"Eighty gold," said Imoen.
"No," replied Dorean.
"Ninety."
"No."
"A hundred and the ring, and that's my final offer."
"Really, let me consider, the answer's no."
Imoen slowed down and pouted at the back of Dorean's head for a moment before increasing her walking pace to move back beside him.
"Ain't fair of ya to take the best for yourself, little brother," she said airily. "Some might call that selfish."
Dorean turned his head slightly towards her. "Says the one who got everything else from tonight."
Imoen's expression and voice did not waver. "That ain't selfish. I did most of the work," she said, lifting her chin.
Dorean looked at her and then away. "I suppose you did," he said quietly.
Imoen lowered her head and looked down at the dwarf.
"Well, you did let me take all the rooms," she said. Her voice dropped to match his. "You've never done that before."
Dorean said nothing, looking straight ahead. Uncharacteristic quiet settled between the duo as they walked across the inner grounds.
When they reached the steps leading across the moat to the keep's front entrance, Dorean turned to the side, blinked, and then looked behind him. Imoen was standing in front of the southernmost fountain. The dwarf hesitated, then moved to stand beside her. She spoke the moment he turned to face in the same direction as her.
"Hey. You remember the first time I saw this?"
Dorean blinked and then smiled as the memory came back to him. "Yeah. You thought it was for bathing and jumped in. Then pulled me in by my beard when I tried to get you out."
Imoen giggled. "Your clothes and hair got soaked. You were so angry."
The two thieves stood laughing softly at the fountain. Two priests of Oghma walked by, glancing at them.
After their laughter slowly faded and then stopped, Imoen smiled quietly, continuing to look at the fountain.
"You remember afterwards, when our dads were towelling us dry?"
Dorean's smile faded, and he dropped his gaze to the bottom of the fountain.
"You said you never wanted to be around me again," said Imoen, her voice still merry.
Dorean closed his eyes, feeling an indiscernible weight in the centre of his chest.
"But then not ten minutes later, you were waiting to walk me up to class, like always." Imoen turned to look down at Dorean. "My dad said he could do it, but you always insisted on helping me."
Dorean opened his eyes, looking up at her.
Imoen was smiling down at him, the water-reflected moonlight highlighting her eyes.
The dwarf hesitated. "Well. I figured if I was going to have a partner-in-crime, I should start teaching her properly."
Imoen laughed. "Yeah. Teaching yer ten-year-old future rogue to climb stairs without falling over herself."
Dorean sighed, still smiling. "You were such a handful back then."
Imoen paused for a moment. "I was, wasn't I?" They blinked at each other. "But I'm not now, right?"
It was Dorean's turn to pause. "I guess I've gotten used to you."
Once again, their smiles faded and they looked back to the fountain. After a moment, Dorean looked up at her.
"Is there something on your mind?"
"I could ask you the same," Imoen replied, her eyes on the flowing water. "You've been awfully quiet since this morning. Didn't say a word during lessons or training."
Dorean slowly looked up at her. "Why didn't you ask me about it then?"
"I figured you would tell me when you felt like it. You always do, sooner or later." Imoen turned her head and smile down at him. The dwarf looked at her, then lowered his gaze to his reflection in the water. He took a deep breath and released it through his nose.
"Gorion told me during breakfast; he'll be taking me out of Candlekeep soon. Three days at most."
Five seconds of silence elapsed before Imoen spoke.
"Oh."
The word seemed to hang in the air between them. Another moment passed. The flowing water and the wind, which was always muffled by the keep's walls, sounded exceptionally loud to Dorean.
"A journey, eh? That's kinda neat."
Dorean froze, then slowly looked up at her. Imoen was now looking at the fountain.
"Guess Mister G feels you're all grown up now." She placed her hands in her pockets and slowly rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet. "Ready to go with him on adventures like in the books we read." She cocked her head slightly and smiled. "I never got to travel." She looked back down to meet his gaze. "Wish I could go with ya."
Dorean continued to look at her, and he opened his mouth. Why don't you?
He stopped as Winthrop's words echoed in his mind. I just want my daughter to be safe.
"Did Mister G say when you'll be coming back?" said Imoen, apparently not noticing his self-interruption.
Dorean paused. "I don't know. Soon, I hope."
Imoen grinned. "Miss me already, do ya?"
