Chapter 16: Rumors from the Vale

  The path leading towards Greyfell Pass narrowed quickly, diverging from the slightly more travelled track they had followed earlier. This way was rougher, less maintained, the stones looser underfoot. Signs of recent passage dwindled until only their own footprints marked the damp earth. They passed several abandoned farmsteads huddled in small hollows, stone walls crumbling, roofs caved in. Unlike many Blight-stricken ruins, these showed signs of sudden departure—a gate left open, tools dropped in a fallow field, no lingering scent of concentrated decay or presence of the undead. Just… emptiness.

  "Odd," Edmund murmured, examining a crude symbol scratched deeply into the bark of a gnarled oak beside the path. It wasn't Blight corruption; it was deliberate. A jagged spiral surrounding a closed eye. "Seen this mark before, Ms. Isa?"

  Isolde leaned closer, tracing the symbol with a gloved finger. "No. It feels… unpleasant. Like a ward, but inverted. Meant to contain something, or perhaps… dedicate it." She shivered slightly, pulling her cloak tighter. The silence here was unnatural, too. No birdsong, no rustle of small animals in the undergrowth, just the sigh of the wind through the diseased leaves overhead.

  The travelers weren't exaggerating, Edmund thought grimly. This feels like walking into a trap. But we have to know what that light was. Preparedness was key. His hand rested on his sword's pommel.

  After another hour of tense hiking, the path crested a ridge—likely the pass itself. Below them, nestled in a wide, bowl-shaped valley, lay Oakhaven. From this distance, it looked deceptively peaceful. Smoke curled lazily from numerous chimneys, indicating a population holding onto some semblance of normalcy. Fields spread around the cluster of houses, some appearing unusually green and well-tended for this blighted age. No obvious signs of decay marred the neat rows of buildings within the valley proper.

  Yet, something felt profoundly wrong. Strange, angular banners bearing the spiral-and-eye symbol fluttered limply from posts near the town's unseen entrance. And the orderliness… it was too perfect, too uniform.

  "It looks… quiet," Edmund observed, crouching behind a cluster of weathered rocks, using his keen eyesight to pick out details. "Fields look tended. No shamblers wandering the lanes, from what I can see."

  Isolde knelt beside him, her eyes closed, her brow furrowed in concentration. She reached out, not with her hands, but with her senses, probing the atmosphere of the valley below. The air felt… still. Not stagnant like the fen, but unnaturally calm, as if the very wind hesitated to blow across Oakhaven. A low, sub-audible hum resonated faintly, a feeling like pressure against her eardrums. The light itself seemed subtly different down there, filtered, lacking the harsh edges of the Mercian sky above the pass.

  "It's controlled," she whispered finally, opening her eyes. They held a deep unease. "The surface feels normal, almost… cleansed. But beneath that? There's a resonance. Like a ritual constantly maintained, suppressing the Blight, perhaps? Or…" She hesitated. "Or channeling it."

  Channeling it? For what purpose? she wondered, the thought chilling her. Is it resonance with the land? Or something else? Connected to that watcher from the fen?

  Edmund considered her words, his hand tightening on his sword. "Containing the Blight, or using it. Either way, this 'Shepherd' holds considerable power." He looked towards the town entrance, hidden from view by the valley's curve. "Let's get a closer look. But carefully."

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  They descended the pass, sticking to the less-travelled slopes, avoiding the main track leading down to the valley floor. As they neared Oakhaven, the unnatural stillness intensified. They approached the main gate, a sturdy timber construction flanked by watch posts.

  The guards standing duty were unnervingly calm. Dressed in clean, dark tunics bearing the spiral-eye symbol on the breast, they watched Edmund and Isolde approach with watchful, impassive eyes. There was none of the frantic fear or weary suspicion common to guards in other settlements.

  "State your business," one called out, his voice even, lacking inflection.

  "Travelers seeking refuge," Edmund replied, adopting the guise they'd agreed upon. "Heard Oakhaven was safe haven."

  The guards exchanged glances. "The Shepherd provides safety," the first guard stated, almost like a rote recitation. "All who abide by the Shepherd's laws and contribute to the community are welcome." He gestured towards the gate. "Enter. Find lodging at the common house for newcomers. Attendance at evening gathering is expected." There was no warmth in the welcome, only a statement of terms, with an unspoken threat hanging beneath the calm words.

  As the gate swung open, they stepped inside. The unsettling orderliness Edmund had glimpsed from afar was even more pronounced up close. Streets were swept clean, tools were neatly stacked against walls, houses showed signs of recent repair. But the few townspeople they saw moved with a quiet purposefulness that bordered on fearful compliance. Eyes darted away quickly when met, conversations were held in low murmurs. The Shepherd's symbol was everywhere—carved above doorways, painted on shutters, even integrated into the patterns on simple pottery set outside homes. Near the central well stood a newly carved stone statue, not of some warlord or forgotten king, but of a figure with arms outstretched, head bowed, suggesting guidance or perhaps sorrowful sacrifice—a stark, unsettling contrast to the palpable tension.

  Edmund noticed a few Duergar-Kin among the humans, identifiable by their stout builds and the intricate patterns sometimes visible on their leather aprons or tools. They seemed segregated, working specific tasks near the mineshafts visible at the valley's edge, their interactions with the human villagers minimal and tinged with what looked like deep-seated fear or resentment.

  "This place…" Edmund muttered under his breath as they walked towards the common house indicated by the guards. "It feels wrong."

  "Worse than wrong," Isolde replied quietly, her gaze constantly scanning, analyzing. "It feels… hollowed out."

  They found the common house—a long, functional building, cleaner than any inn they'd stayed at recently, but utterly sparse and lacking any warmth. They were assigned a small, bare room with two thin pallets. The feeling of being watched was pervasive, even here.

  Edmund immediately checked the door, the single window shutter, potential escape routes. Isolde sat on a pallet, closing her eyes, attempting to weave a subtle ward around the room, though the effort clearly cost her, a faint line of sweat beading on her temple.

  "The iconography," Edmund said later, sitting opposite her, keeping his voice low. "Statues of guidance, symbols on every home… Do you think this Shepherd actually believes they're saving these people?"

  Isolde opened her eyes, her expression troubled. "Perhaps. Or perhaps it is merely the most effective mask for control. Power drawn from order can be as corrupting as power drawn from chaos." She met his gaze. "We need to understand what's truly happening here. The disappearances the travelers spoke of… the Blight… the Duergar-Kin."

  "Agreed," Edmund nodded. "I'll try talking to people tomorrow, carefully. See what I can learn about these disappearances, gauge the feeling towards the Shepherd."

  "And I," Isolde said, touching her wrapped wrist again, "will try to find a connection to the Duergar. If Borin Stonehand isn't here, perhaps someone knows where his settlement lies. Their knowledge of runes feels more critical than ever."

  They settled into an uneasy silence, the weight of Oakhaven's deceptive tranquility pressing down on them. The investigation had begun, but the path forward felt shrouded in a carefully constructed, dangerous illusion.