by Mark Anthony
“Surely there must be another—”
“Now, Harper!” Caledan growled. “Unless you’d rather explain to the Zhentarim where you got that fancy moon-and-harp pin you’re so proud of wearing.”
Mari’s eyes flashed fire, but she bit her lip and lowered herself through the opening. “Be careful, Estah,” she told the healer.
A stern look crossed the halfling’s face. “Don’t you worry about Jolle and me. We can handle a few of Cutter’s men. Now you two stay quiet.” She shut the trapdoor, and there was a grating sound as she and Jolle moved the heavy table back into place.
“Comfortable, Harper?” Caledan asked patronizingly.
Mari gave him a scathing look. With white-knuckled hands she clung to one of the oaken beams. Wind whipped at her dark hair. A trio of swallows lazily spun and dove below them.
Caledan rather enjoyed the view himself, but he knew his was an unfair advantage. He and the other members of the Fellowship had used this hiding place on more than one occasion in the past.
Both of them tensed when they heard the heavy thumping of booted feet on the planks above their heads. A growling voice drifted down through the boards, but Caledan couldn’t make out the words. A gentle yet resolute voice spoke then. Estah.
The booted feet departed, and for a long time the only sounds were birdsong and the voice of the spring wind. Then there came that same dull scraping sound, and a moment later the trapdoor opened. Estah’s broad face was framed in the square.
“They’re gone,” she said in a relieved voice.
Minutes later they were once again safe within the inn’s private dining chamber. Mari’s face was pale, and she fairly gulped down the cup of spiced wine Estah offered her. However, she was none the worse for wear. Caledan had to admit to himself, albeit grudgingly, that the Harper had been brave.
“At least this should keep Ravendas’s attention away from the Dreaming Dragon for a while,” Caledan said. How long that might be was another question.
It was evening when Cormik arrived at the inn. He had traded his normally fastidious, opulent attire for a disguise consisting of the patched, mud-spattered garb of a peasant farmer and wore a wide-brimmed straw hat pulled down low to conceal his eye patch.
“You know, I think it suits you,” Caledan told him with perfect seriousness.
“I’ve killed men for much less than that,” Cormik snapped, plucking at his threadbare attire with a look of profound distaste. “What necessity can make us stoop to,” he lamented in a pained voice, but then his manner grew businesslike. “I didn’t come here for compliments, Caledan. I came to warn you and the lovely Harper Al’maren. I just received word that the lord steward, Snake, has ordered a door-to-door search of every habitation in the city.”
“We already know,” Caledan said matter-of-factly, enjoying the startled look on Cormik’s face. The owner of the Prince and Pauper wasn’t used to others learning things before he did.
Caledan and Mari spent the rest of the evening deep in conversation with Cormik. Estah brought them a plate of good but simple fare—bread, cheese, and a jug of pale wine. Cormik eyed everything with a sense of novelty.
“So this is how the masses live,” he remarked, picking up his earthenware cup and studying it carefully. “How interesting. How peculiar.” He sniffed the wine, and his bulbous nose wrinkled. He quickly set it back down. “How revolting.”
Not possessed of such delicate palates, Caledan and Mari enjoyed the repast while Cormik talked. The efforts to try to wear Ravendas down and, more importantly, to discover her weaknesses were going well. A few small opposition bands under the direction of some of Cormik’s agents had scored several hits against Lord Cutter’s city guard.
“We’ve been a thorn in her side, to be sure,” Cormik said, “but we have a long way to go. We still need to find more people who are willing to fight the Zhentarim. And then we have to arm them. You two came away from the countinghouse with a fair sum in jewels, but I can’t simply sell them openly on the market here. Ravendas is bound to notice. Besides, she has a lock on the weapons trade, and there isn’t a blacksmith in a dozen leagues that isn’t firing up his forges to arm her men. However, agents of mine are currently making deals in Berdusk and Elversult, though it’s going to be a slow process smuggling weapons into the city.”
Mari sighed deeply. “Let’s hope she moves even slower than we do.”
