Leaving Home
The sun began to reach its zenith as the three moved steadily across the lush plains just east of Candlekeep, north of the main road Gorion and Evelyn had avoided. Cedar and maple trees dotted the land as they passed. The clarion call of the larks had cried out to her earlier that morning, but she had ignored it. Now finches and the occasional jay soared past and sang their song above the heads of the three and below the late spring sun. It would have been difficult to believe that bandits could attack anyone in that place.
They had forced some food into her, Imoen all but feeding her by hand, but it had all simply turned to ash in her mouth. She did not taste it – she hardly realized when her hunger and thirst had left her – but it was a welcome comfort not to feel so weak and useless anymore, even if it was only physically and could not dispel the dark memories that swam about in her head. She did not think that she would ever feel happy again.
"This is the Way of the Lion," the Elven ranger spoke up after a time. Though he made it sound a lot more like someone was trying to pull teeth out of him than offer advice.
"Keep your eyes open. There are bandits hiding all throughout these lands, waiting for caravans to plunder for their iron."
"Why are they after iron?" the pink-haired woman chirped half-interestedly. There was little else to do as they trudged along further away from the only home they had ever known.
But the man shrugged, keeping his eyes forward. "there is an iron shortage with the mines in the south if you had not noticed, girl," he growled. "I only know they have attacked many travelers like you merely to obtain it. And have shown much less interest in their gold."
"Oh."
They kept on in silence for a little while after that.
The Elf was tense, dark and brooding beneath the midday sun. His back hunched as he marched like the two behind him were weighing him down. Every so often the pink-haired woman would roll her eyes a little irritably at him. She gave the raven-haired woman a comforting squeeze.
Then the ranger stopped.
Imoen kept on for a few steps before nearly bumping into him.
"What?" she asked curiously.
She glanced around with a frown.
"Quiet," he hissed.
But she just bristled, mouth shooting open and cheeks flushing crimson.
"Hey! Don't you tell me to–!"
He pulled an arrow from the quiver tucked under his cloak, nocking it to the string of his bow. Imoen's jaw snapped shut, bringing her up short. She swallowed audibly.
But he pointed it up and away from her ahead.
"I can hear you moving," he snapped loudly. "I know where you are."
Imoen cast about in surprise, her green eyes wide and scanning the land around them. Evelyn tensed, trembling.
Then she nearly fell over in surprise as a small man appeared from beside the road.
It was a fierce little man glaring at them there, with tousled hair and adorned in rugged leathers. They were so thick on him they looked fat – a plump little ball of thick hides and scowling features. It was almost comical. Except for the naked short sword held tightly in his little hand.
Not him, Evelyn thought, chest heaving with the blood that had begun abruptly thumping in her veins. Not him. He was far away by now.
But that didn't keep her hands from shaking where they had tightened about the ashwood.
It was a Halfling. Or he looked like one, from the size. There was far too much hardness and age in those little features for the child's height he bore.
Imoen pushed the raven-haired woman behind her, stepping back. The ranger's bow was trained on something else out of sight, though.
"Both of you," he growled.
A few moments later, a man in green picked his way out from the trees ahead. His hands were held up, placatingly, but he bore no weapons other than the dagger still tucked at his belt. That one's face was painted like some jester, though, stringy, mangy hair tumbling loose about it.
The Halfling still held his sword out threateningly.
"Hold, Montaron!" the other man called to the Halfing in warning. A moment more, and the little man was lowering his weapon. Grudgingly. The man in green waited until he had before looking up to the three on the road.
"We mean no harm to you, kind people," he assured them with an amiable grin. "We merely wished to know what threat you posed yourselves."
That look was a little disarming. But it slid across his face like oil on water.
Evelyn cringed.
"A fine line," the ranger spat back, his bow still at the ready.
The man in green spared him an innocent look, opening his mouth. But then he suddenly caught sight of Evelyn, bright eyes fixing with her haunted ones.
She hastily looked away, paling. Those eyes were somehow full of glee and cold as ice at the same time, shifting back and forth so quickly in just one moment that it had almost made her dizzy. She gripped the staff tighter and will him to just keep them away from her.
Like so many other things that day – Fate was just so dead set against her.
"This young wayfarer is in need." The man studied her curiously. "Someone has set about thee, girl, and you have barely escaped with your life."
"Aye, Xzar, she looks to have been roughed up quite well," Montaron grated in a rough voice. It was almost sinister enough to match his vicious smirk. Evelyn's dark eyes darted furtively toward each of them in turn, suddenly wondering.
But, no. She had not seen them that night. She hoped …
"Indeed," the other – Xzar – agreed, nodding his head. Then he gestured with a hand.
"I can offer you healing potions, if you wish, as a," and he smiled again, "a token of good will."
He drew forth an opaque bottle from his belt. He held it forth with that same, sickly smile.
Imoen glanced at Evelyn. And then the bottle. She hesitated, but only for a few moments. And then she pushed ahead to take it. If the ranger had not been holding that bow, the raven-haired woman was sure he would have snatched the other before she got past him. As it was, she managed to grab that bottle from the other man's outstretched hand and hurry back to her best friend. The Elf's mouth hardened into a thin line as she passed.
