Author's Note: Now that I've finished editing my Nanowrimo08 entry (Chaos and Entropy) and stamped it Complete, it's time to get back to work on the story I wrote for Nano07. Has it really been so long since I've updated it? Gulp—almost a year. But before I go on, I wanted to rewrite my terrible opening chapter—and here it is. I plan to give the whole story a makeover, when I finish the first draft.

Ch 1…The Rough Road Home

The few wisps of clouds far overhead did nothing to cut the sun's glare. The afternoon was warm but this late in the fall, the warmth wouldn't last. Once the sun dropped below the hills, the night would suck the warmth from the earth. The other guards arranged for Carona to have the last watch, those cold cruel hours before dawn when trouble was most likely to come.

My shivers will keep me awake tonight, she thought. Just as well.

There was no breeze to stir the dust raised by the wagon's wheels. Carona picked her way through the long grass by the side of the road, a little ahead of the wagon. The oxen plodded along with no guidance from their driver. No doubt they knew the road better than she did. In their dull eyes, she saw no sign of the uneasiness she felt. Galen slouched on the seat of the wagon, his jaunty hat pulled down over his eyes, his legs stretched out on the tongue. He looked comfortable but Carona didn't envy him. Walking was better.

I need a hat though. The sun made her squint but the day was too warm for her hooded cloak. And a nap doesn't sound too bad. But a languid beckon of his hand told her Galen wasn't asleep. He waited until she clambered onto the seat beside him before he spoke.

"That's a grim look for a fine day," he said. "What troubles you, lass?"

"Don't know."

"Worried about bandits?"

"You're paying me to worry about bandits."

"So I am. Where are Yarek and Kalas?"

"Kalas went ahead to scout out the road."

"And Yarek?"

She hesitated before she said, "Behind us."

"He's behind us? Why?" Carona's expression made him frown. "What, he's not still got the trots? Wasn't it enough that he delayed us leaving the inn this morning?"

"I told him the stew in the common room smelled bad last night. He had two helpings." And he'd added a scornful comment about a 'half-breed's tender belly' that made Carona smile a little now.

"He'll listen to you next time."

Carona raised her brows in polite disagreement.

"You getting along with those two?" he asked.

"Sure."

"You'd let me know if you had a complaint." His voice lifted with a hint of a question.

"Of course."

"They're new," he said. "They don't quite understand my ways yet."

Hah, Carona thought. The two brothers wouldn't be the first to be misled by Galen's flamboyant dress and love for gossip. The man had been a successful trader up and down the Sword Coast for many years. Only a fool would underestimate his shrewdness or, for that matter, his self-interest.

But the brothers were fools. Did they think Galen unaware of their petty harassments and attempts to impress him? Their hope for a permanent position was painfully transparent. Why Yarek and Kalas considered her a rival, she wasn't sure. Galen, who'd known Carona forever, had given her this job as a favor but she thought she'd made it clear it was temporary. She'd told them all more than once that she was working her way south to her former home in West Harbor. It was a perfectly good lie; she didn't know why they didn't believe her.

The brothers seemed brave enough and reasonably competent with their swords. Still, with jobs so scarce in Neverwinter, you could hire brave and competent veterans off the streets, ten for a copper. Galen could do better, Carona thought, but that was his business, not hers. Hers was to learn what she could about the bandits who plagued the coast road. In Neverwinter, working for Galen had seemed an inspired idea. One lone woman asking about bandits would raise suspicions, she'd feared. As it happened, she hardly needed the subterfuge. Traffic along the road was light but bandits were the hot topic in every inn they'd visited.

The right hand wheel jolted into a pothole deep enough to throw Carona against Galen. She straightened with an apology.

"Don't remember the roads being this bad," she said.

"Lord Nasher hasn't sent a crew to repair this part of the High Road since the war. Short-sighted—how's he ever going to raise the coin to fix five years of neglect? Every copper goes to reconstruction, he says, but what's the point of rebuilding the city if he cripples trade in the process? And now he's sent troops to reopen the trade route to Yartar. Ridiculous! If he can't deal with the bandits along the coast, how is he going to handle the orcs in the Sword Mountains?"

"You think he's overreached himself?"

"I do. The Merchants Guild has been yammering for action but they haven't thought this through. Commander Callum's canny enough and he knows orcs but I hear the Greycloaks he's been assigned are green as grass. Everyone's hoping for a quick victory at Old Owl Well, but how likely is that? Even if Callum takes the well, will he be able to keep it?" Galen spoke rapidly and didn't wait for an answer. "I've been through those mountains. They're riddled with caves and canyons. There's a thousand hiding places and it would take an army to clear them out. The Council's money would be better spent increasing patrols along the High Road."

"Why haven't they?"

"Politics. Nasher's got to put on a good show, if only to keep Neverwinter from looking soft to Luskan and others. There's glory in fighting orcs and none in subduing bandits. We need more Greycloaks—that's the real problem. But there's no coin to pay them and the nobles won't stand for another tax."

"Nobody will. If Nasher raises taxes again, you'll see more bandits, not less," Carona said. "How many folks have been driven off their land because they can't pay?"

