Author's Note: Can you tell I hated this part of the game? Even with the many liberties I've taken, I'm still not happy so I guess I'll share the misery…
Chapter 13…A Misplaced Emissary
"Old Owl Well? Where in the Nine Hells is that?" Carona asked.
When Carona had been brought to this meeting with her guild master, she had hoped he was going to reward her for the handling of the weapons shipment and its aftermath. Moire had taken what was thought to be the trickier task of secretly unloading the weapons from the ship and Carona was to deliver them from one of the back alleys in the docks to the distribution point in the Merchant's Quarter. Although Moire's ideas for the movement of the weapons had seemed sound enough, Carona had suspected she might plant some little unpleasant surprise along the way as a 'test', one that would make her look incompetent in their guild master's eyes. So she had asked Neeshka, unknown to any of the Thieves, to scout ahead. That little bit of paranoia saved them all. Neeshka discovered the ambush the Watch had set in the warehouse before Carona and the four thieves assigned by Moire (chosen for their strong backs and not their quick wits) blundered into it.
Moire had threatened to flay the skin from her back when she learned that Carona, in a panic, had hidden the crates in a burned out husk of a building at the district border instead of delivering them as promised. Her fury rose to white-hot pitch but changed its focus when her own scout did not return from the warehouse. Later her spies discovered that the raid had been led by one of Nasher's Nine, supplemented by an entire squad of Greycloaks and a handful of Tyrran battle clerics from the Hall of Justice. If they had entered that warehouse, they would have been taken—and that would likely have precipitated the bloodbath that their guild master said he wished to avoid.
Since Janit's betrayal, they had known that there was a highly-placed informer in their ranks. This new betrayal pointed suspicion to Fihelis, the man who owned and managed the warehouses for the guild's activities. It was he who had arranged for the weapons shipment to bypass the harbor inspection and it was he who had chosen the delivery point. He had, of course, also been privy to the timing of the delivery, since he had been tasked to keep his workers out of the way.
Strong suspicion gave way to certainty when Moire learned that the Watch held Fihelis under protective guard at his own estate. According to her informants, he was slated to testify before Nasher's court. Unfortunately none of her contacts could get her inside to deal with the traitor. Supposedly Sir Darmon of the Nine, concerned with the corruption so rampant in the Watch, had personally selected Fihelis' guards. He had then passed them all before Nasher's justiciar, a cleric of Tyr, for a loyalty test of some sort. But Moire was determined to deal with Fihelis. She had a passing familiarity with the house and although she had no luck bribing the Watchmen, she had been able to question the housemaids.
"The doors are heavily guarded and all the windows are warded, even those on the upper floor and the attic," she had told Carona. They were in the park watching the house. It was late in the evening and no one had gone in or out in quite awhile. "They've trapped and warded the chimneys in the kitchen and the great hall against entry. The maids complain that the house is cold and that no one is allowed to cook or even heat water."
"But I saw smoke from one of the chimneys earlier." Moire chuckled low in her ear.
"Yes. I noticed that. The chimney at the side of the house is too narrow for an assassin to enter—they believe. Yet even so, they have kept a fire burning in Fihelis' bedroom night and day as a precaution. Unusually vigilant, this Sir Darmon, don't you think?" Carona didn't reply. She wondered if Cormick was on guard with the Watchmen inside. He could pass a loyalty test, no doubt about that. Moire moved closer and leaned against her.
"I will have Fihelis tonight," she said. "If I have to send a hundred thieves into that house, I will do it. But our master prefers that I send one and do the job neatly."
Carona gave her a guarded look and tried to edge away. Moire put her hand on her shoulder to hold her still.
"If protected from fire, could someone our size crawl down that bedroom chimney and back up again?" she asked.
"Almost certainly," Carona said. She had done so several times in her early housebreaking days, although never when there was a fire in the hearth. "It is not so much a matter of size as knowing the tricks for moving in tight places."
"You know these tricks." It was not a question. Carona felt Moire's breath warm on her face but it chilled her.
"I'm not going in there. I'm no assassin."
"Now don't be coy," Moire said. "You told me yourself of your murder of that bandit near Fort Locke. You slew him in his bed, did you not?"
"That was different," she said uneasily. "I didn't plan to kill him. I went there to talk but then he gave me little choice."
"And what choice do you think you have now?" The elf's hand gripped her shoulder hard. The threat hung heavy between them. Moire's eyes gleamed in the near darkness and her voice became cajoling. "I'm not asking you to torture, although he surely has earned it. Don't you wish to avenge Janit's death? If Fihelis lives to testify, who knows, it could be your head in the noose next."
No, it's probably your head that's next, Carona thought, but she had to admit that Moire had a point.
"And if you refuse me this task, it will be my task to discipline you." Moire's hand stroked her cheek in a mocking caress. "Are you so eager to bare your back to me again?"
Carona pulled away with a shudder. No, she was not. Her fingers were cold as they closed around the thin vial Moire pressed into her hand.
"How long does the potion last?" she asked.
"I would suggest you do not dawdle."
"Will it protect my clothes from fire as well?"
