Ny'ren Vollen and Webb Mossfield walked in the door, the latter in front. Ny's eyes swept across the wide, open space with suspicion, but Webb just marched up to the innkeeper behind the bar. There weren't many people in the inn, and that suited Ny just fine. She wandered over to the fire, letting her hand drift across an empty chair as she passed.
She and Webb couldn't have done much more to make it look like they were apart, but since they came in together the innkeeper obviously felt he was being clever when he said, a little too interested for a third party observer, "Room for two?"
Ny saw Webb wince. "We ain't together," he said. "Room for one." The man named his price. He slapped his coins on the counter, and Ny joined him, adding her own coin to the pile. "And another room for one," he added grudgingly.
The innkeeper released two rusted keys from their ring and handed them both to the pair. "Across from each other, end of the hall on your right upstairs," he said.
Webb took his key, hefted his pack, and headed up without even a thank-you. "So that's how it's going to be," Ny muttered, taking hers with a bit less force.
"Is he going to be a problem, here, lass?"
The man was short, balding, with a sheen of sweat caused by the unnatural humidity in the air—and the way he was looking at her gave her little doubt to his intentions. "He's having a rough day," she said by way of explanation. "We both are."
Oh how true it was.
She followed him.
--
Once Webb got to the second floor, he felt slightly claustrophobic. It was barely large enough to accommodate his muscles. He had to strafe sideways, carrying his backpack in his hand to give one of the other guests, a black haired woman, a chance to walk out.
But besides the tight space, the Goddess of Luck must have had a very sick sense of humor this evening. Ny'ren passed him quick enough, slipping by him even with her rather large pack, and disappeared into her room. She shut the door softly behind her. He heard the lock click.
Webb just tossed himself on the bed and closed his eyes. He'd had enough of thinking about elves or their motives for one day. He just listened to the noises outside, the hustle and bustle of guests leaving for the day or coming in. Who would want to stay in a swamp side inn anyway? Only people going in and out of the swamp villages. It was, he reflected, probably the only business that short innkeeper downstairs had, at least during Harvest Fair week.
Somewhere, he drifted, asleep. The faces of his family—dead and alive—starred in his dreams. He dreamt mostly of Wyl and his dad, of memories both good and bad, then the attack. He dreamt of the pain in his chest, the slice that had nearly been his downfall on that bridge…
And then another memory, a memory within a memory, that called to him in the blackest darkness. Heat on his chest, fire, and more fire. Cool hands on his chest, stuffing something into the wound that smelled faintly of grass… He opened his eyes just slightly in the dream and saw the watered-over clear ones looking back at him.
He jerked awake. He stared at the wall for a few minutes, heart hammering, and just lay there trying to calm his racing blood.
--
In Ny's room, she sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the wall. After a while, she leaned back on to the bed, content that her door was locked and nobody could get in without her hearing. Thoughts of Webb, his motives for joining her, and her feelings about it continued to pester her. She couldn't make them go away, so she embraced them. She had to answer these questions. She knew if she didn't, something bad would happen.
Webb was heartless, selfish, and biased towards her kind. Elves were a sore subject for the Mossfield family, and he's sunk his lip deep into that hook ever since he was a kid.
She could remember a time of innocence, a time of wondering why the three brothers never talked to her or even acknowledged her. They were big boys, then, even at six, and her mother Esmerelle had refused to teach her how to fight. She hadn't become friends with Bevil yet, who was equally as big, and she'd thought it would be the best way to learn… to ask the Mossfields.
Webb had been on her team during her first and last mock fight. He'd helped Wyl and Ward beat her up, until she was a bruised and bleeding wreck next to their home. Cormick had found her there, and Retta Starling had brought her back to health by the time Esmerelle had finished her long trip back to Neverwinter. Esmerelle had been furious. The three boys had been scolded and apologized, however gruffly, but she'd been a changed girl after that.
They taught her not to trust anybody, and most of all: never trust a Mossfield.
