Chapter 27
Kicking off her boots and climbing onto the edge of the king-sized bed, Imoen turned around and fell backwards onto the covers, sighing contentedly as her body sank into the silk sheets.
"This is the best bed I've ever been in," she announced. "Marcus is soooo nice to give us this room!"
"Yeah, he's awfully generous," Dorean replied, looking around surreptitiously for spy-holes and hidden doors. On the other side of the suite, Jaheira watched the duo as she helped Khalid out of his armour.
"I feel bad about the broken lock from the old one," said Imoen. "You think we should have insisted on paying for it?"
"He said it wasn't a problem," said Dorean, climbing onto and sitting on the bed with his feet hanging off the side, placing his back to her. "Probably happy enough after I bought his entire stock of information."
Imoen paused, then turned her head to look at him.
"You were reading them awfully quickly," she said quietly, then blinked as an unexpected wave of fatigue came over her. "And you..." she yawned. "You barely touched your d-d-dinner..."
"I wasn't hungry," Dorean replied softly. "You should get some rest. We've got a busy day tomorrow."
"Y-ye...yeah," Imoen mumbled sleepily, her eye-lids feeling heavier by the second. "Good...good idea..."
A minute later, her snores began to permeate the suite.
From the dosage I gave her, she shouldn't wake until around dawn.
Dorean paused, then placed one of the pillows under her head. He looked up to see Jaheira now standing in the centre of the room, her eyes locked on his.
"Care to explain what you were doing?"
Dorean paused to glance at Khalid, then slowly slid off the bed. "Don't want her to know I'm going out tonight."
"This is abominably foolish," said Jaheira, her cyan eyes narrowing as she placed her hands on her hips.
"J-Jaheira..." said Khalid. Jaheira raised her hand to silence him, not looking away from Dorean.
"You want to risk being caught by the Flaming Fist or town militia for the sake of adding to your coin purse?" she said, her tone mercilessly severe. "Need I remind you that you are currently a wanted man with a reward for your capture or death?"
Dorean held her gaze. "I'm aware. That's why I want I do this."
Jaheira blinked twice, then frowned at him and looked to her husband for support. Khalid hesitated, his eyes moving back and forth between her and Dorean.
"Imoen and I have never been in anything like this before," Dorean said softly. "Her especially." He turned to look at Imoen so that they could not see his face. "And I've seen what the bandits have done to that caravan," he added, deliberately lowering his voice to a solemn hush. He waited a moment, then fixed a determined expression on his face before turning back to Jaheira. "I'll be back before dawn. And if not, I'll be at the temple."
Jaheira stared at him silently, her mouth set in a hard line. Dorean maintained his gaze, refusing to look away from her.
"Dorean..." said Khalid, placing a hand at Jaheira's elbow as he moved past her towards him. "You should p-p-probably get some sleep. It'll be a b-busy day tomorrow, and you've been h-h-hurt."
"I am fine, Khalid," Dorean replied, giving him a warm and even slightly impish smile. "I'm a dwarf." His smile faded, and he looked at Imoen again before turning back to them. "I understand the risks, Jaheira," he said, his voice clear and firm. "And I am prepared to take them."
He stood in front of them, back straight and chin lifted as he looked up at the two half-elves.
After a moment, Jaheira breathed heavily through her nose and then turned away, walking over to her bed and removing her armour. Khalid watched her for a moment before turning to Dorean.
"Are you sure about this, Dorean?"
"I'm sure."
Khalid paused, then nodded.
"Would you like us to come with you?"
Dorean blinked and hesitated, but only for a second. "Thank you, but no. It's better if I do this alone." He hesitated again, though deliberately this time, and looked towards the door. "And...I'd prefer if you stay and watch over Imoen."
Khalid slowly looked towards the door as well. He lifted his head slightly and looked back to Dorean, understanding dawning on his face, then nodded again, more firmly this time.
"Be careful out there," he said softly.
"I will. And thank you."
The dwarf and Calishite exchanged a nod and smile. Dorean then moved to the foot of Imoen's bed, gathered his belongings, and headed straight for the door, feeling Jaheira's eyes on him.
