With most of the most pressing business taken care of at the farm, everyone scattered and started working in earnest to prepare for the journey back to Borstown. They quickly agreed to bring the crusaders' horses with them – out of concern for the animals, hope that the village of Borstown might have use for them, or just for the sheer monetary value of so many trained war horses – which on its own prolonged their departure by necessitating them getting the steeds out of the barn and organized. On top of that it would also extend the journey back by as much as four hours since they not only would need to herd the horses the entire way, but would also need to go the long way around the forest rather than through it the way they had come.
It did gain them the advantage of not having to transport the still-catatonic Bren or their prisoners – conscious or not – by hand, as they could easily and safely have horses carry them. It also meant that they did not need to rifle through the crusaders' many saddlebags immediately to select what was worth carrying back, since the horses could easily bring all of the crusaders' belongings with them.

During these preparations Irah also started explaining what had happened and what she was seeing to Caleb over the telepathic connection he had just recently reminded her of, only for the fallen thalk to interrupt her: “I know; I have been telepathically linked to you this whole time.”
Seemingly pleased with Caleb's claim that he had been reading her mind during the entire stay at the farm, ever since Freagon had told him to stay in magical contact with Irah, preparations continued unimpeded.

Suddenly, as the party were herding together the horses and preparing for the long and difficult journey back to Borstown, Irah would feel something shift. Something right at the edge of her consciousness - something she had barely had any awareness of feeling, if any at all - abruptly disappeared.
“This should be enough," she heard Caleb's voice in her head, sounding grim yet determined. "Do not waste the effort to try to respond, Deo'irah; I have ended the telepathic link from you to me. You can hear me, but I can no longer hear you.”
He sighed in resignation, something that must have been meaningful to make it through the magical communication. “Deo'irah... back when I told you and Lhirinthyl my description of Feevesha, I thought I might have made a terrible mistake. I thought that by telling you that, I had made any observations I would make about you today worthless, since you could just assume the characteristics you knew I admired in her. That you would abuse this knowledge to gain my favor and get me to show you my summoning name.
But it seems I worried needlessly. Through the telepathic link I was able to observe your actions, your words, your thoughts and your feelings... and you are nothing like Feevesha. Truthfully, I do not think I saw a single one of her qualities in you.
I have decided to stay in the Corerealm for the time being, and use the life Feevesha gave me to accomplish something good in her name. But I will not be staying with you; I have accumulated enough energy to teleport, and I will not tell you where I am going. Lhirinthyl can keep the spellbook... but one of your angels will have to translate it for him.
Tell Vela Bor that I am sorry for what I did. And tell everyone goodbye. Goodbye, Deo'irah. You will not hear from me again.”

“Caleb says that he is sorry, Lady Bor, for what he did... and wishes to bid goodbye to everyone. His journey now cleaves from ours--he has likely already teleported away. I... find myself glad. Her sacrifice will not be in vain, and he will try his best to be good and make the most of it.” Irah relayed, strangely comforted despite the indictment of her that Caleb had projected into her mind. One afternoon was rarely enough to get the measure of a being, with all of their nuances. That he did not think her guileless and meek, nervous and trusting, these things were simply true--that he did not think her selfless or curious or generous... nobody was ever anything all of the time. She believed that he believed it, but she did not care about his assessment at all: it mattered very little to her what anyone but those she let close--Lhirin, more than anyone--thought. She swallowed and found a suddenly uncomfortable lump in her throat begrudgingly disappear, and something of a blush came over her for a brief moment before she inhaled and let the feeling float away.

Vela frowned. “That's... troubling. It's not even worth telling the deo'iel if he teleported, since he could be anywhere now.” She shook her head in frustration. “I suppose we'll just have to pray that he makes good on his promise and doesn't cause any more disasters. There's nothing we can do about it now.”

