In The Cards

It is a fact that many things come in threes. Weddings. Funerals. Accidents. Door-salesmen, although they are too afraid to come here anymore since that incident with the last one. Oh, and annoying people and creatures getting in your way when you're really busy. Those always come at least three at a time.

Excerpt from Ruminations of a Master Bard

"Hold Montaron, this young wayfarer is in need. Someone has set about thee, stranger, and you have barely escaped with your life." The man who had spoken looked like nobody Zaerini had ever seen before. The grotesque tattoos that covered his face were only part of it. He was wearing dark green mage robes, so his profession was no great mystery, but there was a glint to his eyes that made her think of a dog coming down with the foaming sickness.

Rini had met more than one mage before, even excluding Gorion. It was not unusual for wizards to travel to Candlekeep to pursue research in the great library there, and she had always enjoyed speaking to them. Wizards tended to know things that interested her, and they were usually quite fascinating to talk to. The ones that would tolerate a precocious half-elf girl badgering them, that was. She had learned early on to stay away from the less sociable mages after a particularly bad-tempered old Necromancer threatened to turn her into an ant and step on her. Retaliation had been sweet though. The next day he had woken up to find his bedclothes infested with red ants and fleas, and the itching had been bad enough to keep him from casting spells for several days. Still, Zaerini had learnt her lesson. Some wizards probably would have carried out their threat. This tattooed stranger among them.

Oh, the man sounded polite enough. Helpful, even. But something about the way he watched her made her feel dirty, as if his eyes were caressing her skin. The leer on the face of his companion, a scruffy-looking halfling, did nothing to improve her mood.

"Aye Xzar, looks to have been roughed up quite well," the little man grinned, making Zaerini acutely aware of the way the leather of her vest had torn across her shoulder. "'Course, some girls like it rough."

The mage's rich, fruity voice deepened a little at that. "Indeed," he said. "I wonder what this one…likes. I can offer you healing potions, if you wish, as a token of…good will."

"No, thank you," Zaerini said, making her voice as cold as possible. "My father always taught me not to accept gifts from strangers. We will manage on our own." Out of the corner of her eye she could see Imoen nod vigorously. "Besides," she added, "as you have guessed I was attacked last night. I suspect it will be a while yet before I confide in mysterious strangers who turn up out of nowhere to offer their services for free. I assume you were offering them for free?" She watched the two man carefully as she spoke. The halfling snorted with amusement, and the wizard looked a little taken aback. But neither of them had reacted in any visible way to her mention of the attack. Probably they weren't among the people hunting her then. Probably.

"You do not trust us?" the wizard asked, his tattooed face twisted into a sorrowful grimace. "I feel hurt. So, so hurt. And here I was going to offer you a ride on my dragon. Oh, the gibbous moon was bright last night and there were unholy stenches in the air, I tell you. The shapes! The horrible, horrible shapes, geometry unfathomable by mortals!" His eyes suddenly rolled back into his head so that only the whites showed. "Yr'Liäää!" he screamed. "The Great Devourer is coming! We must all grow gills and carry a rubber ducky!"

Zaerini and Imoen took a hasty step back as the wizard started to spin around in a circle, arms outstretched and making buzzing noises.

"Oh, bloody marvelous," the halfling snarled and yanked at his companion's robes. "Now you've gone and set him off."

"What…what's wrong with him?" Imoen asked in a near whisper.

"Little bit too fond of demonology," the halfling answered, then stuck out a leg to trip the wizard up. The tattooed face struck the cracked stones of the road with a loud smacking sound that made both the Candlekeep girls wince. It seemed to help him recover however. Once he got to his feet again his eyes were more lucid than before.

"I shall not hold thee to a debt of honor for slighting my...good intentions, though your conscience may," he said as he started to brush himself off. "Perhaps as payment you would go with us to Nashkel. It is a troubled area and we mean to investigate some disturbing rumors surrounding the local mine. Some acquaintances are very concerned about the iron shortage. Specifically, where to lay blame in the matter. You would be useful, though I'll not hold you to it. We are to meet the mayor of the town, a man named Berrun Ghastkill, I believe."

Zaerini looked at Imoen and saw her friend discreetly shake her head. The half-elf felt she had to agree. "I don't think so," she said, carefully keeping her voice neutral. "We have business elsewhere at this time." And then she felt fingers gripping her arm, stroking it gently.

"Such a…pity," the wizard purred. "We could have been very…beneficial to each other, I am sure." Resisting the urge to punch him in the middle of his fat, leering mouth, the half-elf simply assisted the mage in the brushing off of road dust. She paid particular attention to the area around the waist and was disgusted to hear him sigh with pleasure. But she wanted to avoid an unnecessary fight with what seemed like two thoroughbred pieces of filth if she could possibly avoid it. She had a better idea.

