Well, at least the counts will appreciate having time to prepare for the duke's inspection. Of course she sends some observers home with all of them anyway, so they can't sweep too much under the rug, and they know what sort of things their new liege-lord will be attentive to and appreciative of.

And place their itinerary against a festival calendar, and--

From the perspective of an army, a hundred pikemen, arranged in a ten-by-ten square, is a single building block. From the perspective of a village, it is a village of its own, but one without elders and children; only military-age men, ready for violence. It makes for a rather impressive sight, especially when they have a cleric to keep them healthy and magic enough to keep the pikes shining and the uniforms crisp.

They are a mixture of ethnicities; Mendevian, Taldan, Galtan, Andoren, Chelish. Men from all over Avistan traveled to the Worldwound to fight for Golarion and ended up in Felip's employ, when he was just a wealthy mercenary captain; these are the ones that decided to follow him to his Chelish adventure. Their easy camraderie is only marred by a handful of new faces, men who never left Cheliax or the duchy, and are in the new duke's service; not yet fully trusted, and not yet fully trusting.

They take the road that cuts through the core of the territory held by Fraga's Woodsmen. Four squares, five abreast and five deep, with supply wagons laden with barrels in between the first two and last two squares, and a carriage in the very center. Their banners fly the old colors--five black flowers on a field of gold--and ribbons in black and yellow stream from their pikes.

Three woodsmen return to camp, sacks empty. "No dice. We even offered to pay in coin."

First, those three have to count back the valuables they were given to trade, and put it back in the strongbox. Once they see that not one coin is missing, the camp gets a bit less tense. Though a few men are disappointed that the count adds up. 

"Think I know why they're so jumpy, too. Heard rumors all over town, an army marching around."

"Don't think so. War's over. If there even was a war." He has explained, several times, how the whole story of a war that only lasts four days is clearly an infernal lie.

"How would an army even get to the heartlands. Weren't they fighting the Galtans, all the way over... near Galt? Not near here."

The men who learned geography from squiggles traced in the dirt by their parents argue with the men who have been to schools. Not one of them has seen a map of Cheliax. Eventually, they agree on "It's called the heartlands, that means it's in the middle. Galt is not in the middle, so the soldiers can't be from Galt or fighting Galt."

After even more arguing about who they are, then, the heads of the camp decide to send a couple scouts, to–

"PIKEWALL! HEADING THIS WAY... Same as the ones they trained us to make in the army. Four blocks of men, each one big enough to fill the road. With banners and wagons and everything. We're too close to the road, good chance they find our camp."

Bernad gives his report frantically and with some shouting. The others in the 'command tent' looks at him skeptically. He is new blood, not old guard, which is already a mark against him. But 'conscripted then escaped halfway through training' is more experience with armies than anyone else, so he got to be the scout for this. 

The "chaplain" is first to respond. He a necklace of asmodean holy symbols taken as trophies, and one symbol that no one recognizes but everyone is suspicious of. "A good ambush could even the odds. Lemme get the strength and courage spells up before the fight, with that and surprise, we can cut half of them down before the start even starts."

Pere Ramirez-Diaz– it's obvious he is old guard because he has two last names and a full set of armor– sharply disagrees. "Don't start planning for a battle if we can avoid one. You might want to die for your demon god; I would rather move the camp before they find us. "

Bernad nods. "I said FIVE SQUARES, remember? Their armor is better but we could take take one of those squares, with surprise. Five to one, that's walking into the mouth of a bear. We pack up and make a run for it now, deeper into the woods. Those armies are expensive, if we get away now, probably isn't worth it to chase us."

That gets a few glares. He was picked to scout, not invited to make decisions. On the other hand, he is speaking sense and the "chaplain" seems determined to get everyone killed. They only let him into the command tent because fresh water and spells are really useful. Ramirez-Diaz responds directly, "That sounds better than jumping onto their pikes, but only fixes things today. Without yesterday's resupply we can't just spend weeks trying to stay ahead of them."

"So we scare them off now. Show them that it really isn't worth it to chase us."

"Or, if they don't know where we are yet, better to keep it that way." 

They do know where you are, but are being polite about it. Melina isn't close enough to overhear the arguments in the command tent, but can see what the mass of men are up to.

They continue walking until they find a good spot for ambushers; trees grown close to the road, gentle hills to both sides to put gravity on the side of the woodsmen and against the road. The wagons stop; two small squares stay on guard, while one sets down their weapons and rests while another trades their pikes for axes, and sets to work chopping down the trees, and then fashioning crude tables and benches out of them.

