Isaviel and her companions stumbled through Qara's reopened portal onto a broad, dusty path flanked by thick forest, and just ahead, silhouetted against the rising sun, strode a group of some ten Githyanki. Their goal seemed obvious, and only became clearer as the companions rushed in pursuit. The path was a short one, some shallow flagstone steps leading into a large yard dominated by a huge barn, already ablaze by the time Isaviel saw it, and a one-storey house. Three large fields lay ahead before relinquishing land to the hills and continued forest beyond, all framed by the distant greyish ghost of the Sword Mountains. They were bare of crops – all of the farmer's livelihood must have lain in that barn.
"What in all the Hells is going on? What have I ever done to you? Those are all of my crops!" a woman's voice cried – not shrilly, as Isaviel might have expected, however. The tone sounded more like one of anger.
A young blonde woman, dressed in a greyish shirt and brown working leggings, was rushing towards the barn even in spite of the further three armed and snarling Giths still holding torches to it. The others only cackled when the farmer brandished her scythe at them, scraps of hay fluttering from its blade to land limply at her feet. When the ten just arriving drew their swords and began a languid advance towards her, the woman still stood her ground, not seeming to even register Isaviel and her group now running to get to the scene.
The tallest and largest of the Giths, this one dressed in scraps of leather aglow with magically gleaming jewels, spoke some guttural words to a smaller section of his group, gesturing towards the woman. Then he turned to snarl at the others, who threw their torches into the fire and drew their weapons, too. His eyes focused hatefully upon Isaviel, only upon her – he seemed no more aware of the others than did the farmer, who was presumably Shandra Jerro.
"You!" the leader of the Githyanki group snarled, "You will die here, Kalach-cha!"
As he spoke, Shandra lashed out automatically at one Gith who had come too close – enjoying toying with her fear too much. It clearly had not been expecting such, and though it blocked her first attack, her second swing shortened it by half a head. Only then did Shandra scream as the creature's yellow blood spurted all about, pooling at her feet. Dropping her scythe in horror, she turned and sped for her house, and when it was clear there was nowhere else for her to go, the remaining two preferred to join their leader's band than go in after her and risk the fate of their companion.
"We'll deal wi' this, lass! You go and help that girl!" Khelgar cried as he hurtled into the fray, soon followed by Casavir, along with Elanee in her bear form.
Nodding quickly, the Moon Elf sprinted to the farmhouse. Knowing the door would be locked – and maybe barred too – she used her running momentum ahead of time, all of Brother Merring's lessons of combat suddenly feeling useful. Leaping into the air at the precisely correct moment, she raised one leg in front of her and felt the humming force that came with years of practice and utter concentration. Kicking outward then, her sole collided with the door and she felt the psionic energy leave her, crashing into the wood and shattering the door spectacularly, planks and splinters lodging themselves into the far wall. So much for aiming for control like that of Balthazar of the Five.
Landing in a run, Isaviel stumbled as she attempted to turn, not at all expecting the continuing force her footsteps emitted and crashing onto the floorboards within the building, cursing as she threw herself back to her feet. As she did so, she saw the door at the end of the short, narrow corridor slam.
"Shandra!" Isaviel called, running to the door and shouldering it open when she encountered resistance, "We're here to get you away from the Githyanki, but you need…"
"Stay away! Don't come any closer, I'm warning you!" the woman cried angrily, backing up against a bedpost in the otherwise empty bedroom, attempting to brandish a broom with as much success as she had her scythe. Isaviel's palm came out on reflex and shattered that, too.
"I'm sorry about your door…less so about your broom," the Moon Elf admitted, wrenching the last half free of the woman's grasp, "You realise that won't do you any good as a weapon, don't you?" Angered when the woman started grasping for something else to hit her with, she pulled free a kukri from its sheath and the ring of real metal stilled the woman, "This is a weapon. And unlike you I do not intend to use it against one I should hope to gain as an ally."
Still glaring at the woman, she had felt the shift in sound as an enemy entered the building, and when that Githyanki came rushing into the room, Isaviel spun about and severed its head. When she whirled back around, Shandra hurled a –thankfully empty – chamber pot at her head. She had not expected that, and though she dodged it the metal handle collided with her cheek and opened a cut there.
