17th Day of Readying, 565 CY
The Brass Dragon Inn, Furyondy.
The thought came to Elrohir suddenly, out of nowhere.
By the High One! It's been a month since Nodyath last attacked us!
The ranger looked again at the small wooden, rune-inscribed plaques that hung from a nail in the wall of his room. He had come up to his room to take a quick inventory, to see what was needed for an upcoming shopping trip to Willip. Talass used the plaques as a kind of calendar to keep track of the days, mostly to aid her for certain ritual ceremonies to Forseti that she still conducted. Elrohir stared at them, rubbing his chin and thinking.
Routine had returned to the Brass Dragon.
To be sure, it was not the same routine that Elrohir, his family and his friends had known the previous year. Yet somehow they had managed to stabilize their chaotic lives into something that allowed them to go on day-by-day without going mad from all their concerns and worries.
Elrohir slowly sat down on his bed. He glanced over at the box where his and Talass' armor lay.
No one was walking around armored and/or with excessive weight anymore. Talass had been the first to rebel, saying that it put Tojo and Tadoa at heightened risk, and she didn't want to be responsible for that. A day later, Caroline had also dropped the idea, saying it was just too wearying, and she was developing bruises all over. Elrohir was disappointed, but he hadn't taken it personally. He sighed and looked over at the far side of the room, where a small bed lay empty next to Talass' writing desk.
The ranger swallowed hard. Barahir. He missed his son.
The last time he had seen him had been about three weeks ago. Aslan had teleported to the Square Castle to check up on the children. While they were physically well, it had been explained to the paladin that they could no longer stay there. Keeping them essentially locked in a room for almost three weeks was having a serious effect on their state of mind. Aslan had thus brought them back to the Brass Dragon for a one-day furlough. It had been emotionally wrenching. The children were overjoyed at returning, but the next day Aslan had left with them again, this time to the elves of Welkwood, the party's only other ally that they would entrust their offspring with.
Barahir had practically gone berserk when the time came for him to leave. Thorin had been solid and uncomplaining, but it was plain to anyone who looked at the boy that his heart was breaking. There had been a lot of tears at the inn after Aslan's departure with the children.
Elrohir continued to stare at his son's bed, frowning. As much as he missed his son, he had finally had to admit to himself what Talass had been telling him for some time now.
He truly didn't want to be retired anymore. Elrohir wanted to be in the thick of things again, where the risks were greatest, but so were the rewards. As for how to reconcile that with his son's safety and well being though, he didn't have a clue. Elrohir had grown up never knowing his father, and he knew he didn't want that to happen to Barahir. The ranger leaned forward, propping his elbows on his thighs and resting his head in his hands. He closed his eyes.
Give me strength, All-Father. Show me the way once more.
Downstairs, Elrohir's wife smiled as five men rose from the table in the common room and thanked her before heading out the door and around the back to the stables. The merchants had been traveling to Willip from Gorsend and come across the body of a traveler who had apparently died from exposure to the elements. They had scavenged the corpse and had been engaged in an argument over the proper division of the meager spoils. Talass had introduced herself as a priestess of the Justice Bringer, Forseti. She said she had some small experience in this area and had proceeded to draw up an equitable distribution plan that they had all agreed to. In gratitude, they had each offered her a percentage of their shares, but she had politely declined, while taking the opportunity to preach the gospel of peace and justice to them. If only a tiny fraction of it stuck, Talass thought, it was a better deal for her than if they had simply given all of the loot to her.
As the men left the inn, Talass considered. This was probably what she would be doing back home in Rhizia, if she had never left. She and Talat would be-
Talass frowned, annoyed that the image of her sister had interrupted her thoughts yet again. She often wondered what had become of her, whether she was still with Nodyath or not. Just as often, she wondered whether she would ever be able to decide how she felt about that.
