Jhaele brought out another breakfast tray and unloaded the contents onto their table.
“Pass the strawberries,” Olive demanded, dumping the contents of the fruit bowl on top of another grilled cake and handing the empty bowl back to Akabar, who put it aside without noticing. He was nearly holding his breath, afraid Alias might make some comment about Elminster that Jhaele would hear and contradict, belying his story.
“I need to do some shopping,” Alias announced, draining her tea cup. “Would you mind very much taking care of the food provisioning?” she asked the Turmishman.
“Not at all,” Akabar assured her, forcing a smile to his lips. That’s all he felt good for lately, buying the groceries from other greengrocers like himself.
Alias rose from the table and went over to knock on the kitchen door. Jhaele handed her another tray.
“I’m taking this up to Dragonbait,” she explained to the others.
“Why? Is he sick?” Olive asked.
“No. I just thought he deserved breakfast in bed for a change.”
Akabar tried not to look too anxious when he asked, “When are we leaving here?” The sooner they were gone from Shadowdale, the sooner his lie about Elminster would be safe from revelation. Also, it would be easier to keep an eye on the lizard when they were on the road.
“About two hours. There’s a way station up the road about ten miles. I’d like to reach it by nightfall.”
“Anything I can do?” Olive asked offhandedly.
“Keep out of trouble,” Alias suggested.
“I might manage that,” the halfling said with a prim nod.
Dragonbait was still asleep when Alias returned to the room. She set the tray down by his nose. He inhaled before he opened his eyes.
“Hungry, sleepy-head?”
The lizard sat up and smiled. His cloak fell away as he broke off some waffle and popped it in his mouth.
The scent of lemon wafted about the room. Aren’t we too far north for lemon trees to bloom? Alias wondered.
She began packing up her clothes. The turquoise wool tunic lay across a chair. Last night it had been mud-spattered from her fall. Now it was mysteriously laundered and dried. She gathered it up in her hands and went to sit beside Dragonbait.
“Look, you’ve got to stop doing things like this.”
Dragonbait tilted his head and made a chirping noise.
“Don’t give me that I-don’t-understand look,” Alias said. “I don’t care if you tease Olive, but I know you understand me. I want you to stop this servant routine. You’re not my servant. You’re … my traveling companion. I know I’m lazy about looking after my things sometimes, but you’ll spoil me if you keep this up. I know how useful you are. You don’t have to keep proving it to me. Do you understand?”
Dragonbait met her gaze with his unblinking yellow eyes. He nodded.
“All right, then. Better finish your breakfast. We’re leaving in a few hours. I’m going to the smithy to have the kinks ground out of my blade. You can bring your sword down too if you want.”
Suddenly anxious to leave for the open road, Alias hurried to finish packing. While the lizard polished off his meal, she wrote out the words to the Standing Stone song and left them for Jhaele to give to the songhorn player.
No one in town would let them pay for supplies or services. Mourngrym had passed the word that bills were to be submitted to the tower. Alias was glad she hadn’t assigned the halfling any shopping tasks. Who knew what the bard would pick up on the town’s tab? For herself, Alias picked up a new dagger and shield from the smithy and had him sharpen her blade.
Dragonbait looked a little anxious about turning his own bizarre weapon over to the craftsmen, but the man reassured him with the special care he took handling the sword before he began working on it.
They left town four hours before sunset. A few townsfolk bid them farewell as they traveled along the road, but Alias caught no glimpse of her goatherd.
The weather held fair and warm, and no extraordinary encounters marred their travels. A singularly stupid troll attacked Dragonbait on watch their second night out from Shadowdale, but when the rest of the party woke up the troll was burning merrily on the fire. The next day, they lost several hours in the Elven Wood, hiding uncomfortably in a damp cave to avoid a large party of orcs.
Their stay in the town of Voonlar was cut short when a sheriff’s deputy’s purse was found in Olive’s room at the inn. Rather than arrest them, the deputy accepted an apology accompanied by the return of all his gold, thrice what could have possibly fit in the leather pouch. They also had to agree to leave town immediately. Alias was ready to throttle the halfling, but Olive argued her innocence so vehemently that the swordswoman believed her.
More than the loss of a night in clean sheets troubled Alias. There were rumors of a war to the east, and she hadn’t had any time to confirm them.
They camped outside of town and continued toward Yulash in the morning. Twice that day the shadow of some great, flying beast crossed the sun, causing all the horses to panic and rear on their hind legs.
Still, Alias remained unperturbed. She felt that “they,” the people who had branded her, had given up. There were no more disturbing dreams or giant monsters or assassins in black. The swordswoman was willing to bet that the kalmari in Shadow Gap had been their last card. I’ve passed out of their range, she assured herself. Only Moander is up here, and he’s been locked up beneath Yulash.
By twilight they were in sight of the great mound on which the city of Yulash stood. The single hill sloped gently, resembling a giant shield lying face-up on the plain. According to Olive, once upon a time an individual standing in the highest citadel atop the crown of the hill could see the smoke rise from the dark furnaces of Zhentil Keep, and the fog roll off the shores of the Moonsea.
“One of the merchants in Shadowdale told me that the Yulashians could have seen the glow of fire when dragons destroyed Phlan, except they were being destroyed by dragons themselves at the time. A horde of them came down on the Dales two years back,” Olive explained. “Destroyed one of Shadowdale’s high-muckety witches.”
“Syluné,” Alias snapped.
“Yes. That was her name. Anyway, the dragons left Phlan and Yulash in ruins, killed all the rulers and mages, and scattered the commoners.”
“Now Zhentil Keep forces occupy the rubble,” Akabar reminded them. “Its altitude makes it a strategic location.”
As the darkness settled, they could see there were fires on Yulash mound, punctuated by flashes of fireball and other magical flames.
“The war is at Yulash.” Alias spat with annoyance.
“Hillsfar forces trying to take it away from the Zhentil Keep army stationed there,” Akabar guessed.
The next day they traveled more cautiously as they passed great, burned stretches of overgrown fields, untended orchards completely shattered by lightning, and ridges of ground torn up by the claws of great beasts.
When piles of rusted weapons and rotted carrion began to dot the side of the roads, they dismounted and walked beside the horses and pony to calm them and to avoid presenting themselves as targets.
They could have ridden into Yulash before sunset if it had been a more peaceful season. Instead, they camped a quarter mile away, using an overturned wagon to shelter them from view of the forces defending and attacking the town’s main citadel. Even if they could get closer without being hit by a stray arrow or magic spell, they could be caught by an army and executed as spies.
They were close enough to hear metal clashing on metal as some of the combatants met in swordplay, commands barked out by captains, cheers from men who’d just managed to kill someone or something, and cries of horror from men who had seen their last battle.