3. Shades of Grey
The swamp around her was both familiar and strange. It was typical of all swamp-lands of the Mere; dark, damp, and surprisingly humid. To outsiders, she knew, it was an oppressive place to be avoided. To those who called it home, however, the Mere was life. It had its own special beauty, and children born to its rich, waterlogged soil, grew up strong and steadfast. And fierce. They had shown their attackers just how fierce Harbormen could be.
She stopped to briefly examine the map that Daeghun had given her. It was a simple map, drawn large, and even in the failing light of the evening she could chart her progress. Behind her, several miles behind her now, was West Harbor. On the road some way ahead was the universal sign for an inn. By the side of it, in large black letters, were the words "Weeping Willow". She would make it to the inn, rest there for the night, then continue her journey through the Mere by the relative safety of the day. Before putting the map away she traced her finger along the red line that denoted the road, following it from her position in the Mere to Highcliff. From there she tracked around the coast to Neverwinter, and then she sighed. This was going to be a long trip.
As she walked down the damp, squelching trail, she found it harder and harder to concentrate. The Mere sang to her, called to her in its strange, chilling voice. She wanted to sit down, to listen, to discover the song it was trying to sing, but she knew that she needed to stay alert. If she let her concentration waver she would leave herself open to attack. "Keep moving. Keep your head down. Don't be a target," she said aloud. Her words seemed to break through the Mere's spell over her, and she smiled. "Thanks Georg."
She jumped in fright at a raucous shriek from the side of the path, her hands instinctively flying to her daggers. When the expected attack was not forthcoming she crept slowly towards the source of the sounds, her body tensed to spring aside. There, half submerged in the wetlands of the Mere, was a fledgling crow. It was slowly sinking into the mud, screeching frantically as the dank water claimed it. Kail leaned forward, tilting dangerously over the swamp as she fished the bird out of the water with her free hand. It immediately stopped screaming, struggling instead to jump free of her grasp.
"Shh," she said, soothing the creature as she lifted the corner of her cloak and used it to gently wipe some of the heavy mud from the bird's feathers. Once it was a little cleaner she examined it more closely, and noticed a deep gash across its breast. She looked up into the trees, but could see no sign of a nest, nor any other crows. "So, you walked here and something attacked you. Then you got stuck in the Mere," she said. The young animal tilted its head at her words as if listening to what she said. She smiled and, on a whim, closed both of her hands around the bird and chanted the words for a minor healing spell.
She could almost hear her father's words in her mind. A pointless waste of your energy. "And you're right," she sighed aloud. "What in Shaundakul's name am I doing?"
"It looks to me like you're healing a creature in need. Not a bad thing to do," said a deep male voice from behind her. Her eyes widened in alarm. How was it possible that somebody had snuck up on her? The road had been perfectly clear before she turned her attention to the crow, and nobody could have traversed the Mere, not without making a lot of sound. Slowly, so as not to frighten the bird or provoke an attack from whoever was behind her, she turned around. And then she blinked.
The man in front of her wore a dark grey cloak that covered almost his entire body. She could see the dark fabric of his shirt only as an indistinct haze. His hood was drawn up around his head, though in the faint light she thought she could make out the basic contours of his face. But what really drew her attention was the reason she hadn't heard him approach; his feet were several inches above the ground. Kail licked her lips, trying to work moisture back into her dry mouth.
"Should I bow?" she asked at last. The man chuckled quietly, a sound of the wind whispering through trees.
"Please don't. Having worshippers bow has never really been my style. Nor has having them cower in fear, so don't do that either."
"I... I didn't know you came this far west... Lord." She was trying very, very hard not to stare at his feet. Seeing him hover there was more than a little disconcerting, but peering into his hood was no better. She settled herself for a spot just above his shoulder.
"I travel wherever the faithful speak my name, wherever the wind touches the land. Is it truly so surprising that I should be able to appear here?" he asked her.
