Conflict is the gadfly of thought. It stirs us to observation and
memory. It instigates to invention. It shocks us out of sheeplike
passivity, and sets us at noting and contriving. - John Dewey
CHAPTER FOUR
Conflicts
The afternoon of their second day of traveling, if any local resident can believe that, caught the party in the proximity of Beregost, methodically following a road Jaheira had chosen. In the morning, they had passed by the first outlying farms on both sides and, upon the sight of entire families already working out in the fields, Vendice had been forced to withdraw the begrudging comment she had made on being roused, that they were the only ones who could possibly be waking up that early. After all, she was perfectly conscious that Jaheira and Khalid traveling by themselves would have already made it to Beregost by the nightfall of the very day they had left the Friendly Arm. It was because of the other four's complaints and the constant quarreling that had erupted on a regular basis that they'd had to camp in the wilderness and were only making it so late within the next day.
Their dinner and breakfast had been less than frugal, they had skipped lunch completely and sleeping in a bedroll on half-humid soil wasn't exactly what one would call comfort. Additionally, the bard's guard shift had been the one in the middle, and waking up, struggling to stay vigilant, then going to sleep again wasn't something she liked to do. Vendice promised herself to compose at least one amusing song about why typical bards left those parts out of their ballads.
The only useful accomplishment she could spot so far was getting to know her companions better.
Any adventurer (or would-be adventurer) needed to have a specific profession and the bard soon found their party to be quite multifarious, in a way other than the clashing perspectives on life. Even if she hadn't told the others yet, Vendice saw herself as pretty much the leader of their small band; she had a way with words, as any bard should, and they wouldn't be able to deny her anything if she should try to obtain it. It was only a matter of them realizing as much. That train of thought usually made the voice laugh in a very amused fashion when it crossed her mind.
Currently, they were walking in pairs, the bard and Xzar in the middle, after it had been proven that putting either of them in front of the group and allowing them to set the pace wasn't a good idea, while leaving them last only caused them to remain way behind the others. Jaheira and Khalid were first, while, to Montaron's despair, the two contrasting rogues were at the back. All had weapons at the ready, due to an attack they had suffered earlier from a band of churlish imbeciles that managed to shift Vendice's romantic views on highwaymen as well.
Enough with the recap already! the voice snapped at her when it could bear no more. You've been through that already, it's over. You have a present and a future, too.
"I'm looking for ballad material," grumbled Vendice, which brought her a fugitive look from Jaheira. When the bard continued to look absent-minded with the improvised authenticity of a real actress, the druid's attention returned to the road.
See? The present is fun.
'But I haven't written anything in three days!' protested Vendice, this time mentally.
It's not that much time. The voice made the impression of one who was rolling their eyes.
'Yeah...' Vendice admitted. 'But you're talking to the one that filled the blank pages in Gorion's grimoire in two hours when she ran out of paper.'
Actually, it was my idea that you should write on that.
'Of course,' the bard had to fight a fit of giggling. 'The disastrous ideas always come from you.'
Why don't you just improvise and sing something out of your head anyway? This lot needs some cheering up – look at them.
And Vendice did look. She turned to Imoen first, only to see the young girl's face adorned with a slight frown and her hands holding the short bow at the ready, while her eyes drifted from side to side. Only when she met Vendice's gaze, the rogue smiled slightly and winked, but as soon as Vendice pretended not to be looking anymore, the concern reappeared. Then there was Montaron; the halfling looked less content than ever and he kept staring at his feet, with occasional pauses when he looked at Jaheira and his fingers caressed the hilt of his short sword. He eventually ended up dismissing whatever ill intent he had, at least for the time being. The married couple wore concentrated expressions and were tense and alert to the slightest noise, ready to fend off any new attack. Alone, Xzar looked pretty happy; then again, he didn't seem to realize which world was real – that one or the one in his head.
Then, Vendice looked further away, to the grayed silhouettes of the walls that surrounded Beregost and the few taller buildings that towered above them, all forming a fragmented mass that was, in essence, the same thing; division, but unity altogether. Beyond, the horizon's thin and unclear line was obscured here and there by obstacles that lay closer, like the town itself, and seemed to progress along with the party. This unreachable place that kept running away from those who would reach it had always fascinated Vendice; not once during her childhood, she had run along the seashore, pretending to compete with something that was there, using the parallel horizon as its track. She always lost, but that never kept her from returning to try again, some other day.
The eternal line worked its mysterious charm this time, like it always did. It was her inspiration; the bard forgot about the party and her initial reason; when she sang out whatever was inside her, she did so for the something that she knew to be there, waiting.
