Long Way Home
Chapter 8 – Haer'Dalis
The journey back to Nanny Bea's was uneventful. Nanny was horrified to hear they'd been attacked and after insisting that Jen sit while she made tea, she'd examined her arm, cleaning and re-bandaging the wound all the while berating Haer'Dalis for his carelessness in taking Jen through such a squalid and dangerous part of town. He'd tolerated it for Jen's sake, mainly because he'd wanted to talk with her; to process the events of the day. And if he read the signs correctly, Jen too would have liked a chance to talk. However, Nanny was having none of it so he had reluctantly taken his leave.
As he walked through the crowded streets heading away from Nanny Bea's and back towards the Bridge District and the Five Flagons Inn, he decided it was probably for the best. He really needed to rest – and to think.
He thought back to the previous evening when he'd visited Jen, something he had done often since returning to the city. He'd gone on the pretext of bearing news about Cambrel. But I probably would have found a reason to go see her anyway, he admitted to himself. When he'd first noticed how often he found himself at Nanny's door, he'd told himself it was a matter of professional interest for he was, after all, an experienced planetraveler. Then he'd tried to convince himself that Jen was simply a distraction; that helping her find a way to return to her own world was a way to kill time. He was between lovers at the moment which left him more free time than he normally liked. But whatever the reason he'd found himself visiting her quite regularly.
Last night however, he'd found himself holding her hands. Certainly nothing to make much ado over. Always a flirt, he'd initially tried to convince himself his actions were precisely that – just a little mild flirting. However he hadn't been able to stop thinking about her once he'd left and that disturbed him. He realized what drew him to her, at least in part, was the fact that she seemed to truly like him. Although he was well able to entertain, he was more used to people being uncomfortable in his presence and regarding him with suspicion. Jen however didn't seem to be unnerved by him at all. She seems – he struggled for a moment to find the right words – at ease - around me and she seems to actually see me. It was a refreshing change and far more appealing that he liked to admit.
He felt a pleasant fluttering in his chest and wondered if he was falling in love again. He was familiar with the sensation but hadn't wanted to contemplate the possibility. Not yet anyway. His last two affairs had turned out rather badly and he felt some reluctance to jump into the fire again so soon. But seeing Jen last night had led him to consider the distinct possibility that it might be happening. He rubbed his forehead recalling how distraction had seemed the best strategy, leading him to spend the rest of the previous evening in the taproom of the Belching Bullfrog, engaging in the time-honored tradition of drinking to avoid thinking. He'd arrived back at the Five Flagons in the wee hours of the morning with barely enough time for a brief nap before going to collect her and take to visit Cambrel. I'm paying for it now, he thought ruefully, realizing he was in fact quite tired.
Haer'Dalis glanced about him as he walked. Although he wasn't particularly interested in what he saw, he knew it didn't pay to be inattentive to one's surroundings. The morning's experience was a sharp reminder of that particular lesson. The area bustled with activity – merchants and other workmen plying their trades, nobles gossiping, children playing as well as a couple of City Guards on patrol. The midday sun was directly over head, shining into his eyes and making his head ache so he picked up the pace, wanting nothing more than to reach the cool darkness of his room at the inn.
"There you are! Haer'Dalis! Hey Haery!" someone shouted. Looking up, he saw Nalia coming towards him. "Greetings, fair one. And from whence did you come?" he asked.
"From the Five Flagons of course. Where else would I have come from? Actually, Tristan sent me to look for you. Where have you been?" she asked.
"I took Jen to visit someone," he replied irritably. He felt mildly annoyed by the question, partly due to his headache and partly because he knew conversations with Nalia were rarely brief. She was prone to interrogation, particularly where Jen was concerned. In the interests of self-preservation he tried to divert her, saying in his normal mellifluous tone, "So tell me, my pretty Lark, what does Tristan want?"
Nalia fell into step beside him. "I think she wants you to go somewhere with her." She looked at him with suddenly narrowed eyes, "Say, what happened to you? You look like you've been in a fight! Is Jen ok!"