After closing it behind him, Dorean hesitated before heading down the corridor. He had gotten six paces before Montaron's voice drifted down to him from the rafters.
"Keep ye hood down. Only shifty folk hide their faces at night."
Dorean stopped, turning his head slightly but not looking behind him. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it."
..
Stepping through the front entrance of the inn, Dorean stopped at the gateway as a group of town militia appeared off to his right. Casually leaning against the fence, he removed a smoking pipe from his pack and placed it to his lips, attempting to light it as they passed by him. After a few minutes, he slowly lifted his head to watch them disappear around a corner.
Then, in case anyone was watching, he continued the act, lighting the pipe with a match and taking the tobacco into his lungs. Grimacing, he resisted the urge to hack as he exhaled, forcing himself to exude quiet enjoyment.
He remained that way for a moment, leaning against the fence with the pipe in the corner of his mouth. Despite not making eye contact with them, he could still feel the suspicion and unfriendliness radiating from the militia's face.
Jaheira's right. Maybe I should just go back inside. Besides...do I really want to leave Imoen alone with them?
He paused, glancing over his shoulder at the windows on the upper floors of the inn.
...no. No, it's better this way. In the long run, at least. If I stay with her all the time, they'll realize sooner or later that I do not trust them around her. Jaheira certainly would. Also, he thought, his expression turning grim. If they are going to hurt her the instant we're separated, there won't be much I could do about it.
Dorean nodded silently to himself, then extinguished the pipe and returned it to his pack.
Nine hours before dawn. If I'm doing this, I may as well get going.
Resolved in his decision, he walked away from the inn, forcing himself not to look back.
..
Moving carefully to the side of the window, Dorean tilted his head, carefully scanning the doorways and windows of the nearby buildings as well as the alley below.
Then, semi-satisfied that no one was watching, he nimbly exited through the window and clambered down the wall, landing lightly on his feet. He then moved into the shadow of the building he had just left, listening out for any sound.
...nothing. Not even a cat.
Dorean waited nevertheless, counting silently to a hundred and twenty as his thoughts drifted to the residence he had just burgled.
No amulet. Either Feldepost's information is unreliable, or Colquetle keeps it elsewhere.
Reaching his silent count, he scanned his surroundings one more time before exiting the alley.
The streets were significantly quieter now, even more so than on the night he first arrived in Beregost. He breathed slowly and easily, relaxing his body and effecting a calm yet brisk pace of a man not in a hurry yet eager to get home.
His senses heightened, Dorean heard and smelled the patrol of town militia long before he saw them. By the time they had turned the corner, he was already in the shadows provided by the houses, away from the glare of their torches, and passed by them unnoticed. The dwarf maintained his casual pace in case anyone was watching him, and took care to glance at every reflective surface as he moved through the streets. A kneeling beggar gave a start at the little dwarf appearing silently out of nowhere, forgetting to bow her head or voice gratitude when he dropped a single gold coin into the bowl in front of her.
Been five hours now and I've only hit six houses. All this trekking around...
He paused in mid-thought.
...no. Stay on it. Don't leave a pattern for an investigator. If I don't make enough, I don't make enough.
His mind drifted to the raided caravan and the guards and travellers strewn around it, being looted and executed by the bandits.
Maybe I should risk Colquetle's jewellery shop after all. The potential take alone would-
He saw it in the window, reflected by the moonlight; a flash of movement, for but a half-second.
Someone behind him was trying not to be seen.
His relaxed expression turned blank. Then, maintaining his easy-going pace, Dorean moved to the end of the street. He turned the corner, then strode as quickly as his short legs would allow into an alley. Glancing behind him, Dorean then swiftly scaled the three-storey building, grasping at hand-holds and silently cursing his height, and reached the roof within twenty seconds. The dwarf crawled onto the rooftop, keeping his head and body low so as not to silhouette himself against the stars, then turned around on his stomach to face the alley. He went very still, breathing slow and deep through his nose, and waited.
Five minutes went by, then ten, then fifteen. He maintained his posture, occasionally moving only his head to check his blind-spots, scanning every visible rooftop and window. On the street behind him, a group of patrolling militia went by, their footfalls, murmurs, yawns, the rattle of their weapons and the crackling of their torches loud in his ears. Dorean forced his heightened hearing to block them out, seeking other, more audible sounds instead. Nothing.