Dorean could not help but smile, albeit sadly, as he looked away. "You won't be easy to forget."
He saw Imoen move from the corner of his eye, and then blinked as she bent down and hugged him from the side, wrapping her arms around his chest. He felt her cheek against the back of his head.
"You'll be writing to me, of course," said Imoen cheerily into his ear. "Lots and lots of letters. Telling me all about your adventures. I want a letter detailing every day you spend out there. Then when you come back, we can write a book all about it. Mark it as a tome of great historical value and put it in the library."
Dorean's chin rested on her arm as he lowered his head. He then reached up to return the hug, his left hand on her shoulder and his right arm around her back. He closed his eyes, patting her shoulder and back a few times. "I'll come back. I promise."
"I'll hold you to that. Literally," replied Imoen, tightening her hug. She then released it and leaned back. He opened his eyes to look at her. "Aw, don't cry, little brother."
"I'm not," said Dorean quickly. "These fountains are too strong, we're standing too close, some of it got on my face." He tried and failed to scowl at her knowing smile, glaring at a passing Reader. The woman averted her gaze and hurried past them.
"It ain't goodbye yet, little brother. We still got a couple days, right?" said Imoen. "Whaddaya say we blow off all our chores tomorrow? I'll get us spots at the gambling table. You could make some extra money to buy me stuff on your journey."
Dorean chuckled and smiled at her face, now level with his own. "I'll tell you where I am, and you can send me a list of what you'd want me to buy. Or steal."
Imoen smiled happily, then leaned forward and kissed him square on the forehead. Dorean blinked as she stood and looked up at the full moon.
"We should get some sleep then; we'll need all our energy to cheat them watchful Watchers." She looked down at the dwarf and placed her hands on her hips. "Still gonna make your rounds before you go to bed? It's getting pretty late."
"Reevor'll give me more exercises if I don't, you know that," said Dorean. "I'll make it quick."
"Alright, then," said Imoen. Patting him on his head, she hopped past him and toward the steps.
"Imoen," said Dorean, not turning around.
The pink thief groaned, turned around, walked back and deposited the gem over his shoulder and into his palm. Smirking, Dorean pocketed the gem and walked away.
"We're both getting too old for bedtime stories," he called over his shoulder. He did not look behind him, smiling as Imoen stuck out her tongue at his retreating back.
He slowed his pace upon passing under the inner wall, his smile now gone.
You didn't want me to think you'd be unhappy about me leaving. Or to make me unhappy about leaving either.
Ignoring a passing greeting from one of his tutors, Dorean continued his slow walk across the outer grounds, his face downcast.
..
Stopping just outside the storehouse, Dorean tilted his head to the night sky.
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his large nose, taking in the smell of salt and sea of the coastal air.
Never thought I'd miss this place.
He opened his eyes and exhaled slowly and deeply, letting all air out of his lungs. Taking a moment to adjust the straps on his pack, he then opened the door to the storehouse.
He had taken no more than a few steps inside when he detected another smell.
Dark ale.
He spotted its source less than a second later.
In the middle of the room and facing the door, Shank Gwist was sitting on one of the many large wooden crates in the storehouse, idly tossing and catching a dagger. He looked up from chewing the nails in his free hand. Upon seeing the dwarf, his lips curled into a yellow-toothed grin, accentuating his scar.
"Oh goodie, goodie! Looks like I made the correct guess!" He hopped off the crate with dagger in hand.
Dorean's eyes went to the weapon for a half-second before focusing on Shank's face; eager and anticipatory. For a moment, the dwarf did not move. Then he slowly and casually eased his pack from his shoulders and onto the floor.
"A guess, Mister Gwist?" he asked slowly, stretching out the word 'guess'. He cocked his head in apparent curiosity.
"Aye. Me an' me partner made a bet on who'd find ye first."
"Find me?" said Dorean, his voice pleasantly inquisitive. He deliberately blinked and looked around the room, keeping Shank in his peripheral vision, then back to the man. "You were looking for me, sir?"
"Aye," said Shank, sounding very pleased with himself. He gave a few short neighs of laughter. "See, back at the inn, we never did get your name. It is Dorean, correct?"
The dwarf paused, then rested his hands on his belt, moving his feet so that his right foot was slightly in front of his left. "Yes, Mister Gwist."
