Chapter 9
Conversation
The discussion was mercifully brief. Winter spoke about what she was in the city for – a brilliant if totally untrue yarn, which no one looked as though they believed but everyone accepted for diplomatic sake. The four of them – mostly the three captains – Kimmuriel looked bored and Rai'gy, the wizard-priest, looked apprehensive – spoke about why Bregan D'aerthe was keen to recruit her, (him, they thought), and whether she knew of any other skilled fighters.
She dodged that question even though they clearly saw she did so, and then they spoke about what they would like her to do (some training, some missions, her preferred way of action), and then stated rather bluntly that Bregan D'aerthe did not trust her, and would watch her. Winter, unruffled, said that it was a mutual feeling, and then said that Vel'Xundussa Magthere would still take precedence. Apparently that was fine. Both parties left the room, Winter given free move of Bregan D'aerthe.
All of them except the priest finally left the room, after several more rather fake pleasantries, then Rai'gy looked around, nervously.
"All right, Rai'gy, I put a layer shield on this place. Anyone listening to us would not remember our dialogue precisely except that it went around the lines of you not trusting me, which is, of course, exactly what they would expect to hear. You were as nervous as a newborn maisar there. What did you want to say?" Winter raised an eyebrow.
"I knew you were Winter once I saw you fight Berg'inyon," Rai'gy finally said, his voice tense. "What the hell are you doing here? And in that disguise?"
"And I knew you would know," Winter replied coolly. "Honglath! Calm down. Why I am here is none of your business. Did you tell anyone else?"
"Nav! Of course not..."
"I thought so," Winter looked smug, but you could tell that she was relieved. For some reason, she trusted this Rai'gy. "Al thalrus, Quar'valsharuk-ilharn. Did you miss me?"
Godfather? Then you remembered the way Winter had smiled when Mikaras had mentioned Rai'gy.
"Winter! Do not use that voice on me. The last I heard of you, you had disappeared from Irinelaeran and House Ra'Kest was claiming that they had killed you. What have you been doing?"
Winter chuckled and sat on the table. "The last you heard of me was from Mikaras, was it not?"
Rai'gy blinked. "Who?" he said cautiously.
"Come now, godfather, Mikaras is Bregan D'aerthe, is he not?"
It was your turn to blink at this. But this would explain why Mikaras seemed to know so much about Bregan D'aerthe so conveniently, why he knew the exact route to Menzoberranzan, why he was from Menzoberranzan but ended up so far away in a relatively unknown duergar city...
Rai'gy threw up his hands. "Yes! Yes, he is. I do not care if you know this any longer. Winter, what are you here for? Tell me!"
"It does not concern you," Winter repeated. You watched in interest as Rai'gy's face flushed hotter in the infrared, fury and frustration.
"Winter, I have known you since you were an infant. You are here for the shard Crenshinibon, are you not?"
"No," Winter said. She held Rai'gy's eyes – he looked away.
"Damn you!"
Winter raised an eyebrow. "Why so nervous, Rai'gy? Pretend you know nothing of me. The fact that my persona has some truth should make it easier."
"And just wash my hands of you?" Rai'gy glared. "I cannot do that! You are my Quar'valsharuk-dalharin! Winter, Bregan D'aerthe is not a toy. Jarlaxle is very dangerous."
"Tell me," Winter mused, tracing a pattern on the table. "Do you think that I would simply leave on your orders?"
Rai'gy opened his mouth, closed it again, then slumped in his chair. "No."
"There you are," Winter beamed brightly, gratingly so.
Rai'gy sighed. "Of all the...Lloth, I hate you."
"No, you do not." Winter smirked. "I asked you. Why do you want me to leave?"
"Jarlaxle has no hold on me except that of gratitude," Rai'gy said, but by the tone of his voice this seemed like some predetermined speech that he was trying to use to convince himself. "I do not want to give him anything which he may use against me. Besides, I like you."
"What, me?" Winter grinned at Rai'gy's scowl. She had scored a small victory. Then she added breezily, "Jarlaxle is in Abburth, is he not? So you do not need to worry."
