The mobile members of the party quickly set about their assigned duties.  Finally as the others go, Castus moves towards the merchant wagon.  With an impatient wave of his hand, he motions for the kobold to follow him.  Lugnut looks at him, then looks back to the disappearing bard.  Seeing no sign from her, he shrugs his shoulders and sighs sadly before following after the portly monk.

     Squire Gilles, seeing Father Martin's problem, takes up a nearby hatchet and goes into the woods.  In a few minutes, he returns with a suitable piece of wood, marked with many strange diamond-shaped knots.  As the squire sets about padding the top for use, and oddly enough peeling off the bark, he comments about the strange wood.  "'Tis diamond willow...a faerie wood.  If you skin off the bark and let it dry, it will turn a deep reddish-brown color.  It's light but as hard as oak...and is said to be magical."

     As the squire finishes after about an hour's work, the others begin to return from their labors.  Folly and Doran return with a travois loaded with useful things.  They have gathered at least a few days' rations, extra bowstrings and arrows, rope, leather to repair Cain's armor and a host of other useful odds and ends.  Yet, it is not the common stuff that gets attention.  With a dramatic slowness, Folly lays down each item for an examination.  First comes a compact leather-bound thief's kit with its host of tools.  Next the mage lays a drinking jack made from the horn of some animal, with its ends capped in silver.  He follows with an electrum belt buckle worked with the shape of a crescent moon.  To end it, he leaves eight small bars of silver and a pile of mixed coin.

     As he finishes, Castus and Lugnut return.  The monk looks at the pile of valuables.  "Well, the wagon is ready...and I found something to add to the pile.  There's a strongbox full of coin in the wagon...although it appears someone has been in it.  We'll load the wounded in the wagon and be on our way, as soon as Shar-"

     Shardis, followed by Rumil come up, interrupting the monk.  With a grunt, Shardis tosses a heavy bundle down, and Rumil does likewise.  Pointing towards the banded armor and the great axe, the ranger grins, "That seems good quality...and it seems a shame to let it lie...since piggy won't be needing it anymore.  Since Cain beat him in single combat, I figured he would decide what to do with them."

     The monk nods.  "Throw everything in the back of the merchanter and move the crippled wounded (i.e. Martin, Durian and Cain) into the back.  I'll drive the thing as close as I can to the dryad's clearing.  Seems we may need it for a few days.  The rest of you double-time it up the trail and be waiting for me.  We'll probably have to carry the wounded into camp.  Then maybe we can get a bit of rest.  Nothing like a few hard hours to take the starch out of a warrior."

     With that, the final preparations to move are made.  As those that can walk leave up the trail, the monk turns the wagon trailing two extra horses to the north and the wagon trail.

     By daylight, the path is not so grim and frightening.  Yet, the trip seems interminable.  Those few minutes of fighting have made their mark on the day, and by the time you reach camp two hours later, you are grimy and dripping from the exertion.  You collapse to the ground to wait until the monk arrives... hoping that he will take his time.

     As the scant minutes of rest indicate, Castus does not take enough time in getting to the clearing for any of you.  He comes tromping through the bushes from the river road with an air of haste about him.  "Get up ye slugabeds.  I've got the wagon down on the road...the wagon path met it about a mile north of here.  We have to unload the wounded and everything else for that matter.  Brush is too thick to get it up here.  Luckily, I found a place to hide it just up the road a bit."

     With a tired groan, the lot of you pull yourselves to your feet and trudge after the monk to the waiting wagon.  After moving the wounded up, you unload the wagon to the floorboards, just in case someone might find it.  It's all done quickly, but not quickly enough for your sore muscles.

     Castus goes to hide the wagon; you return to the camp and collapse again about the dryad's tree.  As you all rest, she moves about handing each of you some bread, cheese, and sausage.  "You must eat and rest, and it is only right that I serve you for what you have done for me."

     Not minding the social niceties, you all munch the rations --too tired to really taste it.  A few minutes pass, then Castus comes back to the camp, his ever-present large grin irritatingly happy.  "Well, no one should find that wagon, which is good.  The lady permitting, we should stay here through at least tomorrow.  We all need the rest and it will give the wounded a chance to gain some of their strength back."

     The dryad nods in agreement.  "Good, then while you finish your meal, I'll care for your wounds."

     As the chomping continues, the dryad prepares a salve made of her tree's sap and its mosses.  Each in turn, she applies the effective mixture to the parties' various abrasions, cuts, bruises, burns, punctures, and other assorted wounds.

     Waiting for the tending to be finished, Folly unintentionally pats a pocket on his voluminous cloak.  A sudden look of disgust crosses is features and he digs into the offending pocket.  "Oh, bloody 'ell.  How could I have forgotten about these?"