“That is all we can do for anyone, Lady Bor. I have more faith in Caleb than this sorry lot, at least.” Irah moved her head as she spoke to indicate the Crusaders. “Suffering galvanises us. Whether it leads us to further the cycle of pain or attempt to break it... that is a choice we all get to make.”

“Sure,” she shrugged, “these g'vassin are terrible, you'll never hear me say otherwise... but they don't have access to enormous divine magical powers. I'd much rather have a rematch against one of them than against Caleb.”

“Oh, yes, it is certainly easier to quell them than a rogue divine... but the true enemy is not these exploited vessels, rather the fear and hatred that have been fostered inside them. Its roots reach far these days--the rotten ideology they adhere to poses far more danger than a lone Thalk, I think. Caleb is no longer our problem, for better or worse. The Crusaders are. I hope that we can at least do something more substantial about them.”

“Right...” the baroness drawled doubtfully. “You should probably aim a bit lower, at least for now. I know you did well today even though we were outnumbered, but there's a difference between fighting thirty crusaders on a farm, and fighting four thousand of them holed up in their fortress.”

“You're right, of course... perhaps this is a conversation best had in better surrounds, though: for now we have a great many horses to escort back to Borstown. Your people are the ones whose blood paid for these horses, so their proceeds should largely go to the benefit of the victims. If any have the temperament to be put to work on the farms you should take those, and the rest can be sold on. Now would be a good opportunity for people without to acquire a new mount, too, hm?”

With all of that out of the way, the party left behind the bloodstained battlefield strewn with corpses and undertook the tedious journey back to Borstown. Along the way at least Freagon and Quintin, and perhaps some of the others as well, decided to break up the monotony however slightly by rummaging through the saddlebags.
As one might have expected, the vast majority of the crusaders' belongings and valuables were stored there rather than being carried with them at all times. In there they discovered a much more substantial amount of money than Yanin had found on the corpses – totaling as much as 624 rodlin – as well as various provisions, tools for traveling and maintaining their equipment, and no less than six different ornate necklaces and eleven rings that all appeared to be made of gold. They all bore the mark of the same craftsman, though none of the companions, nor the baroness and her aide, were familiar with, but from the materials and craftsmanship it was probably a fair assumption that they were quite valuable. Most interesting to them was likely a bundle of several dozen pages of encoded documents, wrapped in a leather binding and tied with a string. There was nothing in particular that told them what these documents might be, with the only hint they could get without decrypting them being that a couple of them bore a wax seal that several of them definitely would recognize: the seal of the duchy of Nemhim. But examining them during the trip only revealed that the encryption was not of the simple kind that could be intuitively broken. They likely would need a decryption key to get any meaning out of them besides what could be assumed from the presence of a seal from the ducal office, or someone with divine blood to hope to be able to read them.

Eventually the party arrived back in Borstown, where they found the village having settled mostly back into normal activity after all the panic earlier in the day. Insurgent angels and invading bandits aside, the villagers' lives and livelihoods still depended on getting work done in a timely manner, and so even as the sun slowly lowered toward the far western horizon, the fields would still be abuzz with people harvesting or tending their crops and taking care of their livestock.
The baroness quickly and easily managed to get some of the villagers to take over any of the horses that the party did not want to keep for themselves (in case any of the ones currently lacking mounts would want to adopt one), and they were taken away to a pasture to graze for the time being. Keeping the horses would be no issue for now since they could mostly live off wild early autumn vegetation, but it would be up to all of Borstown to collectively evaluate how useful these animals would be to them and how capable they were of feeding them through the coming winter... and any they could not use or feed would likely end up sold off if possible or butchered if not. Regardless of what conclusions would eventually be made, the crusaders' horses did not seem to the the companions' immediate problem anymore at this point.

