The Fate of Ol’ Jago

The Road Home

Exhilarated by their triumph in the Reaching Wood, the Lost and Foundlings returned to High Hay with Menny Reedfellow and the Rangers of the Reach, Derbret and Hokrun. The party’s swift and decisive intervention in the potentially lethal fray had won them the grudging respect of the Rangers.

As the shadows lengthened and the day drew to a close, the party discovered that there were no free beds in the Notched Axe; in light of the recent animal, bandit, and goblin attacks, it seemed that no one wanted to camp by the roadside. Though Menny offered them a place by his fire, most of the party chose to set out quickly, in the hope of being back in the Dower before nightfall. Burley and Enid remained behind with Menny Reedfellow and Galwin to keep watch over the treeline for any sign of beast activity, while the rest of the party made their way southwest. The road was quieter than usual — fewer merchant caravans than the season warranted — and the dry, oppressive heat of the summer hung over everything like a warning.

It was Den who first spotted the glint of a copper piece lying in the dust at the roadside, and beside it, a leather purse that had been torn open and discarded. Featherfew noticed something more: broken foliage and a snapped tree limb leading off into the dense undergrowth, the kind of subtle trail that only a trained eye would catch. The party masked their tracks and moved silently into the woods to follow it, and what they found there was grim. A horse and wagon had rolled to a stop beneath a large beech tree, the harness smashed, the horse still cropping grass nearby as though nothing had happened.

Featherfew spoke softly to the horse, who believed his master was simply sleeping in the cart. The truth was far darker. Inside the open cart lay the decomposing body of an elderly man, partially picked at by birds and small animals, a quantity of dried blood blackening the floor beneath him. It did not take long to identify the cause of death — a crossbow bolt buried low in his back, near the kidneys — and it took only a little longer to recognise the man himself as Ol' Jago, a friend of Gander Farlight who had not been seen around town in well over a ten-day. A small wooden chest in the cart had been broken open and looted, and the party recalled that Jago had previously been commissioned by Axel Moorcraft to make deliveries between the Dower and High Hay. It seemed he had been waylaid on the road, his cargo stolen, and his life taken for whatever resistance he had offered. Featherfew gently told the horse that Jago's soul had gone somewhere far away, and the horse agreed to carry his master home. Pebbles repaired the broken harness with a touch of magic, and the party wrapped Jago in a makeshift shroud before continuing south.

The Jessup Farm

As dusk began to settle, the party passed a farmstead that sat just south of Talon Hill — the Jessup Farm. The yard was unswept, the shutters unsecured, and an upturned basket with a faded sign advertising summer peaches had rolled into a nearby ditch. The whole place had the air of somewhere recently abandoned. But Featherfew noticed something that the others almost missed: a single candle burning in the hayloft window of the barn, its flame small and steady against the darkening sky. The party tethered Jago's horse out of sight of the property and crept silently around the perimeter fence to investigate.

They found a ladder hidden in the long grass behind the barn and used it to reach a high window on the northern side. Den slipped through the window and landed silently on the hay within, creeping forward through the clean and orderly loft toward the guttering candle. Beside it, on a bale of straw, lay a single wilted red rose and a handwritten note. The candle had clearly been burning for many hours — perhaps since the night before — and the note was addressed to an unnamed lover:

‘My love, I have waited for you as long as I dare. And though I yearn for you, I cannot linger this long close to town. When the moon waxes, I will return, and I hope to find you here.

I know I need not caution you, but you must know that my men have on occasion taken shelter here. They do not know about you, and I cannot protect you if you are discovered. Be wary, and do not linger here in my absence.

And do not fear for the Jessups - they have been well compensated. Though I may play the scoundrel, you know that I would not harm such simple folk.

Yours, J

Den made a careful copy of the note, left everything exactly as he had found it, and slipped back down to rejoin the others.

