Author's Note: Sometimes I wonder if I should just give in and change the tag on this story to romance. I keep telling myself that the focus of the story is still on action/adventure, and hey, there was always that line in the description about 'an odd pairing or two.' But then a chapter like this comes along…
44 – Charms and Curses
"And with that I found myself afflicted with that most common of curses: parenthood." -Raelis Shae, A Reluctant Savior, Act II Scene V
Taking a deep breath, Imoen gradually opened her eyes. She was hunched forward slightly, poised on the carpet with one foot in front of the other, left hand at rest while the right hovered by her ear, fingers rolled up. Looking up, she met Xan's eyes. The elf watching her impassively from the edge of the bed where he sat.
"Got it pictured clear as day," Imoen said with a hint of a smile. "The 'sympathetic spark' you were talkin' 'bout. But uh…what now?"
"Now, the spell should be ready," Xan stated. "You've only to set it off with the words and a snap of your fingers. Were this the College of Magic there would be a willing subject for the students to test the enchantment upon. Usually an underclassman."
Imoen giggled. "Ulp! Is it like some sort of hazing? Ya make them lick a privy seat or pour tomato sauce on their heads?"
Xan shook his head. "Not quite. It is strictly supervised. The charmed subject is simply instructed to run through some...less colorful tests, like picking up a selected object on a nearby table." His frown deepened. "I was going to suggest you test the spell on me, but the fact that your mind goes immediately to privy seats and tomato sauce makes me wary."
"Aww. Hey now! I'd never do that." She scrunched her face up a bit. "Don't really like the idea of putting a charm spell on anyone, bein' honest. I hypnotized a guard the other night. Just so me and Narlen could run away. Even that felt pretty icky."
She shook her head a little before going on. "You remember what happened when we first met, right? Was convinced that little halfling snake was some sort of friend I had to guard with my life. Scary to think back on. Me and Shura both risked our butts a bunch of times for those two slimeballs. And I sometimes wonder what they might have done if Khalid and Jaheira hadn't been around…" She made a face and then rolled her shoulders, as if to shake a spider off.
A solemn nod from Xan. "The school of enchantment is certainly open to the worst sorts of abuse." He tilted his head. "Conversely, it is often the only sort of magic you can use to completely avoid bloodshed. That was my thinking when I first took to its study, at least. Mind you, this was long before I was chosen by my family moonblade." He gave the sword sitting on the dresser a thoughtful look, a regretful tone entering his voice. "Bloodshed always seems to follow when that blade is drawn."
"Well yeah, but it's just 'cause you're pretty good at chopping people with it."
"Ha!" a voice boomed as the door creaked open, the newcomer stomping heedlessly into the bedroom. "I keep tellin' him that," Shar-Teel shouted, her words a bit slurred and the smell of rollrum wafting before her. "The elf's got the makings fer a fine warrior, if he ever commits himself to the butcher's work." She sauntered up to Xan as she spoke, giving him a firm tap on the arm that nearly knocked him over and had him making a face.
Despite herself, Imoen was suddenly tempted to test her charm spell then and there and send the drunk woman packing. No no no. Only for emergencies. Besides, she's harmless.
"He's frail as a kitten, of course, but he's got the strength to swing that blade and can be a nimble little fucker when he wants." With a yank Shar-Teel carelessly tossed her helmet off, one of the horns nicking the hardwood floor before it rolled away. Her dirty-blonde hair was damp and tangled beneath, and she made no effort to push it out of her face, unfastening her swordbelt next.
"Uh. Weren't you rooming with Shura?" Imoen asked.
"Bah! I was, till she started getting a bit too handsy with that pet wimp of hers." Shar-Teel let out an angry sigh. "He was bearable enough when he was singin' or passing out drunk after a couple ales, but the thought of that squeaky little voice of his shouting from the other bed while they do the deed?" She shook her head as she pulled on some straps at her back. "No thanks!" With a heavy clink Shar-Teel's scaled armor coat piled on the floor, revealing a grey and white tunic beneath. She plopped down on the bed next to Xan, yanking her boots off before stretching out. "Ah! Much better."
After a brief pause and a few more stretches Shar-Teel went on. "I don't know what she sees in that little wuss of hers."
Imoen opened her mouth, ready with a theory or two.
