Daggers
"We should have stopped when the sun went down," Imoen complained as she and Saunder trudged through the night, following the road south as best they could. A gust of wind tore through the trees and Imoen pulled her cloak tighter about herself.
"Beregost can't be too much further," Saunder said.
"You said that more than an hour ago," Imoen whined.
"We might have been there an hour ago if you could keep the pace!" Saunder snapped back.
"We should have tried to get back into Candlekeep," said Imoen.
"I seem to remember asking you to do the same thing."
"Well, the Watchers–"
"Would probably have let you back in with Winthrop's word," Saunder interrupted.
Imoen was quiet for a moment but was determined to keep talking, certain that she would be even colder if she allowed her mouth to stop moving. "Well I couldn't just let you go alone."
Saunder stopped and faced Imoen, "Why not?"
"Well," Imoen sputtered, "someone has to make sure you don't get yourself into more trouble than you can get out of."
The grim cast fell from Saunder's face and he hugged Imoen. "I'm glad you're here Im," he said, remembering that the swordswoman could easily have slain him if not for her.
"Thanks," Imoen replied softly.
"But we still need to reach Beregost tonight," said Saunder, as he resumed walking.
Imoen grimaced but didn't say anything. Soon she felt that the cold abated and easily kept pace with Saunder, until a man dove out of his cover in the brush along the roadside and tackled Imoen, knocking the breath from her as she fell.
The man who would have tackled Saunder made his move seconds too late and impaled himself on Saunder's sword. The young paladin heard a third man emerging from the brush behind him and whirled about in time to parry the man's descending mace but was sorely taken aback when his long sword snapped as the mace passed through it.
Saunder jumped back and was grateful that he still had a quarter of the blade left. The malevolence in the man's smile was unmistakable as he brandished his mace and started again for Saunder. But the man was halted in his path when an arrow sped through the night and perforated his throat. He collapsed slowly, choking on his own blood.
Saunder was already turning back to Imoen. The man he had heard tackle her now held a knife to her throat. Where did the arrow come from then? Saunder wondered.
"Drop what's left of your sword, boy," the man demanded, his eyes were as wide and searched the darkness frantically. He doesn't know where the shot came from either. "Now," the man growled.
Saunder saw a vague shape begin to emerge out of the shadows behind the man who held Imoen, and slowly put down what was left of his sword.
The vague outline of a man darted forward, grabbed the arm that held the knife and pulled it away from Imoen's throat. When the man's grip slackened, Imoen wrenched away and ran towards Saunder, who had snatched up the mace of the fallen man. The vague shape twisted the hand that held the knife, embedding the blade in its holder's heart. The shape let go and the man fell. When the outline stepped into the moonlight there was still little to see, the figure appeared to be a little shorter than Saunder but was swathed in a dark cloak that covered all of its features.
"You are fools to travel at this hour and not be on your guard," said the cloaked figure, a man by his voice. As he came closer, Saunder saw that he had a bow, quiver, and spear slung across his back, "all manner of brigands, highwaymen, robbers, and thieves travel these roads. In truth, a traveler must be on his guard during the day too." The man's voice was not deep or gruff, but there was a coldness to it.
"And what are you doing out at this hour?" asked Imoen, her hand resting defensively on the hilt of her short sword.
"You are right to question my motives. I am hunting brigands and had planned on following these three back to their camp. Obviously, that is no longer possible. You are going to Beregost, no?"
"We are," said Saunder.
"I will accompany you then, it would be foolish of me to save you and then leave you to the mercy of any other brigands who may be prowling these roads."
"How far away is Beregost from here?" asked Imoen.
"Less than an hour's walk," replied the cloaked man as he started down the road. Saunder girt the mace of the brigand he had slain and dropped the scabbard of his broken sword.
"You should avoid using any swords that have been forged recently," the cloaked man told Saunder as they walked.
"Why is that?" asked Saunder.
