"That's for sure. I hope he doesn't turn his back on those fellows tonight." Shal took her first spoonful of the chowder and realized after having a second that she was famished. Tarl did likewise, and the two forgot about conversation and began to eat heartily.
When Ren finally brought out the beef pies and refills of the pitchers of ale ordered by the table of fighters, they complained bluntly about his service. Under ordinary circumstances, Ren probably would have apologized and tried to do something to make amends, but on this night, he wasn't even paying attention. Instead, he was staring once again at Shal. He set the plates down on one end of the table, making no attempt to match orders. And when he started pouring the ale, he accidentally overfilled one of the cups, sloshing ale in the laps of the customer.
"What do you think you're doing, you clumsy oaf?" the warrior blurted angrily.
"I'm awfully sorry. Here," said Ren, handing the man a bar rag. "I've got to find out her name." he muttered, as if to himself.
Ren turned on his heels and strode to the table where Shal and Tarl remained seated. Behind him, the fighters were sputtering angrily, but Ren neither saw nor heard them. He was staring down again at the woman who so startlingly resembled his lost love. "May I know your name?"
Shal didn't answer. Instead, she pointed behind him. Ren didn't react, but Tarl did. From the corner of his eye he had been watching Ren ever since he first approached the warriors. When Ren spilled the ale and walked away, Tarl knew there was going to be trouble. "Dagger!" shouted Tarl, and he rushed past Ren and tackled the approaching fighter.
Ren spun around to confront the three other men who had been sitting at the table. Normally Ren would have tried to maneuver in such a way that he only had to face one man at a time, but he didn't want any of these rabble getting anywhere close to the woman behind him. He spread his bearlike arms as wide as they would go and plowed forward, taking all three men to the floor with him.
Sot heard the noise of the fight before he saw what was happening. "Not another fight!" he muttered to no one in particular. "Used to be a scuffle in a tavern was no big deal, but now the town council sends the Watch Guards out to break it up. A guy can lose customers that way." He grabbed his club and leaped over the bar. Unfortunately, he landed hard on the foot of a customer who was making his way toward the center of the action. Sot learned the hard way that it is almost impossible to apologize with a cudgel in your hand, and in moments the entire inn had joined the fray.
Shal watched as Tarl expertly administered a chop to the neck of the man with the dagger and sent him reeling. Quickly he followed up to finish the job, while Ren was wrestling with two of the warriors he had knocked to the floor. The third was up and was about to kick Ren in the spleen, but Shal leaped into the action and pushed him hard from behind, screaming, "Leave him alone!" The man fell full belly onto a table of food and immediately began to be pummeled by several people who had been calmly attempting to eat despite the fracas.
"Hey! What do you know?" said Shal, looking down at her hands. "Being strong has some advantages after all!"
"You all right, Shal?" asked Tarl, pausing after fending off still another brawler with a well-placed kick.
"So the name is Shal, is it?" Ren shouted as he pushed one of the warriors toward a boisterous knot of fighters that had formed near the center of the room. "Do you have any relatives in Waterdeep?"
"No," called Shal above the din. "Why do you ask?"
At this point, five fighters advanced toward the trio. Two well-armed women rushed toward Tarl like charging bulls, and two good-sized men began to pummel Ren with their fists. The fifth fighter planted himself squarely in front of Shal and began to wind up for a punch to her midsection. Shal had never been in a fist-fight before. Instinctively she threw her arms up to protect her face and tensed every muscle in her body. His blow to her firm stomach didn't even phase her. Slack-jawed, the man looked up at Shal, his face turning green. She looked down at him, formed a fist just like her attacker's but larger, and slammed a hard uppercut into the man's chin. He staggered back and crashed to the floor well beyond where her first victim had landed.
