WARNING: This chapter contains racially motivated violence and a few vague Siege of Dragonspear spoilers.
Hour 7 Hammer 10, 1371 DR
A great sinking feeling took hold of Syrin as she realized who was most likely responsible for Adaran Tamasryn's murder, but before she could voice her well-founded suspicions, a man in the crowd shouted out his own opinion.
"It was one of those Calishites! It's their revenge for him trying to frame that silk dealer!" Several Calishites among the bystanders objected quite vehemently and more and more angry voices were added to the mix until Syrin began to fear violence.
"Stop! Stop it, the lot of you!" she barked, but it was too late. A Neverwintan threw a punch at a Calishite and the crowd erupted into complete chaos. The ranger swore loudly in Elvish as she quickly pulled Celthica with her through the fray, Rasaad close behind them.
"We must get Celthica back to her father's caravan," the monk advised urgently after dodging the errant swing of a splintered wood plank. The young girl slipped in her panic on a patch of deep sand, wrenching her from Syrin's grasp, but Rasaad nimbly plucked her up and set her right again. The camp was a blur as they scrambled through the spreading frenzy, trying to escape the berserk rage that seemed to have overcome half the convoy already. Twice, Syrin narrowly avoided being smashed over the head by improvised weapons.
The trio reached Syrin and Rasaad's tent and rushed inside, intending to hurriedly gather up there things, but they stopped in there tracks when they found someone already lurking within who was in the midst of placing a bloody hammer on the bedroll.
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me!" the elf burst out, immediately realizing what was going on here, and the scrawny little sneak looked up like a startled deer. "Listen, we've both done the framed for murder thing and if a demigod, a powerful wizard, and the Chosen of Shar couldn't fully manage it, what in the Nine Hells makes you think you can get this to work? Clearly you have no idea who you're dealing with."
Something about the way Syrin sounded far more exasperated than outraged seemed to put the fear of the gods in the miscreant before her, because he began to tremble and tried to cut his way out of the tent and make a run for it. Rasaad was far too quick for him, however, and had the frightened fellow's arms twisted behind his back before he could do little more than blink.
"I think not," Syrin sighed as she carefully plucked up the bloodied hammer and tucked it into the intruder's belt, whereupon she noticed a familiar symbol embossed on a pouch hanging from it. It was the coat of arms of the weapons dealer that had taken up Tamasryn's employment. The pieces of the puzzle clicked together in her mind. "He's your martyr. Your way to push your political views and improve business in one fell swoop."
The intruder's eyes grew wider, but he remained silent and still.
"I'm right then." The ranger's jaw clenched in disgust and he squirmed.
"P-Please d-d-don't kill me! I'll do anything!"
"Oh, I am quite sure you would." Syrin's eyes flashed yellow with the use of such an angry tone and the man gasped loudly.
"By the gods! They're right about you! You're a freak! A demon!"
"You don't know a fucking thing about me."
"Syrin!" Rasaad chided, gesturing towards Celthica, who had thus far remained a silent if frightened observer. This fortunately had the effect of allowing the elf to rein in her rage and refocus on Celthica's safety. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward and addressed the intruder again.
"I'm not going to kill you, because unlike your masters, I respect the sanctity of life. Get out of here and take your murder weapon with you."
At that, Rasaad flung him from the tent and watched to make sure he had gone before he began to help Syrin and Celthica hurriedly pack up their possessions. The din of the riot was growing louder and louder with each passing moment, spurring them to move faster. Just as the couple had finished loading up their horses, the mob reached them and they were surrounded once more with total chaos.
"Father!" Celthica suddenly cried out and they looked around to see the stocky man himself running towards them, appearing as battered and panicked as the rest of the crowd. He gave his daughter a quick albeit very tight hug before addressing her bodyguards urgently.
"Go now! Get away! Get to the city and I will meet you there as soon as I can!" Syrin and Rasaad both gave curt nods at this and mounted their horses, Syrin pulling Celthica up with her. "Keep her safe!" Eston called after them as they galloped away through the destruction. Celthica clung to the horse's mane as if for dear life and Syrin could hear her fast a shallow breathing. The ranger would have offered up some words of comfort if she were not so distracted by trying to weave between rioters and frenzied beasts of burden. She even vaulted over an upturned wagon to avoid two guardsman in the midst of a bloody sword fight.
Rasaad followed close behind, fending off anyone who went after them with a long piece of a tent pole that he had snatched from a passing rioter's grasp. He may have been most skilled at using his fists as weapons, but he could also handle a staff with stunning efficiency, which certainly came in handy on horseback.
Their steeds kicked up thick clouds of sand as they escaped into the open desert, making it a bit more difficult for projectiles to be accurately aimed at them. They would have to find the road later once they had put some serious distance between themselves and the convoy.