"Look well around you and tell me what you see
For my eyes fall only on all that there could be..."
Vendice felt the familiar tingle building up in her throat, the imaginary sweet taste of music invading her mouth and her lips vibrating with each syllable they released. She felt her muscles strain gently and her allure changing; every bit of her contributed, every small part was there, in the sounds that emerged. She felt taller, she felt more graceful, her importance in her own eyes grew, as the immensity of the world centered around her tiny form and time stopped to listen. She tried to sing even better, for them, even as her mind worked frantically to find the words.
"The sun sets and would you think it a crime
If I told you my wish that its world were mine?"
The feel of the wind thrashing against her hair and batting at her face made the words seem almost material to her. She imagined them flaring up a bright golden color and flying on wings of white, as the current carried their small forms with it. To everyone and everything that had ears to hear or eyes to see how strongly they shone. Yet, the original idea wasn't forgotten: the muse, however unusual it was, had to be praised.
"Like the horizon, end of sight that forever drifts away,
So do our fragile dreams change and shift every day.
And from all the suns that burned bright
We're left alone with shadows and night."
She paused and took a deep breath, to give her what the controlled, small ones amid the words couldn't. She perceived this small act that everyone performed a hundred times a day as the most refreshing thing she had ever done. She felt complete, special, safe. It was exhilarating, yet she knew it had to be enjoyed while it lasted, she was aware of her true condition. Slowly, the story formed, she generalized the more particular case into a rule.
"In its own time, everything looks grand,
Then time goes by, it crumbles into sand
And when we've found a moment and we think again,
We see nothing's left of what we thought back then.
We are all things at once and yet none at all,
Rise to greater heights, so that deeper we can fall,
Delude ourselves with saying ignorance is bliss.
Me? One day, I'll fall so hard... I'll dig an abyss."
The end felt like collapsing from heaven straight to a cold floor.
Vendice hadn't realized when her eyes had drifted shut, nor when she had ceased to walk; now, when she opened herself to sight again, she saw that the others had stopped with her. Their attention was on her – they looked rather mesmerized, even more than they had probably been surprised at first.
Do you see now? asked a pleased-sounding voice. Everyone has their own special talent. Yours lies in song – your art is to affect others through that which you create.
'Yes. I see!' mentally breathed an exalted Vendice. The expression on her face was bright and her eyes shone when the waking others began to shift and fidget, then poise question-filled looks on her. "I will need to buy an instrument while in Beregost," she told them with a small smile, then, holding herself straight and tall, she drifted past them and took the lead of their small group.
A small rock hit her straight in the chest and for a moment her breath caught painfully. Outraged and shaken in her moment of glory, the bard frowned, briskly thrust her hands akimbo, and began to look for the source. She found it soon enough – a diminutive figure crouching behind a small bush and into the nearby ditch on the road's edge. 'A child?' she thought disappointedly. 'There goes the idea of revenge.' She wouldn't possibly be able to kick that one.
"Hey, kid," she called out as the party caught up with her, still exchanging nudges and chuckles behind her back. The little one would at least get a lecture.
"Don't you be getting any closer!" shouted the child, by all semblances a boy, as he ducked even lower. He sniffed, obviously frightened. "Or I'll have me momma come and give you the belt!"
"Well, that sure is scary," Vendice rolled her eyes, then turned to Imoen. "Remind me to never, ever, in all my life, have kids."
Imoen chuckled, but Jaheira stepped forth, frowning at Montaron who had just expressed his desire to rough the kid up a bit and send him off, for 'fun'. The halfling was silenced and the druid turned to Vendice with the same sort of severe expression, shaking her head. Then, she stepped past the bard and called out to the hiding figure, soothingly. "No harm will come to you from us, child. You can come out."
"Oh sure!" snapped what both Vendice and Montaron had individually classed as a 'brat'. That soon turned into a full temper tantrum... more or less. "That's what the other group of bandits said, and then they went and attacked a caravan I just saw leave. They were a bunch of liars, probably just like you. Get lost!"
"That is d-disturbing," said Khalid, stepping forth to join his wife and look to her for confirmation. "P-perhaps we should investigate?"
"We must," the druid demanded, turning to the rest of their group. "There may still be a chance to save the merchants."
"As long as we can loot what's left o' their wagons," shrugged Montaron.
"Maybe I'll find a new robe," a perfectly lucid Xzar expressed his own concern, tugging at a fold of his robe to reveal a tear in its side. "This one is getting old."
Imoen and Vendice shared a sigh and looked to each other, anticipating another conflict.
"You two are an affront to all," Jaheira scowled at the materialist duo, shuffling a bit further away from them. "Keep the distance from me, lest I should make you."
