17th Day of Goodmonth, 565 CY
The Brass Dragon Inn, Furyondy
The tiny bone pyramids clattered as they rolled across the table. Six pairs of eyes followed their progress and studied the symbols that showed when they came to rest.
Sir Menn smiled. "My snatch."
The others groaned or snorted as the former Earl of Chesterton exchanged his pyramid for a cube and then took another deep swallow of wine.
"You're going to drain this poor inn dry," commented Arwald with a shake of his head. "Lady Bigfellow is going to be all over you for that."
"I think that's his general plan," Unru commented with a smirk, his eyes darting to the door behind the bar. "I've seen the way he watches her." When the illusionist turned back, it was in time to see the knight eyeing him sternly.
"I would never take advantage of our hosts' hospitality that way, Unru."
"Really? What way would you take advantage of it?"
"May we continue, please?" Thorimund cut in, exasperated. "I'm down thirty wheatshaffs already, and I'll never make them back at this rate!"
On the far side of the room, several blanket-covered figures stirred where they lay near the glowing embers of the fireplace. A greasy-haired man propped himself up on one elbow and glared at the sextet. "By the Cudgel, would ya people shut yer gobs! It's not even sunup yet- some of us need 'ter rest!"
"I think technically it is sunup now," Thorimund replied without looking at the man while shaking his pyramid in his hand. "Are we ready to roll?"
"You certainly are- right out the door!"
Caroline Bigfellow threw a withering glare at the wizard as she crossed from behind the bar to the patron. She knelt by him and handed him a steaming cup of tea. "My strongest apologies, good sir. Please accept this tea on behalf of the Brass Dragon. I'll make sure you're not disturbed again."
She strode over to the table and addressed the group; the members of Sir Dorbin's party in particular. "Sitdale, Unru. It's bad enough you've dragged Sir Menn into this, but Wayne's men as well?"
Hengist shook his head, his dark curls cascading over his tanned face. "I must plead guilty, Lady Bigfellow," he confessed with a sheepish grin. "I was the one who actually taught them this game."
Caroline bit her lip. "Gambling is forbidden at the Brass Dragon on Aslan's orders, Hengist- whether he's here or not. I know you were unaware of this." She finished by rounding on the half-elf. "But you weren't!"
Sitdale looked contrite. "A thousand pardons, Caroline. You are right. I am to blame."
"I think he cheats, too," snorted Thorimund.
"Why don't you play in your shelterdome?" asked Caroline.
"Shelterdomes don't come with tables and chairs, Lady Bigfellow," Unru said. The Aardian mage sported an easy smile, but his crossed arms made it clear he wasn't going to offer up an apology. He arced an eyebrow at her. "If I may say- and I always say what I may- you don't seem the type to bow under a paladin's repressive edicts. He's not here, so what's the harm?"
Caroline sighed. She could feel her body tensing up. "It's a long story, Unru. Please- just respect my wishes and take your game outside." She took a deep breath and looked towards the front door. "I know Dorbin wouldn't let you get away with this, either. Is he not up then?"
Sir Menn frowned. "Oh, he's up- in the stables; having a chat with your horses."
Caroline didn't bother to hide her surprise. "Again?"
The knight nodded. He was about to lift the mug of wine to his lips, gave a bit of a guilty start when he noticed Caroline gazing at him, and put it down on the table again. "When Sir Dorbin grabs ahold of something, particularly an idea- he's like a starving troll. He won't let go of it."
Caroline's hand unconsciously brushed her stomach as she exited the inn and began to head around to the rear. Off about fifty yards she could see Fee Hall squatting down by a firepit that had been dug near the location that usually housed the Dorbin party's shelterdome, although the magical grey dome was not currently present. A pot balanced on top of several metal rods that spanned the pit. A faint orange glow from beneath indicated that the squire was cooking something. When Monsrek was absent, as he was currently, the teenager functioned as the group's impromptu cook. It was task he neither enjoyed nor was very good at, if the complaints of the others were to be taken seriously.
Sir Dorbin was exiting the stables just as Caroline approached. Lady Bigfellow was surprised to see the knight was still clad only in his flannel night robe. His face seemed positively pained with concentration, and he did not notice Caroline until she came within five feet of him.
"Oh! Lady Bigfellow- my pardon!" The knight instinctively pulled his robe tighter around him, a gesture that brought a smile to Caroline's lips.
"It's taken months for me to get Monsrek to call me 'Caroline,' she responded. "Don't make me spend that amount of time on you."
Dorbin gave a tight grin. "I will try- Caroline- but please bear in mind such things are contrary to my upbringing."
Caroline lost her smile. "I am no noblewoman, Sir Dorbin."
The knight raised an eyebrow in reply. "If I may- I have heard otherwise. Do not the Bigfellows belong to one of the great noble Houses of the Kingdom of Aerdy?"
Now Caroline frowned. "Garasteth. In name only now, perhaps. For many years now the Bigfellows have lived in the Lone Heath, refugees from the mad House of Naelax. In my upbringing, nobility has been the enemy, not an ally."