She walked outside and stood basking in the late morning sun. It was still cool, but Talass had always preferred the outdoors. She walked around to the stables just in time to see the young stable boy finish bringing out the merchants' horses and wagon for them. She eyed him waving to the men as they rode off to the southeast. She could just discern the glimmer of a copper coin (a tip, no doubt) in the boy's hand. He deserves it, she thought. They all work hard for us. That was not, of course, the whole story as to why Talass had insisted that they double the staff's pay. It was also due to the fact that they were now in a potentially dangerous situation every day, and they knew it. Good help was indeed hard to find, and harder to keep. The turnover rate was so high at the Brass Dragon that all of the party, even Aslan and Talass, had trouble remembering their names.
The boy reminded her of her son. It was strange, Talass thought, that Elrohir, whom she knew was actively bucking for everyone to "unretire," seemed to be taking Barahir's absence harder than she was. She missed her son terribly, but somehow she didn't worry every day over whether he was safe. To be sure, she would have preferred he stay with the Shield Landers rather than with the elves, but she knew that was just her personal opinion. Barahir would be fine. She knew this, as only a cleric could know.
Back inside the common room, Cygnus, who had glanced up as Talass followed the merchants outside, was now again engrossed in his ledger books, spread out on another of the tables there.
Well, not exactly engrossed, but it was something he did very well, and he took pride in it. At least he wasn't scowling and wondering how they were going to survive financially week-by-week.
The prices at the Brass Dragon had been doubled, effective the beginning of Readying. There had been a lot of complaining from customers of course, but the Brass Dragon, not being located in a city, had little immediate competition. The nearest roadside tavern was located about 25 miles northwest, further up the road.
They were still in bad shape, Cygnus calculated (especially with the recent staff raise, which he had opposed. Talass however, would not go along with the price increase without it, so the mage had reluctantly agreed). Still, it seemed like there was some hope for the future. Revenue was up again.
The wizard watched Tadoa serving drinks to the clientele, Dudraug sticking close to his side. The elf was Thorin's best friend, he knew. Well, it might be harder for Tad, but at least now Thorin could play with as many elven children as he liked.
Cygnus shook his head. Who are you trying to fool? he asked himself. He wanted his son back home. Silently, he cursed Nodyath (as he did almost daily) for destroying the tranquility they had worked so hard to reestablish after Hyzenthlay's death. Cygnus was amazed that there had been no sign of their enemy for an entire month, and ardently hoped that some hideous fate had befallen him, but he just didn't think that was the case. As Nodyath himself had pointed out, he was a survivor.
It'd been over two weeks since Cygnus had even glanced at his Enemies List. Maybe, he thought, just maybe, if we can find Nodyath and take care of him once and for all, we can put all of this behind us. Having trained up recently (he had to admit Thormord was an accomplished magic-user, although his personality was everything he both expected and disliked about a guild wizard), Cygnus felt more confident that he could contribute to this goal now. He glanced back to the bar and couldn't repress a smile.
Zantac's face showed his intense concentration as he bent over, adding the final solution to the liquid in the glass beaker placed in front of him on the bar. The beaker had been placed in a frame atop a candle. As he gently stirred the combined liquids, the mixture swiftly turned a bright, clear green.
He stood up and smiled over at Cygnus. "Green goop!"
His fellow wizard returned the smile. "You do realize that it's tradition that whoever brews a new batch has to test it out on themselves, don't you?"
Zantac's eyes narrowed. "You must have forgotten to mention that little detail. In any case, if I were a traditionalist, I'd still be back at the guild, fetching components for Zelhile and keeping his coffee warm with cantrips."
Cygnus raised his tankard of mead at him in a toast. "I'll put the rebel back in you yet, Zantac."
His fellow wizard's face grew thoughtful as he mixed the green goop into another mug of ale and stirred it with his finger. "It never really went away, Cygnus. You just do what you have to do to survive, you know?"
Cygnus nodded soberly. He knew.
"In any case," the red-robed mage added, coming around now to Cygnus' table with his mug and sitting down next to him with a mischievous smile, "Give this to Aslan when he comes in. He needs something to loosen him up. I think 'rebel' is a curse word to him."
