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Dearest Readers, Truth, like the hungriest alligator, will eventually rise to the surface of even the swampiest marsh.
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﴾ THE HIDDEN SWORD ﴿
Book Three: Meeting of Fires | Chapter 69: Not a Picnic! (Part Two)
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A Flaming Fist.
An identity uncovered, implausible for a creature so irreverent and impertinent, yet a discovery incontestable.
Slowly, Xan lowered his hands, the chains clinking in vindicating agreement. Fox Head glared at him, her eyes widening with each breath.
"Hah, what a hilarious guess, Mister Smarty Socks," she weakly needled back. Already her face paled with palpable panic, the unease in her voice so loud despite the contrived joviality of her tone.
"It is not a speculation," Xan said. "But the obvious conclusion from irrefutable pieces of evidence. A concept that ought to be familiar to a person of your profession."
"My profession? I- I don't know what you're talking about. Me? A Fist? R-really?" Fox Head harrumphed, still feigning incredulity.
"We're right smack in the middle of Amn's backyard. Why would a Fist be mucking around these parts especially with all that mudslinging with the Gate nowadays? Did you use some magic trick to try and read my mind- because it didn't work," she blustered, sweeping an arm at their surroundings and wagging a finger at him.
"I did not base my conclusion from something incorporeal as magic. Rather, from outright solid objects. Namely, your badge and uniform."
The badge – palm-sized, stamped bronze, painted with an inverted diamond enclosing a fist aflame. An object so small and of little value to a common scavenger, but of utmost importance to a Fist yet one that understandably shouldn't be found on her immediate person if caught in hostile ground.
The uniform – a sleeveless tabard of blue fabric with the recognizable crest of the mercenary company embroidered on its breast. Undeniably belonging to her, for Xan had managed to spread it upon the grass and mentally verified the measurements to fit perfectly on her frame.
Not to mention the telltale signs of this brash sun elf's unpolished ownership of customarily esteemed signs of one's station. Of the badge, smeared by equal parts currant jam and blood spatters. And the tabard, biscuit crumbs scattered all over the cloth and among the folds like adorning beads, and peppered gravy stains embroidering the lapel.
Fox Head sprang from her perch and took a hesitant sidestep towards her bag. "Where? I mean, how did you-"
"I found them in your pack among your other belongings."
He looked away from her, for it was unseemly to gloat over the sound defeat of another's piteous attempt to conceal their identity. "But you said it yourself – why would a mercenary in the service of Baldur's Gate be performing a reconnaissance mission in Amnian territory," he asked just as he turned to face her again.
Just as her hands streaked like lightning and grabbed his collar, hauling him up from his seat, his head whipping at the force.
"You sneak," she growled, then wrung him with overpowering violence.
The same kind of violence employed by Mother's laborers when shaking the crab apple trees at harvest.
Through teeth gnashed in fury, Fox Head snarled an accusation, "Rooting through my things Like A Greedy Weevil In A Grain Bin! Were you trying to steal my coin? My hard-earned, blood-drawn, sweat-squeezed wages?"
Well, that sounded like something he would not want to earn, much less touch.
"What- no-," Xan squeaked. "P-please, unhand me!"
"Then what in the hells were you looking for, huh?"
"T- The seasonings! I couldn't find- the salt-" Xan yelped in between the dizzying oscillations."- thus I had to search for it within the bag. And then I found first the badge and then the uniform by accident."
And she mercifully stopped like a whirlwind suddenly gone still.
"Oh," Fox Head murmured and released him. "Why didn't you just ask first? You could've waited and saved yourself the trouble of re-packing my stuff."
Huffing and indignant, Xan sputtered as he pulled strands of messed up hair from his face. Ask first and save himself the effort? That made sense. Especially given the egregious labor of returning her things, all of those, into her pack.
"Nevertheless, you are right. I should have asked for permission instead of presumptuously disregarding the confidentiality of your personal belongings."