"Nothing to fear from these simple potions," Xzar assured as Imoen offered it to Evelyn. The dark-haired woman only hesitated a moment herself before placing it to her lips. She kept telling herself they had nothing to do with the man last night. "And I'll not even hold you in debt, though your conscience knows otherwise."
"Just like all good people," the Halfling muttered.
Evelyn drank it. Slowly. She closed her eyes as the bitter fluid passed along her throat.
And the change was almost instant.
Suddenly, the pain in her shoulder vanished. Her eyes flung wide in surprise, hand reaching over to press fingers gently into the skin beneath the gray bandage no longer binding burned away flesh beneath. Her knees as well, still visible through her torn leggings, were once more whole, and the rest of it had all faded away as if it had never been.
She gaped in amazement, and relief. The potion had proven true enough to their word. But then she had the sudden, sickening realization that the liquid might have done anything to her – made her burst into flames or fade away into dust or something worse. And she had just taken it.
The ranger's hard eyes mirrored her thoughts well enough as they fastened on them both briefly with a fierce, reproachful look.
She had to learn that she couldn't trust so easily anymore. Not after that night.
It was a dark thought so alien to her and everything they had known.
She shuddered.
"We are on our way to Nashkel," the man in green told them offhandedly as they stood there with the Elf's bow still trained on them. "It is a troubled area and we mean to investigate these disturbing rumors surrounding the local mine. Some acquaintances are very concerned about the iron shortage," he gestured with a hand. "Specifically, where to lay blame in the matter."
They were both looking at the ranger then. The man in green had an open, hopeful look on his painted face. The Halfling's eyes darted furtively from him, to the two women, and back. His hand was still on that sword.
"Might we," Xzar ventured with a shrug of his shoulders, "be on our way?"
But the ranger didn't move.
Eventually, Imoen just glared at him.
"Hey!" she started to chide the Elf, hands on hips. "Are you gonna let them go or-?"
The fletching was back to his ear and flying free before she could even finish the thought. It plunged into the man in green's shoulder, his voice crying out shrilly as he was forced about and down into the ground.
The Halfling howled in surprise, short sword in hand. He rushed the Elf.
Imoen yelped, grabbing Evelyn and throwing them both down to the ground and away. Those gloved hands moved so fast they seemed to blur. Another arrow was already nocked.
The Halfling only got a few hasty steps. Then he grunted, stumbled another, and gazed down at his chest in surprise. That arrow had driven right through the leathers.
His eyes rolled up into his head and he fell forward, collapsing upon the road. The short blade clattered along stone beside.
Imoen pulled away from the raven-haired woman, looking up. Evelyn's chest rose and fell rapidly, staring ahead toward the two on the ground. The pink-haired woman only cast helplessly about the stone road.
Then she leapt to her feet and charged the ranger.
"Why'd you do that?" she screamed at him. "They didn't do anything!"
"Are you injured?" he demanded instead, ignoring her. Evelyn managed to pull herself back to her feet, staring dumbly at the two.
"You … you killed them!" Imoen struck a finger toward him. "You're … you're a murderer!"
"Shut up, girl," he told her irritably, turning away. "They will not be following us any time soon."
The pink-haired woman snatched at Evelyn, putting some space between them and the Elf.
"We're not going anywhere with you!" she snapped at him. "You're a murderer!"
"Do you not listen, girl?" he twisted angrily back around. "You have not known the perils of the road as I have." He thrust a gloved finger toward the two on the ground. "They only offered aid because they knew we did not trust them. They would have killed you in your sleep!"
Imoen kept glaring at him, fists balled at her sides. He hardly seemed daunted, stony face scowling darkly back. Eventually, her resolve started to wither under that glare. She glanced toward the Halfing and the other man on the road a little doubtfully. The man in green was pulling himself with one arm toward the fallen form of his companion, heedless of the others.
"They would have killed you merely to take your gold, girl," he repeated, a little less harshly this time. "And more than that if we had let them."
He twisted back away.
"You have a lot to learn if you hope to survive."
Imoen narrowed her eyes at the weather-browned Elf, folding her arms a little self-consciously across her chest. Her eyes darted between him, the two on the ground, and Evelyn for a few moments more.
She scowled back at him.
"Now, come," the ranger grunted impatiently. "We still have a ways to go."
The pink-haired woman hesitated, but picked her way past the other two after him. She pulled Evelyn along behind, leaving the man in green scrounging on the stone as he clutched at the still form of his companion.
"Montaron!" he cried out suddenly, and Evelyn's eyes snapped back.
"I … I never loved you."
He loosened his grip upon the Halfling's leather jerkin, letting him fall back down upon that stone.
Evelyn shivered as the man's eyes caught her, briefly. They held only a shred of sanity.
She just quickened her step, catching up with the Elf. Imoen was not far behind.
A large stone rose abruptly from the ground just north of the road, glyphs scribed into its length. Imoen stepped toward the slab, tracing a finger along as she read aloud, "Lion's Way."
She turned to the ranger.
"You weren't fibbing about that at least."
