Chapter 11 – Beregost
To My Dear Distinguished Colleagues:
Revelations come when you least expect them. But first we need some context.
Last third-day was Veil and I’s regular picnic day. Veil had recently been reading of the elves’
powers of manifestation, and spent much of this foray into the wilderness
surrounding Candlekeep practicing the ability herself. This practice consisted of her closing her
eyes and concentrating, and then asking me if she got any scarier. I’m afraid I hadn’t the heart to tell her
otherwise.
Fortunately I managed to convince her to stop her
practice for the brief inconvenience of lunch.
Very fortunately, for as the meal came to an end she suddenly began to
tell me what she could remember of her life before Candlekeep. Abridging the conversation that followed to
spare you from reading my many sputtered utterances of confusion and shock, the
entirety of her words on the matter follow:
"It was cold in the cage. And I
did not have a name." Two sentences
that say more than I fear I am ever likely to know.
She did answer a few yes or no questions, as well, from
which I verified my suspicion the Children were never physically harmed,
objects of worship that they were. I
believe they were regularly subjected to enchantments to keep them under
control, however, which may have been no less damaging than physical abuse
would have been.
I must confess that these matters put me in a foul mood,
and to write any further would be to subject you to the vengeful mutterings of
an addled old man. So I shall stop now,
and leave you to your own feelings on the matter, whatever they may be.
Sincerely,
Gorion
--
Another moon had risen before the shuffle of dirt became the
clomp of paving stones as the party’s feet closed in on the town of
Beregost. "It’s bigger than I
remember," Imoen said with a hint of awe.
"It has grown some," Jaheira said in a tone suggesting it
did not please her in the slightest.
"It is less than an hour’s walk to the southern side and return to
wilderness. We can camp then."
"Huh? Why camp just
outside a town? A town with inns? That we can easily afford?" Imoen asked in
rapid succession.
Jaheira’s face settled in what almost looked like a
pout. "I stayed in the Friendly Arm
because it was a useful meeting place.
I have no more need to endure such…artificial surroundings."
"Fine, then you go sleep in the woods and we’ll meet up
again in the morning," Imoen countered.
"I’m not letting either of you out of my sight, child,"
Jaheira began.
"Her name is Imoen," Mijandra interrupted. Jaheira sighed.
Imoen took Mijandra’s hand as she said, "If you want to keep
an eye on us you’ll just have to follow us as we go to an inn. Right Mijandra?"
Mijandra rather liked camping, actually. Imoen would probably call it an "elf
thing". But she also rather disliked
upsetting Imoen. "Right," she answered.
Imoen gave a triumphant nod. "How about you, Khalid?
You wanna sleep out in the woods, too?"
"W-w-what?
I-I-I…w-what?" Khalid sputtered, completely confused. This was an occurrence they had become quite
familiar with over the course of the day.
Imoen laughed at first. Now it
just seemed to worry her.
Mijandra could sympathize.
It was staring at her that seemed to have him so distracted. It would often take several seconds for him
to look away after being discovered. ‘Why
does he look…afraid of me?’
"Nevermind," Imoen sighed, pulling on Mijandra’s hand. "I think the Red Sheaf Inn is this way. That’s where me and Puffguts stayed when he
took me here once." After a few seconds
Imoen whispered in Mijandra’s ear, "Are they following us?"
"Yes," Mijandra answered, hearing Imoen give a breath of
relief. "They’re keeping a distance and
Jaheira is grumbling."
Imoen giggled softly.
After a few minutes of walking she said, "There it is, up ahead."
It was a red-roofed building with stairs leading up to a
second story entrance. When Mijandra
and Imoen reached the top the sound of Khalid and Jaheira climbing after them
began. Mijandra opened the door and
quickly stepped inside. "Hey, ladies
first!" Imoen complained behind her.
Mijandra turned around and quirked an eyebrow at her. A second later they shared a grin. "I have to go first to make sure it’s safe
for you, my lady," Mijandra said before taking Imoen’s hand and continuing
inside.
