Session 18 — A New Path Ahead
The docks were cold when the Blades of Strangeways returned to them, the wind off the water sharp enough to cut through cloaks and confidence alike. Somewhere ahead—already slipping away—was the shard of the Crown of Iron.
Corwin Thorne said it first, quietly, with the certainty of a man who already knew the answer.
The thief hadn’t been a thief at all.
Not really.
He had been the Guildmaster.
Zel Cunningham felt it settle into place with sickening clarity. She had told the Bookworms about the handkerchief. About the shard. About how it could be removed. It hadn’t been gossip—it had been a confession overheard by the worst possible listener.
The Thieves Guild of Valinport (The Quill and Scroll) stood dark and shuttered.
A sign hung on the door: Closed for the Holidays.
No laughter inside. No candlelight. Just absence.
The Quill and Scroll
They climbed to the second floor, boots careful on stone. Corwin and Torvold Alric swept the rooms, senses sharp. Leda Gebhart and Mol Potts noticed it immediately—patrons had been rushed out. Chairs overturned, half-drunk cups abandoned. No struggle. Just speed.
Corwin remembered the secret door.
Behind it, down the stairs, the truth waited.
Reef Marnel was tied to a chair, bruised and terrified, a note pinned to his chest.
Corwin read it aloud.
Dear Mr. Thorne,
I am very sorry I was unable to meet you in person. Well—man to man, as it were. Allow me to give you a parting gift.
This vagrant came to me attempting to sell information I already possessed. With friends like these…
In any event, I believe our business is concluded. My compatriots have relocated our headquarters. But you will not recognize them. Charlie the Flute Player has joined me.
Your companion Zel was most helpful.
Now my employer must be given his due. His fees made it untenable for me to stay. Perhaps we will meet in the future. If so, I hope you enjoy eastern cuisine.
Your friend,
Professor Geoffrey Chandler
P.S. Give your master the regards of the S.M.N.
Silence followed.
Then Corwin turned on Zel—sharp, angry, betrayed. The letters mattered more than the tone.
S.M.N.
The Scholas Magick of Nokan.
A magical guild of the Infernal Empire.
This wasn’t theft.
This was war.
Corwin wanted Reef dead.
Someone began banging on the door above.
Mol slipped upstairs, quiet as smoke. The banging stopped. Whoever it was—guard, spy, or something worse—left without a word.
Back below, Mol searched the room and found what Geoffrey Chandler had missed—or left behind.
A book.
The Great Astral Observatories of the Great Elvish Kingdom
by Brother Theodran Calyx
Reef, shaking, managed to speak at last.
He whispered a name.
No one knew yet if that was a warning or a lead.
Corwin asked Leda—quietly—if they should kill Reef.
Torvold came down the stairs furious that the question was still being debated.
In the end, Reef lived.
For now.
Regrouping
They changed clothes. Cleaned blood from boots. Corwin went to bed, restless and dark-eyed.
The rest went to Lady Serina Kael.
She listened. She smiled—thin, satisfied, dangerous.
She was pleased with their progress.
And she offered help.
They slept.
Morning — The Game Reveals Itself
A message awaited them. Duke Elric Strangeways (Noble) paid the party a visit. He received a note from a bat.
We have the second piece, thanks to your whelp. Do not bother to follow us. For we tread where only the star-watchers live.
Tell the rest of your brothers and sisters they have lost, and the game has barely begun.
— The Scholas Magick of Nokan
Strangeways was certain now.
The shard was likely in The Fallen Kingdom of Utarn
At the The Runic Observatory.
To reach it, the party would need to cross:
Dangerous lands.
Watched lands.
Strangeways provided documents—legal, sealed, powerful—granting the Blades passage and authority to operate within Heterlands.
Good news arrived from Strangeways itself.
Bad news waited ahead.
Torvold asked, quietly, what this meant for the Kaels.
No one answered him right away.
Where It Leaves Them
The Blades of Strangeways had lost a shard.
They had gained clarity.
The Crown of Iron was no longer a buried relic—it was a prize in a moving war, fought by scholars, inquisitors, guildmasters, and empires that smiled while sharpening knives.
Geoffrey Chandler was gone.
The Scholas Magick of Nokan had made their move.
And the path forward led not back into shadows—but into open, hostile ground.
A new road lay ahead.
And this time, it was written in runes and starlight.