"I... don't know," she admitted, her heart hammering in her chest. This couldn't be happening. It shouldn't be happening. Gods did not appear for people like her. They came to... well... priests, probably. Holy warriors. Not wandering bards. "I guess I'm just surprised that you've appeared before me. A... another worshipper told me that you sometimes appear to aid lost travellers, to guide them on their path. But I'm not lost. I know where I'm going, and I did not truly mean to invoke you just now." She caught something of a smile from the depths of his hood, and he turned on the road without moving a muscle. Don't go! she thought suddenly. Stay! As if in response he turned his head slightly towards her and gestured to the trail.
"I would walk beside you on your path, for a short time," he explained. She nodded, and followed wordlessly.
"Child," he said after a moment of silence, "you are more lost than you know."
"Wh-" He raised a hand to stall her objection.
"You say a prayer every morning. Recite it for me now," he commanded. She couldn't not obey. His voice, though quiet, was like the gentle rumbling of a thunderstorm on the horizon. It thrummed inside her head, reverberating around her chest.
"'Shaundakul, grant me favourable winds, and I will give to you my dying breath'," she intoned obediently.
"That's nice. I like it. Short and to the point. I never liked chanting much either," he said. She nodded as he spoke. "Your heart isn't in it." Her head snapped up at the accusation.
"But I mean it," she protested. "My dying breath is yours, I swear. I wouldn't lie to you, Lord." He waved his hand dismissively.
"Oh, I know that. You say it, and when the time comes, I will take your dying breath and carry it high upon the wind, and it will be a beautiful song which those close to you remember. But the rest of the words, the actual feeling behind them, are nothing more than an empty gesture. A meaningless ritual to you. You believe that whether you pray to me or not, what will happen will happen. You believe that the winds are no more or less favourable for your praying." She swallowed, feeling light-headed. It was true. All of it. Yes, she would give him her dying breath. She felt he deserved it. Was worthy of it. She just hadn't expected that she would ever have to explain herself to her God.
"I believe that we make our own favour. That bad things happen, and good things happen, and that we have to react to them, to resolve them, by ourselves. I... would not want to know that my own accomplishments were only achieved because somebody else sent me favourable winds. I want my accomplishments to be my own."
"And your mistakes to be your own, too." Her eyes widened slightly. He had finished her thoughts for her. Again she sensed him smile as they walked. Well, she walked. He hovered. "Valear told me that you are a strong, independent young woman. He failed to mention that you are stubborn as well."
"Valear made it to Myth Drannor!" she exclaimed. How long had it been since he had set out? Years. Two, at least!
"Yes, he arrived several weeks ago. None the worse for his journey, I can assure you. He is enjoying his new position within the Knights of the Shadow Sword."
"Is he the reason you are here?" she asked in suspicion. "Wait, he spoke to you about me?"
"Oh yes. You made quite an impact on him, as I suspect he did on you. Know that leaving you was harder for him than leaving his tribe's homelands. He wanted to bring you to Myth Drannor, but he knew that you weren't ready," Shaundakul said.
"Not ready?"
"Elves and Humans are more different than you might think, and I'm not just referring to the physical differences, or the longer lifespans. Simply put, Valear knows himself. Most Elves do. You, like many Humans, do not yet know yourself. Valear felt that it wasn't fair to ask you to accompany him on his journey before yours had even started."
"My... journey? You mean my trip to Neverwinter?" she asked. Surely that couldn't be right. Valear could not have known, all those years ago, that one day she would travel to Neverwinter.
"The journey of your life, child," he said with a smile. "In a way, it began long ago, not long after the day of your birth. Then your journey was... postponed, for a while. And now, with this attack upon your home, it has resumed. The path you are now on is the path you were always destined to walk."
"No," she whispered. Beneath her clothes she felt her skin break out in goosebumps, an odd contrast with the damp, humid air around her. "We make our own destiny. Create our own fates."
"Kail, you are a bard. Do not make me recite lore to you. You already know that some choose their fates, whilst others are born to them."
"Do you know what's on the road ahead for me?" she asked hesitantly. She wasn't sure that she wanted to know. Again, the god smiled.
"Not even the gods can know that. There is, however, something you must know." He stopped walking, and waited for her nod to continue talking. "The world you have just left -- West Harbor, and your friends -- is a world of black and white. For the most part, the people there are simple, determined folk. The world you are about to enter, on the other hand, is filled with shades of grey. Not all friends are friends, and not all enemies are enemies. Greed can corrupt every man, and justice will only protect you for so long. Stay true to yourself."