After a small laugh she replied, "Of course, you are right,
my lord. Please, I beg you, forgive me
for questioning you." A small foyer preceded the doorway into the inn’s common
room.
Mijandra turned around after they passed through, pulling
off the hood of her black cloak. The
common room wasn’t what most people would call busy, but it was still noisier
than Mijandra would have liked. "You
are forgiven, my lady," Mijandra said, taking Imoen into her arms. She wasn’t really very good at these games
of pretend, but they always made Imoen’s eyes shine.
Just like they did right now. "I’m so glad, my lord."
"You’re at the end of your rope, I’ll wager," a male voice
said after his footsteps came to a stop behind her, chainmail links jingling
for a second more. Mijandra spun
around, sword and dagger drawn, and was surprised to see a dwarf. He continued in perfect, unaccented
Chondathan, "Yup. Young elf, ribbon,
bluey skin. Not that it's anything
personal, you understand, but I'm afraid your time on this here ball of mud is
just about done." He pulled his shield
off his back with one hand and an axe from his belt with the other. The common room quickly began to empty.
It hadn’t been a minute since she removed her hood – bought
at Jaheira’s urging to hide her identity – and an assassin had already spotted
her. Though whether this was Bashaba’s
will or Tymora’s was yet to be seen. If
she could get some answers… "Who put a
bounty on me? Why?" she demanded
coolly, adjusting her stance to face a shorter opponent. She immediately felt unbalanced, not having
practiced such a thing often.
"Don't matter one whit to me. A price is a price and a head is a head, and whenever the two
meet, there's old Karlat makin' his living.
Like I said, it's nothing personal."
He punctuated his words with a lazy swing of his axe, and Mijandra
spotted her first advantage as she evaded it: he was overconfident.
She circled around the dwarf to the right, hearing Imoen
move with her while knocking an arrow to her bow. After moving ninety degrees she quickly darted her eyes towards
the exit to the foyer. The dwarf
attacked, but Mijandra was ready, again dodging his axe before making an attack
of her own. His shield blocked her
sword and her dagger struck at a poor angle, failing to penetrate his
armor. She accomplished what she meant
to, however. She saw Jaheira and Khalid
were stuck in the doorway, fighting through the rush of people trying to leave.
The dwarf seemed to have quelled his confidence, considering
her more carefully. He still didn’t
know their true numbers and positions, however, and Mijandra hoped it would
stay that way until it was too late. An
arrow thunked into his shield as Imoen took a shot before jumping back behind
Mijandra. "So I have to kill both of
you, do I? Shouldn’t be too much-" With a shout of surprise he turned towards
the foyer just in time to put his shield in front of another arrow.
"Damnit," he cursed as Khalid set down his bow and drew his
sword and shield before stepping into the fight, leaving Jaheira behind him
chanting a spell. The dwarf shifted
most of his attention to the veteran half-elf warrior approaching him, a choice
Mijandra intended to take full advantage of.
The dwarf still kept an eye on her, though, moving often to keep her
from getting behind his defenses as he and Khalid traded blows.
A sudden flash of red and a wave of heat made Mijandra pause
briefly, and over the dwarf’s head and Khalid’s shoulder she saw Jaheira’s
hands lower with the end of her casting.
What her spell did Mijandra was not certain, though she noticed the
dwarf was sweating profusely now.
Another flash of red, this time brighter, came from another
direction. The shining red orb darted
over Mijandra’s shoulder and slammed into the dwarf’s chest in a swirling burst
of energy. He grunted with surprise and
looked around frantically, trying to find the mystery wizard, unaware that it
was no doubt Imoen, standing behind Mijandra with a wand of missiles held
between her nimble fingers. Seeing her
opening Mijandra quickly thrust at his unprotected flank with all the might her
haste allowed her.
Her dagger did little more than bend a few links, but her
sword tore through chain and cloth to bite three inches into his flesh before
he twisted away with a scream. Facing
the two warriors, his eyes darted from her to Khalid as wisps of smoke began
rising from his body. Making a
decision, he turned and ran for the exit, only to stop three feet in front of
Jaheira, who was standing ready with a sturdy wooden shield and stone-headed
club to bar his path.