A stump is quickly converted into a camp stove, and the smell of cooking meat begins to waft away from the camp.

Well, looks like the ambush is off the table. Damned army took the one good ambush spot. They can't keep arguing, they already lost an advantage by taking too long to decide. With their best option for a fight off the table, and time running out, the woodsmen turn to their leader to make a decision.

Andrés III is old. No one really knows how aware he is during these command meetings. He seems silent and half asleep, letting his lieutenants squabble, but at times he coughs and cuts in with surprising awareness. If he wasn't still hale enough to hold his own in a fight, one of the lieutenants might have taken over. But so long as he can fight, everyone knows better than to usurp him. The old guard families are serious about their oaths of loyalty, and they make this clear to anyone who seems to be getting ideas. It takes a few moments for Andrés to stir, and instead of making a decision he coughs out a question.

"Banners... their colors?"

The scout answers 'gold with black flowers' and the conversation halts. To some of the woodsmen, this is a minor detail. But the command tent is still mostly old guard, and most of them dimly remember who they were supposed to be loyalists of. It is now entirely obvious what is to be done.

A small group, five of Fraga's Woodsmen, approach the Dukes Own and their roadside camp. Two more hide behind the newly-diminished treeline, too far to fight but close enough to watch. When this goes wrong, their job is to run back to camp and warn them to run for the county line with the camp followers and children. 

Two of the five are dressed something like knights, clad in scratched and dented armor, heraldry displayed on tabards with fading colors. The first is much too old to fight, the second other a bit too young. The other three men are clad in armor scraps and dirty clothes; visibly estranged from society, or at least from contact with a laundry wizard. They cluster around a tattered banner. 

At the center of the camp is a man dressed in fine silks, a ducal coronet on his head, sitting on a camp stool, writing at a camp desk. Periodic Messages keep him apprised of the work crew and the sentries, and on the arrival of their guests he gently consults an old book.

Send them in.

Half of one of the sentry squares forms a corridor, six men standing to each side, pikes up. Another pikeman approaches the woodsmen.

"How shall I introduce you?"

The pike corridor is nerve wracking. None of these men were alive back when Fraga's Woodsmen actually tangled with armies, and even back then they mostly just ran away. The knights are sure they're supposed to face death unflinching, and so they can walk through. The others follow only because it's not like not following makes them any less outnumbered. 

The young knight, standing up straight and proud, answers. "This is Sir Andrés III of Fraga's Woodsmen."

He projects his voice clearly, sounding across the camp. "You stand before His Grace Felip III, Duke of Fraga, Count of Massal, Veteran of the Fourth Mendevian Crusade!"

"Presenting Sir Andrés III of Fraga's Woodsmen!"

"Approach, and be welcome at our fire. Are these your lands, we are travelling through?" Their leader looks old; he gestures, and his valet sets up another stool a respectful distance away.

Before they sit down, they bow. The knights with some practice and the rest in terrified imitation. The old man shakes his head at the question, "Your lands."

He smiles. "Well yes, but also the lands of Her Majesty Aspexia III, and, for now, of Count Fernando." He doesn't know Fernando well, yet; one of the holdovers not executed by the Crown, who he might find himself executing soon enough. "Many men can share responsibility for the same land, so long as they understand their relationship to one another."

The old man nods. A silent moment, as he does not elaborate. One of the others speaks up, gruff and unpolished. 

“We’ve got no understanding with Fernando or any other count. The only land we hold to is all Fraga and the only master is the same. Looks like you if you’re got the blood to match the crown.”

The youngest man nervously cuts in, “He means no offense, we’re talking about the magic of the Fraga birthright.  … your grace.”

He will demonstrate his sorcerous blood with a Dancing Lights. Of course, any sorcerer could manage that, and any wizard besides, but he doubts they know enough about magic to differentiate his bloodline from others.

Well, maybe they've heard the stories of their unique spell, but--he hasn't managed it, yet. His father never did. Now that they're back in Cheliax, he hopes it will appear swiftly.

"I understand news moves slowly, to the more remote corners of the realm, so I will begin at the beginning. Earlier this year, one of the claimants to Gaspodar's throne, Catherine de Litran, managed with her allies to defeat the House of Thrune, and now sits atop Cheliax's throne as Aspexia III. The pretender to the duchy of Fraga was shortly thereafter executed, and I was restored to my lands. We are perhaps a third of the way through our tour of the duchy, seeing for ourselves its condition, and who is responsible for the corners of it.

