistaken noise for authority. By the time Thalmiir swung the door open, he had an audience gathering behind him.
“This had better be good.”
The human outside was already retreating toward five armed figures. His clothes were flamboyant enough to make his haste conspicuous. The others stood a respectful distance from the entrance, shields and breastplates catching the morning light.
“Thalmiir’s Thunder.” The human flourished a scroll. “I have here a bill for services failed to render, from one Brock Hardbark.”
Breakfast receded.
Hardbark Meadows. There had been squatters, and an agreement about protecting the campground, and an expedition into town for muffins that had expanded considerably beyond its original purpose. Thalmiir remembered the muffins more fondly than the agreement.
“Mr. Hardbark has previously sent mild and affable people to collect this debt,” the man continued. “It has grown. He has now engaged our services. Are you the Thalmiir of Thalmiir’s Thunder?”
Hat shuffled forward, his colorful point already making the occasion less dignified.
“Let me see that.”
“I assume you are acting duly as an agent of Thalmiir’s Thunder and are authorized to accept this paper.”
“That’s your assumption.”
The scroll changed hands.
“The document is served,” the man said promptly. “You have been notified.”
Thalmiir smirked. Hat had the paper now, which meant the morning might yet improve.
The goblin inspected it. There was a great deal of whereas and insofar as, the sort of writing that hoped to become law through exhaustion. Once Hat had stripped away the decorative language, the demand was simple: eight hundred gold pieces allegedly owed to Brock Hardbark, including compounded debt, and four hundred more for collecting it.
Twelve hundred gold. Payable immediately.
Behind the visitor, a shield shifted. Thalmiir recognized the device on it, then the people carrying it.
The Iron Vanguard.
He had been preparing something choice about greasy little turds. He put it aside. These were the fighters from the boat into town, the ones who had dealt with most of the river bandits while Thalmiir and his companions had occupied themselves with a much more manageable portion. They had been capable then. Now they were capable in his front yard.
Bhakris had joined them, already armored. His gaze moved over the Vanguard’s breastplates with an attention Thalmiir understood perfectly. Nice equipment. Better than the paladin’s, at any rate. There was a murmur among the fighters when they saw him, though their spokesman paid it no heed.
“We’re going to need to see the actual agreement,” Bhakris said.
“You had a verbal agreement with Mr. Hardbark.”
“With terms about interest? Compounding? We didn’t agree to any of that.”
“But you did have an agreement?”
“We cleared some ruffians out of the campsite,” Hat said. “We slept there. We fulfilled our agreement.”
Thalmiir let the goblin work. There were enough differing memories of the arrangement circulating already without adding another.
“Listen.” The visitor abandoned some of his flourishes. “We’re here to get paid. We don’t get paid if he doesn’t get paid.”
“We didn’t hire you,” Hat pointed out.
“Pay up.”
Thalmiir turned to Bhakris. “We need to get the gold. I’ll need you to help carry it.”
He walked back inside, the paladin beside him.
“Get your gear,” he said quietly.
Bhakris looked down at himself.
“Yes. You’re already complete. Come with me.”
There was something reassuring about a companion who considered putting on armor part of getting up in the morning. Thalmiir went to fetch his own.
When they returned, he had exchanged his robe for spikes and brought his axe. Hat was still at the entrance, explaining that the visitors had probably been hired for an illegitimate job and ought to join them in collecting money from Hardbark instead.
“Carrying the gold, are we?” the human asked.
“I’ve got your payment right here,” Thalmiir said, letting the axe speak plainly for once.
The man looked from the blade to his face.
“Am I to infer that you have no intention of making good on this debt?”
“You’ve come to our coffee shop with a lot of plated strongmen,” Hat said. “You’re frightening away customers. This is bad for business. I think Mr. Hardbark owes us four hundred gold for ruining our morning.”
The man’s gaze traveled pointedly over Thalmiir and Bhakris, occupying the threshold in their armor.
Thalmiir declined to assist him with the distinction.
“I’ll tell you what,” the visitor said. “We’ll return to Mr. Hardbark and clarify things. You can think very carefully about whatever agreements you may or may not have made. We’ll be back tomorrow.”
“What was your name?” Barnaby asked.
“They call me Strongsteel. You can call me sir.”
Bhakris’s expression changed.
“Strongsteel? What happened to your river bandit crew?”
That brought the conversation briefly to a standstill.
“Oh,” Strongsteel said. “That sack of losers.”
Thalmiir looked at him again. The name belonged to the vanished leader of the ragged bandits downriver. There had been a bear, too, and squirrels behaving oddly, and a theory which had seemed reasonable enough when there was nothing but a dead bear to dispute it.
“Wait,” he said. “You’re the bear?”
“I have many nicknames celebrating my glorious accomplishments.” Strongsteel spread a hand. “The Bear sounds good. Strongsteel the Bear. That’s what they call me.”
“We killed that bear.”
“Did you kill me the way you protected Hardbark Meadows?” Strongsteel turned toward the fighters. “These people have a very loose relationship with the truth.”