He muttered something to himself, brown eyes flashing at her.
"Come along, girl," he grunted aloud. "The Inn isn't far."
He looked a little thankful for that.
He glanced at Evelyn for a moment before moving away to continue along the road. Then he abruptly came up short.
An old man was sitting there in front of them, resting upon a rock beside the road. He was garbed all in robes of crimson, a bent, pointed hat crowning his white-crested head. Deep and thoughtful eyes regarded the three, a wooden pipe dangling from between weathered lips. They seemed wholly unperturbed at the arrow leveled at them then.
"Ho there, wanderers!" the man groaned a little, stretching his creaking, ancient back up from that rock. His voice was a little breathless, but weary as he sighed aloud. Relieved.
"Wouldst thou stay thy course a moment to indulge an old man?"
The Elf had an arrow half drawn and ready before the old man could even finish standing. For one, terrible moment, Evelyn was sure he was going to let loose on that helpless old man like he had the other two. The breath caught in her throat.
But, he just held steady there.
"It's been nigh unto a tenday since I've seen a soul walking this road," the other continued on in that age-wearied voice even so, heedless of the Elf and his taut bow. "And I've been without decent conversation since."
He pulled the pipe free from his mouth, now waving it about between the fingers of one hand as he spoke.
"Traveling nowadays appears to be the domain of either the desperate or the deranged," he mused, and puffed a few rings of smoke from that pipe.
He removed it again a moment later.
"If thou woulds't pardon my intrusion, might I inquire which pertains to thee?"
Evelyn stared at the old man for a moment, frowning numbly against his eyes and the pain in her head both. That gaze seemed to bore deep inside as it fell on her, seeing things that she did not wish him to see. Things that she did not even know herself.
She stiffened.
And a hand rubbed idly at her neck.
I have to learn not to trust, she told herself.
But that voice in her head sounded like someone else's entirely. She did not feel like she could be that person. She just felt broken inside.
"Pestering strangers about their mental state doesn't seem so well adjusted either," the ranger uttered a little crossly. He still had that arrow trained and ready.
The other's face only crinkled in amusement.
"Point well taken," the old man nodded his grizzled head, squinting at the Elf. "Master Kivan."
He jabbed the long end of his pipe at Evelyn of a sudden, though.
"And what about you, young lady?"
He ignored the Elf's startled look as he fixed on the raven-haired woman instead, waiting for her to speak. For her part, Evelyn could not keep the surprise from her own face.
How did he know my name?
She looked suddenly at the ranger.
How did he know his name?
She regarded the old man a little more warily then. But he did not seem as if he wanted her head. Something about him seemed so soothing instead. His slow, unthreatening movements. Bushy eyebrows drooping over gentle eyes. Kind voice. It pushed away her fears and doubts and dulled the pain until she found herself almost wanting to tell him anything. She felt as if she should have remembered him. Like he had always been there. But she would have remembered, she was sure.
"I … I need to find two friends of my father's," she said, finding some strength not to choke on it. "He said they would be at the Friendly Arm Inn."
The Elf – Kivan – looked to her curiously. Then Imoen. His eyes narrowed just a bit.
After a moment, the old man nodded.
"Thou hast answered my query most adequately." He pulled at the pipe, musing a little absent-mindedly to himself. "Mayhaps I shall think of thee as determined instead."
She blinked at that, but he pointed further down the cobbled road.
"The Inn is but a short distance to the north, and its doors are open to all. I have no doubts that they friends shall be there, waiting with open arms."
He moved forward and took her by the shoulders, patting a hand comfortingly. She thought it was a miracle the Elf hadn't fired at him right then and there. But he didn't.
"My sympathies for any hardships the road may have inflicted upon thee," the old man smiled ruefully down at her. "Though, I am certain everything shall turn out for the best."
Looking up into his ancient eyes, she almost believed him. Almost.
But then he was turning away.
He moved a short distance before looking up to the sun, now dwindling down in the sky, and then back to them.
"My, but I have wasted too much of thy time and said too much already. I shall take my leave and wish thee all the best."
Nodding to the ranger and then Imoen with a crinkled, old smile, he strode past them all without a further word and headed down the path back the way they had come. Kivan stared after him, while Imoen came to stand beside her best friend. The Elf finally let down his bow.
The pink-haired woman looked after the old man too. When the ranger turned back around, she was glaring at him.
"You didn't shoot him."
The man's eyes just flashed darkly right back.
"You are trying my patience girl," he growled at her. "If it were not for your clearly distraught companion and your own dangerous ignorance, I would have sent you on your way with no more than directions to the Inn!"
He pushed past them and started again down that road, hefting the bow in hand.
"I will see you safely to the Inn," he muttered without looking back. "Do what you will from there."
Imoen shook her head, narrowing her eyes at his back. But both women followed along, trailing the path north toward the Inn. Evelyn felt some hope worm its way back into her heart as they did so, blunting the edge of those painful memories, even if just a little. Gorion had said there would be friends at the Friendly Arm Inn – friends that he trusted. It gave her some hope, so little, but enough, at least, to make the world about seem just a little less threatening and hopeless for a time.
Please …
Let him be far away.