"Perhaps another time," she said, her voice frosty. She walked off down the road, feeling the burning looks of the two strangers against her back until she was well out of sight. Then she stopped to vigorously rub her hands in the dirt along the road, trying to feel clean again.

"Rini, what were you doing?" Imoen asked. "How could you…touch that man?"

"Because," the half-elf said, "firstly we are tired and inexperienced. Had we fought them they might have killed us. Or worse. I'd do plenty worse to keep that from happening to either of us. Secondly, had we gone along with them they might have got it into their heads to make certain other demands than just going to Nashkel. Though that mine thing did sound interesting. We might want to check that out later." She grinned, a wicked light filling her golden eyes. "And thirdly," she smirked, displaying several folded spell scrolls with a deft flourish of her hand, "I thought it rather fun and profitable to pick that creep's pockets. Gorion always promised to teach me magic. I think I'm about to make a few efforts on my own. I could still use a real wizard to help though."

"Just not that one," Imoen said with a shudder.

"No," Zaerini agreed. "Definitely not that one. But we have some way to go yet before we reach the Friendly Arm Inn. Who knows what we may come across."

An hour later the two girls were still walking along the road heading east. Judging from the map she carried Zaerini thought that they must be very close to the crossroads where they were supposed to turn north. Then they wouldn't have very far to go.

"Not that far now, Immy," she said. "And no more insane wizards, thank goodness for that."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Imoen said, pointing at a figure approaching in the distance. "Look."

The person coming towards them certainly looked like a wizard. No man would wear ankle length red robes unless he had magic to back him up against all possible mockers. The fellow was old, with a white beard that almost reached his waist, and his face didn't look insane. There were no tattoos either. But there was the fact that he was wearing a large and pointy hat, sort of like a red cone with a wide brim.

"Yes, you may be right," Zaerini said, sighing. "Madman number two coming up." If the stranger heard her words he made no sign of it. He simply raised his hand in greeting.

"Ho there wanderer," he said. "Stay thy course a moment to indulge an old man. It's been nigh unto a tenday since I've seen a soul walking this road, and I've been without decent conversation since. Traveling nowadays appears to be the domain of either the desperate or the deranged; If thou woulds't pardon my intrusion, might I inquire which pertains to thee?"

"Yep," Imoen said. "Number two."

Zaerini nodded. "Desperate or deranged?" she asked the wizard. "Neither desperate nor deranged enough to want to wear a hat like that, I can tell you that much."

"Thou wouldst question my fashion-sense?" the mage asked, eyes twinkling. For some reason that slightly smug and patronizing look on his face irritated Zaerini immensely.

"Why not?" she asked. "You question my sanity. And one more thing. You might get more in the way of 'decent conversation' if you show the courtesy of introducing yourself before you start interrogating people."

The mage chuckled, white beard jumping a little. "Point taken," he said. "But true names can be most dangerous on the road, something thou wouldst do well to remember, young lady. I shall detain thee no longer then, as I see that thou art in something of a hurry. To the north is the Friendly Arm Inn, and friends thou mayest indeed find within its walls. Fare thee well." He walked off down the road, still chuckling.

"Was that annoying or what?" Zaerini asked.

"What?" Imoen said. "The 'deranged' thing or the twisty talk?"

"Both. And most of all that 'thee' and 'thou'. Made him sound like an actor in a really old play. And not a very good actor either." That made her think of something. "Want to help me rehearse?" she asked. "I brought along 'the Complete Works of Avon Stratford'. The Bard, you know. I thought I might try to earn some money performing when we reach the Inn. We need all we can get."

"Sure!" Imoen enthusiastically agreed.

"I think 'Gimlet, Dwarf of Granithome' will do fine. Let's try the scene where Gimlet finally gets to kill his father's murderer. I think I can get into the mood without a problem."

Imoen frowned. "But Rini, Gimlet is a male. A male dwarf."

¨Zaerini shrugged. "Well," she said, "that makes it even better practice, doesn't it?"

The woods thinned out as the two girls continued north, giving way to rocky ground. So far they had been able to travel in peace, the notable exception being a single, twisted little black creature that ran screaming at them from out of some bushes. For one brief second Rini had thought it was the halfling Montaron before she recognized it for a gibberling. Not a very healthy looking one either. Two arrows struck it and it went down, still with a snarl on its face.

Zaerini had gotten halfway through the dwarf Gimlet's dying monologue by the time they heard the roar. There might have been some fainter sounds earlier, but if so they had been drowned out by a half-elf girl trying to imitate the gruff voice of a dwarf in an axe-fight, complete with dwarvish swear-words. The sound made her break off in mid-sentence. Whatever that beast was, it was large. Then the roar sounded again, closer this time. "Immy?" Zaerini said. "What do you think that is?"

"Dunno," Imoen replied, sounding rather nervous. "But whatever it is I don't think it likes your acting."