An hour went by. Still he waited, until dawn if need be.
Then a short, thin figure appeared in the entrance to the alleyway, carefully peeking one eye around the corner.
Half-elf. Female. Bow and arrow-quiver. Knife at left hip, possibly right-handed. No visible armour, but may be wearing under her clothes.
Dorean watched as she slowly moved down the alley, clearly attempting to appear casual at first, then breaking all pretence and hunching forward, her head swivelling slowly from left to right.
When she was a few paces from the spot directly below him, Dorean did not hesitate.
All one hundred and seventy-five combined pounds of his body and equipment dropped like a stone, landing feet-first onto her shoulders. The back of her head struck the ground as he landed on top of her, and his left fist jabbed short, sharp and hard into her chin.
Dorean stood up and off of her, running backwards and kneeling behind a pair of rain barrels. He reloaded the crossbow without looking at it, his eyes rapidly scanning the alley, doors, windows and rooftops.
Nearly ten minutes passed before he stood up and went over to the woman. Keeping the crossbow in one hand and his head on a swivel, he rolled her over with a nudge of his boot. It took less than a minute for him to remove her weapons, slide them across the ground away from her, and search her belongings.
Nothing. No armour, papers, notice, or money. Just her weapons.
His expression turned grim as he glanced down at her face partially obscured by her shoulder-length hair, whose colour he was unable to discern due to his infravision. He was never good at reading half-elves, but he guessed that she was quite young, perhaps no more than several years past teenhood. Her features were fair, atypical for one of her race, and he noted her freckled cheeks and dimpled chin.
Don't recognize her. Did she follow me from the inn?
He hesitated, made one last check of his surroundings, then took a bottle from his pack, removed the stopper one-handed, and placed it close to her nose.
He backed away several paces towards the rain barrels when she began to stir, replacing the stopper and returning the bottle to his pack.
The woman awoke with a groan, slowly sitting up and wincing as she touched the back of her head. Her eyes met Dorean's and she froze, her breath caught in her throat at the sight of the crossbow aimed at her heart.
"P...please..." she said, lifting her hands in front of her. "I...I didn't do anything."
"It's okay," said Dorean, raising his right hand while nonetheless keeping his trigger-hand on the crossbow. "It's alright. I'm not going to hurt you. What's your name?"
She hesitated, then slowly lowered her hands to her lap. "Y...Yllrila."
Dorean nodded, keeping his expression pleasant albeit unsmiling. "Why were you following me, Yllrila?"
Her breathing intensified, and she turned her head slightly, glancing at her bow and knife lying off to the side about ten paces away.
"It's okay, Yllrila," Dorean said slowly, keeping his voice gentle and his eyes on her face. "I'm not angry at you. I just want to know why you're following me."
Her breathing noticeably relaxed, albeit remaining heavy and slightly rapid. "I...I was told to. By Zhurlong."
Dorean blinked, forcing himself not to narrow his eyes. "Who is Zhurlong?"
"He's this halfling what who lives here," she said quickly, the words tumbling out of her. "Says someone looks like you might be looking to fatten your purse. Says if I..." she trailed off, her eyes moving to the crossbow. Dorean lowered the weapon slightly.
"It's alright, Yllrila," he coaxed. "Go on."
"He...Zhurlong says if I...if I f-follow you, I might nick me a good purse. Just nick!" She added, her knees bunching up slightly. "He made me pay him to tell me where you're staying, and I...I paid him. I followed you from Feldepost's, I'm sorry I won't do it again, I-"
"Yllrila, it's okay. It's not your fault. Do you know where I can find Zhurlong?"
She hesitated, then shook her head. "Dunno. I mean, I know, but...he's at the Burning Wizard sometimes. Don't know where he lives. Nobody knows."
Dorean paused, looking into her eyes. Her jaw trembled and she raised her hands again.
"It's true, sir, I ain't lying. I don't know where he lives, I don't..."
"It's alright, Yllrila," he said, his voice and expression gentle. "I believe you."
