.
.
.
Dearest Readers, again a thousand apologies as I had sworn this was the final chapter of the River Arc, but then words tend to sprout more misadventures. ^^
THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE
Book One: From the Earth | Chapter 16 : Noon in the Vale
It took another whole day of trekking despite the early head start. Deprived for so long, the captives had not the vigor one expected from youth and often asked to rest every now and then; but to carry each of the little ones along the way would have been impractical as well. They ended up camping by the river for another night, rising before dawn in the hopes of reaching Berdusk before noon.
While they waited for the children as they broke their fast on the last of the bread and for the captain and first mate to decide on what to do upon arriving at the city, Irse sat down on a large unearthed tree root and took out Safana's diary. Quietly, she thumbed through the pages and skimmed over the writing.
"What's that?"
One of the children, Gita, had planted herself beside the elf, sneaking a peek at the pages then looking up at her expectantly.
"Eh, nothing interesting. Only lists, more lists. A few sums added up, listed again. She liked lists a lot." Irse closed the journal and wondered if she had seen the child's name among them, shuddering at the thought of a price inked next to it.
"Whoa, that mean you read an' count sums? How'd you learn?" Gita whispered in awe. The girl sounded as if only a couple of summers short of Imoen's age, but her stunted height and wiry frame made her seem much younger, sadly betraying lack during her growing years.
"I was taught by monks," the elf replied. "Because I used to live by a huge library."
"What's a library?"
Irse paused, oddly unsure of how to describe a world she had known her whole life.
"It's a great and vast place… full of books," she began slowly.
"Books…," Gita echoed, eyes glazing, seemingly picturing something she wasn't accustomed to having. The other children had begun to gather around them, curious and hushed.
"Like these," Irse held out the diary, showing it to them. "But thicker, bound in gilded leather, with pretty pictures in all colors inside them."
"Pictures?" one of the girls piped up, face brightening.
"Uh-huh, pictures. Drawn by master illuminators, pictures of castles, kings and queens, magical beasts like dragons and unicorns, all to tell tales of epic adventures of heroes and how they saved kingdoms from evil men and monsters."
Though of course, a whole lot of them, the ones dumped on her for studies, were mostly boring histories of cities and empires with their litanies of heads of states and their successors, long-winded florid poetry about flowers and romance – which made her roll her eyes in rhythm with the measured verses, and sleep-inducing treatises on a bunch of old codgers' opinions on what someone already dead a long time ago had said about something somewhere sometime. At least, Brother Karan's books on herbalism had sketches of plants and their leafy stalky innards.
And so the elf told them briefly instead of the stories and fables she had read, of a cunning and clever spider that lived in the jungles of Chult who always tricked and outsmarted all the other animals there; of a boy in the eastern lands who was born out of a giant peach and had a dog and a monkey and a pheasant for his friends and how they went on a grand and dangerous adventure in an island of ogres; and that there were more of these tales, all simply from the pages of books.
As the children listened with rapt attention, for a moment transported to another realm and another time, Irse looked at their faces and felt a prick in her heart. In a brief flash of memory, the grass became a bed with rumpled covers, the trees and sky above now wooden beams and stone walls, the handful of children now only a pair - a younger elf and an auburn-haired human girl. And in her place, the tale teller, an old man in the gray robes of a sage, his weathered face beaming as he paused the story at a gripping cliffhanger and gently reminded them that it was time for sleep despite the duet of protests.
"What happened to your ear?" one of the girls suddenly asked.
The elf froze in mid-tale, grinding her jaw and scrambling for a suitable answer – one that wouldn't traumatize young minds that have already gone through much.
"A book chomped on it."
A buzz of surprise rippled among the children. "A book did that? You're fibbin'," one of them said as not a few eyes narrowed skeptically at her.
"It's true. Not only monks, but wizards lived there too," Irse composed. "So not only do they have books on everything, they got books on magic as well… yes! Magical books."
"One afternoon, I was sleepy from my meal that I dozed off in the middle of my reading. 'Course I'm at the table and not in my bed, so I piled a book or two and made a pillow out of it," Irse narrated, justified that the account wasn't entirely untrue.
"But little did I know that I had picked a magical book by mistake. It was an odd one, a bestiary – a book about monsters, but it had a soft and furry cover and I thought it would make a great pillow," she described in low tones, canting her head sideways and laying her cheek against the journal.