"Are you unaware of the tainted iron supply?"
"I knew that there was a shortage," Saunder admitted, "I don't recall hearing of the iron being tainted."
"Why did you think the Watchers were always complaining about their weapons breaking?" asked Imoen.
Saunder didn't say anything this time.
"Bandits raid every caravan bearing iron that travels along the Coast Way and what little iron is obtained from the Nashkel mines is either completely unuseable or frail, as your sword was."
"Why is the iron from Nashkel tainted?" asked Imoen.
"I've heard a number of stories about the mines, each more far-fetched than the last. I don't intend to believe any of them until I see for myself."
"You intend to go to the mines?" asked Saunder.
"I do," the cloaked man replied, "tomorrow I will journey to Nashkel and discover what plagues the mines."
The three walked in silence for a time. Imoen broke the silence: "You know, we still don't know your name."
"And I don't know yours."
"Let's not be strangers any longer then, my name is Imoen and his is Saunder."
"Kivan," the cloaked man replied curtly.
"Where are you from?"
"Now I understand why you were waylaid, you make so much noise a dwarf could find you without difficulty."
"Now wait–"
"He has a point Im, if we talk some skulking bandit will be able to hear us and we'll be even less likely to hear them."
Imoen shot an irritated glance at Saunder, but kept her mouth shut.
Beregost first appeared as distant specks of light visible through the trees and then as vague outlines before the travelers stepped out of the woods surrounding the sprawl of buildings.
"Where are you going?" asked Kivan as they stepped into the town.
Saunder and Imoen exchanged glances. "We don't know," Saunder replied.
"What? How long have the two of you been on the road?"
"Only a few days."
"From where, the Friendly Arm?"
"Candlekeep."
"Oh, that cloister of librarians and mages. Why did you leave?"
Saunder hesitated and Kivan resumed walking, "I can see you've no desire to talk, that I can understand. I will stay at the Red Sheaf Inn. Do you have any coin?"
Saunder nodded.
"Then you'll be able to pay your own way, the Red Sheaf is inexpensive."
Candles in the common room of the Red Sheaf Inn cast exaggerated shadows of the inn's patrons on the low ceiling. There were only a few people left in the common room, few of them spoke, and even then only in murmurs.
Kivan strode into the common room with Saunder and Imoen trailing behind. Saunder noted how different this common room was from the one back at the Candlekeep Inn. Both places were fairly quiet, but here there was a vital tension, a feeling of realness absent at Candlekeep. The people here looked to be merchants and mercenaries, not the pretentious and self-important nobles and scholars who frequented Candlekeep.
There was something else as well. Saunder tried to think about what it might be but it eluded him. Something he felt he should be seeing but didn't.
"Get a table," said Kivan, "I know the innkeeper; he'll get us something to eat."
As Kivan walked toward the bar he pulled back his hood and Saunder and Imoen saw his pointed ears.
"I didn't realize he was an elf," Saunder murmured.
"He did seem a little grave for one," Imoen added, "come on, let's get a table like he said."
There were many tables to chose from. The pair chose the closest and sat down with relief. After so many hours of walking, the comfort provided by the wooden chairs was duly appreciated.
"What are we going to do?" Imoen asked.
"I don't know," Saunder admitted, "maybe it would have been a better idea to have gone to the Friendly Arm Inn, where Gorion told me to go."
"You always were slow."
Saunder sighed. "Maybe we should stay with Kivan."
"I don't like him," Imoen said flatly.
"Why? Because he told you to be quiet?"
"There's something wrong with that man–elf. He's not telling us something."
"We're not telling him a lot of things either."
Imoen glowered at Saunder, then grimaced and broke her gaze.
"I can't think of anything else we can do Imoen. If you have any ideas I'm more than willing to take suggestions."
Imoen looked back up at Sander, then her eyes shot wide. "Behind you!" she screamed.