Bhakris persisted. “Did you abandon your crew downriver?”
“It’s not complicated. I was their leader. They failed to perform. I sought other opportunities.”
“You abandoned your post.”
Thalmiir shifted his grip on the axe. “That’s the military. What we have here is a criminal. In a decent town, they string those up.”
“Looks like a man with a bounty,” Hat agreed.
“I assure you, no one is looking to pay a bounty for me. But I’d love to watch this crew earn their keep while you try.”
It was an unattractive invitation. Thalmiir glanced at the Iron Vanguard. They had held their formation through all of this. He remembered they had intended to join the search for the Urn, through Operation Daybreak. Somehow their morning had brought them here instead, ready to collect an enormous sum on behalf of a campground proprietor.
Barnaby slipped inside while the argument continued. When he returned, he studied Strongsteel with a wizard’s attention.
“I’m not finding any magic on him.”
Nothing became simpler.
“Thurman,” Bhakris said. “Does that name mean anything to you?”
“Listen. I don’t know what reunion you’re trying to arrange. You crossed paths with my old crew. I don’t know you. You don’t know me.”
“The question is whether these men know you.” Bhakris looked past him. “You left the others beside a river because they weren’t performing. What happens to these five if they disappoint you?”
Strongsteel began talking over him. Bhakris kept his attention on the fighters.
“You’ve seen what he does with people who follow him. Think about whose orders you’re taking.”
There was no grand defection. No one seized Strongsteel or threw down a shield. But Thalmiir saw a glance pass between two of them, and a small affirmative movement that did not seem intended for their spokesman.
Strongsteel saw something, too. His confidence acquired a brittle edge.
Thalmiir raised his axe just enough to direct it toward the way out.
“You’re trespassing. Get off my lawn.”
The human sniffed.
“As I said. We’ll take this back to Hardbark. We expect to be paid when we return.”
Thalmiir waited.
“Tomorrow,” Strongsteel added. “Let’s go.”
He left rather more quickly than he had promised to. The Vanguard turned sharply and marched after him.
Barnaby watched them depart.
“You have weird friends.”
“Not our friends,” Thalmiir said. “Barely know them.”
“We thought he was a bear,” Bhakris explained.
Hat looked delighted by the opportunities remaining in the day.
“We should take the campground under cover of darkness.”
First, however, they had an appointment with a queen.
The creek in the primal forest conduit sounded entirely indifferent to debt.
Barnaby found that restful. After the morning’s visitors, a room that was also a piece of primeval woodland seemed a reasonable place to stand. Flowers scented the air; water moved over stones. The orchid waited among its surroundings without giving any indication that royalty was about to speak through it.
He had brought the flower fairies their orchid back. They had also destroyed Destiny, whom the fairies counted an enemy. Barnaby knew those things. He was considerably less certain how one prepared to be thanked by a queen.
They had eaten breakfast before coming upstairs. This had produced speculation about the boon, chiefly whether it could be money and what they ought to ask for if it could not. The answer, as far as they understood, was that the Queen would choose what she considered appropriate. That left a wide field.
Barnaby was beginning to wonder whether the phrase about sunlight kissing the dew from a flower meant the same hour in two distant forests when something snapped into focus inside his head.
“Oh. You’re here. All right.” The voice came from the orchid. “I keep trying to convince people to be more specific about times. Are you ready? I think the Queen’s ready. Are you ready?”
They looked at the flower.
“Hello? Is anybody there?”
“Yes,” Barnaby said, with several companions answering close behind him.
“You haven’t done this before, have you?”
“Had an audience with the Queen,” Hat asked, “or used an orchid?”
The voice sounded pressed for time.
“When she addresses you, answer briefly and to the point. Don’t say more than needs to be said. Listen attentively. You may call her Your Highness or Your Serene Majesty. What do you call her?”
“Your Supreme Majesty,” Hat supplied.
“Serene?” Waer’dara asked.
“Your Highness. Your Serene Majesty.” A pause. “Is there anyone among you who can speak coherently?”
“Not really,” Waer’dara said.
Bhakris stepped forward. After another pause, he seemed to remember that the flower could not see him.
“Me. Bhakris.”
“Thank you, Bhakris. Is Barnaby there?”
“Yes.”
“I was told Barnaby was an important part of this. The Queen will be talking to you. Are you comfortable responding?”
“Yes. Your Highness. Your Supreme Majesty.”
The ensuing correction was firm. Barnaby attempted to arrange the titles in his mind in the order they would be needed.
“Why do I have to remember both if it’s or?”
“She gets tetchy if you lean too hard on one. Try to alternate. Perhaps it’s better if you just—no. We’re almost out of time.” The voice gathered itself. “She will explain your boons. You will say thank you. We’ll finish in under five minutes.”
That seemed achievable.
There was a shuffle, silence, and another small snap inside his head.
“Up next,” announced a different voice, “Barnaby and the matter of the royal flower. We have this booked for five minutes.”