Khalid approached slowly, stopping a few feet away but
keeping his stance ready. Mijandra
followed his example, waiting for the dwarf’s surrender. For the moment, however, he only breathed
heavily as more smoke rose from his body and around the head of his axe. His axe and chainmail turned a soft red
under the billowing smoke as he fell to the ground, groaning like a man who
wouldn’t let himself scream.
"What’s happening?" Imoen asked.
"I have provided him a lesson in the folly of encasing
oneself in metal," Jaheira answered, and Khalid nervously tugged at his cloak
as if he wanted to hide his own suit of chainmail.
"Your spell is doing that?" Imoen asked.
Jaheira nodded. "All
the metal he carries will be searing hot for the next several seconds."
The dwarf continued to groan for those several seconds,
pounding at the floor several times in pain, and Imoen watched with obvious
sympathy. Finally the smoke rising from
him dwindled and he fell silent.
"Eighteen seconds," Mijandra reported, and received a quizzical eyebrow
from Jaheira in response.
Slowly the dwarf picked himself up, his beard blackened
where it had touched his armor. "Lay
down your weapon and surrender," Jaheira demanded. For a few seconds it seemed as though he might comply, but then
with a sudden yell he charged. Jaheira
blocked, and Imoen immediately launched another missile from her wand while
Khalid and Mijandra closed in.
Jaheira’s club dealt the final blow, and the assassin’s misshapen head
bounced once against the hardwood floor as he fell.
--
"Same handwriting, same words, same reward." Jaheira sighed, resting her forehead in her
palm as her other hand dropped the bounty notice onto the table.
"Good think it didn’t burn up from your spell, I guess,"
Imoen said.
"Yes, it is." Speaking
of which…’ "Speaking of which,
where did you get that wand?"
"What, this?" Imoen asked, drawing the wand in question, a
thin rod of ashwood capped with a pink colored glass gem. Her usual grin was in place, though slightly
subdued under the circumstances. "It’s
from Candlekeep. I’ve had it for
months."
Jaheira noted Imoen still did not say it was hers, but it
was just as well, as Jaheira would not have believed her if she had. At any rate, other things were more
important. "How did you manage to use
it?"
"Y-y-yes, Gorion said y-your m-m-magic lessons had
p-proven…unf-fruitful," Khalid said, voicing his own curiosity on the matter.
"Hmph. I can teach
myself magic," Imoen insisted. "Better
than old mage Soggybrains, that’s for sure.
Couldn’t teach a horse to stand on four legs…," she continued,
grumbling.
"So you have become a mage by yourself, then?" Jaheira asked
with a raised eyebrow.
"Well, no…not yet," Imoen murmured.
"Then how did you activate the wand?"
She shrugged. "I
just…faked it." Her grin returning at
the bemused look Jaheira had no doubt was on her face, Imoen continued. "Tricked it. Charmed it. Found it’s
ticklish spot. It’s kinda like
charades, only the wand…"
Jaheira was about to interrupt, but Mijandra beat her to
it. "Don’t ask her to explain any
more. It will just get more
confusing." From Imoen’s laughter
Jaheira guessed Mijandra spoke from experience.
"Very well," Jaheira acquiesced. She recalled now that quite a few Harper infiltrators carried and
made use of magic wands and the like without having any real magic ability of
their own. It was quite common, if
still beyond the understanding of most.
Nothing to be concerned about.
"There is the matter of why you chose now to use it, though."
"Well, that’s simple.
I might have accidentally hit Mijy or Khalid with an arrow, but magic
missiles never miss."
"That…is good thinking," Jaheira conceded at the same time
Mijandra said, "Don’t call me Mijy."
"Well, of course!
All my thinking is good. I’m
going to me a brilliant wizard, remember?"
