Teron knew he was spent; he had drawn so much from within himself that most of his remaining energy now went to keeping his dinner from making an appearance. Jeffers—burned, stunned, and not at all equipped to deal with a supernatural foe like this—was all but useless. Kelcie, well, her bucket was empty.
He had to draw the fire elemental away from him somehow. And then an idea struck him. He crawled away from the fire elemental and called, “Flotsam! C’mere!”
The cat bounded over, then flailed to a halt and hissed as the fire elemental noticed its proximity. Teron looked commandingly at the cat and pointed down the road. “Go. Run! Now!”
The cat bounded down the street, and the fire elemental turned and pursued it, a flaming rectilinear string of fire rapidly cutting its way between the cobbles.
The last thing Teron saw was the cat zigzagging as it ran. Then he felt himself lose the contents of his stomach, and with them, his consciousness.
The bright, full morning sun spilled in through the colored windows of the Phiarlander. The smell of cloved ham slowly roasting in the oven pervaded the dining room, competing with the lingering smells of spilled beer and stale sweat. Kelcie moved about the room, shifting tables to their proper position and righting chairs that had been toppled during the panic in the wake of last night’s incident in the street.
She hadn’t thrown any of the windows open, for the odor of burnt hair and charred flesh still lingered outside the door. Although the old man’s body had been removed just before dawn, the stench lingered near the black scorch marks that marred the paving stones.
Kelcie picked up a chair and set it upright. As she released it, she noticed that it wobbled, so she tested it again with both hands. She curled her lip in displeasure. Turning the chair over, she saw that two of the struts that held the legs secure were broken, and the chair leg they supported had cracked near the top, threatening to split entirely. She adjusted her grip on the chair and started taking it to the back when the main door opened and a severe but well-dressed woman walked in.
“I’m sorry, lady,” said Kelcie. “We don’t start serving for another hour yet.”
The woman strode briskly across the floor, leaving the door open. Kelcie noticed that someone outside pulled it shut again. She also saw the shapes of two others silhouetted against the windows.
“I am not here to dine, girl,” she said perfunctorily. “I am Lady Hathia Stalsun of Shadukar. I’ve come to enquire after a monastic gentleman from Aundair, I must see him at once. Where is he?”
“I’m sure I don’t know who—”
“I’m sure you do,” retorted the lady. She stepped threateningly close. “I have already visited with his traveling companion, a University gnome from Zilargo. He told me that the Aundairian and he dined here the second evening prior. I’m certain you can recall them. He said that you and the Aundairian fair hit it off. Then yesternight, it appears that there was some manner of grave affair outside this very establishment. Although the gnome espouses otherwise with his tale of events, I surmise that he fled the scene. He also claims, and this I do believe, that he has not seen his Aundairian companion or his half-orc butler since that time.
“I assume that the Aundairian remained here afterward. Thus I come here, young woman, to speak with him. The matter is pressing.” She nodded slightly, as if giving Kelcie permission to respond.
“I didn’t work last night,” said Kelcie, “so I didn’t see anything of the fire and such.”
“I never said fire was involved,” said Hathia.
“I, uh, heard it from the cook,” explained Kelcie.
“Mm hmm,” said Hathia dubiously. “And what did you do with him afterward?”
“Teron? Nothing,” blustered Kelcie. “I said I didn’t work last night.”
“I never mentioned Teron’s name, either,” said Lady Hathia. “Enough of your dissimulation, girl. Bring me to Teron right now.”
Kelcie quailed for a moment beneath Lady Stalsun’s icy glare, fearful of her wrath, horrified to betray the reserved young Aundairian. She started to nod and lead the way …
But then she remembered the fearless calm in his eyes when he touched her, how his resolve gave her courage and how his grip stilled the trembling in her heart and made her actions seem perfectly normal. And she remembered that on the first night they met, however he tried, he failed to avert his eyes from her every time she passed …
“No,” she said firmly, raising her chin and narrowing her eyes in defiance.
“Listen, girl,” said Hathia sternly, “I do not brook disobedience from my lessers. You will take me to see Teron, and you will take me now.”
“Squints!” called Kelcie. “We got a high-and-mighty lady here who thinks she has the run of our boardinghouse. Do you want to escort her on her tour of the building?”
From the kitchen came the cook bearing a cleaver and wearing a blood-spattered apron. He looked at Lady Hathia with his single untrusting eye. “I’d be happy to, Kelcie. You,” he said, gesturing with the dirty cutlery, “The first part I’ll show you is the exit.”
“You do not intimidate me,” said Lady Stalsun.
The cook walked right up to her, showing no deference for her station at all. “Woman, I’m a Cyran. Nothing you say can frighten me. But everything I say should scare you to death. Because I’ll poison a whole tavernful of Thranes just to kill the one that bothers little Kelcie.”
Hathia studied the look in his eye, then the horrid scar that marred the other side of his face. At last she made up her mind. She turned to Kelcie and said, “Tell Teron that Lady Hathia Stalsun was here to see him on an urgent matter, and requests he pay a call immediately.” With that, she snapped her fingers in Kelcie’s face and small keepsake locket appeared in her hand as if by magic.
Kelcie held her ground and took the jewelry. “May I tell him what this regards?” she asked.
Lady Hathia dropped her eyelids halfway. “It’s personal,” she said. “He’ll know.” And with a knowing smile, she turned and left the building.
After the door closed, the cook spat on the floor. “Damned highbrow Thranes,” he growled. “I hate ’em all.”
Kelcie looked at him with concern. “Um, Squints,” she said, hesitantly, “I’m a Thrane, you know.”
He tossed her a gruff smile and slapped her roughly on the shoulder. “Aw, Kelcie,” he said. “You’re one of the good ones.”
Her look of concern didn’t fade. “But Squints …” she started.
He dropped his gaze. “Don’t you pay me no mind. Kelcie. I was just trying to run her out. It was just talk.”
He hefted his cleaver and returned to the kitchen.
Teron woke up to find the afternoon sun slanting through the window onto his bed. He rolled onto his back and stretched, vague memories of Kelcie’s presence replaying themselves in his mind. He remembered her earthy beer-hall scent as she and another carried him upstairs, and he remembered drifting back into a light doze as she gently cleaned the sword wound on his cheek and applied salve to his hands and ankles to counter the minor burns he’d incurred during the fight.
He remembered waking up at some point in the morning to find her pulling the covers back over his shoulders, tucking him in nicely, and just for a moment he thought it was his mother, and he reached out and held her hand. Then unwanted thoughts of reality rolled back into his mind, and he withdrew back into himself, but somehow she seemed to understand, and as she rose to leave, she gently traced her finger down his nose and lightly touched his lips.