Flailing About

Soy un perdedor.
-- Beck

Anomen glared at the small pyramid of twigs within the circle of rock, hoping the heat of his temper would do what the flint and steel would not. But no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, the twigs would not catch fire. There they lay, teasing him -- mocking him! -- with their inflammability. No doubt about it, the sticks had joined in the great Faerunian conspiracy against him.

The ladies Renai and Jaheira and the foreigner Yoshimo had scattered since the little group made its early camp, leaving Anomen alone to take care of the domestic chores. Well, he hadn't been told to, but he'd certainly be shouted down if they all came back and found nothing done. Probably. Maybe.

Yes, the twigs were, indeed, in league with his antagonists. All of them. Whomever they were.
Bah! Let them eat their meat cold! I've better things to do than play maid to a band of ruffians. Giving the kindling a disgusted sniff, Anomen stalked out of the camp and into the woods.

Fatigue bit at his heels as he kicked at the dirt and stones before him, making him glad he had taken off his armor when they stopped for the day. But even feeling the sun on his shoulders didn't take the weight of his troubles off his back. And on days like this, he felt as if he could break beneath them.

Who is he to say such a thing to me? he fumed. Even now, hours after their departure from the de'Arnise Keep, the thought of Brant, the priest of Helm fetched by Nalia's servant to raise her from death, still brought Anomen's temper to a boil. I have not traded my love of Helm for the glory of gold. I have not! How dare he say such a thing to me!

That Helm had not granted Anomen the power to raise the girl from death hurt Anomen's pride as much as Brant's superior attitude. For how long had it been since he had felt Helm's presence around him? He was afraid to think on it, for fear that it had been much longer than he wanted to admit.

It was the same old problem brought forward in new form -- he was a priest, not a paladin; a warrior, not an ascetic, and never could he reconcile any of it with anyone, especially himself.

So upset now he could hardly see, Anomen didn't feel the stinging cuts of the leaves and branches as pushed through the thick woods. Nor did he have any idea where he was going. Just forward. Just away.

Something crashed through the thicket before him -- missing him by a fingertip -- bounced off a tree and landed at his feet with a loud rattle. Anomen leapt back, reaching for his mace that wasn't there before he realized that the projectile had been the Flail of the Ages, which now lay innocently in the moss.

Following the flail's flight path, Anomen peered through the leaves into a small clearing in the woods. At its center, stomping about energetically and elliptically, was the Lady Renai. Her hands were balled into fists and fury masked her face.

She looks like a child throwing a temper tantrum, Anomen thought, then vowed to himself never to let her know he'd ever thought it. In the four days since he'd met Renai, he'd experienced both her spitfire temper as well as her kindness, and the difference between the two often confounded him. And the girl he thought was a street urchin in rags had turned out, after a change of wardrobe and a bath, to be a warrior woman of dark beauty. Every time he thought he'd figured her out, she turned out to be something else entirely. It was maddening.

"Stupid, stupid flail. Stupid, stupid magic weapons," he heard her growling as she stormed toward the thicket. Dismayed, Anomen took up the flail and fought down his impulse to run away. Taking a deep breath, he pushed his way through the branches to greet her.

"Well met--" was all he managed to say, and somehow he found himself lying flat on his back, his jaw numb and his ears ringing. A dark shape blocked his vision, and underneath the ringing he thought he heard a voice saying something he couldn't quite make out.

Cool, healing magic washed over him, taking the pain in his jaw away before it could begin. Anomen realized the shape above him was Renai, and it was her voice repeating, "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Gods, I am so sorry."

"Wha ..." he managed to reply.

"Oh, dammit, dammit, damnit!" Renai smoothed her hand over his brow, then leapt up. "I can't heal you again! Don't move! I'm going to get a healing potion from my pack!"

"Wait. Wait, my lady, don't ... ah ... it's not necessary. I'm not hurt." Which was not entirely a lie. His head spun, but being around her usually had that effect upon him.

"You're sure?" Renai sounded doubtful, but she halted her flight back toward the camp. "I hit you pretty hard. I hurt myself hitting you, so I know that had to hurt you. Gods, Anomen, what in the Nine Hells were you doing? You scared ten years off my life!"