Meanwhile, Ren and Tarl had dispatched their attackers just in time to see the results of Shal's punch. "Whoa there, girl!" Tarl called out, panting. "You should be protecting us!" Tarl stole a moment to glance at Ren, and Shal and the two men broke into smiles and turned as one to face whatever riffraff might still be of a mind to tackle them, but there were no takers. Most of the crowd were occupied with brawls of their own. The few people who'd been paying attention were frozen by the remarkable prowess of the three fighters, who fought as if they'd been battling together for years.
"We'd better get out of here," grunted Ren to his new companions. "The Watch Guard will be here any minute. They sentence people for brawling now in 'Civilized' Phlan."
Quickly the three worked their way to the inn's big double doors and pushed through. Before they even had a chance to step into the street, they were blocked by seven members of the Watch Guard. The guards wasted no time expertly slipping the loops of their man-catchers around the necks of the three. The strange implements were basically nothing more than nooses on long poles, designed to keep captives a safe distance from their captors. A quick jerk of the torturous implements by the guards sent the three to their knees, choking, effectively eliminating any thoughts of resistance. Another practiced jerk, and they were standing again.
"Take them before the council," instructed the group's leader. "We'll get the rest of this rabble cleaned up in short order."
"Even man-catchers have their weaknesses," Tarl whispered to Ren.
Ren shook his head. "Don't try anything, friend. The sentence for fighting here is mild compared to the one for resisting the Watch Guard. It isn't worth it."
"You've got that right," one of the guards said as he prodded them along. "Now, shut up and get a move on. The night's council representative is waiting for you."
Porphyrys Cadorna loved night council duty. As Tenth Councilman, he seldom had a chance to demonstrate his wisdom; there were always nine others whose views superseded his. But during night duty, he was judge and jury for whatever citizens were dragged into the council chambers. Cadorna dreamed of the advancements he would earn as the wisdom of his judgments became known to the rest of the council and the voting representatives of Phlan. Naturally he would make certain that his decisions were widely known.
Porphyrys was the last living member of the noble Cadornas, a family respected for its wealth and power until the time of the Dragon Run. The Cadorna Textile House was among many businesses and landmarks destroyed by the onslaught of dragons that leveled Phlan fifty years ago, and its ruins remained just outside the civilized portion of the city, under the control of the darker forces of Phlan. When his last uncle was on his deathbed, Porphyrys vowed, for reasons of honor and reasons of his own, to return the name of his family to prominence. His personal goal was nothing less than to rule Phlan, no matter what the cost. Porphyrys was a patient man-he had worked his way through the ranks of the assembly and finally attained the position of Tenth Councilman-but he had been a long time waiting, and now he was ready to take any steps necessary to get what he wanted.
Cadorna stretched his long legs. Yes, making the council, even the tenth seat, was definitely a step in the right direction. With the council supervising every facet of the city's life, there was hardly anything he wasn't able to get his hands into. A man on the council was a veritable king.
And the man in the first seat is king, thought Cadorna, or at least as close to king as one could get in Phlan. He moved around the table and sat in the First Councilman's chair. Yes, this feels more like it, he thought, wriggling down in the plush seat to make himself more comfortable. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Quickly getting up, Cadorna hurried back to the tenth chair. "Come in!" he shouted, a little louder than necessary.
"Your dinner, Councilman," the attendant announced.
"Also, the mage, Gensor, is here and wishes to speak with you about one of the parties whose case you will be reviewing in the next session."
"Send him in."
Gensor worked for the city, checking and setting up magical seals, scanning prisoners for magical items, and sometimes providing interpretations of supernatural events. In addition to his official duties, he also worked privately, on an assignment basis, for Cadorna. Cadorna found Gensor's insight useful, but nevertheless always felt uneasy around the mage. It was said that magic-users could read men's minds.
The black-robed mage entered the Chambers and found Cadorna sitting down before a plateful of mutton and potatoes the attendant had just brought in. Gensor always marveled at Cadorna's appetite. Nearly every time he came to see the man, he seemed to be sitting down for a meal or a snack, yet somehow he remained as lean as a lizard.
