And that girl-the one that the Horned One meant to protect. Why did he care about that little slut and not Eden, high priestess of the Lady?
Why had Tymora turned her smile away and left her with Beshaba’s sneer?
It must be a test. Surely, it was a test.
Clearly, Eden had to kill them all herself. That would win her mother-rather, her goddess’s love.
She gave orders to bring her scrying bowl. She would prepare for a strike that very night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
7 FLAMERULE (HIGHSUN)
"You wanted to talk,”Kalen said. “So talk.”
“Straight to the point,” the elf said. “I like that. It shows character.”
They had returned to the mostly abandoned Drowned Rat tavern to find only a dozen or so members of the gang. A pair of toughs sat in the corner, their eyes twitching at everything that moved. Behind the bar, Flick poured drinks and dispensed rations. Other survivors avoided Kalen as though he himself had brought the plague. And perhaps he had-after all, his plan had led hundreds to their deaths.
“Myrin,” Kalen had said, but she’d shaken her head and gone immediately upstairs. Sithe might have gone with her, but the sun elf with the gold eyes laid a hand on her brow and murmured a short, lyrical verse. Kalen watched as healing magic, sculpted by his words, flowed into her and she stood a little easier. A bard, then.
They took a table near the center of the common hall, and Kalen waved for mead. The elf kissed the back of Flick’s hand, causing her to blush as she poured.
“None for me, dear one,” the elf said. “I’m not staying.”
Flick went away, casting her eyes back over her shoulder at the elf.
“Well?” Kalen asked. “Who are you?”
“I have many names upon many lips,” he said. “But Lilten is the name I prefer, teller of tales, singer of songs, walker of roads.”
“Lilten,” Kalen said. “Are you an adventurer?”
“Now that is a much longer story than we have time for me to tell,” the elf said. “After all, you have a city to save, hero. Suffice it to say, I am a traveler like you. I always seem to turn up when I’m most needed-or when I’m least wanted.”
“Such as against the demon.”
“Such as.”
The elf reminded Kalen of someone, but damned if he could say exactly whom.
“You healed me when Toytere tried to kill us,” Kalen said. “Why?”
“On behalf of Lady Darkdance,” Lilten said. “But this is not the matter under discussion. There will be time enough for all of that later. Ah. My lady.” He rose and bowed gallantly.
Myrin appeared on the stairs, looking very weary but at least cleansed of the dust of travel. She seemed to be steeling herself for what was bound to be an ungentle discourse. “Kalen,” she said coolly.
“Myrin,” he said.
“My Lady Darkdance, what a pleasure.” Lilten took her hand and brought it close to his lips, but he did not kiss it as he had Flick’s hand. “You look radiant, dear one.”
“Um, thanks?” Myrin stared at the dashing elf like a puzzle that defied her every attempt to solve it. Lilten smiled back. “Kalen?”
“Pardon me,” Kalen said to Lilten, then he followed her.
Myrin stood at the end of the bar, where the shadows hung deepest. She had assumed her familiar anxious posture, clutching one arm behind her back, with one toe grinding into the floorboards. “Kalen, I know what you’re going to say-”
“Thank you.”
“-but it was my own decision. I know you don’t approve but godsdammit, you need me and … did you just say thank you?” Her eyes widened.
“Thank you.” Kalen put his hand on Myrin’s narrow shoulder. “I was wrong,” he said. “I needed you and I sent you away. It won’t happen again.”
Myrin blinked. “That-that was an entirely unexpected response,” she said. “Nor is that quite what I hoped you might say.”
“What did you hope I would say?”
“Perhaps, ‘thanks for saving the day again, Myrin,’ or ‘I’m glad to see you, Myrin,’ or ‘thanks for showing me what a wool-head I am when it comes to tactics, Myrin’-”
“All right.” Kalen squeezed her shoulder a little and took heart in the smile that crossed her face. The tension that had grown between them since their parting seemed to evaporate. He felt close to her and very comfortable in her presence. “What of Rhett?”
Her face fell and he could tell that he hadn’t said quite the right thing. She stepped out of his reach. “He’s well enough,” she said, her voice disinterested. “We marched five days to Westgate, stayed half a day, and I came right back.”
“Five days,” Kalen said. “It took you that long to decide to ignore my request.”
“You only told me to leave,” Myrin said. “You never said I couldn’t come back.”
“True,” Kalen said. “Rhett’s made contact with Levia?”
Myrin shrugged. “I never saw her myself, but Rhett looked optimistic when he returned from their moot,” she said. “Quite secretive, those Eye of Justice folk.”
“You have no idea.” Kalen nodded. “And he still wields Vindicator?”
“That was what won him Levia’s ear. Still-” Myrin bit her lip.
“Speak,” Kalen said. “What is it?”
“The sword chose you,” Myrin said. “You cannot simply abandon its call.”
Kalen shook his head. She didn’t understand-couldn’t understand. What the sword asked of him … It was not something he could give. Would she even want him to accept it, if she knew what she asked?
“Kalen, I-” Myrin looked sullen, any hint of former mirth fled. “I have to tell you something. About Rhett.”
Unease flickered in his stomach, but he suppressed it. “Can it wait?” he asked. “If it’s important, I don’t trust our new friend where he can overhear.”
A barmaid and one of the handsomer Dead Rats had wandered over to Lilten, where he seemed to be wooing them with some jest or another. He winked at Kalen, perhaps in response to the scrutiny, or perhaps because he overheard his name.
“Very well-it can wait.” Myrin sighed. “I’m still furious at you, you know.”
“Furious?” Kalen hadn’t expected that. “Why?”
Myrin blinked, startled. “You-you still don’t know?” She turned red. “I can’t believe you, Kalen Dren! One of these days, you’ll see how hard it is to-to-ahh!”
She stomped up the stairs, then paused on the first landing. She made an effort to compose herself, turned, and addressed him icily.
“I can’t imagine what you’ve wasted the last tenday doing, but I’ve just been hiking through the Shadowfell all that time without rest, and I’m very tired. Excuse me.”
She went up to her room and slammed the door.
“Troubles?”
Lilten lounged in his seat, one leg tossed over the table. His fawning adherents had gone off hand-in-hand toward the broom closet at the end of Flick’s bar. It seemed the mere presence of this elf aroused warm, sweaty feelings.
Lilten sipped at a delicate glass of blue wine-such a thing as Kalen had never seen outside the richest taverns of Waterdeep. Where had he gotten that?
Kalen wandered back to the table, his world spinning slightly. Everything felt numb, not just his body. “I think,” he said, sinking into his seat. “I think she hates me.”
“More’s the pity you think that,” Lilten said. “But to business. I find that the women we love often cloud the issue unnecessarily. Agreed?”
Kalen nodded dumbly, though he had no idea what the elf had just said. He’d thought he and Myrin had dealt with the tension between them, but now, with the last words she’d said to him, he wasn’t so sure. He remembered a tenday past, when she had slapped him. Kalen noted two creases on the elf’s otherwise perfect cheek, like ancient scars. Had those come about in the same fashion?
“For now,” Lilten said, “I think you wish to hear of Scour.”