Chapter XII. The Search for the Sage

The night was growing unbearable, primarily due to the sticky humidity choking the city like a midnight collar. The combination of the unusual heat of the season and the water still standing in puddles on the street after the freakish storm that had struck Northwest Windsong, was causing even the normally cool night air to be disgustingly sweltering. Lysinthia had never been the type of person who could handle being uncomfortable with grace. In fact, she was prepared to give up this pathetic, fruitless search to find a sage who was more than likely dead and go back to the relative comfort of the Rentre household. It was a plain dwelling, but at least it was dry and there was some wine to drink. The bard woman was very favorably disposed towards someone who could offer her a bottle of Sondori Red to savor. She had never bothered to ask how someone of such average means, such as the Rentre family had, could afford a bottle of the finest wine in Mer. Yet another mystery to solve later.

Setting aside such trivial thoughts for pondering some other time, Lysinthia adjusted the bags she had strapped around her stomach and hips. These infernal things were the real cause of her misery. Disguising herself as an older, much fatter woman had seemed a stroke of genius when she initially thought of the idea. Unfortunately, her enchantment with the plan came to a sudden and infuriating halt as soon as she had walked down the soggy, humid streets of Haven. She had covered her expensive, custom-cut, black boots with ragged straps of cloth, but the mud was still flowing over them. Luckily for her, the streets were of considerably better quality this close to the Knights' barracks.

The rest of the companions with Lysinthia, especially Melina, had been amused to no end with the predicament that Lysinthia had put herself into. Every time she had uttered a complaint about her stifling costume and the Mael-forsaken weather, they would break out into childish grins. Ephirea even went as far as giggling out loud. Of course, when Lysinthia confronted her about it, she would make some alibi of seeing a very funny-looking man, or just remembering a joke, or some other type of pathetic excuse. Well, at least there was one thing good about being disguised as well as she was, the patrols of Knights would never think she was a wanted outlaw. Most of the rest of the companions with her could not make that statement.

Only Tersiano and Dealyon were truly disguised as well as she. Their disguises were derived from magic, however, not good talent like her own. Dealyon had adamantly refused to dress himself up in any way, so Lysinthia had grudgingly consented to casting a spell on the druid which altered his features and clothing, making him appear to be a middle class merchant looking for a night on the prowl. Tersiano had cast a spell to make himself appear to be an extremely well endowed woman. Lysinthia shook her head sadly as she looked at the wild mage admiring his reflection in a street window. There just was no guessing as to what strange thing the crazy mage would do next. She grumbled to herself again about being the one that had to be paired with Tersiano when the companions split up.

The remainder of the companions had assembled sparse, but acceptable disguises. They would not pass inspection by the gate guards, but they would do well on a dark night in the middle of the tavern district of the city. Lysinthia permitted herself a small smile when she recalled the companions searching all throughout the Rentre family's house for items to help disguise themselves. They had used almost everything they had found to conceal their appearances. It was lucky that Quillion, Malaryn, and Preosha had been preparing to leave and find a healer for Aramari. There would not have been enough materials in the house for proper disguises otherwise. Lysinthia quietly whispered a prayer to any God who would listen that her friends' mission would be successful.

The disguised bard reached out and stopped Tersiano, who had been walking down the torch lit street beside her, wrapped up in his own thoughts. She was staring up at another tavern, the next area to focus their search. She had decided early on in this venture that she and Tersiano would search the taverns in the area by the Knights' barracks. No one was quite as forthcoming as a man who was well into his cups, especially when he had a pretty face in front of him. Lysinthia's disguise prevented her from being the pretty face, but she decided to coach Tersiano on being the type of woman that men opened up to. Only the wild mage could have the infinitely random type of personality to imitate a woman correctly.

Behind the overdone makeup covering her face, Lysinthia grimaced. This was going to be a night she would probably never recover from. Just the thought of Tersiano getting more stares and admiring looks from the men of the tavern than she was causing her not a little discomfort already. It was a good thing Ephirea was with another group. If she were here, the over-flirtatious archer would probably be teaching the disguised Tersiano to club men over the head with a bow and drag them to a secluded room somewhere. Lysinthia chided herself softly. Ephirea was not quite as forward as that, but she could seem that way at times.

