“Or as if he were trying to save their lives,” suggested Aran. He offered the flask around, got no takers, and so enjoyed it himself. “Angriff Brightblade had made some very bad enemies, poor man. He did what he thought he was best by sending his family away. I think it is to Sturm’s credit that he made the journey all the way back to Solamnia to find out what happened to his father—”
“He came to find his fortune,” said Derek scornfully, “and when he discovered there was nothing left, he sold the family property and went back to live in his tree house.”
“You put everything into the worst possible light,” said Brian. “Sturm sold the family property to pay off the family’s debts, and he went back to Solace because he found a harsh welcome in Solamnia.”
“Give it up, Brian,” said Aran, grinning. “Sturm Brightblade could be another Huma and single-handedly drive Queen Takhisis back into the Abyss and Derek would still think he was not worthy of his spurs. It all goes back to that feud between their grandfathers—”
“That has nothing to do with it!” said Derek, growing angry in his turn. “Why are we even discussing Sturm Brightblade?”
“Because if there is a chance that he is in Tarsis and he needs our help, we are bound to help him,” said Brian. “Whether he is a knight or not, he is a fellow Solamnic.”
“To say nothing of the fact that our enemies are eager to get their scaly hands on him,” added Aran. “The friend of my enemy is my friend… or is it my enemy? I can never remember.”
“Our mission comes first,” said Derek sternly, “and we should end this conversation. You never know who might be listening.”
Brian glanced at their surroundings. The old city was a dump. The pavement of the street was cracked and broken, littered with chunks of stone and rubble. Mounds of rotting leaves lay in odd corners of broken stonework, all that remained of abandoned buildings that were either wholly or partially demolished. Large oak trees growing from the crevices in the middle of the shattered streets were evidence that this part of the city had been lying in ruins for many years, perhaps ever since the Cataclysm.
“Unless the dragonarmies have found a way to recruit rats, I’d say we’re pretty safe,” commented Aran, dislodging one of the creatures with a chunk of a stone. “We haven’t seen another living thing in the last hour.”
Brian stood with his hands on his hips and looked up and down the dusty street. “I think Bertrem sent us on a wild kender chase, Derek. There’s no sign of a library anywhere around here.”
“Yet this is valuable property,” Aran remarked. “You’d think the good people of Tarsis would either rebuild or at least clear out the rubble and turn it into a park or something.”
“Ah, but then that would mean they’d have to remember what they once were. Remember the beauty, remember the glory, remember the white-winged ships, and Tarsis can’t let herself do that,” said a woman’s voice coming from behind them.
The knights grasped the hilts of their swords, though they did not draw them, and turned to face the eavesdropper. The woman’s voice was high-pitched, bright and effervescent, and her looks matched her voice. She was slender, short and brown-skinned, with a pert smile and russet-colored hair that fell about her face and shoulders in a wild and haphazard manner.
Her movements were quick and quiet, and she had a wide, ingenuous smile enhanced by a roguish dimple in her left cheek. Her clothes were plain and nondescript and appeared to have been put on without much thought, for the color of her blouse clashed with her skirt and her thick cloak was at odds with both. Judging by her speech, however, she was well-educated. Her accent was Solamnic. She was somewhere between twenty and thirty years of age, or so Brian guessed.
She stood in the shadows of an alleyway, smiling at them, not in the least disconcerted.
Derek made a stiff bow. “I beg your pardon for not giving you proper greeting, Mistress.” He spoke politely because she was a woman, but coldly because she had been eavesdropping on them. “I had no idea of your presence.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” said the woman with a laugh. “You must be Sir Derek Crownguard.”
Derek’s jaw dropped. He stared at her in astonishment, then he frowned.
“I beg your pardon, Mistress, but you have the advantage of me.”
“Didn’t I introduce myself? I’m so forgetful. Lillith Hallmark,” she replied and held out her hand.
Derek regarded her in shock. Well-bred Solamnic women curtsied. They did not offer to shake hands like a man. He eventually took her hand in his—to do otherwise would insult her. But he did not seem to know what to do with her hand and released it as soon as possible.
“Would you by any chance be related to the Hallmarks of Varus?” Aran asked her.
“I’m Sir Eustace’s daughter,” Lillith said, pleased. “His fourth daughter.”
Derek raised an eyebrow. He was certainly not having much luck with knights’ daughters these days. First the Uth Matar woman in Palanthas, who’d turned out to be a thief. Now this young woman, the daughter of a knight, walking about in garb she might have stolen from a kender, and talking and acting as boldly as a man.
“How is my father, sir?” Lillith asked.
“I have the honor to report that the last time I saw him, your noble father was well,” said Derek. “He fought bravely at the battle of Vingaard Keep and left the field only when it was apparent we were heavily outnumbered.”
“Dear old Daddy,” said Lillith, laughing. “I’m surprised he had sense enough to do that. Usually he stands around like a big dummy just waiting to get hit on the head.”
Derek was shocked beyond words at such disrespectful talk, especially from a woman.
Aran laughed loudly and shook hands jovially with Lillith, and Brian kissed her hand, which caused her to laugh again. He noted, as he held her hand in his, that the index finger and thumb were stained dark purple and there were similar purple splotches, both faded and fresh, on her woolen blouse and her skirt. Brian let go her hand reluctantly. He thought he’d never seen anything so enchanting as the dimple in her left cheek. He wanted to make her laugh again, just to see the dimple deepen, see the gold flecks in her hazel eyes.
Derek frowned at his cohorts, considering they were encouraging bad behavior. He had to speak to this lady, but he would speak coldly, to express his disapproval.
“How did you know me, Mistress Hallmark?” he asked.
“Bertrem sent word to me to keep watch for a Solamnic knight searching for the fabled Library of Khrystann,” Lillith answered. “You’re the first, last, and only knights I’ve seen in these parts for years, and then I heard you mention Bertrem’s name, so I assumed you must be Sir Derek Crownguard.”
“I did not give the Aesthetic Bertrem leave to proclaim our coming,” said Derek stiffly. “Indeed, I ordered him to maintain the strictest secrecy.”
“Bertrem didn’t tell anyone except me, and I haven’t told anyone else, Sir Derek,” said Lillith, her dimple flashing. “It’s a good thing he did. You would have spent years searching for the library and never found it.”
“You’re an Aesthetic!” Aran guessed.
Lillith winked at him; something else highly improper for a well-bred Solamnic woman. “Do you gentlemen want me to take you to the library?”
“If it’s not too much trouble, Mistress,” said Derek.
“Oh, it’s no trouble at all, sir,” returned Lillith, folding her arms across her chest. “But in return, you must do something for me. I need a favor.”
Derek scowled. He did not like this young woman and he certainly did not like being blackmailed into serving her. “What would you have us do, Mistress?”
Lillith’s dimple vanished. She seemed troubled and suddenly motioned them to come near and, when she spoke, she kept her voice low. “Something is very wrong in this city. We’ve heard rumors—”
“Who is ‘we?’ Derek interrupted.
“Those of us who have the interests of the world at heart,” Lillith replied, meeting his gaze steadfastly. “We’re on the same side in this war, Sir Derek, I assure you. As I was saying, we’ve heard rumors that draconians have been seen inside the city walls.”