Jessi: Yey! New chapter- slightly delayed by coursework and Six Nations Rugby... sorry.
Chapter Four: Waterdeep
Targ inhaled deeply. The wind carried the clean tang of salt in from the sea. In front of them Waterdeep, the City of Splendors.
The city was built right up to the coastline where the eyes of the two elves could see the docks and the huge merchant ships from Amn, Luskan and even Calimshan, the hot land to the south. A wall surrounded Waterdeep with towers built into it in regular intervals. Mount Waterdeep, to the south rose into the sky, a single tower on the top its single feature.
The city was large, and Targ knew from personal experience that it was all too easy to get lost once within those walls. At this time of day crowds would fill the streets, every individual on their own urgent business.
Malurion was a hard person to find at the best of times, let alone in Waterdeep's maze of buildings.
"How long has it been since you last saw Malurion?" Targ studied the elven mage's face closly as he asked. Lledr's face flickered with an expression of anxiousness before he carefully hid it under a neutral face,
"It must be... At least fifteen years..."
The dragonslayer nodded, sighing as he realized the enormity of this task and sent Rhawn at a walk towards the single gate.
Lledr began to follow then halted. Rhisiart had turned so he could look back at the way they had come-back towards the elven city. The young warrior than stared at Waterdeep, a familar expression blossoming onto his pale face.
It was a mixture of disdain, of sorrow and that all-consuming emotion that was hiraeth.
It was difficult to translate the word hiraeth into the myriad tongues of Men. The word was not simply the Elvish for longing, but a specific longing: one for home. In that simple word and elf could express the sorrow of leaving behind friends and family and the fear that home would never be seen again.
"Rhisiart?"
At the sound of his own name the black hairwed elf started, his face atomatically composing itself into a blank mask.
"Lord Teithr," with a polite bow of his head Rhisiart kicked his horse into a trot. A second later the older elf followed.
The young warrior glanced from side to side as they entered Waterdeep. There was indeed a thick press of people on the streets, the horses were forced to walk in a single line. The sheer number of the humans amazed him. Elves bred slowly, one child born every fifty or sixty years to a couple was the norm. But these humans, he slowly shook his head in amazement.
To him it was impossible to imagine a species that bred this fast... It was no wonder that nature had been pushed aside to make room for all these people. That thought sadden him. In Rhisiart's birthplace the buildings had skillfully blended in and compilmented nature, causing as little harm has possible.
Here though the buildings were crammed together, rectanglar and cold-looking.
Shivering, the young elf retreated into the protective folds of his cloak.
"Malurion could be anywhere... I honestly do not where..." Lledr looked down at the remains of his meal, "But still in Waterdeep that I am certain of..." His slender, white fingers were beating a restless rythme on the table.
"Always was a slippery one," Targ mused to himself and the mage nodded in agreement. The dragonslayer continued, "We start searching in the morning," he gestured to the bar, "Nightcap?"
The blue-haired elf nodded and wandered over to the counter, his brow slightly furrowed in thought. Targ leant back and closed his eyes.
"Teithr?" Lledr turned, slightly confused at being addressed in his family name by an unfamilar voice in this city. A hooded and cloaked woman stood a little way away and in her hand was...
The mage leapt sideways just as the crossbow was fired. Landing neatly in a crouch he glanced up to see the bolt embedded in the wood just where his head had been. The assassin spat out an unlady-like curse and drew a dagger from her belt.
Panicked patrons, unused to barfights in this pleasent area of Waterdeep, began to flee the building as the mage unseathed his own silvery blade, the assassin was too close for him to use magic.
Targ, cut off from the mage by the press of the crowd, stood uselessly. Rhisiart, slender sword naked in his hand, was similarly trapped.
The assassin lunged at the mage, blade flashing in the light. Lledr side-stepped, but his answering strike was caught on the woman's dagger. The human, however, lashed out in a lightning fast kick, scoring a hit directly on the elf's slender chest.
The mage sprawled onto the floor, rolling immediently away from the woman. She now had another dagger in her left and she crouched in a fighter's stance. Lledr was panting, one hand over his chest, face showing his pain.
"Shit! Lledr!" the dragonslayer begna to push against the crowd.
Abruptly the assassin screamed and staggered to the side, a bright knife appearing in between her ribs. A cloaked figure, another throwing knife in their pale fingers, stood at the other end of the inn. The woman shrieked and, in anger threw one of her daggers.
It missed, but the throwing knife from the other figure did not and she fell dead onto the floor, the knife standing upright in her throat.
Lledr stood slowly, his movements a little easier. When he saw the cloaked figure, however, he dropped his dagger and ran to them, all pain forgotten as the two embraced.