Even disguised as she was, Lysinthia knew her green eyes could freeze a man in his tracks, especially in this part of the country, where dark eyes were commonplace. She fixed those eyes on Tersiano now, intent on intimidating him into listening to her orders. When the wild mage was in a playful mood, such as the one he was in now, he could be very receptive to her bullying. She tightened her grip on Tersiano's arm, causing him to meet her eyes .

"Tersiano, or should I say Sorrena, I think that this time you really should make an effort not to do whatever the men wish you to" she said to the blond woman that stared back at her.

"Oh have no fear, milady," said the wild mage, his voice disguised in a light airy tone that only a great fool would think was a real woman's voice. Luckily for them the majority of men they had met so far fit that description perfectly. "I will behave as the perfectly demure little temptress."

Lysinthia was not sure she liked the wry tone to the wild mage's voice. Every time she had heard that tone in the past, it had meant the wild mage was going to prove especially chaotic. Well, there was not time to worry about such things as a wild mage's attitude, for there was information to be found and this tavern was as good as any other place to find it.

She strode through the open door to the tavern, letting the sounds of revelry and mayhem wash over her. By Karynys! It had been a long time since she had stepped foot into a good tavern. Although she preferred the common room of an inn to a tavern when it came to performing, because the people generally stayed longer and paid more when they only had to walk upstairs to retire to bed. Neither she nor Tersiano was planning on playing guitar or singing this night, though, so a tavern would fit their purposes just fine.

At first glance, The Knight's Moon seemed a rowdy sort of place. Lysinthia allowed herself another smile at the ironic name of the tavern. The men who gathered around the tables were quite loud and most had the carefree manner about them that indicated they were soon to be well into their cups. She moved into the tavern a bit deeper to allow Tersiano to enter behind her. The wild mage's illusion was holding up quite well under the conditions. The wind seemed to whip the scarves he wore around his small young frame, scarves he was not truly wearing. Lysinthia knew that Tersiano was almost two full hands taller than she was, but she could reach out and grab the rosy cheeks of the blond image in front of her and they would feel as real as her own would. Such was the power of a wild mage's illusion. Only a magically resistant race or someone with supreme disbelief would have the ability to see through such a powerful spell.

A loud burst of laughter from one of the tables drew Lysinthia's attention. She saw a group of men huddled together two deep in a circle around something. Her curiosity piqued, she walked towards the gathering, gesturing absent-mindedly for Tersiano to follow. As she drew near she noticed that someone was seated at a table that the men were clustered about.

It was a man, a very short man. He could not have stood as tall as Lysinthia's chest at full height, but he was very heavily muscled, as if someone had taken the amount of muscle on a normal sized man and compacted it onto a smaller frame. This was a first for Lysinthia, for she had never seen a Dwarf this far North in Windsong. Dwarves were generally loath to roam the colder climes of the world. Of course, this drought had changed the normally cool seasonal temperature to an almost summer like environment.

This Dwarf was regaling his listeners with some story of his bold accomplishments on rescuing a tall, gorgeous Ogre woman and taking her below decks on her own ship to engage in his own type of celebration. Lysinthia snorted in disbelief. Only the uneducated riff-raff that would frequent a place like this would believe such a passel of lies as those. She had never once heard of a dwarf boarding a sea-faring ship with the intent of swinging in the rigging to rescue someone. Much less an Ogre ship which always headed far into the oceans of the world. If a Dwarf ever fell overboard on a ship, he would sink like an anvil had been tied to his boots. The combination of their short limbs and heavy body density made them the complete opposite of a good swimmer.

"I don't believe a word of what that little liar is saying. He might have actually seen an Ogre woman once, but I doubt it. What do you think Ters... I mean Sorrena? Sorrena?" Lysinthia turned to look for the wild mage and found that he had apparently proceeded to the first table that he had viewed upon entering and began to "ply his trade" as he called it. Lysinthia could only watch in amazement as her fellow companion fumbled his way through one flirtatious advance after another. He was lucky that the men he had targeted were almost blind drunk or they would not have believed for an instant that he was a wanton.