Imoen’s grin was broken by a sudden yawn. "Whoo. I’m gettin’ a
little sleepy." Before Jaheira could
say anything Mijandra picked Imoen up bridal-style and walked toward the
innkeeper’s desk. "Mijandra!" Imoen
tried to sound cross, but the cackling laughter made it difficult.
"I will get us a room, my lady," Mijandra said, and Jaheira
felt her eyebrows lift in surprise. ‘She’s
like an entirely different person with her sister.’ The thought was almost melancholy, but then
she turned to her husband and nearly barked a laugh, her hand covering her
mouth just in time to muffle it. He was
clearly noticing Mijandra’s apparent dual personality, as well, and it looked
like his eyes might roll out of his head.
He turned his head to return her gaze, a nervous smile
rising at the sight of her amusement.
"W-w-what is funny, d-dear?"
"Nothing, my love," she answered simply, her hand moving to
rest on his before turning back to their two wards. ‘Entirely different,’ she thought with a smile. ‘I can relate.’
"Im, can you get a silver out of my purse?" Mijandra asked,
still carrying Imoen as she arranged a room with the nervous innkeeper. He had recently seen them kill a man, after
all, even if it was in self-defense.
"Sheesh, what am I, a slave?" Imoen answered with false
irritation before presenting the requested silver piece to the innkeeper. He took it and handed them a key, nodding and
smiling as they walked away, pleased to be finished with that bit of business.
As Mijandra carried Imoen up the stairs the last words
Khalid and Jaheira heard were, "Now can you put the other two silvers you took
back in my purse?"
The last sound they heard was more of Imoen’s cackling.
--
"Why are we leaving already?" Imoen pouted. "I haven’t been here in years, I want to
look around some, first."
"We have been in this…city quite long enough as it is,"
Jaheira responded.
Imoen was about to continue the argument when a fair if
slightly nasally voice called out to them.
"Hail, adventurers!" They all
turned to see a young man in once-fine clothes approaching them from the west,
shockingly clean teeth gleaming in the sunlight along with his surprisingly
well-kept hair. As he came closer his
eyes lingered on Mijandra and Imoen, growing some in appreciation. "And good morning…fair ladies," he continued
nervously with a bow. Despite the
impression he might have wanted to make it was clear he was a bit down on his
luck. In fact his clothes looked a bit
dirty and slept-in, and the only thing he carried of any real value was the
mandolin on his back.
Before Imoen or Mijandra – but most likely Imoen – could
respond, Jaheira said testily, "We’re certainly not lingering so you can flirt
with handsome village boys!"
The boy blushed slightly at Jaheira’s words, but they gave
Imoen pause. He did seem to be trying
to flirt, but as much as she’d longed for such experiences with boys her own
age back in the cloistered confines of Candlekeep – whose male population
consisted almost entirely of stuffy old monks – she didn’t feel herself very
affected by it. Oh, it was kind of
flattering, she supposed, but... "Is he
really handsome?" she asked, her head turned slightly towards Jaheira. Meanwhile, many would have found the wounded
look on the boy’s face quite comical.
A clearly confused, "What?" was all Jaheira could answer,
but Imoen’s attention shifted back to the boy as he focused his flirtation on
Mijandra. "My name is Garrick, my
lady," he began, and took her hand with what looked like the ridiculous
intention of kissing it. Mijandra
withdrew her hand almost immediately, however, and with considerable irritation
Imoen took the hand in hers and gave Garrick a scathing glare.
The glare lightened some as Garrick shrunk away, his body
and spirit sagged, his young face again looking almost comically
depressed. He made Imoen think of a big
lost puppy, and she couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. "Hey, you called us adventurers. Did you need us for somethin’?" she offered,
though with Mijandra’s hand still firmly clasped in her own to make sure he
didn’t get any more ideas.
"Ah, yes!" he brightened.
"I have a pretty proposal for you.
I can see that you're an excellent group of warriors. How would you like a well-paying job as
bodyguards for my mistress?"
"Bodyguards? For
what reason does your mistress need bodyguards?" Jaheira stepped in, taking
control of the conversation.