Almost anyone who spent any time with Cadorna, including Gensor, could not help but be aware that the man had a busy social and political agenda, and while Gensor didn't care for Cadorna on a personal basis, he knew he was a man to watch.
"What is it, Gensor?" demanded Cadorna. "Can't you see I'm busy?"
Gensor smiled, deciding to assume that Cadorna was joking. "I thought it necessary to speak with you. An unusual trio is coming before you for judgment during your next session. There's a tavern worker from the Laughing Goblin, a woman new to town, and a cleric of Tyr."
"So? Come to the point, will you, man?"
Gensor interpreted the councilman's impatience as posturing, something at which he excelled. Consequently, he took his time with the explanation. "I thought you should know that the tavern worker radiates a powerful but isolated magic."
"What do you mean 'isolated'?" Cadorna set down his fork and leaned toward Gensor.
"I mean it comes from his boots and must be the boots themselves or something he carrying in them. I'm sure he's no magic-user."
"So he's carrying a magical item," Gensor stated. "That doesn't seem particularly unusual."
"As I said, whatever it is, it's very powerful. But at any rate, I wasn't finished. The woman radiates magic like a beacon in the night. I have no way of knowing what items or power she has, but I've never received a stronger reading from my spell. The cleric is just what he seems. He has no magical devices on his person, save his holy symbol." Gensor could almost see Cadorna's mind at work. He was tempted to use a spell to detect the man's thoughts but decided not to. He rather enjoyed watching Cadorna as his mind worked.
"There is one other thing I wanted to mention. Apart from their magic, the three probably make up the most physically powerful trio I have ever seen. I think, under the circumstances, you may find these three useful."
"Thank you, Gensor," Porphyrys Cadorna said thoughtfully. "Well done. You may go now." He watched as the mage left, and then he allowed himself the pleasure of gloating over the possibilities. Technically, he should reserve judgment on a group such as this for the First Councilman and the Eighth-the first because of the magic attested to by the mage, and the latter because he was a Tyrian cleric and therefore presided over matters concerning the temple of Tyr.
On the other hand, Cadorna mused, Gensor was right to point these three out to me. They certainly could do me some good. Some kind of a test is in order, and I think I know just what it should be. If they can survive the dangers of Sokol Keep, they may be worthy of some other tasks I have in mind…
Cadorna savored the last bite of mutton. The cook had finally gotten the seasonings and cooking time right. Now, if he could only work on the potatoes… the sauce they had simmered in had boiled away to nothing, and the potatoes were dry and overdone.
When the attendant came in to pick up the dishes, Cadorna suggested he tell the cook to start learning more quickly if he didn't want to be replaced.
"Yes, Honorable Tenth Councilman." The attendant quickly wiped off the table and turned to leave with Cadorna's dirty dishes.
"Wait, boy. How many cases for review this session?" asked Cadorna.
"Two, I believe, sir. The watch warden would know for sure."
"Obviously he would know, but he's not here, is he? It wouldn't hurt for you to pay attention to such details, would it?" Cadorna snapped. "In any case, remind the watch warden that I like to have spectators present. Have him admit any who are waiting and drum up a few more if he has to. I'll be ready to start the next session in fifteen minutes."
The attendant bowed awkwardly, taking care not to drop the dishes, and then took his leave. Cadorna used the time to check his attire. He firmly believed that intimidation was critical to passing judgments, and that a person was always more intimidating when he looked his best. Finally Cadorna lifted his sleeve to check his poison dagger. It was held in place by a gold armlet, an heirloom that featured the Cadorna family crest a snake with its tail coiled around a weaver's shuttle. The dagger was loose and at the ready. Cadorna also believed that a man in his position could never be too careful.
When Cadorna finally entered the hearing room, he was pleased to see that it was almost full. Crowds always made cases more interesting, and he felt his growing reputation deserved maximum exposure. The next case, according to the watch warden, involved two feuding groups of clerics. Each band held that the other was stealing its worshipers, but Cadorna was only half listening. Instead, he was watching the three the mage had spoken about.