Saunder dove out of his chair and avoided the knife that had been intended for his ribs. After scrambling to his feet Saunder saw an armored dwarf shove aside the chair he had just been sitting in. The dwarf dropped his knife and ungirt an axe from his side, his face imperceptible behind a conical helm and thick beard.
Saunder unfastened the mace from his belt and jumped back to avoid the dwarf's swing then lunged forward and struck the dwarf on his shoulder. The dwarf cursed loudly and bashed Saunder's face with his shield, causing him drop his weapon, then brought his axe down. Saunder caught the haft of the descending axe with both hands, but the dwarf was strong, and Saunder knew he couldn't hold for long. An arrow struck the dwarf's breastplate but glanced off and Saunder seized the opportunity and shoved the dwarf away and against a table.
With Saunder a safe distance away from the dwarf, Kivan loosed the arrow that perforated the dwarf's knee. The crippled dwarf took only one step before collapsing. Kivan approached the three at the corner of the common room. Imoen still held her bow with an arrow nocked, Saunder stood a few feet away from the fallen dwarf tensely holding his mace, both were facing the dwarf where he sat, crumpled in front of a chair.
"Kivan," muttered the dwarf when he saw the elf, "I didn't figure you for one to shoot a dwarf in the back of his knee."
"I can't claim to be surprised at seeing you try to stab a man in the back, Karlat," Kivan said as he kicked the dwarf's axe away, "Tell me, did someone hire you to kill them or is this on your own time." The dwarf was silent. "Tell me, or I'll put an arrow through your elbow." The dwarf still refused to talk, Kivan did just as he said he would and the dwarf uttered a series of incomprehensible curses.
Kivan turned as the innkeeper approached, a tall, lanky man with cold eyes. Beside the innkeeper was a large man with a cudgel girt at his side.
"I don't care what you do with this dwarf," the innkeeper whispered, "you know I'm no friend of thieves and would-be murderers, but do it quietly. I don't want the Flaming Fist showing up because of the dwarf's hollering."
"Let me take him to the cellar then," Kivan replied cooly.
The innkeeper faced the man standing beside him, "Haig, help my friend take this dwarf down to the cellar."
"The two of you stay here for now," Kivan told Saunder and Imoen.
Saunder watched as Kivan and the large man hauled the dwarf, who, fortunately, had lost consciousness, through a door at the far end of the common room and the innkeeper disappeared behind the bar, then became conscious of the fact that he still held his mace and girt it.
"Let's get a different table," Imoen suggested. Saunder nodded.
Despite the commotion, most of the patrons seemed unmoved. Within a few minutes, a serving woman brought the two porridge and rye bread. The steaming porridge made the two travelers realize how long it had been since their last meals.
When he had finished devouring his meal, Saunder remembered the feeling he had when he stepped into the inn, whose meaning eluded him. Now he understood that it must have had something to do with the dwarf, Karlat. In the future, I need to be more cognizant of that feeling. It may save my life.
"I see you two are done." Saunder looked up from his porridge and saw the innkeeper, staring down at him with an unreadable expression. Saunder nodded. "You're staying here tonight, no? Unless if the elf's paying for you, it's ten coppers a room."
Saunder nodded, retrieved the coppers from his purse and handed them to the innkeeper who took them and removed a key from the massive key ring that hung from his belt. He examined the key as if to ensure it was the correct one and handed it to Saunder.
"The room is the third on the left. Have a good night," he said, gruffly.
"Thank you," said Saunder. The innkeeper nodded curtly and left to attend other business.
"He wasn't friendly at all," Imoen complained.
"He thinks we're trouble," Saunder said, standing up. At the same moment the cellar door opened and Kivan stepped through.
"Do you have a room?" he asked.
"Yes," Saunder replied.
"We'll go to it now. We cannot discuss this matter in public."
"Where's the other man who went down with you?" asked Imoen.
"Getting rid of the body," Kivan replied.
The room the innkeeper had given them was sparsely furnished, with two beds and a single nightstand between them.