Their treatment of her hadn't gotten any better. They'd gone for verbal threats, then they started to trip her and boo her when nobody was looking. And when she turned ten and Esmerelle died on top of her during the attack by the King of Shadows—she skipped quickly over that memory—they'd gone on to even more threats. She became fast friends with Bevil and Amie after that, the latter who gently coaxed her out of her grief, and everything had looked up after that.
Then she reached fourteen, and she was suddenly allowed to compete in the Harvest Brawl.
They beat her up.
That was around the time she started hunting with Daeghun, when she'd learned how to summon Aren. She'd learned how to shoot, and she'd learned how to fight. Daeghun wanted her to be prepared. Did he know what was coming nine years post-King of Shadows?
Maybe he did. It didn't make her happy, and only reinforced what Webb had said earlier. She didn't think he was trying to 'pin it' on Duncan (it gave her a secret thrill to say the name, even to herself) but that he had said nothing but the truth, however shaded, when they talked last. Though, of course, Webb didn't have the certainty that years of living with him had given her, and he wasn't one for mental manipulation. He honestly believed in what he was saying, too, though she knew him enough to realize the lie behind his reasons in coming.
Which brought her back to her original question. Why was he here?
The answer came to mind too quickly: he thought that Daeghun, Duncan, and herself were getting into some sort of mystic business. If it didn't work in saving West Harbor, Inu, Ward, and his mother were all screwed. He had personal reasons for wanting to see the shard safe to Neverwinter, but she couldn't trust those reasons.
What if he gave the shard to the githyanki?
It was a scary, pessimistic thought, but she had to think of it. She was literally stuck with him, because she knew his reasons. She'd be stuck looking over her shoulders until this was finished, one way or another. And that meant that the shard could never leave her sight.
Her arm tightened over the pack she'd set next to her, and she reached over to check for the shard and dangled it in the air. The piece of otherwise insignificant silver mystified her, but she could feel the hum of energy seeping through her hands. Without a doubt, now she knew: it had healing properties. Already she could feel her tiredness waning, her bruises beginning to face. The sharp aches and pains in her muscles suddenly retreated.
Mystified, she turned it around in her head, almost giddy with the feeling that was overtaking her.
She couldn't leave it in the pack. Too many pickpockets, especially in Neverwinter. And with another man she doubted she could trust just across the hall, she put it in the one place he or anybody wishing to keep a section of their arm and testicles would never reach until she was dead: underneath her breasts, held there only by the tight underclothes she wore.
The metal was uncomfortable, but it would work for now. She kept one hand on her machete just in case, though, as she drifted off to sleep. There were just certain needs a magic piece of silver just couldn't alleviate.
--
Ny finished her nap and decided to go back downstairs for a beer. She descended the stairs to find the tavern much more alive than when she arrived.
She estimated that it was some time into the evening by now. In the corner a piano player took requests in exchange for tips. The bar was packed with travelers ordering ale and telling stories.
She looked around, no Webb in sight. Perfect.
Ny just sat there on her stool and sipped her beer in peace. Relative peace, anyway, as very drunk men surrounded her and filled her sensitive elf ears with loads of things best left unsaid in polite company.
It was nothing she couldn't deal with though. Pubs were called public houses for a reason anyway.
The evening wore on and the pub got so populous that some of the people had to move upstairs to the second floor balcony which overlooked the bar. Ny noticed that a lot of the people who just arrived were wearing the same outfit.
"Pardon me?" she asked the bartender "What's with all these outfits? Is there something going on that I should know about?" She pointed to some of the men as she spoke.
The bartender didn't answer her right away. He looked quickly around the room at some of the men then looked back at her with a suspiciously grim look and just said "I ain't got nothing to say to you, miss." and turned around to fill up another pint.
Gee. Whatever happened to service with a smile? She thought with another sip.
"Here you are. One more pint, perfect amount of foam." The bartender said to the dwarf sitting next to her, who was in the middle of up-ending his previous pint.
"Ahh! 'Nother sip o' the juices from the fountain a' youth!" he laughed looking over at Ny "Here's to you and your health, lil' missy, whoever you are." He took a hearty gulp and slapped her on the back.