"I found this." Anomen looked down at his hand and saw he had somehow managed to keep hold of the flail. "I was passing by ..." And then he realized what she'd said. "You hit me? You hit me?" He could see the mark of his jaw on her knuckles, and a slight ache was starting across his face. She's but a woman! That strike nearly took my head off! How did a woman do such a thing?

"I am so sorry. I didn't mean to hit you. It was a reflex. I didn't know anyone else was out here. I was trying to learn how to use that flail Nalia gave me." Dropping to her knees, Renai took the weapon from him and grimaced at it, again muttering, "Stupid, stupid flail."

She's half my size! How did she managed to hit me so hard? It's not possible! Anomen inched gingerly away from Renai, just in case she decided to take her wrath out on either the flail or him again. But instead, she quirked her eyebrow at him and asked, "I don't supposed you know how to use this thing, do you?"

"I have used a flail in battle before," Anomen said slowly, still trying to clear his head, "so I am sure I could use that one." Indeed, he had been coveting the magical weapon ever since the Lady Nalia had given it to Renai upon their departure from the keep, a reward for helping her establish her position as the keep's rightful heir.

Renai rose, then grabbed Anomen's arm and hauled him to his feet, and he could do nothing expect follow as she lead him into the clearing. "Good! You can teach me. I want to at least try the bloody thing before I send it back to Nalia."

"My lady, I'm afraid I am not much of a teacher," Anomen tried to protest. But in Renai's dark eyes was an expectation and a complete confidence in him he'd never had from anyone in his life. Not only that, but the potential for beauty in her he had noticed when they met was now a prettiness that tied his tongue into a knot and undid him completely. "But I'll try," he bleated.

"Good. All right, I'm all yours. So, what do I do?"

Using the Flail of the Ages was an thrill for Anomen that could never be equaled. The magic within it seemed to make it easier to handle than any weapon he'd ever touched. Instead of fumbling, as he expected he would do because she watched him so intently, Anomen was able to execute each manuever perfectly. It was almost painful to relinquish it to Renai so she could try.

For Renai, the experience was painful and frustrating. Until now, Anomen never would have thought that the graceful Renai could look awkward, but with that weapon, she moved like a cross-eyed waterbird dancing with two left feet.

He managed to pluck the flail from her hands before she threw it into the bushes again. "Perhaps we're approaching this incorrectly."

"You think?!" Renai snapped, then shook her head. "Sorry, sorry. I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at that ... that ..."

"Stupid, stupid flail?" Anomen offered.

"Yes! Gods, yes!"

Anomen looked from the flail to Renai and then back at the flail. Renai was quick and -- he rubbed his jaw again -- strong. He could not reason why she could not use the flail. "With what weapons are you familiar?"

"I'm an archer. I am the bow. Oh, and I know the staff, of course." She sighed sharply. "I knew before I came out here that it would be a dumb idea. Stupid weapons. I hate weapons."

"How can you hate weapons?" Anomen looked at the flail. It still seemed a magnificent piece of craftsmanship. How could she dislike such a thing? "The staff is a weapon."

"Not really. A staff isn't just a weapon, it's practical. I mean, I can use it as a walking aid, or as a vaulting tool, or to prop my tent up. Or to help carry buckets of water. It's the most useful piece of equipment in the world! Behind the towel, of course."

"But it is a weapon."

"Yes, but it's not like that," she gestured to the flail. "Most weapons have one purpose -- to kill." A troubled look stole across her face, and she muttered, "I hate to kill."

"But you do it so well." Renai shot him a black glare, making Anomen bite his lip and wish he could take back his words. "I meant no offense," he said hastily.

After a long moment, her face softened. "I don't guess you ever do, do you?" she said so quietly he almost didn't hear her.

"But, my lady," Anomen cautiously pressed, "surely you agree that the bow is a weapon."

Renai thought for a moment. "It is, but again, it's something more. When you shoot -- when you really know how to shoot -- you're one with the whole entire world. And when you know without a doubt that you can hit what you're aiming at ... " she smiled a secret smile that Anomen was sure she hadn't meant for him to see. "When you can do that, you don't have to actually hit your target. And it feels ... oh, I can't describe it. Like when you know your god hears your prayers. You know."

