Author's Note: There's some extremely brief and mild sexual content in the middle of this chapter. Blink and you might miss it, but I thought it warranted a warning.
42 – North and South
"It's bad enough that elves live four times longer than humans, but the fact that they don't need to sleep just adds insult to injury."- Petra Bladewright, A Mercenary's Guide to Diplomacy
The Friendly Arm Inn was less crowded than Ashura had ever seen it; the great feast hall of the keep cavernous and empty with a mere dozen or so midday patrons scattered throughout. They were the usual sorts she had seen here the last time. A few clumps of aged men with greasy hair and worn clothes who were obviously tavern regulars, some traveling peddlers, and a little group of young, local girls chatting and enjoying their highbite together.
One patron stood out from the rest. He was armored in enabled splints of plate, and he was probably the broadest man Ashura had ever seen who wasn't an outright ogre. Thick with muscle;, his skin pale as bone, and the man's face was flat and bestial. Old, raised scars crisscrossed that face above prominent tusks. Pointed ears peaked from his long, shaggy hair, several rings running up from lobe to peak.
An orc (or half-orc maybe? She was never clear on how you told the difference.) He was slouching forward at a table close to the center of the room, and the other patrons were giving him as wide a berth as possible.
Taking the dining hall in with a smile and a glance, Imoen turned to Ashura. "Wow. So the roads must be safe to travel now. You think we did that?"
"Sure seemed like we killed ever bandit in the bloody world," Ashura muttered as they made their way past the empty tables. "Might just be the fact that ankheg mating season is over though." Tavern gossip had made a big deal about the ankhegs the last time they had been here. Few people dared travel the north road when there was a risk of giant, acid-spitting insects popping up along the way.
"Hmph. Well, I'd like to think that our heroic actions have freed up the roads. And maybe freed up some rooms here too!"
Ashura smiled at that, entertaining the notion that they might finally enjoy the luxury of separate rooms. They could certainly afford it now. Sadly, Bentley Mirrorshade quashed that hope when they spoke with him. Apparently some traveling noble and his entourage (Bentley claimed the man was so wealthy he wore 'golden underpants,') had rented a good portion of the upper floor, and there were only three bedrooms left available.
Three rooms, six beds and eight people led to a little awkward math and negotiations, as usual. Still, it wasn't nearly as bad as the time Ashura, Imoen, Jaheira and Khalid had all been packed into one bed in the shabby Nashkel inn.
"The couples could share beds…"
"And which 'couples' are those abbil?"
"Well, I'm not sharing a room with any of these pigs. Especially that one."
"His stench is somewhat unnerving, I agree."
"Worry not on that account. Though I've bedded wenches near as ugly as you, there was a great deal of coin involved."
"Say another word Eldoth, and I'll cut out your tongue!"
The northerner looked like he was about to speak, but a glare from Ashura and a growled "Don't..." shut him up for the moment. "Its midday," she pointed out, glowering down at the tabletop. "There's plenty of time to figure out sleeping arrangements. Maybe after we wash off unnerving stenches at the baths?"
"I don't think the rank smell of entitled arrogance washes off so cleanly," Xan observed.
Ashura shrugged. "Dunno. They've got quite a sauna."
"Yeah," Imoen added with a smirk. "Maybe Eldoth can sweat all that arrogance out. Even if we have to stick him in there till he turns into a prune."
"Well, I can free up a bed, at least," Coran offered with a smile.
"Pretty sure I've seen you get rejected by every serving girl here last time," Imoen pointed out with a skeptical look.
The elf chuckled. "Actually I was thinking of an early ride. The wyvern heads aren't going to get anymore sweet-smelling."
They had discussed that earlier, on the way to the inn. There was a pressing need to make the journey north to Baldur's Gate and inform the authorities there of all that had transpired in the Cloakwood, along with a need to deliver the heads of the two wyverns to Beregost before they rotted any more. North or south, a few days journey either way, and here they were at the Friendly Arm with several able horses stabled.
Coran had immediately volunteered to make the journey south and deliver the trophies, then catch up with the group carrying the bounty. It made sense. He needed little rest, and could ride at night just as well as day. Of course…
"Eager to steal that bounty money, eh?" Shar-Teel asked with a glare across the table.
"Like I said," Coran replied, raising open hands, "you're more than welcome to ride with me to Beregost. The road is always better shared, especially with a lovely lady such as yourself."
Shar-Teel gave him a long, silent glare, her lips tight and a bit upturned. "There is no way I would travel anywhere with only you for company."
