"Remind me to be grateful the next time I eat mutton stew," Caledan commented to Mista as they left the walls of the city behind. The gray mare replied with a snort that sounded uncannily like laughter.
The day was fine and clear and the midday sun warm.
Caledan breathed deeply as he rode across plains that were in midst of taking on spring's brilliant hues. It was good to get out of the city.
To Caledan, Iriaebor looked like some vast, dark toadstool looming on the Tor, a blight on the land, a thing of disease and decay. Every day the city's streets were growing dirtier, its buildings shabbier, its people poorer and more desperate. And every day the streets grew emptier, as well. Soon it was going to be more ghost town than city. The Zhentarim continued their mysterious abduction of able-bodied cityfolk, forcing them to dig into the hard rock beneath the city lord's tower. But for what purpose? That was a secret even Cormik's agents were unable to fathom. Caledan sighed, putting the troubles out of his head for the moment.
It was early afternoon when he found the standing stone Estah had described, marking a road branching off from the main highway. He followed the road up a low, rounded hill, finding himself before an edifice of gray stone, its ornately embellished spires rising above a walled courtyard.
"This must be the place, Mista," he said with a frown, dismounting.
Caledan pulled the rope that hung next to the wall's stout oaken gate and heard the clang of a bell. After several moments an ancient man clad in a simple robe of drab brown opened the door. When Caledan explained that he had come in search of his old friend, Tyveris, the man smiled and bade him enter.
Caledan left Mista in the courtyard. The old man led him inside to an entrance hall, gestured that he should wait, and then shuffled away.
The entrance hall was a high, narrow room paneled in mahogany. Faded frescoes decorated the ceiling, and dappled light from an intricate stained glass window fell to the floor like so many scattered gems. The hall was silent.
Suddenly that silence was shattered.
"Caledan Caldorien!" a deep voice thundered, the sound of it rattling the stained glass. Caledan spun on a heel to see a man clad in a brown robe stride into the room. The man stood no taller than Caledan himself, but he took up considerably more space. His monumental shoulders looked ready to split the brown robe he wore, and the homespun cloth did little to conceal his thickly muscled arms and chest. The man's skin was a dark, coppery color, and his eyes were as black as obsidian, encircled by a pair of gold wire spectacles. He grinned broadly as he crossed the room, enfolding Caledan in a bear hug.
"It's good to see you, too, Tyveris," Caledan gasped, wondering how many of his ribs were cracked.
"I thought old Ebrelias was seeing things again when he said someone had come asking for me," the big man said merrily, releasing Caledan. "How long have you been back in these parts, old friend?"
"Not long," Caledan said, rubbing his chest. "I've been staying at the Dreaming Dragon in the city, with Estah."
Tyveris smiled broadly. "How is Estah? I haven't seen her in years. I'm afraid I don't really get to the city these days. Maybe you can tell me something more of the dark rumors I've heard about Iriaebor. Can you stay awhile? I can send to the cellar for a bottle of wine." He winked slyly. "I still have some of that Sembian red. You know, from that time we raided the caravan of that Amnian merchant who was running slaves to Thay…"
Caledan laughed at the memory. "That was a good vintage, wasn't it? As I recall, the grand finale to that evening was when you sang Chultan war songs on the roof of one of the caravan wagons, then slipped and fell on your head."
Actually, Caledan," Tyveris rumbled, "that was a duet. And it was your head that I fell on when we hit the ground, not mine."
"Oh, that's right," Caledan said, wincing as the details came back to him. "But I don't really have time for wine now, Tyveris." Quickly, Caledan told Tyveris that the city's new ruler was their old nemesis, and about the notice Ravendas had posted that morning. Tyveris listened carefully, his face grave. When Caledan finished, he sighed deeply.
"Of course I'll help you free Ferret, Caledan," the big man said. "The gods know we all owe our lives to that little scoundrel a dozen times over. But there's one thing I think you don't understand. Didn't Estah tell you?"
“Tell me what?" Caledan asked.
"I gave up my sword more than five years ago," Tyveris said slowly. 'This is an abbey, dedicated to Oghma. Caledan, I'm a monk now, a loremaster of Oghma, not a warrior."
Caledan stared at the big man in amazement.
"I think we'd better go have that wine after all," Tyveris said, gripping Caledan's shoulder and steering him out of the entrance hall. Caledan could only nod dully. Seven years ago Tyveris had been the most fearless and ferocious swordsman Caledan had ever known. Now he was a… monk?
They spent the next hour talking intently in Tyveris's small, spare chamber, furnished only with a low bed, a chest, and a table with two chairs. A coarsely woven mat of rushes was the lone covering for the cold stone floor. The single window looked out over a garden, perfectly framing a small pear tree just coming into bloom. Tyveris had sent a young boy-an orphan and refugee from the city taken in by the abbey-for that bottle of wine, and it was every bit as delicious as Caledan remembered.
They spoke of old memories for a while, but finally, after a long silence, Tyveris explained what had led him to trade his sword for a loremaster's robe. "You remember how I came to these lands," he said, gazing out the window thoughtfully. 'The ships traveled from Waterdeep across the Shining Sea to my homeland, to the jungles of Chult. They promised much gold and glory to those young Tabaxi men and women who would come with them, to train with the sword and become mercenaries. Despite our parents' tears, both I and my sister went with the ships, leaving our homeland behind, never to return."
Caledan nodded. He recalled the familiar tale. "You lost your sister on that voyage, didn't you?" he asked gently.
A flicker of pain passed briefly across the big man's face. "The ship was crowded and filthy. Almost half of my people died of sickness before we reached the Sword Coast. Tali was one of them. That was when I vowed to become the greatest warrior I could, to make her spirit proud of me." He lifted his cup of wine, draining it to the bottom. They both knew the rest of the story. Tyveris and the other Chultans spent many years as mercenary fighters in the service of a wizard from Calimshan whom they could not escape. It was the Harpers-and Caledan-who had freed them. That was when Tyveris joined the Fellowship.
"But I was living a lie, Caledan. I realized that, after you left and the Fellowship disbanded. For a long time I had made your purposes mine, and that was enough to sustain me. But for the first time since I had left the jungles of Chult, I was faced with my own purposes, not another's. Killing held no true joy for me, and no glory. I realized that I could no longer honor Tali's spirit by acting as a warrior. Killing only mocked her death.
"That was when I found this place, the Abbey of Everard. The loremasters here let me work for them and sleep in their stable. Abbess Melisende herself taught me to read, and soon I learned that there was a whole different power besides swinging a sword. Finally, I asked if I could join the order, and the other loremasters agreed. That was four years ago." Tyveris paused, pushing his spectacles up higher on his nose. "It's a good place, Caledan. The loremasters take care of the poor and sick as best they can, though these days far more come from the city than can fit within these walls. And there's a library, filled with books." His dark eyes gleamed as he smiled, and Caledan couldn't help but return his expression. "I think Tali would be pleased with my choice."