"But as soon as I laid my head upon it and started snoozing, then… rawr!" Irse cried, in one swift move, opened the diary and clapped its pages shut on her left ear, pretending a struggle and mimicking the sounds of a growling dog biting on her ear.
The girls squealed in amusement, except for Gita who appeared upset. "Did it hurt?" she asked worriedly.
The elf halted, then grinned reassuringly. "No, of course not. That's because its teeth were, er… magical. So it didn't hurt, and it didn't bleed at all. Except now, I'm just half an ear on one side."
Irse straightened herself authoritatively as she wagged an admonishing finger. "Moral of the story, kids – don't ever sleep on a book. Magical or not, it's not nice to drool on them."
Gita exhaled in relief at the answer as the others murmured in understanding at the lesson. Another girl sneaked up next to Irse and reached out to poke at the ear, but the elf sensed the attempt and swiftly rounded on her, then teasingly snapped the journal on her hand as if it were the monster book. The child jumped back, giggling. The elf continued to wag the diary at the children as it were a yapping critter, relishing the tiny peals of laughter.
Irse spied her Teacher standing not far from them and watching, a thoughtful expression on his face. She grinned at him in greeting and he replied with a nod and a faint smile.
"Storytime over, arse-dragging-to-Berdusk-time now," Shar-Teel yelled at them, clapping her hands as if calling at dumb beasts.
Everyone got to their feet and scrambled over to the captain and waiting crew. Okami herded the laggard ones but remained where he stood. Irse rose from her place and gathered her pack, jogging towards the rest of the group.
"We expect to reach the city before noonday," the blacksmith said as the elf fell into pace beside him.
"In time for some real lunch," Irse added brightly, then pouted at her Teacher.
"No more stale fish stew and mystery meat, please?"
"No more," Okami promised, brows furrowed at the remembrance of the pale fare at the Gate.
"On my honor."
The sun was almost overhead when they arrived at Berdusk, a city high-walled in stone like Baldur's Gate. But unlike the former, Berdusk boasted of three great bridges across the Chionthar, two of which spanned through a small island in the middle of the river. High-sided waybarges ferried goods and passengers up- and downstream, some eventually turning left to what Nells pointed out was the Clearspring which bisected the City.
One of these bridges ended at the bank and continued as a wide avenue to the most westerly gate in which they were to enter. Travelers, mostly merchants with wagons or simple peddlers with sacks on their backs if not on mules, passed through unquestioned but under the watchful eyes of the city guard.
Their group approached one of the sentries.
"We want to see whoever's in charge. And make it a Harper," Shar-Teel demanded.
The guard, a man in leather jerkin and a simple navy-blue tabard, eyed them. "An odd lot of merchants you be. One of your members is bound and gagged, and you and the man," he said, pointing at Okami. "… are armed. State your business here and we will decide if your concerns are worthy of an audience with one."
"A slaver and freed slaves," Shar-Teel said, tilting her head towards their prisoner and the girls.
The guards exchanged glances. One of them barked at another to send word ahead, and they were led to a row of benches by the gate walls and told to sit. Somehow, the gesture seemed more to keep them in line than for their comfort.
An hour waved by, of waiting, fidgeting, and Nells anxiously pacifying an increasingly impatient and itchy Shar-Teel. Finally they were approached by two city guards, a man and a woman, who beckoned to the group to follow.
"Come with us. If your intentions are true then you have nothing to fear, but if not…," the male guard began but Shar-Teel cut him off.
"Yeah, yeah. Been marching my feet down to bloody stumps all day and I got my damned boat banked and leaking out there, so spare me the sardin' spiel and just take us to them Harpies!"
"Harpers," the man corrected curtly but was answered only with an offended snort from the captain and an apologetic chuckle from the first mate.
The rest of the group filed behind the male guard while the female guard walked beside them. They marched away from the gate and straight through a wide cobbled boulevard flanked on both sides by tall stone buildings with steeply shingled roofing; built so close to one another that they resembled giant gray-robed wizards and their pointy hats, huddled together and observing the comings and goings of little ants.