Cormik chuckled deeply. “Don’t despair, Mari Al’maren. I have ways of sowing problems among Cutter’s men.” His one good eye gleamed wickedly. “As a matter of fact, I suspect that even as we talk new reports are making their way to the tower, telling how the leaders behind the insurrection are in truth captains of Ravendas’s own city guards. More than a few of Cutter’s men who don’t swear their complete loyalty quite fast enough will be swinging by their necks before morning.”
Caledan shook his head. “You’re a devious man, Cormik. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
Cormik stared at Caledan flatly. “You are on my bad side, Caledan.”
Mari laughed after Cormik had left. “You know, I’m really beginning to like that man,” she commented.
“You would,” Caledan replied sourly.
* * * * *
It was late. The inn had closed for the night. Its shutters were drawn, giving Mari and Caledan the freedom to sit in the glow of the fire in the common room with Estah. Jolle was upstairs. He said he wanted to check on a leak in the roof. Mari didn’t remind him there hadn’t been a drop of rain in days. She knew the halfling was keeping watch.
“Despite Cormik’s deceptions, it’s still only a matter of time before Ravendas discovers us,” Caledan said in a low voice, gazing into the flames. He twirled a dagger absently in his hands.
Mari started to reply, but just then two pairs of small feet came thundering down the stairs. Pog and Nog burst into the common room and dashed to Estah, clinging to her desperately.
“My bonnies, what is it?” Estah asked them, hugging the two tightly. “You should be long abed.” Nog tried to explain in whatever language it was that he spoke, but Pog interrupted.
“It’s the shadows, Mother,” she said gravely, her brown eyes wide in her small, round face. “The ones in the closet. I woke up and saw them moving, and Nog did, too. They want to eat us!”
Estah laughed, hugging her two children tightly. “Why, that’s nonsense! Even if the shadows could move, how in the world could they step off the wall to eat you? And if they did eat you, where in the world would they put you? Shadows are awfully thin, you know.” Pog’s little forehead wrinkled a bit as she considered this information. She didn’t seem entirely convinced.
“Well, if you’re still worried,” Estah said, “perhaps I could have your Uncle Caledan here speak with the shadows. He’s a friend of theirs, you know.”
“You can talk to shadows, Uncle Caledan?” Pog asked. Mari looked at Caledan, raising an eyebrow. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“It’s just an old trick, nothing more,” he explained. “I haven’t done it in years.”
“An old trick?” Mari asked curiously.
“Oh, a bit more than that, I’d say,” Estah said, her brown eyes twinkling. “Why, with the music of his reed pipes, Caledan can make the very shadows dance upon the wall.”
Pog’s eyes lit up then, and Nog squealed in glee. “Oh, please, Uncle Caledan. Make the shadows dance on the wall for us! Please?”
Caledan shook his head. “I don’t suppose I even remember how.” He turned to Mari in explanation. “It was just an old parlor game—an odd talent that ran in the family.” He looked at Pog and Nog and grinned, tousling their straw-colored hair. He picked them up, one in each arm, much to their squeals of terror and delight, and headed up the stairs. “I may not make them dance on the wall, but I will talk with them. Maybe I can convince them not to eat all of you. Perhaps just a few bites …” Pog and Nog squealed in horror and delight.
“Can he real
ly do that, Estah?” Mari asked when they were alone. “The trick with the shadows, I mean.”
“Indeed he can. Shadow magic, I always called it. He could make the shadows on the wall move and act as he pleased with the music of his reed pipes. Of course, he put little stock in it. He regarded it simply as a minor talent that ran in his family. But however small a thing it was, it was magic.” Estah’s eyes glimmered in the firelight, then she sighed. “Now, of course, he won’t play a note of music at all, not for any reason.”
“Why, Estah? Why did Caledan forsake his music, and the Harpers?”
“You don’t know, lass?” Estah asked softly. “I thought you knew about Ravendas.”
Mari shrugged. “Only that Caledan had met her before. That’s all I know.”
Estah sighed deeply. “It’s a long tale, but I think it’s one you should hear. I suppose I should start by telling you about the Fellowship of the Dreaming Dragon.” She poured a cup of fragrant tea, scented with mint and camomile, for each of them. Mari leaned forward, listening intently.