"Men don't turn to banditry out of anything but greed and laziness. Yes, times are hard but that's an easy excuse. I don't buy it. There are always those who grab for more than their share. There are always those who want to live off the labor of others. They can get away with it now, that's all."

How many meals had Galen missed in his life? Carona frowned.

"When times are tough, folks look out for themselves first. It's only natural."

"And when times are better, do these folks turn honest? I don't think so. When you reach my age, you realize that only the fear of justice keeps thieves and brigands under control." Galen sighed. "I wish you'd seen Neverwinter before the war. Things have changed almost beyond recognition. Ah, but I must sound like an old man, nattering on about better days."

"Yeah, you need to watch that, grandpa."

Galen returned her grin. He was in his fifties, she guessed, but a life on the road had kept him lean and vigorous.

"Grandpa, is it? Hah. I can certainly remember you as a snot-nosed little imp, running around the village green without a stitch of clothing, the scandal of West Harbor."

"You're making that up."

"May Tyr strike me if I lie. Seems like yesterday. Skittish as a panther kit, you were, and about as wild. Folks said—but never mind all that."

Carona looked out over the oxen's heads. She'd overheard enough of the talk about Daeghun's unfitness to raise a child, even a half-human child. Couldn't say she disagreed, either. If she'd been a full blooded elf, would the villagers have complained? At a guess, no. In the Mere, a half-elf was exotic but a true elf was an alien being.

"I think you'll find that, unlike Neverwinter, West Harbor has changed very little. How long has it been since you've gone back?" Galen gave her a sideways look. Ah, Carona thought, the interrogation begins. At least he waited until Yarek and Kalas couldn't eavesdrop. How thoughtful.

"I haven't gone back since I left. Not in five years."

"But you've kept up with the news, such as it is?"

"No."

"I suppose Daeghun's not much of a letter writer. And I, ah, had heard the two of you had quarreled."

"Not exactly." Daeghun—quarrel? He'd never raised his voice or lifted a hand to her, never, no matter what provocation she'd offered. Whether he'd forgive her for running off without a word, taking every last copper he'd saved—that remained to be seen. But they'd never quarreled.

"He'll be glad to see you then."

"Well." Carona picked at a splinter on the back of the seat. "He'll be surprised."

"Cormick left West Harbor about the same time you did. He's the marshal of the City Watch now."

"I heard."

"And a good friend. We live in the same boarding house."

"I didn't know that," Carona lied.

"So I remember the year you left quite well. I always try to make it to West Harbor for the Harvest Festival and I was there for that one." He gave her another sideways look. "There was quite a bit of talk."

"Yeah," she said. "I bet." She'd run off with Lorne Starling. Daeghun wouldn't have had much to say, but the Starlings no doubt aired their every thought. Lorne had quarreled with his family, all right. Lorne had quarreled with everyone.

To answer some of the questions in Galen's eyes, she said, "I wanted my own life. I got tired of Daeghun treating me like a child."

"But you were how old?"

"Sixteen."

"Carona, you were a child."

"No," she said. "I wasn't." She may have been a snot-nosed imp once but she was never a child.

As she scanned the road ahead, she saw Kalas approach. He walked too fast for so warm a day. Carona stood on the seat for a better view but saw no pursuit. She hopped down and strode out to meet him. She heard Galen cluck to the oxen behind her.

"What's wrong?" she asked but Kalas pushed past her to speak to Galen.

"Someone's piled brush and dead wood in the middle of the road," he said. "Looks like a trap."

"Were you followed?" Carona asked.

"No."

She bet he was wrong about that. If someone blocked the road, they'd be watching. Galen reached behind the seat for his cudgel.

"There's no room to turn the wagon around," he said. His brows were drawn down in concern but his voice was steady. Saplings had been allowed to spring up close to the road, too thick for the wagon to push through. Not good cover, either. She'd need to go deeper into the woods if she wanted to come unseen behind whoever waited for them.

Kalas frowned. "Where's Yarek?" he asked. More urgently, "Where is she going?"

"Let her go," she heard Galen say. "She's a good scout."

Carona hoped that was still true. As soon as she was out of sight of the wagon, she opened her hidden vest pocket and pulled out the medallion Janit had given her. She slipped the chain around her neck so that the charm was visible. It was a coin like any follower of Tymora or Waukeen might wear, save for the engraved mask, symbol of the Thieves Guild.

xxx

"Guard this well," Janit had told her, the night before she'd left with Galen. "This symbol shows you speak for the guild." He put the chain around her neck.

"It's heavy," she said. The silver still held the warmth of his body.

"That's the weight of responsibility." She felt his breath against the top of her head. His fingers lingered at the nape of her neck. "Paradoxically, the burden doesn't lighten when you share it." She smiled a little as she examined the coin. It glinted with enchantment, proof of the medallion's authenticity. She looked up to meet the mild irony of his own smile.

