"Try this," she said. "It's the house special."
Adon lifted the drink, and a sweet aroma drifted to his nose. He squinted at the drink, and the woman gestured encouragingly. Adon took a swallow, and felt every drop of blood in his body turn to ice. His skin pulled taut against his bones and a raging fire burned its way through his chest. With trembling fingers he attempted to set the drink down, and the woman grinned as she helped him in the task.
Adon's breathing was heavy, his head spinning, when he asked, "What in Sune's name is in that!?"
The woman shrugged. "A little of this, a little of that. A lot of something else."
Adon rubbed his chest and tried to catch his breath.
"I'm Jhaele Silvermane," the woman said. "And who are — "
Adon heard a slight hiss from the bar. One of the ice cubes was dissolving, and amber bands drifted through the liquid. "Adon of Sune," Adon heard himself say, then wished he could take it back.
"Nasty cut there, Adon of Sune. There are powerful healers in the Temple of Tymora who may be able to help you. They have quite a collection of healing potions. Have you visited them yet?"
Adon shook his head.
"How did you come by such a mark? Accident or design?"
Adon's flesh tingled. "Design?" he said.
"Many a warrior would wear such a mark as a badge of courage, of lawful service." Her eyes were bright and clear. She meant every word of what she said.
"Aye," the cleric said sarcastically. "It was something like that."
Adon gripped the glass once more and took another drink. This time his head became slightly numb, and there was a buzz in his ears. Then that sensation passed, too.
"A toast!" someone shouted. The voice was dangerously close. Adon turned to see a complete stranger raising a flagon above his head. The stranger wore a grizzled mane of stringy hair, and he seemed to be the veteran of many conflicts. His huge hand reached out and clasped Adon's shoulder.
"A toast to a warrior who has faced the forces of evil and brought them low in the service of the Dales!"
Adon tried to intervene, but a huge roar went up as every man and woman in the inn saluted him. Afterward, many came forward and slapped him on the back. Not one shied away from the ragged scar that marked his face. They shared tales of battles, and Adon felt strangely at home. After about an hour, the stool beside him scraped against the floor and a lovely crimson-haired serving girl sat down beside him.
"Please," Adon said as he hung his head, "I want to be alone." But when he looked up, the woman had not left. "What is it?" he said, then realized she was staring at the scar. He turned away and covered the side of his face with his hand.
"Fair one, you need not hide from me," she said.
Adon looked around to see who she was talking to. The woman was staring at him.
Adon found himself staring back. The woman's hair was full and wild, with thick curls that reached to her shoulder and framed the soft contours of her face. Her eyes were a soft, piercing blue, and her elegantly chiseled features supported the mischievous grin she wore. Her clothes were plain, but she carried herself with the manners of royalty set at ease.
"What do you want?" Adon said softly.
Her eyes brightened. "To dance."
"There is no music," Adon said, shaking his head.
She shrugged and held out her hand.
Adon turned away and stared into the depths of his newly replenished drink. The woman dropped her hand to her side, then sat down next to Adon once more. Finally, he looked over to her.
"Surely you have a name, at least?" she said.
Adon's expression grew dark as he turned to her. "There is no place for you here. Go about your duties and leave me alone."
"Alone to suffer?" she said. "Alone to drown yourself in a sea of self-pity? Such actions hardly befit a hero."
Adon almost choked. "Is that what you think I am?" A nasty sneer fixed upon his face.
"My name is Renee," she said, and held out her hand once more.
Adon tried to hold his hand steady as he took her hand in greeting. "I am Adon," he said. "Adon of Sune. And I am anything but a hero."
"Let me be the judge of that, darling one," she said and caressed the side of his face as if the scar did not exist. Her hand trailed down across his neck, chest, and arm, until she took his hand in hers and asked him to tell his tale to her.
Reluctantly, Adon told the story of his journey from Arabel again, with little emotion in his voice. He told her everything, except for the secrets of the gods he'd learned. Those he saved for himself to ponder.
"You are a hero," she said, and kissed him full on the lips. "Your faith in the face of such adversity should be known, and held as an inspiration."
A soldier nearby laughed, and Adon was sure that he was the subject of the joke. He pulled away from the girl and slammed a few gold pieces to the bar. "I did not come here to be mocked!" he said in a rage.
"I did not — "
But Adon was gone, making his way through the adventurers and soldiers who crowded the inn. He reached the street and wandered almost a block before he fell against the wall of a tiny shop. There was a metal sign on the door with a name engraved upon it, and the moonlight allowed Adon to see his reflection in the metal. For an instant, the scar seemed barely noticeable. But as he raised his fingers to the ragged flesh, he saw his image distort, his face elongating so that the scar appeared to be even worse than it really was. Turning away from the sign, Adon cursed his weary eyes for betraying him.
As he walked through town, Adon thought of the woman, Renee, and her fiery hair that was so like Sune's. His treatment of the woman had been shameful. He knew he must apologize. On the way back to the inn a patrol stopped him, then let him go. "I remember the scar," one of them said.
Adon's spirits fell. He reached the Old Skull Inn, and after a few minutes of wandering the taproom, he sat back on his original stool and motioned for the attentions of Jhaele Silvermane. He related the story of the red-haired woman named Renee, the serving wench, and Jhaele merely nodded toward a darkened corner of the room.
Renee was there, sitting close to another man. The enticing gestures she made toward him were similar to those she had used on Adon. She looked up, saw Adon staring, then looked away.
"She must have smelled the gold on you," Jhaele said, and Adon suddenly understood Renee's true purpose in the bar. Moments later, he was on the street once more, his anger threatening to consume him. In the distance he saw the spires of a temple, and he made his way to it, passing the same patrol again.
The healers of the temple, he thought. Perhaps their potions would be powerful enough to remove the scar.
Tymora's temple in Shadowdale was far different from her temple in Arabel. Adon passed between a mighty set of pillars that burned with small watchfires set atop them. The vast double doors of the temple had been left unattended, and a large, polished gong lay on its side before the doors. Adon moved to the doors themselves when a voice rang out of the darkness behind him.
"You there!"
Adon turned and faced the same patrol he had spoken to outside the Old Skull.
"Something is amiss," Adon called. "The temple is silent, and the guard is nowhere to be found."
The riders left their mounts. There were four men, and their armor had been dulled to allow them the full cover of the night.
"Move aside," a burly man said as he brushed past Adon. The soldier pulled the heavy doors apart and turned his face away as the stench of death welled out of the temple.