A third stack of platinum joined the first two.
“Horrors,” Olive said, her voice still even, her eyes still glued to the money on the tea table. “What could this woman who was a bard possibly do when she found out these things? I take it this human female was much, much bigger and stronger than the woman who was a bard?”
“True,” Phalse said, “but according to the tale a helpful stranger approached the woman and offered her a ring set with a yellow stone.” He twisted his wrist and revealed a golden band set with a large, jagged crystal.
“Nice palm,” Olive complimented. “I almost didn’t see it. What does this tale say is the ring’s power?”
“The tale doesn’t say, exactly. Only that the stranger offers it to the woman who is a bard as a token of appreciation from these powers, should she agree to continue traveling in the human female’s direction and keep an eye on her.”
“I fail to see why any woman, bard or no, would hang around a human female if she were so powerful and posed such a threat. Would this human female have a short, dragon guardian and a human mage for companions?”
“It would make a good tale,” Phalse agreed.
“Personally, were I this woman,” Olive said, “I would seek to put great distance between me and the human female in question, having been warned that she poses such a danger. What could possibly encourage the woman in your tale to remain near this dangerous human female?”
“Well, for one thing, this woman wanted to do the right thing and help these powers find this human female before she did anymore horrible things. This woman who was a bard was brave and clever enough to manage it.”
Phalse shoved his remaining stacks of coins toward the others. One of the stacks toppled, and the slender coins bounced and rolled about the floor in a mercantile dance. Phalse did not interrupt their ringing, clattering music. He simply continued to smile.
As Olive watched the spilled coins, her mind raced toward a decision. She had no reason to doubt this “tale” was not a true one, and several incidents supported it. Alias had, by her own admission, attempted to murder a priest and later, right before Olive’s very eyes, tried to assassinate a Cormyrian nobleman. Who knows what else she had done? Olive thought. The tale would explain why Alias chose to travel north to Yulash and avoid Westgate, as well.
If her ladyship’s road leads to imprisonment and not treasure, Olive realized, this would be a good time to begin saving for the inevitable rainy day. Besides, the sell-sword knows a lot of interesting songs. Naturally, we’ll have to come to a parting of the ways in the future. She sings just a little too well, and she sings for free—very unprofessional. I have enough problems without adding competition from my own bodyguard to the list.
“If I’m to wear this ring myself,” the bard said, “I have to know what it’s for. I’m no fool.”
“The ring will let these powers know your location at all times, so they won’t lose track of the human female’s trail. Then these powers can all close in on her at once, making her capture a little less … messy.”
“Is that all?”
“That is sufficient. For the moment.”
“If these powers are so powerful, why don’t they just use scrying magic to keep track of her?”
“Alas, something very peculiar about the woman prevents them or anyone else from doing so.”
“How’d you—um—this stranger know where to look for her to offer the woman bard this ring then?”
“The human woman is known to frequent certain haunts. These were staked out by various agents, including the humble stranger.”
“Couldn’t they plant the ring on the human female?” Olive asked.
“No,” Phalse explained. “It must be carried by a halfl—by the woman who was a bard.”
“What makes this humble stranger so certain that the woman who’s a bard won’t accept his offer and then throw away the ring and leave the company of this dangerous human female?”
“In that case, she could easily be found by scrying magic, and she would be dealt with … accordingly.”
“The woman who was a bard might develop doubts about the humble stranger’s motives and throw away the ring and remain in the company of the human female.”
“In that case, eventually, the powers seeking out the human female will find some other way of tracking her. Then the woman who is a bard will realize she should have kept her end of the bargain. Alas, by then it may be too late, since the servants these powers might have to employ to capture the human female are neither gentle nor kindly beings. And the humble stranger would not be inclined to intervene on behalf of the woman who was a bard to ensure her safety.” Phalse’s smile was now as wide as a cat’s, revealing a mouth full of sharpened teeth.
“You’re not a halfling,” Olive said, a note of surprise escaping into her otherwise steady speech.
“Dear Olive, I am as much a halfling as you are a bard.” Phalse’s smile spread until it almost split his head.
Olive gave Phalse a blank stare.
“Oh, I realize that everyone you’ve run into so far assumes that a halfling bard is merely one of those wonderful things they have never experienced, but the well-traveled will always recognize you for a charlatan.”
“I can sing, play, and compose original verse,” Olive replied, her tone quite chill. “It seems to me, therefore, that the burden of proof lies on my detractors. Threats of slander are ill-advised, especially here in Shadowdale where I already enjoy the gratitude of the population.”
Phalse bowed his head in acknowledgement. “Bard or no,” he said, still smiling that frighteningly large smile, “you are a halfling, and I have never seen a halfling walk away from a table full of coins.”
Olive did not reply immediately. She would like to turn down Phalse’s offer, just to replace that grin with a look of astonishment. People did not endear themselves to her by suggesting she did not take her art seriously. But the platinum coins were so beautiful. Not only their color and size and shape and the ringing sound they made, but the sheer number of them. Enough to wash your hands in, as her mother would say.
Olive sighed. “You are a good judge of halflings.”
“I’m sure you know the saying—a halfling will never sell her own mother into slavery. Not—”
“—when she can be rented at a greater profit,” Olive said sourly, beating the pseudo-halfling to the punchline. She hated that joke.
Phalse interpreted her knowledge of the saying as agreement. “Do we have a deal?”
Olive gave herself a moment to brood over the offer. As far as she could see, it would bring her no harm. Phalse’s friends would take care of the sell-sword long before she caught on to Olive’s treachery.
The halfling would miss the warrior. She’d have to get Alias to teach her as many songs as possible before Phalse’s friends caught up with her, but then the songs would be Olive’s. The unpleasant scene tonight, where Alias had swept the halfling’s audience away and then returned it like a plate full of meat cut up for a child, would never happen again.
She’d miss traveling with this particular set of companions, too. They were the first adventurers who hadn’t forced her into the role of cook. But who knew? Maybe Akabar would come out of this unscathed and she would travel with him to the south.
Olive had no doubt that Phalse’s friends would succeed. And Dragonbait would probably lose his life defending Alias, though gods knew why. Olive didn’t see that her decision made too much difference in the long run. She was, at worst, only hastening Alias’s capture.
“I find your tale most interesting. Well worth the price. Leave the ring. And the coins. The woman who is a bard will stay with the human female.”