Something I have not felt for some time. Perhaps I should try her methods, Anomen thought bleakly, though I would fare worse with the bow than she has with the flail. "Perhaps then, my lady, you should keep to the bow and quarterstaff. I do not believe I've ever seen your equal in the use of those two weapons."

Renai gave him an odd look, then laughed softly. "My goodness, a compliment. I never thought I'd see the day." Before he could reply, she clapped her hands. "So I have an idea: Why don't you take the flail? If you want it, that is."

"You're ... you're giving me the flail?"

"Well, you can't have it. It still belongs to Nalia, and she'll want it back someday, I'm sure. But until then, you should be the one to wield it."

Anomen could not find the words to thank her. Now he felt the sun on his shoulders, and his view of his near future in Athkatla didn't seem to be so grey at all. He had a weapon, one that would make the knights at the Hall and the other Watchers of Helm green with envy. They'll not laugh at me now! I'll be Anomen, son of Cor and the "Botcher of Helm" no longer! I am Anomen Delryn, the liberator of the de'Arnise Keep and the holder of the Flail of the Ages!

Fingers snapped before his eyes, and he looked down to see Renai grinning up at him. "You were starting to scare me, wonder boy. You're looking at that flail a little too familiarly."

"Forgive me, my lady," he stammered and began to trip over his words of thanks until she waved him off.

"Gods, stop thanking me. We'll be here all night. Besides, the catch is, you have to remain with us, because if I lose that stupid thing, I'm sure Nalia will whine at me, and I certainly don't want that."

"I'm afraid that's not entirely my decision, my lady. My travels ultimately must be approved by my superiors within the Order."

"Well, too bad. If you're not certain, I can't let you have it then. Give it back." Her answer so surprised Anomen that he did not resist when she took the flail from him. She returned his open-mouthed stare with a stern look, which broke under her sudden giggles.

"I'm kidding," Renai laughed. "You're too easy, boy." She started to hand him the flail, then snatched it back before he could take hold of it. "Way too easy. What am I going to do with you?"

"I'm not sure," said Anomen, still somewhat bewildered. After an afternoon of finally feeling at ease in Renai's presence, the sensation of being spun like a top had returned. He could not decide whether to laugh with her or become irritated, or just to run away.

But Renai's dark eyes seemed mirthful, not cruel, and this type of teasing was more pleasant than Anomen knew. "Tell you what," she said, swinging the flail lazily before her, "I'll give this up to you if you'll answer one question for me."

"If I am able, my lady, I shall."

"Why were you at the Coronet?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I've been wondering, because you don't belong in a place like that at all. And Yoshimo said ... " And Anomen had to wince a little at how easily she said the foreigner's name. " ... there are lots of other taverns in Athkatla, better ones, where you could have found adventurers. So why the Coronet?"

What shall I tell her? That I was ridiculed or ignored at every other tavern in the city? Will I say that my place within the Order is so precarious that I would have gone to the Nine Hells to find redemption? But all he could say was, "It seemed as good a place as any. All taverns are cesspools for corruption."

Renai seemed to think about his answer for a moment, as if she were on the verge of asking another question. But instead she said, "Lucky for us you were there, then."

Anomen felt his face flame, and he could not look at her when he said, "And if I might be so bold as to ask, my lady ..."

"Ask away, O most formal man on Toril."

"What made you decide to ask me to come with you?"

After careful consideration, she said, "I'm a sucker for an underdog, I suppose." Anomen waited for more, but she said nothing.

Again she surprises me. How is it that I've never met a woman like her before? Thank you, Helm, for leading my steps to the Copper Coronet that day. I do not want to know what I would have missed if I had not had this opportunity. And for the briefest of moments, he felt completely one with all the good things in the world. For the first time in a long time.

"Tell me, my lady," he asked her as they walked back to the campsite, "what do you know about the Order of the Most Radiant Heart?"

"Oh, man," he thought he heard Renai moan under her breath, but when she looked up at him, she was smiling. "I bet you're going to tell me all about it, aren't you?"