Montaron glanced at the girl standing next to him and shivering in the night breeze. Imoen's sleeves had been ripped in several places from where the bandits had seized her, further exposing the cuts on her arms. She rubbed her upper arms, seeming not to notice that she was smearing them with Dorean's blood.
The halfling looked at her for another moment, then reached into his pack, briefly adjusting his one-handed grip on the straps of Gorion's pack and the food-bag, and removed a small, rectangular object wrapped in brown paper. He tapped it against Imoen's side, causing her to turn to him, and held it up to her.
"Chocolate. Warm ye up."
Imoen blinked, then slowly uncrossed her arms, took the snack and unwrapped it. She again met Montaron's gaze, then took a small bite and chewed.
"Make sure ye finish it," said the halfling, turning away. "Can't have ye catchin' ye death of cold."
She stared down at him for a moment before taking another bite. "Thank you," she mumbled quietly. He grunted.
Dorean appeared on the road within the next minute. He frowned at the sight of Imoen eating the chocolate, but said nothing, moving to stand next to her. She inched closer to him, her hip touching his shoulder, and he quietly reached up and patted her elbow in response.
The trio waited in silence for their remaining companion. Imoen finished the chocolate, folded the wrapping paper and stowed it in her pocket. Another minute passed before she turned to Montaron on her right.
"Should we go back for him?"
"No. We wait."
His eyes narrowing, Dorean noted that the halfling's voice sounded more forceful than usual. The image of Xzar skinning the rabbit came to his mind.
"Okay," replied Imoen, her voice meek.
Montaron sighed, then reached into his pack again and handed Imoen another slab of chocolate. She blinked several times before accepting it with both hands.
"Thank you, Montaron."
He grunted again, louder this time, and ignored Dorean staring at him.
Nearly five more minutes went by before Dorean spotted Xzar approaching with Imoen's shortbow in his hand and her arrow quiver slung over his shoulder. Dorean noticed that Xzar's other hand was carrying a jar filled with clear liquid along with something else. As he squinted to get a better look, Xzar noticed him, hurriedly stowed the item in his pack, and gave him a very unconvincing expression of innocent naivety.
Imoen, lacking low-light vision, did not notice Xzar until he got closer. She perked up as the wizard stopped in front of her and held out the bow and quiver. The girl hesitated before taking them.
"Do you require medical attention?" the wizard asked softly, his expression strangely dreamy and his gaze passing over the cuts and bruise on her face. His eyes narrowed upon seeing chocolate on her lips.
"No...no, thank you," Imoen answered.
She then turned to her right and blinked upon seeing that Montaron was no longer there. She and Dorean turned around to see the halfling waiting for them several paces down the road, still carrying Gorion's pack and the food-bag.
"Get movin'. No more stops."
For a moment, Imoen watched Montaron turn around and began following the road, then glanced down at Dorean, patted his shoulder, and followed suit. The dwarf took a couple of steps forward, then paused and glanced behind him.
Xzar's gaze was locked onto Montaron's back, his eyes narrowed into slits and his lips curled downwards in a malevolent grimace.
Dorean turned away, feeling a shiver down his back, and quickened his pace to move up next to Imoen.
Less than a minute later, Imoen stumbled over a rock on the path and barely regained her footing.
She cannot see in the dark like I can.
"Take my hand," he said gently, holding it up to her. She looked at him for a moment before doing so, interlacing her fingers in his.
Several minutes went by in silence with Imoen repeatedly glancing at Dorean and biting her lip until he could not take any more of it. The dwarf lifted his eyes to meet hers.
"I don't know what happened. At least...not for sure."
Imoen hesitated. "For sure?"
Dorean drew the Harper pin from his pocket, holding it in an open palm to catch the moonlight so that Imoen could see it.
"I think it was him."
A moment passed in silence.
"Gorion?"
"Yeah."
"He did that?"
"No. I mean...it was him, but it wasn't. Somehow." He looked upat her helplessly. "I can't explain it."
After what felt like a very long moment, Imoen simply nodded, released his hand and placed hers on his head.
"Okay." She gave a brief, gentle ruffle of his hair, before returning her hand to his.
As Dorean started to sigh in relief, she spoke again.
"Soo...why were you lying face-down?"
The dwarf tensed, and quickly looked away.
"Your bandage was gone, and so was the arrow-wound. Which means you took a healing potion. Which neither one of us had."