There has been a cessation of the Infernal Laws, and a general amnesty for the commons for any crimes committed before the war. Her Majesty has so far issued only one decree to replace them; we may trust that more will follow with time. If you cannot read, it will be read to you, and I entrust you with spreading the news to those you are responsible for." He gestures, and his valet hands over a scroll.

"There has been no such amnesty for the rulers of men; the counts and barons are on probation, with the Queen excising the most tyrannical and her allies arranging the for the resurrection of many who lost their titles in the civil war. One of the purposes of my tour is to discover which of the grandees I can work with, and which I must request be replaced. I am also reviewing the lesser appointments, when appropriate, and hearing cases for crimes committed since the war."

He'll give them a minute to contemplate that, and read the scroll (or have it read by the valet). His next question is perhaps obvious.

A couple of the rougher bandits narrow their eyes at the display of basic army or laundry wizard tier magic. They also know better than to say that any wizard could do that, not while surrounded by pikemen. 

The younger knight takes the scroll. He, and his friend who went to half of a school, can read it if they cooperate. They are unsure about when the dates on some of these are, and what exactly some of the words mean. "We can let the rest of us know what this says. Does it mean we aren't outlaws anymore, or are we?"

The rest of them, with the exception of the leader who is staying quiet, have hushed debates on the demerits of various local magnates. There are a few who the woodsmen respect, for paying them to go somewhere else or for giving anyone they capture a proper trial and hanging. There are many others they would gladly see gone for things like being too generous with the impalement, killing the secret pharasmin cleric, sending men to check for travel passes even after the war, torturing random serfs to find out who had been trading with the woodsmen, being a devilspawn, and most hated of all: somehow training hunting dogs and giant spiders to work together and go after humans.  

There are not many crimes on the decree's list, but "murdering" and "stealing" are both there. 

The old knight takes the paper and gives it a close look. No exceptions for soldiers fighting the dubiously-still-ongoing Chelish civil war, in the name of the true rulers of Fraga? The rest look over his shoulder with some nervousness.

He gestures and one of the few men in the Duke's group not wearing his colors approaches. "This is Ser Sebastien de Carlennes, a paladin with the Glorious Reclamation. Are you familiar with that order, or for that matter, with paladins?" 

Everyone looks to the one guy who’s been on the army, who shrugs. “They’re like hellknights, right?”

The rest of them do not like that answer. Not at all!

The pretty Galtan doesn't like that answer either, but he's used to hearing it by this point.

"In some but not most regards. They serve the Law, but they also serve the Good, and take on many vows to be worthy of the power they are bestowed, and seek to protect the innocent against the forces of corruption and destruction, instead of the Hellknight's desire to sacrifice the individual for some greater purpose. Ser Sebastien has taken on a vow of honesty, and sworn to uphold justice in Cheliax. Several years ago Ser Sebastien traveled from Galt to Molthune to join the Glorious Reclamation, an order of paladins, knights, and volunteers preparing for a war to liberate Cheliax. Now that the war has been won and the government is being reformed, they are taking on many roles once performed by infernal appointees from Egorian.

But you can rest easily; we are not infernal magistrates seeking to turn your words against you. Rather, we seek to understand what happened and why, and from there decide what should happen next. Many things that are forbidden in the general case can be nevertheless be accepted in particular cases. In that light, I must ask: is there anything I should know about your conduct, or that of your band, since this decree was issued?"

The distinctions between different kinds of knights of the law mostly goes over their heads. But if these are the ones fighting off the usurpers, working with the True Duke Who Is Returning to Pardon Everyone (and maybe restore the old families to their lands), they understand that.

One of the younger men is a bit worried to hear the paladin is a galtan, he knows they are always quick to behead everyone. Though, at least it’s better than a real execution. 

They all look to the old knight, who gives a nod. “Tell him.” With that, Fraga and Sebastien learn the details of a couple months of outlawry.

A couple traveling merchants robbed, with a couple of their hired guards  killed. They actually had some help from a nearby village with one of them— a merchant particularly hated for being tricky with debts and raising the prices. A group of serfs and halflings making a run for the city— ambiguously robbed. The woodsmen did escort them to the county line, but raised the price for protection halfway through when it turned out one of the halflings had jewelry pilfered from its owners. There’s also the asmodean cleric they slowly killed with her own portable torture kit, but there’s no way that’s a murder. 

They listen patiently, and then have two follow-up questions.

"Had you seen the text of this decree before now? When did you receive news that the Thrunes were overthrown?"