Sir Dorbin cast his eyes downward momentarily. "I understand, Lady Bi- ah, I'm sorry- Caroline."
Her smile returned. "That's quite all right. I understand you've been speaking with our horses again?"
The knight nodded. "If they would have me stop, I will do so, Caroline, but at the moment they seem content to tell me of their nightmares. I fear," and here he hesitated and seemed unable to look Caroline in the eye, "that they are becoming more frequent and more intense."
Caroline frowned again. "My own dreams have ceased these many weeks, even since I returned home. I would have hoped the same was true of our horses. Have you been able to glean anything from them that might be of relevance?"
Sir Dorbin's expression fell still further as he gazed out towards the slowly-brightening sky.
"Little. They are mostly images. Fire, darkness, rats, rain, swamps and caverns; things of that sort. It is the feelings they have which have been most disturbing. Terror- not for themselves, but for all those they love. They seem to feel a great darkness will soon engulf you all."
His voice grew softer as he stared down at the grass beneath his feet. "Two in particular will suffer. Suffer horrors that no priest, no friendship, no kindness, will ever be able to remove."
Caroline paused. "One of those is Aslan, isn't it?" she asked softly.
The knight nodded again. Caroline waited for him to say more, but Dorbin seemed to have fallen silent.
"Sir Dorbin." Caroline could feel her throat closing even as the words forced their way up. "Who is the other one?"
She thought of Argo, and of the others. Who knew where they were now- what trials they were undergoing? Elrohir, Talass, Cygnus, Tojo, Zantac, Nesco.
Although she'd move the Oerth for any one of them, Caroline thought she wouldn't be able to go on if something happened to her husband. Especially now that-
She forced her mind elsewhere.
She knew that Monsrek was due to return in a week or so from whatever secret mission Dorbin had sent him, Flond and Wescene on, but that might well be too late. If something were to happen to-
Caroline realized with a start that her own attention had wandered during her anxious reverie. She looked and saw that Sir Dorbin was staring back at her now.
And then he spoke the one word that Caroline never expected him to say.
"You."
"It's settled then," Sir Menn spoke as the sextet stood up, Hengist began gathering up the bone dice and placing them in a small leather pouch. "Tomorrow morning we'll grab a table and chairs, move them out to the shelterdome and finish the game there."
Unru eyed the Brass Dragon's two current patrons, who were now sitting at another table, eating some stew. They glared at him, but the illusionist merely smiled innocently, and then turned his attention back to the others.
"Amazing, isn't it, how paladins can ruin your fun even when they're not around?"
His hand moved to adjust the yellow chapeau atop his head. Sir Menn and Sitdale smiled. They knew what was coming.
Unru shrunk several inches in height. Plate mail appeared to cover his form; his beard grew longer, his hair receded from his forehead, his skin lightened several shades and his eyes turned from brown to light blue.
The false Aslan raised his fist importantly and shook it at Arwald, Hengist and Thorimund.
"Fun is forbidden! No enjoyment allowed! Don't you people know there are evils to be righted, injustices to be, um, justiced, and beautiful women to be totally ignored?"
Sitdale was having trouble staying upright; the half-elf was laughing so loud. The patrons at the table looked on in shock, but the others, enjoying the performance, ignored them. Sir Menn took his wine glass again and sipped at it.
"Such frivolity!" the illusionist continued. "Such tomfoolery! How can any of you sleep at night? Have you no guilt? Have you no shame? Have you no personal lives at all? Oh, wait- that's me."
Laughter swept through the common room. The glamored Aslan spread his arms wide at his audience and beamed. "Well, what do you think, my friends? Did I do him justice?"
"Actually, I think you have me a bit short."
Not everyone present shrieked in surprise at the voice coming from the door of the Tall Tales Room, but most of them did. Sir Menn blew a spit-take from his wine and appeared to be choking on the rest. Hengist's belt pouch went flying, and dice scattered along the wooden floor.
The true Aslan slowly moved towards the others. His armor seemed quite a bit dirtier than its illusionary counterpart; perhaps even partially melted in places. The paladin looked more disheveled than he usually did. Despite his wry opening comment, Aslan's face was dead serious as joined the others. Unru, sensing this, resumed his normal form.
The paladin looked from one person to another. He said nothing further, but his eyes narrowed. He was frowning.
Unru, sulking a bit from the premature end of his fun, rebounded first.
"Taking a break from your Quest of Certain Doom, Aslan?"
The paladin's frown turned into a scowl.
"You might say that, Unru." He took another step forward and looked down at the bone die that his foot had brushed. Then he looked up again at Unru, and a thin, tight smile appeared on the paladin's face.
"I suppose you're going to tell me those are caltrops?"
"No," Unru admitted, his face thoughtful. "But that'd be an easy glamour. I'll have to remember that the next time Caroline comes around."
