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Dearest Readers, may your sailings bring you to waters most wondrous and friendly.
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THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE
Book One: From the Earth | Chapter 18 : Sundry Shores
The trio found themselves in a large but crammed store, the painted wooden sign announcing the place as the famed Alamather's by the Water Unusual and Unique Weapons.
A peculiar one indeed, for actual weapons accounted for less than a quarter of the display. Typical fighting equipment hung upon one wall, though ornately stylized and seeming more suited for show, but the other three walls held things found instead in the kitchen, a library, and a lady's purse. It wasn't long before Irse realized the reason for the odd assortment as other shoppers examined telescopes from which long and narrow blades sprung out of the lenses, goblets whose handles released tiny spikes, velvet lady gloves with concealed silver claws among a host of other innocuously unassuming but dangerously trapped items.
"Now this is more like it!" Shar-Teel whooped, hefting a multi-tailed whip, a cat o' nine tails so says on the tag, with tips ornamented by miniature iron sharks and anchors – dubiously purposed for nautical aesthetics.
The whip had sat on top of a pile flagged by a sign that said Birthday Gift Suggestions.
Blacksmith and apprentice unanimously coughed their dry disapproval of the captain's seemingly forgetting that such whips are tools of the outlawed slave trade and that they themselves had only recently helped in stopping a slave ring unit.
"Fine! Like I can't do better with chewed-up rope and a fish bone," Shar-Teel grumbled and put it down.
As expected though, other weapons stores were filled with standard fare sharp and pointy things. Okami merely glanced at the displays, on occasion inquiring with the shopkeeper on the quality of the materials among other matters. Matters that smiths would know and Irse was genuinely interested in, if only she could listen to their talk undisturbed and ignore the growling in her stomach.
"You just ate a couple hours ago!" Shar-Teel scolded, clearly not needing elven ears to hear the low but lengthy rumbling.
"I can't help it. I'm a growing elf. And how could you call those crumbs lunch anyway?" Irse replied, sulking.
The stomach croaked in solid agreement.
Upon the lintel of the shop door and on a large marble sign carved to resemble an unfurling scroll were the words Ondraer's Fine Pages Bookseller in fine calligraphy. Inside could only be described as a paradise for scribes and scholars.
Wall-to-wall shelves of books groaned under the weight of a dizzying array of titles as if a section of the Great Library had been hauled out of the vaults to see the light of day. Bound volumes on everything from histories, to theses on magic, to plain chapbooks on the latest bardic tales filled the shelves and swamped the display tables.
An inner door lead into another room for the sale of scribing supplies, this one filled with unused tomes, reams of parchment, piles of scrolls, boxes of writing implements, even leather cases for the traveling scholar.
The place buzzed with activity – mages poring over blank spellbooks, clerics inspecting new scrolls, limners testing out pigments and brushes on framed vellum, cartographers unfurling wider and longer sample parchments, as shop assistants attended to their queries while cutting up lengths of silk for bookmarks or mixing inks in glass pots.
Irse glanced around, wondering if there was anything in this store that she could get for her foster father.
Perhaps a blank journal with gilt edges, or a brass-tipped quill pen. She sauntered over to the display tables to read over the price list printed in gold ink. But one look and a quick mental sum of the costs against the coin in her pocket, the elf turned around and sheepishly walked away.
Nope. There was nothing in this store that she could get for her foster father.
About to call her companions and tell them of her plan to leave, but then her eyes fell upon a strange display case at the far end of the room. Though the place was well-illuminated by chandeliers of magelights, the glass box remained unnaturally dark within. She waved at the others and pointed, then approached it. Through the dimness, one could make out a large tome resting within, the length of a man's arm and the width of half of one.
"Unless that dumb book's got pages made of gold, I don't care for it," Shar-Teel dismissed.
Irse pressed her nose against the glass, straining to get a better look. "But it could be an ancient spellbook from a great wizard or even a book of secrets with a puzzle and a hidden treasure map. Why else is it so big and put behind a glass box?"
"Clearly, it is of great value to be protected by wards and yet displayed to the world with pride," Okami observed, noticing the small glyphs within the case, shimmering at random intervals and hovering in the air above the tome.
"That be an accurate assessment, young man," said a balding portly old man who approached them, not too unlike Winthrop, yet in fine robes and a serious air. He gave them a quick formal bow and introduced himself.
"Ondraeas Ondraer, at your service." It was the shop owner himself.
"Here, allow me to show you the contents of this tome," he volunteered and tapped at the glass.
To their amazement, the glass box lit from within as the tome opened by itself. The pages flipped briskly with invisible hands, finally stopping at the middle. Irse peered then frowned.
