For the next few miles, as they wound down the hillside and into the cover of deeper woods, Alias kept checking over her shoulder. Despite having sealed Mist in, the swordswoman half-expected the dragon to dive on them from the sky, bathing the entire forest in flames. Logic insisted that Mist had to be at least slightly injured from her sudden collision, and it would take her at least a day to dig her way out, but Alias felt more comfortable playing it safe by assuming that Mist was pursuing them.
The swordswoman made the party turn off the road onto the first trail into the woods, so it was nearly dusk by the time they reached the stone circle where she and Akabar and Dragonbait had spent the night before.
In the setting sunlight, the red hewn rock of the druid circle blazed as though the hillock on which it stood was afire. According to the map Dimswart had given Alias, this site had long been abandoned by the clerics of nature, yet the pines encircling the clearing showed no sign of encroaching and reclaiming the area. Alias wondered whether the trees were discouraged by the rocky, frost-cracked soil or thwarted by some lingering magic.
At any rate, the bare space discouraged her as well. Last night they had found the clearing too cold to use as a camping site. Twenty feet down the slope under the cover of the pine branches, on the soft carpet of pine needles, they were sheltered from the wind and considerably warmer. This night, the trees would also shelter them from Mist's gaze. Alias was glad to have good reasons to avoid the stone circle. The giant columns, set in no detectable order, made her uncomfortable. She and Dragonbait hurriedly retrieved the party's gear from its hiding place in the hollow at the foot of one of the sandstone rocks.
camp under the trees. While Akabar prepared dinner, Alias, wrapped in a cloak from the cache, patrolled the edge of the clearing, occasionally glancing at the bard.
Ruskettle was short, even for a halfling. Not even three feet high. There was nothing childlike about her figure, though. She was in the full bloom of womanhood, with plenty of curves, but she also had a slender waist and none of the plumpness most members of her race had. Her leanness, the muscles of her calves, her deep tan, all indicated to Alias that the bard was an adventuress like herself. Yet, Alias was not prepared to like or trust her at all. The bard hadn't made the slightest effort to help Dragonbait and Akabar set up camp or prepare their meal. Besides, halflings were trouble. Alias had never met an exception to the rule.
She joined the others for dinner, seating herself opposite Ruskettle, still watching her intently.
"I don't know how to thank you properly," the halfling bard mumbled between bites of smoke-cured mutton. "The halflings of the south have a saying: I owe you my life, your belongings are safe with me."
The mutton leg, which might have lasted Alias and Akabar another two days, was quickly disappearing. Ruskettle tossed her long, curly hair over her shoulder and motioned with her clay bowl for another helping of soup, still chewing as though her life depended on it.
Akabar furrowed his eyebrows at the small creature's gluttony, but he ladled out another portion of the hearty gruel, a thick barley stock with bits of salted coney seasoned with herbs from the merchant- mage's copious pockets.
"I can see you're keeping our food safe," Alias joked. "Are you sure it's the musical ability of Olav Ruskettle that is renowned, and not her appetite?"
The bard swallowed and wiped her mouth. "The name's Olive, dear. Olive Ruskettle. Don't worry. Everyone makes that mistake."
"Dimswart said it was Olav," Alias muttered as a tiny fear crept over her. Perhaps she had rescued the wrong person.
"Well, I should know my own name, don't you think? The problem is that some fool clerk made a mistake writing it down once on some official document and ever since I've had to correct people."
"I see," Alias replied suspiciously, wondering whether Mistress Ruskettle wasn't wanted under the name of Olav for something more serious than straining rhymes.
"As for my appetite," Olive Ruskettle explained, washing down a loaf of bread with a long pull on a waterskin, "you should know that that witch of a dragon, while having a civilized appreciation for my musical talents, had a lot to learn about the care and feeding of a halfling. Her own eating habits were anything but regular, and I had a devil of a time convincing her that I could not live on raw venison. Then I discovered that her cooking technique left something to be desired. If you had not come along, my dear," she said shaking her head sadly and patting Alias's boot, "I'm afraid my little bones would have joined those of the heroes littering the floor of the dragon's lair."
As the bard continued to make up for a ride's worth of lost meals, Alias thought of the heroes' bones littering the caverns of Mist. Heroes with all the bravado and lack of sense of the halfling. Alias shook her head remembering the bard's outrageous behavior at the mouth of Mist's lair.
Alias's first adventuring party, the Swanmays, had been like that, all flash and fanfare. One encounter with trolls had taught them the wiser course of stealth and surprise.
She remembered the battle with the trolls clearly, as though it had happened last week. So why can't I remember last week? she thought with frustration. She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that Akabar nudged her.
"I'm sorry, what?" she asked.
"I said, 'Do you think we'll return in time?' For the wedding, I mean."