Dorean dared not look at her, keeping his gaze pointed in front of him.
"It looked to me like you were already unconscious before those bandits showed up."
Ten paces ahead, Montaron's head imperceptibly turned to the side.
Imoen frowned as she received no answer. He winced as she tightened her grip on their interlocked fingers.
"...Xzar gave me a healing potion for my wound," he paused. "That had a sleeping draught in it."
Imoen stopped walking, staring down at him. Dorean closed his eyes. Ahead of them, Montaron stopped as well, watching the two thieves from over his right shoulder.
Then Dorean was nearly spun in a circle as Imoen abruptly turned around. He quickly regained his balance and hastened to stay beside her as she almost dragged him in her march toward Xzar, who stopped and cocked his head in an expression of polite curiosity.
"Xzar," said Imoen, stopping barely a pace away from the wizard. "Did you lace the healing potion you gave my brother with a sleeping draught?"
"Indeed I did," he answered cheerily. Dorean looked worriedly at his roommate. He saw to his dismay that her frown had turned into a scowl.
"And why did you do it?"
Xzar's innocent and friendly smile faltered under Imoen's glare.
"Urm...so we could go through your things?" He said, his voice growing smaller with each syllable.
"Hadda assure ourselves ye are who ye say ye are," said Montaron. To their credit, Dorean and Imoen did not jump this time as they turned around to see that he was now standing a few paces behind them. "Got a problem with that?" he asked, his voice low and threatening.
Imoen's glare disappeared, replaced by an uncanny lack of emotion as her jade-green eyes met Montaron's coal-black.
As the silence stretched out between them, it occurred to Dorean that Xzar and Montaron have him and Imoen trapped between them and are both standing too close for Dorean's crossbow and Imoen's shortbow. Not that it would make any difference. He released Imoen's hand, bringing his own arm in front of her.
"No, we don't have a problem with-"
"Thank you."
Dorean, Montaron and Xzar blinked.
"What?" said Xzar.
"Come again?" said Montaron. He jumped slightly when Imoen spun around, his hand halfway to the folds of his shirt before he managed to stop himself.
"It was all part of the plan, wasn't it?" said Imoen, raising her index finger in a knowing gesture. "You wanted them to get closer. If he'd been awake and alert, they might have shot at him first."
Montaron blinked quickly twice before he raised his own finger. "No, that's not it. We just wanted to look through yer stuff, we didn't know there were-" He paused. "Wait, what d'ye mean 'shot', they didn't even have-"
"And you saved us," Imoen interrupted, lowering her hand and beaming down at the halfling. "Both of us." She turned to Dorean, placing her arm around his shoulders. "Didn't he?"
Dorean blinked as she winked at him, then his eyebrows rose as he caught on. Winking back, he and Imoen turned to face Montaron, both wearing wide smiles.
"Yes," said Dorean. "You did save us." He gave a quick bow. "I am sorry, I should have thanked you earlier."
Montaron's expression darkened. "Ye mockin' me?"
"Not at all, no sir!" declared Imoen. "Totally sincere and true in our grat'in-tutilations, that's us!"
"That's not even a word," said Dorean.
"Yes it is!"
"...noo, I am fairly certain it isn't."
"It is so! I invented it, so there!"
Montaron's jaw slackened as he blinked slowly at them."Ye're a pair of idiots." Imoen straightened and turned back to him.
"Oh! Where were we? Yes, giving our thanks to Mister Montaron here for risking his cute little hide to save us tall-folk from a terrible horrible fate!"
"Did ye just call me cu-?!"
"And for not robbing us in our sleep," said Dorean. He bravely ignored the halfling's fierce glare, turning nonchalantly to Imoen. "And I'm not a 'tall-folk'."
"Stop interrupting-" snarled Montaron.
"And for giving me chocolate," Imoen went on, ignoring Dorean's correction. "You really are a good ol' soul beneath that grimmy-face, aren't ya?" She beamed down at Montaron, who was looking increasingly flabbergasted by the second.
Dorean lowered his head slightly. "And for helping us bury my father." Imoen glanced at him and hesitated, though only for a second.
"Yes, indeed he did," she agreed. "Together now!"
She and Dorean straightened themselves and then bent forward in formal bows to the bewildered halfling."Thank you so very much, Mister Montaron, sir," they said together.
He snarled and turned away with a mutter of "Gonna kill ye both fer this..."
"Hey!"
