Ambrosi awoke to the disconcerting feeling of being watched. Intently.
Instinctively, her nerves flared to life as her senses turned on to survival mode. Daeghun had taught his foster-daughter well and coupled with the last year's worth of perilous adventures, she'd learned to constantly be on guard, even upon waking.
Keeping her eyes closed and breathing steady, she assessed that she was in the same bed in the same room and still wearing the simple shift from last night. Inhaling deeply, she ignored the smell of sickness and sweat emanating from her own pores. Instead she focused on the delicate scent of the forest wafting off of the person standing next to her bed. It was a crisp, natural fragrance with underlying notes of wood smoke and magic. It could only belong to one person. Ambrosi immediately relaxed.
"Sheva," she whispered.
"Ah! You are awake. I thought so," Sheva said in Common with the thick accent of a Rashemi. "This morning is truly blessed. Open your eyes and greet the new day, Ambrosi Starsong,"
Ambrosi complied, albeit slowly. And though it took a moment to focus, she still had to rub her eyes to believe what she saw: Sheva Whitefeather was smiling at her. The hathran's green eyes sparkled with genuine concern behind an elaborate mask made of hammered gold and white eagle feathers.
"Why is today blessed?" Ambrosi asked.
The gray-haired witch raised a brow, "Can't you guess?"
"Umm...the sun came up?"
"That isn't the blessing I am referring to."
Ambrosi rubbed her forehead and sighed, "If I had known there was going to be a test, I would have stayed unconscious."
Sheva laughed and poked her arm gently, "It's you. You're alive and it is a blessing. Everyone will be so pleased!"
"They will?"
"Of course!"
"Where is Gann?" Ambrosi wondered aloud and sat up against the fluffy pillows.
Sheva's lips quirked into a bemused smile, "He was wearing out the floor boards in the hallways with all of his pacing and worrying. He's been very…anxious for you to awaken. But this morning I convinced him to get some fresh air and visit Okku outside the city gates. I'm sure he'll return shortly."
Ambrosi yawned and stretched her arms above her head, trying to work out the limp feeling in her muscles. "I can't wait to see him. And Safiya and Okku..."
She paused for a moment thinking "and Kaelyn" when she remembered that wouldn't be possible. Kaelyn was no longer a friend or ally. She'd chosen to lead the Betrayer's Crusade when Ambrosi had declined the offer. Then the back-stabbing bitch and her siblings had attacked Gann, Safiya and herself outside the Temple of Kelemvor when it was clear their cause was lost. Ambrosi had fought Kaelyn ferociously and barely reigned in her fury in time not to kill the Celestial. In the end, she just couldn't deliver the killing blow. She'd left Kaelyn and the Menagerie broken, beaten but alive in the Fugue Plane.
Clearing her throat, she looked to Sheva, "A-and everyone. I can't wait to see everyone."
"I'm so happy to hear you say that. The townsfolk were growing anxious waiting for you to awaken," Sheva said.
"Really?"
"Of course! The entire city is deep in preparations for the Midsummer Revels in three days. It puts a damper on the celebrations when the guest of honor is in a coma. The tournament and the masquerade feast are being dedicated in your honor!"
"That is...um...really surprising," Ambrosi said, mostly taken aback by Sheva's unexpected cheeriness.
The de facto leader of Mulsantir had been anything but kind or cheery when they first met. Her assistants, Kazimika and Katya, were downright hostile to the point of near-violence. Subsequent meetings with the witches had been lukewarm at best. It wasn't until after Ambrosi restored the Wood Man as the guardian of the Ashenwood that the wychlaran's attitude changed to respectful courtesy. Now that the Spirit Eater's curse was well and truly broken, it seemed the hathran's attitude had changed once again while Ambrosi slept.
Sheva chirped happily, "Midsummer is a favorite holiday here in Mulsantir. People travel from far and wide to participate in the festivities. But this year is particularly special…because of you. So special in fact that for the first time, the Iron Lord is sending a representative from his court in Immilmar to witness the celebrations here."
"How nice of him," Ambrosi managed say before Sheva continued with a conspiratorial wink.
"Isn't it though? Actually, I wrote the Huhrong weeks ago and thoughtfully suggested that it would be in his best interests to send a representative from court to meet you, considering all the good you have done for Rashemen. As I expected, he did not dare deny my very reasonable request; especially since he knows it was my tie-breaking vote that made him Iron Lord in the first place."
