Cards Reshuffled

As one comes up, another goes down. As one gains happiness, another weeps. The world is not, and never has been, a fair place. All you can hope for is that the blows it deals you are ones you can recover from.

Excerpt from ‘Ruminations Of A Master Bard’

Lissa. The single word echoed in Jan’s head, drowning everything else out. It had been so long…far too long. Lissa. If that turnip-hating piece of griffin-droppings has hurt her, then I swear he’ll die. I don’t care how long it takes. He’ll die.

“Jan?” The gnome craned his head upwards to see Zaerini looking at him, a worried look on her face. “Are you going to tell us what’s wrong?”

Everything, your Worship. Just about everything. “It’s not an easy tale for me to tell,” he began. I’d rather tell just about any other. Including the one about Gladstone Jansen and the Eggwhisk of Doom. “This girl, Lissa, that my cousin mentioned is an old friend of mine.” Memories assaulted him, of rosy cheeks, of hair the color of rich honey, of warm and intoxicating laughter. “More than a friend I should say.” He sighed. “She grew up poor, like me. It was a hard life but there was happiness to be found.”

Sunlight filtering down between the bleak buildings in the slums, glittering in her hair. Furtively sharing a stolen turnip, hiding up on the roof, letting her have the larger piece. Always letting her have the larger piece. Lissa…

Jan shrugged, trying to sound his normal, lighthearted self. He didn’t entirely succeed. “I loved Lissa like I've never loved another. She was the most beautiful girl in Athkatla. I was not the only one to think so, however; she had several suitors when she came of marrying age. I worried little about it. I was her closest friend and she claimed to love me.”

Another memory, a feast, dancing with her, delighted at the opportunity to touch her. Walking home together afterwards, her lips unimaginably sweet as they shared a brief kiss. Lissa…I love you.

Oh Jan…I love you too.

And you won’t forget?

Never. It’s you and I, for always.

Always.

The next bit was even worse to speak about. Always lasted for about six months, as I recall. About as long as Hepziabah Jansen lasted when she got stranded on that desert island and had to live entirely on her own toe nails. Lucky they were that long… “There are many gnomish families in Athkatla,” Jan went on. “Life is very different for gnomes so used to woods and caves of the country. Many of the families struggle with poverty in exchange for the safety of the city walls and Amnish law. Some families do very well. He came from one such family.”

“Aha,” Edwina said, nodding. “I kept expecting a ‘he’ to turn up. Some insufferably smug and pompous would-be paladin in shining armor, perhaps? Those are well known for trying to steal other people’s girlfriends, trying to dazzle them with stupid flowery language.”

“Just give it a rest, ‘Dwina,” Zaerini said, giving the wizard a slightly exasperated look. “Please go on, Jan. What about this other gnome?”

Vaelag. Jan fiddled a little with his crossbow, lovingly imagining sending a perfect Flasher up Vaelag’s nose. Not that I would…not if Lissa really wants him. But a gnome can dream, can’t he? He could just see Vaelag’s face, with its hard eyes and pouting lips, and with the whitish-blond hair practically dripping with all the turnip oil Vaelag always slicked it down with. “Vaelag is the gnome who runs all 'business' in the gnomish areas of Athkatla.”

“Ah,” the bard said, nodding. “A crime boss, was he?”

“Yes. He is a thief who pretends to be an honest merchant. Rumor has it that he reports directly to the Shadow Thieves.” But there are thieves, and then there are thieves. More memories, of friends, relatives. Turned out in the street when they failed to pay the ever increasing rents Vaelag demanded for the hovels he owned. Beaten by Vaelag’s thugs for being ‘cheeky’. Forced to pay ‘protection money’ in order to have their meager businesses left alone. “Regardless, he was not a pleasant person. He was a bully and a cruel man. He enjoyed exercising power. He was also suave, sophisticated, and very, very rich.”

“Oh,” Zaerini said, a sympathetic look in her golden eyes. “I think I can see where this is going. I’m really sorry, Jan.”

So am I, your Worship. So am I. More memories. Lissa, turning away from him, her eyes distant. I’m sorry Jan…Vaelag wants me to come with him to this grand party he’s giving…haven’t you been invited? Perhaps I will see you later. No Jan…Vaelag is taking me shopping. No Jan, I don’t fancy any turnips…Vaelag took me to dinner last night…I never dreamed food could taste like that. I’m sorry.

He hurried on, eager to get the story over and done with. “I had asked Lissa to marry me and she had agreed. We were to be married at the midsummer's festival the following year. That was before she'd met Vaelag. Like most men, he took a liking to her immediately. He swept her off her feet. He showered her with gifts and city cultural events. At the time, my bitterness had me believe that he cast some sort of spell on her. In retrospect, knowing what I do about magic, she chose him of her own volition. She was pregnant shortly afterwards and they were married.” Jan paused, remembering the day when he had heard that bit of news. Lissa…couldn’t you have told me yourself? Didn’t I deserve that? But I suppose you had other things to think of at the time. He sighed again. “I would have given her that world, had I been able. I don't really believe it matters anymore. I just want her to be happy. Vaelag is a petty and cruel man but she loved him more than she loved me.”

“That is a very heroic thing to say!” Minsc said, nodding approvingly. “Minsc would be heartbroken of Boo ran off with some other ranger, but if it meant Boo was happy, then Minsc would let him go. I would still cry about it though.”

“Well, there’s nothing more to say about it,” Jan said. “What’s done is done. But Lissa is obviously in some kind of trouble, and I need to see what it’s all about, and if I can help.”

“Of course,” Zaerini said. “I understand that, and if we can help you, we will.”