"Jarlaxle is not..." Rai'gy abruptly stopped, saw that he had taken the bait, then sighed deeply at Winter's smirk of triumph. "But you knew that." He said accusingly.
"Crenshinibon is in the city. I did not think he would leave without it." You were impressed – you had never seen anyone bluff with no cards before.
"He will be listening in on us, would he not?" Rai'gy looked around, nervous again.
"I shielded this place."
"Your magic does not compare to the shard's."
"Not my magic alone, no," Winter said enigmatically.
"What are you using? When Kimmuriel tried to see your thoughts he struck some impenetrable barrier..."
"None of your business."
"You are here to kill Jarlaxle?" Rai'gy turned the topic abruptly, obviously seeing the futility of trying to pry more out of Winter.
"Nav," Winter smiled. "I think I would like to meet him."
"Nav!" Rai'gy nearly started from his chair, then sank back down. "It would be...suspicious. Yes...yes, that would be it. A newcomer like you. Not even the five of us see him often unless we are on a major project."
"I can wait," Winter shrugged. "Why did he not meet with me personally? I would think a noamuth velg'larn would have called enough attention to myself."
"Who knows?" Rai'gy said. "He is as contrary as you are. I remember the second time I met you – in Ched Nasad, just after a sacrifice..."
"You with blood up to your elbows and all over your lovely robes. Charming."
Rai'gy ignored the sarcasm. "You were...ten years then. Little girl in pretty clothes with a pretty smile, like your two other slightly older sisters. Holding a doll. And you were the only one whom was not frightened, or fascinated like your mother – just curious. As I said, contrary."
"Cultural exchanges took the strangest forms," Winter drew another pattern. "I did not think you were frightening. And I told my mother so later. Fortunately she chose me as the exchange – even then I did not like Irinelaeran."
"A tiny girl wandering all over the place, with a talent at manipulation," Rai'gy said shortly, with a sudden smile. "Asking all sorts of questions. Embarrassing Irinelaeran."
"That was not relevant," Winter seemed brought back to the present by something. "My layered shield is beginning to wear off. There is only so much we can be pretending to talk about. Now, I shall leave dramatically, and we will not talk again. And Rai'gy? Stop worrying. I know what I am doing."
As the two of you left, you heard the muttered "That was what I was afraid of."
**
Bregan D'aerthe's headquarters was busy with mercenaries – and yet was neat and disciplined, like a fully functional, efficient machine. The two of you sauntered down what looked like a main corridor which was plain and unfurnished, leading to equally plain doors. Mercenaries who passed by gave the two of you a cursory glance and went on their way, chatting with each other.
You remembered what Petriarch had said of Bregan D'aerthe – a band of mercenaries working together because they wanted to, not because they were forced to, with initiative and loyalty to the band itself and to no other. This was what made the band so formidable – not because it was nearly all male, not because of its widespread influence, but because the basic tenet of how it functioned was so different, and yet so powerful. If you are doing something which deep down you support and like, you work harder. Bregan D'aerthe offered males an opportunity to break out of all the stereotype bonds in Menzoberranzan.
And on top of it all was Jarlaxle, who somehow managed to keep everything going, dragging Bregan D'aerthe behind him to greater heights with cunning, determination, and a sheer will to survive and achieve. He had shown again and again that he was a survivor, an opportunist, and a talented tactician with a formidable mind, and was dedicated to the band, not to power or money...which was why all the mercenaries respected and believed in him. If he ordered them to kill themselves, they probably would.
"Frightening, isn't it?" Winter murmured.
She bumped into a mercenary who was holding a large stack of paper and squinting at the words in the inadequate light. Paper went flying everywhere, someone chuckled, he fell down with a curse. Winter murmured apologies, then helped him pick up the paper.
He thanked her, then peered at her, mouth twitching into a manic grin. "Ah, the noamuth velg'larn?"
"A wandering assassin, not the," Winter corrected, returning the grin. "Well met, noamuth velg'larn Sithag'er...carrying paper now, and not a matron's head?"