"We'd better, or all this effort was for nothing," Alias answered, oblivious to the feelings of the halfling.
Olive Ruskettle apparently took no offense. Her mind was also on other things. "As anxious as I am to make my Cormyrian debut, I simply haven't the strength to keep pace with you. I shall have to have a mount."
"I don't care for sore feet and aching muscles any more than you, Mistress Ruskettle," Alias replied. "We walked here for secrecy's sake, but, since we seem to have eluded the dragon, horses sound like an excellent idea. How lucky for us you managed to acquire so much of the dragon's wealth while I was fighting for your freedom and life. We can purchase mounts at the first farm we come to."
Olive moved the mutton bone away from her face long enough to give Alias an unabashed grin. "I assure you, my feet made a bee-line for safety while you so valiantly risked your life to rescue me. My hands would have felt left out if they'd been any less useful, don't you know?" She waved the bone in the direction of the sacks of treasure. "Please, feel free to consider this the party's treasure to be used to cover expenses. Whatever remains should be divided evenly among those who survive our encounters. Even—" she cocked an eyebrow in Akabar's direction "—if some were less useful than others."
Akabar's brow furrowed in astonishment at the woman's nerve. "That is very human of you, small one," he said. "Particularly since that spellbook you pulled from the dragon's lair was my own. Most strange, though, because that book was missing from my wagon since the first day out of Arabel, which was, I believe, where you joined our caravan, several days before the dragon attacked us."
"Most strange, indeed," Olive agreed, returning Akabar's level glare. "But"—her eyes returned to her soup bowl, and she took a gulp of broth before continuing—"these are strange times, so the sages say. Mannish kingdoms war and plot while old gods, long forgotten, stir in their restless sleep." She lifted the soup bowl as if making a toast. "Let's celebrate your good fortune at having your valuable tome returned to you, instead of probing into yet more mysteries." She drained the soup bowl and held it out again. "Is there, perchance, any more soup?"
Akabar drained the last of the pot into Olive's bowl. Olive leaned toward the treasure pile, plucked the magical book from the coins and carvings, and held it out to the wizard as he held out her soup bowl. Both parties gave the other a smile that was less than earnest as the exchange was made.
Akabar inspected his book for signs of damage. Alias reached for a tiny pouch near the treasure pile and loosened the string about its neck.
"Not that," Olive objected. "Those are some of my personal effects." But Alias had already dumped the contents of the pouch on the ground. A collection of keys, picks, and wires glittered in the dirt. A small
gold ring rolled toward the fire.
"Oops, sorry," Alias said nonchalantly as Olive snatched the ring from the ground. "You know, that ring looks familiar," she added before the bard had a chance to pocket it.
"Oh, this? I picked it up in the dragon's lair as well."
"I have one just like it. Same blue stone set in gold."
"Maybe you dropped it when you were fighting the dragon," Olive suggested. "Can you prove it's yours?"
Alias regarded the halfling's nervy challenge with considerable amusement.
Olive slipped the ring on her finger. At first it jangled about, too large for her tiny digits, but a moment later it shrank to a perfect fit. "Oooo. It's magic. Was yours magic? What did it do?"
Alias was unable to reply since she had not bothered to experiment with the ring she'd looted from the assassins. But she knew now as well as Akabar just how safe her possessions were in the care of the halfling bard.
Akabar looked up from his books, which he'd been checking for damage. "You had best be cautious with that thing, little one" he warned.
"Nonsense," Olive said with a sniff. "There's no danger as long as you know the right way to deal with these things. All you have to do is hold your hand over your head—" the half-ling demonstrated, while Akabar stepped backward and Alias rose to her feet "—and command the ring, 'Show your power to me.' If that doesn't work then there are certain key words you should—"
They never heard the rest of the bard's lecture. Suddenly the ring's power did indeed display itself. Akabar's tome began to glow a soft blue, as did a ring on his finger and the one on Olive's. Alias's sigils outshone them all, emitting blue beams crazily about the pine forest.
"Damn!" the swordswoman shouted, tears brimming in her eyes. She wrapped her cloak tightly around her body, though a blue glow peeked out at the hem and neckline.
"What was that?" Olive gasped, her eyes glued to Alias.
"Detect magic, I imagine," Akabar answered, moving to the swordswoman's side. "You aren't in any pain, I trust?"
"I'm fine," Alias muttered between clenched teeth.
Olive continued to stare at the swordswoman as though she'd grown a second head. "You have a magical arm!"
"Ignore it," Alias muttered.
"But, it's really magical! Incredibly magical! More magical than anything I've ever seen. I'll bet you could have sliced Mist into pieces. Maybe we should go back and try it."
"I said, ignore it!" Alias shouted.
For the next several minutes an embarrassed silence reigned in the camp. Akabar cleaned out the dinner pot and used it to heat water for tea. Olive finished her soup and polished the mutton bone nearly to ivory. Alias clutched her wrapped arm close to her until the sigils' light began to dim.