This large slap caused Ny's face to scrunch up. It hurt a little bit, but she got the sense that the dwarf had been holding back, so she just continued minding her own.
"Don't mind the dwarf, ma'am." One of the outfitted men whispered leaning in from out of nowhere "Shield dwarves live up to their names. Large, round and with all the manners and attractiveness of a battered piece of metal."
The man's breath smelled of beer, so Ny just leaned back out and nodded with a quiet "Mm-hmm."
"But I'm human. One hundred and ten percent. Want to find out where the extra ten percent went?"
She felt the man's hands grab her around her hips. Ny's hand instinctively reached around and slapped him on the face, but his only seemed to spur him on.
"Ooh, you must be a wild elf. Cause that's what you're driving me right now, honey buns." He grabbed her again, this time around her bosom from behind so she couldn't move. Ny squirmed and turned to get out of his grasp and managed to get loose enough that she could knock into his nose with the side of her head. She only got one arm loose before being thrown directly to the ground.
Above her, the man was moving towards her but all around her no one was doing anything. The bartender was backed up against the wall, the regular patrons were backing up and the costumed men formed a circle around the action. Ny pulled out her pocket knife to defend herself, but only received a laugh from him in return.
"HEY!" the dwarf jumped from atop his stool and landed between them. "Halt it right there, junior!" he yelled.
"Hey pal, beat it!"
"Why don't you beat it ya' pasty, sauced-up codfish? The lady obviously ain't interested in ya." Khelgar leaned in and shoved the drunk back "So why don't you just sit on down? Or maybe you rather lie down? With the assistance of m'fists!"
From somewhere atop the balcony a voiced called out "Hey, dwarf! You got a problem with my brother, then you've got a problem with me too." A similar looking man looked over the side, though he was clearly much more sober.
Khelgar looked up and laughed "Okay, so I got two twig-necked thugs to deal with 'stead of one. You two and five more like ya ain't any match for Ironfist pride and honor." Khelgar raised his fists when he said 'pride' and 'honor'. Ny couldn't believe he had nicknamed his fists, this bar must have been full of testosterone-addicted fools.
She got to her feet and stowed her pocket knife. The argument between the three men got louder and more violent with each passing second until it came to a crisis and the other brother jumped from the second floor, looking ready to kill. The bartender somehow got brave enough to jump over the bar and tell the men to take it outside.
Khelgar agreed with a nod and started towards the door. The circle of men opened up and let him out. But on their way out, two knives were stuffed into the brothers' pockets by their friends, accompanied by swift pats on the back.
Ny'ren knew what was going to happen. As fast as she could, she ran upstairs to her room to look for her own machetes.
--
Outside the Weeping Willow, Khelgar contemplated his two opponents, scratching his beard thoughtfully. Who do I knock out first? Tall, drunk and lust-craved or brother-of-a-deep-gnome? Decisions, decisions. Oh well.
The dwarf stood there, empty-handed and chuckling at his own joke. At the same time, the two bullies reached around their backs, setting themselves up to charge.
"So then, my brave boys." Khelgar spoke aloud "You going to try and kill me already or try and stare a hole through me instead?" Their eyes narrowed in distaste at his words, and his suspicions were confirmed. He chuckled again.
"What are you talking about?" the sober one asked harshly.
"Oh nothing, just the two knives that are behind your backs waiting to be pulled," Khelgar answered cheerfully. "You couple of cheaters don't think I've come across worse than you before?"
He could see the gears working in their minds, wondering if they should go through with their plan. They gave each other a silent look of communication, and Khelgar knew again, without asking, that they had to fight or lose face with their gang of hoodlums.
What's one dwarf against two men with a knife? Khelgar thought, amused. Bah, human arrogance.
There was a sudden movement near the doorway, but the second he flicked his eyes in that direction the two were on the move, charging haphazardly over the uneven ground. Khelgar shuffled to the left, elbowing Sober in the ribs as he swung, and heard the very satisfying sound of a man get the breath knocked out of him.