"And you are the ward of Gorion, no doubt?" Shank asked, rubbing the fingers of his knife-hand against the weapon's handle.
Dorean felt cold air blowing through the door and against his back. He kept his expression curious. His right hand slowly dipped into one of the pouches attached to his belt. "I am. Do you want to meet with him, sir?"
"No, no," replied Shank, shaking his head. "That won't be necessary, my polite friend. See, it's you that I want to speak to." His grin widened, stretching from ear to ear. "And by 'speak', I mean with this here blade." He gave the dagger another toss. "I apologize for this-"
Dorean's right hand flew up from his belt, sending crumbs of cheese and bread into Shank's face. As the man jerked backwards in surprise, the dwarf rushed forward, pushing off the ground with his left foot and drawing his knife from its belt-sheath with his left hand. He reached Shank as the man was bringing his hands up to his eyes, driving the blade into the leg just above the knee. He then wrenched the blade down and to his side, splitting the wound.
Shank toppled backwards, the back of his head crashing against the side of the crate. His scream was immediately cut short as Dorean brought his foot up and into the man's jaw, and he crumbled to the floor in an unconscious heap.
Dorean immediately made an about-turn with the bloody knife held in front of him, his head swivelling like an owl's. He stood still for several seconds, then moved toward the door and closed it.
After taking a look out the window, he wiped his knife on one of his belt-cloths, sheathed it, went over to Shank and leaned him against the crate. A search of his clothing and pockets yielded nothing. The dwarf then walked over to the man's dagger and picked it up with his right hand.
It took him a moment to determine the reason for the silver of blood on its blade; two fingers to his brow just above his left eye came back red.
Must have caught me when it was coming back down.
He held the dagger in the palm of his hand, and his fingers tightened around its handle as he recalled Shank's words. He turned and contemplated the unconscious ruffian, his eyes narrowing in deep thought.
..
A few minutes later, Dorean had locked the door, extinguished all the wall-mounted candles in the storehouse, and dragged Shank out of the light, propping him back-first against the wall.
He then kneeled next to Shank's right side and gave the man's cheeks a few firm yet light slaps. His eyes flickered open, and then widened as they adjusted to the dim moonlight and focused on his knee.
"Oh, gods," he gasped. "Me leg. Look what you did to me leg!"
"Please keep your voice down, Mister Gwist," said Dorean calmly, facing a spot a few feet to to the right of Shank's head.
"I need a healer! Gods help me, I need a hea-!" He choked as the blade of his own dagger pressed against his throat, drawing blood. The dwarf did not turn his head to look at Shank's face.
"Mister Gwist," said Dorean slowly, his voice modulated. "Lower your voice. Please."
The dwarf delayed a moment, waiting for Shank's breaths to become very slightly less rapid, then leaned back and eased the dagger from the man's throat. Shank leaned his head forward and coughed, his hands gripping his bloody knee.
"Mister Gwist."
Shank continued to look down at his knee. Blood was now pooling on the floor around the limb. His breathing sped up again, turning to rapid pants, his chest rising up and down.
"Mister. Gwist."
Shank looked up. In the dark, it was impossible to make out Dorean's expression, except for his gray eyes. They starred at the ruffian's face, slightly lidded and devoid of emotion.
"Please tell me why you intended to kill me," said the dwarf, his voice quietly pleasant.
Shank's lower lip trembled and he lowered his head, his breath turning from pants to wheezes. "I-I never in-intended at killin' ye. I s-swear. J-just wanted a'scare ye. Jus' a scare, that's all. That's all it was, just a little scare."
Dorean let out an audible sigh and then, with no change in expression, violently grabbed Shank by the throat with his right hand. Planting his right knee on the man's thigh, he sharply tapped Shank's stab-wound with the flat of the dagger. Shank's scream was drowned in a choke as Dorean tightened the grip on his throat. His hands moved to Dorean's wrist, tugging feebly at the dwarf's gloved hand.
Dorean silently counted to ten and then stood up, releasing his hold on the man's throat and thigh. Shank's upper body and head sank sideways to the floor, hands gripping his leg.
"The truth, Mister Gwist," said Dorean calmly. "Share it with me, and I will bring the guards here and have them take you to the clinic." He paused deliberately. "Please don't lie to me again," he added, a touch of silver in his voice.