"Like anyone'd even be trying to come close to you, tree-hugger," sneered the halfling. "And your goody-two-shoes of a husband."
"That is q-quite enough!" Khalid's voice rose for the first time since the group had gotten together. Even Jaheira looked a bit surprised, though not as much as the others; she laid a soothing hand on his shoulder.
Montaron snickered, considering that his point had been made.
"Do something!" Imoen whispered to Vendice and prodded her in the ribs.
The bard realized this small pause was ideal for her to step in and cleared her throat just in time, getting the attention of all. "Gee," she began sarcastically. "Glad to see you're all as intelligent as the kid down there." She sighed, and her hands fell limp at her sides. "Hey, little one!" she called to the boy, who was now peeking out curiously. "What's your name?"
He looked at her with a frown just as small as his entire self; for the life of her, the bard couldn't hold him a grudge. "Jase," he said fearfully, still not trusting them.
"Jase," Vendice repeated and forced a smile. "Look, I'll give you a shiny gold piece if you tell me which way that caravan went."
"You're lying!" shouted the boy and began to hide again, but the sight of something small tumbling down and rousing a cloudlet of dust from the road caught his eye and stopped him.
"It went that way!" he said, pointing. "Now go away!"
"Right across the fields," remarked Vendice. "Smart move." She rolled her eyes, as she began to lead the calmer group away, to the northwest and slightly back where they had come from.
It was only by late night that they finally and actually made it to the town of Beregost itself. They stormed through the gates, attracting small frowns from the guards, but they were left alone, each with their own reasons to be furious or discontent. All was related to the bandits they had found still treading around the wagons, a small band that had attacked them on sight.
There had been no survivors among the merchants, except some hostages taken by men which the group hadn't managed to track. Khalid had taken a bad wound at his left shoulder, one that Jaheira's minor healing spells, of divine origin though they were, hadn't been able to heal well.
Xzar hadn't found his new robe and was being all sulky and kept pouting like a child whenever someone addressed him. Montaron's only reply to anything was a new insult or an unintelligible grumbled line. This state that was due to the lack of any loot from the caravan, except a marked small fistula made of enamel, which they had found next to the body of a young man whose clothes bore the same sigil. It had identified the caravan as belonging to Entar Silvershield, a Duke from the city of Baldur's Gate, and the dead boy had probably been his son, Eddard. In order to claim any sort of reward, they'd have to travel all the way to the father.
As for Vendice and Imoen, their slightly younger spirits, though shaken by the discovery, had gotten over the incident much quicker. Their only regret was that they hadn't found the fistula before Montaron and now the halfling held it. Instead of the good deed they could perform, the halfling was adamant in his decision to ask for a reward. From the heroes they had hoped to be, the two girls were suddenly traveling with some... selfish mercenary.
"I'm ditching these two as soon as we've no more need of them," the bard whispered to Imoen as they reached the large obelisk in the town's central square.
"For now, I just wanna sleep," the rogue yawned in response.
"Me too," agreed Vendice, pointing to a shifty man that lurked out front of a large building ahead. "This guy looks familiar with the place; maybe we could ask him about a good inn."
The two led the group toward the lone figure, trying to look casual and as if they hadn't noticed him at all. They didn't even have to find a suitable way to engage in a conversation, for it was he that approached them directly first. Though hooded and cloaked, he was obviously slender and lacked in physical strength; sneaky as he appeared, it didn't seem he would require such a skill anyway. A few strands of silky brown hair came out from below the hood, but Vendice and Imoen agreed that it was a man, not a woman.
When he spoke, he confirmed their beliefs. "Hail, adventurers" he greeted the entire party at once, his voice soft and tone friendly and respectful. A gloved hand came out from the long folds of his cloak and waved to them; then, he tossed his head in a move that held the pretense of elegance and the hood fell off, revealing the bright countenance of a human, marked by big blue eyes and a sly-looking smile.
"Hiya," said a surprisingly forward Imoen, flushing a little.
That caused Vendice to glance at her as if she were a stranger. "Err..." the half-elven bard babbled. "What interest of yours is it that we have piqued?"
"Oh, not mine, really," the man spoke fluidly, while his smile broadened and his eyes lingered on the red-haired rogue. "But you look capable enough. Say... how would you like a well-paying job as bodyguards for my mistress?"
"No way," snapped Vendice, who had instantly categorized the man as 'hiding something'. "I'm hungry; and tired. Find some other fool to do it."
The bard had already begun to turn and was half-facing Jaheira and Khalid, who seemed to agree with her decision, when Imoen spoke. "But Vendice," the rogue protested. "We kinna need the money, yanno?"