Her demeanor relaxed, softened by his admission. "Well, as we say in the village - looks like The Ham's Out Of The Sack And Squealing Its Story Now," Fox Head mumbled, grinning and sheepishly tugging at her gambeson.
"Then am I under arrest, inasmuch as the Fist has no jurisdiction in Amn?"
Perhaps reminding Fox Head of standard law enforcement principles might compel her to release him, notwithstanding the suspicious circumstance of being with Mulahey at a suspect location.
The grin disappeared from her face. Xan raised a brow, expectant.
"I do have as much license to flash my badge around here as a market peddler who forgot to pay rent on their stall," she said slowly.
Xan raised the other brow, briefly wondering where this unrefined sun elf might be deriving her rustic utterances.
"But Tranzig and all these bandits and thugs running around and mistaking me for the bounty target- they owe me, not the Fist. Owe me an explanation and loads and more. In other words- this is personal now," she proclaimed, smacking a fist in the other hand, a disturbing zeal in her eyes.
So Fox Head isn't the Mad Elf in the bounty notices? That someone, more insane and unhinged than her has been roaming out there and butchering scores of bandits, unchecked and without deterrent?
Xan swallowed a lump the size of a bulette in his throat. Doubtless, she regarded him as the only still breathing connection to Tranzig and the reason behind the bounty.
"But would not the Fist disapprove of pursuing private affairs while on duty?"
Fox Head pursed her lips, having grasped her rather dubious permit in the situation. "They are rather prickly about that sort of thing-"
Yes.
But the grin on her face returned and morphed into a sly smile, one that a fox might flash when knowing of another way into the chicken coop.
"On the other hand- what day is it anyway?"
"I know not. These days I find it pointless to keep track of time."
For what use was it if a little over a tenday meandered like the equivalent of fourscore and five of captivity in some dismal vault?
"Why of course, today's the eighth of a tenday."
"Is it, then?"
"Yes, it is. Therefore-," she exclaimed, snapping a finger and pointing at him, jubilant. "For this rotation I'm supposed to be off duty since yesterday! Up to the tenth day, to be exact! And 'til then, I can do whatever the hells I want, wherever in the hells I go – including hauling in weirdos like you who like hanging out with wickeder weirdos in the woods! Hah! Yes!"
No.
Therefore, this maniacal woman has free reign to make his life miserable with enough time until they cross the border and for her to resume official duties and take him in for consorting with malefactors suspected of causing all this turbid chaos!
Xan groaned in utter defeat while Fox Head danced a victory hop around him and danced some more in her horrifically ungraceful footwork.
And then he remembered something very important, perhaps his only saving grace in this darkened hour.
"Hold, is it not already past a sixth of a candle?"
"So what if it's the sixth of a-" she muttered in mid-jig, then hooted. "Oh, you mean - the meat's ready!"
Reminded of the only thing evidently more important than the dispensation of Fist justice, Fox Head beamed like a fasted petitioner in a long-delayed communal spring revel, and made a beeline for the rabbits. Trudging after her, his spirit sank with deepening dismay at the sight of his tormentor as she settled herself comfortably by the fire.
Yet, it was almost admirable for a Flaming Fist to risk the consequences of infiltrating hostile territory on her own, all to avenge a personal injury while investigating an undeniable menace to the public.
Which wasn't dissimilar to what he has ended up doing now but had always wished to avoid. Fieldwork. In the field where he is now.
Even then, he still found the situation irreconcilable - for why would an elf submit herself to the authority of N'Tel'Quess? To the governance of humans driven purely by economic interests, selfishly destroying the land and everything they touch for the sake of coin and tyrannical control over their own.
For all he knew, the Gate might even be purposely sabotaging the mines in order to have an occasion to go to war against Amn and expand their power in the Sword Coast.
Regardless of the motives of these humans, won't cooperating with her bring about his freedom?
Highly unlikely, Xan ruefully supposed. For two things could happen – his innocence is accepted or disregarded. Either way, Fox Head would still drag him back to Beregost for detention.
