37. Vigil
"I had not thought that I'd be seeing you again so soon, lieutenant," said Captain Brelaina, when Kail and her companions entered the Watch House the next day. "I only wished that it was under better circumstances."
"So do I," she said wryly. The Captain nodded towards the man who was stood beside her desk. "This is Sir Grayson Corett. It is with he whom you must speak."
"Blessings of Tyr be upon you, Kail Farlong," said Sir Grayson. He was resplendent in white and blue armour that had been polished until it shone, and his blue cloak swaying behind him was spotless. His boots were clean and shining, and there was not a hair out of place on his head. She wondered if knights spent hours preparing themselves before leaving their houses, or whether they just had somebody to do all the work for them. "Sir Nevalle has told me of your predicament, and it so happens that I have need of a squire," he continued. "This is... unusual, to say the least. Ususally, prospective squires spend months, even years, proving themselves before they are permitted to enter the nobility. But Captain Brelaina and Sir Nevalle both vouch for your character and your ability. And I have heard of your exploits in the city, as well. Still, count yourself lucky to avoid years of caring for my horse and scouring the rust from my arms and armour. Your need is great, so I'll take you as my charge."
"And that's it? I'm a squire?" she asked. It didn't seem very... noble. Or holy.
"Not quite so simple as that, but years of service will be passed over in your case. I am sir Grayson Corett. My sword is sworn to Nasher, Neverwinter and Tyr. And it falls to me to teach you chivalry, so that you will not dishonour me overmuch as your knight." She heard Neeshka snickering in the background. The Tiefling wasn't really helping her case.
"What do you want to teach me?" she asked.
"The brotherhood of knights is one bound by the ideals of chivalry and honour. And the same goes for sisters, of course. Without honour, a knight is nothing more than an animal with a sword." Does that mean anybody who isn't a knight, is an animal? she wondered. "To be a knight is to lead a life of duty and responsibility. We are bound by a code that prescribes our every action." Uh-oh, she thought. Here it comes. "'To be brave and valorous in battle against your enemies. To show no fear in their presence. To be just and righteous, to embody and uphold the laws of your lord and land. To be respectful to your enemies," What??? "and kind to your fellows. To protect the weak and those who cannot defend themselves.' All squires have these rules impressed upon them, by rote and lash. But I suspect that you are mature enough to take the lesson without the cuffing." And how is cuffing your squires 'being kind to your fellows'? she wondered. Knights, it seemed, were full of it.
"Words are words. I will consider them," she said.
"Knowing the code of conduct is important for a knight or squire, but living by that code is paramount," he said. She suspected that he wasn't even listening to her, just giving her the 'welcome to the flock' routine so that he could listen to the sound of his own voice. "To be a knight is also to live a life of service to your lord and realm. You will be expected to perform certain duties for the crown. Given your unique circumstance, these duties will be waiting for you after the trial. However, there is one observance that cannot be postponed... the vigil."
"What's that all about?" she asked.
"Your vigil is a time for reflection and contemplation. It is a sacred tradition. All who would become squires spend a night in the Solace Glade. You must spend the night alone, of course. Most choose to reflect on their vows, or to ask the blessing of their Gods. On the next morning, I will welcome you into our brotherhood. If there are items you wish to bring with you, you must fetch them now. We must depart immediately for Solace Glade."
"I'm ready to go now," she told him. "I already have everything I need."
"Your efficiency pleases me," he said with a smile. "Very well, I shall fetch my horse from the Watch stables, and you shall meet me in front of the building. Your friends cannot come with you, however. They must return to their homes and await your return."
"So, wildcat," said Bishop once Sir Grayson had left. "What say I sneak into Solace Glade when Sir Stuffalot leaves, and keep you company through the night? I'm sure we could find something to do."
"You shall do no such thing, Bishop," said Casavir. "The vigil is an important ritual in becoming a squire. To even suggest using the time for anything other than introspection and prayer demeans the entire process."
"Well yes, that was the idea, paladin," said Bishop. "I don't think the Gods would deny anybody a little fun before they're about to be trialed for murder."
"Lass, ye better get going," said Khelgar.
"I know. I'll see you all tomorrow, okay?" she said. "Try not to get into too much trouble without me."
"Trouble is my middle name," grinned Neeshka.
"Do not worry, we shall clear your name," said Elanee.
"I'll save ye a tankard of Duncan's finest," added Khelgar.
"Trust me, after a couple of hours in Boredom Glade you'll be begging me to come and keep you company," said Bishop.
"I'll try not to burn your room to charcoal while you're gone," said Qara.
"Try not to worry about your forthcoming duties," said Casavir. "They will not ask anything that is beyond your capabilities."
"Remember to make lots and lots of notes. I want to know about everything that happens," said Grobnar. "Especially if you actually do end up talking to Tyr, or any of the other Gods. Well, maybe not Talos, I can't imagine he'd be much fun to have at a party, what with all the smiting and the drowning of innocents and all."
