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Unwilling to Acquiesce – Part 7


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#1 Guest_No One of Consequence_*

Posted 18 June 2003 - 01:47 AM

“Well, you were right first time, Jaheira,” says Adamant. “This is Athkatla all right.”

The party has regathered after scattering to investigate the market. About them is the bustle of a day’s trade, people bartering and buying, selling and haggling. The three escapees from Irenicus’ dungeon have spent the past half hour investigating the market, trying to find out as much information as possible. Of highest priority has been where they are, who the cowled men who took Imoen might be and where they have taken her.

“The Cowled Wizards have Imoen,” explains Yoshimo and Jaheira nods to show her information agrees with his. “They have been given charge over magic in this city, licensing mages and imprisoning unlicensed practitioners. That is why they took her.”

“Where though?” asks Adamant.

“That, no one could answer for me,” replies Yoshimo, shaking his head regretfully.

“Nor for I,” adds Jaheira. “I managed to find an old ‘friend’ who runs a kind of store for adventurers here in the market. He told me that the ways of these Cowled Wizards are cloaked in secrecy, but if we are committed to negotiating with them we should try at the house of the city Council. Apparently this is where the Wizards sell their licenses.”

“Sell?” This notion catches Adamant’s attention. “For how much.”

“A great sum apparently,” Jaheira shrugs. “Ribald, my friend, could not say the exact amount.”

The three lapse into thoughtful silence, allowing the sounds to wash over them like an incoming tide. Arguments over the quality of fish; the relative merits of doeskin versus sheepskin; indecision about oranges; gossip about a daughter’s husband and a cousin’s second wife; the myriad conversations intermingle to form an ever shifting collage of humanity. After the unspeakable horrors of Irenicus laboratory and the brutal magical battle at the climax of their escape, the normal-ness of the market is like a healing balm for their ragged and wounded souls.

“So where to now, fearless leader?” asks Jaheira eventually. Her face is sour, her thoughts returning continually to her dead husband.

“I suppose we find ourselves an inn; plan what to do next; get some rest,” offers Adamant with a shrug.

Jaheira rounds on the paladin and her pent up pain and horror bursts out. “Is that the best you can think of? Do you imagine Imoen’s captors are sitting still, waiting for you to get some rest? And what of this bastard mage they’ve taken with them? How will finding a nice, warm inn and settling down for the night bring us closer to the avenging my dead beloved…Khalid?!” It is the mention of her husband’s name that helps Jaheira realise that she is out of control and venting her rage at the wrong person.

“I am sorry, Adamant,” she says in a softer voice than the paladin can ever remember hearing her use. “You do not deserve that.”

“It’s understandable,” is all he says in reply. He is about to say more when a lull in the noise of the crowd carries the sound of weeping to his ears. Quickly looking about, Adamant sees a small boy crouched under the guy wire of a large and gaudy tent. Tears stream down the child’s face and he picks absently at the hem of his tunic.

“What’s wrong, child?” Adamant asks, squatting down in front of the boy.

“My mum,” replies the child with a voice made hoarse by a long period of weeping. “They won’t let her out. She took me to the circus and now they won’t let her out!”

“The circus?” asks Jaheira, puzzled by the boy’s story.

“An odd place to take prisoners,” adds Yoshimo.

“Come,” says Adamant gently, offering his hand to the boy. “Show me.”

The little boys hand is swallowed whole by the steel grip of Adamant’s gauntlet. Leading the knight around the guy wires to the front of the tent, the little boy points to where a spearman stands watch at the tent’s entrance. Patting him reassuringly on the shoulder, Adamant walks forward to talk with the guard.

“Halt citizen,” challenges the guard in a loud voice. “The circus is closed and this tent has been quarantined until the Cowled Wizards can be called to investigate.”

“Quarantined? Why?”

“A magical disturbance,” explains the guard. “Something to do with a prestidigitator’s show that went wrong. Now, whoever goes in, doesn’t come out.”

“Hhmmm,” Adamant nods thoughtfully. “How long ago were the Cowled Wizards summoned?”

“A couple of hours,” the guard answers sheepishly. “I had thought they’d be here by now.”

“Well look,” offers Adamant, doing his best to appear reasonable and accommodating. “My friends and I can handle ourselves. Maybe we could take a look, for you. You know, maybe get this sorted out.”

The guard thinks for a moment about the offer. Eventually, as he can see no legitimate reason to object, he shrugs his shoulders and agrees. “It’s your funeral,” he says, stepping aside from the entrance.

Adamant waves the young boy over, with Jaheira and Yoshimo following. “Don’t worry, youngster,” he tells the boy. “We’ll see if we can’t bring your mum out, ok?”

The boy nods and wipes his sniffily nose. With a nod of his head, Adamant hefts the Chaos Sword and leads his companions into the circus tent.




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