Lost in her amusement, she had forgotten that she was standing next to the bar. A hard jab on her shoulder drew her attention away from Tersiano's antics to the overly fat man standing behind the bar. He was wiping his hand off on his already filthy apron as if touching her had disgusted him. The balding man was so fat that he was spilling out of the sides of the apron like an overstuffed pillow. When he spoke to Lysinthia, it was in a breathless voice that sounded like oil sizzling on a skillet. "Ya want somethin', ya old hag?"

The pride that was such a part of Lysinthia almost made her throw back a seething retort to the slimy barkeep, but good judgment overcame it and the disguised bard said in a quavering voice, "I sure do young man. I want ta get a mug of mulled wine when ya get de chance."

The barkeep gave Lysinthia a weary look and then waddled around to the other side of the bar, clanking around some bottles and grumbling to himself. Lysinthia grinned beneath her caked makeup, knowing that mulled wine would not be readily available since the patrons of this tavern most certainly drank nothing more than ale or beer. It was nothing less than what the man deserved for treating his elders in such a disrespectful way.

"Do ye be needin' someone ta buy ye an ale, there m'lass?" The voice came from behind Lysinthia and she tuned slowly, as if her back was giving her trouble, to see who it was that had spoken. There, in front of her, stood the very dwarf she had been listening to moments earlier. He wore a solid gray tunic that hung over his broad shoulders and extended down to his knees. He wore a black tooled leather belt across his waist that held the shirt in place. Various pouches and purses dangled from it and swayed as he moved. He was eyeing her from beneath his lowered brows and wiping the foam from his ale off his wide, white mustache with the back of his sleeve. He stood there for a moment with a smile bordering on a smirk plastered on his face before stating, "Iff'n I'm no missin' me guess, ye've got a world o' prettiness under all o' that clatter ye're wearin'."

Lysinthia felt her eyes widen in shock for a fraction of a second before she mastered her features. Surely this dwarf had not noticed. She had been a master at acting out and telling tales for so long that she had learned to lie with the best, and she did not admit defeat easily.

"I don't know what your speakin' of" she said in her best Havenic accent. "I'm just an old woman lookin' ta have a glass of mulled wine before takin' myself home ta rest."

"And I'm a goblin she-mage" retorted the dwarf. "I know a disguise when I see one m'lass, an' though yers is a fine and dandy one, it's not nearly enough ta fool such an experienced wanderer as m'self. I'll ask ye now what ye and yer magicked friend over there are hiding from?"

Lysinthia could feel herself losing this battle. How did this dwarf know so much about them? She decided to launch another offensive before she even considered surrender. "I told you before, I'm here for my mulled wine. Iff'n you don't leave me be, I'll call in de Knight patrol to arrest you."

The dwarf burst into a peal of laughter, nearly causing him to spill his ale from his ornately carved silver tankard. Lysinthia watched as the dwarf noticed the near spill, and his mirth subsided quickly as he muttered to himself. "Yayenger's Blood! I'd be shunned by me Dwarven people forever iff'n they e'er heard o' me spillin' me ale." He quickly slurped the small amount that ran down the side of the tankard with a satisfied sigh before regarding Lysinthia with an amused air about him. "So ye're gonna call the Knight patrol on me, eh? Well, go ahead, but I've got a sneakin' suspicion about ye that says ta me ye're the one who wants ta avoid 'em."

A rush of options flooded through Lysinthia's mind as she pondered how to escape the situation, each one worse than the last. A good fighter knows when it is time to lay down their sword, and she knew this battle had her defeated, harried, and defenseless. "All right, master dwarf, you're correct. I'm not an old hag, and I do not wish any undue attention from the Knights of the First Order" she said, dropping her Havenic accent. "My name is Lysinthia Ficklesong and I am searching for direly important information."

The dwarf smiled broadly at her admission, his perfectly squared teeth flashing in the flickering torchlight. He extended his hand to the bard woman, saying, "I be called Blandigard Mindar." He pulled up a stool next to Lysinthia and climbed up on to it. He gestured for Lysinthia to do the same. After she was seated on the stool, the white haired dwarf spoke to her in lower tones, eyeing the nearby tavern patrons to make sure they were not listening.

"So ye're Lysinthia Ficklesong, eh? I've heard of ye, all right. Ye've got a bit o' reputation as a traveling bard down South way." Lysinthia felt a flush of pride at the dwarf's words. "Iff'n ye're in a bit of trouble from the bloody Knights then I definitely wish to know ye better. Ye might want to call yer tall mage friend back from the crowd of men he's entertaining, I'd like ta meet him as well."

