Chapter 5…Suspicion

"Unexpected? Surely not, my dear warlock," the false Ammon said smoothly. I had cast a light spell but even under its harsh glare the succubus' disguise still looked perfect. "Could you possibly be unaware that your captain finds you attractive? Even your pure little knight is conscious of how very…beguiling you can be when you choose." He twisted to look up at me and there was heat in his eyes. "Your warlock's prowess and endurance are something of a legend amongst my sisters. There are many interesting and inventive ways to bargain with demons, you know. Ah, the tales I could tell..."

The true Ammon growled out something angry and guttural in what I assumed was Abyssal, a language I did not speak.

"Why certainly," the false Ammon replied. There was a gust of cold foul air that made me blink and when I opened my eyes the succubus had changed shape. Now she looked like me, I supposed. The unruly cloud of dark hair was familiar but I didn't think my lips were quite so full or red, nor was my skin so creamy and smooth. She must have plucked the ridiculous lacy nightgown straight from my memory but I had never worn it with the front ties undone. The expanse of cleavage thus exposed was surely exaggerated. (I looked down to check. Yep. She was taking liberties with my shape, the little hussy.)

"Does this form please you more?" she asked Ammon, in a breathy tone that I didn't think sounded like me at all. His only reply was a frown. "May I stand?" she asked. "Or do you prefer me at your feet?" She gave a suggestive little laugh.

"Stand," he said roughly. She slowly came to her feet with a lot of unnecessary stretching, arching and posing.

"So, Ammon, how can I serve you?" she purred.

"I take it you know this demon," I said. She answered for him.

"Oh, Ammon and I go way back," she said slyly. "Don't we, darling?"

"Who sent you here, Hatsou?" he asked. The succubus opened her eyes very wide.

"Why, darling, surely it was you who scratched my sign on your knight's bed? I've been wondering what exactly you hoped for me to accomplish here, although given her…pristine state, I have a few thoughts." Her voice dropped seductively. "Perhaps you would like to give me your instructions now?" She took a step towards him and her voice dropped yet lower. "Or would you prefer to do so in private?"

"I did not scribe that glyph," Ammon ground out.

"Come now, Ammon Jerro, who else would have the knowledge to do so?" Her mouth curled into an evil parody of a smile. Ammon's eyes flared with rage then he growled a few words and hit her 

with the full strength of his eldritch blast. The air sizzled and she let out a terrible scream. It looked like Qara was not the only redhead in the keep subject to fits of temper. I ran and grabbed his arm. He shook me loose.

"Get out of the way," he said. "I will force the truth out of her."

It didn't seem like the ideal time to start a discussion on the ethics of torture, so I just said, "This room is not soundproof. Since neither one of us had the foresight to cast a silence spell, I expect we will have Greycloaks at the door, oh, right about now." He gave me a look of angry consternation which intensified when we heard boots thudding along the corridor.

"Get rid of her," I hissed. Someone tried to open the door and found it barred.

"The door is locked," I heard the guard holler and then he banged on the door. "Knight-Captain! Are you safe?"

I looked back and when I saw that Ammon was busy banishing the succubus, I went to the door and lifted the bar. Two Greycloaks practically tumbled inside. They looked at me, then looked at Ammon, then looked back at me, taking in the strange way I was dressed with evident surprise. Here was plenty of grist for the rumor mill, I realized ruefully. It was a good thing they hadn't seen the succubus. Now that would make a juicy story.

"It's okay," I said and then added the first excuse that popped into my head. "I saw a spider and it startled me. That's all. I apologize for disturbing you."

"A spider, Knight-Captain?" the first Greycloak asked. I could almost remember his name. It started with a J. Jasper? Jannin? Something like that.

"It was a really big spider," I said. I held out my hands in a vague measurement. "Um, someone might want to go check and see if Kistrel has hidden an egg sac somewhere, before the keep is overrun." The two Greycloaks exchanged nervous looks.

"Since we are on duty I, um, will pass that suggestion on to Sergeant Kana in the morning," Jasper or Jannin said. I tried not to roll my eyes.

