Fool's Gold
Anomen held out the soft bundle. And cleared his throat.
"I acquired what I could," he said, scratching at the flesh inside his throat again with a heavy breath. "I am sorry it is not more presentable, my lady." But at least it was a good sight better than the rags she had been traipsing about in for the past few days.
"Th-thank you."
A slim hand reached out from behind the screen and snatched the clothes from him. He turned away, even though the screen hid everything from him. He folded his arms across his chest.
"Tell me, my lady," he said as that Elven woman bathed and dressed. The sound of sloshing water drifted up from the other side. "What do you know of your companion? That dark-haired woman. Evelyn."
It was harmless enough. She didn't suspect or seem to care overly much as to any ulterior motive of his. Not that she had much reason too. Her affiliations were clearly tenuous, and fleeting at best.
"I … Nothing."
It was about all that he could get from her. Even after hours alone in her company and almost blatant attempts to extract the information. It might have been maddening, but long hours in training had taught him some patience at least.
The girl hardly knew anything. She had found the other woman dying in the gutter one night, she told him, stammering all the way as if afraid of some sudden, punitive blow. She had nursed that woman back to health, then been swept up with her when calamity struck the circus in the Promenade. Something about a magical attraction gone awry. The Cowled Wizards were investigating. But he had heard rumors about a great many civilian casualties. That whole part of the Promenade had been closed off, even if little could keep the Council of Five or Athkatla itself from shutting, or even slowing, down the Promenade completely.
It was not long after that when he had found them in the Copper Coronet. Trouble and tragedy seemed to have followed the woman ever since. Intervening had cost him his knighting. But he thought there just might be a way to rectify that.
The Elven girl had nowhere to go. That much was obvious. Her only kin had been killed in the fiasco at the circus, and the other woman was hardly more than a chance companion. But he was not quite ready to cast her aside to the care of the clerics for a vagrant. Not while he still felt that chance. That … pull. He didn't know what it was. But something had changed that night when he should have died. And, somehow, he knew she had something to do with it.
"Stay here."
He told the girl not to leave the room. She did not protest. She never did.
Then he pulled his cloak on heavy to hide his armor beneath the coat and face. It made a hot Amnish day sweltering. And the crowded common room of the Copper Coronet made it no better.
He did not know where that other man went – the stranger with the glib, foreign tongue – and it worried him. That one had vanished outside the tavern last night. But the squire was sure that the dark-haired woman and the reticent Elf would be at the Copper Coronet to meet that noble today. He had seen the look in her eye last night. So he had stayed close. Whatever she might have thought, she was not done with him yet.
And when he pressed into the inn that morning, his instincts were not proven wrong.
The girl, he found easy enough. She was hardly hiding there amidst the somewhat quieter and less crowded tables. A few unwashed drunks littered the floor, snoring. She stood in one corner, arms folded across her chest, dark eyes scanning the rest of the room. It was a strange look on that face to him. Almost … predatory.
She didn't notice him. Not for more than a few moments anyways. He was safe beneath his hood. But she was watching the door. And those eyes lingered.
The Elf was a little more difficult. He was hidden in one of the farther, darker corners. The innkeeper, a foul wretch of a man named Lehtinan, had let those torches die down. And there were precious few windows in that place. Sir Firecam's raid the other night should have brought that slave-herding scum down too. But there he was, scowling at his leisure behind the bar.
Anomen moved carefully into the room. Whoever those two really were, they were not stupid. If that meeting were only a foolishly contrived trap, then the bowman was working an oversight. He couldn't see the Elf's face beneath his cloak, but he was sure it was him. The squire made his movements slow, and as unthreatening as he could.
And she didn't notice until it was too late.
"What are you doing here?"
Her voice snapped at him suddenly. He just pulled down his hood, coming up beside her.
"You are making a mistake, my lady," he growled back at her cross look, sparing her an irritated glance. He did not know who this woman was, but she more than tried his patience. He kept throwing himself in harm's way for her and all he got in return was unflinching scorn.
"You have no idea the power circles you would trifle with."
That lookturned dubious, but no less dismissive.
"What do you mean?" she demanded impatiently, even so.
The way she stood, arms tight about her and scowling into nothing at his presence – she almost looked like a petulant child. Had she not shown such a knack for getting herself in so far over her mildly pretty head, he would have learned long ago to just leave well enough alone.
Anomen glanced back toward the Elf in his corner. The man had tensed. But he had not moved yet.
He found the woman again.
"You cannot trust these men," he told her, his voice low. He tried to control it, and merely sound earnest. He thought he succeeded. For the most part.
"If the Cowled Wizards are truly behind the abduction of this friend of yours," he grated on gravely, leveling her with an eye. The gesture, as always, was lost on her before it had even begun. "Then that is where we should start looking."