"Paper is less messy," Sithag'er grinned. Winter fell into place beside him. "I did not truly expect you to be the newcomer."
"This seems to be a day full of coincidences," Winter agreed innocently.
"However, I did suspect something, which was why I returned from Ithilaughgm. The Underdark is quite beautiful at this time."
Er?
"And did a passing winged harguk tell you this?" Winter said, in all seriousness.
"No, t'was Vhaerun in mortal form with a pointy hat." Sithag'er smiled, an guile-less smile, miming something's stride. Whatever it was, Winter laughed, causing some passing mercenaries to stare briefly.
"I did not think the Masked God would enter the Underdark." Winter pointed out.
"He's been...you know with Lloth again." Sithag'er nudged Winter and winked suggestively.
You could now see Winter's point about the other noamuth velg'larn in Bregan D'aerthe being 'slightly insane', if Sithag'er was indeed the other one she had mentioned.
"Really. I thought they broke up," Winter played along.
"Oh no," Sithag'er said earnestly. "That is what they want everyone to see. Actually they're all fluff and pink below it."
"Is that good?" Winter asked.
"Oh of course. Vel'duss zhaun alur taga lil quarual-sharess?" Who knows better than the goddess?
Winter said something under her breath, and Sithag'er snickered.
Your eyes happened to fall on their hands – and you realized that the fingers twitched and curled and gestured, small gestures that would be natural and unnoticeable unless one was looking out for something like that.
"How do you find Bregan D'aerthe so far?" Sithag'er continued.
"You tell me," Winter countered.
"Too dark to read properly," Sithag'er said solemnly.
"Had a nice time in Ithilaughgm?" Winter inquired, changing the subject again.
"Oh, very nice. They just repainted their Dome."
"Again?"
"Yes, it gets tiresome. Pastel now I think. But a very pretty city." Sithag'er murmured, then his voice rose slightly again. "Very friendly."
"Friendly?" Winter raised an eyebrow.
"Oh yes, amazing how many people decided to come and play," Sithag'er said happily. "They were very insistent that I join in."
"Ah, and you let them live too?"
"Do not be silly." Sithag'er considered something. "I took the prize. Would you like to see it?"
"Sure," Winter shrugged. The three of you turned down a corridor, led by the strange drow.
Sithag'er, managing to balance paper in one hand, reached under his surcoat and pulled out a pair of metallic-looking gloves, dull black and unadorned, crude. He handed them to Winter, who ran fingers over them then sniffed the metal.
"Iron," she said, sounding surprised. "How?"
"Faerbol, magic made." Sithag'er said happily. "Try them on."
Winter slipped them on, then flexed her fingers. "No difference."
"Here," Sithag'er handed her the thick stack of paper. Winter took it automatically, then blinked.
"Weightless!"
"No," Sithag'er looked as though he would burst from glee. "Strength gauntlets – they give you strength. Clever, yes?"
Winter returned both paper and gauntlets. "So why are you not wearing them?"
"Because wearing them for too long would make me depended on the strength boost," Sithag'er said seriously, then his mood changed again. "Also, my hands say they like it not. I asked them. And my toes agree."
"Very diplomatic." Winter said with a straight face.
"One must be coordinated," Sithag'er beamed.
"What else did you do in Ithilaughgm?"
"Oh, I picked up a new dagger. They do very nice daggers there. That new blacksmith who is making a name for himself – I cannot remember his name – does fine work. You should go and see him. He has...strange hair."
"Strange hair?" Winter prompted.
"It is red." Sithag'er tapped a symbol on his surcoat. "This color."
"Dye." Winter brushed it off.
"No...he washed in a river and his hair turned red." Sithag'er corrected. "Because once tanar'ri washed their tails in there, so now the river turns some drow's hair red. All the sulphur, you see."
"I would think it would be yellow."
"Of course not. That is pure sulphur. This is red sulphur."
"Oh, of course."
"The blacksmith does glasswork too. Here, see my sword..." Sithag'er drew it easily, juggled paper and weapon, then Winter took pity on him and relieved him of the blade.
