Adelbert & Viggo, 24th Jahrdrung

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"There's no need to aim for the, mm, inner circle, as you put it," said Forkbeard. "Not everything you bring us has to be a coup, Schreiber. Just knowing where Sforza's troops are and when will be useful to us. Knowing when they're on the move. Knowing what they talk about when they're in their cups." He nodded to himself. "The lowliest servant can tell you that. Provided, mm, that they know it's you to come to when they, mm, overhear something."

Stepping around a puddle of something or other, he sighed. "Belehir remains in the dungeon. I don't pretend to understand why, but His Grace seems to want to keep him there until he rots. He's been very specific that we're not to, mm, get rid of him." He glanced up at Adelbert. "Personally I think it unwise... beaten or not, the elf could still be dangerous. But the decision is not mine to make."

OOC:
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Adelbert bit his tongue in irritation at yet another complaint about regular reports. Did the man think he ran a messenger service?
Where is this outrage about reports coming from? Adelbert is a spy, Forkbeard is his spymaster. He needs those reports if he wants to be able to act on information that isn't potentially months out of date. He's literally just telling Adelbert to do his job.




Ludo, 24th Jahrdrung

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"I know where to start looking," said Ferka. "It's a hunt. It moves."

Getting back into the saddle, he kicked his horse's flanks, starting away from the gates. Without prompting, Ludo's pony trotted after the larger animal, carrying him with it.

"Come on," Ferka called over his shoulder. He seemed less than pleased about the whole endeavour. "It's not a short ride."

~

Ferka was correct. Taking a right at the first fork in the road, the two of them headed north towards Selsan, with little company but the odd passing trader. Ferka's attempts to set a swift pace were continually frustrated by Ludo's pony, who would amble along at the same fixed trot no matter how fast either of them tried to induce it to go. Whenever Ferka stopped to allow him to catch up, it passed him by with an air of blithe indifference to his sour looks.

Some way out from the village, they struck out to the left of the road, following a path that took them away from the river and deeper into the fields and meadows of the Downlands. This part of the country seemed like it had suffered less during the siege of Savonne - they passed no burnt-out homesteads or deserted farms, no bandits' bones strung up from trees. As they followed the path further from the river, however, the land grew wilder, with tilled fields and cottages growing fewer and further between.

Stopping at the home of an aged goatherd, Ferka asked if he'd seen the hunt pass through. They asked this at the next two or three houses they found, and slowly they built up a picture of where the Count's party had been and when. They were a large group, with large appetites and little reason to hide themselves - it seemed that everyone had seen them at some point or another. With the sun sinking fast now in the west, they pushed their horses north towards the Karst.

At last, Ferka called a halt on a low ridge above a wooded dell. Trotting up beside him, Ludo looked down into the hollow. There among the trees he could see the light of several fires, and hear the muffled voices of what sounded like a large number of men. Horses were tethered just outside the circle of firelight, the canvas of colourful tents visible through the tree-trunks.

"We found them," said Ferka, matter-of-factly. "You want I should go, or stay?"