The day was windy, with a biting chill more like Ches than Mirtul. The rain had ended in the third hour of the morning, and now in late afternoon the sky was blue once more, with high fast clouds scudding across it. “Awfully late blackberry winter,” commented Patricia to Anomen out of the depths of her blue cloak as they trudged up one of the hills they’d been climbing ever since they’d taken the smaller road that led into de’Arnise lands. Minsc had dropped back to walk with Jan and Nalia, and the three of them were several hundred feet below, just making the corner on the first of the three switchbacks forced into the road for the convenience of wagons.

Anomen looked down the slope at them. Nalia seemed to have recovered from her weariness of the previous evening. Maybe she’d toughen up after all. Then again, if they could defeat the invaders, she’d be able to stay at home where she belonged. It was an odd sight from above, the giant man, the slender girl, and the diminutive gnome with his luxuriant curly beard, stacked in height like treads on a staircase.

He glanced over at the woman gliding quietly beside him. There was really no other word for it, he decided; she looked like a swan moving serenely across water. He was struck again by the difference between her and Nalia. The de’Arnise girl was flighty; clever, but not much more thoughtful than any other of the gushing debutantes he had occasionally been forced to socialize with at Sir Ryan’s. He shuddered at the memories he’d just invoked. Those few balls had been the only time he’d ever been grateful for the hideous dancing lessons he and Moira had had to endure for some years; they kept him from tripping over his own feet, or worse yet, stepping on a girl’s. Still, he’d always felt hunted on those occasions, and his sense of duty to his knight (and more importantly, to Lady Trawl) prevented him from sneaking off to the card rooms like most of the other young men, even his other squire brothers. On the bright side, those had also been almost the only times he’d been able to see his sister these past five years, since his father couldn’t forbid her to accept Lady Trawl’s invitations without causing far too much comment among the rest of the nobility.

Anomen wondered suddenly what Patricia’s life had been like at Nalia’s age. Did Candlekeep have its own share of such adolescent joys and trials? Why had she agreed to take Nalia into the group? What of her parents? No, he recalled, last night she had said that she and Imoen were raised by someone called Gorion.

Last night… there it was again, that scene of her with the candle. He couldn’t believe how easily she’d forgiven his stupid blunder. But there, that was his father at work again; he was so used to being chided for every small mistake that he flinched inwardly every time he met someone new. He always expected them to be assessing him for flaws, and he tried so hard to be perfect… and always failed. Sometimes he felt that his dream would always be dangling just out of his grasp. Moira was the only one who understood that now. But by Helm, he shouldn’t be dragging himself down, but remembering his new resolutions.

“Is Imoen your sister, milady?” he found himself asking as they crested the hill. Eschewing the switchbacks on this side, they plunged straight down the slope along a thin path worn by other foot travelers.

“Only my foster-sister,” replied Patricia, “but we’ve never let that stand in our way. We were always taught to consider each other as sisters, and she and Winthrop and Delaine are as much family as I’ve got now that Gorion’s dead.”

“Was he a good father to you?” he couldn’t help asking, thinking of the changes that had swept over his own parent in the past few years.

She smiled. “Gorion and Winthrop both were wonderful fathers. That’s what we called them--- Papa Gorion and Daddy Winthrop. And Mama Delaine,” she added. “I had two fathers, different as night and day, but both brimming over with kindness.”

“Imoen and I each take a little bit of our personalities from each of them. Gorion was a tall, quiet man, thin as a rail, but healthy as a horse. He was very wise and patient, and a truly gifted mage and scholar. Imoen has the same inexhaustible energy and skill in the Art, but she has no patience. Long hours among dusty tomes are not for her, though she’s so clever that she rarely needed to study much. She could finish her papers before me every time, and she always kept up with me, even though she’s two years younger.”

“I would have given much to be able to learn the Art, but I couldn’t master even the simplest cantrips. I loved the hours I spent in the library; I can still see dust motes dancing in the shafts of sunlight from the windows if I close my eyes. The very smell of old books acts on me like wine, and an afternoon spent reading with Gorion was one of my greatest pleasures. I became a Hand more from the thirst for knowledge than out of a will to fight. It was the best way to emulate him, though he was no monk himself. I miss him dreadfully, but the pain has been dulled by time.”

“I envy you that experience,” Anomen replied earnestly. “My own father, Lord Cor, is not an easy man to love. He was often moody before my mother died, but since her passing there has been no kindness left in him towards me. We do not get along well. He was not… supportive… of my decision to join the Order. But I would rather speak no more of him; his very name is like an ill wind blowing across my soul.” He felt his anger beginning to rise hot within him, as it always did when he thought of Lord Cor, and he cast about for some other subject to distract himself.

“How much do you know of my Order of the Most Radiant Heart?” he found himself asking almost at random. They were standing at the bottom of the hill now, waiting for the others to catch up. Minsc’s head cleared the brow of the hill even as he spoke.

This subject seemed to have struck a chord, for he thought there was a certain eagerness behind the mask as she turned to him. “Only a very little,” replied Patricia, “and I had hoped you would consent to tell me something more.”

“What I know of it,” she continued, “I’ve learned from one of my old companions, another squire of the Order from Waterdeep, named Ajantis. That’s who I wrote to the other day.”

“Fortunately for him, he’d already left Baldur’s Gate to return home to undergo his Test. That’s the right term, isn’t it?” Anomen nodded. “I wanted to warn him,” Patricia said, “because although I think that crazy Irenicus really wanted me--- and Imoen--- it’s possible that he could also become a target.” She sighed. “I hope to hear from him soon. We always got along very well. Ajantis and I usually sat the same night watch, and we’ve spent many an hour discussing the merits of different methods of honing a blade or making up silly verses, all the while drinking enough tea to float a ship. But please, do tell me more of this chivalric order you and he aspire to join.”