Dorean and Imoen blinked and turned around to a very put-out Xzar.
"I helped too!"
"Yes you did, Xzar," answered Imoen.
The wizard beamed brightly and placed his hands behind his back, awaiting his own formal bows and thank yous.
"Although," said Imoen, bringing a finger to her chin in thought. "You did drug my little brother, left him face-down in the mud, and then stood by and watch us get beaten up."
Xzar made a noise of indignant shock. "It was his idea!" he cried, pointing at Montaron.
"THAT'S IT!" yelled the halfling, his voice alarmingly loud for such a small figure. "In case any o' ye haven't noticed yet, it's the middle o' the friggin' night an' there's wolves and gibberlings out here, not ta mention the bandit attack we JUST walked away from! So shut ye traps an' get MOVIN'!" He took a breath. "An' that goes fer yez too," he added with a pointed finger at Xzar, who answered him with a sneer.
There was silence for a moment.
"Montaron?" said Imoen, her voice sounding like a hopeful five-year-old.
"What?" he barked.
"Could I have some more of that chocolate?" She hunched her shoulders and drew her arms around herself. "I'm feeling cold again."
There was a couple of loud thuds as Gorion's pack and Winthrop's food-bag struck the ground, then Montaron whirled around and stalked up the road. With barely-stifled laughter, Dorean and Imoen picked them up.
"Not a good idea to tick him off," said Dorean.
"Then why didn't you try and stop me?" Imoen snickered at the spot where Montaron had disappeared from her vision. "I knew he had more than just 'grim' and 'unfriendly' in him."
"Yes," said Dorean. "You really can get under anyone's skin." She reached over in retaliation and ruffled his hair again, more roughly than before. He half-heartedly swatted at her hand, his smile hidden behind his beard.
She seems to be feeling better now.
"Oi!" yelled an angry voice from up ahead. "Get a move on 'fore I come back over there and gut the pair'a ye!"
"I think he likes you."
Dorean and Imoen blinked, looked at each other, and then at Xzar. "He does?" said Dorean. Xzar nodded.
"Yes. He only threatens to kill people he likes."
The dwarf and pink girl blinked again, looked at each other and exchanged smiles.
As they turned back to the road, Dorean glanced down at the Harper pin still in his hand, the crescent moon and harp symbol barely reflected in the moonlight.
Closing his fingers over it, he shut his eyes and whispered "Thank you, father," before returning it to his pocket and taking Imoen's hand to resume guiding her through the dark.
Xzar followed at a regular, confident pace, seemingly unhindered by the lack of light. He quietly hummed a tune in time to his footsteps, the corner of his lip curled upward in a small, imperceptible smile.
..
Arranged at the top of the towers along the walls, the large size of their braziers allowed the fires to illuminate most of the Friendly Arm Inn.
"Wow," said Imoen, her voice filled with wonder. "That's an inn?"
"More like a stronghold," said Dorean, his eyes roving over the patrolling guards.
"It used to be," said Xzar softly. He breathed in and out slowly and deeply, then walked off the road, sat down against a tree, and rested his forearms on his knees. He stared off at nothing for a moment before lowering his head.
Dorean and Imoen stared. Montaron paused to look at Xzar, his expression blank and unreadable, before walking over to them.
"Right." Dorean and Imoen turned to him. "I'm goin' in first. Wait 'til I'm gone. Meet wit' these folks ye meetin' with, then be in the common room at dawn. Don't be late." With that, he turned and headed for the inn.
"What if we get into trouble?" said Dorean.
"And what about Xzar, aren't you going with him?" said Imoen.
Montaron gave them no answer, neither looking back nor slowing down.
"The owners have a no-violence policy that is strictly enforced," said Xzar without lifting his head. "It should be safe enough."
Imoen cocked her head. "Have you ever been to the Friendly Arm, Xzar?"
A moment passed, long enough that the duo began to wonder if he had fallen asleep. "Yes. I have."
Dorean and Imoen looked at each other and then back to Xzar. "Alright," said Dorean, glancing behind him to see that Montaron was nowhere in sight. "I suppose we should get to the inn now."
"You go on," said Xzar, still not moving from his spot. "I'll sit here for a bit." After a moment, he blinked, looked up and saw that the dwarf and girl had not moved and were still staring at him. Frowning, he raised his hands and made shooing gestures at them.
"Urm. Okay," said Imoen. She exchanged glances with Dorean and shrugged. "I guess we'll be seeing you in the morning. Common room, then?"