"Oh, politics," Ambrosi murmured, remembering a fact Gann once told her about Rashemen's peculiar governmental structure: The Iron Lord was only the nominal ruler of Rashemen. The true power belonged to the witches and they could replace him with a new candidate when and if they pleased.
"Exactly. When I commune with the spirits, they whisper to me that the Iron Lord is sending a bard; a very handsome, skilled and eloquent man. Even now, he travels by ship down Lake Ashane to the Mulsantir River!"
"How exciting," Ambrosi said sounding less than enthused, her mind occupied with thoughts of the last time she'd been able to celebrate a holiday.
It had been the Harvest Festival in West Harbor nearly...she paused a moment to count backwards in time... twenty months ago!
It had been a perfect autumn day full of fun and friendship. She had won the Harvest Cup with Amie and Bevil's assistance and they joked about winning it again the following year. How young and innocent they had been...so foolish, naive and stupid. Her throat constricted and she swallowed back the bitter taste of sadness and rage. That very night, everything had changed when the Gith attacked.
Gods above...it was nearly a year already since the battle with the King of Shadows. The fifth day of Highsun would mark the day exactly!
Was anyone looking for her? Did they miss her? Had Lord Nasher declared her officially dead?
She licked her lips, guessing the answer. Probably.
And why wouldn't he? By now, all of her companions who had fought beside her in the Vale and survived would be accounted for. She couldn't imagine anyone still had any hope that the Knight Captain of Crossroads Keep was alive. Too much time had already passed.
"Ambrosi," Sheva's voice cut into her musings, "You look troubled. What is wrong?"
Before she could answer, the door opened and two young women stood in the threshold. Identical twins, both were tall and blond with their hair tied up and back in the intricate style of the hathrans. They wore simple wooden masks decorated with owl feathers and in traditional Rashemi fashion; their dress robes were very plain and muted in color.
With their heads slightly bowed down and eyes down cast, the two girls stepped inside the room. Under Sheva's watchful gaze, they executed a brief curtsey and said in unison, "Blessed morning, Mistress."
Ambrosi shot Sheva a quizzical look and the hathran chuckled at her confusion. "Ambrosi, I have assigned Jayna and Jevra to be your personal assistants. You will find them quite attentive and very skilled at the healing arts…it is part of their ethran training. They will be attending to your every need," Sheva said.
"Oh, no. No, that really isn't necessa—"Ambrosi began but was interrupted by a sharp wave of Sheva's hand.
"As you have been in a deep slumber for two ten-days, you will feel very weak at first. The twins are mostly here to ensure you don't fall on your face every time you stand up."
Ambrosi smirked and sat up quickly, shoving the blankets and furs off of her body with a sweeping gesture. "I appreciate your concern, Sheva," she started to say as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The second her feet made contact with the cold, wooden floor, Ambrosi stood up and hopped out of the bed with a defiant flourish. "But as you can see, I am perfectly fin-nnne…"
And suddenly the world spun upside-down and her feet were no longer steady on the cold, wooden floor. Ambrosi felt her center of balance twist sharply in her solar plexus and she staggered forward just as her knees buckled.
In a shocking display of speed and strength, the twins moved faster than she could fall and caught her up by the shoulders before she collapsed. Just as quickly, they maneuvered her with gentle but firm hands into a sitting position on the bed.
"You were saying?" Sheva smirked crossing her arms over her chest.
"I don't remember," Ambrosi groaned and sagged forward to rest her head in her hands. Breaking into a cold sweat, she twisted her tangled red curls into a loose bun on top of her head and willed herself not to pass out.
"Do you feel dizzy, Lady Ambrosi?" one of the twins asked.
"Horribly."
"Good. That is normal. We have a few potions that will help combat the nausea and bolster your strength. After you get some food on your stomach, we will give them to you," the other twin said and Ambrosi nodded meekly. She disliked being waited on, even by servants and especially by strangers, but was too weak to protest at the moment.
Sheva stepped forward and patted Ambrosi's shoulder, "Baby steps, Ambrosi. The road to recovery takes baby steps. On that note, I shall leave you in the twins' skillful hands."
"Great," Ambrosi pouted.
"If it makes you feel any better, when Gann tried to pull the same stunt when he woke up, we just let him fall," Sheva said. Despite feeling overwhelmingly nauseous, Ambrosi chuckled picturing the handsome hagspawn sprawled out awkwardly on the floor.
"Actually, that does make me feel better."
