Erwen put his backside to Phandalin,
humming contentedly to himself as he ambled along one of the rutted trails that
led away from the village. The Halfling did enjoy spending time with the
Alderleaves, but he could only take civilization in small doses, and knew that
a visit to another town was going to be a wearisome ordeal. He needed to get
back to nature and relax for a time before heading to Helm’s Hold.
So he took his time getting there.
Skirting the foothills of the Sword Mountains,
Erwen headed north, sleeping under the stars (well, under a bush under the
stars where no passing marauder could see him) and letting the terrain choose
his path for him.
He honestly hoped that he would encounter
Who out in the wild after bidding him farewell at Old Owl Well, but he didn't
have the time to make a deliberate search for his animal companion. For now, he
was in his element and was enjoying every minute of it.
Soon he was standing before the dark border
of Neverwinter Wood, scratching his head as he considered his next move.
If we
got into trouble in there, it was because my friends made too much noise, he thought to himself. I’ll be
fine on my own.
He recalled Gundren’s map and mentally
traced a route that would take him through the forest and straight to Helm’s
Hold. He took one last look at the midday sun and crossed into Neverwinter
Wood.
He felt the thick press of gnarled trees
scowling at him as he stepped into the shrouded shadows, tangles of brush
beneath his feet threatening to snare him one toe at a time. He was small
enough to avoid having to hew through the dense growths branch by branch, but
as he wriggled and shimmied through the thickets he found himself thinking that
having one or two of his companions along with him wouldn’t have been so bad
after all.
The forest’s menacing aura surrounded him,
reminding him that he was very much alone. Overhead, the canopy of branches and
leaves intertwined into wooden fists, blotting out the sun and turning the
concept of “day” into an abstract one. This was a domain of darkness.
Erwen’s breath fogged as the temperature
dropped. He couldn’t help shivering in the semidarkness as his clothes dampened
with each brush against leaf and vine. The sounds of animal and insect alike
were muffled at first and then entirely absent, replaced with the creepy
creaking of tree trunks in the airless breeze.
He resolved to stay on the shoulder of the
forest as he moved silently through it, just in case he needed to bolt for the
safety of open spaces. He was painfully aware of the hazards that awaited a
careless traveler in the woods – maddened treants on the prowl, malevolent
spriggans whispering for their grandfather, and wandering werewolves, to say
nothing of the murderous elven supremacists who stalked the forest and strung
up interlopers as they pleased.
But Erwen was anything but careless. After
all, he had been raised by wolves in a forest much like this one, leagues and
leagues from here. He knew how to step lightly, keep to the shadows cast by other
shadows, and draw as little attention to himself as possible. Now and then he
had to fling himself into the loam to avoid being spotted by a creature
thrashing its way through the bush, but for the most part he passed through the
woods without a trace.
He spent two nights in the woods, sleeping
in the hollows of trees, wrapped in his bearskin cloak and picking grubs out of
rotted stumps for his meals. He didn’t trust the barn-red berries that grew on
the prickly bushes between the trees and couldn’t for the life of him find a
single squirrel or vole to eat.
On the third day he came across a
slow-moving brook that he took to be a tributary of the Neverwinter River and
knew that he was getting close to his destination. He forded the stream and
though he was still in the forest, he felt as though Neverwinter Wood’s
threatening blanket was lifted from his shoulders.
He paused and sniffed the air, looking back
over his shoulder at the misty gloom that lay along the banks of the stream. Interesting , he thought. Then he
shrugged and headed west.
In contrast to Neverwinter Wood, he found
that this section of the forest had many well-worn footpaths snaking among the
trees. Here, the coniferous trees stood tall and proud, not hunched and
twisted. He heard birdcalls and the chattering of quarreling squirrels.
This
is more like it , Erwen thought.
The Halfling soon realized that he was not
alone in the forest. Here and there among the glades were marble and stone
mausoleums, some featuring statues of armored knights and paladins standing a
quiet, resolute watch over the forest. The tombs and crypt entrances showed
signs of recent repair and were obviously tended to by skilled caretakers –
several were surrounded by well-manicured gardens in mid-spring bloom.
And the living moved among the dead.
Erwen’s keen senses picked out a handful of
humans clad in priest’s garments, their heads bowed in contemplation as they
walked reverently amid the mausoleums. The Halfling could hear quietly murmured
prayers drifting on the breeze as the acolytes kept a solemn vigil.
Erwen wasn’t an expert in formal religious
practice, but he did recognize that the priests wore the same symbol that
appeared engraved on the crypts and statues in the forest. It bore some
resemblance to the symbol of the god Helm that he had heard his companions
discussing in recent days.