"How did you know that he's a man?" asked Lysinthia. "His illusion is perfect in all respects."

"Ah, not quite in all respects" responded Blandigard. "He forgot a couple of important items, namely his scent and his tracks. I'm sure he dinna think that he needed ta disguise his smell since normal humans would'na notice, but this sharp sniffer" he said, reaching up to touch his nose, "has pulled me fat from the flames many times. Besides, we dwarfs are immune to magic, did ya no know that?"

"Of course I knew that" Lysinthia lied, "it's common knowledge."

"Whate'er ye say mi'lass. Yer mage friend, or should I say wild mage, since no self respectin' mage I've e'er seen would do what he's doin', makes an extremely bad woman. Ye really should call him o'er here before he starts a brawl, which could draw attention from people we dinna want ta see."

Seeing the wisdom in the dwarf's words, Lysinthia beckoned to Tersiano, who was calmly enticing a fight between two of his would-be suitors. The wild mage noticed her movements and frowned briefly before abruptly leaving the table and stalking towards the bard. The men he had been talking to were so intent on their argument over him that they never noticed his absence.

The wild-mage approached the bar and pulled up a stool next to Lysinthia and Blandigard, eyeing the dwarf with an amused smile on his face. "I was counting on the fact we would not run across one of your kind this far North, my friend. There's nothing like having a dwarf around to ruin a perfectly good illusion. I am Tersiano Kragland, wild mage extraordinaire."

The dwarf just smiled and extended his hand to Tersiano, saying, "Blandigard Mindar. Glad to make your acquaintance, wild mage." Blandigard turned his attention back to Lysinthia before continuing. "Ye mentioned somthin' a'fore about seekin' information. What type o' information are ye lookin' for?"

Lysinthia was about to answer when Tersiano broke in ahead of her. "If you'd pardon my asking, my friend, why would you be interested in helping us with our information?" he asked.

Lysinthia was curious as to the answer to that question herself. She watched the dwarf intently as he answered. "Let's just say that the Knights o' the First Order have been preventin' a certain business o' mine from flourishin' on the docks o' Haven. A business of acquisitions, iff'n ye get me meanin'. They've bloody near put me out o' business more than once and anythin' I can do ta stick a fish bone down their craw would bloody well make me happy."

Lysinthia looked at Tersiano who turned to stare intently back at her. Although she could not see them due to his illusion, she could picture the wild mage's eyes whirling excitedly. After a few moments, he simply shrugged his shoulders and turned back to the dwarf who had been watching them both over the brim of his tankard as he took a long pull from it.

The bard woman regarded Blandigard while the dwarf finished his drink, looking for some sign that the dwarf had been lying to them. He looked back at her with a complete expression of honesty, which, of course, Lysinthia instantly mistrusted. Though if the dwarf could feign openness as well as he did, he was more than likely what he had said he was, a smuggler. She leaned closer to the dwarf and spoke in a low voice that no one nearby would be able to overhear. "There is an old sage living somewhere in Haven called Oheniies...."

The cup of mulled wine on the bar behind her slowly cooled, unnoticed to all but the barkeep who, eyeing it angrily, grumbled on about lack of respect for a man's work.

There are certain places in a city that can make a person completely forget about the world around them. Places that can make someone forget that things like trees, grass, and clear skies even exist. The Backwater Tavern was one of those places. With its dingy atmosphere, poor lighting from smoky torches, and overpowering stench of stale liquor and unwashed bodies, it was the antithesis of the natural world. Therefore, Ell believed it was possibly the most awful place in the entire continent of Mer.

She was squatted on her heels on a chair next to the inn's front door, hoping for the occasional fresh breeze when someone walked in or out. She had been sitting here for what seemed like an eternity, with no sign she would be leaving soon. Ephirea was in the middle of one of her "information gathering" moods, which meant she was going to be playing with the man of the tavern for a while. Ell had to admit that Ephirea's tactics worked more often than not, but she did not see why she had to be paired with a mercenary who had a penchant for frequenting musty old taverns.