Sheva laughed, "I thought it would. Something else that will make you feel better is a nice hot bath. I will have the stable boy bring in the wooden tub and the kitchen staff has already prepared a several vats of hot water. And I have a supply of soaps and oils that will be at your disposal. I do hope you use them…the stench of sleep and sickness clings to your skin. It is time to scrub away the remnants of your past ordeals and start life anew."
"I'm sorry my scent offends your delicate senses, Sheva. I just didn't find the time to bathe while I was in a co-ma," Ambrosi drawled sweetly.
"Ah... I wasn't expecting sassy comebacks from you until at least tomorrow," Sheva grinned and walked to the door. As she moved to grab the handle, she turned back, "And do take your time, Ambrosi. Eat, drink, and bathe at your leisure. You will find several new articles of clothing made especially for you in the armoire. When you are ready, we will be waiting for you at the Temple of the Three."
"We?" Ambrosi mused. "I hope you are not expecting a big crowd. I don't have the energy for a mob today."
Sheva paused at the door. She stood nervously still with only a slight twitch of her lips that betrayed her calm façade, "Not a big crowd," she finally said, "but there is someone here that may surprise you."
"Someone?" Ambrosi asked. "Do I know this person?"
"In an abstract and indirect way…yes, I suppose you do."
"Hmm….how vaguely intriguing. Considering my adventures of the last year and a half I have learned to dislike surprises. Please tell me this is a good one."
"It is a…rare opportunity that is not afforded to most people. That is all you are going to get out of me for now."
"Ah. Well then I shall meet you and your surprise guest at the Temple at sunset."
"Excellent!" Sheva said and then addressed her assistants, "Carry on, girls. I suspect she will be a much more cooperative patient than Gann but summon me immediately if you encounter any…difficulties."
"Yes, Mistress," they agreed in sing-song voices and the grey-haired hathran exited the room.
Ambrosi sighed and sat up, warily eyeing the eager young ethrans. "I suppose Sheva is right. Bathing is a priority."
"Of course, my lady," Jayna agreed a little too quickly for Ambrosi's liking. "And we'll be changing your bedding too. We have fresh linens ready."
Ambrosi rolled her eyes, "And I suppose you'll be burning the shift I'm wearing as soon as I'm in the tub."
"Only as a last resort, my lady," Jayna quipped with a twinkle her eyes. "We'll try washing it first."
"Hmph," Ambrosi responded holding back a smile. "Well, before we begin, there is just one thing I need you both to do."
"Yes, my lady?" the girls asked.
Ambrosi chuckled, "Please drop the formalities. I hold no titles in Rashemen and I am no lady, believe me. Besides, I am probably not much older than the two of you. Just call me Ambrosi."
The twins exchanged anxious looks but finally nodded reluctantly. "In the privacy of your chamber, we shall do as you wish," Jevra said. "But in the presence of Mistress Sheva, we must address you properly."
"Agreed. That is a very diplomatic solution. I like it," Ambrosi smiled just as her stomach growled to life. "If it isn't too much trouble, could I get some tea and honey-cakes? Oh, and maybe some eggs? I haven't eaten in weeks."
"Right away!" the twins said in unison and scurried off to perform their assigned tasks. Feeling useless and suddenly tired again, Ambrosi fell back into the rumpled covers on the bed. She could already tell that this was going to be a long, long day.
OooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooO
At that very moment in Neverwinter, far across the continent to the west, Lord Nasher Alagondar was conducting a closed meeting with a representative of the Trade Commission from Waterdeep. Sitting on the throne in the Grand Hall of Castle Never, Nasher covertly observed the reactions of his courtiers while the Waterdhavian representatives delivered a long-winded report about the necessity of increasing merchant taxes to repair and maintain sections of the High Road.
Like usual, Sir Nevalle stood at the right side of his throne, attentive and focused as ever. Every once in awhile, the young noble would nod his fair head in agreement with something the Waterdhavian representative said. Nasher was always amused that such a battle-hardened warrior like Nevalle was also genuinely interested and quite keen about the economic matters of state. More than once he had deferred to Nevalle's insightful opinions on business-related issues and had benefited from the young man's wisdom.
The lad certainly showed promise. Much more than I ever had when I took the Neverwinter throne.
Nasher stroked his goatee and let his gaze slide over to Sand, the newest member of the Neverwinter Nine, standing to his left. By the sour scowl curling the moon elf's lips, Nasher could tell he was not enjoying the proceedings like Nevalle was.
