"It looks like Ravendas has arranged a bit of entertainment for the city," he said, gritting his teeth. "There's going to be a public hanging tomorrow afternoon. One of the criminals to be executed is an old friend of ours. His name is Ferret."
Estah sank down into a chair. All the spirit seemed to go out of her, and she buried her face in her hands.
"It's all right, wife, I'm here," Jolle said, holding her shoulders tightly. "All's going to be well. You'll see."
Estah wiped her eyes with the corner of her skirt. "I'm sorry, husband. I'm weary, that's all. I'm just so weary of Ravendas ruining everything that I care about." She shook her head. "She's wounded this city so deeply, I wonder if we will ever be able to heal it"
Mari looked at Caledan, her face tense. The message was clear: We have to do something.
He nodded. There was no question about it. Ferret had once been one of his best, if not most trustworthy, friends. He was not about to let Ravendas claim another member of the Fellowship.
"Estah," Caledan said gravely, kneeling down to talk to the healer, "Ferret got us out of more scrapes than I can count during those years we all traveled together. We both owe our lives to him, several times over. This is the time for us to repay him. We can't lose hope.
"Still, a little extra help wouldn't hurt," Caledan went on, standing up. "Estah, you said once that Tyveris still lived near the city. Can you tell me how I might find him?"
"I think so," Estah ventured, "but…"
"No buts," Caledan said, striking his palm with a fist. "If we're really going to rescue Ferret, we're going to need that warrior's sword."
Caledan rode through the New City toward Iriaebor's north gate, keeping the hood of his blue traveling cloak drawn over his head. It seemed as if city guards were more common than rats these days, and he had no doubt they were still searching for him and the Harper. It had felt a little strange donning the old cloak that morning, knowing that Cormik's young apprentice, Dario, had died wearing it. But Cormik had given it back to Caledan after Dario's body had been returned to the city for burial. And Caledan couldn't bring himself to throw the cloak away. He had worn it for too many years, on too many journeys.
A trio of guards were keeping watch over the city's north gate. They might have given Caledan some trouble, but they were distracted by a flock of sheep being driven into the city for slaughter. The sheep balked as a red-faced peasant man tried futilely to herd them through the gates. The scene erupted into a cacophony of bleating and cursing. Caledan took the opportunity to slip through the gates unnoticed.
"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?