She eyed him back for a moment. Just a little curiously.
But then she shook her head.
"I've seen what they are capable of," she all but spat at the last.
He wasn't sure he knew what that meant. He shared no love for the wizards, of course. No one in Amn really did. But neither did he hate them.
"My lady," he pressed. But she cut him short.
"No." She shook her head again, slowly. "If you want to help, then fine," she snapped. "But they know where Imoen is, and they haven't tried to kill me yet."
"Yet," he muttered back at her, glancing away. He didn't bother to mention that night it seemed she was trying to forget.
Unfortunately, the gesture carried him right into the man he was hoping to avoid.
"Young Delryn," a man in fine scroll and lace beneath heavy, obscuring cloak acknowledged. An idle moment more and that tone grew immediately amused.
"I did not expect to meet you here as well. Though, I can hardly say that I am surprised."
A smile cracked across that other's face. For his part, Anomen's scowl burrowed even deeper into his bearded face.
"Lord Firkraag."
It was simple. Civil. Even at the worst of times, he knew his place at least. He thought so.
But the other seemed not to agree.
"Tell me," the other man pushed on good-naturedly, "how is your father faring?" He continued smiling down at the squire. Anomen didn't bother to answer. It was all he could do to keep his hands clenched tight at his sides.
"Still rolling around in the drink is he?" that other scoffed, still with that same smile. "Tsk. Tsk," he chided. "To think he drove his only son to the gutter."
"My lord," Anomen finally broke in. But then thought better of it. The first words on his tongue hastily fled from mind. And he forced himself to settle for baring his teeth and grating on in a gravelly voice instead.
"I hardly thought you brave enough to venture into such a," he glanced around quickly, "cesspool," and settled, "of corruption as this, without an armed escort."
"Oh?" The man abruptly clapped a hand to the squire's shoulder with a much-amused grin. "I did not intend to draw such attention."
He was alone, his fine regalia heavily doused beneath that drab, yet still finely-woven cloak. But he was a fool if he thought himself in anyway safe.
"You there," the lord pushed past the squire without another thought, suddenly seizing on the dark-haired woman beyond. "You are the one I am to meet," he said, "not this landless young, lesser noble. Come with me," he beckoned, "back to some privacy."
Lord Firkraag turned about and made his way toward the back rooms of the inn. Anomen followed, scowling, before the dark-haired woman could think to stop him. She didn't even bother, moving after the other. And the bearded squire did not miss the pointed look she gave the hooded man in the corner as they passed.
Lehtinan had an arena buried back there, well away from the fuss and visibility of the common room. Spectator booths lined an upper platform for his guests. They only found kennel fights when they had raided the place, but each of them knew the truth of what the man did with all the slaves he brought in. There was a reason for all the exotic animals too.
Evelyn gave the squire only a brief look when the lord ushered them over to one of those vacant booths. At that early hour, the small arena was all but deserted.
He slipped in beside the woman.
"I am called Lord Jierdan Firkraag," the man began once they were seated. "And you are Evelyn, of course, child of the late Gorion Greymantle.
"There is no need to look so surprised," he continued at the woman's askance look. "Word has long since come to me of your actions in Baldur's Gate."
His eyes narrowed at her – brilliant, green eyes. And that tone was brisk and clipped. He barely gave them pause.
"I see you as capable and headstrong," it chanted on with a thrust of the chin, "with the ability to handle whate'er is thrown at you." And he smiled pleasantly at that.
"Just the type of creature that I am looking for."
Anomen kept eying the other man dubiously. But his thoughts turned hastily to that woman in surprise for a few moments. He had no reason to like or even trust the other lord at his word, but they did give him pause. Up until then the raven-haired woman had been barely more than a face and a name and a lot of trouble. But whatever she might have done, he knew, if it had drawn the attention and praise of a wealthy noble in Amn, then she was far more than she seemed. He had certainly guessed as much. But he hardly knew if it was for better or worse just yet.
"Certainly you understand that these are dangerous times," the man was saying. His crystalline eyes were hard and fixed to the exclusion of all else on the girl. "And that extreme measures are often called for. That is why I have need of someone with your particular … skills," he mused with a faint grin at the last.
"I am lord of a community outside the city," he continued in that conspiratorial, yet still grandiose tone. "And while I provide for my people as best that I can, there are some things I cannot do." His amiable, plastered smile turned rueful.
"Battle is not my strong point."
Anomen grunted before he could think better of it. But then he did think better of it, and only hardened. Firkraag glanced at him, reproachfully.
"There are marauders," the lord continued, tone grown pointedly chiding. "Raging brutes."
And he stabbed a finger at the younger man.