The ruffian's body shook with sobs.
"I am waiting, Mister Gwist."
After several more sobs, Shank spoke from the floor. "It was fer a bounty. That's all it was, just a bounty. Ain't nothing personal," he said, his voice growing weaker with each syllable. "Ain't nothin' pers'nal."
"From whom did you receive this bounty?"
Shank did not answer, continuing to cower on the floor. Dorean calmly looked down at him for a moment, exhaled through his nose, and then gave his torn knee a light kick with his boot. Shank's body jerked and he gave out a hoarse cry, tightening his grip on his leg.
"I don't know, I swear!" His voice became rapid, the words coming out in a tumble. "Some foreign woman, I don't know who! She was inna place in the city, where you go an' set up bounties, have people put them all over town, we saw her, thought she was very pretty, chatted her up, she gave us the job, told us where to find ye..." His voice trailed off as he resumed sobbing, his fingers digging into his leg around the stab wound.
Dorean quietly stepped to the side as the blood pool spread closer to his feet. He scratched his beard with his free hand, looking at down at Shank while keeping the door in his peripheral vision.
"What did this woman say, exactly?"
"Not much," Shank replied, his voice now small and audible. "Said she weren't in-rest'ed in havin' a drink with us. Told us she was puttin' up a job fer two hun'ned gold. Easy money, she said, the lyin'..."
"Two hundred," said Dorean slowly and softly, stretching out the three syllables. He looked up in thought for a moment, then back down to Shank. "Anything else?"
"Oh gods, please, jus' get me a healer, I'll tell ye anythin-"
Dorean again lightly booted the wounded knee. This time Shank did not scream or cry out. He mewled feebly, tears flowing from his face onto the floor.
"Take a few deeps breath, Mister Gwist," the dwarf said calmly.
Shank's chest shook with more sobs before he spoke, his voice now muffled from pressing his own face into the floor. "Said she'd sent word o' us to Can'll keep. Said someone'll meet us inside, tell us about ye, what ye look like, give us weapons, pay us when we've done the job."
Dorean's eyes narrowed, and in a moment of paranoia, he turned and looked over his shoulder. He blinked slowly, holding up and looking at the dagger in his hand, then turned back to his would-be killer. "Who is this 'someone'?"
"Don't know," mewled Shank. "I swear I don't know. She said not'a ask, says he'll show himself to us, pay us when it's done, that's all I know, I swear, please don't hurt me anymore..."
Slowly, Dorean stepped back from Shank. He stood there for a moment, ignoring the man's quiet sobs, his gaze moving to a large crate nearby whose lid had been removed and placed on the ground next to it.
It should be big enough to fit him in; he's not nearly as fat as the last one.
He looked down at Shank's wound. The leg, trousers and floor around him was now covered in blood.
I could clean it up. Will take some time, though.
Nodding quietly to himself, Dorean took a step forward, tightening his grip on the dagger.
An unbidden memory arose in his mind; him sitting at Gorion's desk earlier this morning.
If anything happens, come straight to me. Do you understand?
The dwarf stopped in mid-step. He blinked a few times, then snarled silently and gritted his teeth.
After a long moment, he turned his gaze to Shank's face; the man had closed his eyes and was now crying quietly into the floor.
"Mister Gwist," he said softly.
Shank slowly turned his head, scraping it against the stone floor, to look up at the dwarf.
Dorean's face was still mostly devoid of emotion, only now his eyes gleamed with malice.
"You cost me a going-away party."
"Wha-?"
He kicked the knee again, with much more force than before. Shank's mouth open to scream again, and Dorean's boot swung back and connected with his jaw. His head snapped back and against the wall, and he went still.
Several minutes later, Dorean had dragged Shank back to where he had fallen before, cleaned up the blood-trail leading to the corner, replaced the crate-lid, relit the candles, and turned off his infravision.
Returning to Shank's body, he kneeled down and pressed two fingers against the man's neck.
No pulse.
Resisting the urge to spit, Dorean drew Shank's dagger from his belt, and placed it on the floor next to his hand.
Closing and locking the door behind him, he left the storehouse and strode towards the keep entrance, returning the greetings of lantern-bearing watchers and priests with smiles, waves and nods.