Almost all the guards seemed to get along with Elanee's badger even though it was not very friendly and had snapped at most of us—even Grobnar. It had actually bitten Qara once and gods, what a fuss that had caused. Bishop's wolf was equally well regarded. He tended to stick to the woods around the keep and caused no problems. In fact, the farmers credited him for chasing off other predators. I'd often seen the soldiers petting and feeding Sand's cat and Qara's ferret but for some reason Kistrel, the giant spider who had befriended me, was not a favorite in the barracks. In fact, she was viewed with disgust. For that matter, I never once caught the Greycloaks sneaking treats to their very own Knight-Captain's beetle familiar.

They were all a bunch of mammal bigots.

I thought I'd successfully freed myself from my 'protectors' when I heard a deep voice behind them. My heart sank.

"Jonnus? Coro? Is there a problem?"

Trust Casavir to know everyone's names.

"No, Casavir, the lady—ahem—the Knight-Captain was startled by a spider. That's all."

"Very well, then," Casavir said. "You may return to your posts." And then he pushed the door wider and looked at me. His eyes went from me to Ammon and then to the unmade bed. His face hardened. Mine flushed.

"I heard a scream. Jess, may I have a word with you?"

"Come in and shut the door," Ammon said curtly, not bothering to seek my permission. Casavir looked to me before he did so, however, which I appreciated.

The two men were a definite study in contrasts. Ammon was wily as a fox, with hard eyes and no tolerance for fools or incompetence of any sort. Casavir, despite his war-honed body and his scarred hands, had the soul of a poet.

And yet in some strange way they were alike as well. Both of them had suffered in their desire to protect the innocent. Casavir had ended up deserting Neverwinter's service when he felt that Nasher's politics got in the way of his true duty. Ammon had joined Neverwinter's court in the hopes of rallying a defense against the King of Shadows—until their ridicule and indifference drove him to seek darker allies. His theft of the Sword of Gith and attack on the King of Shadows, like Casavir's single-handed assault upon the orc tribes, seemed an insanely heroic form of suicide.

They were both mad. Given our task, that was not such a bad thing.

Casavir eyed Ammon uneasily. I knew he loathed Ammon as much as he allowed himself to loathe any man. He certainly avoided him as much as possible. He hated the fact that, due to the debacle of the Ritual of Purification, Ammon's presence was required to defeat the King of Shadows. Although I think he actually considered Ammon more honorable or perhaps simply more predictable than Bishop, I sensed that he held some slight strands of compassion for Bishop where he felt none for Ammon. Sometimes I wondered if it was the very similarities between Casavir and Ammon that made him feel such antipathy. I wondered if Casavir feared that he himself, in the same situation, could have ended up making the same terrible choices.

"What has happened?" Casavir asked. He gave Ammon a pointed look, but whether it was an accusation or an invitation to leave, I wasn't sure. Both, perhaps. Casavir, of course, knew me too well to buy the spider story. I looked at Ammon, unsure how much he wanted to share but the warlock motioned for Casavir to approach the bed, still pulled away from the wall.

"What do you make of that?" he asked the paladin, pointing to the glyph behind the headboard. Casavir took a close look and then pulled away with an expression of extreme distaste. I noticed he did not touch the symbol. I wished I hadn't. My fingertips still felt slimy.

"This is demonic," he said. "Who scribed this here?"

"That is what we were trying to find out when we were interrupted," Ammon said coolly. "The scream you heard was the succubus who was summoned by this glyph."

"A succubus has been called to the Knight-Captain's bed?" He gave me a worried look.

"I'm okay," I said. "I've been having dreams, but that's all. She didn't harm me." I turned to Ammon. "Can we get rid of this thing now? I'd rather not have to bunk down with Elanee or Neeshka tonight."

"I didn't finish questioning Hatsou," he said.

"Questioning the succubus?" Casavir asked, and the look of distaste was back.

"You could help with that," Ammon told him. "When I summon her, can you compel her to speak the truth?"

"That is not so easy, particularly with a demon," Casavir said. "They are accustomed to speaking evasively. Besides…" Ammon interrupted.

"Even if you cannot compel the truth, you can still detect it, can you not? That could be useful."

"We are not doing this," I said. Asking Casavir to help interrogate some succubus, even if he agreed to it (which seemed unlikely) was just wrong. Even exposing him to her presence seemed wrong. Ammon might not care—and in fact I was sure he didn't—but I clearly remembered the distress the paladin had felt amongst the demons in the Haven.

"Do we really need to hear any more of her lies?" I asked. I was getting tired and I was ready for these men to get out of my room so I could get out of Neeshka's clothes. "Despite what Hatsou said, I know you didn't do this," I told Ammon.