"He's lean and pretty enough I guess," Shar-Teel went on, "but that voice! Fine when he's singin', but then the little bugger decides he's a comedian." Crossing her eyes and switching to a squeaky voice, she did an exaggerated impression. "'Yes sir! With godspeed.' Blech!"
"Well, we all have habits-"
"I hear he even has a tiny pecker." She held up a hand, thumb and forefinger close together. "Bloody useless, top to bottom."
And with that Imoen's mouth snapped shut, at a loss for words.
"You know," Xan suggested in his most diplomatic tone, "we could rent an extra room for you. There seems to be plenty of space in the Elfsong."
"Bloody expensive," Shar-Teel complained, her head swaying from side to side. "It's what you get for bedding down at an inn that usually rents rooms by the hour." Pitching a little to the side, she threw an arm over Xan's shoulder, perhaps to catch herself, press close, or both. The end result left the elf uncomfortably scrunched against the bigger woman, his chin on her chest and his arms hanging limply, body tense and a look on his face like he was ready to crawl out of his own skin. Shar-Teel just grinned down at the top of his head. "And I'm plenty comfortable here."
"What happened to 'I'm not sharing a room with any of these pigs'?" Imoen asked.
Shar-Teel chuckled as Xan managed to squirm back and sit up. "Ha! Of all the pigs he's the most tolerable." She turned towards the elf, nearly nose to nose and just bobbing in closer as he tried to lean back and retreat. "Why, I'd go so far 's to say that he's pleasant company. Smells nice. Usually knows 'is place. Neat and tidy." There was a wicked grin on her face as she pressed her nose right against Xan's. "A fine man indeed."
Hoooo boy. She's really drunk.
With a great deal of dread and an even tone, Xan slowly spoke. "I do indeed know my place, Shar-Teel. And I am very certain that it is as far away from your flammable breath as possible." He squirmed a little but she caught his shoulder and held on firmly.
Without any sign of offense Shar-Teel chuckled and continued to lean into him. "Nah. I say your place is right here under my-"
Alright, that's IT! Slipping back into the position she had taken before, Imoen snapped her fingers and hummed a quick incantation. A spark sputtered to life and sailed from her fingertips, fluttering over to Shar-Teel's forehead where it vanished with a flash. The woman's slurred words cut off midsentence and she stared at Xan with a blank look in her eyes.
"Hey Ess-Tee!" Imoen called, waving her hand.
Shar-Teel's head drifted around a bit and she gave Imoen a dreamy look. "Yes?"
"Don't you wanna go visit Viconia? I bet she's real lonely. Maybe you two can share notes on how pathetic men are? Maybe plot the downfall of the weaker sex together?"
A drunk, toothy smile, and then Shar-Teel disengaged from Xan, got to her feet and wobbled across the carpet. "Good plan. The downfall of the weaker sex!"
"Ex-actly!"
Barefoot and still dressed in the simple tunic, Shar-Teel stumbled out into the hall.
"Whew," Imoen muttered, walking over and shutting the door. For good measure she locked it. What was I thinking? 'Oh, don't mind Shar-Teel. She's harmless.' No she's not!
Xan was sitting upright now, his hands busily straightening out his sleeves. "I thank you for the timely rescue," he said. "I had promised not to use charm spells on her. Though, she may not see the distinction once your enchantment wears off."
"Hopefully she just won't remember a thing. And Viconia won't be too mad."
"That is a great deal to hope for."
"True enough." She walked over to the bed and sank down beside him. The sheets were still warm where Shar-Teel had been.
Looking off, Imoen frowned slightly. That look on Xan's face. Long before Shar-Teel had gotten dangerously pushy he'd seemed genuinely horrified. With a drunk woman practically throwing herself at him. Imoen had spent enough time working in a tavern to observe that most men enjoy attention from forward women, even if they aren't interested. Usually they politely flirt and enjoy the little ego-stoking.
She had also spent time around some of the monks in Candlekeep who were not remotely interested in women. Like or not, Xan reminded her a bit of them. Bah! I really should just ask! But how do you do that tactful-like?
She thought on it a moment, but instead just ended up lifting Xan's spellbook off the bed and setting it in her lap. Hmm. A moment's hesitation, and then she reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. He didn't cringe away from her touch like he had with Shar-Teel's. Even seemed to relax a bit.