“Yes, right.” The next voice was brisk and distracted. Barnaby straightened instinctively, though it had been made very clear that no one could see him. “Barnaby. The elephant man. He did well, didn’t he? Yes. Very good. There’s the matter of a boon. In appreciation—hold on. I’m supposed to read the official thing.”
Paper rustled somewhere a world away.
“In recognition of outstanding service to the flower fairy community, and myself, the Queen, you are hereby recognized with a boon. You are to be granted the use in perpetuity—really? We’re doing that now? All right. In perpetuity, of one pack of vine steeds. You’re welcome.”
Barnaby held carefully to the instructions.
“Thank you, Your Highness.”
“Yes, of course. In addition, in recognition of your outstanding leadership in completing this mission, and the destruction of a sworn enemy of the flower fairies, you are to receive a magical item.”
There was a consultation Barnaby could hear only in fragments. He waited, wondering what a vine steed looked like.
“Yes. That club thing. That will do. Put it in the saddlebag. And I think that concludes—what? The rule of three?”
Hat began digging in his bag.
“I have a gift for you, Supreme Magistrate!”
Barnaby shut his eyes briefly.
“No,” said the Queen, apparently to someone beside her. “I don’t know why he’s speaking. You told him not to speak.”
Hat continued searching.
“My advisor tells me that if I give you two boons, we violate the rule of three, and I might owe you something later. I don’t want to do that.” Another consultation. “They don’t know? We could teach them. That’s a boon.”
Barnaby glanced at the orchid. After their introductions, it was difficult to argue that they had demonstrated mastery.
“For your third and final boon, in recognition of extraordinary service, et cetera, I grant you temporary, time-limited use of one of my expert Floromancers to explain your communication orchid. Yes. That’s one boon. No, it isn’t multiple boons.”
Hat had found a silver necklace.
“And I gift to thee this.”
He laid it on the forest floor beside the orchid. Barnaby watched the silver settle among the green.
“Does he think I need a necklace?” the Queen asked.
A pause followed, in which someone evidently offered advice.
“You’re right. That was rude. I recognize the intention of your gift. I think we’re done here.”
The connection snapped.
For an instant the room was quiet except for the creek. Then a dry, uncertain hiss began to issue from the orchid. It swelled until Barnaby felt it in his teeth.
The first horse erupted from the flower.
Horse was the nearest available word. Its body was woven from tightly wound vines, and its head opened into an elaborate arrangement of blossoms. More followed, crowding the room in a tangle of green limbs and flowering faces.
Six.
One for each of them, including the large tabby who now had good reason to reconsider the available floor space.
Barnaby stepped sideways to avoid a vine hoof. The creature beside him turned its floral head and began investigating the room. Another carried a long wooden weapon, its head a gnarled knot bound in thorned vines.
Thalmiir lifted it free and turned it appreciatively.
“That’s workmanship. Look at that face.” The grain suggested something unpleasant peering from the knot. “They said it was magic?”
He offered it handle first to Barnaby.
“We all earn our keep one way or another.”
Before Barnaby could begin, the orchid spoke again.
“Hello. I have an appointment to introduce the properties and characteristics of the communication orchid to Barnaby and company.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“What? No. I’m not the Queen.”
“I was told that was how we addressed this thing.”
“I’m her Floromancer. You can call me Samuel.”
“So you know the magic of floors,” Thalmiir said.
“Flowers.”
The voice paused only briefly before continuing. Samuel had, Barnaby suspected, already decided how much of his allotted time he could afford to spend on introductions.
Much of what he explained confirmed their experiments. By concentrating upon a forest they knew, they could listen to it and make themselves heard there. The important addition was what happened when another communication orchid stood at the far end.
Things could pass between them.
Objects. Supplies. People.
Barnaby looked at the six steeds, still exploring the room, and felt his understanding of the flower widen abruptly.
There were safeguards. The Queen’s orchid required permission before anything could be sent through it. Samuel explained how they could protect their own with a whispered code word that would authorize passage during a particular communication. Without such precautions, someone who found their orchid from elsewhere might simply step through.
They had been worrying about their front door.
Barnaby listened closely.
When Samuel had finished the explanation, there was still a little time remaining in his allocation.
“What do the horses eat?” Barnaby asked.
“They’re plants. Water and sunlight. They’re well trained and should let you ride them. They also have a property derived from the communication orchids.”
The loxodon’s attention sharpened further.
If a rider knew a particular tree sufficiently well, Samuel explained, the steeds could take the group there from another tree.
“Always the same tree?” Hat asked.
“Any tree you’re sufficiently familiar with.”
“Do they run there,” Barnaby asked, “or is it instantaneous?”
“Technically, the two trees become one tree. It’s a thing. You need a tree nearby to begin, and, between ourselves, a reasonably strong stomach.”
Barnaby studied the nearest steed. The distance between two trees, which until now had seemed a dependable part of the world, had just become negotiable.
“I was warned about boon overage,” Samuel said. “Anything else?”