"Just take care," said Shandra.
"Worry not," said Sand with a smile. "I shall take care of everything while you are away. Now, off with you. We don't want to keep Sir Grayson waiting, now do we?"
o - o - o - o - o
The wolf sniffed the air, the tang of blood tickling his nose. The glade was thick with it; flowing along the ground, winding its scent through the atmosphere. He turned his lupine eyes to the scene in front of him. A single lone figure moved in the clearing beneath the tree line. Wolf eyes were sharper than human eyes, and he had seen it all...
...The knight had left her after sun-down, ridden off on his delicious-smelling steed. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn't properly eaten in almost a day. He hadn't been hungry, up to now.
The girl had sharp senses, he would give her that. Wolf ears picked up the sounds of movement first, but it didn't take long for her ears to come up too. Her head tilted and turned as she strained her hearing, listening for what approached. She stood with her hands at her daggers, the muscles in her body deceptively relaxed. Her face was impassive; it usually was. But here he had the edge. He could smell the fear rolling from her. Could smell the adrenaline, the excitement, the dread, the curiosity.
He took another sniff of the air, his wolfish brain trying to make sense of what he received from her. Sniff. No. She hadn't been expecting this. There was too much fear, too much adrenaline. If she had been expecting company, she would have smelled more of anticipation, of impatience. But here she was, frail little human, smelling of fear.
No. Not frail. As cold and hard as iron. But iron was brittle. Was she? Hit enough, would she shatter? He suspected not. Oh, she bent, sometimes she neared breaking point, and just when it seemed like she was finally going to snap... she sprang back, stronger than ever. The fire-haired sorceress thought she herself had power. She had a little, maybe. Enough to worry the wizard. But compared to the little woman in the clearing, she was nothing. He could still remember her scream, a night ago now; Is that the best you can do? She challenged the gods themselves to throw everything at her. She revelled in the fight, in the hunt, the taste of the kill, the sheer, overwhelming, blissful joy that came with knowing that you were alive...
And yet for all that, she was still a frail thing. A hurricane trapped inside a body of flesh and bones. What would happen when she died? Would that hurricane come rushing out of her, consuming everything in its path? Would it take him? Did the others see it too? Probably not. The wizard saw nothing but the sorceress. The druid saw nothing but her precious land. The Dwarf saw nothing beyond the next fight. The Tiefling saw nothing but the next mark. The paladin... the paladin might be a problem. Easily rectified, with the right tools. Though she might not like it if he killed the paladin before she was done with him.
He snarled. What did he care what a female thought? No, the wolf told him. The wolves have a name for she who revels in the fight, in the hunt, in the taste of the kill, in the sheer, overwhelming, blissful joy that comes with knowing that you are alive... What name?
Alpha.
A rumble arose in his throat. What gave her the right...
Watch her. See how she puts the pack in its place with a single glance, a single growl. See how she keeps them together, even though they fight to tear each other apart. Listen to the song she howls at the moon, which tells others where she is. Hear the threat she makes to those who threaten her pack; I will tear your throat out. Watch her.
So he watched. She was still tense, still taught. A figure moved through the trees towards her. He sniffed. Human. Female. The strange one. She tried to be Alpha, but she was not. But she hadn't been relegated to Omega. She had a name, though. Shandra Jerro. And she talked now, yapping at Alpha. Like a pup. Yap yap yap.
The wind shifted... his lips pulled into a snarl, his eyes glistening murder, every hair on his body stood on end. He tried to move, tried to stand. He would tear out their throats! Rip open their bellies, pull out their innards! No. Watch. The wolf blinked, and, for an instant, forgot who he was.
The three men were walking towards the two females, their fangs bared. No, not fangs. Weapons. Swords. Three against two. Unfair. He could even the odds... but then they would know he was here. Besides, much as he wanted to join in the kill, to see the men scream, another part of him wanted to watch this impassively, wanted to watch what the females would do. Wanted to watch what she would do.
The men growled. There were words, but they were meaningless. Shandra yapped at them, a puppy defending an adult. Alpha pulled back her lips and snarled, challenging them to attack. And attack they did. Hack, slash, bite, circle, repeat. It was a fight, a dance, beneath the moonless sky. Blood was shed from both sides, but the females fought well together. They both bled, but the floor of the glade held three corpses, not two.
Shandra picked something from one of the corpses, pulled a face of disgust and handed the item to Alpha, rubbing her hands on her trousers. She merely looked at it, and even from here he could smell the blood soaking it. She didn't even grimace. A cold, hard woman. Part of him that wasn't him, and yet was, agreed with himself.
He caught a word from Alpha... 'blades'... and his lips curled into a snarl, another low rumble in his chest. Assassins. They sent assassins to them. Dangerous. Dangerous. If they catch you... if they catch her... dangerous.
Help her, the wolf said.
