"Excellent," Falnis says.

Approaching Nod, he extends a hand.

"Well, it seems this will be farewell for now. It has been a rare pleasure, meeting a minstrel as fine as yourself in these uncultured lands. Do ride safely. I hear the Caledormists have been terribly active in these parts recently, and it would be a terrible loss if they killed you while targeting His Highness."

Nod, who has packed his mandolin away in his pack and is preparing to mount his bay mare, shakes the proffered hand, though the mention of the Caladormists causes him to cast an uneasy glance at the forest about them.

"Good luck getting your things back," he says with an apologetic grin as he glances back to Falnis.

Lyria casts a guilty glance at the wagon as it passes. She looks as though she wants to say something to Marabir, but decides against it upon seeing that he seems to be either sleeping or unconscious. Instead she turns, mounts her own mare, and trots over to Caled.

The remaining warriors, along with Calvorn, mount their steeds and with a sharp command from the prince the procession set off in the direction of Lastorn. Caled and the three men with him urge their mounts in the direction of Calarn, accompanied by Falnis and Lyria. It is late afternoon by this time, and the sun is already beginning to approach the Varymor Mountains to the north.

"Remind me again why we are riding to Calarn instead of directly to your uncle's estate, given the looming deadline of your brother's execution?" Falnis remarks, riding abreast of Lyria.

"Oh, I guess you weren't there when I was telling Varonil," Lyria replies as they ride, "My uncle doesn't have an estate, as the entire Veldorn lands were bequeathed to my father. He is currently lodged in 'The Grey Stallion' inn in Calarn. He did inherit quite a tidy sum, so he has coin enough to stay indefinitely in the town and house his band of mercenaries."

Overhearing the pair discussing her uncle's location and situation, Caled slows his stallion to join the pair.

"And just how many of these mercenaries does he have at his disposal?" the young knight asks keenly.

"Honestly I don't really know..." is Lyria's unhelpful response, "A dozen? Two dozen perhaps?"

Caled responds with a look which says there is a significant difference in the two numbers. Still, he does not seem overly perturbed.

"I doubt he will openly oppose a Thanian prince," he says confidently, "Though he may try to conceal your brother from us and deny having taken him prisoner."

"Well, if he tries that, I am sure you will give your seal of approval to my trying the obvious alternatives," Falnis says comfortably.

"Your job," says Caled, turning to Falnis, "Will be finding the child. You're good at all that sneaking and snooping around business, I assume? Once you have located him, we shall launch an assault on his captors and rescue him."

"A sound plan. And if I am discovered after I find him, because I assume that unlike myself, he will not be good at 'all that sneaking and snooping around business', do you also authorize me to defend myself and the boy?"
This message was last edited by the player at 09:19, Thu 21 Mar 2019.

Caled sends Falnis a stern glance.

"We shall do the rescuing of the boy," he says firmly, "You need only do the finding."

"I can handle a blade, if need be," Lyria offers resolutely.

"You will do no such thing, Lady Veldorn," replies Caled as though he can think of nothing more perverse, "My men are well trained and shall handle any combat, should it arise."

The look Falnis sends Caled at this has the air of one too polite to comment.

The party of riders do not say much more after this. They do not take any breaks in their riding, and reach the town of Calarn shortly after night has fallen. The town is larger than Lastorn, and is surrounded by fifteen foot high stone wall. Several watch posts stand at intervals about the walls, with a pair flanking the heavy, oaken gates leading into the town. A guard stands in each of these, squinting down as the party rides into the light of the pair of large sconces which stand at either side of the gate.

"Who goes there?" demands the left most guard warily.

"I am Caled Aravor," Caled replies, riding forward, "I come in the name of Prince Tyronius Carendil of Thane."

The guard's wariness shifts to uneasiness, or so Falnis' believes he detects. Still, he wastes no time in nodding and hurrying down a narrow flight of stone stairs on the interior of the wall, and along with his companion, lift the large, wooden beam sealing the gate. After few moments of panting and grunting the gates swing open with a loud creak.

"Welcome to Calarn m'lord," the guard bows curtly, still panting.

Caled returns the bow with a curt nod.

"Where is the 'The Grey Stallion' inn?" he asks as he rides through the gate.

Even Caled does not fail to notice the uneasiness in the guard's features as he glances quickly at his companion.

"Just up the road there, m'lord," he replies after a moment, "Take a right turn at Andral's General Goods and it's not far up on your left."

Caled stares at the guard appraisingly for a moment longer, before nodding and leading the way in the direction indicated. Once they are out of earshot of the guard, he turns to the others.

"Keep a sharp eye," he murmurs, glancing warily at the darkened buildings as they pass.

The buildings within the town seem to be mostly formed of oak. As they wind their way down the cobbled street they pass a blacksmith, fletcher and butcher's shops nestled amongst the residential houses. All are dark and quiet. Andral's General Goods store is a two story building, also darkened save for the flickering light of a candle somewhere on the second floor. Turning to the right, they find themselves riding down a more lively street. Light and laughter pour out of a building to their right, outside which a sign reads 'The Golden Geld'. Further along on their left they spot a similar level of activity emanating from a three story stone building bearing the insignia of a rearing grey stallion.

"There it is," Caled rather unnecessarily informs the others.