"Well, my mistress is Silke Rosena," Garrick began. "She's the most skilled musician and actor
along the Sword Coast; in fact, she's to play at the Duchal palace before the
month's done." His envious tone changed
to one of secrecy. "But... she's been
having some problems of late. Some
thugs have been hired by Feldepost to hurt her bad, because she didn't perform
at his inn when she was supposed to."
He shook his head and shrugged.
"You can't blame her for not showing up, what with a villain like
Feldepost running the place."
Imoen frowned, though it was Mijandra who said, "Feldepost’s
Inn isn’t run by Feldepost."
"Yeah," Imoen continued, "it’s just called that." It was common enough knowledge, especially
since Feldepost’s was the largest inn in the western heartlands outside Baldur’s
Gate or the Friendly Arm. "And I’ve
never heard that whoever runs the place is a villain."
Garrick looked a bit lost again. "Well, that is what my mistress told me. She’s not from around here, and neither am I
actually, so perhaps she just got some names confused. Nonetheless, she desires mercenaries to
protect her until she's ready to go to Baldur's Gate, and she's willing to pay
thirty gold. What do you say?"
"Th-that is a cons-siderable fee," Khalid said with some
disbelief, turning to Jaheira.
"It is at that," she agreed. "And a very suspicious set of circumstances all around. We are leaving town today, however; right
now, in fact. Unless your mistress can
be ready to go quickly we must decline."
Garrick’s eyes brightened.
"Oh, she is quite ready to leave now, and has only been waiting for a
suitable escort."
"And how far would she require this escort? Our destination is Nashkel, and diverting
all the way to Baldur’s Gate for any sum of gold would be completely out of the
question."
"Would be nice to see Baldur’s Gate, though," Imoen said to
herself wistfully.
"No, my mistress assured me she would only need protection
until she left Beregost. Feldepost’s
thugs are just a few local boys who probably won’t follow her past the
outskirts of town."
"Probably?" Imoen asked uncertainly.
"Indeed," Jaheira agreed.
"I would suggest she hire more permanent protection if she is truly
worried, but it is her business if she wishes to take chances with her
well-being and I will not turn down such easy coin."
"Then you accept?
Wonderful!" Garrick looked as if
he might burst with happiness. "If you
will just follow me to the Red Sheaf Inn.
Why, did you know there was a battle there last night?" he asked, his
eyes twinkling.
Imoen smirked briefly before asking, wide-eyed, "There was?"
"Oh, yes. And I was
there, too. A party of elves shared
cross words with a party of dwarves, and it erupted into a veritable
bloodbath! I’d never seen such
carnage…"
--
Silke was a woman approaching middle age, platinum blonde
hair in a long braid down to her waist.
Mijandra had thought her quite beautiful at first, but that changed
almost as soon as they made eye contact – notably brief. Silke didn’t see people. She saw only tools and obstacles.
"Well then, I assume that Garrick has explained what your
duties are," her voice rang after very short introductions, every word sounding
like music. "You must simply dispose of
the ruffians when they come to threaten me."
"Dispose?" Imoen said uneasily, and Jaheira arched an
eyebrow.
"Are you so certain we will encounter them?"
"Yes, I am afraid it is inevitable," Silke said sadly.
"Hmm," Jaheira intoned neutrally. "Well, I doubt ‘disposing’ of them will be necessary. Mere ruffians as you called them would be
rightly hesitant to engage armed bodyguards."
"No," Silke responded, shaking her head. "While they shouldn't be too hard to deal
with, I must advise you to strike fast and don’t hold back. Whatever you do…" After an ominous pause, index finger pointed upward as if to test
the dramatic tension she was creating, she continued, "Don't speak with
them. One of them is a mage whose
mystic words can sway even the wisest of men."
Imoen frowned beside Mijandra. "That’s not how magic works," she said.
Silke scowled. "What
would you know, child?" Mijandra’s eyes
narrowed, but Imoen could fight her own battles. Or so Imoen would be telling her for the next several days if she
interrupted now.