In addition, he noticed that a trio of
armored paladins, also clad in tabards with the Helmite symbols, was standing
nearly as stone still as the stone statues that dotted the forest, their gaze
focused on the darker section of Neverwinter Wood across the stream.
Okay , thought Erwen. This I can
work with.
Erwen did recall enough about religions to
know that one of his favoured wildshapes, the giant elk, was rare to the point
that its appearance was often taken as a foreshadowing of an important event,
such as the birth of a king, and that legends told of gods that took the form
of giant elks when visiting The Material Plane.
Erwen suppressed a chuckle and wildshaped into the form of a majestic
giant elk. Standing erect, he swept his six-point antlers from side to side as
he stepped into view of the group of priests and paladins.
There were gasps as prayers were
interrupted.
Erwen-Elk leveled his gaze at the priests
and tried to look as noble as possible.
Some of the acolytes fell to their knees,
hands raised in supplication.
“Praise be to Helm!” one shouted.
“Our vigilance has been rewarded!” another
said.
Erwen-Elk slowly walked across the clearing
and disappeared behind a copse of trees.
“This is truly a blessed day!” said a
third. “We must tell the others!” The priests struggled to their feet and headed
down the path towards Helm’s Hold.
Erwen dropped out of wildshape and hid
behind the trees, snickering to himself as the priests and paladins withdrew.
He prepared to wildshape into something a bit less conspicuous and discreetly
follow the acolytes to their destination.
Then he realized that he was being watched.
He turned and saw the frozen form of a wood
elf staring intently at him from the treeline, a knife in hand.
Erwen wildshaped into the form of a
housecat and took off after the Helmites, fur standing on end.
Outside the gates of Helm’s Hold, the party
found themselves being escorted through a growing throng of irate refugees
crowding near the walls of the fortified monastery, with the Gilded Eye pikemen
using harsh language and the butt end of their pikes to force the crowd to make
way.
Jamie Lysandra rode on ahead, heedless of
the crowd, which had to scramble out of the way of his horse’s hooves.
As the adventurers approached the gates,
they heard the sound of shouting.
Then they were at the main entrance of
Helm’s Hold.
The stout stone-and-timber walls were
impressive given the size of the settlement, and the entrance to Helm’s Hold
was fortified with a proper gatehouse that would not have been out of place at
Neverwinter – in fact, the same skilled hands might have built it.
A barbican flanked the main gate, and
between the battlements stretched a walkway and parapet. The heavy iron
portcullis was in place, which seemed to be the target of the refugees’ ire.
A phalanx of guards – mostly knights of
Helm, judging by their blue tabards – stood resolutely on the battlements, and
a lone human woman was out on the walkway overhead, addressing the crowd.
The woman was dressed in armor emblazoned
with the emblem of Helm. Her long black hair was pulled back in a utilitarian
ponytail and she carried a helmet resting in the crook of her arm.
“Good people!” she cried. “You are safe
here at Helm’s Hold! Do not lose hope!”
“What hope do we have out here in the mud?”
Someone nearby shouted. “We’re only safe behind your walls!”
The woman raised a hand. “You will of
course be welcomed into Helm’s Hold in the fullness of time! Your patience is
greatly appreciated as we process your claims and find you your rightful place
behind our protective walls. But for now, be at peace. Regardless of which side
of the wall you are on, your injuries will be tended to. You will be given food
to eat and blankets to stay warm. Have patience, good people, and you will be
made whole!”
There was grumbling and discontent from the
assembled throng.
“Helm’s Hold will be your refuge! All in
good time!” she shouted.
Something’s
not right , Radegast thought. Helm’s Hold has a reputation as a welcoming sanctuary going back
decades, even during the Time of Troubles. Why are the gates now closed to
newcomers?
From his saddle, Jamie signaled to the
guards manning the battlements.
The gates began to open, and the Gilded Eye
guards pushed at the crowd to keep them from storming into the gatehouse. There
was a considerable uproar.
Jamie half-turned in his saddle, caught
Radegast’s eye, and jerked a thumb towards the portcullis as it was pulled
upwards.
“What the hell is this?” Someone shouted.
“Those folks just arrived here! My family’s been living in squalor out here for
a tenday!” The angry voices rose in volume as the adventurers were ushered
inside the gates. The banging of the portcullis cut off their protests.
The group found itself inside the
gatehouse, a rectangular chamber about thirty feet wide and half that deep, its
sheer walls at least twenty feet high. Beginning at about ten feet up the sheer
walls, embrasures were spaced at regular intervals.