Nearly a year had passed since the battle with the King of Shadows and somehow Sand had changed from the sly, sarcastic know-it-all Nasher remembered into a quiet, serious and bitter recluse. Still a brilliantly creative wizard, he had become obsessed with improving Neverwinter's security, especially inside the castle. As one of the most powerful magic users in the realm and an unwaveringly loyal subject of Neverwinter, Nasher thought Sand a perfect candidate to fill the open position in his retinue of elite bodyguards.
A position left open by the loss of Neverwinter's beloved Knight Captain...the thought crept in unexpectedly. A wash of sadness filled his heart and Nasher willfully dismissed it before it could take hold and ruin his concentration.
Sand rarely attended day to day Court functions, preferring to carry out special assignments on his own. In fact, he spent much of his time locked away in his wizard's tower, studying arcane books and researching magical defense systems. However, this day he happened to be assigned to Nasher's personal security detail for the Waterdhavian visit and seemed quite impatient for it to be over. Nasher stifled a smile feeling the exact same way.
Reluctantly, he turned his full attention back to the business at hand when something strange happened.
"As I mentioned earlier," the representative was saying, "the Masked Lords of Waterdeep are prepared to divide the assets accrued with the surroun--" And then the man's voice cut off abruptly right in mid-sentence. Actually, it looked like he had suddenly turned into a statue with his mouth agape and his hands frozen in mid-air.
"What in the Nine Hells is going on?" Nasher growled, leaning forward. "Nevalle, check on that man immedia--" But the words died on his lips when he saw Nevalle was seemingly frozen too with a pensive smile on his face. Glancing around the room wildly, Nasher was horrified to find that all the castle guards were standing immobile at their posts like petrified human figurines.
"This is called a Grand Time Stop, my lord," Sand said, unaffected by the permeating sense of stillness that hung in the air. Calmly, the wizard stepped in front of Nasher and stood in a defensive position. His weapon, a very wicked looking spear called The Wizard's Ally, radiated with enchantment as Sand cast several protective spells around the both of them.
"I don't understand...why aren't we frozen like everyone else?" Nasher asked, unsheathing his sword from its golden scabbard next to his throne.
"Someone has gone through quite a bit of trouble to speak with us and they obviously wanted it to be private," Sand drawled and cast Nasher a look over his shoulder. "By the way, if this unexpected visit turns into a situation that compromises your safety, you will be exiting the premises using the secret doorway into Neverneath behind the throne. The door is spelled to recognize you and will open immediately. I will cover your retreat. Are we clear, my lord?"
Nasher raised a bemused brow, shocked and impressed at the same time by the wizard's gall. No one dared order the great Lord of Neverwinter around and he certainly hadn't expected an aura of command to come out of the skinny moon-elf. Admiring Sand's no-nonsense attitude, he nodded gruffly, "As you say, Sir Sand."
Suddenly, a gaping portal of shimmering black and red light ripped the air open right in the middle of the Great Hall. Smoke began to pour out of the portal with hissing menace and the scent of sulfur and blood quickly filled the room. Nasher braced himself for the worst wondering what kind of hell creature was going to emerge from the other side of the smoke.
A long, drawn-out moment of excruciating anticipation ticked by before something finally stepped through the portal...it was a man...an old, bald man...one he recognized instantly. Nasher exhaled the breath he had been holding and leaped to his feet, snarling incredulously, "Jerro!"
Indeed, it was Ammon Jerro, thought long dead and buried in the collapsed ruins of Immil Vale. The warlock's eyes and the latticework of tattoos covering his forehead and face radiated with a golden-red luminescence. Wearing his trademark black eldritch robes and carrying a deceptively simple staff, Jerro moved forward, carefully side-stepping the frozen Waterdhavian representative. The portal immediately swirled closed behind him.
Sand grit his teeth, working the muscles in his jaw, and glared down at Jerro from the steps in front of Nasher's throne. Enraged at the warlock's unexpected appearance and alternatively disappointed that he was not truly dead, he gripped the length of his spear so tightly he could feel his nails digging into his palms drawing blood. Sand could not contain his anger a second longer and snapped, "Look at what the pit fiend dragged in, Lord Nasher. Our dead, old, granddaughter-murdering ally, Ammon Jerro."
"As you can see, I'm not so dead," Jerro smirked.
"Oh, that can be arranged," Sand intoned breathlessly, his voice dripping with venom. "And this time, it would be permanent.
Jerro's eyes sparked with hellfire and he growled, "Spare me the theatrics, hedge-wizard. I don't have the time nor the patience to indulge your pathetic need to hear yourself speak."