“If you have any boons left at the end of the year that need using up,” Thalmiir suggested.
“Those situations do arise. It helps to know people who understand. At the moment we’re all right, but I’ll keep you in mind.”
The little snap came again, and Samuel was gone.
Barnaby approached a steed. Its woven body thickened, vines shifting and finding new places, until its back looked equal to the task of bearing a loxodon. Near Hat and Bartholomeow, others compacted themselves.
He reached out to the green shoulder, delighted.
The Queen had been very particular that she owed them nothing more. Barnaby was beginning to think they had done rather well.
Hat liked the mace. He could have carved something excellent into it, given time.
For now Barnaby was occupied with learning what it did, and Thalmiir and Bhakris were occupied with deciding where to take it. Hat had already supplied the answer, but sometimes a good idea needed to be offered repeatedly.
“We can use the horses to infiltrate the campground under cover of darkness. Take it by force.”
“What do you think happens after that?” Thalmiir asked.
“The campground’s ours. We profit.”
“That is more or less what we did here.”
“Our signature move,” Hat agreed.
Thalmiir considered this with an expression that suggested he had not intended to arrive at that conclusion.
“I wasn’t really aiming to become a marauder.”
“It’s our business plan,” Barnaby said.
Bhakris was less interested in owning the meadow than in arriving there impressively. They knew trees at the campground. They also knew one beside the bandit camp, which might permit a useful visit later: they could explain that the men’s old leader had apparently found new employment.
“And you didn’t eat him,” Bhakris added. “Congratulations.”
“Unless this one’s lying,” Hat said.
The bear remained a difficulty. Strongsteel had admitted leading the crew, and seemed to know the history they were asking about. That did not explain what had happened downriver.
“We didn’t know then,” Thalmiir said. “We might know less now.”
Hat was content to let that stand. They had a perfectly serviceable enemy without resolving the bear.
Barnaby’s examination established that the wooden weapon was a Mace of Terror. Its power could send chosen creatures nearby fleeing from its bearer, gripped by a fear beyond ordinary alarm. They discussed who might carry it, but no decision settled. For the moment, possessing it was satisfying enough.
Below them the café had opened. The staff, who had paid close attention to the armored delegation, needed reassurance.
Hat watched Thalmiir assume the manner of a proprietor dealing with a minor inconvenience.
“When ownership changes, people come out of the woodwork hoping to extort some coin. Those were ruffians looking to take advantage. We sent them on their way. They won’t bother us again.”
The explanation worked. Shoulders eased. Work resumed with less anxious glancing toward the entrance.
Bhakris waited until they were aside.
“The people who said they’d be back tomorrow?”
“We’re sorting it out with Hardbark this afternoon.”
Their new horses made that promise seem much more practical. Dean, the gardener, was captivated by them and offered his services should they require interesting topiary.
“Water them regularly,” Barnaby said. “We didn’t ask about trimming.”
“Usually a plant getting leggy is bad,” Waer’dara observed. “I think it’s good in this case.”
Hat had a more pressing horticultural concern: their grand entrance ought to include a document.
The original demand was still available for comparison. He spread out what he needed and began assembling a response.
Now that they had time to reconstruct the old arrangement, the discussion of lodging became more specific. There had been a discount for providing protection. They had paid seventy-five gold for a tenday. They had then left, making use of neither the whole stay nor the promised security work.
“We said we’d stay and we didn’t,” Bhakris conceded. “Fine. But we never agreed to random compounding interest. Or hired goons. He’s inventing that.”
“So he owes us for the lodging we didn’t use,” Hat said.
“Possibly a refund,” Bhakris said.
Hat dipped his pen.
“And a four-hundred-gold collection fee.”
Barnaby suggested damages for the staff’s distress. The reputation of the business had also suffered, Hat felt. He arranged these injuries until they reached a pleasing total.
Twelve hundred gold.
A lesser documenter might have felt constrained by the resemblance to the sum demanded from them. Hat regarded it as symmetry.
Then the work took him.
Ink moved cleanly from the nib. Every clause found its place. The officious jumble of Strongsteel’s scroll had offended something in him; here, at last, was the opportunity to show what an official-looking demand could be. He gave the refund its proper foundation, the fees their imposing structure, and the accumulated grievances room to breathe.
He knew the pleasure of wood yielding correctly to a tool, the grain revealing the shape he had intended. This felt like that, except the material was argument and the finished piece might be capable of injuring someone who merely read it.
The others’ voices receded while he worked.
When he came back to them, the pages lay complete beneath his hands. He added sealing wax and his seal of limited authority. The limitation did nothing to diminish its excellent appearance.
He lifted the finished document.
It was beautiful.
“What do you think?” he asked.
They looked.
Hat felt that Hardbark Meadows might prove too small to contain the resulting argument. Perhaps the rest of town would have to help.
This was not a reason to delay.
“How long would it take them to get back?” Bhakris asked.
