36. Have you ever been there?
Shandra took a deep draught of her ale as she let Grobnar's incessant chatter pass over her head. For the first time in what felt like weeks she was warm, well fed, and in decent company. Well, semi-decent. She was trying to ignore the haughty sorceress and the skulking ranger. The others seemed alright, though she had caught the Tiefling shooting speculative looks at her pockets. Well, if the thief thought she'd find anything in them she was sadly mistaken. Shandra Jerro was now poorer than a dirt-farmer.
The front door flew open, and into the bright glow of the tavern stepped a tall, broad-shouldered man. He gave the room a brief survey, nodded slightly to himself, then closed the door against the blustery wind.
"I'm looking for Kail Farlong," he announced in a voice that sounded like warm honey. She wasn't sure what that meant exactly, but it sounded suitably poetic enough for the man.
"Ah, Sir Nevalle." Shandra quirked an eyebrow at Duncan's words. Sir Nevalle? In the Docks? Looking for Kail? "My niece is in the bath at the moment. I'm afraid she had a bit of a soaking in the rain earlier, and I didn't want her catching her death... Shandra lass, run and tell Kail that she has a guest."
She gave Duncan a smile -- she liked Kail's uncle -- and slipped off the bar stool, ducking around the doorway to the back rooms. She had already familiarised herself with the layout of the tavern in case she needed to make a hasty escape from any more would-be captors.
She stopped outside the bathing room door and rapped three times. There was a muffled sound of splashing water, and then a moment of silence.
"Yes? What is it?" came Kail's voice at last.
"Your uncle sent me to tell you that there's a man out here to see you," she replied. Again a moment of silence.
"Is he floating about four inches off the ground?"
"Err... no." What in the hells?!? She'd suspected that Kail was crazy, and now she had the proof. Had she always been like this? She'd seemed quite sane the first time they met. Maybe she'd caught hypothermia whilst raving at the Gods outside in the rain. Was the poor woman delusional?
"Then I don't want to see him."
"But he's..."
"I have my fingers in my ears and I can't hear you. La la la la la la......."
Shandra quickly hurried away from the door, the 'la's growing fainter as she made her way back to the common room.
"She... err... asked if you were floating four inches off the ground," she told Nevalle. He blinked. Once. Other than that, his face did not alter in the slightest. "And when I said 'no', she said she didn't want to see you."
"Did you tell her that it's Sir Nevalle?" asked Duncan.
"Ah... no. I tried to. But she..." she hesitated. Everybody in the common room was staring at her, even Grobnar. The Gnome's expression was surprisingly intense. "She said 'I have my fingers in my ears and I can't hear you... err... La la la'."
"Tsk, she was probably just working on a song," said Duncan. He gave her a dismissive wave of his hand; but his eyes told otherwise. "You know how bards get when they're composing."
"Why certainly," piped up Grobnar. "I remember this one time I was composing a song about the three-winged vermilion beetle of..."
"Quiet, you," Duncan ordered the Gnome, then turned again to the knight. "Why don't you take a seat, Sir Nevalle? I'll get you a warm drink of something. I'm sure my niece won't be too long."
"Don't count on it," she heard Neeshka whisper to Elanee. "She has a good supply of hot water in there. She could be hours." The Elf nodded in agreement. Sir Nevalle sighed and took a seat near the fire. Surprisingly, he shot a disapproving glance at Casavir, though the paladin was affecting to ignore the knight. Shandra sighed too, and returned to her ale. She had a feeling that life wasn't about to get any quieter.
o - o - o - o - o
Neeshka padded across the floor again, ghosting past Nevalle as she did so. He had glanced at her curiously the first few times she did it, but now he paid her no attention at all. He alternated between glowering at his drink and glowering at Casavir. It was pretty funny, because Casavir was completely ignoring him.
She placed Elanee's empty tankard on the bar and returned to their table the long way around, brushing ever so slightly against the knight as she passed. He didn't even blink, and she smiled as she sank into the chair opposite the Elf and the Dwarf. Nobles were easy pickings. They had slow reflexes, and their brains didn't usually kick in until after you were long gone with their coin. Two more trips, perhaps three, and Nevalle would be so used to her brushing past him that he wouldn't notice her fingers gently pluck at his pockets...
Khelgar nudged her, interrupting her train of thoughts, and she shot him a dark glare. He merely tossed his head slightly behind her, and she turned to see Duncan's eyes on her back. She schooled her face to innocence as she stood and crossed the floor to the bar.