Well maybe that's a sign. Opening the book up, Imoen asked: "So what else can you teach me 'bout charm spells?"
"I believe you have the basics down."
She turned towards him again. There it was: that rare hint of a smile on his face. "I'm charming enough?" she asked.
"You certainly are." Okay, he was definitely smiling. One of Xan's long fingernails tugged at the edge the page, flipping through. The book opened to a series of runes and diagrams that were unfamiliar to her. An arm wrapped round Imoen's shoulder and they both shifted a bit, the book propped up between them for easy reading. "The basics of abjuration may be a good next step. Especially if Shar-Teel or Viconia come storming in here later."
Once again Imoen awakened to the dim grey of morning and a glimpse of Xan's vivid purple robes. This time instead of sitting near the bed in meditation he stood, back turned to her and facing the open window. The world was painted grey outside; dense clouds and a light drizzle visible through the perspiring windowpanes. Sitting up, she realized that she was still wearing her cloth pants and fading pink tunic. He must've tucked me in when I dozed off.
Wiggling to the edge of the bed, she stretched a little more, but Xan didn't seem to notice. He just stood at the window, still as a statue. "What'cha staring at?" Imoen finally asked as she pushed tangled hair back from her eyes, voice a little raw.
He didn't turn. "Nothing in particular."
Climbing to her feet, Imoen stretched her arms above her head. "A boring thing ta be staring at. 'Nothing.' You worry me sometimes, ya know." She strolled over to the window and her arms encircled him, clasping across his slender waist as she nuzzled up against his back. He didn't flinch away. Even seemed to ease a little.
Maybe that gave her hope. Maybe she was reading too much into things.
Her cheek pressed between his shoulder blades. "I mean," she went on, "you only rest a little bit each night. Shouldn't you be doing something with the rest of your time? Reading books? Doing pushups? Whittling little dragons out of wood? Going out to the finer taverns in town in search of handsome lads?" Ya, I'm totally fishing there. "Building a ship in a bottle? Sketching with charcoal? Writing a book?" There was no reaction to any of the suggestions though.
She felt Xan's back shift as he took in a deep breath. One of those familiar sighs. "I just mean," she pressed on, "you have all this time. And you end up staring out a window for what, six hours? That can't be healthy." He did not reply. So yeah. He's really been staring out a window for six hours. Yeesh.
Eventually Xan spoke. "We elves…we have a different sense of time."
"I'm aware of that. Though I think sometimes you just use that as an excuse to stare out windows for hours." She leaned back, placing her hands on his shoulders. It only took a gentle tug to turn him around so that he finally faced her, long brown hair hanging loose against his hollow cheeks. He was not particularly tall, but had a few inches on her, those wistful eyes looking down.
"There may be some truth to your words," Xan admitted. "Although…" He looked thoughtful. "I felt no motivation, last night, to go off and do anything while you were asleep. It was…comforting to…" He fumbled a bit, then to her surprise a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. "Stand guard, I suppose?"
She laughed. "Wellll…guess I don't mind if you do that. But I still think ya need some hobbies."
"And what could I do? While you spend such a dreadfully long portion of the night sleeping?"
Sleep with me? She almost blurted that out as it popped into her head. Seemed like a perfect quip. Instead she just said: "We'll figure something out." Whirling away, Imoen went searching for her comb. "And I'm awake now. So like or not I'm gonna drag your butt outside and we're finding something to do."
"In this weather?" Xan asked, glancing out the window.
"That's what raincloaks are for, silly. Now, I bet the Wide's gonna be pretty dead in this weather, but how about Sorcerous Sundries? I hear they have some pretty nifty things on display there, even if we probably can't afford 'em."
Xan gave a noncommittal shrug.
She looked over at him briefly, then turned to the mirror. Ugh. This is going to drive me crazy isn't it? Should just ask him. What are you Imoen, an elf? Sittin' around waiting and waiting and waiting for the perfect moment that just never arrives?
She took a deep breath and looked herself in the mirror. You're a human aren't ya? Round and fat and hairy! A flawed, bumbling bundle of impulsiveness, shoving your way through a short but action-packed life. Sure we humans make all sorts of mistakes, but it's the only way to get the job done! Yessir!