Cygnus shrugged, seemingly uninterested in the proposed prank. "He's a paladin; what do you expect? We all make allowances for each other here."
I like that philosophy, Zantac thought as Cygnus returned his attention to his ledgers. He turned to watch the bustle of a busy tavern room. A people-watcher by nature, it was something Zantac had always enjoyed back in Willip. He leaned back, considering.
Zantac had been quite frightened, going to that meeting with the Guildmaster over a month ago, but Zelhile had merely emphasized the importance of signing Cygnus up, and how much he trusted that Zantac was the one who could pull this coup off for the Guild. Zantac had nodded and said all the right things, all the while looking the Guildmaster straight in the eye.
It beat looking down at the floor. Zantac was pretty sure he could see the red carpet rippling beneath him.
He'd put the week that Cygnus was training up to good use, trying to find out as much as possible about the Emerald Serpent. He had been disappointed to find nothing at all of substance in the Guild library. He was sure that it stocked a treatise written several years ago about the Serpent, but now it wasn't here.
Aimee. Once again, a nameless something was in play here, telling him that she might have useful information. Yet it wasn't until the breakfast of the day they'd left the Guild to come back to the Brass Dragon that he'd seen her. All of the wizards had been sitting, eating and talking in a room far too small for that purpose (It was done once a week on orders of the Guildmaster, who always had announcements afterward). He'd glanced up, and seen her at the far side of the room.
The Succubus had smiled at him, and her hair had turned a brilliant emerald green.
Zantac had paled and sat back down heavily. After the meal, he had grabbed Cygnus and rushed him out of the Guild and to the stables. He didn't confide in Cygnus his reasons, because he didn't know what they were. He just knew he didn't want to go back there again.
"Still with us?"
Zantac blinked, bringing himself back to the present. Cygnus was looking at him quizzically. Zantac's face grew serious as he spoke.
"You know the Guildmaster wants me to sign you up, Cygnus."
His fellow mage nodded slowly. "Yes?"
Zantac grunted, drumming his fingers on the table. "So, regardless of whether you finally say yes or no, I'm out of here either way." He looked back at Cygnus, who saw the look in his eyes.
So that's what wanting to be free looks like, Cygnus thought. I've never seen it from this angle.
"You know," he said slyly, lifting up his mug, "I've been accused of taking a long, long time to make up my mind." He raised an eyebrow at Zantac, who slowly smiled.
"Really?"
"Oh, yes" Cygnus replied. "Years, in fact."
He toasted Zantac. "Happiness and Long Life, my friend."
Zantac returned the toast. He recognized Cygnus' grin and his own short-term memory loss just a second too late.
Aslan was just about to enter the inn when Zantac threw open the door and came barreling out, nearly running over the paladin in the process. Aslan turned to watch Zantac make it maybe twenty feet before doubling over and emptying his most recent meal rather graphically on the ground. He could hear Cygnus' laughter from inside the inn, and he shook his head dolefully.
Nothing unexpected when you run an inn, I guess.
"Wonder if I could learn to detect immaturity," Aslan mumbled to himself as he changed course and headed for the stables. Two minutes later, he was racing northeastward across the plains on Perlial. Long-overdue exercise for his steed, and a chance for Aslan to feel the wind on his face again.
To be sure, the paladin could have used his Talent to polymorph into something that could run fast or even fly, but Aslan was still loath to use his abilities frivolously. He always had been. It was a very rare occurrence, but sometimes, the excessive use of psionics attracted... things. Psionic things.
Psionic things that were never, ever friendly.
Aslan could feel Perlial's exhilaration as the mare galloped on. It was at these rare times when he could let himself go. As much as possible, he emptied his head of all conscious thoughts, letting whatever wanted to come inside to do so.
He was somewhat annoyed that it was a thought about Nodyath.
He realized now that he had been wrong about his counterpart. Obviously, Nodyath had not abandoned his stated purpose of destroying them all, but neither was he hanging around the Brass Dragon day and night, watching for just one second of weakness. He had other irons in the fire, and returned here from time to time, taking a potshot at them if the circumstances looked favorable.