Help her? Look at her. Fierce little wildcat didn't need any help. She had claws, and could use them. Sharp teeth, sharp claws, sharp mind. Sharp pain. You talk nonsense, wolf. Watch.
So here he was, watching the lone figure pace around the glade. She paid little attention to the bodies. She had already searched them, but she would find nothing else. He knew. Oh, he knew...
Shandra Jerro had left not long ago, and now the knight on the delicious-smelling steed returned. More yapping. She put him in his place, of course. He wasn't part of the pack. He was an outsider. An interloper. He didn't belong.
Do we?
He ignored that thought as the knight led Alpha away, and then he turned and shook the morning dew out of his fur. A musky scent caught his attention, and he hunted around in the grass for a moment.
A dire badger backed off, chittering angrily at him. The wolf grinned at the badger, a wide, canine laugh with his tongue hanging out.
So. Not the only one watching her tonight.
o - o - o - o - o
Casavir, sat at the bar in the Sunken Flagon, was trying to listen to what Sal was saying... something about justice and Luskans. But he found that he could not keep his attention on the barman. He was too worried... about Kail.
It was true that she had only requested to become a squire at Sir Nevalle's suggestion, but he suspected she had no idea what would be expected of her... or... sadly, if she was even capable of doing what would be expected of her. It wasn't that she was an evil person, or that she didn't help others... but the bard followed her own moral compass. Instead of showing sympathy for the people of Ember, she had scorned them. She seemed to think that just because her people had managed to repel a githyanki invasion, others should be able to do the same. But he had learnt a little about West Harbor, from talking to Elanee. He knew now that they had a militia there, and regular skirmishes with lizardfolk and beasts of the Mere helped to keep them on their toes.
The people of Ember had had no militia. It was a small farming community, only being given a place on the maps because it was a stopping point for merchants travelling to Port Llast. There was nothing the people could have done to prevent the githyanki from setting an ambush in their homes. And there was nothing they could have done when somebody, whoever it was, came to slaughter them. And yet he was sure that Kail would not see it that way.
It was almost as if the girl had two personalities within her... one was a quick-witted bard who could be a little sarcastic and jaded at times, or wise and intuitive at other times... and the other personality was something dark and repressed, lurking beneath the surface, waiting for a chance to emerge. It worried him what she might be capable of. Like last night, when she had stood outside in the storm, raging at the Gods. That was not the first time her behaviour had worried him. Without conscious direction, his mind went back to several nights ago, when they had been following the trail of the githyanki who had kidnapped Shandra.
"You look troubled. Are you alright?" she had asked him a couple of hours after they had left Ember.
"That man who we have taken on with us... Bishop. I do not trust him," he had told her. "And I do not like the way that he looks at you."
"Why do you care?" she asked in surprise. And yet it had surprised him that she thought he didn't.
"Because he is a predator. Watch yourself -- he is manipulative and dangerous," he had said.
"There's nothing wrong with looking, you know," was her reply. "You should try it yourself sometime."
"Very well, it is not my affair," he said, disturbed that she was not concerned in the slightest. "I only felt... compelled... to warn you. Forgive me."
Either Kail didn't see how dangerous Bishop was, or for some reason, she saw and ignored it. Duncan did not seem happy to have the man around his niece, and he was willing to defer to the innkeeper's judgement on the matter. He wished that Elanee was around, so that he could talk to her about the matter. The slight woman seemed to know a lot about Kail, and he was hoping that she would be able to give him some insights into the bard's behaviour.
But Elanee had gone to bed early, complaining of a headache. Bishop had gone too bed too, which was strange as he usually stayed up late drinking. Shandra had gone to bed even earlier than both of them, claiming that the events of the past few days had exhausted her. That was understandable; she had been through, and lost, so much in so short a time. Few people would have remained as strong as she had.
He considered approaching Neeshka about Kail's behaviour, but suspected it would be futile. The Tiefling did not like him, he knew, and she would probably not tell the truth in any case. Her loyalty, the little she actually possessed, was to Kail. With a sigh, he took a small sip of his ale. This, he suspected, was going to be a long night.
o - o - o - o - o
"What happened here?" asked Sir Grayson, dismounting his horse and taking in the three dead bodies.
"I was sitting here, minding my own business, praying to Shaundakul," she said, "when I was attacked by three Luskan assassins. They're not a problem any more though."
"And you handled them all by yourself?" he said, sounding somewhat impressed, and somewhat disbelieving.
"I like to think that Shaundakul helped guide my hand," she mused.
"Well... it is good that you are unharmed. And now, the vigil is complete. Shall we go to Castle Never, so that you can be formally accepted as my squire?"
"Sure. Will there be a party? Colourful hats, and some of those little pastry things with pork in the middle?" she grinned.
"I'm afraid not. But there is something better; Lord Nasher himself wishes to speak to you. That is an honour that is not bestowed upon just any squire."
"Oh. Well, okay. Take me to Castle Never," she shrugged.