"Go and see what's keeping her," whispered Duncan, glancing at Nevalle. She couldn't blame him for being worried. It wasn't really smart to keep a knight waiting long, especially not one of the Nine. And worse, from Duncan's point of view, Nevalle was killing the mood. Nobody in the Docks wanted a knight in their tavern. Knights were no fun. They were stuffy and judgemental -- although, she had to admit, Sir Darmon had been an exception. The way he had watched Kail would probably be considered quite scandalous amongst knights -- and unless they were bringing easily liftable coin purses, they should stay in their own snooty corner of the city.
She stepped out of the room with a flick of her tail, and made her way down the somewhat darker corridor. Step here, step there, avoid the third squeaky floorboard... it always paid to know which parts of a building creaked and moaned when you stepped on them. You could hardly steal from somebody if you were heard making a get-away.
Pressing her ear to the door she closed her eyes, straining her hearing. Nothing. No splashing water, no singing, no talking to herself... that was a good sign, at least. Though maybe she'd fallen asleep in the bath. It would be a true shame if Kail had come all this way only to drown in her sleep. Carefully, quietly, she removed a pick from her sleeve. The locks in the tavern were easy as pie. It wasn't even a challenge.
Click
She smiled as she replaced her pick, then stood up and turned the handle. It was well-oiled, and didn't squeak. As she turned it she pressed her weight against the door and... nothing. With a sigh of defeat she turned away from the door and tiptoed back to the common room.
"Well, the lock wasn't a problem, but it's bolted from the inside," she announced cheerfully. Nevalle and Casavir shot her dark looks. Well, what did they expect? She was a thief. Kail understood that. And, for now, the bard would have her own way. The bolts that Duncan had put on the doors in the Flagon could not be opened from the outside.
She knew that from experience.
o - o - o - o - o
Bishop downed the last of his ale, slamming the empty tankard on the table. Her Royal Highness, the Princess Qara, jumped up from her seat at the bar to fetch him another. He had to admit, Duncan finally had the little fire-starter half tamed. Half-tamed sorceress under one thumb, half-tamed ranger under the other. Yeah, Duncan was doing alright for himself. If he was going to start a collection of people to blackmail, he'd soon need to grow more hands.
He felt his lips curl into a snarl, the hackles on his back rise... no, not his. Karnwyr. He raised his eyes to see Nevalle staring at him, and met the knight's condescending gaze with a sneer. Nevalle's eyes moved away from him, briefly examining everybody else in the room. Funny, how the knight and the paladin ignored each other. Woulda thought the two of them to have a lot in common. The stink of righteousness, the condescending holier-than-thou attitudes, the sticks up their...
The Tiefling brushed past Nevalle again. She had her work cut out for her. He was willing to bet that Nevalle wasn't as oblivious as he looked. It would be interesting to see how this one played out.
He wrinkled his nose at the ale in his glass. It didn't smell right. He was sure Her Highness had done something to it. Not every tankard, but enough of them. Instead of drinking it he pushed it to the far side of the table. What was taking the blasted bard so long? So she'd stood outside for an hour in the freezing rain, ranting at the gods. The look in her eyes when she re-entered the Flagon had been uplifting -- that same 'go on, I dare one of you to say something' look that she used whenever she was pissed off -- but that was no reason to hog the bath for hours.
With a deep sigh, he stood. Amusing as it was to see her keep the knight waiting, it was time to end this. The paladin was bad enough. Two of them was almost unbearable. He left the common room and stomped down the corridor. He was in a stomping kind of mood. He stopped outside the bathroom door, tilting his head slightly as he looked at it. He had to hand it to Duncan; the man knew a good locksmith. After the farm-girl was taken by the Gith he'd had bolts put on every door in the Flagon. It was just too bad he'd skimped on the door-maker when the tavern was rebuilt all those years ago after the war with Luskan. Thick iron bolts on doors hinged with string. He located the narrow dark shadows at the hinge edge of the door, lifted his booted foot, and kicked.
Bang
The hinges ripped from the frame, screws and all. He pushed the door slightly and it succumbed to gravity, falling sideways to the floor with a terrific crash. Duncan, you fool...
Steam rushed out of the room, flowing into the corridor as a thick fog that almost had mass. She really had been heating water for hours. He narrowed his eyes as the mist cleared. She lay submerged in the bath at the far side of the room, only her head and the top of her shoulders visible over the rim. Her eyes opened slowly and she gave him a languid smile.
"You have style, I'll give you that. More than Neeshka, anyway. Did she really think she could open it?"
"There is a jumped-up knight waiting to see you in the common room, and I won't be able to enjoy my drink until you get out here and tell him to shove off," he half-growled.