Before the party could withdraw, Den heard the sound of movement from the north — more than one set of footsteps, crashing through the undergrowth. Five men emerged from the tree line and entered the farmhouse through the back door. The party scattered into hiding: Pebbles wedged himself between bales of hay on the lower level of the barn, while the others pressed into the deep shadow between the barn and the pigsty, where something fluorescent and deeply unpleasant had oozed from the wall. The ladder was laid flat and covered with hay. From his position, Pebbles crept to the farmhouse window to get a better look — and promptly pressed his face flat against the glass, nose squashed, in full view of the room within. One of the bandits looked up immediately and asked, uneasily, whether they were truly alone. Pebbles retreated as quickly and quietly as he could. The party recognised the men as the Poor Sons — the same bandits they had encountered in the woods — one of them still wearing a rabbit paper-mache mask hanging around his neck. Shortly after, one of the bandits exited the farmhouse and moved through the barn, apparently climbing to the hayloft. The party held their breath, then quietly withdrew from the property and continued toward Devlin's Dower.

A Meeting with the Bailiff

By the time they trudged back into town, leading Old Jago's cart with its grim cargo, the evening was well advanced. They went directly to Caris Flyte, the town bailiff, and laid everything before her. First came the ash-covered letter they had recovered previously — a conspiratorial note outlining a plot to plant stolen cattle in Sir Hugo Dyer's barn to frame him for corruption, in exchange for the recipient's debts being wholly forgiven, signed ominously by order of the Secret Council. Caris examined it carefully and acknowledged its significance, but urged the party to say nothing of it publicly. Without more concrete proof, she warned, Axel Moorcraft — or whoever was truly behind the Secret Council — could simply claim the note had been forged.

The party then shared the copied note from the Jessup farm hayloft and told Caris that five Poor Sons bandits had been seen sheltering at the property not an hour before. Caris listened intently, but counselled patience once again. To strike now would be to catch only foot soldiers. Better to wait, she said, until they could confirm that John Shade himself was present — then they might lay a proper trap. She was visibly agitated, pressing her hand against the doorpost, perhaps frustrated that their enemies were so close and yet beyond reach. The party also informed her of Ol' Jago's death, and she took custody of the body, arranging for it to be dealt with in the morning. As they prepared to leave, Caris mused aloud that the Secret Council's last attempt to frame Sir Hugo had been over a year ago, and wondered whether there had been some deeper reason they had wanted him removed from his position on the Town Council.

Sir Hugo’s Pancakes

The final stop of the long day was Sir Hugo Dyer's small holding near Cross Corners, where Ilyad's foster father welcomed the party warmly with crispbread, fresh apple, and sharp cheddar. He thanked them sincerely for having left a rose at Sir Lamlas' grave, saying it had meant a great deal to him. Ilyad stood straight and met his eyes as she told him that written proof of her innocence had been delivered to Caris Flyte. Sir Hugo's relief was evident, though his frustration at not being able to make it public was equally plain. He agreed, reluctantly, to respect the party's strategy and to speak with Caris himself.

In the warmth of the evening, Sir Hugo spoke of his past — of the days when he had ridden as a questing knight alongside Sir Starling, Sir Lamlas, Sir Otterbourne, and Sir Bonneville, all of them knights from the Fey Realm. He described the quest of the Hollow Court, which had taken his companions away in search of their vanished lords, and from which none of them had returned. Sir Starling, he said, had gone in pursuit of the Questing Beast — a lifelong obsession — and Sir Hugo suspected he had found it, though who had come the better of that encounter, he could not say. He had waited here for them all, and they had not come back.

Then, quietly, Sir Hugo turned to Ilyad and reminisced about the time he had found her as a tiny baby in a basket. The key she had always carried was the only thing left with her — her sole legacy from whoever had placed her there. The party shared their own stories of the days just past — the ghost in the crypt, the cockatrices at Bumpo Tungus's farm, the troll's arm that would not stop moving — and Sir Hugo listened with the quiet pleasure of a man who recognised adventure when he heard it, even as he reflected that fighting desperate, hungry men was not the same clean thing as facing a sheep-stealing wyvern. It had been a very long day, and the night had finally, mercifully, settled over Devlin's Dower.