"What do you want from me?" Shandra demanded, looking a little startled by the injury she had caused and trying so very hard not to look at the dead monster lying on the floor of her bedroom.
"Well right now I am trying to rescue you," Isaviel growled, flinching when she wiped blood from her lips, "Though I will change my mind if you don't calm down and come with me."
"I won't go anywhere with you. You're just as bad as those…things…for all I know."
"You will confuse me more with them if you add to my lovely array of scars, you farmyard wh…"
"No!" Shandra cried as a great rush of flame spread through the thatched roof above them, already coughing in the smoke as heat poured through the room and clumps of burning straw began to fall all around them, "That's my house! But…come on! Let's get out of here."
Unexpectedly she took the Moon Elf by the arm and fairly pulled her out of the broken remains of the front door, kicking aside an obstructing snapped plank as if she had never owned the place. They escaped just in time, for the house was engulfed in flame but moments later, timber snapping loudly and sending the walls toppling over just feet behind them.
The offending Githyanki were already lying dead, Isaviel's companions peering anxiously through the smoke for the two, calling out the Moon Elf's name at intervals. Before Isaviel could respond, a leather-clad Githyanki materialised out of the smoke between her and Shandra, magical flame crackling at his fingertips. He must have been one of those to start the blaze, she realised.
"Shandra!" she cried in warning, and the woman barely had time to turn before the Githyanki mage was within touching distance.
Shandra screamed, but the mage never reached her, collapsing to the ground before her, already dead. Sighing in relief, Isaviel sheathed her dagger before reaching Shandra's side and leading her, speechless, towards the others.
"Thanks," the woman offered eventually, surprise evident in her voice, "Maybe I should have gone with you, after all."
"You really should have," Isaviel corrected, attempting to dust herself off and wincing when she noticed an unexpected tear in her black tunic, exposing a long cut in her side.
"My lady!" Casavir exclaimed and moved as if to help her but Isaviel waved him away angrily, turning to Shandra.
"Do you think you can trust us now?" she demanded.
"Honestly, I don't know," Shandra admitted, her bright blue eyes wide as she took in the dead Githyanki behind them, her ruined house now just a burning wreck, before turning to observe the unusual band before her, "But I've given up on running…for now."
"Look, Isaviel, we really need to get out of here before more of those creatures show up," Neeshka pointed out, eyeing Shandra mistrustfully before focusing again on her friend, "And you're hurt; we can't risk more fighting now."
"The Tiefling's right, lass," Khelgar agreed uncharacteristically, "We're needin' to get back t' the Sunken Flagon."
"That's a safe place, right?" Shandra asked uncomfortably.
"It's a tavern," Qara told her scornfully, wandering back over to join them after admiring the barn collapsing at last in a great burst of more flame, "A Docks District tavern. How many of those do you think of as safe?"
But Isaviel just shrugged, wincing and holding her side as pain shot through her, "It's the safest place we know, at any rate. And Casavir? Elanee? A little healing would go a long way right now."
"Well now," Duncan greeted cheerfully as the group came trudging back into his tavern, "I see you've brought someone new to my establishment. Now, who is this young lady, Isaviel?" And he simply could not keep his eyes off Shandra long enough to even look at his niece.
Isaviel sent a suspicious look the half-elf's way as the group crowded around the only available table, one at the far left side of the room by the door to the accommodation, with only enough seats for four of them. The Sunken Flagon was alive with many rowdy patrons, Bishop and Karnwyr at their usual places near the fire. The ranger hardly even looked up as they entered, his expression brooding when he did meet Isaviel's eyes, surreptitiously gesturing for her to come over. She nodded slightly with as strong a smile as she could manage as the others formed up, and he looked away again, evidently understanding that there was business to attend to first.
The Moon Elf took a seat by Qara stiffly. Once they had travelled far enough from the farm, Elanee had been able to tend to her wound properly, where Casavir had quickly used his paladinic magics to stem the bleeding. 'Lay on Hands' was a very descriptive title for the ability, as it turned out. Isaviel blushed to remember how very red she had gone at the necessity. But even so, they had been forced to walk back to Neverwinter and her wound had not properly healed as a result, for Shandra's farm was somewhere between Highcliff and Neverwinter. They had been travelling for two days to get back to the city.
