Akabar sat down beside Dragonbait and gave him a gentle nudge with his good arm. “Do you want to tell her, or should I?” Dragonbait made an amused snorting sound.
“Listen closely. Mist followed us from Cormyr. She ambushed Ruskettle while we were in Yulash, but Dragonbait subdued the dragon and convinced her to work alongside them to rescue us. They rescued me first only because Moander thought me more expendable. The god opened some type of magical gate from the Elven Wood to here, and we followed the creature through it with the help of your finder’s stone. I think we lost that, didn’t we?”
Dragonbait nodded and looked down at the ground, apparently ashamed at having mislaid Alias’s property.
“Then Mist shook us loose, whether intentionally or not I could not tell. She died fighting the old god.”
Alias held up a hand. “You said Dragonbait subdued Mist and convinced her to help. You mean Olive …”
“Not the halfling. Dragonbait. He can talk, but not in ways that we can understand. He uses—”
“Smells,” Alias guessed, remembering the heavy odor of violets she had detected in Moander’s temple in Yulash.
Akabar nodded. “Mist understood him. And he has no trouble understanding us. You know from Moander, of course, that his people are called saurials.”
“Yes,” Alias said, remembering. “It also said something about him being a pure soul—he was intended as a sacrifice to enslave me somehow.”
“He’s more than that,” Akabar explained. “He’s a paladin in his own world, much like the ones you have up north. He can heal in the same fashion. So you see, we need only wait a few days and he can make both of us good as new.”
Alias looked into the lizard’s yellow eyes. “You healed me when I came out of Mist’s cave with my chain mail fused?”
Dragonbait nodded without expression.
“And when I hurt my arm smashing the crystal elemental with your sword?”
Again the saurial nodded.
“You sneaky devil,” Alias said with a grin.
My feelings precisely, Olive thought behind the screen, but she did not give away her eavesdropping.
Alias, however, meant the words as a compliment. Dragonbait hung his head, though, ashamed of his deception.
“You had no idea, did you?” Akabar asked.
“No,”
“You don’t seem very surprised.”
Alias shrugged. “I have evil assassins, evil mages, evil gods, and evil who-knows-what-all chasing me. Why shouldn’t I have a guardian paladin?”
Then it occurred to her why not. So far, Moander’s words were a secret between her and Akabar. She did not think Dragonbait knew. Akabar would not give her away, but it would not be right to keep Dragonbait with her, risking his life for her. She was just a thing. She was fully intent on sending her companions away, out of danger, and now she had the means of driving the faithful lizard from her side.
The idea of losing Dragonbait’s tender concern left an ache in her heart, and the thought of losing his protection left her more than a little afraid. Don’t be stupid, she tried to convince herself. You’ve taken care of yourself all of your life. You can do it.
Then she remembered that that just wasn’t true. She’d only been born last month, and all that time she’d had the lizard as a nanny. How could he not know? But if he knew, why did he stay? No doubt he’d been fooled like Akabar into having pity for her.
I’ll have to leave them, and I’ll have to leave without telling them, she thought. She ran her hand down the smooth, pebbly scales of Dragonbait’s arm. Aloud, she said, “I just want you to know how much I appreciate you. Everything you’ve done.” She could not resist—she hugged the lizard again and then turned and hugged Akabar. “Both of you.”
“Well,” Olive said, stepping out from behind the screen. “Nice to know you’re safe and appreciated, isn’t it?” The bard was dressed in a pink robe, with scarlet pants beneath. Her yarting was strung across her back, and a pouch hung on her belt. The expression on her face was a mixture of jealousy and disapproval.
“I appreciate your friendship, too, Olive,” Alias assured her as she walked toward the screen. She knelt before the halfling and reached out to hug her as well.
The bard stepped backward, almost toppling the iron tools stacked by the stove. “Please, don’t,” she snarled, holding up a hand. “You’re filthy dirty, and this is my last clean outfit. And halflings don’t hug. Hugging is a problem when you’re the size of most human children. So no hugs.”
“I’m sorry, Olive,” Alias whispered.
Ruskettle glared at her for a moment, then announced, “I’m going to try to get into town. Get some gear for us, see what rumors I can pick up about Moander’s people and all your other ‘pals’ down here.”
Akabar broke in, “I’ve been to Westgate before. I think I might have better luck getting past the gate guards.”
“You’re decked out in borrowed halfling gear,” countered Ruskettle. “They won’t take you seriously. I’ll get something suitable for you to wear. And, no,” she waved aside Alias and Dragonbait, “I work better alone. Especially considering you two are probably wanted by someone or something in Westgate.” She strode to the door and then turned back, looking at Akabar.
“One more thing. If I can get a healer to come out here, I will. There’s no sense in you living with the pain until he gets enough beauty sleep to fix you up.”
She left the room, slamming the door behind her.
“Was it something I said?” Alias asked Akabar. “What’s gotten into her?”
Akabar remembered how annoyed Ruskettle had been by the saurial’s deception. Apparently, it would take the halfling longer to overcome her anxiety.
Dragonbait hissed at the closed door, and the scent of freshly baked bread wafted from his body.
Ruskettle strode east from The Rising Raven, her short legs still complaining about the earlier long walk to the city. If the dragon had crashed to the north and west, then the guards would be at their weakest at the south and east. The river gate would be her best bet.
The halfling’s ears burned, and she was positive that her “friends” were talking about her in the warmth of their warehouse apartment. She had been the one to provide their shelter, yet everyone still fawned over Alias, fought for Alias, and chased through the nine hells for Alias, while she, Olive, had been abandoned with a dragon. And for what? It wasn’t like they got any money for what they did.
And to top it off, Alias was so bloody perfect. Like a doll. You wound her up and she rescued people or slew monsters or sang perfectly beautiful songs. And her luck was incredible. Not even a halfling had that kind of luck. She’d been kidnapped by a god—a god, for god’s sake!—and she’d escaped, and Akabar and Dragonbait and the dragon had slain the god for her.
The lizard-paladin was another problem completely. The halfling’s thoughts wandered back a number of years to an ugly incident in the Living City. She’d been at a bar when some holy fighter, a human paladin, rose unsteadily to his feet, pointed a worn knuckle at her, and shouted, “Thief!” No one doubted him; no one believed her. The fact that she had another’s purse in her hands did not help her situation, but she had managed to escape. Since then, she walked carefully around such beings, beings who could look into a person’s soul and tell if he was good or evil. That scared Ruskettle. It wasn’t fair. And now it turned out that one of these snooty law-and-order types was a member of their party. She felt the saurial’s eyes on her all the time, judging her and weighing her worth.