Getting back to Bor Manor they (but mostly Vela and Quintin) were met and welcomed back by the well-groomed man called Wade, who looked somewhat less well-groomed and more disheveled now than last time they had seen him. He reported that they had cleaned up the mess left by Caleb's angels, though larger repairs and the replacement of destroyed property would take time and funds to complete. He specifically mentioned that they had a severe shortage of dinnerware now since all of their ceramic plates, platters and containers had been smashed to pieces.
The penin received this report with a nod of her head, evidently unsurprised but pleased with the efficiency of her staff. She then asked how Tedwyn – the sole survivor among the supposed adventurers that had been visiting the manor before the companions got there, who she had told to head back and assist with cleaning – had done, which made Wade pause and blink his eyes confusedly. “Who?”
The news that Tedwyn apparently never even arrived back at the manor after he had been sent off was met with much displeasure from several members of the party. Irah immediately went to check her coach to see if the likely impostor-adventurer had stolen anything, and would be relieved to find nothing missing.
Yanin, meanwhile, asked the baroness if she had spoken with Tedwyn or any of the other adventurers as to where they had come from, and she reported that of course she had; she had been evaluating them for a task she wanted completed, after all, the most immediate of which had been the elimination of the bandits they had just completed. According to what she had been told, Tedwyn was originally from a village in Seclyr, born as the favored child of a family of great and supposedly renowned warriors. Tedwyn had told her that he had decided to become an adventurer after having successfully hunted down and exterminated a pack of greedlings for killing his parents... singlehandedly. She would also tell Yanin – most likely unnecessarily – that she got the impression that he was lying through his teeth.

Irah wanted to argue that Tedwyn did not represent any kind of significant threat, and that the worst that could come of it would be crusaders catching, questioning and killing him, but that there was nothing any of them could do about it now.
“He'll spill as soon as someone points a blade at him. And not just Crusaders; any opportunist or witchhunter out there,” Yanin pointed out, correctly recalling that Tedwyn knew about Irah being a summoner.
“I think it will require no more vigilance than we already have to muster for the Crusaders, thankfully... but it is terribly tiresome. He is going to get himself and others killed, one day. Why couldn't he just do some honest work and get some honest coin?”
Vela chuckled. “Maybe he would've if you hadn't verbally destroyed him.”
“Well,” Irah began somewhat exasperatedly, running a hand through her feathers with a sheepish grin, “he deserved it, and I stand by what I said... but you are right.” There was an obvious playfulness to her demeanor that suggested she was not being serious.

With that out of the way, Vela invited all of them to stay at her estate for the time being and dine with her this evening, and she and Wade took a moment to ask Nabi if she had any dietary constraints they should know about. Neither of them had ever encountered an erashyir, after all, and knew little of the Dark Ones besides vague rumors and stories.
With that handled, Vela also extended an offer that any of them could use the baths in the manor if they so desired, and then let the companions loose to do as they wished until dinner was ready, and they all went their separate ways to take care of whatever small bits of business they had until such the time came for them to reassemble.

Madara went to have a look at Cole, the the armed helper at the manor they had initially encountered ringing the alarm-bell outside the manor back when the frantic activity of the day had begun. She found that the initial assessment of his injuries had been correct in that none of it was life-threatening, but treating would still do much to prevent dangerous infections and minimize permanent cosmetic damage. The cut on his cheek was quite superficial and easily treated, whereas a closer inspection of his leg-wound proved that it was a more severe laceration across the outside of his thigh. Luckily the wound had not affected any major blood vessels and had not been deep enough to damage the muscles, but it was long and deep enough to obviously be very painful and to absolutely require cleaning and stitches to ensure that it did not turn into something more serious.

Yanin took the opportunity to ask once again about the availability of hounds, and this time – now that the answer was not quite as obvious – was told that while the baroness did not own any hounds herself, Borstown did have a number of hunters who kept them.
Aside from that, Yanin also made an effort to get an assessment on how old the crusader commander's injuries had been; something that had been made all the more difficult to guess at assuming that Bren had already applied at least some magical healing to the man. Conferring with the medically gifted members of the party – so primarily Madara and Irah – they estimated that with expert first aid, he might have been wounded as much as two days ago, but without that it would likely have been less than a day.