"But it's empty. There's nothing written in it," she said, puzzled.
Ondraer guffawed. "Sharp eyes you have there, lass. Truly, there's nothing written in any of its pages."
"For it's not what's inside that matters, but what's on the outside," he confided to them in a low voice, a twinkle in his eye. He tapped at the glass once more and the tome closed shut by itself.
"Look again," he instructed.
When they finally did, they gasped at the sight, unable to suppress their admiration. The cover gleamed, deep crimson but not as treated leather of any animal. The surface pattern reminded Irse of snakeskin, having seen a few in Brother Karan's apothecary, already shed and ready to be powdered for various brews.
Indeed, much like snakeskin except larger, more solid, the edges overlapping like armor scales.
Scales.
"This… this is dragon scale," Irse whispered in astonishment. "A tome bound in dragon skin."
Ondraer nodded in confirmation. They stared in amazed silence, comprehending the existence of such a thing before them.
But Shar-Teel broke the spell and huffed, "Huh, what a waste. Why not use it for body armor? Isn't that what really good blacksmiths make?" She cast a fleering look at Okami who merely shrugged his shoulders with the usual indifference at her taunts.
Okami stared at the tome, frowning. "For it to be carved from the beast's hide must mean it was fully subdued and defeated. What manner of warriors would dare and even accomplish such a feat?"
"Not in the blades of adventurers did this red dragon meet its defeat, but in the bare hands of a lone wizard," Ondraer answered.
Irse's eyes broadened. "A wizard? All by himself?"
Tales indeed told of mages wielding magics so powerful they could stand alone and slay even great monsters and entire armies without shedding a single tuft of their beards or breaking a manicured nail. But those were just tales and if true, then only of the few chosen by the Goddess of Magic herself, or of those crossing the boundary of what is right and mortal to obtain their power from more sinister forces.
Rather than taking offense at the girl's disbelief, Ondraer chuckled. "I see what you mean. Verily this wizard is no Elminster nor Blackstaff. No warrior of course but neither one to wilt beneath the sun nor be blown away by a breeze. A scholar more habituated among books but still an adventurer of the world through and through. A man courageous and principled; for how else could he have risen in the Harper ranks?"
"A Harper," Okami echoed.
"Yes, but a humble man with the surprisingly frustrating habit of keeping silent about himself and his accomplishments."
Irse smirked. Not too unlike someone back at home.
"His comrades speculated that he did it to rescue some noble lady or even a princess; isn't that why heroes of tales fought against dragons? But he never revealed the true reason why he ventured his life against such a mighty creature," Ondraer surmised.
"Then this wizard must be a friend of yours, I presume, for he gifted you with something as precious."
"That, and he said because I would know best what to do with it. Perhaps it was too big to fold into his pack, wherever he was going," the old man said with fondness. "I have not heard from him all these years though I'm certain he's retired somewhere quiet and more suited to his temperament."
Ondraer placed a hand against the glass panel. "And that's why I have this exhibited out here where all may see. To teach the world a valuable lesson."
A lesson.
"That you can really judge a book by its cover! Eh?" Irse declared, a finger pointed up. Behind her, Shar-Teel groaned while Okami placed a hand on his mouth.
"Well, I was thinking along the lines of - knowledge and wisdom are just as powerful as strength and might," Ondraer mused, beaming. "But that works just as fine, lass."
A shop assistant approached Ondraer, inquiring on something and showing him a logbook. The old man took one look at the open pages and waved him off.
"Now if you fine folk will excuse me; these old bones are needed to handle something these new bloods cannot. A pleasure speaking with the curious seekers, as always. Good day," he bid them with a kindly smile and left.
Irse watched him walk away, then laid both hands flat against the glass and peered at the tome once more.
A wizard and a dragon.
Peered and impressed in her memory the sight of a proof of the impossible.
For after all, this was closest she will ever get to meeting a real dragon.
If the world was a basket and the gods threw in every conceivable color, smell, sound, and feel, then tossed and mixed it all and sprinkled in spices with a bit more salt and vinegar than anyone cared for – then the realms would have been named Amberside instead of Toril.
Open-air and a jumbled maze of stalls, people, things, odors and noise. There was no order to the wares, for delicate bottles of oils and potions were arranged onto fragile piles in front of rainbow-hued tents, next to towering ox-drawn wagons filled with furniture, beside kiosks of common crops or exotic produce, crammed against stalls spewing savory smoke of varied food and drink, while carts brimming with ells of cloth darted in between shoppers.
Irse ducked into a tent which bore a cloth sign painted in carroty ink that screamed Curios for the Curious.
Inside was an amassment of… things.
