Hey, D'Shai, you ready for...
Shhh!, I'm almost done reading this and want to make sure I didn't miss anything.
Miss what?
I'm looking for the best deal when we trade Fett mid-season.
What in the name of all that is axiomatic are you talking about?
Well, his value is way up after last season's Rogue's Gallery stuff, and I think we can get some real quality for him.
You've gone crazy.
Like a fox! No one will expect this move so early in the campaign, even if we have to finish out the campaign with different personnel.
OK, I'll bite. Exactly what are we getting for him?
Well, the two best deals so far are either a promising rookie gamer interested in d20 Modern and a book deal, or two interns and a copy machine.
Hmmm, book deal? That's a lot!
Yeah, it's pretty good. I'm getting pretty good at these trades. Oh you're going to need this bag.
What is this duffle bag for; and what do you mean "getting pretty good," have you been playing baseball manager on the Xbox again?
No, but since I just inked a deal trading you for Rel and a "Gamer to be Named Later," I think I'm getting better. I've been trying to get rid of you for years.
WHAT?
You ship out next Tuesday.
Just hurry up and do the Tip of the Day.
When making trades for new players, always make sure to pad their XP totals.
*****
"Why are we stopped?" asked Pack, sliding down from his perch on the edge of the plush bench he shared with his brother. “Are we there?”
Theo smiled. “Not likely,” he said for the fourth time since they had entered the shuttered coach. “We’re probably waiting our turn to cross the bridge over Redbrook; it’s the quickest way to the ferry.”
The halfling began pacing along the tiny floor, weaving through three sets of legs. He jingled as he moved, a fringe of tiny bells hanging from his hood bouncing with each step. Within moments, the bard began humming along with chime; Theo wasn’t sure if his little friend even knew he had become a one halfling ensemble. You know how to make this old man smile, boy. I wonder if the children would have been like you, or the grandchildren; or if that would have made a difference at all…
“What’s Redbrook?” Pack asked.
Theo rubbed his wet eye with his finger before answering. If anyone in the cramped coach noticed, they didn’t say anything. “It’s the river that separates the good side of Old City from the bad.”
“There’s a good side to this place?” grunted Worm as his littler but older brother clambered over him to get a look out the window. The half-orc shifted mid-clamber, toppling the halfling, who landed on his everpresent rucksack with a clang and a thud.
“Ow!” shouted Pack, “That hurt!”
“You know,” said Ander, “you would have landed on the seat if you hadn’t insisted on bringing that thing.” The Ionian sounded annoyed to the older man. Then the woodsman sighed and leaned his head back as he shut his eyes. As a result, he never saw both Worm and Pack screw up their faces in the worst Ander impersonation and silently mouth the warrior’s words right back at him.
Theo stifled a laugh by clearing his throat and quickly changed the subject. “I tell you what, Pack. I don’t think a halfling and an old man riding on a carriage will cause a stir. Why don’t we get up top and take a look around and let these two get some rest? Sound good to you?”
“You bet!” said Pack, already making for the carriage door. The door came open with a slap, flooding the tiny cabin with the light of the setting sun. Theo saw Ander flinch, and stepped between the younger man and opening. It wouldn’t do to have too many questions this close to the ferry, would it son?
The priest squinted for a moment as he let tired eyes grow accustomed to the sunlight and stretched cramped limbs. “So, Pack,” he started, “do you need some help…”
The halfling already sat atop the carriage next to the driver. “I guess not,” Theo said to himself.
“Hey! It looks like we’re moving again. You’d better hurry, Theo!” said Pack, extending a hand toward the old cleric.
Theo chuckled. “I’ll just use the ladder,” he said. His knees popped and creaked with each step, and when he finally settled himself on the driver’s bench, he rubbed them furiously. I should have brought that poultice with me, he thought. A few moments later, the coach lurched forward over the bridge; the clip-clopping octet of its team’s hooves signaled their crossing.
