Chapter 3: Wilderness

Whilst the urban grandness of Athkatla did indeed spread across an impressive fraction of Amn, the southern land was hardly overwhelmed by cities and towns. Within two miles past the city gates a traveller could find themselves in the deepest undergrowth, trudging along a small dirt path in the middle of the densest forest.

Some fifteen miles out, on the outskirts of one of these forests, a pair of travellers had settled down to camp for the night, a final stop before making the final leg to Athkatla the following morning.

The last of the sun's rays had long stopped penetrating the filter of the tree branches, and the only illumination offered was that of the small yet vicious campfire that had been set up, over which a small pot of unidentifiable stew was merrily bubbling.

The slender dark-haired woman stirring occasionally at the dinner lifted the metal ladle, blew lightly on the doubtlessly boiling hot food, before tentatively tasting it. Her companion, a man of light build and slightly pointy ears that displayed his elven heritage watched her dubiously.

After a second's brief coughing, the woman firmly spat the offending mouthful onto the floor before frantically lunging across their small campsite towards her travel pack and struggling with the water flask to unscrew the lid.

Her half-elven companion watched the display with a slight smile of nervous amusement lingering on his lips. "A l-little hot, is it then, D-Darial?" he asked inquisitively, his slight stammer impeding his speech a little.

Darial the bard gave him a mock-glower. "Don't try sarcasm or dry wit, Khalid. It doesn't suit you," she retorted wryly, shaking her head before she gulped down yet more cooling water.

Khalid shrugged, taking his own bowl and rather bravely serving himself a generous portion of the stew. "I rarely have t-trouble getting people to laugh at m-me," he replied ruefully, stirring the stew and letting free an almost overwhelming amount of steam.

 The bard grimaced slightly as she sat back down on the opposite side of the fire, helping herself to her own share from the small pot. "Sorry," she replied, shaking her head a little. "I just hate it when people criticise my food. I'm a good cook, and don't forget it," she continued, waggling a finger at him cheerfully.

Khalid smiled nervously. Darial had so far been unsuccessful in getting the perpetually anxious warrior to laugh outright, though he never seemed to treat any of her jokes with anything other than humour. This was quite a feat; even she acknowledged that some of her quips were truly terrible.

His problem, the bard considered, was that he was so insecure he didn't dare do anything other than his utmost to ingratiate himself with others. As people had informed her when she'd met up with him in Tethyr, this sometimes got on peoples' nerves; fortunately the laid-back bard found him little other than endearing. Though not the most confident of people, Khalid was always polite, well-mannered and rather cheerful. Many of Darial's former companions had been some of the dreariest Harpers imaginable.

"I wouldn't d-dare," Khalid muttered, shaking his head. The bard gave him a brief, sharp look before hiding it with a smirk. Good; she'd already started to loosen him up since they'd joined forces a mere week ago. "At what t-time should we be r-reaching Athkatla t-tomorrow?" he asked out loud.

Darial paused for a moment, considering. "Depends on what time we set off, and whether or not you insist we pause every ten minutes for a drink," she replied teasingly. "But with a little luck, by lunchtime. We'll be feasting with the Herald within twenty-four hours."

Khalid's eyebrows shot up. "T-the Herald?" he repeated, his voice going up a mildly panicked pitch.

The bard paused. Her warrior companion was barely twenty; young by human standards and still an infant by elven. Though his combined genetics tended to wreak havoc on each other, contradicting wildly on matters such as age, Khalid's quiet nature sometimes made him seem older than he appeared. It rendered him rather easy to tease.

As did his stutter and the fact that he was slightly jumpy. In fact, on the whole, he was an easy target. A far too easy target, which led Darial to suspect he would have experience in shrugging off any taunt offered by someone less scrupulous by herself.

So instead of teasing him, however good-naturedly, she decided to give him a break and shook her head, her dark eyes twinkling merrily. "Nah, I doubt it," Darial conceded. "We'll probably never even see Vedus whilst we're there. According to what I've been told, we'll be working under Gorion Greenmantle, the sage."

Khalid's brows knitted together as he frowned with thought. "Greenmantle," he repeated softly and considerately in an absent tone which suggested he was trying to remember something.

"Yep. Gorion Greenmantle," Darial repeated. "Great man, great mage. Whatever we're up to, he'll make sure we don't do anything too stupid. Great man." She nodded sagely. "Whatever we're up to."

* *

Darial and Khalid would have been kicking themselves had they known that the Dancing Dragon Inn lay a mere five miles north of their current location. Whilst the trek there would have been mildly challenging, it would have then relieved them of the troubles presented by cooking and the undeniable chill of the Amnish nights as all the heat accumulated from the blisteringly hot days fled from the ground.

They would also have had a chance to meet some of their future companions, although neither of them seemed particularly inclined to go about and meet new people that night… for they were perfectly content with each others' company.

In a small yet comfortably furnished room, the first rays of sunlight sneaked through the tiny gap in the curtain, strategically aimed so as to hit one of the two people sleeping in the big bed directly in the eyes.

He stirred slightly, shifting out of the light, but the damage was already done; he'd been woken up. With a groan of dissatisfaction, the Harper Belgrade sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to shake off the fatigue that had not yet been dismissed by sunlight.

Scratching at the stubble that graced his chin, the human turned to glance at his sleeping partner, who had clearly not been roused by the arrival of dawn. On a brief whim of amused envy, he lightly poked her bare shoulder. "Jaheira? Wilt thou be rousing thyself any time within the next few seasons?"

The young druid swatted at his hand none-too firmly, rolling over to present her back to him as she slid further underneath the covers. "Belgrade," she started, her voice a quiet mumble of dissatisfaction, "I am attempting to sleep. You deprived me of that pleasure last night, so have the decency to permit me to have another hour or so."

Belgrade raised an eyebrow, blinking. "But –"

"No."

Jaheira's tone was firm, and threatened possible intense pain if he was to push the matter. Raising his hands in submission, Belgrade shifted away and slid out of the bed, wincing with anticipation as he brought a bare foot down on the coarse wooden floor which promised splinters.

He fished quickly for the comfortable dressing gown that was one of the few luxuries of the slightly natty room, temporarily slipping his feet into his light boots as he trooped across the room towards the mirror on the wall. Though he was almost silent in his movements, he knew he was still making a noise, and intentionally – the sooner Jaheira woke up, the sooner they could be moving on. Odd how a druid who would get him up before dawn when they camped in the wild would demand a lie-in once sleeping in a normal bed.

Then again, last night was hardly the most relaxing of nights, was it? Belgrade grinned to himself as he retrieved his shaving equipment and proceeded to remove his face of the offending stubble that had accumulated overnight.

Though he could not quite attend to it at the moment, his sandy-blonde hair was getting just a little too long for his liking. Though not particularly vain, Belgrade took great pains in keeping himself neat and tidy. He'd have to attend to that later.

As he scraped the blade along his damp face, wincing as a brief slip sliced a little – fortunately not deep enough to draw blood – he glanced at the reflection of the sleeping Jaheira.

He had brought her into the Harpers himself after their rather dramatic meeting in Tethyr. Intrigued by the druid's fire, her passion for life and dedication to fighting what she believed in, it had not taken long before their relationship had pushed from being friends to being lovers. Most of his superiors frowned on it, but Belgrade could easily push their disapproval aside. He did the work they needed; what more could they ask of him?

To be on time at his assignment, he supposed, frowning a little. Then he looked at Jaheira again, and shook his head. He valued his neck more than the opinion of his superiors, anyway…