"Are you hungry, Celthica?" Syrin asked her charge softly as she adjusted her hood to better protect herself from the scorching afternoon sun. Their pace had slowed to a lazy trot and the were all rather tired from the excitement of that morning.
"Yes," the girl admitted before giving a small yawn.
"Alright. We'll stop and rest and have something to eat." Syrin looked over to her husband, reaching out to touch his arm and get his attention. "Rasaad, let's stop for a few moments." With a nod, he brought his horse to halt, Syrin following suit, and they dismounted. Rasaad rummaged through their supplies and extracted three small, carefully wrapped bundles, handing one to Celthica and another to his wife. They each contained a handful of dried dates, not the best meal, but better than nothing. Sitting in the sand, the three of them quietly ate and looked out across the vast and terrible beauty of the desert.
"What will happen when we get to Calimport?" Celthica asked somewhat anxiously.
"We will find a reputable inn and wait there for your father to arrive," Rasaad answered. He knew better than any of them what places in the city would be safest after all.
"What if he never comes?" This was a much darker line of thought than the couple would have expected from the girl, but it seemed that even they could underestimate her maturity.
"Then we'll be your guardians until we can get you back to Waterdeep," Syrin assured after a long, tense moment of thought, and Rasaad gave a nod of agreement. To her surprise, this actually appeared to comfort the child, and it suddenly occurred to her that she and Rasaad had been better parents to Celthica in these past few tendays than her actual father.
Maybe...maybe they were more prepared for this kind of responsibility than Syrin had previously believed. With that thought, the elf's hand drifted to her stomach, feeling the tenseness there, now more conflicted than ever.
"Are you alright, Syrin?" Rasaad asked, a look of concern furrowing his brow.
"Yeah...I've just been thrown off a little by everything that's happened. The gods seemed determined to make our lives interesting."
"That they do, but if all of it has proven anything, it is that together we can handle whatever comes." The monk gave Syrin a reassuring smile and reached out to take her hand. She nodded silently and squeezed his fingers, debating with herself as she did so about when she was going to tell him what had been truly bothering her these past few days. This was not something she could hide forever and strain on her marriage was making it harder.
Celthica seemed to detect the tenseness of the situation, because she immediately wolfed down the rest of her food and got up.
"Alright, I'm ready to go," she announced and the adults followed suit, brushing sand of their clothing and returning to the horses. This time, the child sat with Rasaad, remarking that she didn't want to play favourites with Syrin, though Syrin suspected that she just wanted to use his broad back as a pillow.
"Little does she know, his chest is where the real pillow action is at," the elf thought, smiling to herself as they continued on across the desert.
It was almost night when they finally came to the gates of the great city of Calimport. Even at this time of day, the streets were packed with people and the goings on of millions, but Rasaad navigated them as easily as a fish through water. This was his natural habitat, his home, and Syrin was in awe.
Within the hour, Rasaad had led them to a drudach in the Larau district (or sabban, as he called it) that seemed predominantly merchant class. There, they came to a stop outside a bustling inn, which bore a sign in deep black lettering that proclaimed it the Jet Jambiya.
"Stay close to me," he instructed Celthica as they entered and she obeyed, looking a little overwhelmed by the sheer number of people. An elven woman with an impressive mane of thick curly black hair greeted them with a smile and a wave of her dark hand from behind the bar. There was something oddly familiar about her that Syrin could not place. "Saam, tabarifa," Rasaad responded politely, returning the greeting. He then continued to speak in Alzhedo, but far too rapidly for Syrin to pick up anything she could understand. The innkeeper nodded attentively every so often at what Rasaad was saying, occasionally glancing at Celthica, suggesting that their situation was being explained.
"I believe I have room that I can make available to you. It will be small, but it is the best I can do," the woman finally said in Common.
"That's more than enough. Thank you, tabarifa," Syrin told her gratefully.
"You are welcome. And please, call me Nefhadha." This wrung and even louder bell in Syrin's mind, but still she could not think why. Where had she heard that name before?
"Oh! Of course. I am Syrin A'Gorion. This is my husband, Rasaad yn Bashir, and our charge here is Celthica Gaevyn." At this, Nefhadha's earthy eyes went wide and her soft smile broadened into an ear-to-ear grin.
"You know my son! You know Khalid! He has written of you both often. Please tell me, how is he? I have not heard from him in some time."
A heavy sinking feeling hit Syrin as everything fell into place. She knew that name because Khalid had been Khalid yn Nefhadha. This was his mother. And she didn't know that he was dead.
"I think we had better move this conversation somewhere less public," the ranger suggested, trying very hard to keep her voice calm and even. Nefhadha's face fell and she quietly instructed one of the barmaids to take charge before leading her new guests up to their room. The moment the door was closed, Syrin spoke again. "When was the last time you received a letter from Khalid?"