Turning around, she pulled at an annoying tangle in her hair. Still…can't just come out and ask it can I? And then a thought occurred to her.
Setting the comb aside, she walked over to Xan. "By the way, I've been thinking…"
"You always are." Another hint of a smile, along with a look that made her imagine he could see the gears spinning overtime in her head. Guess those aren't hard to notice.
"Yeah, yeah. I've been thinking that Shar-Teel's probably gonna' keep pullin' stunts like she did last night. Now, I know in a perfect world the abject horror on your face wouldn't be considered 'leading her on,' but she seems to kinda take it that way."
Xan cringed slightly and nodded. "She has a…strange outlook on things."
"Well, I think you ought to just tell her that you have no interest in women and get it out of the way. I figure that'd be the kindest way to let her down, ya know?"
Xan's frown had returned, and a look of dread was growing on his face.
"Heck, she might even surprise you and immediately move on to trying ta find the perfect guy for ya." Yup. I'm totally talking about Shar-Teel here. Ha!
Deepening dread, and now trepidation in his widening brown eyes. He took a deep breath, as if he were about to leap from a very tall cliff.
"Now granted, Ess-Tee's probably not the match-making type, but you never know until you get it out in the open, right? She's obviously-"
Gentle fingers suddenly slid up against the side of Imoen's face, cupping her cheek. Then her words were cut off by slender lips; a warm, firm presence against her mouth. Her eyes widened as Xan pressed close and she felt breath against her cheek, but somehow her lips ended up curling into a smug smirk against his. Oh wow! Fishing expedition successful!
She had just begun to relax and return the kiss -a gentle, smirking nibble- when he pulled back and stood up. Opening her eyes, she found him nervously looking down at her. Looked like he might turn into a bird and flit away at any moment, if he had the spell ready to do that. Maybe he did. But he managed to speak instead. "I hope that makes it clear," Xan whispered, "where my interests lie."
Imoen nodded slightly, fire in her cheeks. "Ya. I just thought…I mean, in Candlekeep there were some monks who were only interested in each other and one of them once told me…well that…" Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! You've got a beautiful elf an inch from your nose, and he just kissed you!
She silenced herself by reaching out, pulling his head down as best she could and pressing her lips to his. Not exactly a moment out of a storybook; for a time they were both stiff and shy, fingers and lips fumbling.
Breaths passed between them and they gradually relaxed, chest to chest, her hand at his face now and the delicate shape of his cheekbones traced beneath her fingertips. Her other arm slid around his waist again and clung on tight. Thick raindrops splattered against the window nearby as the morning drizzle turned into a heavy shower.
Didn't matter. Any thoughts of going out this morning were suddenly forgotten.
"It's a shame," Garrick mused. "I keep thinking that any day now I'll hear it."
"Would think you wouldn't care to hear the haunting song of a fey creature," Ashura replied with a slight smirk.
He shot her an annoyed look across the table. "Wish you'd stop reminding me of that."
An open, placating hand. "Sorry."
"And it's different! They say the elven ghost is forever morning a lost love. Not to mention that it's one of the big attractions in the city, along with the Wide and the Hall of Wonders. You can't say you've truly experienced the Gate until you've heard the ghost's song."
"Yuppers!" the halfling girl beside him piped up. "I've heard the pretty lady sing. Might be good that she doesn't do it all the time. It was so sad! Had me bawling my eyes out in no time!" The halfling was a friend Imoen had recently made; a local thief named Alora who had helped her in the Hall of Wonders. Chipper and friendly, if a bit annoying at times. It also seemed a little strange to Ashura that a professional thief would wear bright purple clothes and dye her hair an eye-catching shade of violet. Odd that none of the thieves she knew had the good sense to wear black.
Ashura gave the taproom of the Elfsong a sweep of her eyes. Not exactly the sort of place she'd consider a tourist attraction, despite the fine food and the stuffed beholder. It was midday now and the sparse highbite crowd wasn't too rowdy, but every night there seemed to be at least one barroom brawl, and she'd already seen a dead body get dragged out and dumped in the street (though Shar-Teel had been involved there.) Also it was fairly clear that most of the patrons were either pirates, smugglers or prostitutes. Everyone in the establishment seemed to walk about armed, and tended to keep their hands close to their weapons, especially when they were on their way to one of the upstairs rooms.