Dropping one hand, Xzar waved to them with the other. They returned the wave, Dorean more hesitantly, and then made for the inn.
The wizard watched them go, his gaze lingering for a moment on the spot where they disappeared from sight beyond the open gate, then slowly rested his head against the tree. He blinked slowly several times, green eyes moving over the walls and the keep, then lowered his head again.
Xzar then bit the back of his left hand, chewing slowly and steadily. Trickles of blood flowed from between his lips and stained his green robes. He paid it no heed.
When his teeth reached bone, Xzar hesitated, then clamped his jaws and jerked his head back.
Blood spurted from his hand as the flesh was torn from the wound. The wizard watched it idly for several seconds, his face, hair and robes being sprayed with blood, then raised his chin.
The mouthful of torn flesh travelled down his throat in a single slow gulp.
..
"Will he be alright?"
Dorean followed Imoen's gaze beyond the gate. "I don't think we need to worry about him." He held up the paper slip in his hand. "I'm more worried about our weapons."
"Xzar said there's a no-violence policy here." Imoen held up her own slip, squinting at its number. "They never said how much the fine would be for losing these."
"That's so they could charge whatever price they want," said Dorean. "At least they didn't take all of my knives," he added, lowering his voice.
"How many did you bring with you anyway?" asked Imoen, looking at his pack.
"Five."
She blinked. "So you've still got three?"
"Yeah. Why, do you want one?"
"Heck no!" answered Imoen, hurriedly glancing at a nearby guard patrol. "What if they search you?"
"They didn't at the gate, so I doubt they will later. Guess they didn't see me as potential trouble." He paused, looking up at her. "I don't want to be unarmed anywhere now. Not after what happened." He lowered his head for a moment before looking back to her. "What about you? What did you bring?"
"Just my bow. I...I didn't have time to take anything else," replied Imoen, her voice becoming softer and lower with each word. "But I'll go through Mister G's things later."
She looked away from Dorean. The dwarf paused, then decided to let the matter rest.
She'll tell me when she's ready.
..
Leaning against the wall of a house, his short sword now gone from his back, Montaron folded his arms across his chest. His eyes followed Dorean and Imoen as the duo made their way to the entrance of the Friendly Arm Inn, ignoring the series of coos from the pigeons to his left.
"Ye done yet?" he asked, not looking away from the dwarf and girl.
"Just about," came the answer. There was a fluttering of wings, and then a tall, plump, blonde-haired woman came to stand next to him, her eyes following the departing bird.
"There it goes. Should get to Baldur's Gate in a day and a half, at most."
"Ye sure?"
"'Course I'm sure," she replied, looking down at him. "I know my birds. Just ask anyone lives here. 'There ain't anyone who knows their carrier pigeons around these parts like Joia does', they'll say."
"Mm," said Montaron. Joia cocked her head at him.
"Not the talkative type, I see," she said, casually picking pigeon feathers out of her hair. "So, do you need any more messages flown out?"
"I do," answered the halfling, removing a scroll from inside his shirt and handing it to her without taking his eyes off of Dorean and Imoen. Joia took it and weighed it in her hand, either not noticing or caring about his focus on the two thieves. "Where do you want this sent?"
"Candlekeep."
She raised her eyebrows at him. "Well. Candlekeep it is, then. That'll be eight gold."
Montaron finally looked at her, raising one of his own eyebrows. "Bit steep," he said, handing her the money.
"Not my fault," replied Joia casually. "Not many people want to travel now with all the robbers and hobgoblins on the roads. Prices have gone up everywhere." She turned and walked the few paces back to her pigeon coop, selected a bird and unlocked its cage. "Pardon me saying, but you don't seem like the Candlekeep sort. Mostly it's wizards, nobles and such."
Feeling a sudden shiver down her back, she paused in her work to look over her shoulder. Montaron stared blankly at her, his black eyes reflecting the flickering light of the torch hanging on the wall above him.
"Didn't mean it as an insult," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. When he did not answer her, she quickly returned to securing the scroll around the pigeon's leg, then sent the bird into the air. She watched it fly off into the night sky for a moment, then took a deep breath.
"Actually, you might be the sort I need. See, it's about a ring of mine that-"
She turned around to find that Montaron had vanished.
..
The instant Dorean and Imoen stepped through the large double doors of the keep, the cold night air dissipated, replaced by a feeling of enveloping warmth. A dozen smells hit Dorean all at once, and to his irritation his stomach began to rumble.