The busy morning crowd were comprised of strolling residents – marked by their lack of packs of trading wares and weapons, as well as peddlers, merchant wagons, and a scattering of groups of what seemed like adventurers judging from their garb and arms.
Remembering her last experience in a great city, Irse hugged her pack tightly against her chest and cast wary looks at either side. The woman guard must have noticed for she put a hand on the girl's shoulder.
"Be at ease, elf. We secure these streets as best as we can. Our ruler, The High Lady Cylyria Dragonbreast, values the safety and freedom of all within these walls, be they great or small folk, merchant noble or the humblest peddler."
Irse bobbed her head in acknowledgment and relaxed her hold on the pack. With worry banished from her mind, she saw for herself proof of the woman's words – a lone guard or a pair patrolling among the crowds every now and then. She wondered too if the knowledge that Harpers were likely mingling and concealed among the common folk helped in some way.
Laughter erupted ahead of them as a minstrel, broadcasted by his colorful patched cape and a lute under his arm, traded jokes with a matronly aproned shopkeeper. As they passed by, the minstrel suddenly cut through their small procession.
"Pardon my intrusion," he drawled, sounding almost inebriated. Bowing with a flourish in time with his step, he doffed his cap and winked at Irse.
She looked at him, a middle-aged blond half-elf, and caught a glimpse of the brooch on his lapel, a copy of what her foster father sometimes kept on his desk. An engraving of a harp and a crescent moon. A Harper. Well then, perhaps not so hidden after all, she mused as she watched him stagger away to be swallowed up by the crowd.
After several blocks, they stopped in front of an austere structure with low towers. Both guards motioned for them to stay put as each one rapped on the steel door and announced their names in clear and loud voices. Irse noted the exaggerated singsong inflection and tone in their manner. A moment passed and the door opened of its own accord. They were escorted inside, the woman guard leading the way with the man bringing up the rear. Through dimly lit unadorned corridors they walked in silence. Her elfin eyes could make out the faintly shimmering symbols every few feet in the walls, floor, and even the ceiling. Glyphs, powerful magical wards similar to the ones guarding the Great Library, particularly in the inner sanctums where the most rare and precious of manuscripts were stored.
Eventually the group was ushered into an office as sparse and grim as the façade. In one corner, sat a clerk, a bespectacled gnome perched upon a highchair by a lectern, pen on hand and an open logbook before him. By the wall and another steel door, a woman in chain mail stood waiting behind a low oaken desk, flanked by a hooded man in mage robes the color of sunset and trimmed with silver. Both wore the Harper pin on their lapels.
"Shieldmaster Remed Ioscon," the female guard announced as she and her companion saluted the woman officer.
"Master E-," the male guard continued but without looking up, the wizard raised a hand to silence him.
Missing no beat, both guards still gave their salutes wordlessly.
"These people requested an audience with you to inform on the capture of a slaver and the rescue of his captives, which they have brought with them," the male guard reported and gestured to the bound mercenary and the girls.
At first glance, the officer reminded Irse of Gorion. Curly salt-and-pepper hair yet cropped in practical fashion, a petite olive-skinned woman yet standing high and proud despite her age. But unlike the quiet life her foster father now led among books and scrolls, the demands of maintaining order in a city of unremitting trade did not afford Remed Ioscon the luxury of a welcoming smile for visitors. Clearly a hardened lady stood before them, whom one mustn't foolishly ask to indulge in foolishness. Irse hoped the captain would be pleasant for once lest they find themselves at the other side of a jail door.
To her relief, and probably Nells' as well, Shar-Teel seemed to respect the Shieldmaster, perhaps sensing a fellow tough nut, for the captain squared her jaw and gave a curt nod at the other woman.
The officer's eyes remained trained on their guests, a hawk searching for weakness in its prey. Beside her, the hooded wizard languidly examined his fingernails, mostly obscured by the voluminous sleeves, as if indifferent to the gravity of the meeting.
"I would know the truth from your own lips," the Shieldmaster addressed them directly. "Give an account of all and alter nothing, for my superior here will see through any falsehoods," she added, a slight turn of the head to indicate the mage.
The young elf raised a surprised brow. Someone older and outranking the graying Shieldmaster? This wizard must be ancient, perhaps like Candlekeep's First Reader, the wise and kindly old Tethoril.