He looked down at his armor, sighing as he realized he'd failed to distract her. His leather vest was blood-splattered and his exposed shirt sleeves and pants were rather tattered as a result of the fracas, but no matter – he'd get new ones; something he enjoyed. As a member of Sigil's Doomguard*, he fully believed in both the desirability and inevitability of entropic decay, so with the exception of his swords, he frequently replaced his clothes and other belongings, delighting in the erosion of new possessions as a means of philosophical expression.
"Well and there's truth!" he replied. "We had some small difficulty with four or five of the local brigands. They're dead, we're not. Jen suffered a cut on the arm but she's fine. I left her in your Nanny's tender care."
Nalia looked at him suspiciously. "Where were you and what were you doing anyway?" Before he could reply, she added, "You know there are sections of town that are too dangerous to take someone like Jen! What were you thinking!"
He managed not to roll his eyes, but couldn't quite keep the slightly sardonic note from his voice as he replied, "It seems moot at this point. Jen's safe as am I, in case you hadn't noticed."
"Well, I'm glad to hear Jen's ok. I've had enough people die on me lately!" Tears filled her eyes and he realized she was thinking of her father.
His tone softened slightly as he replied, "Nalia, all things die or are otherwise destroyed. 'Tis a cycle that we are part of and must accept." He patted her arm, intending comfort but she jerked away, glaring at him.
"I know everything ends eventually. But that doesn't mean I have to accept that everything happens as and when it should!"
"I merely point out the inevitability." He shrugged, walking the rest of the short distance with her in silence hoping their conversation was at an end.
However his hopes of escape were dashed for before he could enter the inn, Nalia grabbed his arm, pulling him around to look at her. "Haer'Dalis, I know we've had our differences. I guess I just wonder about you sometimes. I would think someone such as yourself - an actor experienced at least in portraying intense emotions, would be more able to understand my feelings right now. Instead you give me philosophy. So tell me, if this is how you feel about death, is it also how you feel about love?"
"Yes," he replied shortly. Just what I need. An interrogation on the very subject I've been trying to avoid.
"Ah," she continued, her voice taking on a syrupy sweetness," then this is how you must explain falling in and out of love so easily. I must warn Jen to take care." His face darkened as she added, "Oh, don't deny you're interested. You've visited as often if not more than I have and while I know you're pretending to be altruistic in regards to finding her world, I've seen how you look at her. If only she knew all the tales I've heard! But please, don't worry, I haven't told her anything - yet."
"I should hope not. The tales are not yours to tell. And speaking of Jen, she hopes you'll visit her today." With that he pulled his arm out of her grasp and stalked into the inn.
Tristan looked up with a jerk as Nalia marched into the room they were sharing and slammed the door. "What's the matter? Did you find Haer'Dalis?" she asked, her tone remaining carefully neutral as if she hadn't been startled by Nalia's sudden entrance.
"Yes," replied Nalia stormily, "and I wish I hadn't! You know, he makes me so mad sometimes!"
"I do know," Tristan replied. "Did you try to engage him in another philosophical discussion? It seems to me that it's just setting yourself up for frustration and disappointment. It's a losing battle you know. It's nigh on impossible to convert a zealot. And for all Haer'Dalis's prattle and pretense, he is a zealot."
"Well, I didn't intend it to be a philosophical discussion." Nalia sighed in exasperation, "He told me that he and Jen went somewhere this morning and were attacked on the way. When I said that I was glad no one had died, he told me all things come to an end so I should just accept it. Anyway, he's here and he's all yours now. Take him out and lose him somewhere would you?"
Tristan looked at Nalia calmly. While she felt a certain amount of compassion for the young woman, she was well aware of her propensity to personalize and blow things out of proportion. For all that Nalia believed in the importance of helping others, she was often rather self focused. "He's useful to us Nalia. I need his help if I'm to find Imoen. If you don't want to have a philosophical conversation with him, don't start one and if you do start one, accept that you're each bound to think differently about things."
She left the room, leaving Nalia to fume by herself, making her way downstairs.
Haer'Dalis looked up from where he was sitting at a table, a large mug in front of him as Tristan entered the taproom.