“I’ll never forget the first time I met Caledan.” Estah smiled with the memory. “It must be more than a dozen years ago by now. He was a young man then, on his first mission for the Harpers. As it happened, his travels brought him to Iriaebor, to this very inn, which I had only just bought. Over the next year or so his journeys frequently brought him to the Dreaming Dragon, and we became friends. And then one day, before I really had a chance to consider what I was doing, he told me he had need of a healer, and the next thing I knew I was off on one of his missions with him!”
Estah shook her head and laughed. “If I had known what adventuring was like, I doubt I would have ever left the warm comforts of the inn. But once enlisted, I knew I could never let Caledan go off on his journeys alone again. They were simply too dangerous. He needed a healer with him.”
“But you weren’t the only one to journey with him, were you?” Mari asked.
Estah nodded, sipping her tea. “That’s right. One by one, others that we met on our journeys joined the Fellowship to help Caledan. The first was Morhion, a mage of considerable power. After him came Ferret, who was always more rogue than hero. And then there was Tyveris, a great warrior but also a gentle soul. Over the years, and through our travels, we became almost like a family.” Estah smiled fondly. “No, I think we were a family.” Her broad face grew solemn.
“Where are the others now?” Mari asked gently.
“Last I heard, Tyveris lived north of Iriaebor,” Estah replied. “As for the others, I’m not certain. No one could ever keep track of Ferret for long. Morhion may still live in the city, but if so I don’t know where. I haven’t heard from him since the day we went our separate ways. Even when we traveled together he was a strange, secretive man.”
“But you still haven’t told me why Caledan left the Harpers, Estah, why the Fellowship disbanded.”
“Let me finish the tale,” Estah said with a sigh, setting down her teacup. “I think you’ll understand then. You see, there was one other who joined the Fellowship. Her name was Kera, and she was a Harper, too. I once heard it said about Kera that her hair made sunlight seem pale, and that compared to her eyes the morning sky was colorless. But it was her heart I remember most. She was a woman of true beauty, within and without.”
How lucky for her, Mari almost found herself saying, but then she bit her tongue. Why should she care what Caldorien’s old friends looked like?
“You should have seen Caledan in those days,” Estah said with a laugh. “You wouldn’t have recognized him, Mari. He was young and handsome, full of humor and hope. I think that was Kera’s influence on him. Never have I seen two people more in love than Kera and he. They used to sing the most marvelous duets.”
Estah rose to put another piece of wood on the fire. She stirred the coals with a poker, and sparks flew up the chimney. She sat back down and gathered her thoughts for a moment before going on. “It was seven years ago that Caledan and Kera finally decided to wed. They were going to take their vows in Twilight Hall in Berdusk itself, before all of the Harpers. But on the eve of our journey to Berdusk, word came from Twilight Hall that a Zhentarim lord was raising an army of goblinkin outside the walls of Hluthvar, a town some leagues to the north of Iriaebor. As it turned out, the Zhent’s name was Ravendas.
“Caledan and Kera accepted the mission. The wedding was postponed.”
Mari edged forward on her chair, her tea forgotten, as Estah described how Caledan and the Fellowship managed to ruin Ravendas’s plans to usurp the town.
“Goblins are clannish creatures,” Estah explained, “and goblin tribes are constantly feuding with each other. We discovered that Ravendas’s army was comprised of goblins from two different tribes. We managed to plant rumors among each of the tribes that the other tribe was planning to betray them. Driven nearly mad with suspicion, the leaders of the two tribes attacked each other. The rest of the goblins quickly followed suit. Ravendas’s army actually destroyed itself. The town of Hluthvar was saved.
“In the chaos of the battle Caledan managed to capture Ravendas, and he threw her in chains,” Estah went on. “However, when he was off routing a few straggling bands of goblins, Ravendas managed to escape.”
“But how?” Mari asked.