"But Lord, how can I stay true to myself if I do not yet know myself?" she asked in confusion. He said nothing, but turned back to the road.
"I will leave you now. Before I do, there is one thing I would like from you."
"Anything," she said without thinking. Damn his voice! It tugged at her soul, made her want to comply. Made her feel like a leaf being blown along in the wind, with no choice over her direction.
"Your prayer. Say it and mean it, or do not say it at all."
"Yes. Of course. I'm sorry," she stammered. The deity gave her one last smile as the wind screamed past them. She closed her eyes and hunched her shoulders to protect herself from the sudden gale, clutching the baby bird -- all but forgotten in the presence of her Lord -- close to her chest. When she opened her eyes again, Shaundakul was gone.
o - o - o - o - o
"My feet carried me along the path of the Mere, no sun at my back, no wind in my hair,
So I lifted my head and I opened my eyes, and 'lo before me, what did I spy?"
Kail sang the nonsense song that she had been making up for the past half hour. At first it was nothing more than a way to pass a little time. Making up songs was something she did often when she was alone, and she was more alone now than ever. The singing had another positive effect; it kept her mind occupied. Whilst she was singing she didn't need to think. About West Harbor, about Amie, about Shaundakul... besides, the bird seemed to like her singing. It sat still in her arms, occasionally twisting its head to listen to her voice.
"I spied a tall willow tree at the side of my path,
I accidentally stepped into a puddle of swamp water... and now I'm wanting a bath."
She sighed. There were only so many things you could spy in the Mere, and half of them would attack you as soon as they spied you. In her arms, the crow cried.
"Soon. I'll feed you soon," she told it. One of her empty pouches was already filled with slugs she had collected for it. Young animals, she knew, would eat what their parents ate, as long as it was mashed fine enough. She just hoped mashed slugs would be appetising enough for the crow. Humming absently to herself, she rounded a bend in the road.
"My feet carried me along the path of the Mere, no sun at my back, no wind in my hair,
So I lifted my head and I opened my eyes, and 'lo before me, what did I spy?
I spied a column of smoke,
and a lone unarmed Dwarf
raising his fists,
fighting three angry blokes?"
She stopped and stared at the scene in front of her, blinking in surprise. But her eyes weren't deceiving her; a lone Dwarf was standing outside a building, his fists raised in a defensive posture as he danced on the spot. In front of him were three Human men, armed to the teeth and gesturing somewhat angrily at the short antagonist. Kail took a step towards them, and realised that her free hand had automatically gone to one of her daggers. It was instinct. Only hours earlier an army of Dwarfs had sacked her home village. But she could see this one was different. He wasn't dark-skinned like her attackers, and his cursing, when it reached her ears, was most definitely spoken in common.
None of the people before her had seen her yet so she quickly shrugged off her backpack, leaving it by the fencepost. She placed the baby crow on top of her pack, thankful that it didn't cry when she put it down. Then, as nonchalantly as she could manage, she stepped forward.
"Is there a problem here?" she asked them. All four heads swivelled around to stare at her.
"You stay out of this, girl," sneered one of the men. "This is between us, the half-pint, and whatever gold he has on him."
"Aw, c'mon and hit me already. Even the newcomer here can see that yer all a bunch a' lizard-licking goat-loving cowards!" said the Dwarf in a thick accent. Definitely not from around here, Kail thought to herself.
"That's it. You're going down, Dwarf!" The man who had been speaking sprang forward, aiming his short-sword at the Dwarf's chest. His two friends followed a heartbeat later with wordless cries of anger. She reacted without even thinking; her fingers dipped towards her palms and she grasped the blunted hilts of two of the tiny throwing knives from their hidden places in her bracers. She brought her arms up and flicked her wrists, sending them both towards the men. They both made their marks, one lodging itself in the first man's shoulder, the other in his thigh. He screamed in pain, clutching at his leg, then crumpled to the floor as the Dwarf punched him in the face. Judging by the sickening crack that accompanied the punch, she guessed that the man's nose was broken.
