“They’ve taken over,” the woman gasped, “and driven us from our home!”
“You appear to be adventurers licensed by the crown. You must help us!” said the man.
“Let us be calm,” replied the wizard soothingly. “I am Borl the Proficient, and this is my young companion, Balm the Cavalier. You say you have ghosts?”
“We are but humble farmers,” said the man. “We’ve been living on an abandoned estate a mile up the trail, rebuilding the house and clearing the old fields.”
“That’s when the old nobles came back,” the woman added, tears forming in her eyes, “screaming and moaning, and drove us from the house!”
“Which nobles?” asked the disguised prince.
The old man blinked. “I don’t know. There was no indication, and there are so many noble houses in Cormyr. But it was a right fine building, it must have belonged to aristocrats.”
“And the fact the ghosts have returned proved that,” the woman added, almost triumphantly. “Only nobles care so much for their property they come back from the dead to protect it!”
“What do these noble ghosts look like?” Vangerdahast asked quietly.
The couple stammered as one, and then the old man’s voice trailed alone out of the confusion, admitting, “We’ve not exactly seen them.”
“No?”
“Oh, but they put up a horrible racket,” the woman exclaimed, leaping in. “Down in the basement, and up in the attic, making dreadful moans and cries for vengeance. For three days and three nights, we’ve huddled in our beds, but we could find nothing amiss in the light of day. We found one of the chickens dead this morning-brutally slain! We had to flee for our lives!”
“Sounds like something worth investigating,” said Azoun.
Vangerdahast shrugged. “There are hauntings aplenty in this Forest Country. All too much history assures us of that.”
“But still, our duty to the crown, that document we signed when the king allowed us to pass through his lands…” Azoun began, smiling.
The wizard waved him to silence. “Well, if it’s on the way…”
“And they’re not going to move Eveningstar in the meantime,” the young Prince added helpfully. Vangerdahast gave him a look, and Azoun fell silent. But he did not stop grinning.
The manor house was only about a quarter of a mile off the Starwater trail. The man gave them directions, but the couple would not leave the main path, declaring they’d go nowhere near the house until the two adventurers had cleared it of all risen spirits.
The house itself was fashioned in a style some called “Cormyr Sprawl.” The main house was a foursquare, sturdy block of fieldstones on the ground floor and brick for the floor above, thickly covered with ivy along its southern face. On three sides, additional wings had been built of stone or lumber or unfinished wood. The result looked like three houses had collided in the depths of some dark night, and no one had bothered to disentangle them since. Over the door was a faded and battered heraldic device.
“Goldweathers?” said Azoun.
“Goldfeathers,” corrected the mage. “A minor house from a few hundred years back. They fomented an unsuccessful rebellion in Arabel years ago and were stripped of their rank and lands. Those commoners have clear title to this land just by occupying and clearing it.”
The immediate surroundings had been cleared, but the fields beyond were still overrun with brambles and young trees. There was a coop, but no chickens or other animals on the property. Azoun thought that strange and mentioned it to Vangerdahast.
“Aye,” said the wizard. “Perhaps our ghosts have an interest in live chickens and goats.”
“I wondered the same thing myself,” said a voice from above them.
The speaker swung down from the branch that had been her perch. She was almost as tall as Azoun, but slender and as lithe as a panther. She wore leather trousers that hugged her muscular thighs and calves, and a loose cotton blouse with a heavy leather vest that did nothing to conceal her charms. Her auburn hair was braided in a whiplike tail down her back. Her eyes were bright and green, and she carried a thin, double-bladed sword.
Vangerdahast started to move forward, putting himself between the newcomer and the young prince, but Azoun stopped him with a hand. The wizard looked at his liege and saw that look on his face, eyes determined and serious, mouth in a wide smile. It was an Obarskyr look, and Azoun got it when faced with a new challenge or a new woman.
The woman held her weapon at her side and said, “I am Kamara Brightsteel, errant adventurer and solver of mysteries. And you?” Her voice was husky, and she rolled her r’s slightly. The accent made her all the more attractive.
“Balm, a wandering cavalier,” Azoun replied, “and his manservant and instructor, Borl.” The young prince ignored the fat mage’s harrumphed protest and went on. ‘We met the inhabitants of this homestead on the road, and they said there were ghosts here.”
“I think I also saw their ‘ghosts,’ the young woman said. “I saw them leaving in haste.”
Vangerdahast raised an eyebrow, and she continued, “There were a couple of men, or at least manlike forms, moving around the sides of the house. I think they were gathering up the chickens and goats, but I didn’t get all that good a view from my hiding place. Three or four, I’d say. They didn’t look like anything special.”
“So you think…?” prompted the wizard.
“I think a pack of brigands came upon the house and chased the couple out with spooky noises and rattled chains. They can’t have much spine, or they’d simply have killed the two. I think they’re nothing more than chicken thieves with perhaps a little more imagination than usual.”
“Then let’s clean out that nest of chicken thieves,” said the wizard.
“Let us do it,” Azoun said, still wearing that look. “I mean Kamara and I. It’ll be good practice for me. Why don’t you go back to the trail and fetch the old couple? By the time you return, we should have taken care of this little problem.”
Azoun expected Vangerdahast to argue, but instead, the wizard stared off into the forest for a time, his mouth a firm, straight line. At length, he said, “Very well. I bow to your adventurous spirit. Be careful now.” And with that, the wizard padded back down the path, leaving the pair alone before the house.
Kamara watched Vangerdahast’s retreating back dwindle into the distance. “Funny old man,” she said. “Mage?”
“Scholar,” replied Azoun, sticking to the story they’d crafted at the outset of their trip. There was no need to brag of Vangerdahast’s abilities, in any event. “I am the warrior of the pair.”
“And a brave young warrior at that,” Kamara said gently. Her eyes sparkled as she spoke.
A silence fell between them for a moment. The man and the woman stood facing each other. Azoun stared into the young woman’s eyes, they seemed like jade coins from some distant and forgotten empire. Somewhere in the distance, a hawk cried out.
Azoun broke the locked gazes first. “We should take care of our ‘ghosts.’”
The woman managed a small smile. “Indeed. It would not do for your scholar to return here to find us mooning about with brigands in the house.”
Side by side, the pair ascended the porch steps of the old manor house. The front door was unlocked, and Azoun went in first.
The interior was fairly typical of a country house. A slender hall ran from front to back, dividing the ground floor in two. All the doors along the hallway were closed.
On the right would be the dining room, and behind that, a kitchen overlooking cooking pits behind the house. On the left would be a sitting room, parlor, or library. The bedchambers would be upstairs, reached by a narrow wooden flight of stairs. Azoun tried to imagine brigands getting the goat up the stairs. He shook his head. They must be hiding the livestock somewhere else.
The building was too quiet. Even if the livestock had been shoved in the basement, they would make some noise. There would be the soft sounds of their calls, or at least the slight shifting of floorboards as they moved about.
Kamara hung close behind him as he entered, and he could feel her soft, warm breath on the back of his neck.
