[i][h3]Chronicle of Pennaeth Nolwenn ach Dinordow, Ranger of the Freeholds.[/h3]

I first encountered the Ranger in the Second Year of Ioulianos, King of Koloneia Pharosia.  I left the Great Academy, which I had entered a freeman, a slave of that King.  I was to be sold to some Dobun warlord or another, for Ioulianos’ troubled succession and the rumors of his poor sorcery produced a need to appease his neighbors.  Gifts like me, a capable scribe and scholar, were particularly prized in the city courts of Dobunia.

I was not entirely stripped of dignity.  I carried only a small mark on he back of my hand, neither the scalding forehead-brands nor the hand-binding rope of the other slaves.  I was allowed to keep my family spear, sword, and helm.  For such privileges, I was expected to keep watch over the others and assist the mercenaries in protecting our woeful caravan.  Gods’ blessings that when the time came, I chose not to.

 When the first arrow transfixed the caravan master’s neck, nearly severing his head, by some spell I saw with clarity.  The mercenaries may have noticed signs : Our assailant moved too fast and too quietly for one burdened with such arms and armor, sling-lead hit and bounced but did not slow her, and she drew a sword longer than a man’s arm and glowing white as if freshly molded – yet it held its shape through the battle.  But I, from the first blood drawn, knew what legend had ambushed us.  I threw down my weapons and fell to my knees.[/i]

_____

The sounds of the forest on either side of the sandstone road, moments ago drowned in the cries of wounded soldiers and panicked cart-horses, were breaking through again over the receding din of post-battle. The horses now found their composure and snorted instead of screaming, the dying went from shouting to moans and coughs as their life-force faded, and the slaves in their chain of ropes chattered in anticipation instead of crying in fear as they deduced who stood before them.  And so the birds and frogs and rodents cautiously returned with their chatter.  To Nolwenn, it was a welcome sign.  The world settling back into place, a tad more balanced than a minute before.  In this little corner of this little wood, there were more slavers, no more guards – Well, one more guard.

[i]So one decided not to fight.[/i]  It wouldn’t have been the first time.  She remembered killing Cadoc.  After that arrow entered his eye, that bear of a man fell face-forward onto his stone floor with a crunch. Every court advisor and retainer in sight was on their knees.  Whether they feared her or the rumble of the rebel horde behind her, they had the sense not to push the fight.  Of course, the mob didn’t spare them.  But this was different – it was good to have a survivor carry word home, to spread fear among the slavers.  And if she played her cards right, Nolwenn could bleed her enemies’ coffers a little extra with a ransom for the man and his equipment.

“What is your name?”

“Agathon,” wheezed the wide-eyed man, black curly hair and beard already dripping with sweat and body shaking in terror.  Slowly, he bowed, resting his hands on the road.  “Spare me, Tyrantsbane!  I am chattel like the others, chains or not!  I have long left the world of propertied citizens of the Polis, and kneel before you a branded man.”  He raised his right hand to show her the King’s Mark.

[i]He talks like a poet, but with an accent.  Fancy words, too.  Doesn’t seem like a bondsman, except for the mark, but...[/i]  She looked to his weapons laying in the dirt, then to his hand still aloft – a soft hand [I]...not a soldier either.[/i]

“Easy there, Agathon,” Nolwenn reassured the man, bending her knees to bring her gaze level to his.  She sheathed her fire-sword to free a blood-stained glove, which she rested on his shoulder.  Her eyes looked directly into his - mellow amber into still-twitching brown.  She asked calmly, “Polis?  Citizen?  You’re using words I don’t understand.”

Her tone seemed to calm Agathon, though still cognizant that he was looking into the eyes of a Sorcerer.  He took in a deep breath.  “I’m from Koloneia Pharosia, on the Southern Coast.  I once had lands and a family name and nearly a scholar’s reputation, but the King decided I was better as a bartering chip.”

[i]A Pharosian scribe.  Heard of those, the free ones grow wealthy from taxes and the bonded are the sort that pulls rank on other slaves.  But this one’s been humbled...[/i]  Nolwenn smiled.  “Almost had a bard’s [i]kyne[/i] but got whisked away as an apprentice, eh?”  She stood.  “Undo the ropes holding the others.  Then give your weapons and helm to the them, as [i]galanas[/i] for your role in keeping them tied up.”  She doubted Agathon was much good in a fight, so the equipment would be better in the hands of more motivated freedfolk.  “From there you can follow me back to Dinordow or go your own way.”

Nolwenn turned to the others.  “You are all free of your bonds,” she announced as Agathon set to work on the ropes.  “Go your own way if you wish, or follow me and find a place in the Freeholds.  And, of course, take anything you want from the dead slavers.  With or without me, always best to travel with arms and a few valuables.”  [i]Well, except for the Scribe, he’ll probably have to follow me.[/i]

Suddenly, she caught something in the corner of her eye.  A bird...no, a winged lizard!  [i]Another sorcerer’s scout.[/i]  In a flash, her bow was drawn and arrow loose, splitting the creature apart.

“On second thought, all of you should follow me.  Some lord or another has eyes here.”


[hider=Notes]
Nolwenn raids a slaver caravan, freeing among others an educated slave from Koloneia Pharosia – a Southern Dobunian city ruled by Islanders.

Nolwenn spots one of Calign’s “ravens” and shoots it down, suspecting it is a spy from a local sorcerer-lord.  To save the former slaves from the inevitable fugitive-hunters to follow, she instructs them to follow her to Dinordow.
[/hider]