     The young man pulls out first eight unadorned gold armbands, worth something, but nothing exciting.  The next thing he hands to Father Martin.  It is an ornate crucifix on a matching chain made of gold and silver.  In its middle, there seems to be a vial of some sort.  Yet, this is hard to tell...for the entire thing is blood encrusted.  Seeing Martin's concerned gaze, the mage adds, "That's the way I found it in what I believe was the orc shaman's tent.  I believe he was trying to desecrate it."

     Before he can say more, the dryad rises from her last patient and stands with her hands firmly on her naked hips.  "Now I suggest that you go to your rest.  The salve will make you sleep and in the sleeping help heal your wounds."

     After this morning, none of you argue.  Going to your beds seems an escape from what has already been a very long day.  With various groans and grunts, all either move or are taken to their respective bedrolls and within scant minutes, the clearing is silent but for snores.

     As you approach, he stops to wipe his brow, not bothering to get out of the thigh-deep hole.  "I know it doesn't seem to make any bloody sense to be diggin', but," he points to the dryad, "has been after me since dawn, sayin' that we deserve more of a reward.  Besides, it almost seems she wants to get rid of whatever is down here."

     A rather petulant look crosses the dryad's face.  She purses her lips, "Well, if you don't want it...."

     Castus gives her a grin, "I never said that, dearie..."

     The dryad's face flames red, and muttering to herself, she moves into the tree and disappears.  The monk chuckles and takes up his pick, "Lugnut has some tea, biscuits and porridge made over by the fire."  He points to the farthest point in the clearing from the oak.   "Take it easy for today, we'll have to make good time on the road for the next few days -- unless we want to pay a search fee to the Wardens."

     You head for breakfast and after you have eaten, you spend the rest of the day resting and repairing the effects of the battle.  All the while, the burly monk continues to dig.  Finally, when he has a hole shoulder-deep, the monk yells, "What do we have here?"

     He pulls a rotted leather drawstring bag from the hole and sets it on the ground.  He then pulls himself up next to it and begins to open it.  He pulls out some mildewed cloth and some rotted, stained papers.  Throwing those aside, he digs back into the bag and pulls out a black cloth bundle -- still in good condition.  Setting the bundle down, he slowly opens it to reveal a bulging pouch and a sheathed blade.  First, he pulls out the pouch and the flash of gold greets you.

     As he watches, Father Martin mutters, "Acquilla...Old Imperial gold coins."

     Castus grins as he nods.  From the scattering of coins, he pulls out a plain unadorned gold ring.  "I don't know if this is anything other than it appears...figure that out later."  Next he draws the blade from its sheath.  It is between a shortsword and a dagger in length, with a fairly wide, ellipse-shaped blade.  Made of a shiny silvery metal, the blade has three circular holes through it -- making it light but strong.  The hole closest to the crossguard has an amber-colored gem mounted in it.  Castus looks at the blade for a moment, then sheathes it.  He takes up the black cloth and stands.  Letting the slightly stained material fall, he finds that he is holding a cloak.  He grunts then sits to bundle the things back up.  "We can divide this up later...I do believe that we should have it checked, considering the fell nature of these woods."

     He puts the things amongst the rest of the gear and joins the rest of you in the shade for a cool sip of wine.  The rest of the day is spent idle, letting yesterday's exertions fade somewhat.

     At dawn, Castus wakes you and gives you a quick breakfast of sweetbread and tea.  The monk seems impatient, "We need to get back on the road.  Lugnut and I have already loaded the horses.  I'll go where I left the wagon and bring it down to the road.  We'll load it and be on our way."

     Within a half hour, you have the wagon loaded and the riding horses down at the road.  As you all mount, the dryad comes down to the road, accompanied by two tigers.  Smiling, she gives each of you a garland of oak leaves.  "I cannot thank you enough for what you have done.  Take these, and if you ever come across my kin they will know you as friends."

     Castus takes the offered crown of leaves.  "You're welcome, milady.  I know if I am ever this way again I will stop to check on you."

     The dryad looks down, smiling and blushing.  Castus turns to you, a devil's grin on his face.  "Well, me buckos, let us be off."

     With that, you turn the horses about.  Shardis rides ahead as  usual.  The rest fan out about the wagon as Gilles gives the wagon horses a gentle whip to get them moving on the road to Templeshire.

     The morn turns into a beautiful spring day.  With azure skies and the bright sun as your companions, you ride slowly, pacing the rickety merchant wagon.  Unlike other times, you ride in silence.  The past days having taken their toll on your graduation gaiety.

     Everything goes quietly until early in the afternoon.  Shardis rides across a small bridge, crossing a stream that flows into the Asten.  As the rest of the party approaches the bridge, a figure appears blocking the road.  A knight in black chain and tabard stands with his hands resting on the pommel of his great sword, which is point first in the ground.  He makes no attempt to move, his stance filled with haughty disdain.  Disdainfully, he shifts his great helm to look at Rumil, then Calimar.

     His voice echoes loudly from his helm.  "What knight dares to cross my bridge?  I yield passage to no true arms bearer lest he meet me in mortal combat!"