"Poor thing," she said, with a complete lack of sympathy. Typical. Spend your days risking your life, leading her on a merry chase to rescue some farm-girl from a horde of fanatical githyanki, and you couldn't even get a shred of sympathy over missed ale. She sighed, her eyes flickering to something at the side of the fallen door. "Towel."
In the mist he made out the shape of a folded towel sat beside two piles of clothes; one dripping wet and probably colder than ice, the other dry and neatly folded. He picked up the towel and took a step forward.
"Throw it," she said. He grinned, but threw it to the floor by the bath. "Leave." He couldn't resist giving a mock bow as he backed out of the room, flourishing an imaginary cape. He'd seen her do the same to that city Watch Captain she'd been forced to obey. He stepped out of the doorway and leant back against the wall, straining his ears for sound from the room. "I don't hear footsteps," she called.
With a smile, he walked down the corridor and into the common room, taking his glass from the table. He poured the contents into the fire, which flared as the alcohol burnt. Then he sat, slamming the empty tankard on the table, and Princess Qara jumped to obey.
o - o - o - o - o
How long had she been in the bath? She had no idea. It could have been ten minutes, it could have been ten hours. Though, she suspected, it was probably more like three. She felt... good. Warm. Strong. The freezing cold rain had been just what she needed. When the cold cuts you to the bone, when the wind sears your skin, when the hail stings like fire... that's when you know you're alive.
Good old Lucas. He had the right of it. There was nothing like standing around in the freezing rain and challenging the Gods to make you feel alive. I'm alive. It didn't matter what they did to her. If they caught up with her tomorrow and tore their damned shard from her chest, it wouldn't matter. Right here, right now, tonight, she was alive.
And, apparently, she had a knight asking after her. She smiled as she pulled her shirt over her head, but left it unlaced. She hastily tucked it into her trousers, aware that she probably looked like a half-drowned dock-rat, then quickly ran the towel over her hair. Not enough to dry it, but enough to take some of the moisture out of it. Wet hair, dry hair, didn't matter.
She ghosted down the corridor, the creaky floorboards cold beneath her bare feet. It didn't matter if she got dirty; she could just get back in the bath. Though, of course, she'd have to do something about the gaping hole where the door used to be. Trust Bishop to kick it down, just to tell her to come and get rid of a knight in the common room. Why he didn't get rid of the knight himself she had no idea.
Every head swivelled towards her as she entered. Ah, a grand audience, she thought. If only she had her flute, she could have played a tune. Something jovial. Merry, even. A smile played across her lips as she walked to the bar, shooting Duncan a questioning glance. He nodded at a man by the fire who stood when she laid eyes on him. Hmm. Not who she had been expecting.
"Kail Farlong?" he asked. Chiselled features, commanding voice, shiny boots... he looked every inch the nobleman.
"Yes. And who might you be?" she asked.
"He is Sir Nevalle, one of the Nine," said Duncan behind her. The smile on her lips grew a little. Ah, the Nine. Not the first she'd met. Darmon, of course, she had encountered when Brelaina sent her to raid a warehouse bordering on the Back Alley. And Callum she had met at Old Owl Well. Surprisingly decent folks, for knights.
"And how can I help you today, Sir Nevalle?" she asked him. He glanced around the room at her companions, his gaze lingering on Casavir. Not completely unexpected. Callum had been surprised to see Casavir too, though they greeted each other like friends. What Darmon thought of Casavir she did not know; the raid on the warehouse had been before Old Owl Well.
"Is there somewhere private where we might talk?" he asked. She smiled at him and slid onto a bar stool, lounging back to rest her elbows against the bar.
"Unless you've come to proposition me, Sir Nevalle, anything you have to say to me can be said in front of my family, my friends, and the miscreants who frequent this tavern." She heard Casavir, at the far end of the bar, give a strangled choke, but she ignored him. It had been too long since she put on any sort of performance, and she was not going to waste this chance to improve her skills. As Nevalle subjected her to a penetrating stare, she quickly glanced around her companions, judging their reactions.
Casavir, of course, looked as mortified as she expected. Shandra, new to the group, was gawking at Nevalle. If she didn't shut her mouth, something might fly in it. Grobnar was fiddling with a small crossbow on the bar, but she wasn't fooled. The Gnome often heard things others didn't hear, saw things others didn't see. Lurking in the shadows was Bishop, a smug grin on his face. Of course, he would love seeing a knight taken down a peg or two. The Lady of the Tankards stood propping up a wall, thankfully silent for once. Khelgar, Neeshka and Elanee, the three who had been with her the longest, were sharing knowing glances. Of course, they realised this was a performance. They knew her, or more of the real her, than any of the others.