The archer was even now, surrounded by three men and was flourishing in their attention like a cat preening on a warm windowsill. How she managed to keep three men under her thrall without them wanting to kill her or each other confounded Ell. The archer had decided the only disguise she needed was to put on a blond wig and change her shirt. She was now wearing a short, white top that left her midriff bare and emphasized her cleavage, and her usual pair of baggy pantaloons that were tucked into her knee high boots. The mercenary woman was in her element and had been from the moment she walked in the front door to this Braquast-spawned place.

Ell had received her share of attention from the men in the room, to be sure, but they had been promptly rebuffed by the glint in her green eyes and the fiendish grin she flashed at them. When they saw her expression, their approaching smiles would melt off their faces like water running down a mountain, and they would return to their friends, inventing some excuse that would save their masculine pride. Ell would then shift her focus to the next man who had built up the nerve to approach her. It was rapidly becoming a game to the men in the bar to see which one of them would not be turned away from the golden-haired woman.

Ell did not understand these flirting games that humans seemed to thrive upon. In the Yerracht society, a male and female would know immediately if they were destined to be mates. The hrriagh, or mating urge, would overcome them and they would be forced to act upon it in order to continue the species. Sometimes the couple would remain partners for their lifetimes and sometimes they would part ways and continue on in search of another, more compatible mate. There were none of these tricks and rituals that humans needed to have performed in order to know someone better. Ell knew that humans had long since ignored their own instincts when it came down to selection of a mate, but surely they could not remain blinded to them forever.

She was quickly growing weary of this rank tavern and was about to tell Ephirea that very fact when the smell of oiled metal and leather snared her attention. She could hear metal clanking and heavy footsteps thumping on the floorboards outside the tavern door. The Yerracht woman wanted to warn Ephirea of the danger, but did not have the time as the door burst open and in walked four Knights of the First Order, their plate mail armor gleaming in the dim torchlight.

Ell slipped back out of the line of sight, not making a sound, and watched the Knights scan the room with cold eyes and looks of disdain on their faces. The Knight in the front must have been their leader due to the blue band he wore emblazoned on the armor of his right arm. He looked about the room with the haughty air of a man who felt that the task he was performing was beneath his station. One hand rested on the pommel of the broadsword he wore on his hip, and the other hand softly stroked his bearded chin. He had a long, blue cape trailing behind him that Ell was certain would hinder his movement in a fight.

The constant buzz of conversation in the bar dwindled off as the crowd began to notice the Knights' presence. The bold and particularly nasty men of the bar stood up and rested their hands on their weapons, glaring at the four armored men standing in the doorway. The remainder of the crowd buried their faces in their mugs, looking at the Knights from the corners of their eyes and hoping to avoid notice. It was not as if the Knights were mistrusted or feared by the people of Haven, quite the opposite. It was just these particular people did their best to avoid the Knights and a peacekeepers' presence was not welcome in a den of thieves such as this.

Ell watched the Knights studiously ignore the attention or lack thereof, they received from the crowd. The leader continued searching the faces until he came across the group of men surrounding Ephirea. Ell glanced in the direction of her friend and noticed that the group around her was the only one paying no heed of the Knights, a guaranteed way to get their attention.

The leader of the Knights leaned over and spoke softly to one of his men, who remained behind to watch the door as the rest of his comrades moved towards the group surrounding Ephirea. Ell was certain that Ephirea was aware of the Knights' presence, but the archer kept her back to their approach, preferring to sip her wine casually. The men engrossed in Ephirea became suddenly knowledgeable of the Knights arrival and began to slowly back away, abandoning the mercenary woman to the plate mailed soldiers. Ell snorted in derision. Men! They could never be counted on to help in a crucial situation like this.

The leader of the Knights reached out a polished, gauntleted hand and tapped Ephirea's shoulder from behind. The archer turned and coyly fluttered her eyelashes at the Knight, a maneuver that Ell had seen work more than once to gain favor on a man's libido. The stoic Knight did not respond at all to Ephirea's tactics, and he asked her in a polite, yet firm voice, "My lady, might I have your name?"

The frustrated look that flashed across Ephirea's face was apparent to Ell and probably to the Knight leader as well. The mercenary recovered herself quickly, but Ell feared the damage had already been done. "My name is Isina, my lord," said the disguised archer. "I am daughter to one of the most powerful merchants in Haven."

