At breakfast, Kayla was relieved to discover that she was not the only one to notice the change in Casavir's appearance.
"What did you go and do that for?" Khelgar harumphed. "You're going to get a nasty cold in your face, I'll warrant."
Casavir had just smiled, and muttered something about such things being impossible. Colds were one inconvenience the paladin would never have to endure, or any other disease, for that matter.
"Ah, you'll just have to start all over again," Khelgar went on, stroking the mass of his own plaited beard. "Not that you'll ever grow a beard as fine as this, mind."
"Not everybody wants a badger hanging off his chin," Neeshka laughed.
Kayla ignored the ensuing argument, just as she did every time Khelgar and Neeshka squabbled. It kept them amused.
She stole another glance at the paladin, sitting forgotten on the rock beside her. She felt her cheeks redden. He was already looking at her.
"Do you allow this?" he asked.
"It keeps them happy," Kayla shrugged.
"I see," he nodded. Kayla was about to protest that she did not encourage contention, but she changed her mind. There had been no disapproval in Casavir's tone. As a leader of men himself, he might just understand the importance of allowing her companions to be easy in her company. Even in so small a force as hers, morale was everything.
"Khelgar is a good sergeant," Casavir said quietly.
"Er..." Kayla replied, once more praying that words would not fail her, "Khelgar isn't exactly my sergeant. Well, maybe he is. He gets everybody sorted with their tasks when it comes time to make camp, and he draws up the watch rotation... did anybody ever relieve you last night?"
"Yes," he said. "Khelgar himself relieved me two candles after you retired, and I understand Grobnar had the watch after his... Do you stand watch, my lady?"
"Yes, of course I do," Kayla replied quickly, though she privately swore to talk to Khelgar about that, and soon. She did stand watch, sometimes, but it was unusual enough to make her think Khelgar was letting her off light.
"Perhaps that is unwise," Casavir said. "You have many responsibilities..."
"None of which prevent me from taking my turn, Casavir..." she suddenly felt uneasy addressing him so informally. "Should I call you that?"
"It is my name," he sounded puzzled.
"But you're a paladin," Kayla blurted. "It doesn't sound very respectful."
He smiled at her then, but it was a genuine smile, unguarded.
"We need not stand on ceremony, among ourselves," he said. "Your companions certainly don't."
She sighed. Casavir's own language was so formal, so polite, that it was difficult for her to accept his assertions. But if he was comfortable with it, there was no reason for her to be more reserved. Maybe sooner or later, he'd ask somebody what her name was, and he could start using it himself.
"If you will excuse me, my lady, I should see about arming myself. We are far too vulnerable for my comfort."
He got up and went back to his gear. As much as she had enjoyed the sight of him dressed in a fighting man's undergarments, this was not the Sunken Flagon. They should all be armored.
Neeshka took advantage of the paladin's absence to seat herself on his rock. Khelgar had apparently gone off to bully Grobnar into packing up.
"He cleans up nice," the tiefling said. "He took years off, with that beard."
Kayla grinned wickedly at her.
"I didn't think he was your type, Neesh," she leered.
If Kayla's smile had been wicked, Neeshka's was diabolical.
"He isn't," she purred, "but he might be yours."
"Get that thought out of your head!" Kayla was shocked. "He's a paladin! They take oaths about that kind of thing."
"Not all of them," Neeshka replied, more quietly. "Chastity vows are pretty rare, these days. Maybe I should ask him?"
"You'll do nothing of the sort!" Kayla sputtered, alarmed at her own reaction. She couldn't think of him that way, she just couldn't... though she had to admit that she was. Her face burned.
"It looks like he might not be too old, after all," Elanee observed. She was standing beside Kayla, looking in the direction of Casavir's lean-to.
"Heh. It looks like Qara will have him, if you won't," Neeshka giggled.
Kayla stared. They were right. Qara was standing very close to Casavir, talking to him with readily apparent interest. They were too far away to hear the dialogue, but it looked like Casavir was explaining the rudiments of armor to Qara, laying out bits of it, pointing, and then picking it up and demonstrating how it was put on.
She watched him don his harness over his tunic. Kayla knew how that worked. She wore plate armor herself. The leather staps ran over the shoulders and met at a belt at the waist, to support the leg armor, the cuisses. The cuisses hung from the belt, but had their own straps that fastened about the thigh, to keep them in place. In the normal course of arming himself, once the cuisses were attached to the harness and the straps buckled, Casavir would put on his gambeson, the padded jacket that he would wear under the breastplate, and then attach his pauldrons to his shoulders, vambraces to his arms, and greaves to his shins. Poleyns and couters would protect his knees and elbows, respectively. But Casavir was taking his time, explaining how it all fit together, as if he thought Qara cared about such things.
From where Kayla was sitting, she appeared to do so. She watched Qara fit a cuisse to Casavir's leg, and then fasten the straps behind it. Qara then, swiftly, but very deliberately, ran her hand along the inside of the paladin's unarmored thigh, from his knee to his groin. He jumped away as if Qara had just touched a hot poker to him.
"You shall not!" Casavir's voice was clear, even across the distance.
Kayla was horrified. Her own companion had just assaulted a holy man. She sprang to her feet, though Qara had already retreated, laughing at the paladin's discomfort.
"Casavir, I'm sorry," she gasped.
He swallowed, but made no other response for some moments. Kayla watched his chest rise and fall with his ragged breathing.
Ilmater's mercy, Kayla thought, did she touch him... there?
Qara's inappropriate caress had been too quick for Kayla to say with any certainty where it ended.
Kayla felt the tears rise in her eyes. They needed Casavir. He alone could show them to Logram's lair. And Qara had thrown it all away, for a chance to fondle the paladin. Kayla was mortified. She could not hold back her shame.