"Very well," said Nevalle at last. "Have you heard of a village named Ember?"
"Tiny hamlet in Luskan territory near the border with Neverwinter. Population a few dozen chickens, considerably fewer sheep, and a handful of people," she said, meeting his eyes. Coincidence? Surely not. Why was he staring at her so intently? It was almost as if he was... looking... for something within her eyes.
"Have you ever been to Ember?"
"Yes," she said.
"Recently?"
"Yes."
"How recently?"
She hesitated. She tended to lose track of time quite easily. They had been travelling erratically, not following diurnal sleeping patterns. They'd walked when Bishop told them to walk, run when he'd told them to run, and divided their time between tracking the gith and avoiding Luskan Scouts. She shrugged.
"A few days. Less than a week." From the corner of her eye she saw Casavir nod. She trusted his judgement.
"And do you know that the entire village has been slaughtered?" he asked her.
The world rocked. A steadying hand pressed against her shoulder; Duncan was propping her forward. She brushed off his touch and sat up on the stool, pinning Nevalle in place with her gaze, searching his face for a sign that he was lying, joking, playing games with her mind... but no. Knights didn't lie. They probably weren't capable of it. Lying was probably punishable by instant-smiting from any God in the vicinity.
"What... when.... who...?" she managed to stammer. Oh yeah, real articulate, Kail. Way to make an impression on the knight.
"Luskan are accusing you of the slaughter, and they're demanding that we turn you over to them for 'justice'," said Nevalle. He watched her face for a moment, then sighed. "Look, I've scraped things off my boot that I respect more than Luskan, but without proof of your innocence we don't have a foot to stand on."
"So you're going to hand me over to Luskan? For justice? Low justice? In Luskan?" she asked in disbelief. Greed can corrupt every man, and justice will only protect you for so long. Stay true to yourself. Shaundakul's words, so cryptic when he had spoken them, came back to haunt her.
"I'm not about to hand a loyal member of the Watch over to Luskan." She heard Bishop snort in amusement at 'loyal member of the Watch'. "As a noble, you would not be subject to low justice in Luskan; your trial would take place here, in our own courts." She nodded as Nevalle spoke. It made sense. But she wasn't a noble. "I need you to go to Captain Brelaina, and to pledge yourself as a squire to one of our knights."
Her!? A squire!? Had the world turned itself upside down while she had been in the bath?
"I may also send a... friend... to advise you on these matters. Once you have spoken to Captain Brelaina and Sir Grayson, you will need to speak to Lord Nasher. Until then, do not try to leave the city. The gates are barred to you." She nodded, and he turned towards the door.
"Nevalle," she called after him. He stopped with the door ajar and looked back at her. "Thank you," she said. Then, because she wanted to finish her performance, she allowed a smile to creep across her face. "And give my regards to Darmon."
"I will tell Sir Darmon that you send your greetings," he said pointedly, then closed the door behind him.
The common room immediately broke out in a furore. Shandra was on her feet, her hands opening and closing as if she wanted to strangle somebody. Casavir spoke quietly to her; of course, she had friends in Ember. It was only right that she be upset, only right that he should try to calm her.
"...besides, the slaughter of an entire village?! That's going too far, even by Luskan standards!" Neeshka exclaimed.
"Is it?" Bishop was leaning back in his seat, both feet up on a table. "If there is something Luskan wants, they will stop at nothing to get it..." She let him speak without listening, something about the war with Neverwinter, and Ruathym. All around her people were talking, but she did not hear their voices. Ember. Slaughtered. Her.
Elanee was giving her a deep, sympathetic look from the table. Khelgar was grumbling loudly, like a brewing thunderstorm. Grobnar was feigning dogged interest in his crossbow, though his small face had taken on a sad cast. Qara moved around the room, ferrying empty tankards, replacing them with new ones. Kail slipped from the bar stool, the floor cold beneath her bare feet.
"Where are you going?" Duncan called as she crossed the floor to the door which led to the back rooms.
"To finish my bath, and to think. Let me know when Nevalle's 'friend' gets here." She stopped by the door for a moment and cocked her head as if listening to a voice only she could hear. "Send anybody but the ranger."
Then she stepped into the steam-filled corridor, and in the room behind her, only the ranger grinned.
o - o - o - o - o
Kail was turning identification by footsteps into an artform. Those coming down the corridor now were soft; it couldn't be Neeshka, because she would not have heard anything at all, had the thief been approaching. It couldn't be Grobnar, because he always hummed when he walked. It had to be Elanee. Everybody else was too heavy to be so quiet. And, sure enough, the Elf appeared around the door, her hands folded behind her back.