"A pity. I've enjoyed our time together, scant as it's been. Still think we could grow to-"
"Bah!" Shar-Teel cut him off with a snarl.
"Well, Garrick could come along with us," he offered, changing tack and pointing towards the bar, where the young bard was talking with the innkeep. "I don't think he has any pressing business in the Gate."
Shar-Teel shook her head sharply. "That sounds even worse than traveling with just you. You'd probably both insist on singing the whole damn way."
Garrick had turned towards their table now, threading his way past empty stools as he carried a long tray that wobbled a bit in his hands. There were several steaming bowls of stew balanced upon it. Ashura climbed to her feet and walked over to give the poor lad a hand just as he neared the table of the pale, orcish patron.
As Garrick passed by, the orc (or half-orc?) shifted a bit and the bard's hip bumped against a bulky elbow. Narrow, smoldering eyes turned towards Garrick, who immediately froze and cringed beneath the gaze.
"Excuse me…" Garrick squeaked.
The orc shrugged. His voice rumbled out, low and deep. "Excused I guess. But how about you make yourself useful and bring me a flagon of ale? I'm almost out."
"Uh, I'm not a server," Garrick stammered.
"You look the part," the orc muttered. Then he growled: "So why do you waste my time?" He nearly turned away, then cocked his head slightly, a little amusement flashing in those tiny eyes. They flicked up and down appraisingly. "Or are you one of the local bed-warmers? You're pretty enough, but you should know that I am not paying."
Garrick's eyes went wide and he took a step back. "I'm not that either!"
"Then be gone," the orc rumbled, turning back to his nearly empty drink.
Garrick was happy to do just that, stamping by as Ashura walked over and helped steady the tray of food. "How rude!" the young man grumbled, his face an entertaining shade of red. Ashura just chuckled and helped him deliver their midday meal.
"That's it," Garrick added as they placed the tray down on the table. "So sick of all this 'pretty boy' this and 'pretty boy' that! I'm growing a beard!"
"No you're not," Ashura simply stated, placing a hand against his smooth cheek.
"I'm not?"
"Nope."
Fading streaks of bruised purple hung in the dimming sky above as the guards began to light the evening torches. Coran struggled past them with the wooden barrel, making his way through the open courtyard. When Ashura slipped in beside him he gave her a relieved smile, and together they lifted the heavy, foul-smelling container and carried it the rest of the way to the stables with ease. Coran's horse awaited him there, a sleek hackney mare; rusty brown with mottled white spots.
Music wafted down from the windows of the keep. A little earlier Garrick had volunteered to perform for the taproom, and Eldoth had surprised them all by joining in, his rich baritone matching Garrick's boyish tenor. The pace had picked up quite a bit since then, and now it sounded as if lute and harp were dueling.
"Thanks for the assistance," Coran said through his toothy smile. "Who would have thought a pair of wyvern heads would be so heavy?"
Ashura shrugged. "It's not so bad."
"Ah, have I ever told you how I admire a woman who's stronger than I? Fierce and overpower-"
"You haven't, but I've heard you use that exact line on Shar-Teel." She smirked. "Just before she challenged you to a duel."
"Alas, I suppose you're about to do the same?" He took a deep, dramatic breath, then wrinkled his nose a bit at the stench wafting from the nearby barrel. Doing his best to recover and smile, he added: "Well, I'll at least have fond memories of that single kiss we shared. You remember? Just before we were cruelly separated and that singer of yours deftly stole your heart."
"Garrick's never 'deftly stolen' anything in his life. And he's not my mine."
Coran took a step forward, his smile growing, just as dramatic and overdone as the previous sigh. "Well! Those words certainly give me hope." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Perhaps one day…"
Her eyes rolled as she stepped past him, placing her hands on the barrel. "You find the most romantic moments." She flared her nostrils for emphases.
Bending down and hugging the barrel, Ashura easily lifted it up. Coran slipped in to help, and together they managed to lay the thing across the horse's back, just behind the saddle, adjusting straps and the position of the load so that the horse could carry rider and barrel with ease.
They both stepped back a bit once the job was done. "Twilight seems an odd time to start a journey," Ashura observed.
"Ah, but there's nothing like an invigorating night-ride," Coran replied, the usual twinkle in his eyes. "Best on a winter's night of course, when the stars are crisp and clear. Though Selune should be out and bright tonight."
"Guess it helps when you can see in the dark. And don't really need sleep the way us humans do."