Radegast mentally tallied up the number of
archers who could crouch at each embrasure
And imagined a scaffold on the opposite
side of the gatehouse walls where defenders could move freely. Judging by the
shadows that now and then obscured the light that bled through the firing
slits, there were plenty of defenders in position. She wasn’t sure, but she
thought she could hear the sounds of bowstrings being pulled taught.
“Well, well,” she said loudly enough for
her companions to hear. “These are some solid walls, absolutely the best, well disciplined walls, very competitive
with the current state of the defensive
arts.” She made a point of looking up at the embrasures as she spoke.
Jamie sniffed. “Which I hope serves as a
warning to any who would attempt to breach them.”
Just as the party was beginning to wonder
whether they had made a huge mistake, the inner gate began to winch open.
Standing before them was the woman who a
minute before was addressing the unruly crowd outside. She stood about six feet
tall, her fair complexion in sharp contrast to her jet-black hair.
Radegast did some quick math to figure out
how best she could have gotten from the top of the battlements to the ground in
so little time and figured there must be a greasy pole installed somewhere
nearby.
“Welcome to Helm’s Hold,” the woman said.
“I’m Zara Dalkor, Captain of the Watch.” She indicated a half-elf woman
standing at her side. “This is my squire, Thora Tamlarrin.” She pointed
to the head guard who escorted them in. “I see you’ve met Zealot Lysander.”
“Might I have the pleasure of your names?”
Radegast turned to Jamie. “Well, Jamie here knows who we are – why don’t
you make introductions?”
Jamie stiffened in his saddle, only his eyes betraying the sort of
sudden panic that made Radegast realize she’d misspoken, perhaps fatally.
“Er, well,” Jamie stuttered. “I didn’t take their names down when we
approached them in the camp outside.”
“I’m sorry,” Radegast quickly tried to cover over her previous
statement. “It’s just that this guard looks very much like a boy who lived in
the town I grew up in, and-”
Varien sighed and stepped forward. “I’m Varien Aether, and this is.”
“Pitt Moonflower!” Radegast said a little too loudly. “Yes, Pitt
Moonflower, late of Evereska, and these fine fellows are my escorts as we
travel to Candlekeep.”
A confused look passed over Zara’s smooth face. “You’re traveling to
Candlekeep?”
“Why, yes,” Radegast said. “We’re taking
the High Road.”
“I hate to tell you this, but you’re
traveling in the wrong direction.”
“Wrong direction?” Radegast said. “Wait, do
you mean this isn’t Daggerford?”
“Daggerford?” Zara echoed, her eyes wide.
“I-I just said the name of our town when I welcomed you here!” She traded a
nonplussed glance with her squire.
Radegast pointed at Varien. “This one’s
responsible for the map, and he’s a drunkard. In fact, he’s drunk right now –
the smell gives him away.”
Zara shook her head and let out a chuckle.
“Perhaps I should take you to our map room and you can review the trade routes
before you head on your way.”
Varien cleared his throat. “If this place
is big enough to have a room just for maps, why not make some room for those
cold and hungry people outside to live in?”
His words were met with silence by Zara and
the guards.
“See? Drunk.” Radegast said.
“Ah yes, well, that actually brings me back around to the main point. Your
actions outside our walls this day deserve commendation,” Zara said. “On behalf
of Helm’s Hold, I thank you for your charity.”
“Why does it feel as though we are being arrested instead of receiving a
commendation?” Bob spoke up. “I’m Bob Trevelyan, by the way.”
“Please, do not mistake our discernment in allowing entry to Helm’s Hold
for a lack of hospitality,” Zara said. “We have the best interests of those
both outside and inside our walls at heart.”
“Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but allow me to ask you a
question.” Varien replied. “Do you have spare rooms in this town?”
“Yes,” Zara replied.
“And as you are screening the refugees outside, what criteria are you
using?” Varien asked. “Are they hungry? Check. Are they desperate? Check. Are
they great in number and need? Check and check.”
Radegast stepped out in front of Varien and addressed Zara and her
retinue. “I hired this one for his skill with a sword, not for his skills as a
diplomat. He’s not good at being polite, but he’s an artist with a blade.”
Bob leaned over to Varien and whispered, “So this is what happens when
you’ve been drinking?”
“It is of no concern,” Zara waved a hand and turned to her fellow
guards. “It appears we have a philosopher in our midst!”
There was a low chuckle from the guards.