There were lifts to contend with, and queues. A couple of hours, perhaps. The audience, the lesson, the examination of the mace, and Hat’s masterpiece had consumed a good part of the morning, but the horses offered a possibility no ordinary journey could match.
They might arrive first.
Barnaby seemed just as pleased by the alternative.
“Or they can walk in while we erupt from a tree on magical plant horses.”
Hat gathered the document carefully.
Either arrangement would serve.
Thalmiir chose an oak.
It had stood near their old campsite, spreading its boughs above the place they had slept. He could remember it well enough: the trunk, the shelter beneath it, the proportions of the branches overhead. A useful, solid tree. A tree that had never asked him for twelve hundred gold.
Outside headquarters, the vine steeds adjusted themselves beneath their riders. There was some initial skittishness when the party climbed aboard, but it passed quickly. Barnaby sat upon a considerably enlarged mass of woven greenery. Hat and Bartholomeow had mounts suited to their smaller forms. Flower heads turned toward Thalmiir as though waiting for a decision.
Leading was his responsibility. Apparently so was thinking about an oak while riding at a different tree.
“If a druid can do it,” he muttered.
He fixed the remembered campsite in his mind and urged his steed forward.
It leapt into a dash.
For a moment Thalmiir had the exhilarating certainty that the promised grand entrance was beginning exactly as intended.
Then the horse stopped.
The others slowed to a walk and gathered around it, pressing together until all six were touching. One extended a slender floral proboscis toward the bark.
Contact.
Thalmiir’s stomach tried to climb out through his throat.
The world remained stubbornly where it was while his body seemed to turn through several incompatible directions. Something twisted. His hands tightened. There was no visible motion he could use to account for the violent conviction that every part of him was going somewhere else.
He had just enough time to resent Samuel’s mild description of the experience.
Then the oak was around them, and they were in Hardbark Meadows.
Canvas sagged beneath the horses. A pole shifted. Thalmiir steadied himself while a tent acquired a new and unfortunate angle.
On its flap was the device of the Iron Vanguard.
They had arrived at their former campsite to find it occupied by the possessions of the people who had just threatened them. The tents were not destroyed, though someone would have work to do.
No fighters emerged.
Behind him, Waer’dara made an unhappy sound. The journey had left her bent over her mount, fighting to remain conscious. She vomited, then drew a breath that suggested the worst was passing.
A goliath staff member hurried toward the disturbance.
“Those are really weird horses.”
He looked from rider to rider.
“Hey. I know you. What are you doing here? Hardbark made it clear you weren’t welcome.” His attention caught on Waer’dara. “Is she all right?”
“Do not concern yourself with our unwell friend,” Hat announced. “We’re here for Brock Hardbark.”
“I hate horses,” Waer’dara said. “Horses are the devil.”
The goliath hesitated.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Merrick,” Thalmiir remembered. Merrick Stonebrow. A substantial man to have addressing complaints about trampled tents.
“I don’t know how he’ll feel about seeing you,” Merrick said. “But you’d better come with me before you walk over anyone else’s things.”
“I hear he’s been trying to see us for some time,” Bhakris said.
“He’s been trying to extort us and besmirch our names,” Thalmiir added.
“Listen. I work for him. He’s a good fellow. It’s a good job. I don’t know about these Vanguard people, or that Strongsteel.”
“Why work for him?” Hat asked. “You could own a franchise. What if you were in charge of the campground?”
Merrick’s defense of his employer did not offer much encouragement for an immediate change of ownership.
“Anyway,” Hat said. “To Brock Hardbark.”
Thalmiir followed, keeping the horses clear of further canvas. There was still no sign of Strongsteel and his escort. For the moment they had the meadow, the flowers, and Hat’s sealed answer to the debt.
Hardbark’s building came into view. He called it a château. Seen from a vine steed in the clear light of day, it continued to make a strong argument for being a shack.
Merrick stopped outside.
“Wait here. Do you tie those things up? Don’t let them walk on any more tents.”
He put his head inside.
Thalmiir settled his feet beneath him. He had wanted this morning to begin with breakfast and a little peace in the place they were trying to make their own. Instead he had put on armor, ordered a bandit off the lawn, and learned that the shortest road to a disputed bill ran through a tree.
Merrick drew back from the entrance.
“Go on in.”
From inside came Brock Hardbark’s rumbling voice.
“So. You finally come crawling back. Surprised you have the gall to show your faces around here.”
Hat stood beside Thalmiir at the doorway, the sealed document in his hands.