Beside him, the elf had joined the fray with two large, wicked-looking machetes. She'd somehow gotten on Drunk's shoulders—a nice distraction—but her plan wasn't too well-thought-out. Drunk began to swing around wildly, getting out of Khelgar's range, and brought his arm up to hack her hands off.
Ny disengaged quickly, hitting him on the head as hard as she could with the hilt of her machete before she dropped to the ground. Blood pounded in her head, flushing her face and filling her body with a rush of adrenaline as Drunk came closer, knife held steady. He charged suddenly and awkwardly, and it was child's play to deflect the knife off of her much-larger machete. She had the perfect opening to strike him with a killing blow, and she hesitated.
I don't want to kill anymore, she thought to herself. Drunk reoriented himself and came back swinging.
Khelgar wasn't being quite as moralistic. He was laughing, dodging around Sober's well-aimed slices. When the frustration reached its' peak, Sober cried out, "Just die already!" He made another wild swing, and Khelgar caught the man's knife-hand, jerking him closer. "Now if I wanted to dance, I'd've picked your brother."
Sober's response was a headbutt for the dwarf's nose. Khelgar released his hand, backing away. He didn't have to, but he wanted to see what the man had up his sleeve next. Certainly not an imaginative bunch.
Drunk never gave Ny a simple knock-out opening, though she could've killed him plenty times over. She continued to deflect and redirect with her weapons, hoping that Drunk would just give up and vomit by now, but so far that plan wasn't working out too well.
To make her suckish life even more miserable by comparison, the front yard of the Weeping Willow was littered with obstacles… planks, barrels, rocks, wood-rotted fences… She didn't think she'd trip over anything, but it stressed her out thinking about it.
Drunk was really putting his all into it, unlike her or—as far as she could tell—Khelgar. She could only hope for a good knock-out opening. In his inebriated state, he was in more danger of falling than she was.
"What's the matter?" she taunted. "Not feeling so one-hundred-ten percent anymore? Some man you are!" He let out a growl of frustration and swung just wide enough, leaving her open to slide under his knife arm, back to his ribs. She continued her spin, jamming the hilt of her machete into the back of his knee. He fell to the ground, hitting his head on the fence post that had been behind her, and lay still. Even so, she took a precaution, kneeling on his back with the tip of her blade touching the back of his neck while she retrieved the knife out of his slack fingers. She jammed it on to her belt and got to her feet, throwing a quick glance at Khelgar.
Apparently Khelgar had a short attention span. Even as she watched, the dwarf seemed to get tired of Sober's advances. He ducked under a frighteningly fast jab and let out a ferocious right hook that sent the man falling away. The knife flew out of his hand. Khelgar picked it up and threw it into the bushes, then stepped on Sober's stomach—causing the man to arch in pain—and stepped in front of Ny.
They smiled at each other, but before they could say anything they heard a sudden groan from the audience that sounded all-too-familiar to her ears. Oh what now, Mossfield?
Sure enough, Webb Mossfield had attempted to come to the rescue, hammer in hand. It looked like his progress had been hampered from the crowd that had gathered at the door. "Now what'd I tell you?" he asked harshly, pointing at the two men. "Turn my back on you for a second and you come this effing close." He pinched his forefinger and thumb together to make a point.
Ny's breathing was quickly returning to normal, the adrenaline fading away. But Khelgar answered for her, still chuckling underneath his breath. "Now, you didn't have to help me out there, lass. Not that I don't appreciate it, mind." He looked over at Sober and Drunk, the latter who was beginning to stir, and said, "Come back in, I owe ye a tankard for your efforts."
--
At a previously-empty table, Khelgar leaned back, looking way too comfortable to only be hanging out for a short while. Webb had opted to stay outside for the time being—the gang members had gone outside to check on their fallen, and Webb had wanted to make sure they would stay out there. "So, elf—" She was getting tired of being called that, "—what's your name?"
She said the first thing that came to her lips. "Amie Fern. Yourself?"