All told it was a fairly sleazy place, which had suited them fine enough so far. A good, dimly lit little hole to hide Entar Silvershield's 'kidnapped' daughter. Ashura wanted to wash her hands of that whole business, but the girl kept approaching her, usually to ask questions about her dead brother.
Garrick was following her gaze. "Of course it would be nice if the ghost sang in a cleaner inn."
"It has its charm." At one of the more populated tables Shar-Teel was taunting a particularly nasty group of people; pirates judging by the wind-burnt faces, dreadlocked hair and excessive tattoos worn by men and women both. A tall, broad man with a flat nose that had obviously been reset a dozen times lurched to his feet, sending the stool that had barely contained his bulk tumbling over.
Shar-Teel immediately gave him a shove that nearly sent him falling, and then two of his companions were fighting desperately to grip his arms and hold him back. Soon the pirates were chattering amongst themselves, giddy and making bets on the inevitable duel. This will be what…her fourth fight picked in the Elfsong?
Ashura wondered if this one would survive. Shar-Teel's first victim had agreed to some rules and left with a few cuts and a lighter coinpurse after a swordfight out on the street, as had the third. The second man had just attacked Shar-Teel outright when she taunted him, and the bloodstains were still visible on the hardwood floor near the bar.
Garrick shook his head. "I'd still prefer a place with less knife marks and more clean sheets. Maybe a fur rug."
Meeting his eye, Ashura smiled. "Like that idea. A luxury suite we can just hole up in for a few days. Or weeks." She'd heard that the Helm and Cloak was a nicer establishment. Of course they still had to wait for-
Something heavy and clinking struck the tabletop and she turned, looking up into familiar almond eyes that gleamed in the lamplight. Well speak of the devil. And about bloody time.
"Promised I'd deliver, didn't I?" Coran asked.
Ashura placed her hand on the bag of coins and swiftly pulled it to her, glancing around to see if any of the local cutthroats had noticed. All eyes seemed to be on Shar-Teel and the pirate as they headed for the door, still exchanging taunts while the spectators followed.
"The mayor of Beregost was happy to pay, despite the smell," Coran added with a pleased grin as he straddled a stool next to Alora. His smile was just getting broader and broader a she looked over at the halfling. "And isn't this a nice surprise!" He reached over and casually ruffled Alora's short violet hair. "If it isn't my favorite rapscallion in all of Baldur's Gate!"
Alora stuck her lips out. "Hrmp!" she muttered. "Why do people always gotta' treat me like a little kid?"
Coran's grin didn't falter. "I am well aware that you're a full-grown hin woman," he said, "and a rapscallion. The two things aren't mutually exclusive." He swept a hand across the table. "Just like how even after Garrick sees forty winters I'll still call him a 'lad.'"
As always a genuinely hurt look formed on Garrick's face. "Hey!"
"Oh hush," Coran teased. "How I'd love to have skin like yours." A dramatic sigh. "Guess I'd have to turn back a century and a hundred-thousand cups of wine for that."
Ashura glanced from Coran to Alora. "You two know each other?" There seemed to be a story or two there.
"But of course," Coran said. "How could I not know the second-greatest thief in The Gate? We rubbed elbows on many a night, usually seeking out the same gems. She would always claim she was just 'curious' to see what people kept in their cabinets."
Instead of taking the bait Alora simply giggled. "Yuppers. Had my fun, though I'm nothing compared to the greatest thief in the Gate! I hear it's this newcomer named Imoen."
"Hmph. I haven't been away that long."
As they talked Ashura gave the little sack Coran had handed her a peak. The glint of gold rather than silver, and a hefty amount of it too. She allowed herself a smile. This, and what she had taken in the Cloakwood was more than enough to live in comfort for a good long while. Notions of a nice royal suite in one of the finer inns in town came to her. She'd drag Garrick up there, barricade the door, and hopefully that would be that. A few tendays -or even a month- of just eating, sleeping, drinking and rolling around in the sheets. No adventures, no foolish sodding 'heist' schemes, no strange dark powers, and hopefully no assassins.
"Coran!" A stern voice cut through the banter and the daydreams, and Ashura looked up to see a furious woman with thick golden locks stomp her way through the common room. She was wearing a red dress with the type of elegantly sewn scrollwork that implies enchantment, along with a stiff cloak. There was a striking beauty to the woman's heart-shaped face, even with dark bags hanging prominently beneath her eyes.