The tavern worker was a huge man, dressed in a loose tunic. With his knotted hair and baggy clothing, he appeared at first glance to be nothing more than a giant dullard, but Cadorna could see from his forearms, the breadth of his shoulders, and his posture that the man was incredibly well muscled. The woman was almost as tall as the tavern worker, and she looked strong enough and fit enough to take on almost any man. Cadorna shivered. He was himself quite tall, but he hated big men, and he had no use for large women. He preferred women who were petite and meek. The cleric of Tyr was a handsome, well-built man, obviously powerful, but nothing like the big tavern worker. His face was that of a young man, yet his hair was silvery white, the color of a much older man's. Cadorna stared intently at each of them, hoping to detect something of their magic, but he had no such ability.
He straightened in his chair. If he was going to use these three to his best advantage, he must make a good impression on them. He directed his attention to the cleric who was testifying. "What was that you just said, Canon? I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."
"Dessel, your honor. Canon Dessel. Honorable Councilman Cadorna," the cleric pleaded, "these fights between our two faiths must come to a stop. No one profits from such bickering."
"Yes, I quite agree, and I believe I have just the remedy." Cadorna had heard just enough of the case to have an idea. He stood up and swept his arm from one party to the other, in a grandiose gesture. He'd seen the First Councilman make the same motion before, and he was very taken with the effect. "A cleric from each temple will be dispatched immediately to spend thirty days helping heal the brave watchmen who suffer injury while guarding the walls of the city. For every report of disputes between the two temples that reaches the council, another cleric from each temple will be assigned to thirty days of healing service. In this manner, each side will be encouraged to put aside petty bickering or have little time for the maintenance of its own temple. Of course, in the meantime, you will both be serving the needs of our city."
The crowd began murmuring. For a moment, Cadorna worried that he may have gone too far in his judgment. Then he saw the tentative nods of agreement and smiles on people's faces. Several clerics from each of the temples actually walked, albeit reluctantly, to the center of the room and shook hands! Cadorna beamed with pride at the sound logic of his decree.
"The Tenth Councilman has spoken" the watch warden declared. He ushered the canons of both temples away and then returned to announce the principals in the next case. "Shal Bal of Cormyr, Tarl Desanea of Vaasa, and Ren o' the Blade of Waterdeep will stand before this session of the cou
ncil to be judged in the matter of disorderly conduct and brawling within the city limits of Civilized Phlan."
Porphyrys Cadorna gazed down from his place on the dais in the most condescending and accusatory manner he could muster. "This is the council chamber of the city of Phlan," said Cadorna in his most official-sounding voice. "You have been brought here by the Watch Guard for wrongdoing in our fair city. Rest assured that I will hear out what you have to say and carefully review the nature of your case before passing judgment."
Ren was barely aware of what Cadorna was saying. He was busy making a mental note of the full names and home grounds of his two newfound companions. He was still wrestling with the idea that Shal might be somehow related to Tempest. Related or no, he was stunned by her looks and more than a little taken with her candid, bright-eyed manner. Likewise, Ren had been impressed by Shal's cleric friend, Tarl. Tarl hadn't had any reason to jump into the midst of that fight. In fact, he could probably have sought sanctuary at his temple instead of facing judgment.
For Shal, everything about the night had seemed strange and artificial, like a play she was watching from the wings but which she could begin acting in at any time. When the guards first caught her in their wretched nooses, Shal had been terrified. She had seriously considered pulling out the Staff of Power to learn exactly what it could do. It was the relative calm of Tarl and Ren that had kept her from doing something foolish. Neither of them had seemed particularly concerned about being captured. She also felt reassured by the councilman's manner. She was impressed by the fairness of the decision he had imposed upon the clerics, and he had promised fairness in reviewing their case. Whatever the sentence, she hoped it wouldn't take long to fulfill. She had hoped to travel to Denlor's tower the next day, after a good night's rest. This could hold her up considerably.
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