"Learn what you can of these bandits. What they take from the merchants comes from our pockets as well. Trade is the life's blood of the city." The district master paced to the window and closed the shutters against the night air. Late as it was, she could still hear the rattle of cart wheels and the shouts of passersby from the street below. That the Merchant Quarter never slept was an enduring source of pleasure to her.

"Neverwinter bleeds. Find the wound, Carona."

"And when I find it?"

"The thought has been voiced that these bandits strike at us deliberately."

"Another guild?"

"There are those in our hierarchy who see plots behind every shadow. Cripple the trade along the coast and the merchants will move to the inland routes. An opportunity lost to us is a gain to another—our rivals in Yartar, perhaps."

"What do you think?"

"What do I think?" He drew out the words. Janit's long intelligent face and grave eyes had always put her in mind of a scholar. He should be a monk of Oghma, perhaps, or a poet. Not a master of the Thieves Guild. "I think it is better to look than to speculate. You are my eyes, my dear. Go look. These bandits hunt in our territory and they pay us no dues. Educate them on their obligations before they bring the Greycloaks down on us all. If they are reasonable, we will assimilate them."

"And if they're not?"

"Find their head. If they give us no choice, we will strike it off." Carona made a face. Janit stepped towards her, put his hands on her shoulders. "And take care," he added. "Too many have disappeared from the High Road of late."

"I always take care."

"So you say. Do not force me to violate my principles."

"A little late for that, don't you think?" They were alone. She put her hands around his waist. "Did I force you to fraternize with one of your lackeys?"

"I have other principles." Was there a twinkle in those solemn eyes? Janit was always hard to read.

"Such as?"

"Such as—vengeance is for fools." His fingers tightened. "Keep yourself safe. I would hate to have to avenge your death."

xxx

Carona was glad she hadn't forgotten how to move silently through the woods. But where were the bandits? Why hadn't they followed Kalas? If they'd seen him, why had they let him go? She heard voices lift in argument. She crept closer, bent over to keep her steps light. She slid around the cover of a bushy cypress.

Ilmater weeps! The wrath of the Thieves Guild is sent against—children.

There were five of them, alike enough to be siblings. The oldest looked to be in his late teens; the youngest was maybe ten summers. Of course, armed and desperate children could be as deadly as armed and desperate men. One boy carried a bow with a frayed string. The little girl with the sling worried her more—she was of an age to be both ruthless and reckless. The others had long knives. Butchering knives, maybe, like you'd find on any farm.

Carona didn't need to hear their story. She'd heard it before. The family touched by Beshaba—bad crops, fire, monsters—it didn't matter. The parents were dead of disease or taken up by the law. Or maybe they'd run off, leaving the children to fend for themselves. Thin hollow-eyed youths came to Neverwinter by the score, looking for work but finding little, turning to thievery when their bellies demanded. The pretty ones sold their bodies, the brighter ones ran errands for the Thieves Guild. The others starved, or filled the work gangs, or met worse fates.

Life was like that.

xxx

"You were gone a long time," Galen said when she loped back to the wagon. Yarek had managed to catch up, she noted, but there was sweat on his lip and his face was pale. Too bad. Neither brother's hand was far from his blade.

"Sorry."

"What did you find?"

"Youngsters, out on their first raid. They were hoping for a farmer flush with coin from the market. I convinced them we weren't suitable prey."

"Oh, did you?" Yarek said. "And just how did you do that?"

"I gave them a handful of coppers and told them to go away." Yarek gave a scornful laugh.

"Will they?" Galen asked.

"I think so. I told them I'd slice off their ears if I saw them again." Galen gave her a puzzled look. "They said Fort Locke has posted bounty sheets in every village south of here. The Greycloaks are paying hard coin for bandits' ears."

"The fort is calling for bounty hunters? I don't like the sound of that," Galen said. Carona agreed but not, she guessed, for the same reason. The two brothers exchanged glances.

"Those kids will just ambush the next traveler that comes by," Kalas said.

"Maybe," she said. Galen frowned but motioned for them to move on.

xxx

Fort Locke was an ant's nest kicked by a careless boot, jammed with stranded travelers and locals seeking shelter from bandits. They weren't just robbing merchants now; they took hostages from any household with the means to raise a ransom. As if bandits weren't enough, some claimed packs of lizard folk had raided their farms. They were only after livestock, it seemed, but some farmers weren't taking a chance and had sent their wives and children to the fort. Galen could hardly move the wagon to the transients' yard due to the squalling kids, chickens and pigs underfoot. Someone had rigged a clothesline near the main gate and the flapping of clean diapers and linens gave a most unmilitary appearance.

Galen left the brothers to watch the wagon and, Carona in tow, walked to the command post. Galen had known Tann for years—Carona was convinced he knew everybody on the Sword Coast—but the commander was out on patrol. His second was in a staff meeting but they picked up plenty of rumors from the sergeant manning the post. None of them were encouraging.

Galen was silent when they returned to the wagon and his silence continued through dinner. He's going to turn back, Carona thought. Maybe that was for the best. The bandits' lair must be nearby. She didn't know this part of the coast well but she could move quicker and search better on her own.

But in the morning, Galen's mind was made up. They would go on to West Harbor.