The easy grin on Coran's face died a swift death and he actually cringed away from the approaching woman. "Uh…Brielbara. What a pleasant…"
"Coran, you coward! How long have you been back in the city? And you didn't seek us out?"
"I just arrived!" he protested. "And you were the one who told me to run the last time!" He pitched his voice high. "'Coran, it's my husband! He must have tracked us down. Flee! Get out of here as fast as you can!' Remember?"
Her glare didn't falter. "That was a year ago. Much has changed." An accusing finger stabbed at him. "Much that you could have assisted with, if you had bothered to seek me out. Or at least write!"
"I thought our parting was-"
"Coran, your daughter is dying! And it's your fault!"
His eyes went wide and his mouth fell open. "I have a daughter?!"
The bedchamber certainly smelled of sickness, the stench of dried vomit and soiled linens barely kept at bay by strong incense. Windows were shuttered and curtains pulled tight, the afternoon sun held back in favor of a softly glowing cantrip. Brielbara held the faint ball of light above a wooden crib, the tiny occupant within swaddled up so much by blankets that it was impossible to make its form out. Just a little sleeping face peaked through the cloth, eyes dark and sunken. There was a jaundice-yellow tone to the infant's skin, and despite being tightly wrapped up tremors would run through the child from time to time.
Coran loomed over the crib as well, one hand absently reaching down to touch the blanket. He managed to uncover a tiny hand and rubbed it with his fingertip, but the infant didn't stir.
"I've been using sleeping spells," Brielbara explained with a hollow voice. "If I don't she screams and cries herself to sleep. And she's grown so very weak." She reached down, carefully peeling the knitted cap from the infant's brow and revealing a shock of dark hair with a red tint to it, along with gently pointed ears. "You may have 'escaped' just in time, but when my husband saw that the baby was a half-elf he put it all together easily enough. Then he placed a curse on the child."
Imoen shook her head. "A…deadly curse? How can anyone do that to a baby?"
"'She is not of my blood,' Yago told me. 'So what does it matter?'"
"People go quite blind with rage when they perceive such an…intimate betrayal," Xan stated nearby, his voice dispassionate. "You would be sad to learn how often we Greycloaks are called on to investigate such a scene, even ones where the children are caught in the middle. Usually there is a bloody murder-weapon involved rather than a slow-acting curse, of course. But typically when there is a murdered woman or child there is also a jilted man to track down." He turned and looked at Coran. "A consequence our carefree friend likely never thought of. Truly, it is a wonder he was not killed by a jealous husband years ago."
"What's her name?" Coran asked, ignoring the jab. He still hadn't taken his eyes off the swaddled child.
"Namara."
"Like the Sword That Never Sleeps?"
"I just thought it was a pretty name."
"It is. It is."
"If I can obtain Yago's spellbook," Brielbara went on, "I'm sure I can find a way to reverse the curse."
"I'm guessing that's not so easy?" Ashura asked.
Brielbara gave an exhausted shake of her head. "I thought of attacking him myself. He's hired two tiefling bodyguards, though. Dangerous mercenaries, from what I've heard. And he's been living in a cabin on the bottom deck of the Low Lantern. In the daytime he's wary, and at night the brothel-ship cruises around the bay."
Imoen blanched. "A brothel-ship?"
"Yes. He's enjoying the last of our savings." A tired shake of her head. "I don't care. I simply want to lift the curse."
Coran placed a hand on her shoulder, his eyes still on the crib. "We'll bring you his spellbook. I promise. And we'll make him pay."
She slapped his hand away. "Spare me, you worthless little rake! You can buy the book from him for all I care. Or dress up as a woman, seduce him with those pretty lips of yours and steal it in the night. I don't need vengeance! I just want my daughter whole!"
It was the fading hour of twilight when they made their way along the docks, the sky a pale blue and the winds gentle. Good, clear weather for sailing. Overlooked by two sturdy sea towers, the outer walls of the city opened to reveal the choppy waves of the great river, the harbor looking much like a massive bite that bad been taken out of the city long ago. The call of gulls and the smell of dead fish hung constantly in the air, cobbles beneath their feet weathered and slick from the morning's rain, peppered here and there with fresh bird shit.