"Not unlike your friend here."
He felt his face darken, but those glimmering green eyes had already flashed back to the woman. They did not even give him a moment.
"Horrid Ogres and Trolls," that tone took on tinge of disgust, waving a wrist. "And I need a firm hand to push them back."
Then he leaned forward, ever so slightly. Insistent.
"I need you, Evelyn Greymantle."
He let that hang in the air between them. The woman just stared at him in turn, saying nothing. She had been impassive the whole while he spoke, not one emotion playing across her dusky face. Anomen looked from one to the other, wondering, briefly, if she might have even been really listening. Lord Firkraag steepled his hands, thoughtfully.
"I offer a grand sum," he baited after a few more moments of patient waiting. "Worthy of a woman of your stature."
The squire also briefly wondered if that man had bothered to take stock of the dirty, mismatched clothes the girl was wearing. It should have been something he was unlikely to miss. He certainly had not.
"Fifteen thousand gold," Firkraag offered even so, placidly, "if you can free my lands of this scourge. It is a fortune, you will agree."
Anomen's eyes went wide. One, shocked moment of utter, incredulous disbelief.
And then he pushed hard right up against the edge of the table.
"Fifteen … thousand?" he breathed, dumbfounded and all but speechless. "For hunting … Ogres?"
Evelyn still said nothing, staring across that table. Maybe she was as stunned as he, though she certainly didn't look it.
Anomen shook his head. He had to force his mouth to shut.
"It is a small price for peace of mind," the other man said simply. "It is not as though I am without funds. I merely believe in paying for quality. You will be wealthy in my service, rest assured."
Anomen just kept shaking his head.
"You could have a small army for that price," he all but growled at the noble lord. Manners fell by the wayside. It could not have been helped.
"Ah," the other all but ignored it, "but you would not lump yourself together with common mercenaries, would you, young Greymantle?" The lord shook his head. He smiled again. "No, I require someone with finesse and skill, as well as strength. You," he leveled her with that pleased grin, "are ideal."
"But why?" the squire demanded, breaking in on them once more. The girl did not even get a chance to speak.
"Why her? Why so much? For Ogres?"
He glared at the man, suspicions clouding and twisting his bearded face. But the other only raised another irritated brow his way.
"Ogres are hardly beasts to be trifled with, young Delryn."
He turned back to Evelyn without so much as a second thought.
"You are the choice I make," he told her. "I have no doubt your service will be exemplary." And grinned wide, raising his imperious chin again.
"And if all goes well," he continued at the last, evenly, "We shall all receive exactly what we deserve.
"What say you?"
The lord leaned forward. Almost … eagerly. Predatory. Anomen looked in dismay from the other man to the raven-haired woman across the table. If he had been worried before, he could only feel matters spiraling out of his control now. They would not listen to him. The jaws of that trap were winding back to spring shut on her everywhere he looked. And still she had not spoken a word.
But then …
She did.
"Just tell me where to go."
"My lady!"
The squire snatched at her arm. He pulled her right back around before she could vanish back into the common room. And he was lucky that she now knew he was harmless. Otherwise, he would have gotten far more than an irritated look in return.
"My lady," he warned earnestly, shaking his head. "This is a mistake!"
All at once, Kivan came up from one side and slammed the other man up hard into the wall.
The squire struggled. But the ranger had the jump on him, his forearm wedged up against the bearded man's neck. His feet scrabbled against those stairs leading back down to the common room. They could get little purchase.
The Elf growled in his face.
"I don't know who you are, Human," his stony eyes beat into the other man mercilessly, "but you had better stop following her."
Anomen pushed back. But he had no balance. Eventually, Evelyn just opened her mouth.
"Let him go, Kivan," she told the ranger.
The man only spared her a sidelong glance.
"He's harmless," she explained, irritably. "Just annoying," and added under her breath.
The Elf dropped him unceremoniously back to the floor. Anomen struggled for a few moments to retake his breath. Then he rounded back on her.
"You do not know Lord Firkraag!" he coughed. "His politics. His motives." Finally, he straightened. "A man like that does not pay a small fortune just to kill a few beasts!"
"You think I don't know that?" she spat right back. And stalked a step toward him. "You think I believed a word he said?"
It had been too convenient. He had known too much. That the Shadow Thieves might be involved only made any suspicions seem far more likely. She was not simple or stupid. She had not survived so long without feeling the trap pulling shut over her head before it ever came.
The squire stared at her. At that look on her face. For once, he seemed a little unsure just what to say. It was no less irritating than another knight-to-be she had known once. And she turned away.
"What did he want from you?" the ranger asked, catching her up.
She didn't even slow. She just cocked an eyebrow back at him.
"We're going hunting."