Zara spoke to Varien. “Perhaps you should stop by the Dragon’s Gauntlet,
where our Council of Speakers holds court, and plead your case to them.”
“Maybe I will,” Varien muttered.
“So,” Radegast said. “There was some mention earlier about rooms for the
night…”
Zara smiled thinly. “Just a few more questions. What brings you to the Hold, if
not for a stopover on your rather roundabout route towards Candlekeep, and why
provide humanitarian aid before calling on us?”
“Well,” Radegast said. “We were traveling on the road when we were
accosted by frost giants.”
“Giants?” Zara repeated.
“Indeed,” Radegast continued. “My sense of distance isn’t what it should
be, but I would say about 40 miles south of here, we did encounter some
oversized bandits, who we defeated handily by the way. They were carrying,
among other things, quite the load of dry goods, more than we could have eaten
ourselves, you see, and when we approached Helm’s Hold we saw many people in
need, and shared what we had with them.”
Zara nodded. “We have heard reports of giants raiding settlements along
the Sword Coast of late. I had no idea they were prowling this far inland. And
you say you defeated these giants?”
“Handily,” Radegast repeated.
“Well then!” Zara said. “Truly this is a banner day! Helm’s Hold thanks you for
your vigilance in ridding our environs of a growing threat.”
“Yes, well humanitarian aid and heroics can be quite tiring, so perhaps
we could discuss accommodations?” Radegast ventured. “Perhaps someone could
escort us to a lodging house?”
“Of course,” Zara said. “Given your rather eccentric navigational
capability, it would be best if we provided you with a guide.” She turned to
Jamie. “Zealot Lysandra, please escort Miss Moonflower and her escorts to the
Venturer’s Rest and ensure they do not lose their way.”
“By your command, Captain.” Jamie swung down out of his saddle and
handed his horse’s reins to a waiting squire.
“Enjoy our thanks and enjoy your stay within the safety of Helm’s Hold,”
Zara said with a wry smile. “Rest well, and perhaps we will speak again.”
“I look forward to it,” Radegast said as Jamie indicated the group
should follow him.
The party walked along the main street of the town. Varien looked
around, taking in his surroundings with an appraising eye. Something about
Helm’s Hold reminded him of his hometown of Lorelei. Perhaps it was its purpose
as a site of religious observance and instruction or perhaps it was the strong
fortifications that protected its inhabitants. The town’s skyline was dominated
by the Grand Cathedral of Helm, which loomed over the rest of the hold, its
high towers casting a watchful shadow over the settlement. The cathedral was
built on a hillside and Varien could just make out a set of inner walls that
separated the monastery from the rest of the town. A few blocks away there was
another gate and wall that further divided the town.
Radegast had seen maps of Helm’s Hold that she judged were now outdated
and inaccurate by the looks of the settlement. The buildings along the main
road were a hodgepodge of original structures and newer buildings stuffed
between or atop them, but the adventurers got a general sense of arrested
development – this town seemed to large for its resources. Many buildings lay
in disrepair with no signs of workers to fix them up. Whole tenements appeared
deserted, and shards of rotted wood, heaps of broken stone, and rusty nails made
the going quite hazardous.
“Someone needs to have a talk with this town’s leadership,” Varien said.
“With so many buildings standing empty, there’s no good reason why we can’t
usher those people into the outer neighbourhoods here.”
Radegast tossed her hair and tried to play the stupid rich girl. “Now,
now, I’m sure they have plenty on their plates, Varien.”
Jamie set his jaw grimly. “We could, if you wish, arrange for you to
drop by the Dragon’s Gauntlet, which is just inside the inner walls. The
Council of Speakers hold public meetings there daily, and spectators are
welcome.”
He pointed at the emblem of Sune on
Varien’s shield. “Perhaps you and your friend here”—he indicated Bob, who also
sported a Sunite symbol—would like to visit Heartward Hall, a shrine to Sune
that was recently constructed with the generous support of the Order of the
Gilded Eye. Follow the main road as it turns eastward, pass through the inner
gate and then turn north at the major intersection. There you’ll find the
Heartward, our town’s marketplace, where a lot of interesting activities take
place. The Shrine to Sune can be found just off the main plaza.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Varien said. “Are
there any other temples in town?”
“Well, obviously there’s the Cathedral of
Helm,” Jamie said, pointing towards the monastery. “But yes, there is a shrine
to Tyr and a shrine to Ilmater, both within the outer compound of the Grand
Cathedral.” He sniffed. “The Heartward Hall does not occupy that sort of prime
real estate, I’m afraid.”
“That tells me what I need to know about
this place,” Bob muttered to Alec.