The morning after the ten-day began with preparations for the flower queen’s audience. Thalmiir was up early, still in his robe, getting breakfast and a morning drink, while Barnaby prepared spells from his spellbook. A heavy knock and a shouted demand that the occupants arise interrupted them. Before opening the door, Thalmiir slapped Barnaby on the shoulder and welcomed him as one of the group; Barnaby accompanied him to see what the visitors wanted. Outside stood a flamboyantly dressed human with five armed escorts. The spokesman drew back toward his protection and presented a scroll, asserting that Hat was authorized to receive it. Hat answered, “That’s your assumption.” The man nevertheless declared the document served. Its amateurishly elaborate legal language demanded immediate payment to Brock Hardbark: an alleged debt compounded to 800 gold, plus 400 gold in collection fees, for a total of 1,200 gold. Hat accepted and examined the scroll, but the party paid nothing. Thalmiir recognized all five escorts as the Iron Vanguard, the fighter crew that had shared the boat journey into Seacomber. Remembering their formidable performance against the river bandits gave him reason to temper his initial insults. Bhakris noticed their good armor, including plate breastplates or similar protection rather than full plate, and the Vanguard exchanged murmurs on recognizing him. Their earlier intention to join Operation Daybreak in the search for the Urn was recalled, although their current involvement in that undertaking remained unknown. The adventurers challenged both the amount and the basis of the demand. They remembered a campsite arrangement involving protection and lodging, initially describing the lodging as free, but denied agreeing to compounded interest or these collection penalties. Bhakris demanded the actual contract. The original agreement, the amount owed, and Hardbark’s right to impose the additional charges all remained disputed. Thalmiir pretended he needed Bhakris’s help carrying out the gold, using the excuse to withdraw and tell him to get his equipment. Bhakris was already armored. Thalmiir put on his own spiky armor and returned carrying an axe, making the intended threat plain. Hat argued that the lodging arrangement had already been fulfilled and that an intimidating collection visit was harming their coffee-shop business. He initially claimed Hardbark owed them 400 gold for the disruption. The spokesman introduced himself as Strongsteel, the name associated with the river bandits’ missing former leader. He claimed that his old crew had failed to perform, so he had left them and sought other opportunities. The party questioned him about the bear they had previously killed, but he offered no explanation. Strongsteel instead treated the Bear as a suitable nickname and mocked their truthfulness. He also asserted that nobody was offering a bounty for him. The bandits under discussion were the downriver crew, unrelated to Baroldson Farm; Thurman was remembered as their replacement leader. Strongsteel acknowledged the old crew but refused to make the collection visit into a reunion. The adventurers considered his claimed identity plausible, while their earlier theory connecting the missing leader to the slain bear remained unresolved. During the argument, Barnaby stepped inside, cast Detect Magic, and returned to examine Strongsteel. He detected no magic on the visitor. Hat then tried to convince the collectors that Hardbark had hired them for an illegitimate job and might fail to pay them. That attempt failed. Strongsteel maintained that the collectors would not get paid unless Hardbark did, declined to explain his own agreement, and offered to consult Hardbark while threatening to return the following day for their share either way. Bhakris changed the approach by addressing the Vanguard directly. He warned them against following someone who admitted abandoning his previous followers when they disappointed him. His persuasion succeeded: subtle nods and exchanged glances suggested that the warning had landed, despite Strongsteel talking over him. The Vanguard did not openly break with Strongsteel or refuse the job, but their quiet receptiveness was enough for him to notice. Thalmiir followed with a successful demand that the visitors leave: “You’re trespassing. Get off my lawn.” Faced with the armored dwarf and his axe, Strongsteel withdrew hurriedly, repeating that they would take the matter back to Hardbark and return tomorrow expecting payment. The Vanguard executed a sharp about-face and marched away. The confrontation ended without combat, injury, or payment. The party had gained time, but the demand and promised return remained outstanding. After breakfast, the party gathered upstairs in the Conduit to the Primal Woods, the room containing a patch of ancient forest, a creek, flower scents, and distant woodland sounds. A mental snap announced contact through the communication orchid. The connection carried voices rather than a view of the court; neither the queen nor her attendants appeared before the adventurers. An unnamed attendant hurried them through the etiquette of the audience: listen, keep answers brief, accept the boons, and use Your Highness or Your Serene Majesty, preferably alternating. Silent gestures caused confusion because the distant speakers could not hear them. As the attendant explained, “Yes, please. This is an auditory medium.” Bhakris offered to speak coherently for the group, but the attendant selected Barnaby the Prodigious, Emeritus as the expected respondent because of his role in the recovered-flower mission. A herald announced Barnaby and the royal-flower matter for a five-minute appointment. The queen formally acknowledged Barnaby’s service concerning the royal flower and granted the party perpetual use of a pack of vine steeds. Her second boon was a magical armament, awarded in recognition of leadership and the destruction of a sworn enemy of the flower fairies, referring to the earlier defeat of Destiny. An advisor’s intervention prompted a third boon. The queen explained that granting only two might leave her owing another under the rule of three, and she did not want an incomplete set of rewards creating an obligation later. She therefore granted limited access to her expert Floromancer for