Her shoulders sagged, and she lowered her hands again. "Oh. Thank you, sir. Th-"
Dorean fired. The bolt struck her chest, and she fell backwards.
He reloaded and waited, his face impassive, scanning his surroundings as Yllrila gasped inaudibly.
After counting to thirty, he walked over to her, kneeled down and placed two gloved fingers to her neck.
Satisfied, Dorean retrieved her weapons, replaced her knife in its sheath, carefully worked the sling of the quiver back onto her shoulder, then nocked an arrow and fired it into the wall behind where he had been standing earlier.
He placed the bow on the ground beside her left hand, then turned away and left the alley, moving once again at a relaxed, brisk pace.
..
Hidden in the shadow of its overhang, Dorean watched from within the empty market stall as yet another patrol of tired-looking militia went by, clearly looking forward to the end of their night-shift.
More of them in this part of town. He turned his gaze to the manor across the street, scanning its many windows. Obvious why.
He hesitated for a long moment, then silently berated himself.
You've been watching the place for a half-hour and nothing's moved in it since. You've got less than three hours 'til dawn.
He took a long, deep breath through his nose, held it, then exhaled audibly, his beard fluttering. Nodding to himself, Dorean checked his equipment, made one last sweep of his surroundings and then exited the stall.
He moved westward down the street, passing other market stalls, most of them empty save the occasional beggar or drunk. None of them noticed him pass.
He then turned northward into the trees near the outer perimeter of the estate, paused to slip his hood up and over his head, then headed east.
The wooden fence proved to be of little obstacle to him. He scaled it effortlessly, dropping lightly on the other side before moving behind an empty wagon, scanning carefully for any guards or dogs. He then crossed the grounds at a jog and reached the building within minutes.
Moving quickly and quietly, Dorean circled around the building via its north end, slowing as he passed the windmill and reached the eastern side of the manor. The side-entrance was locked, but it succumbed to his lockpick within a few minutes.
As soon as he stepped into the manor, Dorean's senses became heightened to full alertness; every sound and smell dramatically enhanced.
There were no candles or torches in the corridor, but darkness was of no hindrance to a dwarf. He moved easily, almost casually, through it and into the servants' quarters, passing between the four occupied beds with nary a sound, then on through the kitchens and into an impressive hallway furnished with a few long tables and comfy-looking chairs. A few portraits of finely-dressed humans hung on the two walls of the entranceway, as though to greet any visitors.
Two men were slumped in chairs in the centre of the hall, both as sound asleep as the servants. From the swords leaning against their chairs, Dorean deduced them to be Carl and Jurgen, hired bodyguards to the manor's owner.
He watched them for a minute and then scanned the area, noting in particular the pools of light provided by several candlesticks hanging from the walls as well as any potential hiding places. He then moved to the front door with lockpick in hand, picked it within minutes, then headed for the western end of the house. He found the stairway and climbed it, surprised at the progress he had made in such little time.
This place is a joke compared to Candlekeep. Still, no need to get careless.
It was not long before he found the master bedroom. Placing his ear to the door, Dorean waited to confirm that there were two sets of snores coming from within. Only then did he check the knob. He frowned upon finding it unlocked, and it was over five minutes before he was satisfied that there were no traps, alarms or wards attached to the door. Breathing deeply, he grasped and turned the knob, opening the door an inch, and peeked inside.
Gerard Travenhurst and his wife were sleeping in a large, four-poster bed. Aside from the movements of their faces and the rise and fall of their chests, nothing else stirred in the room. Dorean scanned it nevertheless, then carefully eased the door open barely enough to fit himself through.
There it is, just like Feldepost's info said; a key around his neck.
He scanned the floor for any creaking floorboards or 'crisps', then creeped past the bed to the far wall where a beautiful painting of a city-port hung in the centre.
Athkatla. Hm. He's Amnian-born, after all.
Keeping one eye on the slumbering couple, he examined the painting carefully without removing it, then stretched his arm upwards to lift the bottom corner.
There it is; the safe.
Gently placing the painting back against the wall, he quietly retraced his steps across the room, keeping one eye on the couple, then stopped at the door, watching them.
