out behind them. Tempest and Uldane walked on either side of Quarhaun, as if protecting the helpless hermit from danger. Shara smiled to herself-it was a convincing illusion, at least to her mind.
“Ho there, travelers!” one of the soldiers on the bridge called. “Let me see your empty hands as you approach, please.”
Shara slid her sword into its sheath on her back and held her hands out to the sides of her body. Her companions did the same-except Quarhaun, who still gripped his staff with both hands, leaning heavily on the branch as he walked.
“You in the middle, let me see your hands,” the soldier called again.
Quarhaun stopped and stretched out his arms for a moment, then gripped the staff again as he hobbled forward. He was reaching the end of his strength, Shara realized, and needed to rest soon.
“Well, well,” the guard said as they drew closer. “Bold adventurers come to deliver our town from the monsters and plague?”
“I am Roghar,” the dragonborn announced, bowing slightly. “If my sword and Bahamut’s strength can be of help to Fallcrest, I offer them gladly.”
Shara counted eleven soldiers on the bridge-ten clutching longspears, arrayed behind the commander who was speaking to Roghar. That was more soldiers than she’d ever seen in one place in Fallcrest-perhaps anywhere in the Nentir Vale. She suspected that most of them were farmers or laborers drafted into the militia when the town came under attack. Fallcrest had precious few professional soldiers in its guard, and they would probably be spread around the perimeter of the walls, the bluffs, and the waterfront, commanding groups of militia recruits.
The commander returned Roghar’s bow. “I apologize if I sounded flippant, paladin,” he said. His apology seemed sincere, but Shara thought his voice retained a bit of its edge. “Too many would-be heroes have found their way here in our trouble and lived like leeches off the generosity of our citizens.”
Was that an explanation or a warning? Shara wondered.
“When did this happen?” Roghar asked.
“We’ve been under attack for two weeks. The monsters swept through Aerin’s Crossing and Lowtown like wildfire, driving the survivors into the relative safety of Hightown. We’re crowded and getting desperate, so the last thing we need are parasites.” Shara thought she saw the man’s eyes rest on Tempest, then Quarhaun, during his last sentence.
“My companions and I have already slain many of the demons that infest the Nentir Vale,” Roghar said. “Why, just moments ago, we rescued this poor man from a demon attack.” He gestured to Quarhaun.
Shara gritted her teeth. You didn’t have to draw attention to him, Roghar, she thought.
The guard stepped around Roghar to look at Quarhaun more closely. “So you’re not one of these bold adventurers?” he said. “A hermit, are you?”
“That’s right,” Quarhaun said.
The guard frowned at Quarhaun’s unfamiliar accent. “Of what order?”
“What?”
“Are you a member of a religious order? Or just one of those fanatics who think they’re too good for the temples?”
“The latter, I’m afraid,” Quarhaun said, drawing himself up.
Shara stretched her fingers and shifted her weight, unsure how this confrontation was going to play out.
“But now you come slinking back to the shelter of town. What’s the matter, did things get too dangerous in your woodland retreat? After repudiating our ways, you come back to our walls and soldiers when things get dangerous.”
“On the contrary,” Quarhaun said, “I encountered no difficulties with these demons until I arrived in your fair town.”
“I don’t think I like your tone,” the guard said.
“Commander,” Roghar said, trying to interpose himself between the guard and Quarhaun. “I promised to escort this man to the safety of Fallcrest. I would not violate my sacred oath …”
“Don’t make promises that are beyond your ability to keep,” the soldier said. “What was it, then? The plague? What’s hidden under those wrappings?” He peered into the shadows of the drow’s hood. “Show your face.”
Quarhaun stammered. “Th … the ways of my order-”
“You just told me you weren’t part of an order. Show your face.” The soldier drew his sword, though he kept the point lowered. The other soldiers shifted nervously behind their officer, making their spear points ripple threateningly.
“I will not,” Quarhaun said.
“You will, or you will die where you stand.”
“Commander,” Roghar said.
“Stay out of this, paladin, or I might have to assume that you were complicit in this man’s deception.” His scowl deepened. “If it is even proper to call him a man.”
Quarhaun hesitated for a long, tense moment, then lowered his hood and pulled the wrappings away from his face. The whole force of soldiers took a step back with a gasp, eyes wide with fear and mistrust.
“So our hermit is a drow spy,” the commander said. “And yet, I don’t see surprise or horror on any of your faces,” he added, gazing around at the rest of the group. “So you all knew, and you lied to protect him.” He glared at Roghar. “I’ve heard a lot of lies and excuses in my career, but never so bold a lie from a paladin of Bahamut.”
Roghar hung his head and Quarhaun glared defiantly at the commander, so Shara stepped forward to try to alleviate the tension. “Commander,” she said, “this man is a hero of the Nentir Vale. He has slain demons beyond counting and saved my life more than once. Don’t judge him by his race.”
“I judge him by the lies of his tongue. He hasn’t acted like a hero-none of you have. Full of empty boasts and deception, the lot of you. You’re not welcome in Fallcrest, not in these times.”
“Officer, our deception was regrettable, but we felt it necessary. In times like these, it’s natural that you would feel especially protective, more likely than usual to question the business of a drow within Fallcrest’s walls. We sought only to avoid giving you alarm.”
“Regrettable, indeed,” the officer said, his eyes on Roghar again.
“I spoke no falsehood,” Roghar said. “My companion Tempest and I happened upon these three in the midst of a demon attack on the bluffs near the Nentir Inn. Just moments ago, we did in fact rescue this poor man from demons.”
“Your ability to deceive with truthful words is nothing to boast of.”
Roghar turned to Shara and threw up his hands. “I told you this was a bad idea,” he said.
“So we leave,” Quarhaun said. “Let Fallcrest burn, if these men won’t admit the champions who might save it.”
“Quiet,” Shara said to him. “You’re not helping.” She turned to the commander. “Please. Quarhaun is no spy. His reasons for coming to Fallcrest are the same as ours, and his dedication to destroying the demons that plague the town is the equal of anyone’s. His sword has slain many demons, and it’s prepared to slay more. If you turn him away, it will be to Fallcrest’s detriment. Consider the good of your town.”
“That’s what I said,” Quarhaun muttered under his breath, but Shara silenced him with a sharp glance.
The commander took a slow breath as his eyes ranged over the group of them, as if measuring what he could see of their character. His gaze lingered longest on Roghar and then Quarhaun. Finally he nodded. “Very well,” he said. “You may enter, all of you.” His upright stance relaxed slightly, and Shara realized for the first time how much the demonic attack must be wearing on the town’s defenders.
“Thank you,” Roghar said, bowing again to the commander. Shara and the others echoed his thanks and mimicked his bow, and Roghar led the way past the other soldiers and across the bridge.
As Roghar passed the soldiers, one put a hand on his arm. “Paladin,” the man said. “Deliver us.”
“I will,” Roghar said. “We all will. I swear it.”
Roghar scowled as he crossed the bridge, resolving never to allow this drow to force him into such an
