"Why is there another camp here?" Bratt looked astonished. "Are they planning to settle down? They certainly moved fast."

The camp did not look newly built, which meant these people had fled the city at the first sign of trouble in Baldur's Gate.

Anser studied the design on the tents and found it vaguely familiar.

He waved a hand. "Let's go around them and avoid any misunderstandings."

"All right..."

The people in the camp had spotted them as well. Several armed young adults on patrol hurried over and blocked the entrance.

Anser was about to speak when he caught Bratt staring into the crowd in astonishment.

"Aemon!" Bratt seized his longsword and waved it vigorously over his head, overcome with excitement.

A powerfully built man emerged from the camp. He wore half plate and carried a black battleaxe across his back. Staring up at Bratt on the slope, he exclaimed in disbelief, "Bratt?!"

"It's me! It's me!" Bratt's face lit up. He turned to Anser. "His name's Aemon. He used to lead my adventuring party, and now he's with the Masons' Guild. We can trust him."

Now Anser understood. No wonder the emblem on the storm lantern had looked familiar. It was the Masons' Guild's stone-face design.

"Let's go over."

They descended the grassy slope. Bratt ran the last few steps and embraced the approaching man in a crushing hug, pounding his back loudly.

"I thought you were dead." Aemon's eyes reddened, and his deep voice turned hoarse. "The entire Harborside Hospital vanished. Nothing but a huge pit was left..."

"I'm too lucky to die. The captain pulled me out." Bratt could not stop grinning.

"Captain? Didn't we agree we were done adventuring?" Aemon's expression shifted.

"Strictly speaking, it wasn't an adventure. We were fleeing for our lives," Bratt said self-deprecatingly. "Surely you know what Baldur's Gate is like now. Monsters are everywhere."

"Mm." Aemon's gaze dimmed. How could he not know?

Anser studied the man beside Bratt and marveled inwardly. 'He's enormous!'

Aemon stood a full 2 meters—six and a half feet—tall, with arms thicker than Anser's thighs. Yet he walked lightly and did not appear clumsy at all.

The die displayed the man's information:

[Aemon, Human, Level 4 Barbarian (Berserker)]

'Not bad at all.'

Judging from Aemon's physique, Anser was sure his talents were impressive too.

After all, bigger meant stronger!

Bratt pulled Aemon in front of Anser and introduced them with a smile. "Anser, this is Aemon, my former captain..."

"Hello, Aemon." The corner of Anser's mouth twisted into a peculiar smile.

A Berserker serving as party leader—where had he heard that before?

Aemon stared at the magnificent Nornoth, then looked at Anser. Man and steed seemed perfectly matched. Someone like Anser ought to ride a steed like that.

"Ha! Greetings, current captain. I'm Aemon, the former captain..." He took an immediate liking to Anser and made a little joke without thinking.

Once they were acquainted, Aemon introduced Anser's group to his companions.

Everyone had come from Baldur's Gate, and the presence of mutual acquaintances kept the atmosphere harmonious.

Nornoth remained beside Anser, however, and no one dared approach too closely.

Aemon was in charge here, and the others clearly respected him greatly.

He invited them to the camp's "reception room," which was really just a collection of open-air log stools and a rough plank table. The tents were too small for anything but sleeping.

"What's the situation in the city now?" Aemon asked urgently.

"It's... not good. A lot of people died..." Bratt glanced at Anser, then began recounting the recent events one by one.

He had a gift for storytelling. His tale twisted and soared, keeping his audience enthralled and drawing constant gasps from the people around him.

In his version, Anser became the story's hero, appearing at every critical moment, slaying countless enemies, and turning the tide when all seemed lost.

Bratt successfully earned Anser the reverent gazes of everyone present. Even Aemon's expression changed.

As expected, when you were away from home, your identity was whatever you made it!

Events born of desperation and flight had somehow become an epic about a hero who disregarded his own safety to save humankind.

Anser kept his face expressionless, playing the inscrutable expert. Inside, he cringed so hard he wanted to dig a hole with his toes. He repeatedly signaled Bratt to stop, but Bratt thought his story lacked "detail" and only grew more enthusiastic.

He would be better off without this self-appointed spokesman.

Anser finally used a trip to the latrine as an excuse to leave the open-air reception room and quietly inspect the surroundings.

The campsite had been chosen well. It stood on high, solid ground without snakes or insects, and fresh water was easy to obtain. The forest lay across the lake, not far away, but ordinary wild beasts were unlikely to wander into camp by accident.

Fertile soil surrounded them. There were signs of cultivation, with shriveled grain and vegetables mingled among the weeds.

The camp held about forty people, half of them elderly, infirm, women, or children. Bringing so many families out safely could not have been easy for Aemon.

When Anser finally wandered back, everyone was waiting for him and rose at his approach.

"Aemon, are you planning to settle here?" Anser asked.

"Only temporarily. We followed the map here. This place is called Giant Elk Village, though we don't know why it was abandoned. We can't live off our supplies forever, and the season is right, so we thought we'd plant some vegetables..." Aemon's deep voice was clear and methodical.

Giant Elks were mighty Celestials rarely seen in Faerûn.

"I see. Why aren't you staying inside the village? Do you know the group there?" Anser pressed.

"Many of the village houses are unsafe and won't stand up to wind and rain. The well has dried up too, so getting water is inconvenient. I don't know the people you mentioned, but they were already in the village before we arrived yesterday." Aemon's expression was grave.

Anser lowered his gaze. Some of those Amnians were undoubtedly Evil-aligned, and he feared they had malicious intentions. Yet they had arrived so much earlier that they could not possibly have come here specifically to intercept his group.

After all, even Anser had not known he would come here today.

"Do their numbers match the footprints?" Anser looked at Finn.

Finn shook his head. "Hard to say. The rainstorm destroyed many of the tracks."

"Could they be smugglers?" Bratt guessed.

Smuggling had flourished around Cloakwood and Skarn Rock near the river mouth for untold years. It was practically an open secret.

"Possibly." Aemon's face grew somber. "As long as they don't trouble us, we'll pretend we didn't see them."

He was responsible for his brothers in the Masons' Guild and did not want to invite trouble.

Anser smiled but said nothing. He disagreed, yet it was not his place to press the matter.

Faerûn had never known lasting peace. Divine authority, faith, politics, magic, species, survival, the planes, desire, wealth... Their conflicts and divisions were extraordinarily fierce.

Harmony was temporary. Conflict was the prevailing theme.

The goddess of magic was so "well-behaved" and "reclusive," yet when had catastrophe and conspiracy ever spared her?

Even if you did not seek trouble, others would bring it to you. Someone might draw steel simply because they disliked your face, let alone because you had unknowingly interfered with their affairs.

—

As evening approached, everyone was tired, so Anser's group decided to stay the night.

They chose an open space west of the camp and pitched their tents. Aemon sent people over to help.

By the time they finished, two campfires had been built. A large iron pot hung over one, rice gruel bubbling inside, though it looked rather thin.

More than a dozen strange fish, each about a foot long, roasted side by side over the other fire, surrounded by a pile of baguettes.

Aemon invited them to the crude wooden table, looking somewhat embarrassed. "None of us have much wilderness experience. We only caught a few fish."

Anser spotted the holes in the fish and laughed inwardly.

They had clearly speared the fish. These empty-handed anglers would do anything to save face.

Thank you to all my dear readers for your support and suggestions!

(End of Chapter)