"Well lass, are ye' going to introduce us?" Duncan pressed, pulling back a chair for Shandra before joining them. Khelgar had gone to get a drink and Isaviel could sense Casavir's presence close behind her own chair. As if sensing her thoughts, Neeshka threw her a suspicious look from her own perch seated on the edge of the table.
"Ah, yes…this is Shandra. And Shandra, this is my uncle – Duncan," Isaviel introduced grudgingly at last.
"Please lass, sit, sit, make yerself at home. Sal! Fetch some drinks. This here is The Sunken Flagon – I own it. Ye look road weary and from the cuts and bruises I can see on the others it looks like ye met in conflict with…something. But ye'll be safe here. Er…Grobnar! Play a tune or something."
An unfamiliar figure turned almost with a look of alarm to face Duncan across the room, finally giving up on trying to coax a bored-looking Karnwyr with a piece of bread. He was much smaller than a Dwarf and not as rotund as a Halfling would have been expected to be, with a long, pointed nose and floppy blonde hair. He was in fact a Gnome, and since he was dressed in travelling leathers and carried a mandolin, Isaviel could only assume that he was a bard by vocation.
"Why, of course Master Duncan," Grobnar cried in a voice that lacked the childish tones of a Halfling as well, but at once held far more innocence, perhaps even naivety, "Why, I was just thinking…"
"Not everything that pops into yer head has t' come out of yer mouth, Gnome!" Duncan exclaimed with unexpected frustration.
"Well the innkeeper certainly seems to run hot and cold," Shandra noted dryly, taking a seat by the Moon Elf's side.
"Yes, he's very dangerous – you should stay out of arm's reach," Isaviel suggested, rolling her eyes.
"I know you're joking," Shandra laughed, "I'm glad you've got some humour left in your after all this. I really haven't. But now you've brought me all this way, to a city I thought I'd only ever see in passing, and I need answers. What were those creatures? And why were they after me?" her expression was beginning to show signs of panic.
"Shandra, please, we realise this is difficult, but your life may be in danger," Casavir explained gently, drawing up a chair to sit between her and Isaviel, "I swear to you that we are trying to protect you, not make more trouble for you."
"Oh…alright," Shandra sounded a little flustered, "Sorry. I suppose the whole thing's hard to take in at once."
"A little paladin charm sure calmed her quick," Neeshka whispered in Isaviel's ear while Casavir took to explaining the events leading up to that point, and what they considered the likely reasons.
"Indeed," Isaviel grinned up at the Tiefling, nodding towards Duncan, "She seems to have everybody riled up."
The Tiefling sniggered in response, seeing the half-elf barkeeper's on-going frustration with the unfamiliar Gnome.
"I wonder where he came from," Neeshka mused.
"Come in here 'bout two days ago," Sal answered unexpectedly, placing their usual drinks before them, "Been here before, briefly, around a year ago. This time spoke o' findin' some 'Wendersnaven' creatures. Totally mad if ye ask me. I told 'im that wolf won't eat bread, but he wouldn't listen. And Bishop won't tell him otherwise – he enjoys kicking the poor lad every time he gets too close."
"Let's hope he doesn't take too much of a fancy to that wolf then," Isaviel remarked, "It could swallow him whole."
While Neeshka laughed, Isaviel glanced over at Karnwyr, remembering the wolf's unexpected friendliness, and then to Bishop, thinking of how he had wrapped her in his cloak that night. The archer's dark eyes were already fixed upon her and when he had caught her eye he quirked an eyebrow at her, taking a draught from his tankard…
"Ah…lass," Sal's voice had her looking up at him, a little flustered now.
"Yes?"
"Elanee had me put some healing 'erbs in yer drink. She says that she can tell that wound's still givin' ye trouble."
"Oh, thank you," Isaviel smiled genuinely, gaining a pat on the shoulder from the steadfast barman, "Tell her I appreciate it."
"Will do."
Meanwhile, Casavir's tale was coming to an end and Shandra seemed somewhat dazed. She tried to hide the shaking of her hands by holding her tankard of ale and taking a large swig.