Radegast listened carefully to Jamie’s tone
as he spoke to the rest of the party, interested to discern whether or not her
ex-lover was playing a role or was genuinely trying to fit into a new job as a
member of the Gilded Eye. She decided that Jamie was choosing his words
carefully and saying just the right things so that an onlooker wouldn’t get
suspicious, and that there was more going on here than met the eye.
Speaking of eyes, it was painfully obvious
that the adventurers were being watched as they walked along.
She resolved to get Captain Kraklos’s
missive into Jamie’s possession as soon as it could be discreetly done.
In the end it was both a short and direct
walk from the gatehouse to the Venturer’s Rest – the inn and tavern obviously
catered to new arrivals and was located conveniently just a stone’s throw down
the main drag.
“Here we are,” Jamie said. “The Venturer’s
Rest.” He indicated a sturdy two-story establishment that looked safe, if none
too clean.
Radegast frowned. Her briefing with Daran
Edermath included a reference to an inn where the proprietor might be considered
an ally, but he’d said it was called the Old Dirty Dwarf, not the Venturer’s
Rest. She looked up at the sign that hung outside the main doors and could faintly
make out the painted-over outlines of a cartoonish dwarf drunkenly falling out
of his chair.
“Yes, this is the place, isn’t it?”
Radegast said brightly and flounced inside. She leaned over towards Bob and
Varien. “In a few seconds I’m going to need you to make some sort of
distraction.”
“Way ahead of you,” Bob said.
The interior of the Venturer’s Rest was
crowded with tables and a long bar stood at the rear of the taproom. Patrons
who were getting a headstart on the drinking day occupied several of the
tables.
Bob pushed Varien into the nearest table.
There was a crash as a stein fell to the floor.
Varien turned and pushed Bob back.
As the eyes of the room traveled to the
sudden altercation, Radegast pulled out Kraklos’ message, sidled up next to
Jamie and slipped it into a gap in his surcoat. She stifled a wince as the edge
of the letter caught on Jamie’s belt and crinkled. If Jamie noticed, he spared
her some professional embarrassment by not flinching.
“You drunken louts!” Radegast shouted.
“Stop it!”
The man whose drink had fallen to the floor
lurched to his feet. The adventurers could smell the reek of booze, sweat, and
body odour roll over them like a wave. The man looked like he had shrunk inside
his armor, which appeared to be too large for his frame, and he wore a patchy
beard that spoke to his utter lack of personal grooming.
“What the hell d’you think you’re…” he
started to slur, but then stopped, his mouth dropping open so that a half-moutful
of ale dribbled out into his beard as he stared at Alec, Bob and Varien.
“Alec?” he said uncertainly. “Alec
Trevelyan?”
Alec stepped forward and his eyes widened
as recognition dawned. “Dalleg? Is that you?”
“Alec!” the drunk lurched forward towards
him, arms outstretched, and had Alec clasped in a manly embrace before the
fighter had a chance to ward him off.
Dalleg burst into a torrent of drunken
tears. “I can’t believe it! I thought you were dead!” he sobbed.
This
is a much better distraction than I originally envisioned, Radegast thought to herself.
“Who’s this then?” Varien asked.
“One of Alec’s mercenary companions, I’d
wager,” Bob said to Varien. “Doesn’t handle his liquor as well as you do, does
he?”
Dalleg was rambling between racking sobs,
getting snot and tears all over Alec’s armor as he latched onto his friend.
“Neverwinter Wood…ambush…everyone dead…how did you…?”
“Dalleg, get ahold of yourself!” Alec
protested. “What happened?”
“The ambush!” Dalleg moaned. “They were
cutting us down, I thought you’d been felled by an arrow, and I ran…oh, how I
ran!” He began to cry anew. “Radgen, Kerdurron…Jandar…they’re all dead in the
woods!”
“Easy, friend,” Alec said. “You’re not in
your right mind. What about Grim Tallstag?”
“I don’t know!” Dalleg wailed. “I was too
busy trying to get away!” He dissolved into weepy, drunken incoherence.
“Did anyone else make it back?” Alec shook
his companion, who shrugged and sniveled.
“Okay then,” Varien said. “I think Bob and
I should pay a visit to this Heartward Hall while you deal with whatever the
hell this is.” He indicated the bawling mercenary.
Radegast nodded and headed towards the bar,
intent on getting some water to pour over Dalleg’s wretched face and begin the
process of sobering the poor man up. She also figured it was as good a time as
any to make contact with the proprietress, whose name she recalled as Kharissa
Anuvien.