instruction in using the communication orchid. Barnaby thanked her. Hat interrupted to offer the queen a gift. After first searching for a wooden carving, he selected a silver necklace from his possessions and laid it on the forest floor. The queen questioned whether he thought she needed a necklace, then acknowledged the intention behind the offering. Whether the necklace ever reached her, and its present whereabouts, remained unknown. After the royal connection ended, a static-like sound intensified and six vine steeds erupted through the orchid, crowding the room. There was one for every member of the party, including Bartholomeow. Their horse-shaped bodies consisted of tightly wound vines and vegetation, with heads resembling elaborate flower arrangements. One carried the queen’s magical armament: a wooden mace with a long shaft, a gnarled, face-like head, and wicked thorned vines. Thalmiir admired its craftsmanship and passed it handle-first toward Barnaby for examination. A new connection introduced Samuel, the queen’s Floromancer. Barnaby and Hat volunteered as people who understood magic, and Samuel began explaining the orchid. Concentrating on a known forest allowed two-way sound. Finding another communication orchid also allowed the transfer of objects and people between the two flowers, making the conduit a potential route for visitors as well as messages and goods. This communication orchid was the flower in their upstairs room, distinct from the recovered flower returned to the sprites. Samuel explained that receiving orchids could require permission; the queen’s own endpoint did. He taught the party how to establish permission controls at its orchid, including whispering a code word to authorize the current connection. Without restrictions, another orchid’s user could potentially find their endpoint and step through. The adventurers learned how to restrict incoming passage, but had yet to choose a password or activate the restrictions. They made no outbound journey through the orchid. Samuel’s initial explanation took about twenty minutes of the allotted half-hour appointment. Barnaby then asked what the steeds ate, and the others asked how to use them. Samuel said they were plants requiring water and sunlight, trained for riding, and able to carry riders between trees. The directing rider needed sufficient familiarity with the destination tree, but it did not have to be the same destination on every journey. Samuel described the travel as the two trees becoming one and warned that it required a strong stomach. The steeds visibly adapted to prospective riders. One bulked up near Barnaby, while mounts approaching Hat and Bartholomeow became more compact. None displayed a fixed preference for a particular rider. Samuel ended the appointment rather than exceed the boon’s allotted time. The party now had practical care instructions and a means of rapid travel. The new transportation immediately made a direct visit to Hardbark practical. Hat proposed using the steeds to seize the campground under cover of darkness and profit from owning it. Thalmiir questioned what would happen afterward and said he had not intended to become a marauder. No plan to assault or take over the campground was adopted. Instead, the party settled on confronting Hardbark directly, with a grand entrance. Bhakris acknowledged that the adventurers had promised to remain at the campground and had failed to keep that promise. He nevertheless rejected the idea that they had agreed to compounded charges or hired collectors. His position distinguished the party’s broken commitment from the much larger demand now being pressed upon them. He also suggested a possible quick visit to the river bandits, using a tree they remembered near their camp, to discuss Strongsteel. That visit remained a possibility; nobody contacted the bandits or recruited guards. Barnaby spent ten minutes casting Identify on the queen’s weapon and identified it as a Mace of Terror. The wooden weapon was a magical mace with no bonus to attack or damage rolls and three charges. Expending a charge could frighten chosen creatures within 30 feet, forcing them to flee if they failed a DC 15 saving throw. The effect could last up to one minute and required no concentration. The party discussed possible wielders and uses for the mace, including the suggestion that Bartholomeow might carry it. Its permanent bearer remained undecided, and nobody attuned to it or expended any charges. The identified weapon was available as a shared reward for the confrontation ahead. Meanwhile, the cafe opened. Employees who had watched the armed collection visit were nervous about what it meant for the business. Thalmiir reassured them that changes of ownership attracted opportunistic extortionists, that the ruffians had been sent away, and that they would not bother the establishment again. His reassurance worked. When his companions pointed out the collectors’ promised return, he said they would sort matters out with Hardbark that afternoon. The employees’ immediate anxiety eased, although the underlying threat remained unresolved. Dean, the gardener, admired the vine steeds and offered to perform interesting topiary work on them. Barnaby passed along Samuel’s instruction that they needed regular watering. No shaping or other work was performed on the mounts. The offer gave the party someone at the Thicket interested in their upkeep, while the care requirements remained sunlight and water rather than ordinary horse feed. Before departure, the party reconsidered the historical lodging arrangement. Bhakris recalled half-price camping in exchange for protection, and the party also recalled a 75-gold advance payment for a ten-day. This differed from the earlier recollection of free lodging; the precise original terms remained disputed. The later recollection became the basis for arguing that unused lodging justified a refund. The advance belonged to their earlier stay, rather than the morning’s expenses. Hat turned that argument into a written counterclaim. He added a 400-gold collection fee and claimed damage to the business’s reputation, bringing the demand to 1,200 gold, matching the collectors’ total. Staff distress was also suggested as part of the complaint. Using his calligrapher’s supplies, sealing wax, and seal