Lhirin first helped Irah take a quick, short nap, then ask around to predictably find that no, there was indeed no resources in Bor Manor – nor all of Borstown, for that matter – that could assist him in deciphering Feevesha's spellbook written in a completely made-up language. Besides that, he did make an effort to familiarize himself with the layout of the manor, and would likely take notice of a few things. Most obvious was the fact that the manor had another two huge paintings that seemed to be of the same artist that had made the depiction of the battle against the Nemhimian Prooga in the hall, both of which he would find in the dining room.
One painting seemed almost obscenely huge, standing nearly as tall as the ceiling and fourteen meters wide on the south wall of the room, and depicted a collection of ten individuals, armed and armored, on a beach with the sea stretching out beautifully in the background. The six in the foreground all stood in battle-ready stances and included a male human archer wielding a very unique-looking longbow with limbs adorned with glowing runes; a human man wielding a very nice longsword; a human man wielding a beautiful hewing spear that also appeared to be portrayed as giving off a faint light of its own; a free deigan woman holding a wicked-looking grossmesser; a human woman wielding a flaming rune sword in her right hand and seemingly conjuring a small fireball in her left hand, which puzzlingly appeared to have snowflakes swirling around it; and, of course, a younger version of Vela Bor herself, still armed with her trusty crossbow. The last four were all human and stood a bit further back in the painting, behind the six others, and appeared to be at ease and smiling.
The other painting in the dining room was on the western wall and was “only” six meters wide but just as tall as the other, and depicted just two people: a younger Vela Bor, unarmed and wearing very nice, fancy clothes, and the woman who was also in the larger painting who appeared to be a mage, wearing a white long, flowing dress and with white flowers in her long red hair. Both of them were smiling happily and they were holding hands, standing in front of what appeared to be the very manor they were currently in.
Aside from that, Lhirin would doubtlessly also find that the ground floor section for guest rooms appeared to have one pair of guest rooms less than on the floor above, and comparing it to the view from the outside it seemed to simply have space missing.

Upon her return to Bor manor Irah excused herself immediately to take advantage of the remaining time before dinner. She popped into the kitchen quickly to leave a number of pressed and dried disks of compacted tea with the staff for use later (and inviting them to partake if they wished–with instructions to steep it with hot but not boiling water for around three minutes and to enjoy the first couple of washes amongst themselves if they wished). She then headed to the bathroom and got to work using the hand-pump to fill the basin, placing the dried herbs in. Once it was around half full or perhaps a little under she stopped and heated the water to a comfortable temperature with her magic. She disrobed as she did so and stepped in, enjoying the brief moment of relaxation, before scrubbing herself clean with a little of the soap and the aid of her magic, taking only a couple of minutes before she got out and began to dry herself by simply lifting the water off of her–which she quickly deposited in a nearby drain quickly followed by some of the water from the top with all of the trapped oils and the water containing the sediment from the bottom. It didn’t leave a perfectly clean bath, but it was as near as anyone could reasonably ask for. Irah took a nearby towel and wrapped it around her midriff before poking her head out of the door and spotting Jaelnec, quickly inviting him in with a beckoning hand and a smile on her face.
“The bath is ready for you, if you like?”

Though Jaelnec had removed his hat and left his cloak with his horse since he was indoors, he was still wearing his armor. It was a habit he had been taught by Freagon to keep his armor on as much as possible, and one of those habits that made Jaelnec slightly bitter about his master's priceless equipment. His ill-fitting hauberk was heavy, whereas Freagons lutrium cuirass probably weighed less than his coat and was easier to move in.
But since he was still wearing his armor, Jaelnec was also still wearing what grime and gore he had stained himself with during the battle earlier and failed to wipe away with what means he had at hand. A bath sounded perfect, especially if he was going to be joining a baroness for dinner.
“Thank you,” he told Irah, mirroring her smile but averting his eyes. She was not exactly dressed, and looking at her in such a state would hardly be a chivalrous thing to do. Since she seemed to have bathed already he assumed that she was leaving to get dressed elsewhere. He started undoing his belt as he headed for the bathroom door.

