As Dregsbale lay a good many miles away, Merse was aware that reaching the city would be a risky venture, especially with an injured Drin along. However, the best place to hide a tree was in a forest, so who would look twice at a couple of crooks in Dregsbale? Besides, the information dealers in Dregsbale could compete with those at the royal court.
As Merse trudged through little-used trails and hidden paths, carefully avoiding the main roads, she was acutely aware of how much the injured Drin was slowing her down. However, at the moment, Drin was the only lead she had in finding out who had trapped the giant spider, so she bit her lip and tried to be accomodating. Drin, despite his uneasy state, was no fool, and realized that his best chance for throwing off any possible pursuers was to stick with Merse and arrive at Dregsbale as fast as possible.
**********
A cloaked and hooded figure stood before what appeared to be the burnt remnants of a squalid shack. As the afternoon sun faded, the figure was joined by a second, similarly garbed.
"The tracks end here. There wasn't much left, but I did find this," the first stated, holding out what appeared to be a large, dark fang.
"Then it's dead," the leader of the group of archmages replied angrily. "The elders will require answers, losing an archmage like this." Taking a breath, the leader considered the scene. "Well, I doubt it sat still and let itself burn to death. There's no body, but someone must have killed it, which means we have a witness to deal with. Gather the others and locate our survivor. Send the remainder out to see if we can find any other spiders, although I don't hold out much hope. It took us years to locate one this size," the leader sighed frustratedly. He then nodded towards the other figure, and a second later both disappeared from sight.
**********
Merse scowled at the flowing water before her. Recent rains had swelled the Byrne River, making what was usually a rolling stream into a foaming whirlpool. She had hoped to ford the river, but even if she were not saddled with Drin, there was no way to make it across for the best of swimmers. Turning north, she frowned.
"We'll have to take the ferry at Shuttlebrook," Merse called to the panting Drin, who was leaning heavily on his walking stick. Rummaging in her pack, she pulled out some clothes.
About an hour later, two peasants, one aiding the other's steps, headed for the Shuttlebrook ferry. The older peasant appeared hardier and in male garb, while the younger seemed frail, albeit heavily pregnant. Paying the fee for the ferry, the two took a relieved breath as they made it aboard. They were so absorbed in watching the shoreline they did not notice the interest they had elicited from one of the other passengers.
"There's been news of bandits in the area recently," the cloaked middle-aged woman stated to the peasants by way of introduction. "Don't you think it's a risky time to be making a long journey with your wife?"
Merse cleared her throat and answered in a deep baritone, "My wife's had a difficult pregnancy, and our village was attacked by orcs. She was injured, but we have no healer. I must take her to a town for treatment."
Although the cloaked woman smiled and nodded in apparent sympathy, her hooded eyelids failed to hide the intense searching gaze she gave the two travelers.
"I'm sorry to hear of your troubles," the cloaked woman said as she reached out to pat the young pregnant peasant woman on the shoulder. Drin gave no visible reaction to the woman's touch, but as he looked at the woman's arm, he clutched hard where he held onto Merse's elbow. Casually, Merse cast a glance over at Drin and followed his gaze to the woman's sleeve. As the woman drew her hand back, a sliver of fabric peeked out from under the cloak, with a strange pattern on it.
"...not them regular ones neither, but the ones with them funny runes all around the edges..." Merse recalled Drin's account, and tensed up. Here, in the middle of the river, they had run into an archmage!