Daran Edermath had referred to the woman as
a dame, and Radegast reflected that the appellation wasn’t too far off – the
distinguished-looking proprietress was finely dressed, her blonde hair in
curled ringlets, and was single-handedly classing up the joint. She was staring
apprehensively at the disturbance taking place in her establishment, and
Radegast figured she was about two seconds from pulling out a cudgel from under
the bar to set things right. She deliberately put herself front and centre in
the woman’s field of vision and offered her a dazzling smile as she approached.
The proprietress blinked and focused on the
task at hand. “How can I help you, miss?” She said to Radegast.
“Yes, can I get some water for our poor
friend here? He needs a good wash and evidently a change of scenery.” Radegast
said.
“That’s for sure,” the proprietress said.
“He’s been in here drowning his sorrows for at least a tenday now.”
“Run up a bit of a tab, has he?” Radegast
said.
“A bit?” Kharissa said. “You should see the
length of his…of his tab.” She blushed.
“How big is it?” Radegast asked innocently.
The bartender fixed Radegast with a look.
“Pretty. Damn. Big.”
“I see,” Radegast put her hand into her
coin purse and deftly counted up 15 gold pieces. As she did so, her fingers
encountered a rolled slip of paper that definitely hadn’t been in there when
she’d crossed the bar’s threshold. Jamie’s
still got it , she thought to herself. She left the note where it was and
slapped the coins down on the bar. “I believe this should cover our friend’s
expenses, and of course, the smell.”
“Thank you,” the proprietress said. “My
name is Kharissa Anuvien, by the way.”
“Pitt Moonflower,” Radegast offered.
“Can I get you anything else?” Kharissa
asked.
“Well,” Radegast said in a conspiratorial
tone. “I wouldn’t mind a round of Phandalin’s best hard cider, if you have it,
and perhaps we can talk about arranging lodgings for me and my escorts.”
“Phandalin cider?” Kharissa replied with a
knowing smile. “Perhaps something from the Edermath orchard, perhaps?”
“Why, that’s exactly what I was thinking,”
Radegast said.
“You know, there’s some who might say the
Edermath cider is past its sell-by date,” Kharissa said.
Radegast winked. “So you’re familiar with
that orchard’s fruit, then?”
Kharissa handed Radegast a tray with a jug
of water, a fresh towel, and four draughts of cider. “If you can sober that man
up and set him to rights, consider this on the house.”
Radegast smiled. As she turned around with
the tray, she noticed that Jamie had excused himself during the ruckus and had
disappeared.
Varien and Bob followed Jamie’s directions
on their way to Heartward Hall, finding the sturdy inner wall that protected
another neighbourhood within Helm’s Hold. They passed the building that their
guide had identified as the Dragon’s Gauntlet. A sign illustrated with a
stylized gauntlet made out of dragon’s scales rather than armor hung out front
over the door.
“This may be the first town I’ve heard of
that houses its town hall inside a former tavern,” Varien said to Bob. “We’ll
have to check it out later.”
It was apparent that Helm’s Hold had been
built on a hill, with the Grand Cathedral occupying the highest point in town.
Passing through the inner gate, Bob and Varien noticed that the road sloped
gently but determinedly upward. It was also apparent to Varien that the
buildings in this quarter were in much better repair than those in the outer
ring of the settlement.
At a large intersection, the pair turned
north and soon found themselves at the edge of a wide plaza. Rows of
marketplace stalls were arrayed out like a wheel’s spokes from a central hub.
At the centre of the market was a hangman’s scaffold on a raised stage.
A crowd had gathered to watch a hanging
currently in process. A phalanx of guards wearing the symbol of Helm or livery
identifying them as members of the Order of the Gilded Eye stood at the ready
to restrain the considerable crowd.
“Interesting,” Varien said. He turned to
the nearest vendor. “What’s this man being hanged for?”
The man shrugged. “Preaching heresy, I
think. Now quiet, I want to hear this.”
On the platform was a disheveled young man
in soiled priest’s robes, in the grip of a pair of impassive guards. A stoic
executioner was fitting a noose over the man’s head.
Off to the side of the scaffold on a small
dais raised up above the platform were two people – a paladin resplendent in
shining armor, and a statuesque woman clad in priestly garb.
The preacher was ranting as he was strung up.
“The Word shall be made flesh!” He shouted hoarsely. “All shall suffer the
wrath of the Charnel Walker lest they heed the Truth of the Word!”
At this, the imposing paladin stepped
forward to the edge of the platform and spoke.
