27th Day of Flocktime, 565 CY
The Brass Dragon Inn, Furyondy
The banging on their cabin door startled both Bigfellows.
The large woolen blanket undulated for a moment, and then two somewhat disheveled faces emerged from underneath it.
"Who can that be at this hour?" whispered Caroline.
Less than a foot away, Argo Bigfellow Junior tried very hard to bring his breathing under control. Without any enthusiasm whatsoever, he tried to tear his attention away from his wife's face and listen. There was no further noise from outside.
"Told you we should have left Grock inside," Caroline said to him softly. "He'd have given us warning."
Argo turned just in time to catch his wife's smug expression.
"I don't like those eyes watching us from the foot of the bed," he groused as seriously as he could, which wasn't very. "I feel like I'm being critiqued."
"You are," she replied with a smile, "but not by him."
Argo's eyebrows shot skywards, but at that point the banging resumed.
"Who is it?" the ranger yelled out, more to distract himself than anything else.
"Argo, it's Aslan. Open the door please, I need to speak to you."
The two looked at each other.
"I swear to Hades," Argo yelled out after a moment, "Unru, if this another one of your pranks, you'll wish you were still feebleminded!"
The banging resumed, harder now.
"Argo!" came the voice of the paladin. "If you don't open this door in thirty seconds, I'm teleporting in!"
Bigfellow considered. "Loud... crude... no sense of humor," he mused. "Sounds like Aslan, all right." Frowning, the ranger got up, grabbed the nearest piece of clothing and wrapped it around his waist, then headed into the cabin's main room. Pausing only to throw another piece of wood into the fireplace, he snatched the key off its hook on the wall, unlocked the door and swung it open.
It was cool for late Flocktime; a clear low summer's night. Aslan the Paladin stood front and center, wearing his green linen shirt and brown trousers. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his expression was the usual grim one Argo had long come to associate with his companion.
On Aslan's left stood Sir Dorbin and Monsrek. To his right were Wescene and Sitdale. All wore carefully neutral expressions.
All five of these somber visages turned to curious ones as Argo's audience involuntarily lowered their eyes several degrees.
Bigfellow folded his arms across his bare chest in imitation of Aslan. "Good evening, my friend," he intoned pleasantly, "and how might I be of service this fine evening?"
In the soft white glow of the light emanating from Dorbin's helm, the paladin's face could be seen struggling to keep any trace of levity out of it. "I'm sorry Argo. I didn't mean to disturb you in a personal moment-"
"What makes you think you did that?" retorted Argo, his auburn eyes locked on Aslan's.
"Argo," cut in Wescene, "you're wearing your wife's skirt."
Aslan had to give Argo credit. The ranger didn't even glance down. He didn't skip a beat.
"Keeps my thighs from chafing," he said. "I reiterate- how may I help you?"
The paladin took a deep breath. "This is the situation, Argo. We've slain Markessa and have escaped the stockade. We currently have over a hundred former slaves in our charge. We have a two-month march ahead of us to get them to the Principality of Ulek. Feeding, sheltering and protecting them is going to be a monumental task. Elrohir asked me to return here and ask Monsrek and Wescene if they would return with me to The Pomarj, and they have accepted." The aforementioned individuals bowed their heads slightly. "We're in desperate need of clerics to provide food, water and healing, and rangers for food, clothing, shelter and protection." Aslan's pressed his lips tightly together for a moment. "Elrohir requested me to once again ask you to join us."
Argo studied the paladin's face carefully. "And you disagreed with him?"
Aslan's light blue eyes glinted coldly. "Only in part. I agreed that we need you. However, I told him it would be a waste of time to ask you. I'm doing so only to satisfy my promise to him that I would do so."
Bigfellow scowled at the paladin. "You don't consider Lady Cynewine an adequate substitution for me?" He shook his head. "She is perfectly capable of-"
"Nesco was killed, Argo."
It was a cold, cruel and very unpaladin-like satisfaction that Aslan received as he saw the look of surprise and then grief that passed over the big ranger's face. He let the moment last until he saw that Argo was about to speak, and then cut him off.
"I brought her back to Chendl, and she has been raised," Aslan continued. "But she is," he hesitated, "in no condition to return to The Pomarj."