"Khelgar Ironfist. I'm surprised ye haven't heard o' me yet. Been making my way throughout the Sword Coast for about a year now. Drinking pups like that under the table, then when things get boring, start up a fight to pass the time. Once he's done regurgitating I'm thinking o' rubbing it in his face a bit unless he and his buddies decide whether or not to continue up the road."
"I'd almost welcome a fight," she muttered. "My partner and I've walked more than a few leagues on our way here."
"Are you from Highcliff?" Ny noticed that when he talked, he seemed to vary from a civilized language to dwarvish. He'd slipped out of his 'ye's and was getting back into his 'you's. A man of both worlds, it seemed.
She shook her head. "One of the swamp villages. We're heading to Neverwinter to check up on my uncle." Even now, it gave her a thrill to say it and for it to be true. She had an uncle, and the fact Daeghun didn't like him was a better bonus. Maybe he wasn't as bad as her own foster-father was. She felt her mind stray to the thought of an uncle every few minutes. She wondered what he looked like, what he acted like… Daeghun had called him a 'half-brother' with unmistaken dislike in his voice.
"Me, too. Maybe we'll meet on the road."
She honestly didn't know if she wanted to be walking beside the dwarf or not—he seemed hyperactive, a drunkard, and eager to get in a fight. But she smiled anyway and said, "It'd be nice to have somebody civil to travel with."
"Civil?" Khelgar repeated.
Ny jerked her head towards the door leading outside. "I never said Webb and I were friends. He doesn't like elves."
"Bah, and I don't like humans," he said. "Stink too much and pass gas too loud. I wasn't joking about that drinking game, Amie—elves have a stronger constitution than half the soldier's in Nasher's army, I'm betting."
"I've never tested that before," she said, chuckling. "But I knew you would win. Rumor around my village is that a dwarf could drink a Nighthawk under the table."
"Aye, but could a dwarf drink a dwarf Nighthawk under the table, I wonder?"
"I'm sure there's plenty in Neverwinter." She barked out a laugh at a thought. "We could just go up to Lord Nasher and ask him if we could borrow one…"
Khelgar, either in good spirits because of the victory or likeable by nature, laughed. "Aye, that's a good one, lass. If we ever see him, I'll be sure to ask if only to see his face." They chuckled into silence, then he said, "So what's your real name?"
Surprised, she said, "Ny'ren. How'd you know?"
"Most people with something to hide don't tell it at first, and to be honest, lass, you look like you're hiding something." He took a sip of his drink, leaving her floundering. Then he set it back on the table and said, "Don't worry, I won't go spreading it around."
She glared at him, then decided it wasn't worth it. She shrunk back into her chair and closed her eyes. "My village was attacked," she muttered. "I'm only afraid that the ones who attacked me will try to find me."
He frowned. "What do they look like?"
"Like…" She tried to find the words to describe the bladelings. "Red elves with little spikes all over them. And dueger."
The mention of the sister species brought goosebumps to Khelgar's arms, and he clutched his fists. "Dueger," he spat. "Good-for-nothing scum is what they are. Will do anything for a coin, the bastards." He took a deep swig of his ale and made a face. "Tastes just like water, it does," he muttered angrily.
"You should've seen them all fall," Ny said wistfully. "I never killed a person before, but I did a lot of it that night. We managed to capture one of them, then I slit its throat for killing my friend Irine."
"Aye," he said sadly. "It's war that is. Makes us do things we wouldn't normally do. Adrenaline." He snorted. "I hope you don't feel bad about it. That the reason you didn't kill the guy out there?"
"I feel… sad, actually. Sad that they were so enslaved in their own selfish desires that they would burn down a village for few coin and a helm or two. And I guess I'm just tired of the killing."
"Why are they chasing you?" Khelgar pressed.
She shook her head. "My secret."
Khelger leaned back with a grunt, then shrugged. "You're a strange elf, lass. Wisp o' a thing, sure, but I haven't heard one word about the swamp and the trees so I guess yer okay."