Aslan frowned. Of course, the only thing that didn't fit in this neat little package was Talat. Did Nodyath really love her, as Caroline claimed? Or did he need her for some other purpose? She was a native of the Flanaess, Aslan reasoned. Having a knowledgeable guide around would greatly accelerate Nodyath's acclimation to this world. Of course if that was true, then Nodyath was planning to stick around for a while. Possibly a very long while.
The paladin leaned forward. "How are you doing, my friend?" he yelled over the horse's thundering hooves.
Perlial's head rose as she replied, as loudly as she could. "I am fine Aslan, but I think you should duck!"
"What?" Aslan yelled back, then did just that as a shadow swooped low overhead, heading southeast. He turned Perlial around to the right and slowed her down to a cantor as he watched Caroline, flying overhead on Sequester, look back and wave at him. Although she was already too far away for him to see clearly, the paladin was sure she was laughing at him. He shook his head with an exasperated smile.
You didn't really expect peacefulness and contentment when you retired, did you Aslan?
Her laughter subsiding, Caroline Bigfellow turned her attention southeastwards once more, shielding her eyes with her hand from the sun. She could see the Brass Dragon and the cabins below, and then they swiftly receded to the rear as she paralleled the main road.
Readying had been kinder to Caroline than the Fireseek before it, but the relative quiet of the last few weeks had only intensified her sorrow at Argo's absence. She had grown quiet and withdrawn again. Although she now felt closer to the others than she ever had before, Caroline still preferred to spend most of her free time alone. She wasn't sulking, but Lady Bigfellow still thought of each day until Argo returned as something to be gotten through, not enjoyed for its own sake. She lifted her head again and stared into the blue sky above.
Mighty Zeus, thy will be done. Let it be that we will be together again soon.
For some reason though, today had been different. Caroline had awoken feeling unusually refreshed, invigorated, even mischievous. She didn't know why, but she did know she didn't want to waste the opportunity. A ride on her faithful pegasus had seemed like just the ticket.
After several minutes, she saw five horses ahead of her on the road, two of which were pulling a wagon. She recognized them as the merchants who had just left the Brass Dragon and were en route to Willip. Caroline swooped low over them, grinning again as their riders fought to maintain control of their startled steeds. She was about to turn Sequester around for another pass when she saw the sun glinting off something further on down the road. Guiding the pegasus onward, she saw there were ten people approaching on foot, most of them armored. Unlike the horsemen, they seemed to have no particular reaction to her approach. Curious, she guided Sequester in for a landing nearby as the group stopped and awaited her.
As she dismounted and slowly walked over to them, the smile returned to her face.
It was the Sir Dorbin party.
Their leader stepped forward, smiling broadly. "Lady Bigfellow! An unexpected delight!"
Seeing Dorbin again reminded Caroline of her meeting last month with her husband. Acting on impulse, as she so often did, the young woman ran up to Sir Dorbin and flung her arms around him in a hug. It seemed hard for Caroline to remember that she had once thought of the knight as stuffy, dull and stuck-up. Somewhat surprised, Dorbin returned the embrace to an assortment of laughs, whistles, catcalls and comments from his party.
Unru's voice, as it so often did, carried clearly.
"Totally faithless! I told you you can't trust these Zeus worshippers."
Caroline raised her head and stepped back, frowning. That comment seemed a little over the line to her, and she was about to say so when she heard the reply.
"Yeah I know, but when they're that gorgeous, you take the good with the bad!"
Caroline literally squealed and dove into the mass of adventurers. Fee Hal and Sitdale leapt out of the way as Caroline rushed past them and jumped into the waiting arms of her husband. The two whirled around together until they were both dizzy, then clung to each other tightly, the rest of the world forgotten.
After what was either several seconds or several hours, the two disengaged. Sir Dorbin walked over to them.