The key glinted in the faint light afforded by the single lit candlestick on a nearby dressing table.
Metal chain. No way I can cut it without waking him. Not slipping it off of him either. That only works in the story-books.
He looked at the painting, then at Gerard.
Kagain said that the caravan will be leaving at dawn. But there may be a delay.
Every second could be precious.
Dorean glanced down at the Wand of Sleep hidden in his shirt, then at the Wand of Paralyzation tucked into his belt.
He looked up at the painting, then at the key again, and his calm, neutral expression became emotionless.
..
It was nearly an hour before Dorean exited the manor the same way he had entered, through the servant's entrance on the eastern side. As usual, he checked his surroundings carefully, watching and listening for any movement or sound. After a few minutes, he nodded silently to himself, satisfied that there was no one about, and headed south away from the manor, lowering his hood as he reentered the town.
For a moment, nothing stirred in the area, save for the faint rustling of the trees around the building.
Then Xzar emerged from behind a pile of stacked crates, only a few paces to the left of the servant's entrance.
He moved to the door, lingering to look in the direction that Dorean had disappeared, then gently pushed it open and stepped inside. He strode down the corridor, his shoes padding quietly on the floorboards.
The servant's quarters was now completely silent. The three servants and the cook lay in their beds, their chests all bloodstained.
Xzar paused in the doorway, his head turning very slowly from left to right, gazing at the bodies. He then calmly looked up and crossed the room, through the kitchens and into the hallway, stopping and tilting his head at a sight to his left.
Carl lay on his stomach a few paces from the front door, facing away from it. Jurgen was slumped against the wall next to him. Both have kitchen knives in them; one in Carl's back and the other in Jurgen's stomach.
Xzar's brow furrowed, and he looked over his shoulder in the direction of the kitchens before moving through the rest of the manor.
He climbed the stairs to the second floor, walked down the corridor to the Master Bedroom, and leaned sideways to peer through the open door at Gerard Travenhurst and his wife. Like the servants, both were lying on their bed, and both had been stabbed in the chest.
Xzar then calmly proceeded to the next room, its door now also open. He took a casual glance at the body of the Travenhurst' teenage son lying on the bed, then moved on to the next room.
He stopped in front of the entrance, blinking several times at the closed door, and looked towards the open doors of the other two bedrooms. Xzar then grasped the knob and turned it, gently pushing the door open.
Like her parents and brother, the little girl in the room was lying on her bed. Her eyes were closed, and she appeared to be sleeping peacefully.
The covers over her chest were stained red.
Xzar stood quietly in the doorway, his face unreadable. He lowered his head, his gaze drifting to the floor, and began to hum a soft, quiet tune.
..
Opening the door to his study, Tethtoril stepped inside and held it open for Gorion. They both crossed the room, sitting down opposite each other at the desk.
"Would you like something to drink?" Tethtoril asked.
Gorion looked at him stonily. Tethtoril hesitated, then nodded to him and placed his elbows on the desk, resting his chin on his hands. Nearly a minute passed before he spoke.
"The day after you left, one of the Watchers asked him to fetch something from the barracks. He was found there later, his face and arms covered in cats, and three of the mouser cats with him." He looked up at Gorion's face. "They were all torn apart, bare-handed."
Gorion blinked, but otherwise did not react. Tethtoril sighed.
"The trainer demanded punishment," he went on. "Ulraunt sentenced him to a cell for five days. I...visited him, everyday. Just to talk to him."
Gorion did not so much as budge. Tethtoril faltered slightly before speaking again.
"I asked him why he did it, to give his own account of what happened. But he said nothing to me, or to anyone. He just...clammed up."
Gorion finally moved, looking off to the side. Tethtoril lifted his chin slightly, then yet it fall back to his hands with another sigh.
"It happened on the fourth day. I was sitting with him, watching him eat. He suddenly clutched at his chest and fell over. I tried to examine him, removed his shirt, and...I saw the scars."
Gorion's gaze lowered to the floor. Tethtoril hesitated again, this time for almost a minute.
"He had a dagger on him. Made of bone."