"I've never seen so many in one place," said Imoen. "There must be over a hundred people in here," she added, raising her voice to be heard above the hubbub and gazing wondrously at the banners, shields, weapons and other decorations on the walls. The pink girl then frowned and stood on the tips of her boots. "Why's the counter all the way on the other side?"
"I think I know," answered Dorean, his expression darkening. "Watch out for pickpockets." Resisting the urge to take her hand, he led the way across the room past patrons and barmaids, his gray eyes swiftly moving onto and then away from each and every one, lingering briefly on a table occupied by what appeared to be an entire family of halflings.
"Tables are a bit low, aren't they?" said Imoen as she and Dorean passed by one occupied by a group of tall, thin peasants, all of whom had to lean over to reach their plates and drinks. Her curiosity was sated upon reaching the (also low) counter and the curly-haired gnome behind it, who gave them a smile radiating the same warmth as the inn.
"Welcome to the Friendly Arm, young ones. Bentley Mirrorshade, at ya service."
Imoen stared down at him for a moment, then clasped her hands, placed them under her chin, and squealed. "You're so adorable!"
As heads turned their way, Dorean audibly groaned and lowered his head, resisting the urge to raise his hood.
Bentley coughed once, then laughed. It was a strange sound, more like a song than an expression of mirth. "Well thank you, miss! Most kind of ya to say so!"
Imoen began squealing and hopping from one foot to the next. She looked on the verge of leaping over the counter. Dorean gave the woman waiting behind them an apologetic look, then elbowed Imoen sharply in the side and stepped in front of her. "Please pardon my companion's impertinence, sir. She is young, and foolish, and has a peanut for a brain."
Bentley threw his head back and laughed, attracting even more stares. Imoen stopped hopping about and scowled down at the top of the dwarf's head. "Ya kids just reminded me of a couple of lads I knew." He smiled vacantly at them both, clearly lost in memory. Dorean gave him five seconds before clearing his throat. Bentley then turned to him, his smile changing from warm to apologetic. "I am sorry, but if you are looking for a room, we are all full."
Damn it. "Is there no way to get one?" the dwarf asked politely, resisting the urge to grind his teeth. "We are prepared to pay more." Bentley shrugged his wide shoulders and spread his hands.
"I am very sorry, kid, but there simply aren't any rooms left."
"What about the temple? Would they allow us a room?"
Bentley made a sheepish, hissing noise, shrugging apologetically again. "Normally, we would, but we can't now. See, my wife runs the place, and it's been very busy over there. They only take worshippers or those in need of healing. I'm very sorry, kids."
Dorean swore under his breath, silently thanking his beard, then turned to Imoen.
Stables, they thought-spoke together. Imoen sighed dejectedly at the prospect of leaving the warm, comforting atmosphere of the inn back into the cold night air. Dorean then lowered his head to hide his face from her.
Too easy to rob and murder someone sleeping in a stable, he thought. I know that too well.
He raised his eyes to Bentley, ignoring the impatiently fidgeting woman behind him and Imoen, and decided to try to provoke sympathy from the obviously kindly gnome. "Very well, sir. We will spend the night in the stables then-"
"That won't be necessary," said a voice to Dorean and Imoen's right. They both turned to see a young, handsome man dressed in robes of black and green. "You can have my room."
"Are you sure, Tarnesh?" said Bentley. He traced a small finger over the open page of a large book on the counter. "You already paid for the next four days."
"Oh, something has come up, and I need to leave tonight," said Tarnesh. "And I'll take back for three of those days. The fee for the last day can go to these two here."
Dorean and Imoen blinked, then smiled at him, though Dorean's was a half-second slower. "Hey, thanks a lot!" said Imoen. "You just saved us a night in a hay bale."
Tarnesh smirked at her and nodded politely. "You could both thank me by joining me for my evening drink. What do you say?" He turned his smirk onto Dorean. Three seconds later, the dwarf deliberately widened his smile so that his beard would visibly move to show it.
"Of course we will," he paused. "Once we've been introduced to our most generous benefactor."
"Such manners," said Tarnesh, grinning at Bentley who smiled back. He then gave a small bow. "Tarnesh of Baldur's Gate, former apprentice wizard and fledging adventurer. And you?"
"Well, I'm Imoen," said Imoen. "And this is Do-"
In the nanosecond that she started to say his name, images appeared in Dorean's mind.