Don't trust anybody but yourself. Daeghun's 'words of wisdom' whispered inside her head.
"So why do you need to go to Neverwinter?" Ny asked, struggling to change the subject.
"House o' monks there… a monastery, right? Said they'll take anybody in for fightin' training, just for the asking… what?"
"A monk."
"Yeah?"
"A dwarven monk."
"Ain't stranger than half o' the things I've seen in Faerûn, I'll tell you that."
She conceded the point. "What made you decide?"
He winked. "My secret."
She raised her eyebrows, then snorted. "Sorry I'm not much of a talker," she said. "It's been a very long day."
"Aye, I can imagine. Yer eyes are all sunken-like. When was the last time ye slept?"
Touched—and somewhat disturbed—by the dwarf's concern, she replied, "A day ago, nearing two. I think I stayed up most of the night during the attack. Slept three hours, and now me and His Royal Headache are here. He's lucky. He was out of the fight early, ad he's still complaining," she grumbled.
He made a small 'humph' sound in the back of his throat. "That's not a way to treat a fair lass like yerself," he said grumpily.
She shrugged self-consciously. "It's his own fault he got hurt."
"He's walking, ain't he?" the dwarf pointed out.
"Please, I don't like being treated differently because I'm a girl," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "I can actually fight better than he can."
"Heh, you're short—like me, but then again all them tree-lovers are short. But you don't look like a fighter… naw, not enough muscle."
She smiled, displaying her pointed teeth that had once bit into a man's wrist a lifetime ago. "You don't think?"
He laughed out loud, causing the other patrons to give him second looks. "I like ye," he decreed. "Knew there's a reason I decide to come over here."
"You're not so bad yourself," she said. She looked over at the bar maid, who had finished cleaning and had taken back her position behind the bar. "Ma'am? Two of your strongest."
Khelgar let out a whooping laugh. "Now yer talking my language, elf."
She gave him a false glower. "Not for competition purposes. I don't need a hang over tomorrow. And you can call me Ny. All my friends do." And some enemies, she added to herself, thinking of the man outside.
As the bar maid put the two foaming cups of beer on the table, Ny passed her a few gold coins for her troubles and assured her she wasn't stupid enough to challenge Khelgar to a game of constitution. She took a hesitant sip—the bitter, slightly sweet taste of beer flowed past her tongue, and the smell of alcohol hit her like a wall… but after a few sips she realized that Khelgar wasn't joking about it being watered down.
Khelgar set down his half-empty mug with a belch. "So when are you headed out, lass?"
"Tomorrow if I can. I can't exactly go back anymore, can I?"
"Maybe they'll catch up," Khelgar said, an eager glint in his eye that she automatically distrusted. "You said yerself you'd welcome a fight."
"I would…" she said hesitantly. "Maybe I'm just a coward. Maybe I want to face them at Fort Locke, where the Greycloaks will help."
"Or here, with a willing dwarf at your side and a couple o' drunks," Khelgar shot back. "Don't know if ye heard, but the Fort's in enough trouble with damned bandits."
"Is that why the patrols stopped?" she asked curiously. The Fort had stopped it's regular patrols along the High Road about a month before, and the roads were as unsafe as ever before. About two weeks ago when the merchant caravans were coming in Pitney Lannon's farm was invaded by lizardlings, and the only reason it wasn't burned to the ground was because a ranger was in the area. And then the attack on West Harbor…
Khelgar shrugged. "I don't know, lass, but…"
She was aware he was talking, but something prevented her from listening. The hairs stood up on the back of her neck, and her heart pounded with an unspoken fear. She cast her eyes over the establishment: everything was how it had been before, but the subdued argument that had been taking place outside had stopped…
A figure opened the door. It wasn't Webb.
She registered something in his hand, a long, rusty dagger…
"…for all of them, I'd bet. Somebody needs to teach 'em some sense…"
In doubt, Ny tried to speak, but her tongue was furred to the roof of her mouth.
She could just make out the green clothing, and realized it just in time—the drunken misfits had come back for revenge.
