Knowing that he wasn’t about to get a quick answer to hisquestion, the fighter sighed. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he repliedsardonically.
“Hmm, yes. You would.” The elf’s grin widened after a moment.“Fear not, my friend. I have just been informed of the location of our meetingplace.” He sketched a courtly bow and spoke in his best high-class accent, “Ifyou’ll just follow me, my lord,” and turned into the crowd.
Kaerion threw up his hands and followed.
Despite its fortress-like appearance, the City of Rel Mord was abuzz with domestic life. Traders and merchants of all races and nationalities drove wagons teeming with bolts of brightly-colored cloth, silks, and woven fabrics toward the market, while a seemingly endless train of livestock and other animals plodded their way through the wide streets. Soldiers patrolled the lanes and avenues, some as bored as the gate guard, others careful to watch the collection of street urchins, beggars, and musicians that wove in and out of the passing crowd.
Drawing close to the market, Kaerion could hear the strident call of booth merchants and the hum of commerce taking place in a variety of languages and dialects. Common, Baklunish, and Flan mixed with the tongues of elves, dwarves, and even a few gnomes to form a multi-layered wave of sound that washed over the two companions.
Despite the outward signs of life, Kaerion clearly felt the same sense of quiet desperation that had greeted both he and Gerwyth on their journey south toward the city. The music and laughter and tenor of the entire city seemed just a bit too loud and forced, the faces of its citizens a bit too wary, or worse, apathetic. Walking through its streets, Kaerion could see a film of dirt covering the magnificence of its stone temples and buildings. Even the royal palace, which had quickened the beat of his heart with its martial splendor, now seemed hollow and empty, like an ancient tomb, as the two adventurers drew closer. Nyrond had been a kingdom divided, sapped of strength by war and betrayal, and it was clear to Kaerion that the wounds had still not healed.
As they moved deeper into the city, the press of the crowd eased somewhat. Streets narrowed, wood and stone buildings drew closer together, and the anxious stamp of merchant feet was replaced by the soft-soled tread of robed priests, royal messengers, and court functionaries, who carried on their business with an air of self- conscious dignity. Kaerion’s heart lurched for a moment as he caught sight of several mailed priests of Heironeous heading right toward them.
He must have stopped in his tracks, for Gerwyth spoke in a gentle voice at his side, “Peace, Kaer. Let us be about our business.”
The comforting tones settled him somewhat. He nodded and continued on his way past the group of approaching clerics. “Traitor,” heexpected them to yell. “Betrayer! Coward!” He was all of those things-and more.How could the Beloved of the Arch-Paladin not see his shame? It was clearly written on his soul.
But the priests walked right by, intent on their own private conversation. No one had even spared a glance his way. Kaerion wiped the cold sweat from his brow and followed his friend down another street.
Most of the buildings in this area were made of stone, with an impressive amount of gilt marble facades. A few of the decorously crafted houses even had small yards surrounded by iron gates or stone walls. The few folk who were walking about the cobblestone streets were richly appointed, wearing fine tailored velvets, thick cloaks, and an array of gold jewelry around throat and hands.
“Where are you taking us?” Kaerion asked his friend in atight voice.
“To our destiny,” Gerwyth replied in a voice so heavy withmelodrama that the fighter wondered how his friend could still stand.
He shot the elf a barbed look and crossed his meaty arms in front of him. “No more joking,” Kaerion said tersely. “I’m tired and hungry, andI don’t have any patience for your damned elven wit!”
Gerwyth sighed, the ever-present smile falling from his angular face. “Fine. If you must know, we’re going right there.” The elf pointeda slim finger at a two-storey wooden building just past the bend in the street.
Kaerion eyed their destination carefully. Despite not being made of stone, the elegantly carved lines of the structure blended perfectly with the surrounding architecture. A high-peaked roof lent the building a sense of dignity, matched by the elaborately framed windows and exquisitely worked door. A masterfully painted sign hung above the lintel, proclaiming the name of the establishment.
“The Platinum Shield?” he asked. “Who in the hells are wemeeting here, Ger? The Nyrondese Royal Family?”
When the elf failed to reply, Kaerion stared at him in disbelief.
“No,” he said after a few moments, “you didn’t. Phaulkon’sfeathered ass, what have you gotten us into this time?”
Gerwyth just shook his head and pulled his friend toward the inn. “Come on, Kaer, just relax. At the very worst you’ll have the chance to getdrunk in the best taproom in the city of Rel Mord.”
Against his better judgment, Kaerion followed his friend into the Platinum Shield.
“They’re late,” Bredeth snapped in an arrogant tone as heslammed the door to the sumptuously decorated suite.
Majandra Damar gave a breathy sigh at the intrusion and stopped running graceful fingers across the strings of her harp, upon which she had been composing the final themes for a new work. It didn’t matter anymore,however, as the man’s interruption had already driven the melodic line from hermind.
The yew harp cast out its final, plaintive note and the room descended into silence. Majandra regarded her guest thoughtfully. The noble’sperfectly sculpted face held a slight red tinge that was deepening even as she watched, and his gold-flecked eyes flashed dangerously in the dim light of the room. Even his normally immaculate close-cropped blond hair lay askew, tousled by wildly gesticulating hands.
Good, she thought. He’s angry. This should be fun.
“They are not late, Bredeth. Phathas made arrangements forthem to meet us three Stardays hence, and the last I checked,” she said, lookingout of the stained glass window to her left, “it is still Starday.”
“I have wandered the streets and the situation is even worsehere than in the other
“First off,” retorted the bard, “these are not
“Such insolence.” Bredeth nearly spat as he drew closer tothe bard. “If we were in my father’s castle, I would have you beaten and castout with the other criminals.”
“I pray that I never fall so low as to have to ply my skillsfor a family of tone-deaf boors who couldn’t appreciate a song if it came fromOlidammara’s own mouth. With any luck, I’ll never find myself near the draftywreck of a keep where you were born.”
Bredeth recoiled as if he had been slapped, and Majandra wondered if perhaps she had gone too far this time. The young noble drew even closer to her, his perfect teeth clenched tightly. “You have noble blood in you,Majandra,” he whispered, “and that has protected you so far. But don’t everforget what other blood flows through your veins.”
At this, the bard’s hand absently pushed aside flowingstrands of red hair to finger the ever-so-slight point of her ear.
“Some may find you exotic,” Bredeth continued. “Others…”He tilted his head to the side and shrugged. “Well, let’s just say that notevery noble family regards marital infidelity as a romantic gesture.”
The bard sat stunned, unable to even phrase the crudest of retorts. She had always known that the events surrounding her birth were fodder for the sitting rooms of bored nobles who had nothing better to do than gossip away the hours of the day, and she had dealt with the whispered imprecations and sidelong glances that accompanied her adolescent years. Until this time, however, no one had ever confronted her directly with the shame of her mixed heritage.
Anger rose up inside of her. This may have started as a game, a way to pass the time as she waited for the