The Knight pulled out a piece of parchment from his pouch and unfurled it in front of him. Ell's acute vision could easily make out the details of the wanted poster containing sketches of the companions. The Knight spoke in a gruff, satisfied voice. "I don't think so, my lady. I believe you are an outlaw wanted throughout Windsong for thievery and murder." A thought flashed through Ell's mind quickly. Murder? When did the companions become accused of murder? Ell saw Ephirea take an involuntary step backwards in response to the Knight's words. The archer's eyes darted around her surroundings looking for something to use as a weapon.

Ell knew that there was no time to lose to help Ephirea. The Knights near the archer were full of their own power and would take their time in apprehending her. Ell dared not risk an attack on them and leave her back unprotected to the young Knight standing guard at the door. The Yerracht slunk back farther in the shadows, which allowed her to transform unnoticed. She began her metamorphosis into her half-human, half-tiger form. She could feel the warmth course through her body and the pleasantly painful sensations of her muscles rippling and stretching into different shapes. Her senses sharpened even further than they had been and she knew from past experience that her eyes had changed color from bright green to golden yellow.

The young Knight standing guard at the door suddenly glanced in her direction, into the shadows where she hid. Ell knew that his attention was caught by the soft glow her eyes had in her half-human form. He leaned forward, squinting his eyes, and attempted to discern what was moving in the shadows across from him. Ell glanced at Ephirea and the two locked eyes momentarily, sending an unspoken signal to each other.

The tiger woman then leapt across the four strides separating her from the Knight and landed on his chest before the young man even had a chance to draw his sword. The Yerracht used her superior strength to deliver a powerful backhand to the side of the Knight's head, sending him out the open doorway to land in a heap on the wooden planks outside.

Ell dropped lightly to the ground and faced the Knights still standing near Ephirea. They had just begun to turn and seek out the cause of the commotion behind them when Ephirea struck. The mercenary had pulled a candelabra from the table next to her and clubbed the lead Knight with it, striking him where his helmet connected with his breastplate and causing him to stumble forward into one of his men. Ell knew the blow would not stop him for long, but it was long enough for the Yerracht to launch herself at the Knight who was distracted by the collision with his commander.

Ell landed on the Knight's chest and promptly tore the helmet from his head, sending strips of leather flying around the room. She then took the heel of her hand and slammed it into the Knight's forehead causing the man's head to bounce off the helmet of his commander who stood behind him. Ell slid off the Knight and had the satisfaction of watching the man's eyes roll back in his head as he fell to the floor with a crash.

The commander had recovered from Ephirea's earlier strike and now looked at Ell in surprise and fury. He reached down to draw his sword and began to slide it from its scabbard. Before even a hand of steel had been bared, Ell dropped to a crouch and kicked out the leg from underneath the Knight. The man's hands promptly left his sword hilt as he flailed in the air in a vain attempt to stop his fall. He smashed to the ground, landing flat on his back with an impact that sent his breath from his lungs in a whoosh. He attempted to gain his feet again, but the combination of the armor's weight and his disorientation prevented him. Ell glided over to where he lay and swiftly kicked him in the side of the head, knocking him unconscious.

Turning to face the final Knight, Ell saw Ephirea standing over the man's body, hefting the heavy brass candelabra with a menacing gesture to the men she had been flirting with earlier. The Yerracht walked over to her and said softly, "We must leave now. There's no time to waste." Ephirea regarded Ell for a moment, and the tiger woman could see the blood lust still present in the mercenary's eyes slowly subside.

"You're right," she responded. She dropped the candelabra on the floor and waved to the Knight on the floor next to her. "Bye now, soldier boy. Too bad we didn't get to know each other better." The mercenary began to laugh as she walked with Ell towards the door. Ell watched for any sign of trouble from the patrons in the tavern, but they all gave the two companions a wide berth as they passed by.

Suddenly, filling the doorway in front of them was the figure of the Knight Ell had dispatched earlier. He stood there with a loaded crossbow in his hands and pointed the weapon at Ephirea. "I command you both to surrender now in the name of the Knights of the First Order," said the young Knight. His eyes flicked between the two of them as he continued, "I know you can probably dodge my shot with ease, were-woman, but can your friend say the same?"