Carry-tubes from cleaned out auroch horns, some opened bearing multi-colored powders or yellowing scrolls. Rusty jeweled daggers and arrow tips strewn amidst gilded snuff boxes, tiny skeletons resembling winged monkeys and stuffed dead creatures that seemed more like a patchwork doll of every farm animal but miniaturized. Skulls of varying sizes, some horned and some not, sat grinning next to helmets some holed and some dented, next to jars filled with murky liquid inside of which floated things that didn't seem too far removed from the specimens at the Keep's arcane laboratory.
"What brings one of the feyfolk to the kiosk of curiosities of Cirio the Curio Collector?" greeted a middle-aged hawk-nosed man with a scraggly goatee and a chipped gold tooth, draped in silk and a shawl of the same loud orange on the sign.
As the others followed inside, Irse bowed and rocked on the tips of her toes. "Good day, sir. Just looking around."
Cirio swept a heavily bangled arm across the air. "Feel free to browse my select sundries, see what you may find."
The elf went over each pile, each table, each hanging.
"Are these…" Eyes widened as she peeked into a wooden bowl filled with seven…
"Human teeth?"
The merchant gracefully swooped down and snatched the bowl from her, placing a hand upon it for fear of spilling the precious contents.
"Not just any teeth! But the seven wisdom teeth of Szass Tam!"
"Szass Tam, the undead lord of Thay?" Okami asked, unbelieving. "A lich whose head, they say, is a fleshless skull?"
Cirio held up the wooden bowl. "Obviously, these were from when he was still human. What would a lich need teeth for when he has no need for food?"
"That's… sad," Irse sighed, unbelieving as well, but of the thought instead of life without food.
"That's a lot of wisdom teeth," Shar-Teel scoffed.
"Three on each side and one in the middle front. After all, he was a special red snowflake in his human life," Cirio justified, shaking the wooden bowl once more, clearly delighted at the tiny tinkling within.
Three faces grimaced as soon as the merchant turned his back on them to replace the bowl among other knickknacks on the table.
Irse walked over to another desk and picked up a spool of white thread, somewhat relieved to find a normal object. "Oh, look. This is handy for stitching up things," she said.
Such as stab wounds and the resulting holes in the shirt. "Yup, very useful," she added.
In a flutter of robes and shawl, Cirio grabbed the spool from the elf. "Unless you are planning to sew a throw for Mystra's couch or string a magical bow carved from the most ancient oaks of Cormanthor only then you may use them for such purpose."
"Why? Oh, I know! These are the armpit hairs of a storm giant," Irse guessed with feigned wonder.
Cirio glared at her, offended. "You insinuate that I traffic in repulsive merchandise? Useful for components, yes, but I will never again soil the air of my tent with a thing of such colossal sourness!" The merchant cradled the spool in the palm of his hand with veneration.
"Don't you see, for these are none other than the hairs on the beard of the Great Elminster himself!" he declared with pride and triumph.
Three mouths gaped.
"When he was ten years old."
Three pairs of eyes blinked then narrowed.
"I suppose, with that much magic coursing through one's veins…," Okami attempted to rationalize then stopped as Shar-Teel shot him a warning look to go no further.
Irse picked up a framed piece of black lace, the fragile filigree cloth sewn on the vellum. "Hey, this is pretty nice."
Again, the item was snatched from her hands. Cirio hugged the frame to himself, shaken.
"Keep your polluted mortal fingers away from this delicate prize! Do you have any idea what this is?" he spoke, wild-eyed and with frantic reverence.
"A piece of a queen's veil?"
"Not a paltry face cloth of some petty patrician, but a precious fragment of the enchanted lace knickers of The Simbul!"
Irse opened her mouth, about to dispute how the Witch Queen of Aglarond, so famed and feared for her power and wild temper as told in rumors by young Seekers apprenticing in the arcane arts, would have been so generous as to part with one of her magical smallclothes.
But then the trio found themselves being pushed out of the tent.
"Forgive me, but you must return another day. I wish to spend a few moments alone with my, ah… treasure!" Cirio apologized with skittish haste.
And with that, they were outside once more, tent flap shut behind them.
"Do we want to know…," Irse began.
"Hells no," Shar-Teel finished.
They wandered into the other stalls but lingering no longer than passing glances. Irse led the way, darting into each one for a quick look or question at the shopkeeper, then immediately walking out as if troubled.
Okami seemed to have noticed her unease. "You are seeking something?" he asked.
Irse scratched the back of her neck in embarrassed confession. For all the kindness that Gorion had done for her, surely, he deserved better than a plain useless rock, even if it had come from the very stars themselves. After all, the old sage has got paperweights with more artistic virtue and history on his desk.