The man pulled back his hood, revealing instead a somber faced yet handsome dark-haired human youth. Irse felt an oddness about him, one she couldn't quite put a finger on. He raised his head to cast a disinterested glance at them, then resumed inspection of his digits.
Then quickly, almost imperceptibly, his eyes darted to Irse and without breaking his mask of reserve, winked at her.
Startled, the young elf finally recognized him as the half-elf minstrel who crossed their path earlier. And yet now, a youthful human wizard? What manner of people are these Harpers?
"Proceed with your account," the Shieldmaster commanded.
Both the captain and first mate retold the events - the chance meeting with Safana at the tavern where the Calishite had presented herself as a trader seeking to hire a ship and a crew to Iriaebor. In hindsight of course, they knew they should have asked for details and questioned the need for a geas, but desperation over unpaid mortgage on the boat and a considerable upfront payment had them agreeing immediately to the job, merely assuming that the woman was planning to transport rare luxury goods or confidential documents, hence the need for secrecy and magical insurance.
Then of the slaves being picked up between Scornubel and Berdusk, Okami's plan to sabotage the hull to force them to dock in the city, Shar-Teel's decision to sacrifice her ship and run them aground, of Safana and her men except for one slain in confrontation, though mercifully they left out exactly how the ringleader herself died, ending with their arrival at the city.
Throughout the report, Irse observed the young man beside the officer. Evidently using a spell to detect whether they were lying or not, the mage listened with eyes closed, his lips silently intoning.
Truth. Truth, and hmmm… truth.
She wondered if Gorion ever had to use such magic on her, but then remembered him only listening to his foster child with his eyes open and grave, as if he listened not to her words but to the heart behind them.
"They have spoken with verity. Every word is true," the young wizard testified in a bored monotone, a complete opposite from his earlier demeanor out in the street.
Remed Ioscon acknowledged his authentication with a nod. "Given our unrelenting efforts to purge the realms of this filth, I am not surprised that these slaving scum have taken to roping law-abiding citizens into their schemes in an attempt to feign legitimacy and avoid suspicion," the Shieldmaster remarked acidly. "But what other tangible evidence do you have that will be of use to us?"
Shar-Teel stamped her foot in irritation, one hand raised in a fist, impatience getting the better of her. "Damn it! Isn't what we said already enough? And that man there, you can question however you want, painfully you should, and you think those girls will lie about their capture just for the hells of it?"
"We gave you everything we know, and your fellow proved we didn't lie," Nells pleaded.
The officer remained unfazed; her face hard like flint. "On your testimony that man will face the justice he deserves, the women and children will be succored. We may question this one, scour his mind until all his soul is scraped and left bare. Yet experience has taught us that dispensable pawns will know of nothing more than the last hand that paid them their gold."
"But to truly make a dent on slavery, we must know who the instigators are, their networks, particularly those with connections to corrupt authorities so that when we strike a blow, it will be at the very root that it may save more lives and prevent the future ruin of others."
The Shieldmaster spoke with the bitterness of one who has dealt with more than what their crew have laid at the Harpers' doorstep now. How many slaves had she and her cohorts freed through the years, yet how many more wretched souls have remained out of reach forever?
"Now you understand why we must know more."
Shar-Teel and Nells fell silent. Irse waited a moment then raised a timid hand.
"We may have something," she offered, pulling the journal out of her pack and holding it up for them to see. "Safana's diary. It has lists, names. Some of the words I don't recognize as Common, maybe Calishite?"
The Shieldmaster pointed at the table and the young elf laid it before them. The mage stepped forward and placed a palm on the journal, closing his eyes once more, then opening and turning the pages, running his fingers across the parchment, finally closing the book and leaving it upon the table.
"I saw the face of she who sold these living souls. The elf is correct - listed are the numbers, some names, and categories of the slaves, their prices as well. This Safana has a contact here in our city - a man of Westgate... with only a code name, obviously, but the woman spared no expense with her low opinion of his uncomely appearance and his penchant for frequenting a tankard house of cheap and questionable taste."
Irse smirked; indeed, that was Safana in those pages. But then she frowned and wondered if the woman likewise wrote down her assessment of the crew. And of her Teacher! The gods better be a dollop more merciful had she known how to read in Calishite.