They were a small party: Ashura at the lead, flanked by Garrick, Coran, Imoen, Xan and Skie. Bows and helmets had been left behind at the Elfsong, though they were still dressed more for battle than a night on the town, Ashura in her chainmail and all but Xan and Imoen in leathers. Swords and daggers hung at their belts along with many potion vials.
'Three thieves working together,' Imoen had suggested earlier, 'should be able to steal that book no-problem!' Skie had been happy to help but blanched at the word 'thief,' explaining that she had never stolen a thing in her life. 'Well, you were able to sneak in and out of your estate a bunch of times right? That's got to count for something!'
Skie wasn't so certain, but she seemed eager to tag along. Eldoth had been very dubious at the notion of her leaving the Elfsong, though. 'A terrible idea,' he had said with a scoff. 'Your father will have men out searching for you.'
It had actually earned him a stern glare from the young heiress, as she planted her fists on her hips. 'The whole point was to get me out of that cage my father built for me, right? Well, I'm not going to trade one cage for another. I'll go where I please.' Eldoth had been taken aback, his look darkening slightly before the ready smile returned and he tried to argue that he was simply concerned for her safety. In the end he had huffed a bit and let her go.
Xan and Imoen had been walking close the whole way since they left the Elfsong, exchanging whispered comments and even (much to Ashura's surprise,) a smile or two. About time, as far as Ashura was concerned. Imoen had always insisted that she had a curse when it came to guys, but by Ashura's reckoning it had been a mostly self-inflicted. Her sister had always had a few too many romantic notions, always pining for some sort of perfect moment and happily telling Ashura about her latest crush without actually doing anything. Glad she might be over that. Give them another year and she may actually loose her virginity too.
Then again Xan was an elf. What was it old Winthrop had always said? 'Moon elves take a full season just to finish their tea. And that's nothing compared to sun elves. Why do you think you never see a sun elf? 'Cause they all went out for highbite a century ago. Give 'em a few more decades and maybe they'll come back.'
They crossed a track set up for cargo carts that ran along the harbor street, nearing a lamp post at a wide, sturdy pier where the sign of the Low Lantern swayed. The three-masted frigate bobbed in the water beyond, painted an eye-catching shade of red.
A small crowd milled about atop the pier and on the deck of the ship, mostly men, a few in fine clothes but many more dressed like simple laborers. Here and there walked dangerous, hard-eyed sorts, but generally the patrons appeared to be young men setting out together to spend their idle cash or week's wages on a night of gambling, drinking and whoring; boasting, bragging, and jostling each other along the way.
"Of course helping you would lead us to a brothel," Imoen quipped as they walked along the dock, but Coran just ignored her. The pensive look that had hung on his face after first setting eyes on Namara hadn't left. After a little silence Imoen gave the elf a worried look and a pat on the shoulder. "You're supposed to respond with: 'Hey, it's a casino too' or something."
Coran shook his head a little. "Sorry…it's just…"
"I understand. Just a little surprised to see you like this. Seems like even in the worst times you're always grinning. Like…even when people are dying and the floor's slick with blood, and arrows are whistling and all that, you still just give us that toothy smile and say: 'Life is adventure or nothing.'"
He tried to smile at her, but it turned into a grimace, then a shrug.
Raucous chatter greeted them as they walked the wharf and crossed the plank walkway to the gently rolling deck of the Low Lantern. A few little clumps of people stood here and there at the railing, drinking and watching the waves roll as they joked and laughed. From the sound of it there was a considerably larger crowd below deck.
One by one they climbed down a crude but sturdy wooden ladder and into the cavernous hull of the great ship, lit by gently bobbing lanterns as well as the light spilling in from tiny circular windows. The floor down here was laid out like a great sitting room, with long couches and tables where a few patrons lounged over drinks and wooden trays of food, near a large hatch that led to a lower deck. A second area was visible through an open doorway: a crowded, smoky gaming room filled with high tables of finely carved and polished wood where the gambling wheels spun or dice rolled across a velvet surface.
The calls of the dealers competed with the general din, words that reminded Ashura of the Nashkel fair. 'You there lad! You look like the lucky sort!'
'Take your chance with Lady Tymora!'
'Come in poor. Walk out rich!'