Seeing their leader go down seemed to take the fight out of the others -- a little. Kail didn't have to throw any more knives; the Dwarf's blows quickly felled them, his fists moving in a blur as he jabbed and punched the taller men. When all three had finally been rendered unconscious the Dwarf turned to her, a wide grin across his face.
"I don't know about you, but that really got my blood pumping! It's a shame they had to resort to weapons, but I guess some people just can't handle a good brawl. Name's Khelgar, by the way. Khelgar Ironfist."
"Kail Farlong. Glad I could even the odds a little for you, Khelgar of the Clan Ironfist," she replied, flourishing her cloak and giving Khelgar an elaborate bow that would have done Lucas proud.
"Huh. I'd not call it that, but I appreciate the sentiment. Fighting is always more fun with a comrade, in my experience. But what say we head on in to the Weeping Willow here and quench our thirst over an ale or five?"
"I'd love to. Besides, I don't think these three will be waking up for quite a while yet," she smiled, tapping one of the bodies with her foot. Khelgar grunted, and waited for her to pick up her pack and retrieve her knives from the unconscious fighter before leading her into the inn.
o - o - o - o - o
"...And then I punched him, and said 'You call that a clout? I've had worse off me own mother, and she's almost two hundred, for Clangeddin's sake'. So that's basically what I do, and that's why I'm heading to Neverwinter."
"You're heading to Neverwinter to start tavern brawls?" asked Kail, one eyebrow creeping up in surprise.
"Nay, lass. There's more to it than that. You see, there I was, punching and kicking me way up the Sword Coast, and, well, getting a bit bored with it all. I mean, don't get me wrong, I was enjoying it alright, but it started feeling a little too easy, y'know? And then one day, in the midst of just another drunken brawl, I met fate." Khelgar stopped to take a deep draught of his ale. There were three empty tankards in front of him. Kail was still only half finished with her first.
"You found fate in a bar fight?"
Khelgar gave a quiet belch, patting his stomach before continuing. "Aye. I was drinking in some tavern south of Baldur's Gate... or it may have been north of Waterdeep... or was it east of Amn... anyway, where it was doesn't matter. I don't rightly remember much about it anyway. Y'see, everything was going well -- the drinks were flying, as well as the chairs, and some of the tables too. But there was this group of scrawny-looking Humans, just sitting there drinking their water. In the middle of a brawl! Well, I couldn't be doing with that now could I? So I marched over there and asked 'em what they thought they were playing at, ignoring a good fight."
"You 'asked' them?" The second eyebrow rose to join the first.
"Well, maybe I shoved them a little too. And in the confusion, I might even have punched somebody."
"And then what happened?" she prompted him. His eyes glazed over for a moment and she took the opportunity to study him in a little more detail. Dwarf though he was, when stood up the top of his head reached her chest. His hair was shaved to the scalp, and his thick, bushy beard was a russet-auburn colour. His face was a mass of brawler scars, and from the look of his nose it had been broken more than once. When he smiled she noticed at least three of his teeth missing, and his arms and legs, though shorter than hers, were at least three times as thick and, she suspected, carved from rock. Yet for all that, his brown eyes were deep and kindly, and twinkled whenever he talked about fighting or ale. She decided she liked the disarmingly honest Dwarf.
"What happened was they used me as a table-rag. I've never had such a beating before in my life. After the world stop spinning, and I'd spat out the blood from me mouth, I went over there and I thanked them," he said.
"Were they wizards?" It certainly didn't sound like the sort of thing Tarmas would do -- he would probably just cast a Hold spell on his antagonist, then complain him to death -- but who could say what others were capable of?
"Huh, no. Woulda made fer a less bitter defeat if they were. Turns out they were monks. Crazy water-loving religious types, if you get what I mean. They seemed a bit surprised when I thanked them for beating me, but then we got around to talking, and they told me they were part of some sort of old Order. So I'm heading to Neverwinter to conscript. The way I see it, if they can teach a bunch a' stick-thin Humans how to throw people around like that, I oughta be able to learn a whole lot more from them!"
"But why Neverwinter?" she asked, taking another sip of her drink. She stole a quick glance at the crow, which was dozing in her cloak on the table. The innkeeper had given it a strange look when he first game over, but since she had fed the bird it hadn't made any noise, so nobody had complained. "Surely there are other Monasteries that could teach you."