Shank Gwist, mewling in a puddle of blood on the floor of the storehouse. 'It was fer a bounty...some foreign woman, I don't know who!...two hun'ned gold..."
A woman of foreign appearance and accent, standing in the clearing of the Lion's Way.
In front of her, the tall, broad knight in horned armour, great-sword in hand and hatred blazing in his golden eyes.
"Dorn," said Dorean. Imoen and Tarnesh stared at him.
"Well, Imoen and Dorn, it is, then," said Bentley, causing the duo to turn to him. The gnome was now writing in the book with a large feather-quill. "I'll just write 'Dorn the dwarf', if you don't mind," he added, winking at Dorean. "You're the second Dorn who's staying here. Funny thing, he's just as polite as you are." Putting down the quill, he then counted several coins from his pouch before handing them to Tarnesh. "And here's ya refund, kid. Good luck out there."
"Thank you, but I don't need luck when I have my magic."
Bentley gave another oddly melodious laugh. "Just don't be firing any spells in here, okay? The only wizard in the Friendly Arm is me."
Tarnesh smiled and nodded politely to Bentley. Dorean did not fail to notice that the smile was strained.
Bentley raised his round, bearded chin. "Nessie!"
A tall, thin woman with short blonde hair hurried over and introduced herself as the steward of the Friendly Arm. "If you'll follow me," she said, turning to lead them back to the rows of tables.
As he turned to follow, Dorean's vision moved over the corner of the hall to the left of the counter. In it were two people, one seated on a sofa and the other pacing back and forth next to the table in front of their seats.
Both were armoured and openly carrying weapons.
He paused for a few seconds, then quickly walked away as the woman's face began to turn towards him.
..
"Mrs Mirrorshade?"
"Please, girl, call me Gellana."
"Y-yes, Mrs Mirrorshade, I-I mean G-Gellana."
Gellana Mirrorshade smiled patiently at the young gnome in front of her. "What is it, child?"
"Well, it's this patient I treated just then. Had an animal bite on him. 'orrible, it was, blood everywhere. I-I healed it and wrapped it up like you taught me, but..." she trailed off.
"But?" said Gellana calmly. "Go on, girl."
"He's scared, Mrs Mirrorsha-Gellana. He says it might be infected. Says he thinks the creature what done it might have been diseased. I...I tried to tell him he will be alright and just needs to rest, but..."
"It's fine, child," said Gellana, placing her hand on the girl's shoulder. "Just tell me where this patient is."
Moments later, Gellana was standing in front of a man in blood-spattered green robes, inspecting his torn hand while he trembled from his seated position on the floor.
"Well, mister, you're in luck. No signs or symptoms of infection."
"A-are ye sure, ma'am?" he asked, blue eyes blinking rapidly.
"As sure as Glittergold, sir," she replied jokingly, giving him a reassuring smile, which he nervously returned. "Just go easy on it for the next few days, and you'll make a full recovery."
He nodded, then winced and adjusted his hindquarters.
"I'm sorry we couldn't get a bed for you, but they've all been reserved for patients in serious condition," said Gellana, bowing her head apologetically.
"It's...it's fine, madam Mirrorshade. Wouldn't be right fer me ta be lyin' down when other folks're hurt worse. And, and thank ye kindly fer seein' to me." He nodded very fast several times, his head bobbing back and forth. "Ye're one'a the good ones."
"You are welcome, and thank you," she replied, smiling at him. He smiled back, then looked at the circlet of gems around her forehead.
"That's a real shiny beauty ye've got there, ma'am, if ye don't mind me sayin'."
She chuckled and stroked the gems. "You like them? They are a symbol of Garl Glittergold, the god of this temple."
"Ah, I've heard of him. Supposed to have created all gnomes, din't he?"
"Yes, he did. Well, I must see to my other patients. Take care now." The gnome gave his arm a pat and released her hold on his wrist.
She had gotten five paces before the man spoke again.
"And it was his power that gave you this place."
Gellana froze, then slowly turned around.
The man's face had changed along with his accent; close-cropped straw-coloured hair was now long, wild and dark, and his blue eyes had been replaced by bright green.
"I like it better now," said Xzar, calmly moving his gaze over the gems and gold nuggets embedded in the pillars and walls. "It was much dirtier until you and your husband came."