“Let this serve as warning to all who
preach heresy within these walls and without,” he said. The bearded man didn’t
appear to be making an effort to raise his voice, but his deep tones echoed
across the market square all the same. “All who hold evil in their heart will
be brought to account for their crimes.”
“For Dawn to break across this land, there
must first be darkness!” the hoarse voice of the condemned heretic was weak in
comparison to the paladin’s. “The Veil! The Veil will be pulled over Helm’s
Hold! The Shroud will cover all, as we wait for rebirth. Don the Veil, I beg of
you!”
The trapdoor beneath the man’s feet opened
and the preacher fell through it, coming to a sudden stop with a jerk – his
monologue strangled into silence.
The priestess stepped forward next to the
paladin. “Evil unlooked for can breed in the shadows,” she said in a lightly
scolding tone. “Let this heretic’s body be burned to ash so that his corrupting
words burn with him.”
“Damn right,” the vendor next to Varien
muttered. The crowd around the scaffold began to break up as people went back
to their business.
“Well, show’s over!” Varien said to Bob.
“Let’s go pay our respects at the shrine.”
Heartward Hall stood just off the eastern
side of the marketplace. The shrine had been recently constructed, and like
most temples dedicated to Sune, was a monument to the architectural arts.
Bob and Varien walked up the outer steps
and crossed the threshold into the inner sanctum.
The Sunite temple was dedicated to the
pleasures of the mind, soul, and body. Artwork was prominently displayed on the
colonnades that supported the shrine’s roof, and soft light filtered in through
tall stained glass windows, each one depicting what some might call sensuous
scenes of fun and frolic. Others might have condemned the depictions as
shamelessly titillating.
Bob and Varien passed by a life drawing
session currently in progress. A beautiful female model stood bare-breasted,
her long brown hair braided intricately as she posed for a dozen acolytes
behind painter’s easels arrayed in a semicircle.
Varien knew that elsewhere in the temple
there would be dance classes, pottery and sculpting workshops, jewelcrafting
seminars, other artistic endeavours in full swing.
The shrine itself was a breathtaking
full-body depiction of Lady Firehair, sculpted of the purest marble, her arms
flung wide open in a welcoming embrace. Surrounding Sune were several
submissive Seraphs, their shapely forms lovingly detailed as they fawned over
the goddess, ready to satisfy her every whim.
Before the shrine, like in most Sunite
temples, were the public baths, where priests, pilgrims and passersby alike
could make their ceremonial ablutions and enjoy a communal cleansing.
Though their religious upbringing gave them
few hangups about public nudity given Sune’s appreciation of the beauty of the
human form, Bob and Varien chose to bathe in separate areas of the bathhouse,
disrobing and cleaning off trail dust from their bodies in relative privacy.
Other pilgrims were doing the same, and the sounds of playful splashing
reverberated off Sune’s marble figure. As Bob was washing up, he felt an itching sensation on his forearms. He looked down and saw that new dragon scales had began to sprout on his arms. This was in and of itself nothing new, but as Bob submerged his arms in the warm water again he felt a stinging feeling. Withdrawing his arms, he looked them over closely. The new scales were golden, like his other scales, but along their edges was a greenish tinge. That was new. "Huh," Bob said. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed another Sunite cleric eyeing his scales and quickly moved to cover up.
Varien accepted a fluffy towel from a
waiting acolyte and tended to his armor and clothing, sucking his teeth at
every imperfection. Temple guilt , he
thought to himself. Should’ve had my
tabard pressed before coming here.
Bob, similarly primped and preened, arrived
from his bath, eating a handful of ceremonial grapes.
Varien had finished dressing himself when
he noticed that the nude model was approaching them, shrugging on a gauzy robe
that did little to cover her golden skin. “May the Light of Lady Firehair
blossom within you this day, brothers.” She said in a voice that sounded like
churchbells. “I am Heartwarder Mera Corynian, and I tend to the needs of all
who pass through Heartward Hall.”
“You
have a beautiful, er, soul,” Varien said. A Heartwarder was the chief priest or
in this case priestess in charge of the temple, so it wouldn’t do to break
protocol.
Mera bowed with a gracious smile. “Thank
you for saying so, pilgrim. What brings you to our temple this day?”
“My friend and I are just paying our respects,” Varien said. “We’ll be on our
way presently.”
“Oh, so soon?” Mera said, her perfect lips
pouting slightly. “You are of course welcome here as long as you would care to
stay.” Her eyes moved to Varien’s cape. “I couldn't help but admire your
raiment. It is very well made. Sune would be proud.”