"Aye. And best to drop these trophies off before they grow any…riper."
"So is this really the last we'll see of you?" she asked with a grin.
An almost genuine frown crept across his face as he placed a hand over his heart. "You wound me. Run away with the bounty gold? Never!"
"It's the roguish thing to do," Ashura noted, still grinning and placing a fingertip against one of Coran's tattooed cheekbones. "And you wear that mask so proudly."
"True, but I would never steal from my friends. You should know me well enough by now." He cocked his head. "Although…"
She raised a brow.
"The road is a dangerous place, even after all we've done. Through no fault of my own this could be our last parting. Our last desperate chance to seek something to remember each other by, beneath these solid walls and the stars above."
She just gave him an even, incredulous look. Well isn't this familiar. Though last time he was wearing a towel, and the air smelled a little better.
"Or better still," he added, "you could ride with me to Beregost. Informing the authorities is really more of Xan's thing isn't it? You prefer the thrills of the road, and coin, I know. And other thrills perhaps?"
"Tempting." Not really. "But I want to see the city, now that we have an excuse."
"Alas, I am doomed to a lonely journey then." He paused a moment. "Once I've collected the bounty and ridden back you can find me in the Elfsong Tavern. It's the first stop for wary travelers in the Gate, and for a number of reasons. Lovely place, especially when the spirit that haunts it feels inclined to sing."
She shrugged. "Won't blame you if you run off with the gold."
A merry laugh. "My lady, you can't get rid of me that easily."
"Suppose not." Placing her hands on his shoulders she added: "Good luck on the road." She leaned forward and planted a kiss on his cheek. "The Elfsong then?"
"Of course."
A voice piped up behind Ashura. "Well, I think since he's going through all the trouble," Imoen announced, "he should pocket a slightly larger share of the bounty. No one has to tell Shar-Teel."
Ashura chuckled. "Fine by me."
"He could spend it with one of those lovely ladies you see outside of Feldpost's," Imoen suggested, sauntering in beside her friend and putting one hand on Ashura's shoulder and the other on Coran's. "You weren't gonna' sneak off without saying goodbye to me where ya?"
"Well," Coran mused, cocking his head, "sneaking off like a thief in the night certainly is my style. Having stolen the heart of a young maid, preferably. The pining that follows is more dramatic that way."
"Sure. Sure."
"But I'm glad you're here to see me off-" he added, followed by an 'Oof!' as Imoen leapt forward, pulling the elf down with a heavy hug. Recovering his balance, he patted her on the shoulder, smiling. "You could always come with me, you know. Sad that everyone's rejected the offer so far."
"Aww." Imoen pulled back and smiled up into the elf's eyes. "I'd really like to, but me and Xan seem to have a 'mission' to complete. Think he'd fall apart without me."
"That he would," Coran replied with a sly grin. "I've noticed."
"And I really want to see the big city! Been waiting for a chance since I was a kid!" She stood up on her toes and gave him a kiss on the same cheek Ashura had. "Hope ya understand."
"I do, I guess." A wistful look. "So I suppose a kiss on the cheek from two fair ladies is all I'll have to remember you by on my long, long journey?"
"Yup. Unless you want a ribbon or something."
"That's alright."
"'Til we see ya at the Elfsong Tavern in a few days then. Alright?" Imoen gave his shoulders a squeeze.
"Until then." With that he turned and leapt atop his horse, so gracefully and feather-light that the mount hardly seemed to notice. "Until the Elfsong," Coran added, turning the mare with a gentle tug and leading it into a trot towards the yawning gate.
"Think we'll actually see him again?" Imoen asked Ashura once he was out of earshot.
"No doubt," she replied. "The old saying 'Shows up like a bad rash' comes to mind."
It was late but not that late when Imoen climbed the stairway in search of her room. The long days of hiking and short, uncomfortable nights sleeping on the ground had left her more tired than she realized, and not terribly inclined to stay up any longer, throwing back ales with Ashura, Shar-Teel and a bleary-eyed Garrick.
Second room on the left, third floor. She was pretty sure that's what Bently had said when he had handed over the key, now in Viconia's possession. It seemed they were destined to always be roomates, at least as long as the drow kept insisting.
Imoen had no problem with that though. Viconia didn't snore or hog the covers, and tonight they'd have separate beds besides. The drow had also kept a respectful distance after the one little incident the first time they had shared a room, while still being quite pleasant to talk to. Imoen had spent many a late night teaching her roommate new words in Chondathan and Thorassta, and even learning a little drow.
