Chapter 5: Unfriendly Reception at the Friendly Arm Inn: Day 3
After walking for what seemed like forever the two finally came to the Friendly Arm Inn. There could not be a more misnamed spot in all of Faerun. With a name like that Jeral expected a small inn nestled in a valley near a stream or something. This "inn" was in fact a small fortress surrounded by a moat with twenty-foot high walls. A central keep rose well over 60 feet into the air. The drawbridge across the moat was raised and armored men could be seen patrolling the walls by torchlight. However the sign at the gate read "Friendly Arm Inn. All are welcome," in common, elven, dwarven and a few languages that Jeral could not even recognize. He saw a pull cord next to the sign and pulled it. A bell rang from somewhere inside the fortress. Jeral followed the cord upwards and saw that it ended in thin air some 25 feet above their heads.
Imoen merely yawned and said she wanted to go to bed.
After a few minutes the drawbridge lowered and a trio of armored men walked across the drawbridge. They were all clad in studded leather tunics and carried shields and long swords. The lead soldier addressed them formally, "Welcome strangers, to the Friendly Arm Inn. I trust we will have no problem with the two of you during your visit."
Jeral nodded politely. "There will be no problems caused by us sir. We are two weary travelers in search of a warm fire, a bath, good food and a clean bed."
"Well then the Friendly Arm Inn in the place for you, enjoy your stay." With that final word Jeral and Imoen walked across the drawbridge and under the raised portcullis into the Friendly Arm Inn. The senior soldier directed the other two to escort Jeral and Imoen to the Inn. As the four walked towards the inn Imoen started smiling and chatting with the two soldiers. Jeral could only roll his eyes as he listed to Imoen say how much she admired brave strong fighting men. She also went out of her way to repeatedly say that Jeral was her brother. The two soldiers smiled as they chatted with Imoen.
They walked through the darkened courtyard towards the steps up into the central keep. At this hour of the night there was no one about save the occasional soldier on his patrol. Even the animals in the barn were quiet and probably asleep. They reached the base of the stairs to the Inn and stopped dead in their tracks. At the top of the long flight of stairs was a man in a mage robe wearing a heavy dark cloak leaning against the door to the inn. At the sight of the two companions he quickly stood up straight and started walking quickly down the stairs. Even in the dim torchlight the siblings could see the gleam in his eyes.
"Think this is good?" Imoen asked hopefully.
"When is it good to have someone wait up all night for you?" Jeral replied acidly. "This is not Winthrop or Gorion waiting up for us. Make ready for trouble." Imoen started rummaging through her pouches for something while Jeral calmly placed his hand on his sword pommel.
The man clearly could see their actions and stopped halfway down the stairs and started speaking.
"Would you happen to be Jeral of Candlekeep?"
"Nope. Never heard of him. I am Erving and this is my cousin Eunice. We are just two weary travelers from Baldur's Gate."
"I think not. In fact, you resemble the one I am to meet. Yes I am quite sure, you are Jeral of Candlekeep."
"And what if I am?"
"I had thought that would be obvious. What type of man waits for someone in the dark of night? One with killing on his mind, for you see, Jeral of Candlekeep must die." What that ominous statement hanging in the air the stranger quickly cast a spell and 4 images of himself stood where only one was before. Jeral charged the mage while Imoen blasted away with a wand she had procured from one of her belt pouches. Jeral was dimly aware of the sound of guards shouting and running towards the confrontation. Imoen's magical missiles had dispelled two of the images and Jeral had dispelled the third with a sword strike. Before either of the siblings could strike the man he cast another spell. Imoen dropped her wand and took off screaming like she was being chased by a demon. Jeral was gripped by a terror so overwhelming that he merely collapsed to the ground where he stood. He curled up in a little ball and whimpered in terror. The man on the stairs pulled a serrated knife from his belt and quickly made his way down the stairs. Looking around he seemed to be measuring the distance from the closing guards and looking for ways to make his escape. In a blindly terrified spasm of fear Jeral's leg shot out and struck the wizard in the shin. The serrated knife slid out of his grasp as he fell backwards onto the steps while wind milling his arms frantically to retain his balance. He hit the stairs and his head snapped back, cracking into a stone step with a sickening thud.
Jeral closed his eyes for a second and forced his mind to focus inwards. Focus on living, control the fear, you need to live to catch Gorion's killer. That banished the fear from his mind. He reached out for the wand Imoen had discarded. Quickly determining it was a wand of magic missiles he aimed it at the prone figure and launched missile after missile into the assassin until he was little more than a lump of charred flesh on the stairs. He only stopped because the wand had broken in half as the last of the magic discharged. The guards finally arrived and Jeral was roughly dragged to his feet. Two guards held his arms tightly to his sides while a third guard stood in front of him and accused him of murdering the man. Jeral was starting to get concerned until he heard Imoen's cheery voice. "Uh fellas you might want to read this." Imoen held up a rolled parchment. The guards hesitated; clearly none of them knew how to read. Without missing a beat Imoen read it aloud for all to hear.
"Bounty Notice. Tarnesh, Be it known to all those of evil intent that a bounty has been placed on the head of Jeral, the foster son of Gorion. Last seen in the vicinity of Candlekeep, this person is to be killed in quick order. Those returning with proof of the deed shall receive no less than two hundred coins of gold. As always, any that shall receive these plans to the forces of law shall join the target in their fate."
When she finished speaking she rolled it up and tossed it to the guard who seemed to be in charge.
"Feel free to verify its contents with someone you trust," Imoen said. "We are going to get a room and get a good night sleep." Jeral shook his arms free of the guards and started walking up the stairs. His mind was racing at the thought of sharing a room with Imoen although he hoped that did not show on his face. The two walked up the stairs and entered the inn. Not surprisingly the main common room was sparsely populated at this hour. A few dwarves were drinking and carousing at the bar and the bartender, a very wizened looking gnome, walked over to welcome Jeral and Imoen.
"Welcome to the Friendly Arm Inn. My name is Bently Mirrorshade and I am the proprietor here. I apologize for the nastiness outside. I run a peaceful place and you should be safe here."
Imoen thanked Bently by kissing him on his bald head. The elderly gnome blushed and gave them a discount on the remaining room he had. The two skipped the offer of a late supper and wearily climbed to the top floor of the Inn. There they entered a luxurious room with a large fluffy bed and two chairs by a large fireplace. Jeral went over to the fireplace. It was already piled high with wood and kindling. Jeral leaned in and lit the fire and it quickly roared to life. The warmth and light was welcome to the companions. Jeral walked down the hall to the male bath chamber. Once there he quickly stripped down and vigorously scrubbed clean in a basin of luke warm water. There were large bathtubs but they were clearly not in operation at such a late hour. Once he was reasonably clean Jeral put on a pair of clean breeches and headed back to their room. By the time he got there Imoen was already buried under the covers and snoring softly. Her clothes were strewn all over the room, as was her traveling gear.
"You always were a mess little sister." Jeral smiled to himself as he spent a few minutes tidying up the room and folding her clothes. Once the room was neat again Jeral slid into bed next to Imoen. She was curled up in a ball and wearing her favorite pale pink nightshirt. The fire served to give Jeral a good view of the lovely shape of Imoen under her sheer shirt. Forcing some rather impure thoughts out of his mind Jeral slid into bed, rolled away from Imoen and shut his eyes. Sleep was a while in coming.