The men who ran the games all dressed in bright, gaudy clothes, working to catch the eye as well as the ear. Women who Ashura guessed were prostitutes sashayed from table to table, clad in frail silks and satins that were just as bright; dresses that covered more skin than one would expect but bared the shoulders and appeared ready to fall away at any moment. Their hair was piled up and woven into elaborate crowns, and they presented their best smiles as they went about clasping the arms or shoulders of the clientele to exchange flirty whispers, often swiftly moving along to another table or man. Overlooking it all were two imposing men in studded leather jerkins that matched the brown hue of the cabin walls, armed with short swords and still as statues save their sweeping eyes.
Ashura's group found a quiet spot on one of the couches and sat down, cautiously eyeing the crowd. It was only a moment before a woman carrying an empty wooden tray traipsed up to them, a warm smile on her face and her bodice and blouse generously open in a style that announced: 'Tavern Wench!' And then some. "Welcome to the Low Lantern, ladies and gentlemen," she cooed in a practiced voice that easily carried over the din. "What can I get for you this eve?"
"Just a round of ales," Ashura grunted, waving a hand dismissively.
"You sure honey?" She looked to the others. "We've a fine selection of seafood, and as wide a variety of drinks as you'll find in The Gate." No one else spoke. "Bitter black alright?"
"Bitter's fine."
The woman shook her head from side to side. Tut-tut. Her eyes slid over Xan and Coran, and then they lingered on Garrick. "And just so you know, I'm on the menu too." She did a little twirl. "Any of you studs just ask, and we can discuss a trip to the lower deck. Long as your ladies approve, of course." That last bit came out like an afterthought. Coran didn't even look up from the table, though Garrick stared wide-eyed, seemingly hypnotized by her cleavage. The server gave him a wink before turning around and strutting off and down the stairs.
"When the ales arrive try to just sip a little," Ashura suggested. She tapped Garrick on the shoulder. "Especially you. We need our wits about us."
He started slightly, then turned and gave her a bright smile. "Yes, sir."
She rolled her eyes. Looking over to Coran, Ashura saw that he was still staring at the tabletop, a fingertip absently tracing around and around. It was so strange to see him this serious. Sad even, eyes far-away like Xan's often got at quiet moments. And this was as far from a quiet moment as you could get: drunk men jostling each other, women's sultry laughter, the clink of cups and the perpetual tap-tap-tap of the ball that spun on the year's turning wheel. And now the dealers, bartenders and serving girls were cupping their hands, all announcing that the mooring would soon be reeled in.
"Last chance off the ship! Last chance to leave the party!" they all shouted.
There was a giddy feeling in the air now, though many of the gamblers where shuffling towards the exit. Most seemed to be the more sensibly dressed men, along with nearly all of the women. They looked to be mostly merchants and artisans, all still sober enough to realize they might have things to do in the morning. The rest of the crowd seemed eager to stay, well-dressed young men tapping each other on the shoulder and joking back and forth about what a fine night it was for a cruise, and wondering aloud who would be first to 'dare the rigging.' But in the whirlwind of excitement Coran just stared down absently at his fingers, then at his ale when the buxom serving woman placed it before him.
"So," Imoen whispered. "Looks like time for a little scouting? Yago's rooming on the bottom deck right? With two tiefling bodyguards. Both women, one a warrior and one a mage. And that's all we know?"
Ashura nodded. "The ship's not that big. Won't be hard to find."
Getting to her feet, Imoen pulled Skie along with her. "We'll ask around about tieflings. Shouldn't make anyone too suspicious. 'Oh! I hear there's some devil-ladies living here. Do they really have horns and tails?'" She looked over at Coran. "You could ask some of the women that?" she suggested.
He nodded absently. "I suppose I could."
Imoen shook her head. "Would think asking you to flirt with prostitutes and hit them up for information would be the easiest thing in the world."
Coran gave her a weak smile. "Suppose it's just not that kind of night." He took a deep breath, rising to his feet and looking around. Something changed in his face: far from a return to his usual, cheerful self, but it reminded Ashura of the times he had set out with Kivan to scout out a trail. "Alright then! Let's rescue my daughter."
Author's Note: I went back and changed this chapter slightly, because I had gotten the layout of the Low Lantern a little wrong. Not something I'd always worry about, but the way it's designed in the game makes more sense.