“Make way!” The shout brings me back to my senses and gives me just enough warning to dive out of the riders way. Shod hooves send bits of dirt and rocks flying as he spurs the horse to run faster. His hands hold the banner of our kingdom steady, the crossed crimson and blue cloth flailing madly as he goes thundering past. A chorus of angry squawking erupts as the rider barrels into the swarm of crows, forcing them to take flight, blooming like some dark flower, before they settle back down to continue their feast.

A few minutes later the distant clatter of horse shoes drifting through the trees marks the much less sudden arrival of the rest of the entourage. Weary looking faces march past holding the reins of pack mules. Knights of various rank pass by without thinking to taking notice of me, their standards emblazoned on shields, sewn into tabards, or adorning the caparisons of their horses. From the looks of them, this is less a group going off to battle, and more of a show of force. Finally, a carriage trundles laboriously over the roots that have overtaken the remnants of what was once a cobblestone road. It's driver, seeming much less dour than the rest of the group, nods to me as he passes by.

Ranger, having taken all of this in while patiently waiting at my side, decides that now is the appropriate time to bark. A single low * Hrrrrrruff! * makes the diver smile, and his horse turn it's head to consider if Ranger is a threat before turning back to it's task. Clearly, the horse has decided, he's not.

“Shall we get going then?” I ask him, and he's heard the word “go” often enough to know that it's exciting, and gives me a few wags of his tail.

There's a small group of villagers talking excitedly as I get to the edge of town. The birds are too busy gorging themselves to be a nuisance to us, though they fly uncomfortably close in their haste, having become braver after their previous encounter with the envoy.

“What's going on?” I demand of the group. They look up, startled. The sight before them had them so entranced that they didn't see me approach. One of them I recognize. The crabber I'd spoken to a few weeks ago who'd had no more luck with the river than I did.

“Shen. What's happening?”

His eyes are wide, fearful. “Dunno.” He stutters. “This morning, it was terrible! Bright lights swept across the sky and crashed into the mountain.” He pauses to catch his breath before the words cascade out of his mouth. “Then there was a big sound. Loud. Like a horse broke it's leg and is screeching in pain. The ground shook something terrible, then the smoke started to drift in, and rocks fell from the sky! Course we asked the Vicar what to do, and he says it's nothing to worry about that the Gods can't fix. Pah!” He stops and makes a disparaging gesture to show his feelings for the Vicar before continuing. “He says it's something they knew about was going to fly here, but they didn't know it was going to get so close. We got on about our day for a while, but then the fish started drifting down the river, all of 'em dead or dying. Ask the Vicar to explain that one!” He shouts, clearly still distraught.

A woman, short and skinny, pipes up as Shen finishes his story “The Vicar did explain! He says we aught to be prayin' more. Oh things were bad but we figured we'd be alright, but we was just bein' arrogant. We need to pray the Gods will save us is what we aught to do!”

This new assertion is enough to send the group back into a frenzied argument. I can't do much more than stand back, watch, and hope to glean some kind of information. Further into town I can see the knight's banners dancing effortlessly on the breeze. No doubt the building they are all gathered in front of is the Vicar's house, or some other important official's house. I can't remember there being any delegates from the kingdom living here, but I haven't been able to keep up on everything that goes on in town, either.

Suddenly the shutters of a nearby house are thrown open and an old woman thrusts her face out. “Would you rabble shut your fool mouths? I can't concentrate in here!” She screams at them.

They stop only long enough to dismiss her before turning back to their argument.

The woman's face contorts in rage “Oh, I warned you!” She screeches and disappears back into her house. I can hear thumping and cabinet doors slamming before she reappears with a bucket. “How about this then!” She dumps the contents of the bucket as far as she can heave them, but they fall short of the group, only splashing on a few people's boots.

One woman, her laughter more grating than the rest, makes a dismissive motion with her hand, before she covers her nose suddenly. “Uhg, what was in that?”

“Go away you old hag.” Another yells.

Despite a variety of other insults being levied on her, the old woman smiles and holds up a small clay jar. She tosses it from one hand to the other, and the motion brings back a vivid memory. It's a memory from so long ago that I had almost forgotten it, but still it's there. Suddenly I realize that I know what's about to happen, so I grab Ranger by the collar and take a few quick steps backwards.

“I said go away!” She finishes, and throws the vessel into the puddle of liquid already on the ground.

The clay jar cracks and a viscous brown liquid seeps out. The villagers, ignorant to what I think is about to happen, take the moment to mock her for missing again, but their taunts soon turn into shouts of terror as the liquid begins to spark at their feet, sending up plumes of thick greenish yellow smoke. Within seconds they have scattered and are running back towards their homes, shouts of “Witch!” and “Demon!” thrown over their shoulders.

Ranger likewise tries to run, but I hold him solidly in place until the reaction on the ground starts to die down, and we're left standing alone with tendrils of smoke drifting around us.

“Aren't you going to run home, too? Who knows what I put in that stuff!” The woman's voice is softer now that the crowd has disbursed, and her last vague threat doesn't seem to hold any weight.

Our eyes meet and we slowly consider one another. She must be curious about why I didn't run.

“It's harmless.” I say, sounding more confident than I actually am. “If it was dangerous, you wouldn't have done it in front of almost a dozen witnesses, or have been dumb enough to do it 300 feet from a contingent of knights.” I say, gesturing to the grouping of men just down the road.

Her eyes squint. “You're not just some peasant, are you? What's your story?” She asks, immediately following up with “On second thought, I don't really care.” And with that the shutters clank shut as abruptly as they opened.

The audacity of it all makes me laugh, and I lean down to scratch ranger between his sholders. His back foot starts thumping on the ground enthusiastically. “Maybe we'll visit Sir Atlee after all.”

But before we can start walking I hear the door of the old witch's house creak open and turn to find her standing in the doorway.

“Come inside.” She tells me. “You just might be the right person for a little job I need done.”