If as a witness compelled to aid in the investigation, then resulting to a considerable delay from returning to Evereska, and surely endangering his life in the exercise.
And if they refuse to believe in his innocence - then to be detained as a suspect, sentenced, then imprisoned and barred from seeing his beloved home again. If not outright executed in the name of mob justice and unscrupulous attempts to conceal their own economic and political mismanagement.
Oh, he was certainly doomed. All for tangling himself in the affairs of these N'Tel'Quess so thoughtlessly ravaging the land for the sake of temporal wealth and power.
Only one path remained, futile and difficult it may be – escape.
He need not take her life nor even injure her gravely. Only to overpower her, as if such could be done lightly. Then retake his moonblade, traitorous teu'kerym.
Then restrain her by whatever means- he did chance upon a good length of rope among her things. Certainly she seemed resourceful enough to be able to free herself eventually. Even then, this should buy him time to escape, make his way to Nashkel, hopefully without perishing by any of the ever-present hazards in the wilds.
Then once in Nashkel, seek out the mayor who would certainly recognize him as having gone with the adventurers, for they had been briefed by Ghastkill and the foreman prior to their ill-fated expedition. He would tell the mayor of his capture by those responsible for the sabotage.
Then provide what information he had obtained and a sample of the iron poison in exchange for safe haven and some resources enabling him to stay in town, send a message to Cathfaen and eventually effect his rescue.
Hopefully, Fox Head would not dare follow him to Nashkel and set foot there. But given her nettlesome persistence, he may just have to warn the militia about her.
Yes, it ought to be perfect. The Plan.
His scheme should work perfectly- Xan flinched at the misplaced optimism- or likely fail and result into an agonizing death. But at least he tried. Now, to determine a window of opportunity and a workable execution.
"What are you doing, staring at the fire like a pining moth? Get over here and let's have supper. I'm hungry!"
Her voice snapped him out of his rumination. Had he been standing there for so long while gazing at the flames? The flames- of course!
His eyes trained on the crackling fire, he stepped back a few paces, chanted the words and swiftly gestured the somatic components for Control Flames.
With a roar, the fire blazed into a tall column. Startled, Fox Head yelped and leaped back, but the flames fanned into several limbs and reached for her until one licked at the tip of the moonblade still wrapped with his cloak at her sword belt.
He covertly wriggled his fingers and the fire enveloped the lower half of the teu'kerym. Of course, the cloak had been enchanted to resist a mild assault from the elements. But this sun elf wouldn't know that.
Evidently fighting to stay calm while working to unfasten the cord, Fox Head grasped the sheath just beneath the guard.
Seeing her hand so close to the forbidden hilt, Xan flinched and nearly lost his focus. But he steeled himself and flicked one wrist upward.
The fire upon the teu'kerym blazed brighter and hotter. Now panicked herself, Fox Head yanked at the sword with force enough to snap the cord tethering it to her belt, then hurriedly tossed the moonblade to the side.
He then lifted the other hand and the flames in the firepit blazed to a column, brilliant and towering above them. And then Xan noted a most peculiar sight.
Suddenly still as if having forgotten what just transpired, the sun elf stood motionless and staring at the fire. As if she were seeing something within and beyond the flames, her eyes glazed with an indecipherable mix of horror and wonder.
Her lips moved in impassive whispers. Once, then twice as the flames blazed higher.
Xan strained to hear and decipher. What was it that she said? It sounded like Ael'ana, or Knight Maker in the elven tongue.
Or was it Ali'ana?
Shadow Maker.
Regardless, it made no sense. Nothing more than gibberish.
While keeping his hand leveled to maintain the fire column, Xan swept the other hand towards the moonblade. The flames bathing the moonblade immediately winked out.
Faster than he ever moved in his life, more than that time he thought he was already late for a documentation briefing with his superiors, Xan swooped down on the teu'kerym and unsheathed it just as the pillar of flame died down.
And with both hands grasping the hilt, he swung the moonblade and pointed the tip at Fox Head's throat.
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