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Authors: Richard Baker
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“Myrkyssa Jelan! Oh, my lady, you are making a fool of me! Myrkyssa Jelan, indeed!”
Two years ago, the Warlord Jelan had ravaged all the Vast with a great horde of mercenaries, goblins, ogres, and giants, finally bringing all her forces to bear on Raven’s Bluff. The army, led by Lord Charles Blacktree, had sallied forth to meet her in the field. Skirmishing and forays had followed for months, culminating in a week-long battle in which Jelan’s onslaught finally failed on the sixth day of continuous fighting.
“No, I am afraid that I do not have the pleasure of Myrkyssa Jelan’s acquaintance,” Jack managed to gasp, “but I was hurrying to meet the sceptanar of Cimbar and the king of Cormyr, who even now plot a dastardly double-pronged attack on our fair city. Consider yourselves warned!” With that he lapsed into raucous laughter again.
Muttering under his breath, the big man stepped forward and seized Jack by the collar. “This is no joking matter. We have reason to believe that the Warlord’s agents are at large in the city. She means to lay the city to waste. I mean to stop her. Don’t laugh at me!”
“Honestly, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jack said.
The dark-haired man hauled Jack to his feet and drew back one hand to strike Jack across the face, but the rogue twisted out of the warrior’s grasp and backpedaled an arm’s length. He set his hand on the poignard’s hilt.
“Your attentions are unwelcome, sir,” he said with a light laugh. “I thank you for the jest, but I must excuse myself.” He paused and then added, “The Simbul expects me shortly, and I cannot keep such a lovely and important lady waiting, if you understand me.”
The man halted. He deliberately pushed his cloak clear of his right shoulder, revealing a longer and heavier shirt of mail than the woman and a heavy broadsword at his belt.
“I think the question is, do you understand me?” the man said. “Don’t trifle with us, street rat.”
“You say you don’t know anything about Myrkyssa Jelan. Interesting. I can produce a dozen witnesses who saw you meet with a woman named Elana at the Cracked Tankard a couple of nights ago,” the woman said. “What did you talk about?”
“Even if that is correct, which I don’t admit for a moment,” Jack said, “there is no law against sharing an ale with an acquaintance in a tavern.”
“Perhaps you should concern yourself with the question of who Elana is really working for, Jack Ravenwild. Spies need dupes, after all.”
“I am nobody’s dupe!”
“Don’t be so sure of that.” The man set his hand on his sword hilt. Jack followed the motion with his eyes, spotting a tattoo on the back of the fellow’s sword handa hawk in flight, stooping with its talons extended. “Now, answer my friend’s question.”
Knights of the Hawk. Jack shook his head, still trying to clear the cobwebs. He’d managed to attract some very prestigious attention indeed. “I might. But first, tell me why the Knights of the Hawk are interested in Elana. And who you are, for that matter.”
The man scowled. “You can call me Marcus. This is Ashwillow. Remember the names.”
“Have no fear on that account,” Jack said. He rubbed his head. “I won’t forget you.”
“We want to have some words with Elana,” Ashwillow said. “We have reason to believe that she’s involved in some undesirable activities, the kind of activities people
get imprisoned for. Or possibly hanged.” She stared hard at Jack by way of extending the threat.
“Have you seen her?” Marcus asked.
“Not since I spoke to her the other night,” Jack answered.
“What exactly did you talk about?” Ashwillow asked.
“She had lecherous designs upon my person, but I informed her that my personal standards of conduct could not possibly accommodate her lustful wishes,” Jack said. He dusted off his cape and rearranged his clothes. Then he deliberately pushed his way past the two city
Two years ago, the Warlord Jelan had ravaged all the Vast with a great horde of mercenaries, goblins, ogres, and giants, finally bringing all her forces to bear on Raven’s Bluff. The army, led by Lord Charles Blacktree, had sallied forth to meet her in the field. Skirmishing and forays had followed for months, culminating in a week-long battle in which Jelan’s onslaught finally failed on the sixth day of continuous fighting.
“No, I am afraid that I do not have the pleasure of Myrkyssa Jelan’s acquaintance,” Jack managed to gasp, “but I was hurrying to meet the sceptanar of Cimbar and the king of Cormyr, who even now plot a dastardly double-pronged attack on our fair city. Consider yourselves warned!” With that he lapsed into raucous laughter again.
Muttering under his breath, the big man stepped forward and seized Jack by the collar. “This is no joking matter. We have reason to believe that the Warlord’s agents are at large in the city. She means to lay the city to waste. I mean to stop her. Don’t laugh at me!”
“Honestly, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jack said.
The dark-haired man hauled Jack to his feet and drew back one hand to strike Jack across the face, but the rogue twisted out of the warrior’s grasp and backpedaled an arm’s length. He set his hand on the poignard’s hilt.
“Your attentions are unwelcome, sir,” he said with a light laugh. “I thank you for the jest, but I must excuse myself.” He paused and then added, “The Simbul expects me shortly, and I cannot keep such a lovely and important lady waiting, if you understand me.”
The man halted. He deliberately pushed his cloak clear of his right shoulder, revealing a longer and heavier shirt of mail than the woman and a heavy broadsword at his belt.
“I think the question is, do you understand me?” the man said. “Don’t trifle with us, street rat.”
“You say you don’t know anything about Myrkyssa Jelan. Interesting. I can produce a dozen witnesses who saw you meet with a woman named Elana at the Cracked Tankard a couple of nights ago,” the woman said. “What did you talk about?”
“Even if that is correct, which I don’t admit for a moment,” Jack said, “there is no law against sharing an ale with an acquaintance in a tavern.”
“Perhaps you should concern yourself with the question of who Elana is really working for, Jack Ravenwild. Spies need dupes, after all.”
“I am nobody’s dupe!”
“Don’t be so sure of that.” The man set his hand on his sword hilt. Jack followed the motion with his eyes, spotting a tattoo on the back of the fellow’s sword handa hawk in flight, stooping with its talons extended. “Now, answer my friend’s question.”
Knights of the Hawk. Jack shook his head, still trying to clear the cobwebs. He’d managed to attract some very prestigious attention indeed. “I might. But first, tell me why the Knights of the Hawk are interested in Elana. And who you are, for that matter.”
The man scowled. “You can call me Marcus. This is Ashwillow. Remember the names.”
“Have no fear on that account,” Jack said. He rubbed his head. “I won’t forget you.”
“We want to have some words with Elana,” Ashwillow said. “We have reason to believe that she’s involved in some undesirable activities, the kind of activities people
get imprisoned for. Or possibly hanged.” She stared hard at Jack by way of extending the threat.
“Have you seen her?” Marcus asked.
“Not since I spoke to her the other night,” Jack answered.
“What exactly did you talk about?” Ashwillow asked.
“She had lecherous designs upon my person, but I informed her that my personal standards of conduct could not possibly accommodate her lustful wishes,” Jack said. He dusted off his cape and rearranged his clothes. Then he deliberately pushed his way past the two city
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