Dragonbait laid more wood on the fire, and then stepped outside the campsite to stand in the darkness, facing the hill-top, as though he expected danger from that direction.
"So, tell me, mage," the halfling piped up, obviously uncomfortable without chatter about her. "Where did you find your familiar?" She indicated Dragonbait by nodding her head in his direction. "I've seen nothing like him from the Sword Coast all the way south to magical Halruaa."
Alias snapped, "Dragonbait is my companion, Ruskettle, not the mage's familiar. I did not find him. He found me. He has proved more than useful."
"Aye, I've noticed. Especially at pulling halflings out of the fire. I meant no offense, I assure you. It's just that I've never heard of a lizard acting as a manservant before. But then I've never heard of a magical arm before either"
Alias gritted her teeth. If the halfling wasn't going to give her curiosity a rest, it was time to go on the offensive. "You know, I've never heard of a halfling bard before."
"Well, that's easily explained," Olive smiled. "I gained my training in the south; things are very different there."
"I am from the south as well," said Akabar. "And now that the lady mentions it, I have never encountered a bard of the halfling race, either."
"Ah," replied Olive, staring sadly into her empty bowl. "Well, you are from Turmish, I seem to remember."
"Yeees," the mage said, anticipating what was to come.
"Well, I was trained farther south than that."
"Anywhere near Chondath?" Akabar asked.
"Chondath? Yes, just a wee bit farther south than that."
"Sespech?"
"Yes, Sespech. There is a barding college there with a fine teacher who taught me all I know." The halfling flashed Akabar a beaming smile.
"How odd," drawled the mage, tugging at the edge of his beard. "One of my wives comes from Sespech, on the Vilhon Reach, and while she is quite talkative about the merits of her native land, she has never mentioned halfling bards."
Nagawater. I was referring to a place much farther south. How far south have your travels taken you?"
"I've traded as far south as Innarlith, on the Lake of Steam," the mage said. The halfling nodded.
"Our company ..." Alias wrinkled her brow, trying to dredge up memories as bright but as liquid as quicksilver. "Our company fought on the Shining Plains. Yes, that's right, and we traveled through Amn once or twice."
The halfling looked at Alias a moment, confused by her interruption about places farther to the west and outside the realm of the discussion. She shrugged and continued her far-fetched explanation to the mage. "And in Innarlith there were dwarves from the Great Rift?" she asked.
"Yes, from Eartheart," Akabar replied.
"Well," Olive concluded triumphantly, "below the Great Rift, on the Southern Sea, is the land of Luiren. We have a Sespech there, and a Chondath, which are small but bustling towns, the namesakes no doubt of your larger nations. Anyway, in Sespech, the one in Luiren, I was trained, having made a long pilgrimage from Cormyr. I was attempting to return to my homeland when that fool wyrm plucked me from my wagon."
"Dimswart says you came from across the Dragon Reach," Alias said, puzzled.
"No, I come from Cormyr. You see, traveling by boat does not agree with me, so I journeyed to Luiren around the western edge of the Inner Sea. Desiring to see even more of the Realms, I returned from Luiren around the eastern edge of the Inner Sea, through many wild and dangerous lands. I made a name for myself in the nations of Aglarond and Impiltur. I had just entered Procampur when I received Master Dimswart's most generous offer to entertain at his daughter's wedding. And glad I was to come home, Procampur being a stuffy town, too restrictive for an artiste."
Alias and Akabar exchanged glances. Akabar looked frustrated, but Alias had to smile at the halfling's tale. There had to be at least a dozen lies tangled up in her story, but it wasn't worth the trouble proving it. Olive, like any other halfling, would only invent more lies to cover the originals. Better to wait until she accidentally let the truth slip out.
Alias stood up and stretched. "Going to be a cold night. We need more wood." She walked toward the clearing where the moonlight revealed fallen limbs.
"So, what's her story?" Olive whispered to Akabar, jerking her head at Alias's retreating figure.
"Story?" echoed Akabar. "To what are you referring?"
"She has a magical arm!" Ruskettle's voice rose half an octave.
Akabar shrugged. He was taking a lot of pleasure in thwarting the woman's unbearable curiosity.
"Look, mage," Olive sighed. "I owe her. I want to help."
Akabar's feelings softened somewhat. "Not that I believe you for a moment," he said, "but just in case your words are earnest, I will tell you. The glyphs on the lady's arm are magical, not the arm itself. Some unknown power carved them into her flesh, but she cannot remember the event. As a matter of
fact, she cannot remember the events of several of the past months. In exchange for the meaning of the glyphs, she has agreed to deliver you safely to Master Dimswart. The best service you can do her is to come along peacefully and perform well at this wedding."