Never mind the elf though, for Irse knew that any entries on her would have read more like a grocery wishlist of organ components.
"But in the tongue of Alzhedo of Calimshan, she wrote of another whom she serves, the true master pulling at the chains, named only as P. in all the pages where this person was mentioned," the mage continued his recitation, gaze averted as if reading from memory.
Irse scowled, not in disbelief, but in envy. She could have been interested in the arcane arts and how easy her studies would have been if her foster father had told her of this spell that allows one to speed read through books and remember them word-for-word.
"In all of the pages… except one," he added. "The woman was careless and had written his name in full, to record their first meeting. A minor member of Amnian nobility but one who makes his nest in Calimport."
Remed Ioscon crossed her arms and bowed her head in deep thought at hearing the information. A few seconds and she exhaled as she addressed the mage.
"It disturbs me that there is a rat brazen enough to hide under our noses," she said.
The mage replied, unperturbed. "It should not be difficult to flush out this contact of hers. He was extensively described, more like derided, and we have the name of the tankard house, even the days when he is to appear and wait for her if they cannot sail straight to Iriaebor."
"But the operator of this slave ring is based in Calimport, as you have read?"
"Calimport. Quite a distance from here," the young wizard confirmed. An impish smile suddenly broke upon his face, completely dispelling the somber mask.
"But... I know exactly who to send, who would be more than eager to pay him a visit." The words were said with undisguised relish.
The Shieldmaster chuckled, but the rare display of mirth had a hint of brutality. "Them, of course. By the gods, I almost feel sorry for the poor bastard. Should we warn him?" she teased.
"A chance for him to cooperate, reconsider his ways, salvage his reputation and wealth, and live the rest of his days in peace and comfort?" the mage pondered, lips pursed.
"But to deprive her of the satisfaction of destroying a lowlife such as this is to invite fire upon our own heads. I think not."
Remed Ioscon ordered the gnomish clerk to wrap up and signaled to the male guard to approach and receive further instruction on the prisoner and freed slaves. The young mage picked up the journal from the desk, moving to stand closer to the Shieldmaster as he further examined the diary.
The gnome addressed the group, "Per protocol, we are to obtain your full names as part of the record of your testimony. Rest assured they will remain confidential and will not be shared with other parties, unless for the greater good of the realms."
"You first, captain."
"Shar-Teel...," the woman said but paused before adding. "Beancheart."
The first mate glanced at her friend.
"I'll be damned in the nine hells twice if ever I take that bastard pig's name," Shar-Teel reasoned fiercely.
Nells shrugged and leaned over the lectern. "Cannelle d'Ecorce," she said to the gnome.
Dotie followed. "Dorchallan Duillim."
"Munechika Okami," the blacksmith said. "Pardon me, but what is the official custom in the Heartlands? Which of our names must be announced first?" he inquired.
The gnome raised a brow with the air of one who has encountered more than his fair share of atypical naming conventions.
"Your given name, then the name of your family or your house, your clan, brood, species, wing-type, most importantly – root crop preferences."
"Then it is Okami Munechika," her Teacher corrected himself.
"And... daikon radish," he said in compliance, to which the gnome appeared approving.
As the crew gave their names and waited for the clerk to finish his painstaking scrawlings with many a correction and a rewrite, Irse realized that she herself had never used a surname. For of what use was a name for oneself when one had always expected to live their whole life behind the Keep's walls? Nevertheless, it didn't seem right to use Gorion's surname, Adrian, for herself, as she wasn't his trueborn daughter.
Heroes of the tales introduced themselves as Sir So-and-So of the Kingdom of Here-and-There; were they not a band of such for this deed? What harm was there to finally indulge in a little fantasy?
"And your name, elf?" the gnome finally asked her.
"Irsellian," she answered with enthusiasm. "Of Candlekeep."
"Candlekeep?" the wizard interjected, pausing from leafing through the diary and slightly raising his head to look at Irse.
"You are from Candlekeep?"
Though his tone was one of mild curiosity, the eyes leveled at the young elf were that of an invested interrogator.
Fool-popping ninnyhammer! Eyes widened in realization at the grievously careless mistake, Irse inwardly screamed at herself, resisting the urge to smack her head on the desk.