She ran a finger on the blade – the grooves on it were filled with some sort of shiny, smooth substance – melted glass. Holding it up to the light, the carvings were hence picked up in forest green, blood red and dull gold colors – the melted glass had been delicately poured into them.
"How does he get the colors?" Winter helped Sithag'er sheathe the sword.
"Why, he washes the sand."
"In that river?"
"No, only for red."
"The green?"
"In the pool where Lloth once cut her fingernails into."
"She has to cut her fingernails?"
"If they are too long she tends to scratch herself."
"Instead of Vhaerun?" Winter sniggered.
"Well...him too." Sithag'er admitted. "Have you heard of chocolate?"
Winter did not look surprised at this apparent non-sequitur. "Xas..."
What was chocolate?
"It is evil."
"Chocolate? Evil?" Winter raised a eyebrow. "Is it not that sweet substance from the surface?"
"Yes. Evil. Verin."
"In what insidious way is it so evil that even I cannot see it?"
"Ah! That is its secret power! You will never know until it is too late and you are under its influence, and you crave for it when you are pressured, sick or simply bored. Beware it. The worst kind of poison. And I have it from the best authority that it makes your teeth rot."
"Sithag'er, have you ever eaten vrau?"
"What is it?"
"If you think chocolate is verin, vrau would be ssussun."
"Vith'ussa! Are you sure?"
"Yes...I may have a sample somewhere." Winter opened her satchel and sifted in it with one hand.
"You keep food in your bag?"
"Food that keeps."
"I keep...feathers in my bag."
"I know." Winter took out a small cloth-wrapped bundle which she handed to Sithag'er. "Not as good as the fresh one, but the dried one is still superior to chocolate."
You watched as Sithag'er slipped some paper from under the bundle into his clothing, then opened the bundle. The sweet, mouthwatering scent immediately floated down to you, and you were hard put to keep your mouth from watering.
Sithag'er balanced it on his stack of paper. "Vith'ussa! I see your point. As a elder member of Vel'Xundussa Magthere I am honor bound to protect you from this evil influence. I will now keep this vrau." He ate a piece of it. "A lil Quarval-sharess..."
Winter snickered. "Out of this world, is it not?"
Sithag'er barely gave her a glance, though you could tell that he was suddenly very interested. "Have you been picking flowers again?"
"No, merely while they were in season."
What were flowers?
"Ah. Those...what do rivvil call them? Roses."
"Roses have thorns, and looked like badly folded pieces of paper. Make another guess."
"Carnation?"
"Those shredded pieces of paper? They smell worse than roses."
"Foxglove. Pretty little things, though foxes hardly wear them, of course. Not fluffy enough."
"No, not that either."
"Morning's glory?"
"Wrong track."
"Sunflowers."
"What, that evil thing?"
"Orchids?"
"Never seen those before."
"Poppies?"
"Not those either. Give up?"
"No, this is amusing. Buttercups?"
"Your knowledge of flowers is greater than mine."
"Hyacinth?"
"Like I said."
You wondered if this was, in fact, some sort of secret negotiation or simply a private joke between them.
"Ah. Passionflower."
"Very funny."
"Dandelions?"
"Warm."
"Yellow, small, chrysanthemum."
"Correct. Finally."
Sithag'er smiled happily. "All of them?"
"No, just one."
"Saw a few 'bees'?"
"Dragonfly, a white one."
"Amusing! You must tell me more one of these days...ah, but here I am." Sithag'er stopped outside a door, and when he turned around, he was very serious again, his 'insane' mask dropped. "Thank the goddess. I was not sure how long more I could keep up that continuous stream of rubbish. Winter? Jarlaxle is very dangerous. Watch your back." Unintentionally, he had repeated what Rai'gy mentioned earlier.
"Nindyn vel'uss kyorl nind ratha thalra elghinn dal lil alust." Winter quoted a famous proverb.
"Elghinn zhan lil abban del jal bwael noamuth velg'larn." Sithag'er replied, bowed slightly, then entered the room, closing the door behind him.
Winter smiled slightly, a smile with no humor in it. "Abban xal tludoer ogglin. Come, Shebali."
And you followed.