"Great deal," mumbled Montaron sarcastically. "Show 'im we're broke. Now he'll be paying us less."
"We're not that desperate," Vendice's voice rose in outrage, then she paused when the hands she had shoved in her pockets to gain confirmation only found two coins. "Uhh..." She imagined the situation in the others' pockets would be the same. "Right. Tell us about your mistress." She whipped around and flashed her most innocent smile to the stranger, followed by an apologetic shrug.
The man laughed heartily. "I'm Garrick," he said, holding out a hand to Imoen. The rogue took it and shook faintly, holding it a while longer than she should have. "I work for Silke Rosena," Garrick continued, winking to her discreetly. "She's the most skilled musician and actor along the Sword Coast."
Vendice's ego, though it had no accomplishments to be based on, immediately felt stung by that remark. "Save us the praise," she said coldly. "How much is she paying?"
The man paused and blinked, a bit disconcerted by her abrupt interruption. However, when he recovered, he still didn't move to the point. "She's to play at the Duchal palace before the month's done. The problem is some thugs have been hired by Feldepost to hurt her bad, because she didn't perform at his Inn when she was supposed to. Can't blame her for not showing up, what with a villain like Feldepost running the place."
All along, Vendice had been listening with her arms crossed on her chest, tapping the paved ground with her foot. She faced his new, pleading smile with a roll of her eyes. "How. Much?" she asked, feeling a sudden urge to smack this idiot.
"She needs mercenaries to protect her until she's ready to go to Baldur's Gate." A small look directly at Vendice and Garrick hurried to add the required answer before the girl should leap at him. "About 300 gold. What do you think?"
"Lead the way," sighed Vendice, rubbing her temple.
Imoen was more than content to be the first that followed Garrick, while the bard stayed behind with Jaheira and Khalid, trying to calm down. They were being led along the large main street, toward the corner it formed with a slightly darker one that came to cross it.
"Are you sure about this, child?" Jaheira asked her.
"No," Vendice answered, still fuming.
"We'll be needing the money if you want to eat tonight," Montaron grumbled from behind.
"Pie," said a delighted Xzar, and that was the single word he uttered.
"Shut up, you useless cretins," mumbled Vendice, quietly enough to be heard only by Jaheira, who smiled at the remark, if only slightly.
They soon stopped just outside the thick shadows another structure cast across the intersection of the two streets. A woman emerged from there, wearing a mage's robes and a hoodless cloak to protect her bare shoulders and arms from the cold. She held a silver staff with both hands, keeping it ready even as her dark eyes scoured each member of the party. Finally, she wiggled her nose slightly and, holding her head up, spoke.
"Greetings mercenaries," she said with an air of grandeur and a voice as artificially sociable as they came. "I am Silke, thespian extraordinaire."
Vendice bit back her stingy remark and allowed Jaheira to reply for her. "Speak your mind, woman," said the druid. "We do not have time for countless pleasantries."
Silke glared, but then tossed her head, shoving her nose even higher in the air, and managed to appear disinterested and superior once more. "How much has my aide offered to you?" she asked.
"300 gold pieces," replied a cheerful Imoen, playing with a strand of her hair in that cute way of hers and eyeing Garrick.
"Just like you told me," added the man, bowing slightly to his mistress, but still holding the rogue's gaze.
"I'll raise your wage to 400," Silke announced coldly, making it seem as if she was rich enough to toss sacks of gold out the window and not care. Vendice felt a sudden urge to strangle her. She didn't budge, though, and the incredibly conceited woman continued. "You must dispose of the ruffians when they come to threaten me," she began to give more directions. "I would advise you to strike fast. Whatever you do: don't speak to them. One of them is a mage whose mystic words can sway the wisest of men."
"Uh-huh..." Vendice replied, looking perfectly calm and unaffected. Don't speak to them? the voice seemed to be mirroring her thoughts. That's clear manipulation. Silke didn't notice when she joined in on the small glances Jaheira and Khalid were already exchanging.
Behind, Montaron's grumbling didn't fail to emerge. "Like I'd be sitting about to chatter with someone I'm going to kill."
It bothered Vendice to no end when Imoen chose to wait with Garrick instead of their group, but at least it took part of the attention Silke paid to them off the more intelligent part of the group. They managed to swap a few remarks when they thought it safe to do so and it became obvious that none of them (excepting Imoen most likely) believed a word of what they had been told. It was agreed that they would stay their attack until matters became clear, though Montaron didn't seem pleased by the prospect that they might lose the money.