"Aye, but these are the only ones who'll do it for free. Trust me, I've looked around. But what about you, why are..." He didn't get to finish his sentence. The door burst open, and a dozen Duergar and Bladelings rushed into the room.
"The Kalach-Cha. Find it," hissed one of the Bladelings. They immediately split up, half of them running up the stairs and the rest of them advancing on the patrons. Khelgar moved so fast that he was almost a blur, grabbing his axe and hurling himself into a group of Duergar.
Crap, she thought, throwing a pair of her knives as she stood. She threw until she ran out of knives, then unclipped her daggers from their sheaths and advanced on a Bladeling that was harassing the innkeeper. It saw her coming at the last minute and turned to block her attack, countering with its own blade and forcing her to duck. Her heart started hammering in her chest as she realised that if she was just a little taller the creature would have scalped her with its weapon.
She needed to end this quickly. The longer they fought the creatures, the more damage they would do. As she parried the creature's blows she frantically recalled the moves that Lucas had taught her. The next time the Bladeling pulled back its weapon she feinted left, then when it moved to counter she rolled instead over her right shoulder, underneath the Bladeling's arms. As she came into a crouch she raised her left arm, ramming her dagger up into the Bladeling's ribcage. It hissed, and collapsed unceremoniously on top of her, and she barely missed having her eye skewered on one of the long, wicked barbs protruding from its body. An instant later the weight was gone, and she saw Khelgar pick up the corpse and throw it at the last remaining Duergar. Both landed on the floor, and neither moved again.
"Clangeddin's beard, Kail! That was some fancy footwork from ye! Don't tell me you're a monk too!?" he said, hauling her bodily to her feet.
"I'm not wise enough to be a monk," she said with a wink, patting his shoulder in thanks.
"Please!" shouted a frantic woman at the back of the stairs. "There are more of them upstairs... my husband, Zachan, is up there! Please help him!" Khelgar grunted.
"Let's go teach a few more darklings a lesson," he said. Kail nodded, and allowed him to lead the way.
o - o - o - o - o
Khelgar stepped out of the Weeping Willow and flexed his fingers, the cartilage cracking in each one as he did. He hadn't stopped grinning since the fight first began, and he suspected that as long as he stuck close to the lass, he was sure to see a lot more of their attackers.
"That was the best practise I've had in weeks. And the way ye seem to attract trouble! Well, I'd be honoured if ye'd escorted me to Neverwinter. And ye can teach me a thing or two about that fancy footwork as we go!" he suggested. The girl hitched her backpack slightly, weighing him up with her eyes. Curious eyes, they were. Stone-grey in the half-light of the Mere, but inside, with the firelight shining on them, they were vivid blue. After a moment she gave him that strange, disconcerting little smile that suggested she was listening to something only she could hear, and shrugged her shoulders.
"Sure. I'd love the company," she replied.
"Grand! Don't worry about me keeping up. Khelgar Ironfist carries his own weight. Now, I can understand ye not wanting to stay here tonight, not when it endangers all those people. So you just lead on, and we'll make a sodden camp in this Mere of yours whenever you're ready," he grinned, sticking his axe into his belt. She nodded, and set off down the dirt trail, her head swivelling to the sides as she walked.
He easily kept pace beside her, and studied her as closely as he could. She wasn't bad, for a Human. Granted, she was a little distant, but he'd heard bards could get like that. Too much going on upstairs, making them lose touch with reality. Still, she had some decent combat skills, and obviously knew how to take care of herself. She was glib-tongued, too. She'd talked the innkeeper and the merchant they'd saved into giving them a little gold for the trouble of the rescue. Afterwards she'd told him that she normally didn't care about money, but that she'd never been to Neverwinter before, and wasn't sure how far her small coin purse would take her. He couldn't really fault her for that.
Kalach-Cha. A strange word that their attackers had used. He knew it wasn't a word in the Duergar language -- he spit on the floor at the thought of his dark cousins -- and wondered if it meant anything to the others, those Bladelings. Kail told him she didn't know what it meant, and he believed her. Ah well, it was a mystery that would be solved in time. Or not. It didn't really matter, as long as he had somebody to punch.