itself is enough to kill you it has the power to solidify into daggers that can pierce your heart or a fierce warrior who never knows fatigue or exhaustion.”
Ah, then how did you escape, little one? Cyric wondered, a smile playing across his shadowed features. He sat with his back to the wall, another hard-earned lesson from his days of thieving, and one quite reasonably applied now, considering the battle with Marek had occurred less than an hour earlier.
It was clear to Cyric that Caitlan wasn’t telling them everything, and for that reason alone the thief maintained his silence and covered his advancing smile with a gloved hand.
“Tell me again why we should risk life and limb simply to help you and this mere girl who promises great riches yet wears nothing but rags?” Adon said to Kelemvor.
Cyric noticed that the cleric seemed anxious so anxious, in fact, that he flinched every time the doors of the inn admitted a new customer. The cleric had been acting strangely ever since he arrived in answer to Kelemvor’s summons, and he was now in a mood that made him unfit for human company. The effect was disconcerting.
“Expecting someone?” Cyric said to the nervous cleric. Adon simply grimaced.
“Certainly there’s a risk,” Kelemvor said finally. “But what else is life, if not a series of risks? I don’t know if I speak for the two of you, but I cannot bear the thought of spending another day locked within these maddening walls.”
“And my lady is trapped within that unholy place, a prisoner for all time unless you three can rescue her!” Caitlan had become increasingly pale as she spoke, and beads of sweat had appeared on her forehead.
Adon looked away and saw that the serving girl who had smiled at him was drawing closer. She was petite, with flaming red hair that reminded him of Sune herself. She carried a tray filled with drinks and stopped at the table nearby.
Suddenly he remembered their conversation from two nights before, when he met her as a fellow patron at the High Moon Inn. Adon liked the company at that inn, and the girl’s wages were too low for her to think of indulging herself in the fineries of the Pride of Arabel.
“Adon,” she said, taking in his full measure.
He could not remember her name. “My dear.”
A moment later Adon was on the floor, the impact of the serving tray still ringing in his ears. “Fine advice you gave me, you lout! Demand equal pay! Fair treatment as a person and not merely a serving wench to be ogled at and fondled by the rich drunkards in their fancy clothes who pass through these doors!”
Adon attempted to shake some sense into his rattled brain and failed. Yes, the words certainly sounded like his…
“The conversation was not a success?” the cleric said quietly.
The serving girl trembled with rage. “I lost my place in line to become the next fine lady of the inn, wife to the innkeeper. A life of luxury thrown away because of you!”
She threw down the tray and Adon was careful this time to avoid it. The serving girl stormed off and Adon regarded his companions.
“How soon can we leave?” Adon said, then accepted Cyric’s helping hand.
“Well met,” Cyric said, his smile hidden no longer.
“We must take into account more than our haste to take flight and our desire for adventure,” Kelemvor said. “Even though magic is untrustworthy, we should bring a mage along on this journey.”
Cyric frowned. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. But who?”
After a moment, Adon said, “What about Lord Aldophus? He is a sage of great repute, and firm friends with King Azoun.”
“‘Curious happenstances abound and all burning Hell breaks loose,’” Cyric said quietly, repeating the phrase Aldophus coined, a phrase whose meaning had taken on a new, somewhat darker significance than the sage had intended when first he uttered those words.
“Aldophus is a dabbler in the physical sciences.” All heads turned to stare at the
Ah, then how did you escape, little one? Cyric wondered, a smile playing across his shadowed features. He sat with his back to the wall, another hard-earned lesson from his days of thieving, and one quite reasonably applied now, considering the battle with Marek had occurred less than an hour earlier.
It was clear to Cyric that Caitlan wasn’t telling them everything, and for that reason alone the thief maintained his silence and covered his advancing smile with a gloved hand.
“Tell me again why we should risk life and limb simply to help you and this mere girl who promises great riches yet wears nothing but rags?” Adon said to Kelemvor.
Cyric noticed that the cleric seemed anxious so anxious, in fact, that he flinched every time the doors of the inn admitted a new customer. The cleric had been acting strangely ever since he arrived in answer to Kelemvor’s summons, and he was now in a mood that made him unfit for human company. The effect was disconcerting.
“Expecting someone?” Cyric said to the nervous cleric. Adon simply grimaced.
“Certainly there’s a risk,” Kelemvor said finally. “But what else is life, if not a series of risks? I don’t know if I speak for the two of you, but I cannot bear the thought of spending another day locked within these maddening walls.”
“And my lady is trapped within that unholy place, a prisoner for all time unless you three can rescue her!” Caitlan had become increasingly pale as she spoke, and beads of sweat had appeared on her forehead.
Adon looked away and saw that the serving girl who had smiled at him was drawing closer. She was petite, with flaming red hair that reminded him of Sune herself. She carried a tray filled with drinks and stopped at the table nearby.
Suddenly he remembered their conversation from two nights before, when he met her as a fellow patron at the High Moon Inn. Adon liked the company at that inn, and the girl’s wages were too low for her to think of indulging herself in the fineries of the Pride of Arabel.
“Adon,” she said, taking in his full measure.
He could not remember her name. “My dear.”
A moment later Adon was on the floor, the impact of the serving tray still ringing in his ears. “Fine advice you gave me, you lout! Demand equal pay! Fair treatment as a person and not merely a serving wench to be ogled at and fondled by the rich drunkards in their fancy clothes who pass through these doors!”
Adon attempted to shake some sense into his rattled brain and failed. Yes, the words certainly sounded like his…
“The conversation was not a success?” the cleric said quietly.
The serving girl trembled with rage. “I lost my place in line to become the next fine lady of the inn, wife to the innkeeper. A life of luxury thrown away because of you!”
She threw down the tray and Adon was careful this time to avoid it. The serving girl stormed off and Adon regarded his companions.
“How soon can we leave?” Adon said, then accepted Cyric’s helping hand.
“Well met,” Cyric said, his smile hidden no longer.
“We must take into account more than our haste to take flight and our desire for adventure,” Kelemvor said. “Even though magic is untrustworthy, we should bring a mage along on this journey.”
Cyric frowned. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. But who?”
After a moment, Adon said, “What about Lord Aldophus? He is a sage of great repute, and firm friends with King Azoun.”
“‘Curious happenstances abound and all burning Hell breaks loose,’” Cyric said quietly, repeating the phrase Aldophus coined, a phrase whose meaning had taken on a new, somewhat darker significance than the sage had intended when first he uttered those words.
“Aldophus is a dabbler in the physical sciences.” All heads turned to stare at the
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