About an hour later, three men showed up at the scene; they looked like they meant business, though not necessarily of a hostile nature. Silke shifted immediately and gestured the party to her side, whispering that they should be ready to strike. The only one that really readied a discreet weapon was Imoen, unaware of the scheming between the others and of the fact that they were only pretending to get ready.
The three men arrived, but looked rather polite and reserved when they stopped a few feet away and one of them stepped in front of the others. They all wore elegant tunics, embroidered with silken threads; they didn't look like ruffians at all. "Greetings, Silke," said their spokesman. "We're here as you've asked, and we have the..."
Silke hissed. "Don't try to threaten me!" she interrupted hostilely. "I won't be easy prey for you to beat on, I've brought friends!"
"What are you talking about?" The three men exchanged worried glances. "We're here with the gems that..."
This time, it wasn't just a hiss. "Shut up!" snarled Silke, then barked her orders. "STRIKE NOW! Kill them all!"
By that time, even Imoen had seen something fishy; no one moved. When the 'innocent victim' turned to look to the ones she had hired, she found Vendice's lips curled in a very pleased smirk. "Nice act, darling," said the half-elf, shaking her head with pity. "But you need more practice."
Silke gritted her teeth, to the point where they almost hurt. "Our deal is off!" she yelled, tossing her head again in a futile attempt to still look like a noble who was addressing peasants. "In any case, you're probably too cowardly to be any good in a fight. I'll deal with them myself, after I deal with you!"
As soon as she stopped talking, the woman raised both hands and began to utter the words of what was obviously a spell. The way it looked, it was aimed at Vendice. The party drew weapons and all hurried to stop her, but before they reached her, the spell had already been cast.
Vendice, who had held her ground, was as ready as one could be for such things and she threw herself to a side, dropping to her knees. Though the crash itself was painful to her knees and elbows, the Flame Arrow whistled past her head in the process, only inches away, and finally set an empty barrel behind aflame.
When she stood up, Vendice found the party in the process of receiving a potion as their reward, from the three men who were apparently merchants or something of the kind. Montaron, whose sword had apparently been the one to kill Silke, by the blood that still stained it, was searching the woman's body for any valuables. The rest of them, a pouty Imoen included, were circling Garrick.
Much to his satisfaction, Montaron had found two potions and some gold by the time Vendice came to his side. She demanded part of the loot quietly, by just holding out a hand; the halfling was reluctant to part, but he handed her one potion and half of the gold. She let him get away with that, figuring the given half should be enough money for the rest of them anyway. Furthermore, she bent over and picked up Silke's staff, weighing it in one hand for a second.
"It's a good, elegant make," she admitted finally, offering it to Xzar. "There you go. Hold on to the pretty staff, mage. There, that's it." She was satisfied enough when the necromancer dropped his old chunk of wood and hugged the new weapon.
"Now, Mr. Garrick!" Vendice had become ironic already when she blended with the group of others. None seemed to mind her intervention, which deflated her slightly.
"I guess she had it coming," Garrick was just saying with a small shrug. "You can't be evil like her and expect to get away with it."
"Which means you should not be getting away either," stated a determined Jaheira.
"He just... needed a job," Imoen defended meekly.
"And I'm out of one now," dared Garrick. "Maybe I could... join with you? And make up for this deception, of course."
"Whoah, whoah," Vendice interfered, this time successfully. "Hold it right there. NO WAY you're coming anywhere close to us again. Go on, get lost!"
Garrick swallowed tightly, then sighed out his heaviest breath. "Ah, well, I guess it will give me the opportunity to work on this new ballad I've been thinking of..." He seemed to cheer up as he thought of that. "I bet you'll never guess who the protagonists are!"
"One more thing," Vendice stopped him from leaving yet with a triumphant and superior grin. "Tell me where a good inn or tavern is."
Vendice was fuming. She had told the others she needed to be alone and that she would go get a drink to calm her fiery temper and dull her senses, then she would come back to her room and sleep. Now, that she found herself downstairs, there was another alternative that presented itself as far more appealing than that.
The cause for this was simple. As soon as they had set foot into the Red Sheaf, the tavern Garrick had suggested they should go to, another bounty hunter, a rough dwarf wearing heavy armor, had approached them. During the fight, Imoen had been wounded and she was now unconscious, waiting for a cleric to arrive, given that Jaheira wasn't able to cast any more spells before she would sleep.
"That scoundrel knew the bounty hunter would be there," Vendice decreed, mumbling to herself. If I were you, I'd kill him for that.
Once the decision was made, it was made. "Shouldn't be that difficult to find him, eh?" the bard mused as she opened the tavern's main door and stepped out into the night.