"What have you come back for, Aslan?" asked Thorimund, his own face serious now. Are the others all right?"
The paladin nodded. "For the moment. But I've come back for something I desperately need."
"A sense of humor?" ventured Unru.
"You," countered Aslan. "You, Sitdale, Sir Menn and whoever else is available are coming back to Suderham with me and take up our Quest of Certain Doom."
There was a silent pause. Even the patrons at their table were staring at the group.
"Forgive me, Aslan," Sir Menn eventually managed. "You know we are very grateful to you for letting us stay at the Brass Dragon, but is your helm on too tight?"
"I'd stop the stupid questions and start packing your things if I were you. All of you."
The others spun around. Sir Dorbin and Caroline Bigfellow were standing at the open front door.
"I promised these people months ago that we were at their command. Well, you've just received your first. You three start packing."
They hesitated. Sir Dorbin barked at them as he moved into the common room. "Now!"
The trio shuffled outside, with a few mutters. Dorbin ignored them as he turned to Aslan and clasped his hand.
"Always delighted to see you safe and well, Aslan, even if difficult times continue for you." The knight seemed troubled. "Those three I can offer you, but the others are not here, and I need to head out elsewhere when they do return-"
Aslan held up a hand. "No need to apologize, Sir Dorbin. They should more than suffice. Fear not, I do not intend to place them-"
At this point the paladin noticed that Caroline was still standing at the front door, gazing at him. She was trembling so badly, she seemed to be in shock.
He tilted his head at her. "Caroline?"
She slowly stepped forward; her legs wobbly. Then she rushed forward and threw her arms as far as she could around the paladin, ignorant of the cold hard steel of his plate mail.
Aslan could only hold her as Caroline Bigfellow burst into tears. He felt extraordinarily uncomfortable. He could still vividly recall this same Bigfellow slapping across the face in rage not that long ago. Now she seemed utterly terrified, but soon calmed down. The paladin shot a look over Caroline's shoulder at Sir Dorbin. It seemed to him that the knight's face contained knowledge, but he said nothing.
Aslan took his best guess. "Argo is okay, Caroline. Everyone is all right."
She nodded weakly and sank down at the table. Aslan motioned for Dorbin to do likewise. "Jack," he called over his shoulder. "Something to drink for all of us!"
The bartender smiled. "Good to have you back, sir, even for just a bit." He set to work while the paladin favored the knight with a knowing smile.
"Teleporting always makes me thirsty. Never have figured out why..."
"Well, that's it," Aslan finished his story and his wine simultaneously.
"Aslan," spoke up Arwald. He and the others had joined them. The fighter indicated his two companions. "You know that Hengist, Thorimund and I will be happy to accompany you back to Suderham as well, but that is not our decision to make. That's up to Wainold, and he's in Willip right now. You can go speak to him of course, but he doesn't hold to the high, abstract ideals you and Sir Dorbin do. I know you've aided him in the past, but I wouldn't count on his agreeing."
"We'll just have to see," Aslan replied. "I'm told I can be rather persuasive when I want to be. If I can, I'd be honored to have the three of you along, as well."
"Cygnus might disagree. I don't think he cares all that much for my father," muttered Thorimund.
"Neither do you," said Arwald, frowning.
"That's beside the point," replied the wizard testily, but Aslan was no longer listening. He had shifted in his seat to look directly at Argo's wife.
"Caroline," he began hesitantly, "Argo specifically forbade me to bring you back-"
Unexpectedly, Caroline smiled and clasped the paladin's gauntleted hand in her own. "That's all right, Aslan. I know he'll be all right. Hopefully, you'll all be home soon."
Aslan peered at her. He couldn't see any sign in her eyes that her feelings for her husband had lessened. If anything, they seemed stronger than ever. Yet she seemed perfectly content to nursemaid an inn while he-
Caroline saw the confusion in Aslan's face. She stood up to leave, but as she walked by him she bent low and whispered in the paladin's ear.
"It's all right, Aslan. When this whole slaver business is finally over, it really is going to be all right. For both Argo and me."
He turned his head around to peer at her again. His utter confusion remained, but then Caroline bent low again.
"Promise me, Aslan, that you will take care of yourself. You mean so much to us."
"I promise, Caroline," he whispered back, unsure of what else to do.
Mingled joy and grief flooded Caroline Bigfellow's face as she walked quickly- very quickly- out of the inn.
Sir Dorbin raised an eyebrow but offered no comment. "What's your first course of action, Aslan?" he asked.
The paladin considered. "Well, I was going to mindrest, but with the opportunity to take Wainold's men along, I'll forgo that and teleport straight to Willip."
The druid's men seemed pleased. "Try either the Lord Mayor's office or the Wizards' Guild first," Thorimund offered. Aslan nodded. "Thanks," he said as they all rose from their chairs, but before Aslan could say his goodbuys, Sir Dorbin grabbed his arm.
"Aslan," the knight said, his voice grim. "Before you leave, go and speak to your horse. She- she misses you."