"A lot more than you, obviously," Imoen snorted. "You sound like some superstitious Amnian
bufflehead. An eagle’s splendor
spell could make him more persuasive for a while, but nothing like mind
control. Anything else couldn’t be cast
before hand, he’d have to see us first to have a target for the spell, and we
certainly wouldn’t try talking to him if he started casting a spell at us."
There was a small twitch in Silke’s left eye. "I have no time for whatever nonsense you
picked up from stories and passing fools and think is real, little girl," she
growled, more than crossing the line where Imoen would allow Mijandra to step
in.
"Don’t talk to her like that," Mijandra said in a growl of
her own – or the closest she came to one, anyway.
"I am a druid," Jaheira added, "and though there are
differences between divine and arcane magic, there are enough similarities that
I am certain Imoen’s assessment is correct."
"I…agree with her as well," Garrick said quietly. "I am a bardic mage, and enchantment is our
specialty. Everything she said is
true."
Silke’s mouth pinched tightly for a moment before breaking
into a large apologetic smile. "Well
than, I beg your forgiveness for my ignorance.
I had no idea I was surrounded by such experts." Something in her tone and the tightness
around her eyes told Mijandra she was rather irritated with the situation, as
well. "I’m sure things will go so much
smoother, now. Shall we go?"
The next several minutes were spent waiting outside as Silke
had her horse readied and brought out from the stables under the inn. Between scanning the streets in front of
them with an expression more akin to impatience than worry, she managed to find
an astounding number of things wrong with the care of her horse and insisted on
complaining to the inn’s manager about each one, pounding the quarterstaff she
carried – without any apparent competence in its use – into the cobblestones as
she punctuated each sentence.
As such it was no surprise that they hadn’t made any
progress before three men appeared and started walking toward them. "Here they are now: Feldepost's thugs. Strike when I tell you to."
"Funny, none of them look like mages," Imoen noted
suspiciously, but before Silke could respond the man leading the three
newcomers spoke.
"Greeting Silke.
We're here as you've asked, and we have the..." he began, though Silke
loudly interrupted him.
"Don't try to threaten me!
I won't be easy prey for you to beat on, I've brought friends!" she
declared theatrically.
The other two men startled visibly, but their leader managed
to keep a straighter face. "What are
you talking about? It’s Mersil, we're
here with the gems that..."
"Shut up! There'll
be no weaseling out of this one. STRIKE
NOW! Kill them all!" The only motion after that was the shaking
of Mersil’s men while Mijandra, Imoen, Jaheira, and Khalid all turned to glare
at Silke. "I said strike!" she shouted
again, slightly less musical.
"No," Mijandra answered for the rest of them.
"You are my hirelings, you will do as I say, now STRIKE!!"
she said in an outright screech.
"Just as they were your hirelings, yes?" Jaheira nodded
towards the three men. "We do not want
your money, plotter of murder." Turning
fully towards the men she said, "But what was this about gems?"
"NO, THEY ARE MINE!!" Silke screamed with rage as she swung
at Mijandra with her quarterstaff.
Mijandra caught the feeble strike easily, wrenching the staff from the
woman’s hands. Her palm complained
afterward, however, the blow hurting more than the woman’s strength should have
allowed. Not to be deterred, Silke drew
a dagger from her belt and lunged at a surprised Imoen with another yell.
One blink later the dagger was embedded in Silke’s stomach,
Mijandra’s hand on the hilt. The blade
slipped soundlessly back into open air as Silke fell, disbelief warring with
pain on her face.
"Oh, naeth…," one of Mersil’s men said, then began repeating
it several times.
"Th-th-that was unnecessary," Khalid admonished.
"She tried to kill Imoen," was all the explanation Mijandra
thought necessary.
"If that was your only concern I cannot fault you, but this
complicates matters considerably," Jaheira sighed. Mijandra didn’t respond, only crouching down to clean the dagger
on Silke’s cloak.
"Excuse me, ma’am," Mersil came forward, "but could you
kindly explain what on Toril is going on?"
"Whoa," Mijandra heard one of Mersil’s men rasp into his
hear, "careful, man. These guys are
d-dangerous."
