Mehen rattled off a list of things they needed-oil for lanterns and for weapons and for cooking, thread and needles, cloth for bandages, and such. “And what’s your price on healing potions? We’re short two.”
“Fifty and twelve,” the shopkeeper said, busying himself behind the counter. “I’m afraid you’ll find we’re a bit more expensive up here in the hinterlands.”
Mehen shook his head. “Leave the potions off. We’re also interested in a possible bounty for a squad of orcs in the forest. Who should we ask about that?”
The man took a moment to reply. “That … would probably be the Lord Protector’s business,” he said. “Or perhaps the House of Knowledge? The Oghmanytes won’t have much for you, but they’ve taken over the care of those affected by the Chasm and the rigors of the journey here.”
Mehen snorted. “Which is closer?”
“Oh, the temple is at the far end of the Wall. And the Lord Protector is ensconced at the Hall of Justice west there.” He chuckled to himself. “Head north-you won’t be able to miss either. Do you need somewhere to stay? My, ahem, friends have many spare rooms. Some with good fireplace?” Farideh glanced back at the man and Mehen. The shopkeeper had a look of anticipation, as if he were expecting Mehen’s reply to be significant.
“No,” Mehen said, completely missing the man’s meaning, whatever it was.
“Mehen!” Havilar cried. “Look at this armor!” The armor in question was little more than strategic chainmail patches and leather straps. Even the dummy looked cold. “I would look fantastic in this armor.”
“My armormaker calls that the Cunning Fox design,” the shopkeeper said. “Very easy to move in. I could have it ready in a tenday or two. It would be lovely on you.”
“It would be useless.” Mehen grunted. “Bah! One swift chop here”-a thunk as he hit the dummy-“and you’ve had your lung collapsed. This is armor for people playing adventurer.”
Farideh turned back to the bottles. Reds and blues and greens. She picked up a dark blue one, tilted it to catch the light. Potion of Vitality, the handwritten label read, for poisons, illness, and most grievous wounds. She set it back down very carefully. It was probably worth more coin than she’d ever seen in one place.
A good thing too. The shopkeeper was suddenly beside her, pulling down pots of oil. He looked over at her and frowned again. She blushed and kept her eyes on the bottles.
“Would I be mistaken,” he murmured after a moment, “if I asked if you bore a mark?”
Farideh caught her breath. She glanced over at him, trying to gauge how dangerous the situation, how disturbed he was by her appearance, before she tried to explain it was only an eye-
But the shopkeeper was smiling now. When she didn’t reply, he made a vague gesture at the side of his chest, then glanced over at the others.
A warlock’s brand, she thought.
“You’re … you too?” she whispered. “How … how did you know?”
He pulled another pot of oil down. “A gift. When you’re bound, it leaves a particular signature.” He eyed her again, in a way that made Farideh feel as if he were appraising the set of her viscera. She fought not to shudder. “You’re new to this, though. Yours is very faint. And you’re a warlock.”
“Yes,” she said. “Wait … you aren’t? I thought that was the only way to …”
He chuckled. “No, but I know plenty. I could introduce you.”
“That … I would appreciate that greatly.” She smiled. “I came to Neverwinter because I heard … That is, there are supposed to be many of you here. I hardly know what I’m doing.”
“You’re alive and you’re hale,” he said with a chuckle. “You’re doing better than most. When your friends have found where they are staying, come back and visit,” he added. “We’ll talk more then.” He hurried back to the counter and began wrapping Mehen’s purchases into several neat bundles.
Havilar was still arguing with Mehen. “But if I’m faster, then-”
“Then you’ll have your organs speared on the move. You have perfectly good armor,” Mehen said, handing over a stack of coins and taking the bundles. “Let’s go.”
Farideh glanced back once as she headed out the door. The shopkeeper smiled again and waved. Though she didn’t mean to, she thought of Lorcan’s wicked smile-of how angry he’d be if he knew she were looking for ways to control him.
That’s exactly why you need to do this, she thought, waving back at the shopkeeper. It was unaccountably lucky she’d found what she was looking for so quickly-Lorcan would hardly have time to convince her not to speak to the shopkeeper anyway.
Rohini was walking back from the market when she spotted the dragonborn-a big surly fellow with an overlarge sword and a distracted expression.
Perfect, she thought, watching him draw closer. Better than anyone she’d seen all morning-the city might have had plenty of big, muscley sorts, but Rohini wanted clever ones too. Skilled ones. The sword on his back was a fine, unusual weapon and suggested he was no mere brute.
She slipped through the crowd, keeping pace. Being a dragonborn made it all the better. Durable with all those scales, she thought. Built like a pit fiend. He could likely snap one of the Sovereignty’s regular servitors in half-and that was before she got to spellscarring him.
She’d need more, but the best way to find more dragonborn was still to take this one. And if that didn’t work, well, he could go dig sickly orcs out of the ruined quarter instead of Rohini.
A human boy with streaky, dark hair was trailing after him, carrying a bundle of packages. When the crowd thinned, she sprinted toward him and crashed directly into the boy with the packages. Her basket of supplies dumped over, scattering candles and rolls of muslin and tinctures in metal flasks. The boy crashed to the ground with the packages. The dull clink of something within breaking, and a deep golden liquid began to seep through the cloth.
Perfect, Rohini thought.
“Oh!” Rohini pulled the boy to his feet. “Oh, are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he said. “I just … Gods, they went everywhere.” He bent down and started picking up candles. She looked up to see the dragonborn storming back toward her. “I must beg your forgiveness, goodsir. I was in such a hurry …” The dragonborn kneeled and began picking up the packages, cursing under his breath. “You must let me repay you.”
“Mehen!” The dragonborn’s eyes looked past Rohini and into the crowd. Two tieflings came rushing up, and it took Rohini a moment to recognize that they belonged with the dragonborn; there were so many tieflings in the city. It took a moment more for her to realize they were twins. Curious. And not a complication Rohini wanted.
“You’ll never believe what they’re selling-” one of them started. She looked at the packages on the ground. “What happened?”
“Just a little spill,” Rohini said, focusing again on Mehen. “If you’ll come with me to the House of Knowledge, I can give you coin for what I’ve ruined.”
“House of Knowledge?” the dragonborn said. “Heard you might be willing to pay out bounties on orcs in the wood.”
“Well,” she said, putting magic in her voice to lure him in. “I can’t provide you with any sort of bounty. But I can always use help. There are patients to-”
“Never mind,” Mehen said, and turned as if to count his charges. Rohini wrinkled her nose. He was going to be difficult. She reached out and touched his arm.
“Oh, let me finish,” she said. “There are patients who need tending, but also plenty of chores. And there’s a wall on the southern side which has collapsed. I could certainly use someone strong to help us rebuild it.” Mehen turned back to her and she smiled. “You would have room and board in the House of Knowledge, of course. And I’m sure we could find the stores to give you a little coin to make your time better spent.”