The rain had come. The first heavy drops fell even as Kayla doused the fire, and it rapidly increased to a deluge. They scattered, running for the shelter of the lean-tos.
Kayla shared hers with Neeshka, but the tiefling was already spreading out her bedroll.
"Nighty night," she mumbled sleepily, and wrapped herself in her blankets.
Casavir had his lean-to to himself, she noticed. But that made sense. He'd brought his own tarp with him, and Khelgar and Grobnar were already sharing. She watched him pull cloth items out of his pack, then dart out into the rain to spread them out on the flattest rocks he could find. Where one formed a hollow, he bunched up whatever it was, and filled the hollow with it. That accomplished, he ducked back under his shelter and unbuckled his belt. He took something else out of his pack and sat cross-legged on his bedroll, with the end of his belt under one knee and the other end in his hand. He stroked something small and metallic along the length of the belt, dragging it across the leather in a steady rhythm.
Kayla's curiosity had the better of her. She ducked out from under her own lean-to and stood in front of Casavir, waiting for permission to sit on his blanket. He gestured curtly beside him and continued run the metal thing against his belt.
Once seated, she could see that he was stopping a razor.
For a while, the only sounds were the rain and the steady thrum of the razor against the belt.
"What did you put on the rocks?" Kayla asked.
"My spare clothing," he answered.
Thrum... thrum... thrum... thrum...
"It will get wet," she observed, in what she felt was a flash of genius... or perhaps not.
"Yes," he replied. "It is raining."
Thrum... thrum... thrum... thrum...
"Then why did you put it out? It won't get clean out there."
"It is already clean. I'll be able to wring enough water from it to shave."
Thrum... thrum... thrum... thrum...
"We've got the kettles out," Kayla observed.
"That water is for drinking," he replied.
Thrum... thrum... thrum... thrum...
"Do you do that often?" she asked, stupidly.
"Drink?" he asked incredulously.
"No... shave." What had possessed her to ask something so inane?
"Whenever it rains."
Thrum... thrum... thrum... thrum...
"Are you from here?" she asked. Gods, the questions were just getting better and better.
"No," he answered. "I was born in Neverwinter."
Thrum... thrum... thrum... thrum...
"How long have you been a paladin?" she could not believe she had asked that question. Paladins, like sorcerers, were born that way.
"All my life," he answered patiently. He paused a moment, then, as if anticipating her next question, went on.
"I took my vows twelve years ago," he said.
Thrum... thrum... thrum... thrum...
"Have you ever been to the Docks?" she asked.
Ilmater's mercy, she thought, I'm making a fool of myself. And I can't seem to help myself.
"Yes," he answered.
"I ask because my uncle owns the Sunken Flagon..." she tried to explain.
And if he knows it, then what? She wondered at her own inanity. Does that make us third cousins, twice removed or something? Save me, someone...
"Decent ale," he observed, "but your uncle should hire a new cook."
"Sal's cooking is vile," she agreed.
Thrum... thrum... thrum... thrum...
"Have you ever been to Waterdeep?" she heard herself ask to her utter disbelief.
"No," he said.
Thrum... thrum... thrum... thrum...
"You fight with a hammer," Kayla said, powerless to stop herself. "I thought paladins used swords."
"I like hammers," he replied. "And they are sacred to Tyr."
Thrum... thrum... thrum... thrum...
"Do you -"
"My lady is inquisitive this evening," he observed, interrupting her.
She made no reply but a nervous cough. He put his razor away and fastened his belt around his waist again.
"Perhaps you might indulge a question of mine," he went on. "You are a cleric of the Morning Lord. I have seen his symbol on your shield. I sense no evil about you. Yet you travel with a tiefling, when all the world knows they are not trustworthy. Why?"
"You narrow-minded..." she began, then stopped herself. She was in his tent, sitting on his bedroll. He was her host.
"Neeshka is a good friend," she said. "She would never betray me."
"She is also a thief," he replied. "Do not deny it. I saw her lockpicks when she was going through her pack."
"Yes," despite her resolve to be polite, her anger was rising. "And she is also damn good at disarming traps. Will you object to that, when we get to Logram's lair?"
"No," he said patiently. "Forgive me, my lady. I meant no offense to your friend. Though I did wonder how you can be so assured that the evil of her heritage is so completely suppressed."
"You tell me," she retorted. "Does she feel evil to you?"
"No, my lady," he admitted. "She does not. That is why I wondered if my own perceptions might be in error."
Does he mean that he is questioning whether he heard wrong about tieflings, or is he doubting that he can still spot evil at ten paces?
"She might be a little selfish at times," Kayla admitted. "But she isn't evil. And I'd better not hear you giving her grief on that score, paladin..."
Or what? Will I abandon Issani and my mission because he said something unfair about my friend? But that gives me an idea. And why not? All the other ones have been positively stellar, so far.
"You're Tyr's man, right?" she asked. "Your accusations about Neeshka are unjust, but I can't prove it to you by telling you. Watch her, and judge for yourself."