"We'd met up with Argo in Willip when he came back from his quest and thought we might as well accompany him back to the inn. As things stand, we have some free time of our own, and thought we might stay there a few days as well, if you don't mind. At least now we can pay our own way."
Caroline smiled at the knight. "You and your friends are always welcome at the Brass Dragon, Sir Dorbin." She glanced back at the joyful face of her husband and squeezed his hand. "We'll throw Aslan out of his cabin to make room, if we have to!"
Argo read his wife's face with a practiced eye. "So, I take it things are pretty much status quo back home?"
Caroline shrugged, seeming to consider. "Well, a lot of things got dragged through the dirt, and then there was some mud-slinging, but everything's pretty much back to normal now."
The ranger raised an eyebrow at her, but he knew he'd get the full story in due time. For now, he couldn't keep his eyes off her. "How could you have gotten so much more beautiful in just one month?" he whispered.
The tears were threatening to start up again as Caroline hugged her husband again. She still couldn't believe he was home. "Told you I'd come back," he whispered in her right ear, before giving it a quick nibble and pulling back again with a sly grin, which she returned. "When we get home," Caroline said softly, "first I'll fix you up the best cup of mulled cider you've ever-"
Argo's face suddenly hardened. "No!"
Caroline blinked, surprise overriding everything else. "What?"
Argo's face softened again. The ranger gave his wife his trademarked pained smile. "I'm sorry, my love. I just meant that... no more cider for me. And no more apples. Ever. In fact, I'd be just as glad never to hear the word 'apple' again."
Caroline's face was a perfect picture of bewilderment. Argo leaned in close again. "My quest. I'll explain later."
She nodded, and then nearly jumped at an unfamiliar voice.
"You people are blocking the road!"
It was the five merchants. The Sir Dorbin party moved to the side to let them pass. Caroline, embarrassed, hid behind the others as the horses trotted past, their riders shooting nasty looks and muttering to themselves. She then emerged from the rear of the party and walked back over to Sequester. The pegasus gave her a haughty look and threw her head back.
"Oh, shut up!" Caroline scolded, her hands on her hips. "You enjoyed buzzing them, too!"
The common room at the Brass Dragon was nearly bursting at the seams with customers that night. It seemed like a hundred different conversations were going on at once, most of them quite loud. Elrohir, standing by the bar, looked around. Argo was back, and the Sir Dorbin party would be here for a while. Worried thoughts seemed to fly out from the ranger's mind and evaporate. He took another sip of wine and smiled.
The room was so crowded, he would not have noticed the new arrivals if the chill from the open front door had not gotten his attention. However, the blast of the trumpet that followed instantly plunged the room into silence.
A man stood there, clad in a gleaming set of full plate and a great helm with a visor that covered his face. Most of those present quickly pegged the man as a knight. There were three others with him; a young page of about eleven, a squire of maybe sixteen years and a young man who had the bearing of a herald. It was he who had blown the trumpet. Underneath the horn was a small banner bearing the standard of Furyondy.
The knight removed his helm and handed it to his squire. Cold blue eyes gazed out of a ruddy, weather-beaten face, slowly taking in every face in the room. His hair was silver. Frost from his breath had settled on his silver mustache, accentuating its appearance. A faded scar running up from his neck stopped on his left cheek.
The herald had pulled out a scroll, but the knight waved it away without taking his eyes off the room.
Elrohir could feel eyes turning to him. He began to make his way through the crowd to the front, but the knight had already begun speaking.
"I am Sir Hallian of the Royal Court of Chendl," he announced in a strong, if slightly raspy voice. "I seek the following individuals: Elrohir, Talass, Aslan, Cygnus, Tojo, Argo Bigfellow and Caroline Bigfellow."
The named persons slowly moved to the front of the crowd and stood in a line as the others drew back slightly. Sir Hallian's stern eyes swept over them. His face still showed no expression.
"His Most Pious Majesty, King Belvor IV of Furyondy, requests the honor of an audience with those I have so named."
No one said anything. The knight retrieved his helmet from his squire.
"We leave in the morning."
He turned and walked out, his retinue following.