"So you're saying Ammon Jerro had a Silver Sword and not only are they after Isaviel for the shard but they – these Gith…Githyanki – want to find Haven to recover my grandfather's sword?"
"Yes, Shandra," Casavir nodded.
"But I don't understand why he would have a Silver Sword. It sounds a little…violent, especially since he would have had to have stolen it. My mother knew him, although I didn't. She said he was an eccentric but humble wizard, and he died a long time ago, when I still hadn't been born."
"What do you know about his Haven? Did your mother ever mention it?" Isaviel asked, trying to mask her urgency.
"It was just a tale my mother used to tell to make me to do my chores on time. Well, I thought it was," Shandra shrugged, "Still, I'm afraid you're out of luck. I don't' know where it is, and knowing its location wouldn't help much – my mother spoke of a path you needed to walk to get to it – a series of challenges. It also requires a pint of fresh Jerro blood. Wait…is that why you brought me here? So you could bleed me?"
"Oh, Lone Wolf, save me!" Isaviel groaned, standing quickly and stalking a few steps away, drinking the last of her ale and slamming the tankard down hard on a nearby table which had been newly vacated by patrons.
"That was not our intention, Shandra," Casavir promised quickly, holding the young woman's gaze while Duncan went to speak with Isaviel, "That is the first we have heard of such a requirement and if it were necessary we would not ask such a think of you."
"Honestly, if she carries on being so ungrateful, I'll be bleeding her for fun, and to the Abyss and all the Hells with Haven!" Isaviel hissed vehemently to her uncle, who looked a little shocked.
"Wow now lass," he chuckled uncomfortably, putting his hands on her shoulders and meeting her raging look with a steady gaze, "Not everyone's as good at accepting danger as you. And would you be any more trusting of a rabble like this one? What is it now – a Tiefling, a Dwarf brawler, a druid from Meredelain, a fire-crazed sorceress and a paladin? Not including yerself."
"Do you know anything more about Ammon Jerro? Anything that could help us find Haven?" Elanee was suggesting from her place, newly seated beside Casavir.
"Like I said, I never met him. My mother used to tell me how when she was a small child he would cradle her and sing to her and she would pull at his beard."
"Eh," Khelgar grunted, "Tell yer mother to keep her distance from me, lass."
"Excuse me," Grobnar put in, peering over the table, "But if Ammon Jerro was 'eccentric but humble' why would Haven be such a terrible place?"
"I- I never thought of it like that," Shandra smiled, looking relieved, but then sighed, starting to stand, "Look, I can barely keep my eyes open, let alone think. I really need rest…we can talk about this tomorrow."
"Perhaps we should all retire," Casavir nodded, "Shandra, I believe Duncan has some spare rooms upstairs."
"Oh, uh, thanks for the hospitality…uh…Casavir, right? I appreciate it," and Shandra's tanned cheeks flushed, her hand coming to her face to subconsciously brush back a strand of her blonde hair.
"Of course, you have been through a great deal. It is the least we can offer."
"That I can offer, he means. My inn, ye know," Duncan interrupted, rushing over to the accommodation door and opening it for Shandra, "Always eager to help a lass in distress we are, here at The Sunken Flagon. It's just up these stairs, I'll show you to ye room. If ye need anything, I'm down the hallway…" the half-elf's voice dwindled as he and Shandra ascended the stairs, Casavir in tow, and the rest of the group began to disperse as well.
"They really are flocking to her, aren't they?" Neeshka laughed as she and Isaviel moved over to the bar.
"Rather her than me," Isaviel pointed out as they waved Sal over and ordered more drinks.
"That's just it though," Neeshka said with a shake of her head, "You've got that paladin, all his righteousness and horrible aura, just desperate to look after you and guard you. You've got shadows in you. I've always felt it – when you do your shadow-dancing and when you don't. He's just dying to romance you, even if in his cold paladin heart he's convinced it's wrong."
"What's this about cold paladins' hearts? Planning a murder, I hope."
Isaviel turned to see Bishop standing behind them, and when her pale skin began to colour red from the embarrassment, she met his gaze with a furious glare. Neeshka inched away a little, hiding behind a long drink from her tankard – not out of any feelings of discretion, but rather for a better vantage point.