"Yeah, you see the way that one gutted that bitch?" the
other added. "And she’s s-still got the
dagger." After hearing that Mijandra
turned to look at them, and they both flinched. She quirked an eyebrow.
Interesting. But she soon turned
away to take more interest in checking on Imoen. "Damn, she’s scary."
"Yeah, it’s the quiet ones you gotta watch out for."
Mersil shooed away his men’s comments and looked at Jaheira,
waiting for an answer.
"Well, first let me ask you this…Mersil, was it?" Jaheira
asked, and he nodded. "How much was
Silke paying you for these gems?"
"Don’t tell her!" came another rasp from his side, which he
again ignored.
"Fifty gold."
"Well then, it seems she hoped to lower her expenses by
hiring us to ‘protect’ her from you for a mere thirty gold," Jaheira responded.
Meanwhile, Marsil’s left man whispered to the one on the
right. "Oh naeth, she’s getting’ angry
or something! Look at what she’s doing
with the dagger!" Mijandra’s hand
stopped. In what started as a lazy test
of its balance she’d been twirling the dagger between her fingers without even
realizing it.
"Naeth, she heard you!"
"Naeth!"
Without moving her head Mijandra focused her eyes on
them. They flinched again. Very interesting.
Largely either oblivious or indifferent to the two men’s
plight, Jaheira and Mersil continued their conversation uninterrupted. "Well, I thank you for being the honest sort
and not going along with it, then," Mersil said. "I, uh, don’t suppose you’d be interested in buying the gems
yourself, would you?"
"When the Flaming Fist will be showing up any moment
now? No, I think not," Jaheira
answered.
Mersil blinked.
"You’ve got a mighty good point there, ma’am. Boys, I think it’s time we got out of here." His men, Mijandra noted, were only too happy
to comply.
--
Considering it was the second death they were responsible
for in the space of a day, the Flaming Fist were very understanding. Imoen suspected they wouldn’t have been so
lenient if it were locals being killed, though.
Garrick was nowhere to be found, but Imoen’s impression of
him told her he hadn’t been in on Silke’s plot. He really was just a big puppy, after all. And that reminded her…
She walked closer to Jaheira, the four of them as a whole
finally making their way out of Beregost.
"Hey, Jaheira?"
"Yes, Imoen?" she acknowledged, sounding no more irritated
than usual.
"Did you mean it when you said Garrick was handsome?"
Jaheira blinked before lifting a hand to rub her
forehead. "What in the world kind of
question is that?"
"Well, it’s just I didn’t find him that handsome at all."
Jaheira rolled her eyes.
"That is to be expected, girl.
Not all women have the same taste."
"Well, I haven’t found any men all that handsome, actually,"
Imoen continued, somewhat quieter.
Jaheira took a bit longer to respond. "I am sure you will, give it time."
Imoen scratched her head.
"If you say so. I mean, I like
looking at you more than any man I’ve ever met," Imoen said frankly.
"What?!" Imoen
started at Jaheira’s strong reaction.
"Is that not normal?" she asked slowly.
"Of course not! It
is completely unnatural and I will not be part of it! Do not speak of such things again!"
Imoen’s mouth worked before she said angrily, "Hey, I was
just sayin’! Mijandra is much prettier
than you are! I’d rather talk to her
about it, anyway!"
Grumbling, Imoen fell back beside Mijandra, who she was sure
had overheard the entire conversation.
She wasn’t sure, however, whether that was a good thing or not.
--
Thoughts ran through Jaheira’s head with maddening speed,
though two recurred regularly. The
first was that she hadn’t handled that situation particularly well.
The second was one of Gorion’s letters to her and
Khalid. It mentioned some
eccentricities that had developed in Mijandra and Imoen’s relationship. Khalid had always thought Gorion was
implying something about Mijandra and Imoen’s…inclinations – only he would call
it less implying and more "clearly stating" – but Jaheira refused to see it.
Now, however, Jaheira had to wonder if Khalid might have
been right.
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