Ell knew he was right, there was no way for her to attack the man without him sending the fatal bolt towards Ephirea. At this close range, the bolt would cause irreparable damage. Ell was about to inform the Knight that they would surrender, when the man suddenly clapped his trigger hand to his neck as if slapping a stingfly. His gaze towards Ell suddenly turned dream-like and he fell forward on to the floor in a pile of armor and limbs.

Ephirea wasted no time in recovering the loaded crossbow from the ground and training it on the fallen Knight. Ell detected a scent in the air she had not smelled in a while and suddenly ran towards the door, embracing the cloaked figure that stood just on the other side. The figure hugged Ell in return for a moment before its hands began to move towards the Yerracht's pouches.

Ell quickly stepped back, saying, "Oh no you don't, Scintara! I'm not fooled that easily."

"Hey, it was worth a try, you've got to admit" laughed the curly-haired thief, stepping into the light. She looked at the form of the Knight lying in the doorway. "Looks like you two are up to your usual tricks."

Ell was about to reply when a shout from the doorway interrupted her. "Scintara!" shouted Ephirea. "Holy Mael! Where have you been?" The mercenary woman gave Scintara the briefest of embraces, stepping back before the quick-fingered thief had an opportunity to ply her trade.

"Let's just say that I've made some new allies here in Haven," responded Scintara. The thief looked both directions down the dark street before grabbing the two companions' hands, pulling them along behind her. "We'll go more into it later. I'll take you to where the others are. It looks as if we'll have to plan a jailbreak."

Blandigard Mindar walked up the stairs leading to his room at The Knight's Moon. He had drunk more than his share of ale this night, especially in the company of that wild mage and his bard friend, and was feeling its effects now, as he attempted to negotiate the staircase. Those two could drain tankards as well as any dwarf. Well, at least as well as any woman dwarf anyway. Of course Blandigard had not stopped drinking after they had left, oh no. No self-respecting dwarf would.

He approached the doorway to his room, fumbling for the key with his suddenly thick hands. After three frustration-filled attempts, he finally gained entrance to his room and he closed the door behind him, leaning back against the door and staring into the darkness. He really should light a lamp or he would end up stumbling all over the room and hurting himself. He fumbled about the table next to the doorway and found the lamp he had used every night during his stay here. He grabbed the tinderbox next to it with his fingertips, making sure not to burn his hands, as he prepared to hold it to the lantern wick.

A voice echoing out from the darkness of the room stopped him, however. "Blandigard Mindar, I presume." The voice sounded as if it was echoing down from a well, and it gave the dwarf a chilly feeling in his stomach. He briefly thought that a quick drink of ale would be just the thing warm it up again. In fact, this was as good a time as any to go downstairs and get one. He turned to do just that and felt a razor sharp blade press against the front of his throat. He reached a trembling hand up to touch it and was surprised to discover that it was not metal. It felt to be some kind of bone or claw or something of the sort.

The voice was right next to his ear when it spoke again, although it still sounded as if it were speaking from far into a well. "What did you discuss with the wild mage and the bard tonight, dwarf?"

Blandigard's mind raced as he attempted to think of a lie that would get him out of this predicament. He could not seem to think straight, as if the ale was affecting his thoughts. That had never happened before. By Ibidious, he was a dwarf and could drink any man under the table! "Oh nothin' really," he finally responded. "Just yer usual smuggler talk."

The sharp edge left his throat just as the dwarf heard a whooshing sound behind him and felt a tug on his left leg. A strange splashing sound was coming from the floor below him. He carefully reached down to feel what had grabbed him and his hands closed on nothing. Puzzled, he reached down again to where he leg should be and still felt nothing. Suddenly, he felt the liquid splashing on his hands. That's when realization, coupled with mindless panic and searing pain, struck him and he fell to the floor, screaming, in a pool of his own blood, next to his severed leg.

He screamed in agony for what seemed like hours before he stopped suddenly, feeling the razor edge return to lie against his throat and heard the voice whisper in his ear. "No more lies, dwarf. You only have one chance to live through this night and that is to tell me every bit of your conversation with the wild mage and the bard."

Blandigard Mindar lay in darkness on the floor of his room and told every detail he could remember of his earlier conversation to his unseen attacker before a slow, painful death claimed him.

© 1998 C.A. Lutke