"The succubus claimed that Jerro called her here?" Casavir asked in growing suspicion. I held up my hand.

"She was lying," I said. "Ammon is not that stupid." Ammon's lips twitched in amusement at that heartfelt tribute. "And I really don't think this was some souvenir from Black Garius' stay. She knew you, Ammon. I think this little plot or whatever it is was aimed at you, not me. You might want to check that there aren't any glyphs inscribed on your bed."

"I would sense it if there was," he said.

"Well, maybe that is why I was targeted," I said. "I think one of your old demonic girlfriends is mad at you. Maybe she wants to get me mad at you too." I started to grin at Ammon's scornful look but I caught a glance of Casavir's expression. Oh dear. "So please," I said. "Destroy the glyph."

"Your wish is my command, Knight-Captain," Ammon said with a mocking half-bow and then he brushed his fingers across the glyph. There was a thread of smoke and a whiff of something dead and rotten. I leaned over his shoulder to look. All that remained was a scorched mark.

"Thanks," I said and we shoved the bed back into place. I gave the men an expectant look which they missed because they were busy glaring at each other. "Thanks," I said with more emphasis. "Good evening."

They didn't move.

"My lady," Casavir said. "May I have a word in private?" Ammon, looking sardonic, sat down in one of my comfortable chairs by the fireplace and stretched his legs out. The fire had long since burned down to embers but his position was plain: he wasn't leaving yet. I sighed and pulled Casavir out into the corridor. It was very quiet and the Greycloaks were out of earshot.

"What is it, Casavir?"

"You seem convinced that Ammon is not responsible for this attack on your…person," he said.

"I am certain. He alerted me to it. Besides, why would he do such a thing?"

"He is a man of few scruples."

"Do you really think he would try to, what, corrupt me, for no reason? I'm the Shard Bearer, Casavir, and he seems to believe Zhjaeve when she says I am the one who must repair and wield Gith's sword. You know how he feels about the King of Shadows. He would not jeopardize me out of maliciousness."

"Pardon my bluntness but perhaps he intends to seduce you."

"Well, I haven't seen any sign of that," I said with mild exasperation. Signs of scorn and sarcasm, yes—seduction, no. "It seems like most men would try the normal methods first—you know, flowers, candy and sweet words." Or strong drink. Hey, wait a moment, he had got me drunk. Still, nothing had happened so that didn't count. Hells, Khelgar had gotten me drunk, and on more than one occasion too.

"Jerro isn't 'most men' and he is accustomed to using demons to do his bidding."

"Casavir," I said. I laid my hand on his arm. "I believe the succubus was here to sow dissent and suspicion amongst us, particularly against Ammon. Please don't let her succeed in her goals."

"I don't want you to get hurt."

"I'll be careful," I said and I patted his arm. "Good night." He gave me a sad look and then he left. So now I just had to rid myself of the warlock.

I left the door wide open as a gentle hint and walked over to Ammon. The stone floor was cold under my bare feet.

"Did you hear any of that?" I asked with sudden suspicion at his bland look.

"I didn't need to hear him," he said. "The paladin is predictable to a fault."

"He is strong and reliable and he cares what happens to me. I don't see that as a fault."

"I know."

"I'm tired, Ammon. What do you want?"

"What do you want?" He was still sprawled in my favorite chair, the picture of total relaxation, except for his sharp foxy eyes.

"I'm not really in the mood for trick questions. I want to go to bed."

"Alone?"

I felt the heat rise to my face.

"The glyph is gone," I said. "I don't need any protection tonight."

"I wasn't offering to protect you." He raised one brow.

Oh. Oh hells.

I remembered the feel of the succubus' cold hands on my skin and I wondered how it would feel if Ammon's warm hands touched me where she had. I couldn't have spoken if the room had suddenly burst into flames (it felt like it had) and that was good because I had absolutely no idea of what I would or should say. Lazily, he stood. He put his hand under my chin and stared down at me for a moment.

"Never mind," he said. "I can see the answer on your face."

I could have stopped him with a word but nothing came. He walked to the door. With his hand on the latch, he turned and gave me one of his secretive smiles.

"Sleep well, Jess."

So of course I hardly slept at all and this time I had no succubus to blame.

I was such a fool.