"I shall," he said. "Forgive me, my lady. It is getting late, and the night grows chill. I should not keep you from returning to your bedroll."
With nothing else to do, she went back to her tent and rolled herself in her blanket.
Well, that went well, she reflected ironically. I've bored him with a hundred idiotic questions and called him a liar. What will I do tomorrow, pee on his holy symbol?
She avoided Casavir the next morning. She knew she would not be able to keep it up long, since they would be traveling together, but she had hoped to forestall actually talking to him until she was surrounded by her companions, and less likely to repeat her performance of the night before.
Her optimism proved groundless. No sooner had she finished saying her devotions than the man himself walked up to her.
She stared. He was... beautiful. There was no other word to describe him. With the lower half of his face no longer covered in a ragged, dusty beard, he now appeared angelic. He had a strong jaw and high cheekbones, certainly, but describing individual features failed to convey the perfection of his visage. He had not yet donned his armor, so she was free to admire his slender, muscular body in nothing but his shirt and leggings.
Conscious that she was staring, she turned away.
He's a holy warrior, she reminded herself. He is pure and... well, holy. Do not look at him like that!
"My lady," he said, inclining his head to her. "I came to apologize for my behavior last night. I had no right to criticize your friend, nor to make you uncomfortable in doing so. Forgive me..."
His voice trailed off. He stepped around in front of her again, looking at her intently.
"My lady," he asked, "are you all right?"
"Yes, Casavir," she said hesitantly. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."
He smiled a little then, an ironic, slightly bitter smile.
"You have never met one of my calling, have you?" he asked gently.
"No," she admitted. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare."
"Do not trouble yourself," he brushed it off.
"Does that happen often?" she asked, praying that this would not launch another barrage of ridiculous questions from her.
"Often enough," he said softly. "Your breakfast is ready, my lady. We have a long day ahead of us."
The girl is a nuissance, Casavir decided. The way she stared, and her questions last night... No. She was making conversation. She was doing it badly, but she was trying, and that was more than I was able to do. She is an unspoiled child, facing a task that may well kill her, and she still can muster the courage to attempt polite conversation with Katalmach. I might have made it easier for her. But no, all I could think of to talk about was that damned tiefling. I have been alone too long, if I cannot even indulge in small talk with my companions.
And I have been alone too long. I have no friends. Even Callum is lost to me.
It was good, leading my own private crusade, but it is time to put that aside. This is no band of displaced veterans, fighting to win a new home. These people have no stake in the fortunes of Old Owl Well, but they would help, anyway, though they do not even know why. No. Kayla would help. She is compassionate, caring for even the demonspawn, out of friendship.
She is a righteous creature, I am certain. Her heart is untouched by any evil that I can sense.
And you did look, didn't you, you suspicious bastard, he chided himself. You even wasted a spell on it. As if you needed such. You saw her holy symbol, and you saw her use her powers. Lathander is an impulsive god, but he is a force of goodness. He teaches compassion and acceptance. His servants are honorable. You have served worse masters than Kayla of Lathander. Yet you cast your little spell when she wasn't looking, because you wouldn't believe the testimony of your own eyes. Idiot.
But why will I serve her, when I do not know her loyalties? Khelgar didn't seem to think it important, Casavir recalled. He'd broached the subject to the dwarf the night before, while they were setting up camp.
"Your leader, Khelgar," he'd said, with uncharacteristic bluntness. "What are her convictions?"
"Don't rightly know, lad," Khelgar had scowled. It had amused Casavir to be called lad by the dwarf. By relative standards, the dwarf was younger than he. "And don't much care. Her heart's in the right place, and she's never given my conscience a moment's pain. Well, apart from that time she insisted on making peace with the lizardmen instead of fighting them... and that time she went along with Elanee's mad idea about charming the wolves. But she was just doing what she thought was right, and it all worked out in the end, even if we didn't get to bash any heads. Mostly, I just go along with whatever she says. We all do, except for Qara. That girl needs a swift kick."
If Khelgar followed her blindly, his conscience was easy about it.
He is her Katriona, Casavir thought. No, he is better than Katriona. He serves her because he believes in her, not because he has illusions about her. The Ironfists were an honorable clan, it was said. If the dwarf could trust her, then perhaps so, too could he... once he had satisfied his own curiosity about her... and that would require that he talk to her.
That thought caused him a moment's panic. He had never been easy around women, at least not until he had ceased to think of them as such. Once they had taken on genderless roles, like "sergeant" or "scout"... or "trouble"... he could speak to them in perfect comfort. Could he cease to think of Kayla as female? Perhaps. He had certainly had no difficulty imagining that she was a male elf, before he had met her.
This morning, it was more difficult. She had certainly realized he was male, he could see that. But he was used to it. Indeed, he had endured far worse. Yet... when he had gone to apologize to her, she had been so vulnerable, so enticing. And there was certainly nothing genderless about the way she moved.
He allowed himself a sigh. He would not betray himself so easily. He had seen women before, and ones far more dangerous to his composure than Kayla of Lathander. He could ignore much.