For a while, Theo watched Old City from his perch atop the quickly moving carriage, almost oblivious to the torrent of questions from the halfling sitting next to him. Luckily, most of them seemed directed at the driver. The people haven’t changed much, he thought as they passed a not-quite-poor family holding hands as they walked down the crowded street. Neither have the buildings. Down a sidestreet, the cleric caught a glimpse of huge tavern, a place he had frequented in his youth. That place brings back memories: Ivar and me, back to back against the bar. Right before I met…
Theo felt the wetness in his eyes again, and made a show of retrieving a pipe from his vestments. "Well Pack, what do you think?" he coughed.
“About what?” the bard asked.
“Oh, anything I suppose.”
“Well I guess I expected Tor to be, you know, cleaner, I guess. Don’t get me wrong, I like the buildings, and view is nice, and I guess the ferry ride will be fun, and it’s sort of neat that Grogger is descended from Trennor, and I never thought I’d see Ander all dressed up, and can you imagine the look on Ashrem’s face when he sees what we picked out for him? And…”
“Wait, what was that about Grogger?" Theo asked incredulously.
"Well, remember when you said that we needed to find Ander a sword or a dagger or something to wear because he was being stubborn about his staff and you told him ‘you can’t keep a quarterstaff with you during dinner, boy, it’s just not done’?” Theo heard the driver stifle a laugh as the bard mimicked the priest’s voice. Pack continued, “Well while you were getting into you’re vestments Ander found one at the bottom of one of the trunks; he thought it was just an old ceremonial sword or something because it went with his outfit and he said it felt wrong when he swung it but said it was better than nothing so he’d make due, and then Worm laughed at and said that a real warrior didn't need a weapon at a feast, and…”
“Pack, how is this about Grogger?” Theo interrupted.
“Oh! Well Ander and Worm don’t think the sword is worth much, but I know better. That’s Trennor’s Sword.” Pack said it as if it were a fact.
“Pack, what’s your favorite song?”
“The one where all the girls say ‘…and chase me round again!’ and run in a circle.”
“You’re other favorite song.” The cleric said with a chuckle.
“Trennor’s Triumph. Why?”
“And what does it say about Trennor?”
“That he was buried with his sword.”
“So that sword couldn’t be Trennor’s. Right?”
“I thought so too until I heard a new version at Festival! Turns out that in Caine Freeport’s version, the one that the minstrel from Tor sang during the competition, he specifically says that Trennor was buried with the Sword of Sorrows, the sword he got as a gift from the elves, not the sword that slew a thousand demons! Isn’t that neat?”
“But Pack, that doesn’t mean that it’s this sword.”
“But I looked on the hilt and it had the inscription ‘The boundary between good and evil is defined by me’ in old Argish and the pommel is a stamp of red ruby and everything! And that means that’s its Trennor’s!”
“And I suppose that means that since Grogger’s inheritance has Trennor’s sword in it that he’s actually one of Trennor’s descendents?”
“See? And when I asked Grogger about it he said ‘how else do you think I inherited this old manor?’ It’s obvious!”
“No, Pack.”
“But…”
“Pack, this is beginning to sound like the time you claimed that you saw that herd of cows fly after a bunch of the boys played that practical joke on Onkus.”
“That’s exactly what Worm said,” Pack muttered. “And he was the one I was trying to protect: traitor.” The halfling’s voice was the most sullen Theo had ever heard.
Theo patted his small friend on the shoulder. “It’s not as bad as all that,” he said as the coach began to slow. “We’ve just hit the place where we board the ferry. See?” The cleric pointed into the distance, where a handful of grooms prodded a score of horses onto the huge raft.
“Hey, isn’t that Ashrem?” said the halfling, pointing in the nearly the same direction. “He looks… dizzy.”
Theo peered across the dusty street to see the familiar, bandage-wrapped frame of his friend. The scout was slumped against the wall with a hand to his head, looking ill. “I’ll be right back,” said the cleric, “stay here.” With that the aging priest dropped gingerly to the ground and trod across the roadway. Strangely, the normally keen-eyed feloine did not seem to see him. “Greetings, friend,” he said as he neared, for the benefit of passersby. “Do you need some help?”
Ashrem looked back at him as if surprised. “Yes, Brother,” the scout said, “I believe I do.”