"I've been thinking about a lot of things, on my way back to Neverwinter," she told Elanee. "For example, Elder Naevan knew that I was 'carrying' a shard, before you had even told him about me digging up the one that Daeghun hid. At first, I thought maybe it was intuition on his behalf, or maybe that talking to animals thing that you people do. Who knows what the birds and the beasts see? But the more I think about it, the more I realise that, all along, you and your people have known that I have a silver sword shard inside my chest. What I am trying to figure out now, is why you didn't tell me about it. Why you feigned ignorance when I first showed you the shard, on the Double Eagle. And because I'm an understanding person, I'm going to give you a chance to explain."
"Following the battle with the King of Shadows at West Harbor," said Elanee, as if she had been expecting to be asked just this question, "my Circle realised that a shard had been lodged inside your body. They were afraid, for the battle was devastating, both to the land and the people. They wanted to be sure that you would suffer no ill effects from having the shard inside you. And so I was set to watch you. That is the task to which Elder Naevan referred, and it is the reason why I have not been back to my Circle for such a long time."
"You could have told me," she replied, stepping out of the bath and drying herself for the second time with the towel.
"Yes, I could. But I did not. I hoped that it would not come to that, that the githyanki would give up and leave, or that you would leave the shards with Aldanon, freeing yourself of them."
"This shard inside me..." she began. It was not an easy thing to ask. "Is it the source of my... my... power. My abilities. Is it why I have problems?"
"No," said Elanee with a smile. "The shard may have some small power of its own, but not enough to influence you, to change you. The power you possess is your own, it is inside you, has been with you since the moment you were conceived. It is in your blood and your bones, and were the shard to be removed from your chest and your wounds healed, you would still be the same person that you are now."
"It may be a long time before I will be able to trust you again," she said.
"I know," said Elanee. "I would expect nothing less."
"Good. Then tell me about your trip to Skymirror." She pulled on her clothes and ran a comb through her hair as Elanee began talking.
"There is little to tell. I travelled to the Skymirror, I performed the tests, I put the offering onto the water, but the Skymirror was silent. I believe that there is nobody left to hear it. Whether they chose to ignore it, or whether they cannot hear because of the taint spreading through the land, or whether it is because they are all dead..."
"We'll find out," she replied, screwing her eyes shut for a moment. Why did headaches strike at the worst moments? "One thing at a time. Is Nevalle's 'friend' here?"
"Yes, I was sent to tell you. It is Sand."
"Really? Well I certainly wasn't expecting that! I guess I'd better come and see what he has to say."
o - o - o - o - o
The conversation was already underway as she returned to the common room.
"Oh, really," her Uncle was saying, "And what's the price? If it's more than a half-copper, you can see yourself out."
"No, I... seem to have been given an ultimatum, in fact," replied Sand hesitantly. "I have heard of your... troubles with Luskan."
Word travels fast," said Sal from behind the bar. Sand turned to her.
"Know that if you are sent to Luskan, you will be killed."
"Tell me something I don't know," she said, rolling her eyes.
"I realise you may find my sincerity difficult to believe, but allow me to act on your behalf," said Sand. "There are laws, and there is right and wrong. While I believe that you are quick to take liberties with the law, I do not believe that you are guity of this... and if they should get a hold of you, you will be killed. I believe that people should answer for their crimes, but it must be just."
"Very well, what's the next step?" she asked, sliding onto a bar stool.
"Sure, after all, a hedge wizard can't many things any worse. Maybe all that digging through books might prove useful," sniped Qara.
"If we need to burn down Luskan, then perhaps we shall see you, Qara," said Sand. "but your ignornce will cause more damage here than you know. Luskan is not ruled by men, it is ruled by magic, by the masters of the towers. And if they have decided that you are to be delivered to them, then-"
"So? Let them try!" replied Qara.
"Whatever spark of magic you think you have, you idiot girl, they will bleed from you by demon, spell, and curse, until even your father won't be able to save you," said Sand. "And I suspect that what they seek may have consequences beyond you, beyond me -- for much of the realms."
"So what do you suggest?" she asked Sand before Qara could get in another comment.
"Fortunately, becoming a squire is enough for our needs. And I believe you have already been told about someone who can help you... Sir Grayson, yes? Let me join with you. I have considerable experience with these matters, and foiling Luskan plots is something I relish." He seemed pretty sincere.
"Alright, welcome to the group. Let me go and fetch my gear, and we will seek out Sir Grayson together," she replied.