"I'm trying to look for something nice or useful that I could bring home to my father and friends. Father already has everything he could possibly need, and anything even better costs too much. Imoen, she still plays sometimes but she's growing so fast and I don't know if she'll like a dress or a trinket. Maybe a necklace? But what if they're too expensive?"
She pulled at her hair. "Ugh! I wish I have more gold to get them something truly great. I mean, maybe they're not expecting, but I just want to."
Okami nodded in seeming understanding. "We too have such a custom, omiyage, wherein we gift our loved ones with the best of what we find from our travels whether abroad or the next village. It is thoughtful of you to remember them."
"But a gift cannot be bought. It can only be given."
He said nothing more and walked ahead. Irse paused, finally sighing in agreement and moving on.
"Ale! Ale from all over the realms!"
"You name it, we brew it!"
"Sample before you swallow!"
The captain circled sharply and marched straight to the source of the siren call.
Blacksmith and apprentice glanced at each other before following in the woman's heels and into a stall selling craft brews.
"You got ale?" Shar-Teel barked at the merchant who took one look at his new customer, gulped nervously then nodded in the affirmative.
"And those samples, I don't have to pay coin?"
"Why yes, my good woman! You seem the fine sort who appreciates a finely crafted –," the stall owner replied but was cut short by the captain grabbing an empty tankard and slamming it on the table.
"Yeah, yeah! Craft my arse a good one! Now gimme a trial swig of each!"
"Of course! Of course!" the man agreed and hasted to serve.
"Try this one, madame. It's called Belbuck."
"The nine hells is it green?"
"The color is from the spearmint favored by the halflings…"
"So this is a halfling brew?"
"Yes, madame."
A gulp and a slam of the tankard. "I better not be growing hair on my feet and stuffing my face with potatoes from a second breakfast after this. Next!"
"Golden Sands, a lager light and effervescent from Calimshan…"
A gulp and a slam of the tankard. "Pah! This what sand tastes like? Or horse piss. Next!"
"Iriaeboran North, dark with a bitter aftertaste, also known as The Bite of the North Winds."
A gulp and a slam of the tankard. "More like The Bite of an Iriaeboran's Fart. Next!"
"Luiren's Best, a sweet and thick stout from the coast of Luiren, best paired with nut cheese."
A gulp and a slam of the tankard. "Do I look like some fancy-piss ponce who can't sip his wine without a sardin' shat of cheese? Next!"
"Shadowdark, a frothy brew from Shadowdale."
A gulp and a slam of the tankard. "You sure? Not canal water banished to the Shadow Realm? Next!"
They watched as Shar-Teel sampled one ale after another, demonstrating her impeccable taste and passionately sharing her objective opinion of each.
Irse and Okami shot each other a look of silent agreement and quietly backed off from the stall, turned around and started walking away, leaving the captain and the doomed ale merchant.
The pair reached the edge of the market, sitting by the side of a fountain to rest and wait out the remaining hours until sunset for then the group would be gathering at the Clearspring Tor, not too far from Amberside, for dinner and to watch the fireworks.
A peddler passed by, pushing a cart bearing a small cooker and cast-iron pot. He stopped beside them and fired off the stove, taking out his implements.
Her interest piqued; the elf got up to observe the man as he cooked the pastries. The vendor poured triangular loaves the size of a hand, straight into the pot of boiling oil. A few seconds of the pastry floating and deep-frying, then he scooped them with a small metal net, tossing a bit to shake off the oil before dumping them in a paper-lined wicker basket.
"Care for some goldenstars? Just a copper each," the peddler offered.
Irse smacked her lips, mesmerized by the crackle of frying oil, the pungent aroma, the golden glisten of the freshly made batch in front of her.
"Three, please!" Irse decided.
She handed the money and received a paper bag in return. The elf returned to their spot by the fountain and handed one goldenstar to her Teacher.
"Thank you," he said.
Munching on the pastry, she watched Okami as he meticulously unwrapped his share, amused at seeing him chew with the same utmost care he expended on every task under his hand. He was about to take another bite when Irse suddenly thrust the third piece at him.
"Do you want seconds?"
Okami blinked in surprise. "You are already done eating yours?"
"Yes… but if you really want this last piece…"
"You may have it for yourself," he said and smiled indulgently. "I am content with just one."
Irse cheered and commenced devouring the last goldenstar. As she smacked on her fingers, the elf spotted a familiar face among the people, rushing through the streets in front of them.
A face that she didn't expect to see before her now.
On impulse, Irse leaped to her feet and dashed for the chase. Okami called after her but she merely glanced at him over the shoulder.
"I'll be back really quick!"
And in pursuit of another, she was caught by one more tide in a sea of souls.