Unlike most inns, each story of the Friendly Arm sported a large sitting room instead of narrow halls, the bedrooms branching out from the open chamber. Colorful rugs lined much of the floor, where stuffed chairs and sofas sat and circled polished wooden tea-tables. Elaborate tapestries hung from most of the walls, no doubt meant to keep the noise down if the sitting room grew crowded.
Slipping past the chairs, Imoen found the bedroom. The door was closed, but when she turned the brass knob it swung open easily enough. Her heart leapt to her throat the moment she got a view of the bedroom, and she stifled a gasp, leaning back.
The earful struck her at about the same time as the eyeful; deep, baritone groans accompanied by high, throaty gasps in an unmistakable accent. A slender ebony body lay across the sheets, head and shoulders over the edge of the bed and silky white hair hanging down to the floor, swishing in time with the enthusiastic thrusts of the muscular, Illuskan man atop her. There was a honey-tan tone to the man's bare skin along with a healthy amount of coarse, dark hair; a contrast to the drow's; smooth and black as night.
It was a position Imoen recalled quite well from one of the illustrated manuals in the secret room at Candlekeep. The 'Plowman,' she believed it was called. Thankfully both lovers had their eyes shut tightly, heads thrown back in opposite directions.
The door slid shut and Imoen turned away, closing her eyes and shaking her head. Ugh. Of course. I should have known. Should have knocked too. She stalked away from the door and back through the sitting room. And they could have at least locked the door!
"Bleck!" Imoen muttered to herself. She totally did that on purpose didn't she? She recalling one of their recent conversations on the forest trail, when Viconia had chided her for being 'prudish' and suggested that she needed a skilled tutor. 'The tall, dark haired male would be perfect. He has surprisingly refined skill for one so full of himself. Reminds me of a male who once served my house. Naturally that one grew too ambitious and had to be eliminated, but the ways of your people are different. Perhaps we'll never need to kill him.'
Bah. And humbug too! Well, she was not going back to that room anytime soon. Imoen shuffled aimlessly across the carpet, then down the stairs, eventually finding herself in front of another of the bedrooms they had rented.
Very deliberately, she knocked on the door. "Yes?" Xan's high, nasal voice asked.
"Can I come in?"
"If you want." His tone wasn't exactly encouraging, but she pushed her way through the doorway anyhow. The Greycloak was perched on the edge of a bed, a few pieces of parchment spread out around him and a tome in his lap. She recognized his spellbook from the familiar golden scrollwork. When his weary eyes looked up from the pages to Imoen, Xan added: "You need not ask, you know."
"Sure I do," she said with a sly chuckle as she approached. "I mean, what if you and Garrick had been up to something scandalous?" Ostensibly Garrick, Xan and Eldoth were supposed to be sharing this room, though neither bard was around yet, and since he did not actually need a bed it was a comfortable enough arrangement for Xan.
The look the elf gave her was completely clueless for a moment, then his eyes sharpened with annoyance before looking away.
"Ulp!" Imoen muttered, plopping down on the bed beside the elf. "Sorry."
Lifting his spellbook so that his nose was tucked into it, Xan grumbled: "People always make these uncomfortable assumptions. Just because I've had the occasion to bed another man I must wish to chase after them all or…" He fumbled a little for words, whispering something in elven that she didn't not quite follow.
Imoen gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Alright, alright." She paused and pursed her lips. "Although…wait a minute. You can't honestly expect me not to make bawdy jokes about literally everyone. It's what I do!"
A sigh, though it didn't sound entirely grumpy. "I suppose so."
The book lowered slightly and Imoen leaned in and peaked over Xan's shoulder.
"Oh! I know that one! Or at least I've heard the words spoken a billion times. 'Umbriel vistias quiel.' Heck, half of those billion times involved you tapping me on the shoulder while you spoke the words."
"You of course know enough of the weave to realize that being able to recite those words and knowing the spell are completely separate things?"
"Well yeah. Though…" She crinkled her eyebrows. "I'm pretty sure reciting the words is an important part."
Xan looked thoughtful. "Not necessarily. Many truly powerful spellcasters can alter the spell so that no words are necessary. Or so that they need not go through the gestures. And a true High Mage could eschew both at once." He turned to her. "The most important component of any spell is the portion contained in the mind of the mage."
Her fingertip poked at the open parchment of the spellbook. "So um…imagining this swirly pattern here, and imagining it really (um, hard I guess?) is the key to becoming invisible?"
