"I pity the man who mistakes either of us for civilized," Kelemvor said, and sheathed his sword.
"Kel." Thurbrand said. "You'll shatter the frail bonds of my ruse. I'm a regular guest in this establishment. A respected agent of arms and experienced talent to wield them. Speaking of that, I may have a little job that you — "
"Enough!" Kelemvor said.
Thurbrand shook his head in a mockery of despair. "Ah, well. At least you know where to find me."
"I wouldn't know that unless I had eyes in the back of my head," Kelemvor said, and turned his back on Thurbrand.
Kelemvor found a new chair waiting, and spied a serving boy darting into the kitchen with the pieces of the shattered chair tucked beneath his arms. Midnight sat confidently between Cyric and Adon. Caitlan sat in silence, her gaze riveted to the magic-user's pendant, which now rested outside Midnight's cloak. The girl looked as if she might faint. Her skin was while and her hands were trembling.
"We were discussing the proper route, and the proper share of the booty for someone of my expertise," Midnight said confidently, and Kelemvor felt every hair on his body prickle. "My suggestion is — "
"Get up," Kelemvor said simply.
"You need me," Midnight said incredulously as she reluctantly complied.
"Aye," Kelemvor said. "Just as I need my throat cut in my sleep. Begone!"
Suddenly Caitlan stood up, her mouth moving as if she were about to cry out. She clutched at her throat and fell across the table.
Kelemvor looked down at the girl with panic in his eyes. "My reward," he whispered. When he looked up, he realized the others were waiting for him to tell them what to do. "Adon!" Kelemvor said harshly. "Don't just stand there. You're a cleric. See what ails the child and heal her!"
Adon shook his head and held his hands open at his sides. "I cannot. With the gods in the Realms, our spells do not function unless we're near them. Surely you know this."
Kelemvor swore with disgust when he saw that Caitlan was shivering, despite the warmth of the room. "Then get a blanket or something to keep her warm."
Midnight moved forward. "My cloak," she said, and reached for the clasp by her throat.
Kelemvor looked up sharply. "You are not a part of this."
A serving girl appeared with a spare tablecloth. "I overheard," she said as she helped Kelemvor wrap the girl in the tablecloth, then backed away as the fighter hefted the unconscious girl in his arms.
Kelemvor looked into the faces of his companions. "Go with the magic-user or come with me," he said simply. Adon and Cyric looked at one another, then at Kelemvor. They didn't even look at Midnight.
"As you wish," the magic-user said coldly. Kelemvor and his companions filed past her, and she watched as Adon held open the door for the others, then made his own exit.
Midnight turned, almost colliding with a serving girl whose slight form was capped with an uneasy smile. The girl played nervously with her apron. "Say your peace," Midnight snapped.
"Your bill, milady."
Midnight looked over to her original table, where the meal she had ordered had long since became cold. It hardly mattered. She had lost her appetite. Midnight followed the girl to the bar and paid the innkeeper.
"Are there any rooms available?" Midnight said.
The innkeeper handed Midnight her change. "No, milady. We are full up. Perhaps the Scarlet Spear? It is nearby…"
Midnight took the directions from the man and gave him a gold piece for his trouble. Before the man could even put words to his surprise at such an extravagant tip, Midnight was already halfway to the door.
As Midnight passed through the doors of the inn and greeted the biting chill of the thin night air, a dark figure rose up from a purposefully neglected table. There was little, it seemed, a fistful of gold could not purchase in Arabel — the right to sit undisturbed in a poorly lit corner of an inn the very least of what was available. The blackened pits of the stranger's eyes seemed aflame with images of the adventurers. He grinned from ear to ear, then merged with the shadows and was gone before anyone was aware he had ever arrived.
Caitlan was slung over Kelemvor's horse as he rode through the night, Cyric and Adon riding close behind. Soon, they arrived at the Hungry Man Inn, and Cyric helped Kelemvor as he lowered the girl to Adon's waiting arms. The fighter leaped from his mount and ran for the door to the inn without bothering to tether his horse.
"Should we follow?" Adon said.
"Give him a moment," Cyric said, and soon Kelemvor emerged from the inn, barking orders to take the girl around back.
They were met at the rear entrance by an old woman who carried a lantern and gestured frantically for them to get inside. Kelemvor seemed subdued in the woman's presence.
"Zehla, this is Cyric, a fellow guardsman, and Adon of Sune," Kelemvor said.
The old woman shook her head. "Time enough for pleasantries later. Follow me."
Moments later they stood by Zehla's side, in a room she had always reserved for emergencies, watching the fever-plagued motions of Caitlan Moonsong. As beads of sweat formed on the girl's brow, Zehla wiped her forehead with a wet towel.
"She's ill, possibly dying, Kel," Zehla said, her wizened features and the lines of her face speaking volumes on her authority on pain and suffering.
Kelemvor realized Caitlan had become conscious: she was trying to say something. He bent low that he might hear her words.
"Save her." The girl's voice was weak and ragged. "Save my mistress."
"Rest," Kelemvor said simply, brushing the girl's hair from her eyes. Then Caitlan suddenly grabbed his massive hand with an iron grip that made the fighter flinch.
"She can cure you," Caitlan said, then her muscles relaxed as she sank back on the bed.
"Zehla!" Kelemvor cried, but the old woman was already there. Kelemvor looked to the others. If they heard the girl's promise, they gave no sign. His secret was safe.
"She's alive," Zehla pronounced. "For now."
The old woman turned to Cyric and Adon, and asked them to leave the room so that she and Kelemvor might speak privately. Both men looked to Kelemvor for confirmation, but he was staring down at the girl, lost in his own concerns. They left without further prompting, and Zehla closed the door behind them.
"My reward," Kelemvor said, gesturing at the girl. "If she dies, I will be cheated of my reward."
Zehla moved toward him. "Is that your only concern?"
Kelemvor looked away from the girl and turned his back on the old woman.
"Riches can be counted in more than gold, good Kel. There are people who help others simply for the pleasure it gives them to do so, and the knowledge that they have made a difference in the world. Hired arms are cheap and plentiful in comparison. You would do well to think on this."
"You think I don't know that? I think of that every day! But, remember, I'm no wide-eyed youth, no child for you to lecture. I have no choice but to follow the path that's been laid out for me."
Zehla went to him, touching his arm. "But why, Kel? Can you not tell me why?"
Kelemvor's shoulders fell as the anger that had raced through him evaporated. "I cannot."
Zehla shook her head and walked past the fighter. She then moved a chair out of the way, and pulled at a floorboard that came away in her hands without effort, revealing a small box that had been hidden in the tiny space. Zehla pulled out the box, then used the bed as support as she dragged herself to her feet.
"Help me," Zehla said as she set the box beside Caitlan. Kelemvor hesitated. Zehla's features turned cold. "Come, we must protect your investment."
Kelemvor moved forward, watching as Zehla opened the box and a series of multi-colored flasks were exposed. "Healing potions," Kelemvor said.
"Of course. That's why you came here, instead of taking her to one of the temples, isn't it?"