Anomen knew exactly what she meant. Even men with no other common tie found themselves glad of each other’s company in the wee hours of the morning, for the sheer relief of knowing they were not alone in the sleeping darkness. He felt himself warming towards her even more. Not only had she shown respect for Helm and for his own service to the Unsleeping One, but she could form friendships with those striving for higher ideals. Perhaps at last he had found companions who would count him worthy.

“Then you should certainly be made more aware of it. Well, milady, the Order of the Most Radiant Heart is the greatest force for righteousness in Faerun… an army of knights and paladins ready to combat evil wherever it may be found. We exist to serve, but we follow no commands but the dictates of our hearts and our consciences. Truly,” he said, his spirit soaring as always with the longing for glory the mere thought of knighthood inspired in him, “ 'tis a rare thing that can stand up to the full array of the Order's armies, milady.”

Patricia was as good a listener as his sister; she had the gift of giving her entire attention to the speaker, allowing him to develop his thought fully without interruption. He was emboldened by her rapt attention, and dared to add a cherished speculation.

“I do not understand why the Order does not take control of the Council, personally. It could do far more to turn this into a fair and equitable land, don't you think? I mean... think of all the suffering your average commoner must endure. The hunger, the inequity and injustices... the rebellions in the south. All things of chaos. Surely these things would not occur with the Order placed in command... a force of true goodness and honest brotherhood? It baffles me why more people don't see it.”

“I’m afraid I must disagree with your analysis, Anomen---“ she began, only to be cut off by a shout from Nalia, who’d broken into a trot. “Patricia! Patricia!”

Feeling as if he’d been slapped in the face, Anomen quickly retorted, “You’re entitled to your opinion, of course. I could not expect some outsider to understand such complex issues!” He turned away sharply towards the others now joining them, wishing that he could either smash that mask of Patricia’s, or develop one of his own. That’s what came of trust, he thought bitterly. Outside of Moira, Mother, and the Watcher, it’s a luxury I’ve never been able to afford.

Nalia was so relieved to find herself near her own home once again that she’d almost forgotten to warn Patricia that the next hill would bring them within sight of the Keep. Thank goodness the woman had decided to stop down there at the bottom of this one. Did all adventurers manage to keep up that blinding pace all the time? She and that Delryn son looked like they could walk straight through the night as well, if need be. Of course, as cold as it was, moving at least kept you warm. That Jan’s stories were beginning to get on her nerves. The gnome had the worst case of verbal diarrhea she’d ever seen, even including her Aunt Delcia, widely acknowledged as one of the Chief Terrors of Amnish upper crust society. She allowed herself one moment to picture Jan and Delcia together, then had to stop lest she start having a most un-adventurer-like fit of the giggles.

“Patricia, we could be seen from the battlements once we top the next hill. Do you want to go on along the road, or try to cut cross-country?”

Minsc unexpectedly boomed out from behind her, “Boo says we should learn from the evil sharp-toothed weasel, and wait until the night falls! Then may we fall upon our foes like a ferret set loose in a rabbit warren!”

Patricia nodded her hooded head. “I think Minsc has the right of it this time, as long as you can guide us in the dark. We’ll have a better shot at reconnoitering if we can be fairly sure we’ll remain unseen ourselves. I know you didn’t want to let slip too much before we got here, Nalia, but you’d best tell me everything you know now, because none of us are going to be any use to you dead.”

Nalia heard the sudden steel in her voice, and capitulated. “I wasn’t… wasn’t sure you’d come with me if I told you everything. We need help so desperately, and I’m not even sure if my father’s still alive by now….” She saw the barely-restrained impatience gathering like storm clouds across Anomen’s face, and quickly added to forestall an eruption, “I think they’re trolls, like those things in the slaver stockade. Tall, green, skinny arms & fingers. But there are also some snake thingies, because I saw a couple up on the walls as I fled. I don’t know what else could be there.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Anomen with satisfaction. “Trolls are truly a worthy test for a warrior. And so were those snake-men.”

“Yuan-ti,” whispered Patricia under her breath. “Do try to use the proper nomenclature.” Aloud she added, “Then we’ll have to try to find out who won the first battle. Perhaps there will be someone left in one of the outlying farms. As soon as it’s full dark, we’ll move out and check. Grab some rations and eat ‘em cold now, because there’s no telling when you’ll get another chance. I’m not going to have you fainting on me from inanition, Nalia, and if you eat now you’ll be less likely to get indigestion.”

As they all rummaged around in their packs, Jan piped up, “I’m glad to see you have such a practical attitude, Patty…” then stopped abruptly as he felt the point of a sword digging into his throat. He cautiously glanced up, to see Patricia at the other end of the blade. Without the smallest alteration of her expression, she said very gently, “No, Janno, I don’t think we have any meat patties in our stores. By the way, my sister calls me Tisha.” He gulped slightly, his complete attention focused on her for the critical second required to pound the lesson into his head. “But,” she continued, now kneeling down beside him, “I do think there’s some halfway decent fruit leather down at the bottom of this bag, and maybe even a few turnip chips.”

Boo was the only other member of the party to witness that little exchange. His whiskers twitched reflectively. So, he thought, her control may not be so perfect after all. She may need me yet… and I must make certain that young priest does not disturb her unduly. I sense much anger within him, just like his father… and anger leads to hate, and hate leads to misery.