I was not as adept as Jaheira, Aerie or Nalia, and Delryn knew a little more than me. The breastplate had stopped the tip from piercing too deep, but the blow to the arm had not been glancing; the man was alive, but barely. It took both of us to get him out of his armour, and bandage him up. Pouring down the herbal concoction I had flinched from Jaheira's satchel helped him a little, but he was still dangerously near death. Moving him was unwise, but leaving him here meant his death. We had nothing to make a stretcher from, and the gods weren't heeding Delryn's prayers to restore the knight. I couldn't begin to wonder why that was. Fool.
I left Delryn with the knight; his confidence shattered, as he whined over and over how he had not know, how could this have happened? Had I not gone in search of help, I would have told him. That there was a house nearby did not fill me with confidence; it seemed far too convenient. Still, what choice did we have? I could very easily have left Delryn to rot, but Gorion raised me better than that. I would never have been able to face the others, or myself, if I had let an 'innocent' man die when I could have done something. How innocent any paladin was was a question I wasn't prepared to ask at this point.
Garren was the man who owned the house; a dejected noble, who tried to put on a brave face. He helped us move the knight, who I learned between Delryn's incoherent babbling was none other than his overlord, Sir Ajantis Ilvastarr. Once, I might have been surprised. Now I was just suspicious. Delryn mentioned something about "Trademeet", a town east of Athkatla, and south and east of the De'Arnise lands. Between what sounded like the beginnings of terrified sobs, he spoke of a "mission", and the town "council"; something about two feuding families, and seeking a resolution. I did not care. What Ilvastarr was doing here was of more interest.
After placing him in a bed, Garren promised he would go to fetch help. He knew a priest who might be able to heal him. He promised he would not be long, and his daughter, Iltha, would take care of our needs. I almost asked what sort of father would leave his daughter alone with two strangers, but decided the road was no safer. Garren clapped Delryn's shoulder, and whatever encouragement he offered the man seemed to steel him somewhat; Delryn retreated to a corner, and on his kneels, kept vigil. Clasping his hands in front of him, he began to pray.
I left him to it; perhaps the gods would heed this display of piety; whether his desperation was selfish, or genuine meant little at this point. I did not expect the gods to answer, and if they did, I expected that answer would be the old adage, 'the gods help those who help themselves'. They would not bail us out of this because of Delryn's stupidity, no matter how deep his regret.
Outside, Garren told me softly he did not know if Ilvastarr would survive, but assured me he would do all he could to see it so. I would have questioned him further, but there was no time. I gave him our horses, and after a moment, offered him Delryn's sword, but he shook his head. He had steel of his own, though he was long since past carrying it. As he rode off, I wondered what sort of mess I had got myself into.
Iltha watched me from the doorway. Like her father, she had dark hair, Amnish features, but a northern complexion. After a few moments, I turned and followed her inside. She checked in on Ilvastarr; I did not ask how he was. It was obvious he hovered between life and death, and so, I went to the main room.
I felt her shoulder on my hand; I had not heard her join me, so lost in thought as I drank in the fire's warmth. Just as silently, she stood beside me, her hand finding mine. I squeezed back, though I wondered where this sudden affection had come from. I could not let go of the feeling something was terribly, terribly wrong.
After a while, she drew up a chair from the dining table, sat, inviting me to do the same.
"You're a long way from civilisation," she observed, "it's been a while since we've had visitors."
It would be unwise to mention my reason for being here.
"If you're hungry…? Can I get you a drink?"
I shook my head; I didn't feel like talking, but her earnestness left me wondering how lonely she must be. "You've siblings?"
Her turn to shake her head, "Just my father."
I didn't ask about her mother.
"Our family…" She lifted her head slightly, a glimmer of pride, "used to have more than this. Our estates fell after our castle caught fire."
I waited.
"We lost much, but we make do. My father prefers it out here, away from the politics and games of the nobles. There is enough game to feed us both, and I grow a few crops. The rest we trade pelts for."
I looked into the flames.
"I… don't have many friends." She hesitated, then leaned in, "Won't you tell me why you're here?"
"I'm searching for someone."
"A friend?"
"My sister."
"Oh." Another pause, "I can't say I've seen anyone around these parts lately, except Sir Ilvastarr; what does she look like?"
"You won't have seen her."
It piqued her curiosity, "Well, if you're sure, but it can't hurt to tell me, can it?"
She was desperate for conversation. Her eyes were dark, uncertain and hopeful; I sighed inside. "I'm tired," I said simply, shaming her.
"Oh! I – forgive me, of course you are. Please, let me lead you to your room…"
I frowned at that.
"My father hosts guests; we may be poor from what we were, but there is still room." When I did not answer, she firmed, "I insist. Sir Ilvastarr sleeps in my father's bed, and my father will not be back for a day or three. We have a guest room, and I will not have you sleeping on the floor like a common servant."
"And Delryn?"
"Squire Delryn stays with his master; Ilvastarr spoke of him during his visit. He delivered a letter to my father. We might be remote, but we are still connected." Again, the pride returned.
I could either sleep, or sit here and listen to her all night. Sleep seemed the better choice. Too many days sleeping on the trail, with saddlebags as a pillow, stinking of horse. As much as it ashamed me to admit it, I had grown used to not resting in a bedroll.
"Have you a bathhouse?"