“What, this?” Varien twisted around to show
off the cape and its Sunite emblem.
“He must have good friends who gave him
such a wonderful gift,” Bob said sharply.
“Indeed,” Heartwarder Mera said. “Brothers,
our temple is open to you at all times, should you wish to indulge yourself in
the pursuit of beauty, both inner beauty and outward beauty. And if, perhaps,
you could make a donation before leaving, then Lady Firehair would surely bless
you.”
“Well, about that,” Varien said, drawing
out the ruby rose from his belongings. In the soft light of the shrine it
seemed to glow with an inner flame.
Mera’s eyes widened and her mouth formed a
perfect o. “Is this from the Lady Firehair?” she whispered. “When did she grant
you this wonderful boon?”
“I prayed to Sune for guidance and she told
me to follow my heart to its true destination,” Varien said. “When I awoke the
next morning, this rose had been placed on my pillow.”
Mera looked confused. “You mean…you mean
you did not complete The Rite?”
Varien knew the Heartwarder was referring
to a rite of religious devotion undertaken by Sunite paladins and knights to
stand a watchful vigil through the knight at a holy shrine in the hopes of
attracting Sune’s favour.
“This is unprecedented!” Mera exclaimed.
“Truly you are highly favoured by the Lady Firehair, that she would welcome you
to the Order of the Ruby Rose in such a…personal…fashion! My heart swells
with…with pride!”
“Well, thanks be to Sune, I guess,” Varien
said. “But Heartwarder, my own heart is heavy this day.”
“How may I help you lose yourself in the
love of Lady Firehair?” Mera said, drawing closer to Varien.
Bob rolled his eyes. Preacher’s Pet , he scoffed inwardly.
“On my way to this shrine, I could not help
but notice the plight of the poor people outside the walls of Helm’s Hold, and
the disrepair that has befallen this city,” Varien said. “This town is
obviously struggling to regain its footing, but cannot help be extended to
those who have so little, to share the love of Lady Firehair outside the walls
of this city and welcome the poor and downtrodden within?”
Mera cinched up her thin robe. “Would you
walk with me along the cloister, my brother?”
“Lead the way,” Varien said. Mera took his
hand and led him to the shrine’s outer perimeter.
“So, I’ll just stay here then?” Bob called
out.
“Recent times have been dark times for
Helm’s Hold,” Mera said softly as she and Varien walked together beneath the
covered walk. Outside the shrine was a finely landscaped garden complete with
topiary paying tribute to the male and female form. Caretakers clipped and
tended to the shrubs and hedges, but paid no notice to the pair as they walked.
“The leadership of our city fell beneath
the sway of a false prophet who nearly laid Helm’s Hold low,” Mera continued. “Demonic
influence threatened to end this city once and for all. The Order of the Gilded
Eye saved the city from certain destruction, and with that came a new order. My
part in this new order is to shine the light of Lady Firehair’s love on our
leadership, and gently guide them to a path that will allow beauty in all its
forms to be fruitful and multiply. We must choose the fairer path, but choose
our opportunities wisely if we are to have influence.”
Sounds
like you’re choosing your words wisely , Varien
thought. “I thought that Sune disdained the dirty dealings of politics, but
that truth would instead light our path so we would ever walk it true,” he
said. “Perhaps you could help me arrange a private audience with the leaders of
Helm’s Hold, that I might speak to them about my concerns and show them the
light of truth.”
Mera’s perfect forehead crinkled. “Well,
Javen Tarmikos, the founder of the Order of the Gilded Eye, and Holy Watcher
Qerria of the Grand Cathedral of Helm were just outside in the Heartward
earlier today, tending to some political
business. Perhaps we could arrange something a little more private, so that you
can speak your peace.”
Varien smiled. “Like Sune says, we should encourage
beauty wherever we find it.”
“Quite so,” Mera said softly.
They continued their walk around the
shrine.
Back in the Venturer’s Rest, Alec dragged
Dalleg to a secluded spot where he could try and sober his friend up with a few
splashes of cold water.
Radegast pulled out a book from her
collection and discreetly slipped the piece of paper from her coin purse into
its pages. She read the message.
The note was written in Jamie’s fine
handwriting, which Radegast recognized from the many amorous-yet-accusatory
letters he had written her during their time together. The message read:
Meet
me at the Hungry Flame.
Take
the main road as it curves to the northwest, then take your second right-hand
turn and follow the street until you come to a t-junction. The tavern will be
on your immediate right.
Come
alone. If, that is, you can find your way there.
Radegast crumpled the note angrily. “Oh,
that asshole!”