The First Reader reached up and pulled down the collar of his robe, revealing the scar across his throat. Gorion's eyes darkened. He did not move or speak. Tethtoril readjusted his collar, sighing again.
"Ulraunt was furious. Called him a danger, and had him put in the maximum security cell with the closed door. Said he will not be released until you returned. I would have stopped him, but I was unconscious." He hesitated, drumming his fingers on the desk. "Ulraunt ordered the healers to keep me that way. He did not like that I was spending time with him."
Tethtoril reached up and rubbed his forehead, sighing yet again.
"You sure you don't want something to drink?" He waited only a few seconds before reaching into his desk, removing a bottle and two glasses. He poured into both and then immediately downed his, breathing loudly as he swallowed the light-pink wine. The glass clinked against the wooden desk when he set it down, not looking at Gorion.
"Most of what happened next, I learnt from the guards; he was in that dungeon for two months. Two. Months. And in all that time, he never spoke to anyone. Not to the Watchers, and certainly not to Ulraunt." Tethtoril paused, then swiftly poured and drank another glassful of wine. "So they got used to him barely making a sound," he said, bitterness now creeping into his voice. "What they didn't know, and what I could only guess, was that the pain he suffered on the fourth day of his imprisonment didn't stop. Probably got worse, in fact. But he never cried or screamed, and Ulraunt had forbidden anyone to even look in on him, and he kept me unconscious all that time..."
Gorion's eyes were wider now, and he was sitting straighter. The clouded darkness in his eyes was still present, and his lips were now drawn into a thin line.
"He stopped taking his food, and the servant who brought him his meals by sliding them under the door convinced the Watchers to open it." Tethtoril then took a deep breath, looked at Gorion's untouched glass, and then at the wizard.
"He'd tried to kill himself."
Gorion closed his eyes. Tethtoril went quiet, leaning back in his chair. For a long moment, they both sat in silence in the study, the rays of the afternoon sun shining through the two windows.
"Ulraunt had him brought to the clinic at once. I awoke then; probably because they forgot to keep me under. And I gave Ulraunt the hiding of his damn life for what he did."
Gorion's expression told Tethtoril that he intended to do worse to the Keeper of the Tomes.
"Ulraunt isn't wicked or spiteful, Gorion. He's just..."
"What happened next?"
Tethtoril hesitated, glancing momentarily at his wine bottle.
"Dorean...was unconscious for two weeks. When he woke up, he attacked one of the healers." He lowered his head. "I don't know the details; he hasn't said anything, and she's still being treated. The priest asked that he be confined to your room. Ulraunt didn't try to fight him." Tethtoril took a deep breath. "He did insist, however, that Dorean be kept asleep until you returned. That was two days ago."
A long moment passed in silence. Gorion slowly took his glass, gave a small sip, then placed it back on the desk.
"How are you feeling?" he asked softly.
Tethtoril gave a small smile. "I've had worse. I'm more upset that Ulraunt kept me unconscious." He paused. "I tried to contact you. I couldn't."
Gorion looked away. "I was...preoccupied." His eye-lids lowered. "I'm sorry."
Tethtoril did not answer. Gorion sighed this time, the sound of his breath echoing throughout the study.
"If you wish it, we will leave."
Tethtoril blinked quietly, then refilled his glass again. "Ulraunt wants you gone."
"And you?" Gorion asked, looking at the First Reader. Tethtoril lowered his gaze to his glass, staring into the wine.
"...I'm not the only one who was hurt." He paused again, then looked up at Gorion. "It isn't solely because he is his child, is it?" he asked quietly.
Gorion looked away, and Tethtoril blinked at what he saw. The man's face appeared haunted. Haunted and lost; it was something Tethtoril had never seen from him before, and he briefly became very still, the drink in his hand forgotten.
His gaze drifted inward, and he recalled the words of a visitor from several months back.
"...you're the only one he speaks to," Tethtoril said slowly.
Gorion looked up at him. Tethtoril set his glass down.
"You've given much thought to what you have to do for him. But maybe what you ought to do is to ask him what he wants."
Gorion paused, then picked up his own glass. He lowered his head, staring into it, then closed his eyes.
"Thank you, Tethtoril."