He watched as Bigfellow's face slowly resumed its former neutral expression. "I'm glad you were able to bring her back," Argo said after clearing his throat. He again locked eyes with the paladin. "Don't try to make me feel guilty over my decision, Aslan. I've got tons of faults, but I'm immune to guilt."
The two stared at each other for a moment, and Aslan's face suddenly appeared to collapse.
"I know you are, Argo," he said quietly, wiping his forehead with his hand. "I wish I could be. I really wish I could be." The paladin made a gesture of surrender. "I won't push the issue, Argo. I asked and you've given me what I presume is your answer. I'll be leaving in the morning, so I'm going to go-"
"He'll go back with you, Aslan."
Argo blinked at the voice that came from his right.
As the others watched, Caroline Bigfellow, holding her her gray yukata robe closed with one hand, slowly moved into view to stand next to her husband.
Argo stared down at his wife.
"Excuse me, lady," he finally managed. "Do I know you?"
Caroline trembled, but her weak smile flitted across her face. "You don't have to go, love, but you'll want to."
Bigfellow still looked as if he'd just taken a sucker punch to the gut. "I will?"
His wife nodded. "Aslan is taking me, and I know you want to be with me to protect me, so..."
The big ranger's gaze shot back to the paladin. Aslan's look of confusion seemed genuine, but it quickly melted into an appreciative smile.
Argo looked slowly back and forth from one to the other, then slowly bowed to the paladin.
"Let us know when you're ready to leave, Aslan." There was no smile on his face as he straightened up. "You win."
Caroline's face lost all traces of satisfaction as her husband's glare turned on her. It did not soften.
"We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow, Caroline. We'd best get to bed."
The ranger walked out of sight, back towards his bedroom. They could hear the interior door close.
Aslan felt a sudden surge of pity for Caroline. She saw it in his face and held up her hand.
"My decision, Aslan."
He nodded, unable to look her in the eye.
"I understand. Thank you Caroline. There are scores of innocent lives at stake-"
"I was listening," the young woman stated. "That was the main reason. Somehow, I feel better when I'm not focussing so much on myself." She looked back at Aslan and shrugged, giving him another weak smile. The paladin, raising his gaze just in time to catch it, smiled back.
"Sir Dorbin," Caroline called out just as Aslan was turning to head towards his own cabin, "have you told Aslan what's been going on here?"
The knight nodded soberly, but Aslan felt compelled to elaborate.
"Yes. Increased brigand activity to both our north and south. Signs that we are again under surveillance, and that another attack may be forthcoming. The fact that Baron Chauv disappeared while in Willip and is now considered dead. News that the Willip Wizards' Guild has again failed to capture Chic, and that the Emerald Serpent's servant was last seen entering the city with the Chams clothing." The paladin's face grew somber as he processed these developments, one-by-one.
Caroline nodded weakly. "I just wanted to make sure," she muttered, sounding foolish to her own ears.
"Aslan," Sir Dorbin suddenly turned to address the paladin, who again paused as he was about to stride off.
"Yes?"
A sly smile made a cameo on the knight's features. "Forgive me, but I did neglect to mention that Monsrek and Wescene's participation in this endeavor will come at a small price."
Aslan eyed him suspiciously. "And that is?"
"That before you bring them to The Pomarj, you will first take me to Chendl."
The paladin gave him a look of naked confusion. "If you wish, Sir Dorbin. May I ask why?"
The smile returned. "I will find it useful for something I wish to accomplish."
Aslan looked at Dorbin, but clearly no other information was forthcoming.
"Sir Dorbin?"
The knight looked back over to Caroline.
"Our enemies. They'll know that Monsrek and Wescene have left, won't they? Won't that make the rest of you more vulnerable?"
Sir Dorbin smiled again, and by way of reply looked over to Sitdale. When Aslan and Caroline followed his gaze, they were shocked to catch the very end of an illusion.
The tanned face of Unru smiled at them from where Sitdale had been standing a moment before.
"They'll know what I want them to know, and nothing more," the illusionist said quietly. "I've been craving sweet foods since my recovery, and I hear revenge fits that bill of fare."
"I do wish you'd stop doing that," Dorbin shook his head as the quartet returned to the Brass Dragon.
"I wish I could feel more confident about this," Aslan admitted to Caroline before walking off.
Mrs. Bigfellow stared at him for a moment before taking a deep breath and preparing herself to face her disappointed husband.
"I just wish my dreams would stop," she whispered before closing the door.