"Why were you not with us this morning?" Isaviel demanded, and the ranger's look hardened, his eyes taking in her appearance from head to toe and back again.
"I never said I would help you out on all of your pathetic little quests," he told her derisively, "I might have enjoyed hunting Orcs, but I don't much care for the Githyanki, thank you. I hear those ones could drag you off to their Lich Queen."
"I didn't take you for a coward."
"And I wish I didn't take you for such a sentimental fool," Bishop shot right back.
"You made me believe that you would be staying with us after the Orcs. You talked of such things with me on the ride back to Neverwinter from Old Owl…"
"Bloodlust is addictive, Elf," he told her darkly, leaning oh so very close as he took another flagon of ale from the bar. She shivered against him involuntarily, hearing those words and knowing that wasn't all that he meant, remembering the feel of his hands as he had pulled his cloak about her shoulders.
When the ranger pulled back a little there was something of that unguarded look in his expression, as there had been in the cave near Old Owl Well. His look lingered now on the almost healed cut running vertically down her right cheek, the one the Orc had made in the mountains. That would scar. Then his eyes took in the new cut, the one made by Shandra's chamber pot of all things – it was not so deep and would soon fade, but he brought a rough thumb up to gently trace it anyway, following its curve towards her lower lip. When his eyes flickered up to meet hers they grew unreadable once more, but his touch remained.
"And where did you get this?" he asked, his voice low and only managing to get halfway to mockery, mimicking her words to him on those nights ago.
"Oh, wouldn't you like to know?" she smirked, looking up at him through her lashes.
"Everything all in order, Duncan?" Sal's voice sounded very loudly from behind Isaviel.
At the barman's rather unsubtle hint, the Moon Elf ducked away from the ranger, seeing her uncle returning, looking quite flustered from escorting Shandra to her room.
"Afraid of what your uncle might think of you, Elf?" Bishop growled, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her back to face him roughly.
"Maybe I'm just not interested enough in someone who abandons me when I most need everyone just because they feel like a morning stroll with their dog? I have more than just a mangy wolf and bloodlustful ranger to think about, Bishop," Isaviel spat, and they both looked down at the dagger point she held against his side, "Not to mention that if you don't let go of me right now, your dog will be eating your entrails before you can even think about stopping me."
Bishop's response was somewhere between a snarl and a laugh, but he loosened his grip just enough for her to pull free. That will bruise. She hid her wince and wanted nothing more than to stab him in the back for that…
"Hey, the paladin doesn't seem so bad after all that, right?" Neeshka asked a little nervously, putting a hand on her friend's shoulder cautiously, and the Moon Elf turned to face her, eyes grown cold.
"It might prove fun to get past his defences," Isaviel shrugged, and when she saw Neeshka glance past her, she knew Bishop had come up short to throw a furious glare at her back.
The Tiefling snorted at the transparency of the pair's bickering and pulled her friend back to the bar, where Sal stood cleaning the table top, watching them both knowingly. Isaviel shared a smile with him and Neeshka, glad for their company. Of all of the people she had come upon in Neverwinter, in all of her life even, she had never met anyone else who did not judge her.
"I've had some developments in the Hideout that I've been meaning to tell you about," Neeshka said after a moment, "I've had Sand go through the wards with me – naturally didn't tell him what we intend to use the base for, and he didn't ask – and he's set up some new phrases and I've changed all the combinations on the vaults. Now only you and me know all of the codes – the ones we agreed on before we had to go and…acquire Shandra. It shouldn't be long before we can make it our real base, instead of staying here where everyone can see everything we do," the Tiefling added pointedly, then blushed a little, "And I've found the perfect coordinator for operations while we're away. He's an…old friend actually. I met him way back…just after I escaped fosterage with the priests of Helm. He taught me most of what I know. If he hadn't happened to be passing through Neverwinter's spy networks, I don't know what I would have done."
"Sounds like an interesting man," Isaviel prompted, but Neeshka's eyes only looked past her into the mid-distance, "A very interesting man?" she tried again, and this time the Tiefling managed a nod, then broke out of her thoughts and the pair shared a laugh.