“I know just the thing to cure what ails, my son. Follow me.” With that, the pair moved toward the coach; Theo watched with some concern as the feloine moved with somewhat less than his absolute sense of balance and compsure, as if something weighed heavily on him. When he reached the carriage door, he knocked once and ushered Ashrem inside. “Pack and I are going to stay up top,” he said quietly, “while you get ready. Ashrem, let me know if you need any help; you look like you’ve seen better days.”
“We’ll let you know, Theo,” said Worm, leaning into the light.
As the door shut, Theo heard Ander, “So, Ash, what did you find?”
***
Ashrem shifted uncomfortably in his cushioned seat, the embroidery of the ornate wine-colored tunic catching on his fur. “I do not suppose you procured a different set of clothing,” he said as he rubbed the back of his aching head. The pain, which had begun the instant he had crossed the wall into Tor the previous night, was growing worse. “Purple is normally a color reserved for nobility among my people.”
“Bah! Pack’s got a bunch of curtains he mangled,” said Worm, looking comfortable in a loose fitting surcoat, “but that’s about it unless you plan on shrinking before we eat. Want them?” The half-orc patted the halfling’s rucksack beside him.
“At this juncture,” growled the feloine, “I am a whisker away from wearing my fur and little else!” The scout, hearing the growing frustration in his voice, stopped himself short and took a deep breath before continuing. “Yes, please do. Depending on the cut of the cloth, I may be able to improvise something passable in a more traditional Island style.”
“Are you sure you’re alright, Ash?” asked Ander from beside him. “It’s not a problem that you weren’t able to find anything else on Brandimere.”
Ashrem glared at his friend with eyes that refused to focus. “I will be fine, Ander,” he said, “It has simply been an exhausting and uncomfortable day.” Through the blur, he could see concern on the woodsman’s face.
“How does he fit all this in here?” Worm said from across the coach. The huge warrior had opened his brother’s backpack and begun a pile next to it. “Ha! Here!” he said, fishing a fistful of folded cloth from the leather container and handing it to the scout.
The feloine held up the cloth. It was the color of seafoam and surprisingly well cut, lacking the frayed edges he had expected. “Thank you. I believe this will suffice. In any event,” he continued, turning back to his friend as he began measuring the fabric and making more complex folds, “I did not say that my search for information was entirely fruitless.” The words felt strange as they escaped from his lips, as if they were both the barest truth and the blackest lie he had ever spoken.
“Yes you did, Ashrem,” said Worm. “It was the first thing out of your mouth when you got in.”
“Implausible,” said the scout indistinctly, “Both last night and today I saw…”
Ashrem stifled a scream as white hot needles of pain jabbed his temples. He felt a pair of hands restraining him, one wrist engulfed in a vise-like grip that held Razor in its sheath with overwhelming force. For a long moment, the scout strained against his captors. Then his limbs went limp as he fell into darkness.
***
The feloine awoke to the soothing sway of the moving carriage. He opened his eyes to see Ander across from him, a pair of familiar short swords across his knees. “He’s awake,” said the warrior to the aging priest seated next to Ashrem.
The scout rubbed his head, noting that the pain in his head had receded to a more manageable level. “After a fashion, I suppose,” he said. “For how long have I been unconscious?”
“Not long,” said Theo, “we just disembarked off the ferry a little while ago.” The cleric slid open a tiny door in the front wall of the chamber, flooding it with a ray of fading sunlight. An instant later, the hole was filled with a tiny face.
“Ashrem? Is he going to be alright, Theo? Hey, you’re awake!”
Ashrem blinked. “Yes, Pack, I am awake. How nice of you to notice.”
“Good! Theo said you weren’t really sick because his prayers didn’t really do anything and he and I checked to see if you were enchanted or something but you didn’t glow when I sang my tunes and Theo’s prayers didn’t bring you out of it so I just figured you were really tired but Theo said that something was wrong but now you’re all better and that’s great!”
“Thank you for your concern, Pack. I am feeling much better, though I am having a difficult time remembering…”
“Remembering what?” asked the Ionian.
“It is difficult to explain. My last distinct memory is leaving our shelter in Old City last night. I vaguely recall meeting you this morning, but it seems almost as if it were a dream.”
“I don’t like the sound of this,” said Theo. “Maybe we should just cancel tonight, Ander.”