Gellana Mirrorshade stood very still. Slowly, her old and kindly expression changed, becoming cold and hard. The fingers of her hands curled into fists, nails digging into her palms.
"What do you want?"
Xzar stood up very slowly, a wide, languid smile spreading across his face.
"These 'patients in serious condition' you mentioned..."
..
It took Nessie a few minutes to find them a table with three empty seats, during which Tarnesh walked side by side with Dorean while Imoen followed behind.
As they moved toward their table, Dorean was spun almost completely around when someone jostled him hard in the shoulder. The dwarf's eyes widened as he regained his feet and whirled towards his assailant. He barely stopped short and quickly sheathed the half-drawn knife in his shirt when he saw who it was.
Without so much as a glance at him, Montaron seated himself at a table a few rows away from Dorean's.
Noticing both Dorean and Imoen staring at him, Tarnesh's head darted between them before lifting his chin at the halfling. "You there. You should apologize to my friend." There was a drop in crowd noise as the people around them went quiet, watching with varying nervousness, anticipation and even eagerness for a fight.
Montaron calmly turned his head, gave Tarnesh a bored, dismissive look then silently turned away.
His nostrils flaring, Tarnesh stepped forward, and Dorean quickly moved toward him with hand raised in an open palm.
"It's fine, ignore him. He's not worth it," he added when Tarnesh looked to take another step toward Montaron. The young wizard frowned at Dorean, then nodded. "Very well." As he turned around, Dorean quickly gave Imoen a warning look, to which she nodded knowingly.
After they had taken their seats at the low table and made their orders, with Imoen ordering a thoroughly appetizing and unhealthy dinner for herself to the raised eyebrows of Nessie, Tarnesh, who had sat next to Dorean, glanced at him and then jerked his thumb at Montaron.
"You know, I still have half a mind to go over there and have some harsh words with him."
Dorean managed to keep a straight face and not frown in suspicion as he looked at the young wizard. "He didn't cause me any harm," he said dismissively, shrugging his shoulders.
"Oh, come on, Dorn," said Tarnesh, leaning backwards and looking down at him. His voice took on a condescending tone. "Where's that dwarvish pride your kind are so famous for?"
Imoen, who had just received her first of four ordered dishes and was about to dive into it, paused with her fork hovering over a mashed potato and roast turnip, glancing at both men from across the round table.
As he looked up into Tarnesh's eyes, a dawning realization came upon the dwarf.
He's baiting me. What for?
"Like I said," he said slowly. "he's not worth the trouble of getting kicked out of here. Me and the girl have travelled a long way to get here, and we're now tired. We just want food, drink and a warm bed for the night." He paused. "Of which the last one you so generously provided."
Tarnesh's expression went from taunting to confused, and he tilted his head to the side as he appraised the dwarf. Imoen then decided to jump in.
"You seen any fights in here, Tarnesh?"
The young wizard looked at her, back to Dorean, then smiled as he shifted in his seat to face her. "Oh, yes, quite a few, actually. Though they've always been broken up by Bentley."
"He did mention he was a wizard," said Imoen, unconsciously placing the tips of her fork against her chin and getting potato on her face. "Is he any good?"
Tarnesh shrugged. "Oh, I really cannot say. He stopped a few drunken peasants from hitting each other. I don't think that really constitutes skill in magic."
That jealousy I detect there? thought Dorean. "I don't see any guards in here," he said. For a half-second, Tarnesh looked ready to sneer at him before turning it half-way into a smile.
"Funny you should say that. I said as much to him, and he told me that most of the Friendly Arm's guards have been posted on the walls and gates because of all the bandit attacks."
So you're interested in the security here, thought Dorean. He glanced at Imoen and saw her shoulders sag slightly at the words 'bandit attacks'.
"Is it really that bad out there?" she asked.
"If you are going south, then yes, it is bound to get bad." Tarnesh paused. "Incidentally, where are you two from, if I may ask?"
Dorean, who had anticipated such a question during his travelling to the Friendly Arm, did not hesitate in answering. "We're from Beregost. Worked in the Jovial Juggler until a week ago."
"Really?" replied Tarnesh, looking from Imoen to Dorean. "And what, if I may ask, caused the end to your employments at the Juggler?"
Dorean had anticipated this question as well. He smiled sheepishly. "I was caught with my hand in a drunk customer's bag and she," He pointed casually at Imoen. "Kept stealing bites off of her customer's plates."