Estah’s face hardened. “Ravendas was always a sly one. She could don a look of remorse as easily as you might don your cloak. At the time it happened, Kera was the only one in camp. Ravendas spoke to her, pretty words I’m sure, and finally she convinced Kera that she was truly repentant, that she wished to begin a new life. Kera believed her, and she unlocked Ravendas’s chains.”
Estah’s voice trembled and her eyes grew distant, as if she were reliving it all over again. “By the time we rode back to camp, Ravendas had escaped. We found Kera, her fair face pressed to the cold ground. The chains that had bound Ravendas were wrapped about her neck, wet with her blood.” She shook her head in sorrow. “Kera was dead. Ravendas had strangled her.”
“But I don’t understand,” Mari said, angered by what seemed Kera’s pointless death. “Why did Kera believe Ravendas? It should have been obvious that she was lying.”
“True,” Estah said with a nod, “but Kera wanted to believe. You see, Mari, Kera and Ravendas were sisters.”
Mari stared at the healer in silent shock.
“Caledan blamed himself, of course,” Estah went on sadly. “And he blamed the Harpers as well. He broke with the Harpers that day, and that was when the Fellowship disbanded. We each went on to lead our separate lives, and as far as I know Caledan has not played a note of music since. I think it reminds him of Kera far too much.”
Mari did not know what to say. The healer’s tale made her regret a few of the harsh things she had said to Caldorien.
Estah shook her head, regarding the small hands resting against her gray homespun skirt. “If only there had been enough healing in these two old hands,” she said softly. “Perhaps Kera might have lived.”
Mari reached out and took the healer’s hands in her own. “But you can’t fault yourself, Estah, no more than Caledan can.”
Estah pulled her hands away. “Oh, yes, I can,” she said sternly. “I can, and I do. But while Kera’s death shattered Caledan, it made me strong, Mari. I vowed that day never to let another person I love die. Never.” She rose to her feet abruptly.
“I’d best see if Pog and Nog are in bed yet,” Estah said, then left Mari alone in the flickering light of the fire.
* * * * *
It was quiet in the Dreaming Dragon. Mari sat at a small table in the corner of her room, bathed in the light of a single candle. She unrolled a piece of parchment and dipped a quill in a small pot of ink. Her hand wavered for a moment as she thought of Estah’s tale. Then she swallowed hard and began to write. She had her duty. When she was finished she read over the brief missive, written in her flowing hand:
To Belhuar Thantarth
Master of Twilight Hall
Greetings!
I have made contact with Caldorien as ordered. He has agreed to help counter the Zhentarim in Iriaebor of his own will, and all goes well. He has learned that Cutter is in truth Ravendas, but he does not suspect our knowledge. More importantly, I have confirmed the rumors concerning his shadow magic. I shall make contact again in one tenday.
Milil’s Blessing!
Mari Al’maren
Mari deftly folded the parchment and sealed it with hot wax from the candle. She would find a rider tomorrow who could deliver it to Twilight Hall in Berdusk. For a moment she watched the shadows cast by the candle’s light flicker on the wall of her room. It was almost as if they were dancing, she thought, and then she blew out the flame.
Seven
It was midmorning two days later when Estah returned from a trip to the free market in the New City. The few patrons in the common room looked up in astonishment from their tables. Most had known the innkeeper for years, but few had ever seen her angry.
“She has gone too far this time!” Estah exclaimed furiously.
Jolle hurried into the common room. He took one look at his wife and, sensing something was terribly wrong, gave the signal. Instantly the inn’s occupants leaped from their tables. The shutters were closed, the door locked, and lookouts headed upstairs to keep watch. Caledan entered as Jolle was trying in vain to calm down the healer.
“She has gone too far!” Estah repeated, her cheeks flushed. She snatched the board bearing Lord Cutter’s Rules from the wall and flung it to the floor.
“Ravendas?” Caledan ventured, his expression grim.
“Look at this,” Estah said, her voice trembling as she thrust a crumpled-up piece of parchment toward Caledan. “I saw it just a few minutes ago, posted in the free market.” Caledan unfolded the parchment. It was an official notice. Quickly he read it, his heart sinking.