"Casavir..." what could she say?
Casavir took a deep, steadying breath. The vixen had the audacity to stroke him, and gotten a good feel of his balls, too, before he'd escaped. It had unsettled him greatly, but he could be calm now. Her touch had shocked him, but it had not roused him, so he need fear no further humiliation in front of his leader.
What he needed most was a quiet moment to steady his nerves, but there she stood, right in front of him, gulping air like a fish on a dock. She looked as shocked as he felt. He had begun to fear that he had fallen in with a band of thrill-seekers, but Kayla's embarrassment over the incident convinced him that he was mistaken. Had such a gesture been more commonplace, she would not be so anxious.
And what of the... incident? Was it so vile? The sorceress mocked him, surely, but "Tempt the Paladin" was a favored pastime among Neverwinter's more privileged daughters. Might Qara not have simply decided to play a round of it with him? The brazen clumsiness of her move assured him that she was no expert at the art. No true master of it would have stooped to anything as crude as a grope.
Kayla was watching him. Her lip quivered. This was no pampered heiress. Casavir doubted she even knew of the game... or that she would have indulged in it if she did. No, she was too moral for that, praise Tyr.
"No, my lady," he said at at last, "she did no lasting harm. She is a child, testing her boundaries. She has found them."
"I'm sorry, Casavir," she repeated. "I'll speak to her at once. She doesn't know about... your vows."
What vows? he wondered. She knows I'm a paladin... no... those vows. She thinks I've taken a chastity oath. As if there was ever any need. His own conscience was a harsher master than any oath he might have made on the Book of Law. Casavir shook his head.
"No," he said firmly. "Do not. Forgive me. I do not wish to speak of this any longer."
"Of course," the girl muttered, eyes downcast.
He watched her walk away, back to her own gear. She had armed herself before breakfast, but he could still see the gentle sway of her slim hips.
Too boyish, he thought, but the way she walks... Stop that at once! Good thing she can't see you now, righteous one. You might dry your laundry on that. And you're still not armed, let alone packed.
Casavir thought while he packed. His initial assessment of his leader had not been favorable, but she was trying to draw him out, get to know him. She cared about her followers. Her awe at seeing him beardless might be forgiven. Though his humility balked at the admission, Kayla of Lathander had not been the first woman who had found his face too pleasing for her own comfort. If she lacked the ability to hide it, that was to her credit, as well. Her guilelessness was no flaw, the paladin felt. Her reaction to Qara's flirtation? Naïve, yes, but endearing. If she even knew about the passions such a caress might have invoked, she was certainly solicitous of his comfort.
The time he had spent in her company so far had been awkward, perhaps, but he had learned much of his leader in the process. She was no Callum. She did not exert her command with the detachment he was accustomed to, but her companions followed her because they wanted to. Not for the first time, Casavir wondered if it might not be better that way, to serve out of love, not simply obedience. And was that not why he served Tyr? He was true to his calling, and faithful to it, but his love of justice and all that was right and good moved him far more than a long list of "Thou shalt"s.
He would speak with her as they walked. As she became accustomed to him, she might be more easy around him, and the awkwardness would fade.
And why do I desire this? I will show them Logram's lair, and help them survive once inside. After that... we will go our separate ways.
He could not explain the odd lurch he felt at that thought. He wanted this life. He had sought it himself, once he left Neverwinter. It had been good to leave the politics and the corruption of the city behind. Fighting for the people of Old Owl Well had given his life purpose, and he had rejoiced in the solitude. No one had troubled him here. There were no maidens of the court out here, playing at their favorite game. There were no endless plots and counterplots, or intrigue. His world was filled with nothing but the thought of surviving another day. His men were strangers to him, and he liked it that way. He was free. And he was alone. Why did the thought that he might once more resume his solitary life feel more like a punishment than a reward?
Perhaps it was because it could never happen. Not now.
His death did not lie before him in Logram's lair, despite Katriona's concerns. He would survive it, and he would go back to the Greycloak camp. Callum would know him, and his anonymity would end. He was being thrust back into the life he had left, and he was powerless to prevent it.
Or he might go somewhere else. Were there not slaves in Mulhorand, clamoring to taste free air?
Still, something felt wrong about contemplating such a voyage. It felt like defiance.
Is that it? Has Tyr called me back, to serve him in Neverwinter?
If so, perhaps Kayla's little company might expand to include one more. He already felt the beginnings of respect toward Khelgar, though he did not trust him to stay out of a fight. He did not need to exert his powers to sense that Khelgar was true to his word. He did not trouble himself about Elanee or Grobnar. He would get to know them well enough in time. Qara... he could ignore Qara. He had already assigned her the label "trouble," so he would simply avoid her. Nor did he expect the sorceress to seek him out. He would bore her. Kayla... could he befriend a woman? He could. He only needed to stop thinking about her as a woman and start thinking of her as a human being.
A human being with hands like two lilies, he added mentally. But you have seen graceful hands before, paladin, and kissed them in greeting or leave-taking with perfect civility.
But if he was resolved to be easy in her company, she was still awkward in his. That, at least, might be remedied. He had already decided that any discomposure she might feel would lessen once he became familiar to her. So he would talk to her.
Logram's holdings were many miles distant, and the gnome was not swift. They would leave the mule here, and travel light. The pack animal was too easy to spot. Their added burdens would slow them, he knew. The soceress, the tiefling and the bard had little stamina, so they would be obliged to rest often. If they could get underway by mid-morning, they would still not reach the orc lair until after nightfall. They would have to be on their guard, of course, but they would be unlikely to encounter any real danger until they reached the outer perimeter, sometime around mid-afternoon. There, they must halt until morning.