“Do you need any help doffing your armour? It can be tricky to get out of by oneself.” Irah added as Jaelnec crossed the threshold into the bathroom, while turning around to gather the remainder of her things--namely the white dress that she had simply discarded on the floor nearby and the black one still neatly laid out in some distant corner near the unused penin-sized bathrobe. She did indeed intend to change elsewhere, but figured that a moment alone after the battle with the young and shy nightwalker might be used well to offer him some friendly advice or lend a sympathetic ear.

Initially Jaelnec thought getting some help was a good idea, and he had almost begun speaking the words of his agreement before he thought metter of it. It was true that taking a hauberk off was quite a bit more troublesome than putting it on. In the latter process, its weight meant that he pretty much just had to drop it on his head and it fell into place on its own, whereas to take it off now had that shapeless weight working against him. Having someone else to help pull it over his head and off his arms would undeniably be helpful.
But Irah was just wearing a towel. Though Jaelnec had obviously seen women in various states of undress before, including ones entirely in the nude, he still held on to his notion of chivalry, chastity, and what he considered to be decency. And the thought of having a beautiful almost-naked woman grabbing at him, maybe even rubbing against him, in an effort to get his armor off... well, he would be lying if he claimed that the idea did not appeal to him on a carnal level, but it hardly seemed decent.
“Thank you, but I'll manage,” he instead told her, quickly repurposing the “thank you” that had already been on his lips. He gently put down his belt with all its items still attached, including the scabbard with his now-clean sword in it.

“As you wish,” she began, laughing a little and widening a smile that he would not see as he avoided letting his gaze stray in her direction. “You did very well, earlier, for your first time in true battle... I want you to know that while I'm here you are always welcome to talk things over with me. I think it helps to get worries out of our heads and into the world, and... Sir Freagon isn't one for conversation it seems.” she spoke as she went to fish the linen chemise from inside her white dress, before laying it down over her black dress and folding that over her left arm as she more roughly picked up the white one with her right hand.
“I have Lhirin, of course, but more often it's Reina and Rilon that I talk to most... the gods don't respond, of course, but prayer lightens the soul. Is the water warm enough, before I go?” she added as she finished getting herself together and ready to leave.

A small, quick frown passed over Jaelnec's face at the mention of prayer, but he decided against pushing that particular topic for the time being. “Sir Freagon offers lectures, not conversation,” he mused, going over to the brass tub to feel the water. “I'm used to it.”
The water felt quite pleasant, as you would expect from a bath prepared by a water elementalist. Inwardly Jaelnec was amused by the very notion of checking if the water was “warm enough,” considering that he was used to bathing in streams, rivers, the ocean, or even just dousing himself with water freshly drawn from a well. To him, growing up on the road and mostly in poverty, a warm bath was an exquisite rarity. “It's great.”

“That's my worry, Jaelnec, that you are used to it... he earnestly means well, I think. The world is often hard, and cruel, and unfair--and he has tried to inure you to the world's many trials and make you strong. Unfortunately strength without vulnerability is as steel without give: brittle and hard. But look at me, starting to lecture! Enjoy the bath, sweet Jaelnec, and make sure to use the soap.” Irah spoke softly as she padded about the room gathering her things and finally lingered at the door for a moment, wondering whether to say something about Freagon's withering. If Jaelnec didn't know yet it was hardly her secret to share, but she felt a pang of concern for the boy--whatever had exposed Sir Freagon had likely exposed Jaelnec too... but the Withering was terribly unpredictable. She swallowed the concern and bade him goodbye before quickly scurrying towards the nearby stairs and up to the guest room she'd chosen on the upper floor to get dressed properly.