"Two years ago. He told me of how you had successfully ended Caelar Argent's crusade and how proud he is of the woman you've become. He thinks of you as a daughter, you know." If there was anything that could make this even more painful for Syrin, it was that. Being reminded of how much Khalid had cared about her was like ripping open an old wound that had only just half-healed.
"Nefhadha, I...I don't know how to say this. Khalid is...he's gone." With these words, a light in the innkeeper's eyes died and Syrin was sure that the poor woman's entire world had come crashing down around her. Nefhadha stumbled into the chair by the small window, one hand at her chest and the other over her mouth.
"H-How? My son...I-I don't...I..."
"Khalid died because he was with me, protecting me. Man named Jon Irenicus killed him," Syrin admitted, feeling compelled to be completely open with Nefhadha about why Khalid was gone. Tears began to stream profusely down the woman's cheeks and it took every ounce of Syrin's self control not follow suit. "And I made that monster answer for it. Twice over."
"I think...in my heart, I always knew, after I stopped getting letters," Nefhadha wept before taking a deep, shuddering breath and wiping the tears from her face. "Thank you. Now I finally know."
"Will you be alright? Is there anything we can do for you?" Rasaad offered compassionately.
"I will be fine. In time. I knew Khalid led a dangerous life. I knew something like this might happen. I just...one can never truly be prepared. And you have already done more than enough for me. All I wish now is to hear more about why you have come to Calimport."
With all the grace and wisdom of a hardworking elf who had clearly seen a couple of centuries already, Nefhadha pulled herself back together. Syrin knew well enough that it was an illusion to hide the unspeakable grief beneath, having done it herself many times, but she respectfully let it be and began to relay everything the innkeeper wanted to know.
She was delighted to hear that Syrin and Rasaad were newly married and on their honeymoon and listened with fascination as they recounted their adventures since leaving Imnesvale. Celthica enthusiastically began chipping in once they got to the part where she came in. Nefhadha seemed to find the girl very sweet and brave and said as much, to Celthica's great pleasure.
"You were taken on a twisted path indeed to get here. You are lucky to have gotten away from that riot as you did and you did right by bringing the little one to the Jet Jambiya. I will make sure you are all well looked after and I will keep an eye out for any news of Lord Gaevyn," Nefhadha promised, already treating them like family.
"If you do not mind me asking, how did you become the owner of the Jet Jambiya? You were not when I was a child," Rasaad said, folding his hands behind his back in the way that he did whenever he was being inquisitive. Syrin had always found it rather endearing.
"Now that is a bit of a story. Before I worked here, I was a beggar who spent her days trying to evade slavers. And before that, I was a servant in Manshaka in the house of the man who would be my son's father. When Khalid was born, I agreed to leave for Calimport on the condition that he remain to be raised as Khalid yn Nadim el Taloreem yi Manshaka. My boy grew up and became a respected military officer, but after an incident at one of the arenas, he was transferred to Calimport. He found me and got me a job as a barmaid here. At one point, my employer tried to beat me for giving out food to urchins, which resulted in his death and my sudden ownership of the place. I have had it for many years now," Nefhadha explained, her voice becoming slightly strained whenever she referred to Khalid.
"And you run it quite well, by the looks of things," Syrin praised and a small smile returned to the innkeeper's face.
"Thank you. I do try my best. But come, what kind of host am I that I have not yet seen you fed?" With a burst of energy, Nefhadha stood up and beckoned for her three new guests to follow her. She led them back downstairs, through the crowd of patrons, and into the kitchens, where there was an empty table adjacent to several stacked barrels of fine ale. The cooks greeted them cheerfully and went about their business as if it was completely normal for Nefhadha to bring people back here. "Please, take a seat. I shall prepare something for you."
Celthica and the couple did as they were bayed and watched as Nefhadha flitted around the kitchen, putting together what would be their first proper meal since leaving Memnon. There were lots of many different foods laid out before them, spiced lamb, steamed vegetables, dates, flatbread, seasoned turnips, just to name a few. It was far more than they could reasonably be expected to eat. Celthica was so hungry it seemed that even the vegetables earned her notice. Syrin strangely felt thrice as famished as the girl and took some of everything. To the surprise of all, she kept going until every dish was clean.
"Already eating for two, are you?" Nefhadha asked with a grin and Syrin froze.
"I, uh...I..." she struggled to form a coherent sentence that didn't admit that she was but wasn't a lie. Celthica looked on in confusion, but Rasaad...Syrin could feel Rasaad's gaze on her and it made her want to flee.
"Syrin?" he addressed her, but she did not answer, or indeed even move. She was, by her estimation, in her own personal hell.
"Oh! Did you not know?" Nefhadha brought a hand up to her mouth, realizing her mistake.
"Know what?" Rasaad pressed.
"She is with child."
A/N: ...and finally the truth comes out. Prepare for ~drama~. Alzhedo notes: saam = (greeting), drudach = neighbourhood/precinct.