How could she have forgotten that her foster father was a former Harper, that they were in a city full of Harpers - a bunch of them probably even his best mates, and that he might have already sent word to a feared and dangerous organization of spies to keep a lookout for her!
"Ah... I was... were," she stammered, panicked, clutching at the collar of her tunic, eyes darting to the door.
"What is the matter, girl?" Remed Ioscon had likewise turned her attention to the young elf, frowning.
The gnomish clerk put down his pen and stared while captain and first mate, who both knew she was a runaway, remained tight-lipped.
"Yeah, what's the soddin' matter with ye?" Dotie joined in.
Okami cleared his throat and faced the Harpers. "We beg your understanding. She never knew her parents and was under the care of elf merchants. They were slain by bandits along the Coast Way near Candlekeep."
Then the blacksmith looked to her. A gamble then.
Irse breathed in deeply and straightened herself. "Near Candlekeep, it's true. In honor of those who took me in and treated me as their own. That way, I'll never forget," she declared, her gaze meeting the wizard's.
If he could likewise read into thoughts and see not only the face of Ilphas and Tannyl, but more so the face of Gorion and those who had shown kindness to her in the home she had left behind, then so be it. At the very least, she had spoken no lie.
For one breathless eternity, the mage stared at her.
Then he narrowed his eyes and mouthed silently with a quirk of his lips.
Truth.
Irse felt her shoulders drop in relief. The wizard now looked away and this time seemed more engrossed with the discussion on the prisoner and freed captives.
"Oh, just put in Irsellian, sir. I don't have any other name," she told the clerk, scrunching her shoulders and sheepishly peering over the lectern.
The gnome shrugged and scribbled on his logbook. When he was done, he produced two parchments, stamped and sealed the letters and handed them to Shar-Teel.
"As to the rewards for your deed, present this letter to the Office of the Coinmaster. The other, to the proprietor of the inn of The Sign of the Silver Sword to accommodate you and your crew, compliments of the City of Berdusk."
"About time," the captain groused, taking the letters from the clerk, then seemed to remember something very important for she rapped a knuckle on the lectern.
"Hold on a sardin' minute. What about my ship? I traded a livelihood for those lives," Shar-Teel said.
The Shieldmaster nodded at the clerk who pulled out another parchment, hastily scribbled a paragraph, stamped and sealed the document.
"This one you must present to the Harbormaster. Request from him any aid you need on the matter."
The captain grunted her satisfaction as she took the third letter.
The officer dismissed the guard who proceeded to usher the prisoner and the freed slaves to the other door. As they filed into the exit, the children waved at Irse, and she waved back.
"What will happen to them? Will they be all right?" the young elf asked aloud.
"They will be returned to their families. If orphans, the temples will take them," the female guard assured her.
The Shieldmaster raised a hand towards the door. "Captain Shar-Teel and crew, the City of Berdusk and the Harpers express their thanks," she pronounced. They were being dismissed as well.
Shar-Teel faced the Shieldmaster, brushing the tip of her temple with her forefinger in a mock salute. Captain and crew moved on to follow the female guard who beckoned at them. Irse was almost at the door when she heard Remed Ioscon address the other Harper.
"Master Entillis, I appreciate your assistance with the interrogation, despite the short notice."
"You are always welcome. Anything for an... old friend."
Tugged by an unseen thread, Irse turned to look one last time at the strange wizard. Their eyes met and he winked at her again.
In one moment, not with eyes but with unexplained knowing, she saw not a dark-haired boy, but silver tresses and an ageless face. An elf.
Irse blinked but he was once again what he was before.
And then she passed through the door.
And a handful of scribblings here. :
Kudos to TripleF for correctly guessing a few chapters ago on how Baron Ployer and his slave ring was discovered by the Harpers! :D
Bean cheart = woman, in Irish
Cannelle d'Ecorce = cinnamon bark, in French (yes, I get my names from tea bag ingredients.)
Dorcha = dark, in Scottish
Spot the random Harry Potter reference! ;)
The truth spell is a nod to the interrogation scene with the elves of Suldanessellar in SoA, a clue of sorts to the true identity of Entillis Fulsom. ;)
The story of the trickster spider from Chult is a nod to the West African folktales of Anansi the Spider, while the story of the boy from a peach is a nod to the Japanese tale of Momotaro the Peach Boy.