“Perhaps the mage Vangerdahast had some idea of the danger there,” Akabar said.
“Which leaves my original question. Do you think our madwoman’s going to try something foolish in Suzail?”
“I fail to see what interest you have in the matter.”
“I already told you, I owe her. I pay my debts.”
“With whose money, I wonder?”
The halfling gave the mage a sly smile, unruffled by his distrust. From what Olive had seen, Alias did not rely on him for advice, and it was Alias who interested her. The halfling had no doubt the attractive warrior and her magical arm would lead to a fortune. And even if the swordswoman didn’t, she would make a good subject for a song.
As they traveled south, Akabar remained buried deep in his own thoughts, trying to make up contingency plans should they discover Alias was not in Suzail, or worse, that she was, as Olive had suggested, attempting to assassinate King Azoun. Dragonbait loped along beside the pony High Roll, with the bells from his jester’s costume jangling. Olive chattered away to the lizard about all the celebrations she’d played at. Akabar wished she had lost her voice singing.
At dusk, three hours later, Dragonbait suddenly stopped moving. He tilted his head and placed his hand over his chest. Then, he moved on down the road with more energy.
“Think he’s picked up her scent?” the bard asked.
Akabar studied Dragonbait. “He senses something.”
They arrived in Suzail shortly after dark. Without hesitation Dragonbait led them right to The Hidden Lady and into the tavern room. Akabar wondered if the lizard could sense Alias’s presence, or if, like a dog, he simply expected her to be there. Whatever the case, there she was.
She sat in a booth at the back. The hem of her blue gown was dirty and tattered. Her legs were drawn up to her chest in a tight ball, and her head lay on her knees. She was crooning a love song, explaining the tears of Selûne—the mysterious glittering shards that followed the moon’s path. In all her travels, the bard had heard neither the haunting lyrics nor the lovely melody, marred somewhat by the swordswoman’s sniffling and drunken timing.
A toppled mug oozed thick mead over the oak table in front of Alias. She took no notice of the group as they approached—until Akabar’s height blocked out the light from the hanging lamp that illuminated her table. She stirred herself and, with some effort, raised her head to look up at the trio. Her eyes were rimmed with red.
“Go way,” she croaked.
“Are you all right?” Akabar asked.
“It’s a shame you had to leave,” Ruskettle chirped up. “I thought I might not survive the crush of people when the tent fell, but it was all for the best. Imagine trying to sing to three hundred people in there. The party got much better after we moved. Everyone said so.”
Dragonbait looked at Alias with his head cocked, making a soft mewling noise. The bells on his jester’s hat jingled when he moved his head.
Again Alias told them, “Go away,” but her voice was much softer.
The barkeep came to the booth. “Did you want company, lady?” he asked protectively.
When Alias did not reply, the barkeep asked the others what they were having.
Dragonbait pointed to the overturned mug of mead. Akabar ordered white wine.
“I’ll have a Red Rum Swirl,” Ruskettle said.
“Never met one,” the barkeep answered.
“How ’bout a Dragon’s Bite?” the bard asked.
“What’s that when it’s at home?” the barkeep asked.
“All right. A Yeti’s Breath. You must know that one.”
The barkeep shook his head.
The halfling sighed. “Rivengut then.”
“Sorry, all out. Don’t get much call for it so’s I don’t order much of it.”
“I’ll have a Black Boar then.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Before the man could walk away, the southern mage took his arm gently and whispered, “How many has she had?”
The barkeep held up two fingers.
“Two? Just two?” Akabar mouthed.
The bartender shrugged his shoulders, unable to explain Alias’s intoxication.
Akabar slid into the booth next to Olive. Dragonbait perched on the stool at the end of the table. “Would you like another drink?” the mage asked Alias.
“They can’t make good liquor in this god-forsaken hellhole,” said the woman warrior, not raising her head.
“I’ll say,” agreed the halfling, “Imagine not knowing how to make a Yeti’s Breath. Now there’s a drink with … um.” Olive grew silent under Akabar’s glare.
Dragonbait reached over and placed his hand on Alias’s shoulder. She tried to shrug it off at first, but when the lizard gave a little worried chirp she let the hand remain.
The barkeep brought their drinks and another mead for Alias.
“Perhaps a tray of food would be in order,” Akabar suggested.
“Great idea,” Olive agreed. “I’m starving. Would you like to hear the ode to the couple?” she asked Alias. “Since you didn’t get to hear all of it before. They made me repeat it three times afterward. Everyone was so impressed by it.”
“Not now,” Akabar answered quietly, elbowing the bard.
Ruskettle frowned and guzzled her drink. She set her glass back down on the table and took a deep breath. “Hey! That wasn’t a Black Boar. Barkeep!”
“It happened again, just like the last time,” Alias said softly, her voice cracking on the final word. “I should have known it was coming. I remember my arm hurt. I didn’t want to lunge at that poor fool or grab that knife, but I wasn’t in control. It was like a nightmare. Then the tent fell. I ducked out before anyone else and took off.
“I couldn’t stop myself from running. Whatever was controlling me would have made me run until I dropped, but I caught a ride into Suzail on a farmer’s wagon. When I remembered the information Dimswart had for me, I tried to jump off and go back, but I couldn’t move. It wasn’t until twilight that I was free to do as I choose. I came here. I didn’t know where else to go.” She put her head down again on her knees, and her lean form shook with sobbing.
Dragonbait pulled the hair back from her face and tucked it behind her ear. He stroked her head gently. Ruskettle waved her empty glass, trying to attract the barkeep’s attention, but finally settled for stealing Alias’s untouched mug of mead.
Akabar stared at the table until the warrior had calmed down. Then he asked, “So, was it the sigils that made you drink yourself into a stupor?”
Alias’s head snapped up, and she glared at the mage. “Listen, Turmite, you don’t know what it’s like to not remember anything. To not know if you’re going to forget even more things. To not know who you’re going to attack next. First a priest, then a Corrnyrian noble—”
Olive, whose mind had been occupied with memorizing snatches of the song Alias had been singing when they arrived, looked up suddenly, asking, “Did you say a priest?”
“Didn’t Akabar tell you?” Alias retorted icily. “I tried to kill the priest who attempted to remove this curse. But it wasn’t a curse, it’s a thing alive in me.”
“The thing, not you, tried to kill the priest,” Akabar corrected.
“What difference does it make? I can’t get rid of it. It’s not going to let me go back to Dimswart to get the information he found for me. Gods! I’m lucky it didn’t make me kill Dimswart.”
“Maybe this thing was keeping you from the scene of the crime, so to speak,” Akabar suggested. “Unless it can make you deaf, I hardly see how it can prevent you from learning Dimswart’s information.”
“What?”
“I brought Dimswart’s information.”
Ruskettle’s ears perked up, and the bells on Dragonbait’s cap jingled again as he tilted his head with interest.