"Critics," Zaerini muttered, shaking her head. "No way of satisfying them…" There was another roar. "On second thought, perhaps we'd better just run for it. Or at least start walking a little faster." The two girls picked up their pace after that. It was difficult to keep from running full speed, but Zaerini was afraid of risking exhaustion unless it was absolutely necessary. By now the sun was starting to set, and the shadows were lengthening by the minute. She could probably manage fairly well in the dark. Imoen might not be so lucky though.

A third roar, very close behind them this time, and heavy footsteps approaching.

"Is this the part where we run?" Imoen asked, panting heavily.

Zaerini turned around. A large shape came crashing out of the vegetation. A large shape with a bald head, arms as thick as a grown man's legs and a very large club. Skin a sickly brownish-green. Your ordinary, everyday ogre.

"Yes," the half-elf breathed. "This is the part where we run." And she set off down the road like a rabbit with its tail on fire, Imoen close behind. Unfortunately it soon became apparent that running would do them no good. Fast as they were, the ogre's legs were much longer.

"It's gaining on us!" Imoen screamed.

Zaerini was thinking furiously, a task not made easier by the fact that her throat felt raw and parched, her breath was coming in wheezy gasps and her heart had dropped into her stomach by the feel of it. The ogre roared again and she could feel the stink of its breath, smelling strongly of rotten meat. It reminded her of Abduh, a big, mean and half-witted boy who had set out from Candlekeep a year ago to become an adventurer. No one had heard from him since, but while he lived there he had been a big bully, always trying to pick on the two girls and always getting himself humiliated in the process. And that memory gave Zaerini an idea.

"Immy!" she cried. "Scatter! Like the mud fight!" She was referring to a memorable event when the two friends had kept Abduh chasing one of them at a time while the other one pelted him with mud. She could see that Imoen got her point immediately. The human girl veered sharply away from the road, dodging behind a group of trees. Zaerini took off in the other direction. The ogre hesitated for a moment, uncertain what to do. Then it grunted and took off after Imoen, probably because her pink clothes were easier to spot in the darkness. Zaerini could see Imoen crouching behind the trees now. Whenever the ogre turned to go around them she immediately changed direction, always keeping the trees between herself and the monster. Perfect.

Oh, please don't let me miss this time, Zaerini prayed to whichever god might be inclined to listen. And she didn't. The arrow hit the ogre square in the butt, making it howl with pain and fury. Then it turned around and Zaerini could see its small eyes glow red in the darkness as it turned its attention on her. Oh crap, she just had time to think before it came after her. She barely dodged an enormous fist that would have cracked her skull like an egg had it hit. Then she jumped across a pile of fallen logs, feeling warm spittle hit her on the throat as the ogre screamed with rage and frustration. Yuck, Rini thought. Almost as disgusting as Abduh.

The fight probably lasted for about a quarter of an hour, but it felt like an eternity. A hot, sweaty eternity of near deaths. Eventually one of Zaerini's arrows struck true. Straight in the monster's beady left eye it went, to burrow inside its tiny brain. The ogre smiled sheepishly, burped once and keeled over dead. There was a minute or two of extreme silence.

"Must be my elven heritage," Zaerini said as she drew the arrow out, sparing a moment to kick the dead ogre. "Elves are said to be great archers after all. I think I'll keep this arrow as a memento. Cover it with gold, one day when I get really rich and famous."

"Yeah, Firehead?" Imoen said, her face mischievous. "I suppose gold is better than ogre brains. But if you're such a great archer, how come you dragged it out like that?"

"Er… to make it more dramatic, don't you know. A grand climax to an epic fight." Zaerini bent to see what Imoen was doing. The human girl was kneeling by the dead ogre, fumbling with something. "What's that?"

"It was wearing two belts," Imoen said, holding them up. "And now that I got them off they've shrunk from ogre-size. Looks like they could fit."

"Probably magical then," Zaerini said, her amber eyes glowing with sudden interest. "They could be worth a fortune! Good going, Immy! But we probably shouldn't try them on yet. We don't know what they do."

"Guess not." Leaving the dead ogre behind the two girls headed back to the road, the darkness now feeling less frightening than before. They had killed an ogre, all by themselves.

"Pity we didn't have our bows in that fight with Abduh," Imoen mused.

"It wouldn't have worked anyway," Zaerini said. "Abduh doesn't have a brain to hit."

Imoen giggled. "Know what else?" she said. "In a contest between Abduh and the ogre, I'd say the ogre was definitely cuter." Their laughter echoed long between the hills, for the moment free of care again, as it had been only a day before. They were still laughing silently when they reached the top of a hill and saw the dark and massive shape of a fortress silhouetted against the sky, the faintest traces of red sunlight still illuminating its tallest tower. They had arrived at the Friendly Arm Inn.