Ashrem glanced at Ander, who hesitated before answering, “Ash, if you need us to, we’ll turn this thing around right now and get you back to get some rest.” The woodsman had a familiar look on his face, one that the feloine had seen often enough to grasp its meaning. This is important enough to you, my friend. I will not take your hope from you.
“I do not believe that will be necessary, Brother,” said the scout. “My involuntary rest seems to have cleared my head,” he continued, tapping his temple with a steady finger.
“I’m still not satisfied,” started Theo, “we just don’t know…”
“Brother Theo, your concern is welcome, but your satisfaction is not as important as the information we will receive tonight,” said the feloine.
“Really? How do you know that?” asked Theo. “You said earlier that you weren’t able to get any more information on this Brandimere fellow.”
“Implausible. Both last night and today…” Ashrem stopped. “I believe I have uttered these words once before.”
“Yes,” said Ander quietly, “right before you passed out.”. Ashrem noticed that his paired swords had moved from his knees to under the seat and that the woodsman looked ready to pounce.
“Go on,” said Theo.
“I do not believe I can. I cannot remember what I was preparing to say.”
“Just relax and try again.”
“Both last night…”
“Further back,” coaxed the cleric.
The feloine looked at him for a moment, and then, as if of their own volition, the words came. “I did not say that my search for information was entirely fruitless. Implausible. Both last night and today I saw,” the floodgates opened, “Ander! He walked through the streets. I would not have seen him the first time if he had not brusquely brushed past my shoulder and nearly knocked me to the ground.”
The feloine glanced at his companions as he continued, the speed of his words increasing as he became ever more sure of his memories. “For a moment, I found myself wondering if he had simply not seen me. Yet almost immediately I realized that this “Ander” did not have Ander’s scent. In fact, it had no scent at all.”
“That would explain a lot,” said Ander.
“Indeed,” continued Ashrem. “Obviously I followed this creature through much of the night in order to divine its purpose. But, near morning, I was overcome with a blinding pain in my head. Recovering from the pain was enough for the creature to escape. Then I returned to tell you of Sir Brandimere.”
“Why didn’t you tell us about this before, Ash?”
“I am unsure. I assure you I had meant to inform you, and after leaving I was sure that I had. I do know that when I left it was with the intent to find this creature again.”
“This is confusing,” said Pack from his peep-hole. “This morning you said you were going to find out more about Brandimere.”
Ashrem furrowed his brow, “I still only vaguely remember the conversation from this morning, Pack. While speaking with all of you I developed another pain in my head that, while not as severe, must have been enough to muddle my thoughts.”
“So what happened today?” continued Pack.
“As I said, I again saw this false Ander walking through the streets. After ensuring that it bore no scent, I tailed this thing throughout the alleys and streets at a distance. Throughout this, the pain remained relatively weak, though it persisted. Then, around the noon hour, I saw this double join a hooded figure and move quickly through Old City. Eventually, they arrived at a ramshackle building. When they entered, the hooded figure removed her cloak to reveal long red hair.”
“Aurora!” Ander nearly stood despite the tight confines of the carriage.
“I cannot say for certain. After the two entered, I followed to investigate hoping to catch a proper scent, but as I neared the door the pain became unbearable. The next thing I recall is being ushered into this carriage by Brother Theo.”
“This changes everything,” said Ander. “We’ve got to find this building. Can you find it again?”
“Possibly,” answered Ashrem, “though it may take some time. I find it odd that circumstances dictate that I track myself.”
“Then let’s turn this thing around and get…” The coach lurched to a stop.
“We’re here!” said Pack from the little window.
“Pack, tell the driver to get us back to Old City,” Ander barked impatiently.
Pack’s face disappeared. When he reappeared, Ashrem saw a nervous smile on his lips. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Ander,” replied the bard.
“Why in the hells not?”
“Because Sir Brandimere’s really looking forward to seeing us.”
“So?”
“No, he’s really looking forward to seeing us.”
Suddenly the door to the coach flew open, revealing a pair of large armored men with poleaxes. Two more identically dressed guards stood behind them. A fifth guard, appeared between them. “Thank you for coming,” he said. “His Excellency Sir Brandimere asks that you follow me so that dinner may be served.”
Ashrem could tell from the tone that it was not a request.
*****