"Hey!" said Imoen from behind a mouthful of potato. She choked and hurriedly reached for her tankard. Dorean and Tarnesh watched her gulp down its contents in one go before promptly turning back to one another.
"Anyway, we're now heading for Baldur's Gate. Hopefully we'll find new jobs there. What about you, Tarnesh?" asked the dwarf. "What brings you out here?"
He paused for a moment as he looked at Dorean, cocking his head to the side.
"I guess you could say...I am looking for opportunities. There may well be many for someone of my talent. I hear that enchanted weaponry is now in very high demand thanks to the iron shortage."
Dorean was uncomfortably reminded of his and Imoen's weapons now in the Friendly Arm guardhouse. He frowned as another thought came to him. "Wouldn't that demand be even higher in the city?"
Tarnesh paused before smiling again in what Dorean recognized as a cover-up. "Yes, you're right. But like I said, I'm on the lookout for many different opportunities." He paused again. "It's in interesting times like these when one could make his fame and fortune, wouldn't you agree?"
At that moment, a middle-aged barmaid arrived carrying Imoen's next two ordered dishes; a large steak and a pudding pie.
"Here ya go, darling, don't eat it all in one bite."
"Tanks," said Imoen thickly. Having already finished her potato and turnip, she immediately tucked into the steak. As Tarnesh, the barmaid and several other patrons stared, Dorean noticed from the corner of his eye Montaron raising an eyebrow at the pink girl.
"Would there be anything else, dearie?" the barmaid asked hesitantly, tilting her head to avoid a flying speckle of steak sauce. Imoen paused in mid-bite, then set down her knife and fork and turned to the woman.
"Just one thing. Are you a golem?"
The barmaid gaped at her, then huffed and placed her hands on her hips before stalking off with her nose in the air.
"It was just a question!" Imoen called. Tarnesh chuckled.
"You've read Volothamp Geddarm's guidebooks, haven't you?"
"Yep," said Imoen, still talking with her mouth full. "I love 'em."
"You shouldn't believe everything that man writes." Tarnesh smirked. "He bases most of his writing on rumours and speculation. Barmaids secretly golems? That's as feasible as this place once belonging to an undead priest, don't you think?"
As Imoen and Tarnesh began to argue, Dorean stole a glance at Montaron, who now had a tankard in front of him and was writing in a parchment scroll with a raven quill pen. He paid neither Dorean nor Imoen any attention.
At least not to anyone who's looking.
As he watched the small man write slowly and deliberately, seemingly taking his time to select the words, a strange feeling of ease came over the dwarf.
I don't know why, but I feel safer with him around. He blinked, remembering Montaron drugging and threatening him only hours ago. Against all reason and logic, it seems.
..
Stopping outside a door, Gellana Mirrorshade breathed deeply, maintaining her cold expression, then opened it and stepped through. Xzar followed slowly behind her.
The room beyond was almost bare in contrast to the design and decorations in the rest of the temple. Aside from a wooden stool and mattress, there was nothing else in it save its only occupant lying on the latter; a tall, lean, clean-shaven man with a bald head and striking features, clad in simple garments of light brown.
Gellana stood inside the doorway, quietly looking at her sleeping patient. Slowly, like a cat, Xzar slunk into the room to stand next to her.
"He was brought in here by three others," she said, her voice low and toneless. "They told me they were ambushed by a wizard."
There was a very long pause, silent except for the patient's laboured breathing. Neither of them moved a muscle or looked away from him.
"Never seen anything like it in all my years, adventuring or healing," Gellana went on. "At least a dozen spells, I counted. Glittergold knows how many more. Myself and three other healers spent six whole hours on him. Used up nearly a third of all the potions in this temple just to keep his body going." She paused. "It's a miracle he's still alive."
After a moment, she spoke again with still no movement or change in her expression or tone.
"I'm guessing he's the one you're interested in."
Xzar said nothing. Another still, silent moment passed.
Then Gellana slowly turned around and exited the room, closing the door behind her. Her footfalls echoed softly off the stone floor, each step slow and deliberate, as she made her way back to the main area of the temple, her expression stone-faced.
Xzar remained in place for several minutes, still as a statue, watching the man's broad chest rise and fall, his breathing occasionally punctured by a wheeze or cough.
Then he walked slowly over to the stool and sat on it facing the man. He tilted his head widely to the side, his eyes half-lidded and his expression one of mild curiosity.
"Sarevok Anchev, I presume," he said softly.