"I doubt it." Moire gave another of her low laughs. "Kill Fihelis and I will buy you a fine new pair of boots. Go now. You'd best move quickly."
Climbing to the roof without making a racket had been the most difficult part.
Fihelis had been asleep in his bed but judging by the state of the bedcovers, he had not slept well. He woke when she put her hand over his mouth. He jerked in terror but Carona fancied that her own heart was beating every bit as frantically as his. She forced herself to look into his face, feeling sick. Then she recognized him. She had not known his name but she had seen him with Janit several times. Her former master had greeted him as a friend. He had trusted Fihelis and now he was dead—and it was Janit's death that had thrown her into Moire's hands. Perhaps it was Janit's death that had precipitated the burning of the Watch post and had led to this war against the Thieves' Guild. Fihelis had much to answer for.
The surge of hatred that swelled in her heart brought an almost dizzying sense of relief. The traitor's eyes were tired and resigned. He didn't struggle, not even when he saw her blade. It would have been easier if he had fought back, Carona thought with fresh resentment. She killed him with one savage stroke and left as silently as she had entered.
That had been two days ago and only now did her guild master summon her. But apparently she wasn't here to be praised or admonished; she was here to be given another task. Carona shook her head free of intrusive memories and put on a show of attentiveness as her master, face hidden behind another elegant mask, spread out a map.
"Old Owl Well is in the middle of nowhere," Carona said, once she'd figured out the scale and measured off distances with her fingers.
"It's in the middle of orc lands," he corrected. "With the recent problems along the High Road, Nasher has decided it is finally time to retake the well and secure the trade route to Yartar. His peasant recruits, even under the leadership of one of his more experienced commanders, are going to find that a hard nut to crack, I fear. The orcs have held the region for years now and are present in great numbers. One of my people is there as my eyes in the Greycloak camp, and the messages she sends me are not encouraging."
"What do you need of me?"
"Waterdeep is sending a new emissary to Neverwinter and he is now overdue," the guild master said. "I have scouts out looking for him along the High Road but it seems likely that he has taken the route through Old Owl Well. With the orcs stirred up by the presence of Nasher's troops, his plans for a quiet and secret passage have no doubt failed disastrously."
"Do you think the orcs have killed him?"
"They are more likely to hold him for ransom, for gold or perhaps in exchange for a withdrawal of the Greycloak forces. Or perhaps Issani is simply holed up somewhere, delayed—I do not know. I want you to find him and bring him back to Neverwinter. I want him indebted to me, not to Nasher."
"And if he is dead?"
"Then bring back what proofs you can find of his death. Waterdeep will send another emissary if Issani is killed and we must be ready."
"I will do my best," she said a bit doubtfully. "But it seems like someone familiar with the area would be a better choice."
"Perhaps that is so," he said, "But I am aware of what you accomplished with the problems along the coast road not so long ago. I have faith in your…resourcefulness."
For one who had been raised in the swamps of the Mere, the prospect of venturing into the arid badlands that surrounded Old Owl Well was not exactly appealing. In fact, it was frightening. However, Carona had to admit that this was an excellent time to leave Neverwinter. She now spent a significant daily effort evading Marshal Cormick. He would show up at the Flagon at random times, hoping to catch her in and he had left countless messages, increasingly terse and irritated in tone. She did not know how much involvement he suspected she had in the recent doings of the Thieves' Guild, but he suspected something, and that was too much. If he kept poking around, she was afraid that the guild master might decide to lift his prohibition on direct attacks against members of the Watch. She knew that Moire would jump at the chance to eliminate the marshal, once and for all.
Also, she was no closer to earning entry to Blacklake. Another noble had been killed, a Lord Brennick, and the district was locked down tighter than ever. 'Soon', she was promised every time she asked Moire for a way in, but with every chore she performed for the guild, she was still given the same answer: soon.
And she was not the only one having problems in Neverwinter. She and Neeshka had been attacked twice by thugs sent by Neeshka's old partner, Leldon. Carona had actually had an unpleasant run-in with the man in her early days in Neverwinter, back before she had joined the guild. Then he had been a simple housebreaker but although he had grown in power and influence, he was apparently still a bully. At any rate, he and Neeshka had had a falling out. The tiefling went vague on the details, but Carona gathered she had exacted some sort of double-cross on Leldon and he had driven her out of Neverwinter. Now that she had returned, he would only be satisfied with blood. Neeshka spent more time brooding over this than Carona thought healthy but ever since the burning of the Watch post, the tiefling had lost her desire to join the Thieves' Guild. She now seemed to expect Carona to protect her.
Then there was Khelgar. Still angry about his rejection by the monks of Tyr, he relieved his resentment in bar-fighting. Training, he called it, but Carona knew frustration when she saw it. Lorne had gone through a similar stage when they had first come to Neverwinter, when he had learned that his size and his strength would not win him the preferment he thought his due.