Xan frowned and let out a little sigh. Then to Imoen's surprise he said: "Actually, yes. Though your lack of formal arcane training shows. This 'swirly pattern' represents the angle at which light must be bent around the chosen object so that it is obscured to the eye of any viewer. Of course in a proper class on illusion it would be called the 'refractory curve' rather than a 'swirly pattern.' The lesser illusions I have seen you employ require something similar, do they not?"
"Yup. Gotta imagine the bendiness before the light bends for ya."
Scrunching his eyes shut, Xan shook his head slightly. "I believe you are in some desperate need of formal training."
"And?" She gave him an eager, expectant look.
"It is a bit late, but I suppose we could attempt the invisibility spell. You seem to make impressive use of it, after all. It would be beneficial if you could employ it on your own."
She clapped her hands. "Haha! Yup." After a moment she added: "Employ it on my own, so you'll never have to touch my shoulder again? Is that the plan?"
A pondering look, then he draped an arm over her shoulder, placing the spellbook between across their laps between them. "Of course not."
The trill of birdsong and the growing light that peaked through the curtains gradually awakened Imoen, and she found herself rolling on her back and stretching luxuriously in the big soft bed. Ah. It was good not to get woken up by strange and confusing dreams for once. Most nights lately her sleep had been haunted by disjointed images of fire, caverns, skulls and blood. A consequence of the strange new life she was living, no doubt.
Sitting up, she squished her eyes tight and then opened them, looking around the room. The bed nearby was empty and seemed to have gone untouched. So the 'couples' ended up together after all. Hope Shar-Teel wasn't too mad. On the carpeted floor between the beds sat Xan, cross-legged and still, his eyes closed.
"You could have used that bed, ya know," Imoen told him.
The elf's eyes opened immediately and he turned to her, a slight, surprising smile on his face. "No need for that," he said. "I am quite comfortable here."
Tossing the sheets aside, she smoothed out her rumpled underclothes and stretched. "I guess. It must be annoying for you though. How you could be out and about doing stuff most of the time, but the darn humans have to lay around like useless lumps all night."
"Not really." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "We quessir make up for it by spending most of our time sitting around like 'useless lumps.' No one can flitter away a century quite like we." He sighed. "And I am better at that than most. Long months or seasons I have spent, sitting paralyzed by nothing I can put into words. Lathal had a talent for lifting me out of those valleys when I fell into them. Sometimes."
"Aww." Imoen gave him a wan smile. "Well, I'll always try to lift you if I can."
"You do." A little smile. "You do."
A laugh as she stood and made her way towards the wash-basin. "Gotta admit it weirds me out; you elves just sort of quietly sitting most times. At least you don't sit there and creepily watch me sleep like a gargoyle or something."
"Um…" He frowned and looked away. "I hope I gave you sufficient privacy."
A splash of water to her face, then her arms. After that she went to combing out her hair. "You did. Maybe too much even. If we're gonna be roommates I think ya aught to try things the human way. 'When in Chessenta' and all that.'"
"The human way?" He had gotten to his feet by now, and was carefully fastening his swordbelt to his hips.
"Yeah. Curl up in a bed for your 'quiet contemplation' or whatever it is."
"I thought Garrick might return last night."
"Well, it didn't have to be that bed. Hint-hint. Nudge-nudge." She poked the air with her elbow for emphases.
To Imoen's great surprise Xan actually chuckled. "Ah. You might have noticed; as with 'frolicking,' snuggling simply does not come naturally to me."
She laughed and stood, setting her brush aside to dance over to the elf's side and slip an arm around him. "I'll just have to teach you then!"
His hand clasped her shoulder and for a time he hugged her close to him. "Speaking of lessons," Xan eventually said, "I recall you fell asleep nodding into your book after transcribing that spell. Did you succeed at understanding it?"
"Dunno." Imoen giggled and stepped away, turning to face him. "Only one way to find out."
She took a deep breath and set her fingers forward in the proper positions, her mind focusing on the light all around her; streaming in from the window, bouncing off every surface, the darker spots absorbing much of the beams while the lighter objects reflected them brightly. Once it was all clear in her mind she waved her fingers in intricate circles as she hummed out the words: "Umbriel vistias quiel."
There was a tingling accompanied by a slight red and white shimmer across her hands, then they vanished. "Yay!" Imeon cheered with delight. "Now you see me…now you don't!"
Author's Note: This ended up being a very short, low-key, transitional chapter. The author apologizes for the lack of explosions.
Up next: the big city and a grand heist!