Edwina shrugged. “I think you should have simply killed this Vaelag person,” she said. “Then you could have assumed his position and you would have had power, money, and probably the girl as well, if money was what she cared most about, which sounds likely. Problem solved, end of boring story.” Then she yelped as Zaerini elbowed her in the ribs. “What? Ha, catch me trying to be helpful again. You lot simply don’t deserve the sage-like advice of an expert relationship councilor such as myself…”

Jan paid little attention to it. His mind was once again focused elsewhere. If I can help her, then I will. I would do anything for her. Lissa…

Anomen, too, was thinking about his family. Well, about Moira, to be specific. He had decided that he should make himself as presentable as possible before going to see his sister. Not only because Moira deserved it, but because of his father too. Under the unfortunate circumstances that he would be unable to avoid Cor Delryn entirely, then he meant to be clean, groomed and neat, to give himself as much moral support as possible. He would need it. Or the despicable drunkard will surely demean my appearance as well as my morals, calling me a wastrel and a vagabond no doubt. And this despite the fact that he will lie about in a half-stupor all day, his clothes and beard stained with sour wine and old vomit. How Moira puts up with him I really do not know.

He had tried, more than once, to persuade his sister to leave their lout of a sire, as Anomen himself had done. Always she had refused, her blue eyes fearful at the very thought of rebellion. Sometimes I wonder if I was wrong to leave, if I should have stayed behind for her sake. But if I had done so…then I fear that my sire and I would have come to blows ere long. He always knew just the way to rouse my ire, and I fear…even despite Moira’s gentle influence, I fear that he might well have goaded me into becoming a patricide.

His anger. His terrible black anger, that was the curse he suffered under, and nobody knew that as well as Anomen himself did. The anger that bubbled inside him like a poisonous brew, always ready to overflow, the anger that snarled within like a barely caged beast. Anger at his father, for all the abuse, for the way he had treated his family. Anger at the Order, for every time Anomen’s dedication to righteousness had been questioned, every grueling task put in front of him, every time he had to prove himself while others seemed to sail past him effortlessly. Anger at every jeer and taunt by some of the other squires, every snide reference to his mercantile family, so plebeian compared to the others’ mostly aristocratic backgrounds. Anger at his mother for dying, leaving him and Moira at the mercies of a mean-spirited drunkard. Anger even at his poor sister for refusing to run as he himself had done. But always, anger first and foremost at himself.

Why? Why can I not be the man, the knight I wish to be? Why do I always seem to fail at everything I attempt? I try so hard to be a perfect knight, I always do, but…I know I am anything but perfect. Surely Helm must see that, during the Test, surely he must see into my heart and see the blackness within. I will fail, I know it. I will fail, and they will all laugh at me, and my sire will jeer and tell me how he always knew what a worthless son I am. And he will be right too. I have wanted to be a knight ever since I was old enough to understand what it meant, and I still do, but it is hard…so hard. I see wickedness everywhere, and I want to lash out against it, but there is wickedness in mine own heart as well, the worst and darkest kind. No wonder…no wonder that she could not love me.

Anomen swallowed briefly, thinking about Zaerini. But the wizard is assuredly evil too, and proud of his wickedness. Perhaps that is not why she rejected me in his favor. Perhaps it is simply that I am as much of a failure as a man as I am as a knight. An oafish squire, a complete bore, one whom a woman will turn down even in favor of another woman. That last humiliation really hurt. It was painful enough to be rejected, but to be defeated by a woman… May my father never, ever learn of that. I could not take it. I do not even think I could tell Moira about it.

Anomen turned into the Temple District, still in an extremely black mood. He could already see the symbol of Helm glittering from the roof of the temple. He really should go inside, to say his devotions. Of course, he couldn’t see how his god could possibly want anything to do with a miserable failure such as himself, but that was another story. He still had a duty to his Lord, and perhaps, just perhaps, a moment’s quiet prayer would help calm him down. At least this is as bad as it gets. I could not possibly be more unhappy than this.

It was then that Anomen saw the messenger coming towards him. Terl…yes, that was his name. Anomen knew the man’s face well, with its pinched look and glittering little brown eyes under a mop of fair hair. A professional messenger, he had been employed by Cor Delryn more than once, though Anomen had never been able to stand the man. For one thing, he always seemed to bring bad news, and to take delight in doing so. As he spotted Anomen, there was a fleeting little smile on his face that made the cleric’s fists itch.

“Anomen Delryn, son of Cor, I come as the bearer of dire news,” the messenger said. “Your father requests your presence at his estate.”

Does he now? Well, he may require it as much as he likes. I will not go. Let him rot in his wine-induced stupor for all I care. “Dire news, say you?” Anomen said, his voice as cold as he could make it. “I have no desire to return to my father’s house. Tell me why I should wish to do so.”

Terl bowed slightly, his voice mild. “I fear it concerns your sister, my lord…”

Anomen drew in breath, feeling as if he had just been punched in the guts. Terrible fear gripped his heart, and he could hear his own blood roaring in his ears. “M-Moira? What ails her? Tell me at once, man!”

Terl didn’t smile as such, but simply spoke on in that mild, somehow moist voice, brimming over with fake sympathy. “Your sister is dead. Most foully murdered, by all accounts.”

Moira? Dead? MURDERED? No…NO! NO! She can’t be dead…she mustn’t! The roaring in his ears grew louder, and his vision turned gray and blurry, even as tears burned behind his eyes. I was supposed to save you… “How…” he managed.

“I cannot say, my lord. Perhaps you should return home as your father has requested.”

Anomen somehow managed to nod his affirmation. He hardly noticed Terl leaving, he simply stood there in the middle of the street, tears streaming down his face. Moira…