Evening after evening, Khelgar would return to the Flagon with bruised knuckles and minor injuries, reeking of ale and full of bluster. One day, rather shame-faced, he asked Carona if he could change his mind about accepting a share of the take from their raid on the bandit camp at Fort Locke. He had damages to pay in half a dozen bars and if he didn't come up with some coin, the Watch would take him in for debt. Flush with the blood money from killing Fihelis, she gave him the coin he needed but she had the unworthy thought that a stint with the work gangs might do him some good. If he didn't find gainful occupation, he was going to dig himself a deep pit full of trouble, she feared.
Elanee was another problem. The druid was miserable in the city, but she had nowhere to go. She had left in search of the druids who guarded Neverwinter Woods, and she returned to say that they would not speak to her. They had hidden themselves like frightened children, as if the shadow that darkened the Mere was a plague that could be transmitted from her very presence. She clung to Carona as if she were her only hope.
"Something has built a black wall in the Mere," she told Carona one night. "I cannot go back there. All it touches, withers and dies…and this shadow is slowly growing. It advances from the heart of the Mere and drives all life before it. And without life, without the land to aid us, one who tries to cross that wall is consumed by it." There was a slight tremor in her hands and Carona remembered Kaleil, Elanee's friend who had been trapped in the form of a rabid beast.
Carona gave Elanee a worried look. If the shadow was truly growing, would it reach West Harbor one day? How would it affect the village? Surely Daeghun, so wise in the ways of the Mere, would recognize the danger in time, she thought fretfully. He would do…something.
"I don't know what we can do about this, Elanee."
"Nor do I. I had hoped that the druids of Neverwinter Wood could advise me…but now I don't know. I fear they know no more than I. Such things are not born of the land. This shadow is a blight, a presence from somewhere else. I believe this blight is somehow tied to the bladeling attacks throughout the Mere. I started following them in the hopes to learn something that could help. They led me to you."
"We are no closer to understanding where they come from or what they really want." Carona's hand unconsciously rose to the shards that she kept in the breast pocket of her tunic.
"No. But these bladelings are the key, I feel it. Perhaps only by reaching beyond the land, into the libraries and tomes here in the city, can such mysteries be made clear. But I have no way to do this on my own. I am lost here. I…I rely upon you, Carona."
At any rate, all three of them were easily persuaded to travel with her. That left the logistical problems. Because this mission was urgent, it made sense that they should ride instead of walk, but none of them knew much of anything about horses—selecting them, outfitting them, caring for them, or riding them. Somewhat to Carona's surprise, Duncan came to their rescue. She kept forgetting that he had been an adventurer once.
"Well, if you're going into the Sword Mountains, you're going to want donkeys, not horses," he said, exasperated. Since Carona could tell him little of the real reasons for the expedition, he was understandably irritated with the whole idea. "You're going to need to carry plenty of water. Where are you planning to refill your water skins?" At their blank looks, he sighed. He ended up drawing them a sketchy map, marking proposed spots for camping. He set them up with a friend of his, a caravan leader, who arranged for the rental of the mules, and (after a quick consultation with Duncan) also hired them a guide, to serve as a groom and riding instructor and to make sure they didn't end up killing or losing their mounts.
This and the provisions they needed flattened Carona's coin purse. She had already sold most of the jewelry she and Neeshka had taken from the bandits' lair. If they were successful, the guild would pay handsomely but if they did not find the emissary before the Greycloaks, there was no assurance that the guild would reimburse any of their expenses, much less pay for their time and effort.
"Lass," Duncan said, breaking into her thoughts. He carried two mugs of ale. He placed one in front of her and then took a seat beside her at the table near the back of the room that she had come to think of as hers. She had certainly made herself at home in the Sunken Flagon, she realized, she and her companions as well. She had no idea how Duncan felt about that.
"Thanks," she said. She took a long swallow. "I never intended us to impose on your hospitality so long," she said in a burst of candor. "It's just that…" He waved her words aside.
"Don't be speaking of hospitality," he said. "You're kin. Where else would you stay?"
"Daeghun may have taken me in, but I'm not his daughter." There was the lilt of a question in her statement. Her hand touched the top of her ear, with its barely noticeable pointed tip. "I'm no true kin of yours." Her eyes lifted from her mug to meet his and she softly asked, "Am I?"
He had raised his mug to his lips. He set it down. There was an odd expression on his face.
"Daeghun took you in and that makes you my kin," he said firmly. "But lass, I've come to speak of something else. What in the Nine Hells is going on between you and Marshal Cormick?"
"Nothing." It was her turn to be evasive.
"Nothing, eh? Now don't tell lies to your Uncle Duncan. If he's been by once, he's been by a dozen times looking for you in the last few days. Lass, he's a pig-headed Harborman. He's not going to give up just because you keep avoiding him. Go see him."
"I really can't do that."
"If he was here to arrest you, he'd have his men take you in the street." Carona gave him a startled look. "Aye, lass, I've a fair notion of how you make your living," he said, a faint smile tugging his lip. "I've seen you with Caleb and a few others. I've lived in the Docks for years now. I know most of his lads by face if not by name." He held up his hand before she could interrupt. "Tyr can judge you—that's not my place. I'm just saying that if you continue to run away from Cormick instead of facing him, he can make your life here very, very difficult."
Carona sighed. Wasn't her life difficult enough? How could Cormick do anything but add to her problems?