"Haery! There you are."
He sighed, "Yes, here I am. You do appear to have found me."
"Well," she continued, "I'm glad of it. I've come up with a lead that may help in our search for Imoen. Remember that ranger we met in the Umar Hills? Valygar Corthala?
"Yes," he replied. He lifted the mug, taking a long pull from it before looking back at her. He didn't want the conversation to be lengthy for his head still hurt and he longed to go to bed.
"I've learned that the Wizards are looking for him. It seems that he has a connection with that huge Sphere that's appeared in the slums and it occurs to me that if we were to get in before the Wizards do, we might find something we can use as leverage to get them to tell me where they've taken Imoen. Anomen and I went out and looked at the Sphere today but there's no way in. Rumor has it that Corthala is back in Athkatla, so I thought we should go talk with him; see if I can persuade him to help me."
"So, what role would you have this actor play?" Haer'Dalis's head gave a sudden throb and he began to massage his forehead carefully.
Tristan glanced at him sharply, suddenly observant. "Nalia said you'd been in a fight, but from her manner I didn't think it had been much of one. But, your clothes are torn and you've taken a few cuts. Are you well, Haer'Dalis?"
"Yes," he said wearily, "And there's nothing wrong that a stiff drink – a bit of the hair of the dog as they say -and a brief sojourn with my Lady Sleep won't cure."
"Alright, then I'll be brief. I want to go to the Docks and locate Valygar. I had thought of going immediately, but I think it's best not to be seen, so we'll go at night. But I don't want to go alone – there have been too many unexplained "disappearances" in Athkatla lately. I'd also rather not take the whole party either –too obvious and too noisy. I think it best if only a couple of us go – those used to moving quietly. Will you come with me?"
"Certainly, but perhaps Nalia would serve you better?"
"No, for she doesn't have your talents for sword play or ingenuity should we need to talk our way out of something. I'd prefer that you come –if you're willing."
"As you wish, my Raven. Now, if you will excuse me, this Sparrow must have some much deserved rest or he'll not be of much use to you later."
"Fine," she replied. "I'll meet you here in the taproom after dark."
"As you wish," he said again, rising to his feet and heading for the stairs.
Haer'Dalis trudged wearily into his room, falling fully clothed onto the bed. After a moment he sat up, carefully removing the scroll which had been hidden in his sleeve placing it on the bed next to him before pulling off his boots and tossing them to the floor. His leather armor and clothes soon followed. Although exhausted, he took a moment to open a large trunk nearby, quickly locating the latch to its false bottom and put the scroll carefully inside. Going back to the bed, he threw back the bedclothes, crawling between the sheets with an expectation of falling fall asleep immediately. However, as often happens to those desperately in need of rest, he found his mind to be unexpectedly active.
He moved restlessly under the sheets, finding that once again, his thoughts had turned to Jen. He wondered, as he had the previous night, how she felt about him and recalled a child's game used to determine the feelings of a loved one. It had something to do with plucking petals off a flower – she loves me, she loves me not.
Nalia's taunt floated through his mind. Do I fall in and out of love too easily? He examined the possibility for some time before rejecting it. He believed he loved wholeheartedly and well, hoping each time his feelings would last. But, he thought, love is truly no different than any other emotion and thus is fated to end in its own time.
He sighed and rolled onto his stomach, pillowing his face in his arms. Jen. He was certainly having difficulty not thinking about her. Especially given the day's events. And when he'd first seen her that morning, he'd had the distinct sensation of being hit by a lightening spell although he had to admit that in this case it had unquestionably been a pleasant experience, whereas being hit by the actual spell was not. The memory of her in his arms after the bandit battle warmed him and he wondered if he really could win her over. He didn't know but thought it would be well worth trying. At the very least, it would keep him amused. With the thought came the realization that he'd come to a decision. He also noticed that the pain in his head seemed to be receding. All's well that ends well*, he thought and fell soundly asleep.
*Endnotes:
1 Doomguard: One of the philosophically-based power groups or factions as they are called, in Sigilian society.
2 Alls Well That Ends Well, William Shakespeare.