Sand's nostrils flared and he waved his spear with menacing intent in Ammon's direction, "You dare to call me a hedge-wizard, you incompetent demon conjurer!"
Taken aback by Sand's instant animosity towards the warlock, Nasher quickly stepped down from the dais, placing a restraining hand on his over-wrought bodyguard's shoulder. He had no desire to see the two magic-users exchange blows in these highly unusual circumstances. Obviously Jerro was here for a reason and he intended to find out why. Shaking, Sand stared at his liege lord through the fog of anger clouding his vision and relaxed slightly, deferring to Nasher's unspoken command of "calm down."
"Speaking of theatrics," Nasher began as he turned to face Jerro, "you went through extraordinary lengths to get my attention. Now you have it. I'm giving you five seconds to explain yourself before I slam my fist into your smug, ugly face."
Jerro straightened his spine and stood erect, staring up into the Lord of Neverwinter's deep, brown eyes. "Very well. Since I only have five seconds, I'll simply tell you this: Ambrosi Starsong, your precious Knight Captain, is alive."
Nasher inhaled sharply and felt the color drain from his face in shock. "Excuse me?"
"As a courtesy to Ambrosi for her recent assistance in Rashemen, I thought it important to let you know of her status. My sources in the Abyss confirmed that she was indeed alive after her adventures in the Fugue Plane and I came to notify you as soon as I was able. I wanted to tell you directly and as confidentially as possible," Jerro explained. "There is more story to tell but it seems my five seconds is up. Now you may beat me into a bloody pulp, milord," he finished with a mock bow.
"Maybe...later," Nasher said with a huge grin, his heart racing with excitement. Feeling a moment of true relief and happiness for the first time in a year, he chuckled under his breath. By Tyr's grace, Lady Ambrosi was alive!
This was the best news he'd heard in ages and it came not a moment too soon! Since the War of Shadow, the economy had slid into a pit of depression the likes had never been seen in the Western continent before. Crime and poverty rates were dangerously high in all the major cities on the Sword Coast. Even with the help of a new, enterprising merchant-come-hero named Talon Redswift, who owned the Redswift Trading Company and was single-handedly keeping the economy afloat with his business savvy, the situation was not improving fast enough for Nasher's liking.
Neverwinter would rejoice in the Knight Captain's return and the celebration he intended to throw in her honor would be exactly the morale boost and distraction his subjects needed!
"Tell us everything," Sand's terse demand broke into his reverie.
Ammon Jerro lifted a wry brow, "It is quite a long story. How much time do you have?"
"Considering we are in the middle of your wretched slow spell, how fast can you talk, warlock?" Sand said with a sly smirk and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Fast enough to freeze you inside this Time Stop with everybody else before you could lift your little stick to stop me," the warlock shot back with disdain.
"Enough!" Nasher growled and both magic users glared at him with eyes simmering with resentment. "I'll not officiate a wizard's battle until after I hear what Jerro has to say!"
"Where shall I begin, Nasher?" Jerro asked lightly in his usual style, purposely omitting the nobleman's title.
Nasher ignored the slight and settled back into his throne to hear the warlock's story. "Begin with the final battle with the King of Shadows and go from there."
"I'm no bard...so this may be kind of rough," Jerro warned and leaned against his staff, recanting his version of the Knight Captain's remarkable story.
When the tale had been told, Nasher was about ready to leap from his seat with joy and relief. His initial excitement was immediately tempered by the grim look he saw on Sand's face.
Even Jerro noticed and said gruffly, "Aye, you're worried what Akachi did to her. When I last saw her, even with the Beast eating her up from the inside, she was hale and hearty as can be expected. Ragged around the edges, skinnier than usual, but still beautiful…and supremely stubborn."
"And some wounds are so deep that the scars can never heal. Akachi's Curse, from what I have read, is the worst punishment ever doled out to humans by the Gods. Can she ever be a whole person again?" Sand wondered aloud.
Nasher's excitement waned yet again. Sand was right: How much of the Lady Ambrosi they all knew and loved remained after enduring such a heavy curse and living through such an ordeal?
Jerro leaned forward on his staff, "From what I can tell, that woman burns so brightly from the inside it is as if she was powered by dragon fire itself. Perhaps she was destined to bear the curse and break it because she had a little extra fire to spare."
Nasher smiled, touched by the warlock's sentimental turn of phrase and was pleased to see Sand's expression lighten a bit. "Well said, Jerro. I think I will save beating your face to a pulp for another day. Now....we have some planning to do."