of limited authority, Hat produced an exceptionally impressive, exquisitely official-looking document. Its presentation was formidable; whether its arguments would persuade Hardbark remained to be seen. The party wanted to arrive before Strongsteel and the Vanguard. Ordinary travel across town, including lift queues, would take roughly two hours, and the audience, lesson, and drafting had already consumed time. The steeds offered the chance to get ahead of the collectors if the party left promptly. Crucially, one rider familiar with the destination could lead the entire herd, so Barnaby could accompany them despite never having visited the campsite. They gathered what they needed and chose a tree on the grounds for their departure. Each adventurer mounted a steed suited to their size. The plants were briefly skittish, then settled. Thalmiir took the lead and pictured the large oak beside the party’s former campsite, remembering it from sleeping beneath its branches. His steed started forward, stopped, and gathered with the others until the whole herd was touching. One mount extended a floral proboscis to the departure tree’s bark, initiating the passage. The journey was intensely disorienting. The riders felt their bodies turning, twisting, and changing orientation while the visible world seemed to remain still. DC 12 Constitution saves determined who resisted the sickness. Hat, Bhakris, Barnaby, and Thalmiir endured it successfully. Waer’dara failed, nearly blacked out, and vomited; afterward, she felt better. She lost no hit points and suffered no lasting condition. The transport succeeded, bringing the group to the remembered oak at Hardbark Meadows in moments. Their spectacular entrance had an inconvenient consequence: the former campsite was now occupied by tents bearing the Iron Vanguard’s insignia, and the steeds trampled through them. One tent was left listing. The tents were disordered and would require work to restore, but they were not destroyed, and nobody was occupying the camp when the party arrived. The party had won the race: Strongsteel and the Vanguard had not yet returned. Finding the tents empty did not tell the adventurers exactly where the collectors were. No response to the damage occurred before the party moved on, leaving repairs and the Vanguard’s reaction unresolved. The commotion drew the attention of a nearby campground employee who recognized the returning adventurers. Merrick Stonebrow, the goliath campground worker, admired the unusual horses but told the party that Hardbark had made it clear they were unwelcome. He also checked on Waer’dara after her sickness. She said she would be fine and expressed her opinion of their transportation: “I hate horses. Horses are the devil.” She accompanied the others to confront the proprietor. The adventurers demanded to see Hardbark, with Thalmiir accusing him of extortion. Merrick defended his employer, describing work for Hardbark as a good arrangement, while expressing uncertainty about the Vanguard and Strongsteel. He offered no explanation for the collectors’ involvement. Hat suggested that Merrick could own a franchise or take control of the campground, but obtained no agreement. The earlier ambition to establish a bed-and-breakfast belonged to Pippa Brightstone, not Merrick. No new business partnership emerged from the exchange. Merrick escorted the party to Hardbark’s shack, asking them to keep the steeds from trampling any more tents. He checked inside and invited them in. Hardbark’s rumbling voice greeted them with, “So, you finally come crawling back.” He challenged their gall in returning. The session ended at that hostile greeting, before the party made a substantive reply. Hat’s counterclaim remained unserved, and neither side had paid anything or settled the dispute. Immediate situation: The party and all six vine steeds are at Hardbark Meadows. Merrick has brought the adventurers to Hardbark’s shack and invited them in; Hardbark has responded with hostility. The next exchange begins with his challenge still unanswered and Hat’s completed document ready for presentation. The disputed demands: Strongsteel’s scroll demands 1,200 gold for Hardbark, including 800 gold in allegedly compounded debt and a 400-gold collection fee. Hat’s counterclaim demands 1,200 gold in return, based on the party’s recollection of unused lodging, collection costs, and business harm. Neither claim has been accepted or settled. The collectors: Strongsteel and the Iron Vanguard have not yet returned to the campground. They promised another collection visit to the Thicket tomorrow. Bhakris’s warning drew quiet agreement from the Vanguard, but they have not openly abandoned Strongsteel. Their tents now need repair after the party’s arrival; their reaction is unknown. New resources and health: The party has perpetual use of six adaptable vine steeds, which need sunlight and water and can travel together between trees under one familiar rider’s direction. Waer’dara suffered severe travel sickness but said she would be fine; she lost no hit points and has no lasting condition. The Mace of Terror is identified and unused, with its bearer and attunement still undecided. The conduit and rewards: Samuel’s appointment is complete. The party knows the orchid can transport people and objects between orchids and has learned how to restrict incoming access, but has yet to activate those restrictions. The queen delivered three boons; no separate cash payment or settlement of the earlier wager about the sprites’ return occurred. The whereabouts of Hat’s offered necklace remain unknown. Open leads: Strongsteel’s claimed former leadership of the river bandits seems plausible to the party, but his identity and the slain bear’s connection remain unconfirmed. A visit to the bandits could still address Strongsteel and the unfinished security-recruitment effort. Back at the Thicket, the cafe is operating and the staff have been reassured, while Thalmiir’s promise that the collectors will not trouble them again depends on resolving the dispute.Session Notes
Thalmiir’s Thunder Thicket: collectors at breakfast
Conduit to the Primal Woods: the queen’s three boons
Thalmiir’s Thunder Thicket: a mace and a counterclaim
Hardbark Meadows: the first tree journey
Hardbark’s shack: an unwelcome return
Where things stand