"Sit down and speak softly, the walls are thin," said Kivan, and sat on one bed while Saunder and Imoen on the other. "I did not find out much from the dwarf. He was bound by a geas, you know what that is?"
"A magical binding used to ensure loyalty and obedience. Disobeying a geas results in pain or death and breaking a geas is nearly impossible," Imoen said as if by rote.
Kivan nodded, "Karlat was bound with one which was supposed to keep him from telling me anything about his motives. This geas was particularly restrictive, and my questioning resulted in his death."
Imoen winced.
"You killed him?" Saunder asked.
"Yes. I didn't get much out of him other than a name: Tazok." Kivan's eyes gleamed coldly.
"You know who that is?" asked Imoen.
"He is a leader among bandits, a savage half-ogre I've been hunting for years. Now I have a question to ask you, why would Tazok specifically want you dead?"
"I don't know," Saunder admitted, "I've lived in Candlekeep my entire life and never seriously wronged anyone."
"Why did you leave Candlekeep?"
"Gorion . . ." Saunder paused and looked at Imoen, who was staring at him.
"Gorion, who is that?" Kivan asked.
"He was my foster-father," Saunder said, facing Kivan again, "he said we had to leave Candlekeep, that it wasn't safe. We weren't a hundred paces past the gates when we were ambushed."
"By whom?"
"I'm not sure how many there were. It was dark. There were maybe five or six of them. Many ogres and two people I think were humans. One of them was very tall, six, maybe even seven feet, and he wielded a great sword with one hand."
"That may have been Tazok. It sounds like the right height for a half-ogre."
"I don't think so, unless Tazok's eyes glow yellow, like fire. He killed Gorion, and I ran. Later on I found Imoen."
"You didn't leave together?" Kivan asked.
"I followed them," Imoen explained, "since I knew they were leaving."
Kivan's eyes narrowed, "You are not Gorion's foster-child as well then?"
"No," Imoen answered the question as if it were a stupid one.
"Strange, I was certain that you were . . . never mind, apparently I was wrong. I'm digressing. Have you been attacked any other times?"
"A woman attacked me soon after we left Candlekeep but she may have just been a brigand like the ones who attacked us on the way to Beregost."
"A woman brigand? Odd, but not unheard of. Is that all?"
Saunder nodded.
"And you have no idea why all of these people are after you?"
"None," Saunder said.
"Frustrating," Kivan muttered, "maybe your foster-father did something that angered his killer enough that he wants you dead as well."
Saunder shook his head, "The man who killed Gorion said that if he gave me over he would go unharmed."
"A lie, probably. Yet somehow Tazok is involved. I have been hunting Tazok for a long time. When I heard of how prevalent banditry was here, I knew Tazok would come. Yet I can't imagine why he would have any quarrel with you. I suspect he is acting as someone else's lieutenant. Unfortunately, all of this thinking still leaves us with nowhere to start looking."
"What do you intend to do?" asked Saunder.
"I still intend to go to the Nashkel mines and discover what is happening there. You are both welcome to come with me. If we keep our eyes open, we may discover why you are being hunted."
"Im, what do you think?"
Imoen shrugged, "We don't have anywhere else to go, do we?"
Saunder shook his head, faced Kivan, "We'll come."
"Very well," said Kivan, "before we go to the mines there are other things we need to do. First, I need to teach both of you a few things about combat. Saunder, there isn't too much I can teach about melee combat other than a few principles. However, I can teach both of you how to shoot."
"Hey!" Imoen protested, "I can already shoot."
"True, you're a fair enough shot from what I've seen but you need to learn precision. If you are facing an opponent wearing armor you must be able to target the spots that your arrows will penetrate.
"Once I'm confident with your abilities we will travel a short distance west, there is a mad priest there named Bassilus who has been troubling this town and the surrounding farmhouses. Once we're finished, he will trouble Beregost no more."