Any thoughts of that went away almost immediately, however, when a tall red-haired man entered the room, flanked by several capable-looking brawlers. Clearly, given the parting crowd, men stumbling quickly to get out of the way, this was someone of importance.
The redhead moved to the bar and Serena rushed to serve him, and the dark elves toasted him and drained their drinks, then hastily departed.
Regis noted it all, trying to sort out the hidden relationships. When the redhead moved to the posting board by the stairway, Regis dared to return to the bar.
“High Captain Kurth,” Serena whispered to him, bringing him a drink. “I think you have found your caravan, little friend.”
Regis stared at the man, who held a posting in his hand, but hadn’t tacked it up yet, as he was reading the others recently placed. He was still focused there when the crowd in the common room went quiet once more, then gave a common “huzzah!” Regis looked all around in confusion, seeking the source of the cheer.
And then he nearly fell off his bar stool, for he realized that the patron of the establishment had entered. A drow, and not one-eyed, Regis knew, though this one did indeed wear an eyepatch.
“Jax,” he whispered under his breath. “Jarlaxle?”
He noted with concern that the drow turned to him sharply upon mention of the name, and Regis huddled over his drink, silently berating himself for forgetting how keen drow ears might be, and how much keener still, likely, Jarlaxle’s would be.
Regis held his breath and didn’t dare look up as he heard the magically amplified sound of hard boots striking the wooden floor coming toward him.
CHAPTER 27
The Year of the Narthex Murders (1482 DR) Icewind Dale
Not a smile greeted Catti-Brie when she walked into the Lone inn in the town of Auckney, a windswept, salty village nestled among the southern shores and high rocks of the Spine of the World’s westernmost peaks, overlooking the great ocean.
She moved to the main table and surveyed the menu items. “Lots of fish,” she said lightly to a nearby man, whose apron identified him as the cook or owner, or likely both.
“You get that when you live on the edge of the sea,” another man not far away answered, and with no warmth in his tone. Catti-brie turned to regard him, to find him staring at her body and surely not looking into her eyes.
“Three pieces of gold and take your pick,” the man with the apron said.
Catti-brie started a bit at the exorbitant price. “Three?”
“You came in with a caravan?”
“No, alone.”
“Three pieces of gold and take your pick,” the man repeated gruffly.
“I am not that hungry.”
“Three for a nibble, three for a stuffing,” said a woman’s voice from the other end, and Catti-brie turned to regard the speaker, who seemed a fit in age and demeanor for the owner and was likely his wife.
“Are there rooms for rent?” Catti-brie asked.
“Anything’s for rent, if you’ve the gold,” said the other man. He winked at Catti-brie rather disgustingly. “Yes?”
“Five gold a night,” said the owner.
Catti-brie held her hands up, somewhere between surrender and disbelief.
“Not many visitors to Auckney,” the man replied.
“There’s a wonder for a mage to unwind,” Catti-brie replied with dripping sarcasm. “Is there another common room in town?”
“You think I’d tell you if there was?” the owner replied.
“There’s not,” said his wife.
“But there are rooms to rent,” said the other man. “Though you’d be sharing!” He ended with a dirty laugh that followed Catti-brie all the way back onto the street.
She looked around at the passersby, all huddled under heavy cloaks against the chill breeze sweeping in off the water. There loomed a dourness around this place, a cold chill as palpable as the burgeoning wintry weather. sensationIesgic no less
She moved to what seemed to be the town’s main avenue, a wide boulevard weaving around an open market. She meandered around that marketplace, inspecting the wares-late-season fruits and vegetables mostly, along with cartloads of fish. She pretended to be interested, but in truth, she could call upon her divine powers to magically create better food than she found before her. She had only inquired about a meal in the tavern to warm up the conversation in the place, for though she was only passing through Auckney, she held a lingering curiosity about the town.
Wulfgar had been here, and indeed had found quite the adventure here, one that had left him with an adopted child, though for a short time only before he returned the girl to her mother, Meralda, who was back then the Lady of Auckney.
“Don’t you be touching what you aren’t buying,” one woman merchant snapped at her as she reached for an apple.
“How am I to judge the freshness?” Catti-brie asked.
“You’ll know when you bite it, and you’ll bite it after you pay for it.”
Catti-brie shrugged and retracted her hand.
“Pray, tell me, who is the oldest person in Auckney?” she asked.
“Eh?”
“Who has been here the longest? Who would know of days gone by?”
“Well, I’m older than you, so what’s your question?” the merchant asked.
“The line of Auck, back to Meralda …”
The woman began to laugh.
“Her daughter, Colson?”
“Lady Colson,” the woman replied. “Died when I was a child.”
“And her child sits on the throne now?”
The merchant shook her head. “Her children both died before her, and took the line with them.”
Catti-brie chewed her lip, wondering where to take the conversation next. “Do you remember Lady Colson?”
The woman shrugged. “Bits. Poor girl, born of rape and kidnapped by the rapist to add to the pain.”
Catti-brie wanted to reply to that misinformation, for surely Wulfgar had not raped Meralda. Far from it. He had intervened and stolen away the baby Colson to save her from the vengeance of the Lord of Auckney, for though Meralda was the lord’s wife, the foolish lord was not the child’s father. Nor was Wulfgar. Meralda had been in love with another man-Catti-brie did not know his name-when the Lord of Auckney had forced her to become his bride, not knowing that she was already with child.
“The Bastard Lady,” the merchant woman went on, and shook her head and sighed.
“And her father?” Catti-brie was afraid of the answer, but she had to know.
“Barbarian beast, curse his name, whatever his name might be. Not one spoken in Auckney, I warn you.”
Catti-brie closed her eyes and forced herself to settle down and suppress her need to set things straight here. She looked back at the woman and nodded, managing a smile before turning away.
“You buying that apple?” the woman said sharply.
Catti-brie turned back to regard the fruit, which was!” Bruenor warned.5N3 certainlyon certainly past its prime. But she looked at the scowling merchant and reluctantly scooped it up.
“Four pieces of silver,” the merchant demanded, several times the value.
But Catti-brie wasn’t about to argue any longer, so she handed over the coins, then walked somberly down the street, right out of the town of Auckney. She meandered down the stony mountain passes to the sea, settling on a dark stone and staring into the cold surf.
The scene befit her mood, for this day had fast turned into a sobering reminder of the fickle nature of memory and of time iself. Wulfgar had lived his life admirably with regards to the events in Auckney. He had helped Lady Meralda to do the right thing, and had raised Colson with love and decency, and then had, at great personal and emotional expense, returned the child to her rightful mother.
And for all that, he was not remembered fondly up here in Auckney. Quite the opposite, so it would seem.