Chapter Text
“What about you, who do you like?” Cal lounged on a rock, absently picking weeds that grew at its base. He chewed the end of one of them. “That bard is really pretty, but she never talks to me. Kaldani’s cute too, and nice. She barely talks to me either, come to think of it.”
Lia sat on the dirt, propped up by her arms. “Don’t take it personally. Everyone here is standoffish. Tense. Can’t blame them, really.”
“True,” said Cal. “They’ve been through a lot. I think everyone just wants to get out of here. How about that Ikaron fellow? I saw him looking at you.”
“I doubt it. Likely sizing me up rather than admiring me. Bloke’s about as friendly as an acid mephit. That Lakrissa girl flirted with me the other day. She’s cute, but she flirts with everyone.” Lia shrugged.
“Aw, how come people talk to you and not me? That’s hardly fair.”
Their older brother, Rolan, sat on another rock, apart from his siblings, fixated on his thick spellbook, trying to shut out his brother and sister talking. He scribbled in its margins with a ratty-looking quill that had spent too much time knocking around in his pack, his face pinched in a concentrated scowl.
Cal took the weed out of his mouth and pointed it Rolan’s way. “What do you think, Rolan?”
Rolan held up a dwindling bottle of ink. “Hmm. Damn.” He glanced up from his studies, furrowing his brow. “What do I think about what?”
Cal leaned forward, conspiratorial. “Fancy anyone here?”
Rolan rolled his eyes. “Please. Meaningless nonsense.” He turned a page. “As if I’d throw myself in with any of this lot, besides. I’d rather die.”
Cal turned to Lia. “Rolan never likes anyone.”
She laughed mirthlessly. “What are you even doing? More scrolls?”
Rolan lowered his book. “No. Crafting a new spell. And I’d appreciate a little quiet, thank you.”
“Probably something showy,” said Cal. “What is it? Let me guess.” He held his hands up, fingers splayed. “Rolan’s Fireball! Handy for gnolls, I bet. No, wait, Rolan’s Charm Person. Get that warehouse girl to slip you some free ink and paper. Or Okta to feed you an extra bowl of gruel. I know much you love the gruel.”
Rolan chuckled. “You’ve been peeking into my spell books again, I see. Never you mind, you’ll see it when I’m finished,” he said.
Rolan’s mind wandered to when the three of them had been exiled from Elturel a few tenday ago. After the city had returned from the agonizing months they had spent in the Hells – known as the Descent – the government moved swiftly to seize all property of any tiefling residing in Elturel and boot them out, offering the owners only a pittance for what they had stolen.
Their house in the outskirts of the city proper - not much more than a ramshackle cottage left to them by their mother after her death some years before - had been no exception. When the Hellriders and hired mercenaries had come around, Rolan, Cal and Lia had only been given enough time to pack whatever meager belongings that they could fit into their packs.
As if by kismet, Rolan had received a magical summons from the wizard Lorroakan himself, delivered into his hands by a very beleaguered halfling who stepped out of a portal spell, shortly after they had returned from the Hells. The lightly-scented letter covered in a flourishing script promised him a prestigious apprenticeship in Baldur’s Gate, and he was to attend as soon as possible.
He had spent years writing to Lorroakan, and now he was finally recognized. That day had ended up being one of the worst and best days of his life - at the cusp of losing everything he had ever known, after having survived literal Hell, the promise of endless potential power and riches dropped into his hands.
The tiefling trio headed out, forced to detour to the south along the River Chionthar due to the chaos caused by the city’s reappearance. Bandits and other unsavory types had swarmed the roads, looking for easy marks among the fleeing and confused masses leaving, and taking advantage of the anonymous swarms of charity workers flooding in.
So, the siblings had traveled lightly and avoided the common roads. Sometimes there had been taverns along the way, but more often they eked out a hardscrabble existence in the dirt. Each day, civilization had seemed to recede further into the distance as the wilds spread out ahead of them.
There had been a few close calls – not only natural dangers like slippery stream rocks and shifting soil on high cliffs, but once they had nearly stumbled into a small pack of gnolls. Another time, Lia’s sharp eyes had spotted an ambush by possible thieves in the trees ahead. Both times they had been able to cut a wide berth, run, and avoid danger.
Rolan griped that his magic prowess would have been more than enough to protect them. His siblings hadn’t wanted to chance any encounters lest they be outnumbered, and argued against him exerting himself. Being tired, aching and hungry at the time, he had relented.
Those had been dour first days of their journey. Lia, sullen and pensive, with none of her usual fire and vivaciousness, had tried to focus on daily survival tasks. She and Rolan fought more than usual on the road. It had always been hard for him to keep his temper under control under her relentless badgering, most especially under these circumstances, and his sister always so expertly pushed his buttons. They had fought about how far to walk, what direction, when and how to set up camp for the night, and who would do what chores.
Cal had been the glue between them all, trying to make them see the positive side of things, telling bad jokes and funny stories from their childhoods on the road, and avoiding talk of the Descent at all times. He had taken the opportunity to improve his hunting skills, and scrounged up enough sloppily-butchered rabbit and boar meat for dinner most nights, for which he had made jests at his own expense to lighten the mood.
After one particularly successful hunt, a bout of balmy weather and a refreshing bath in a nearby clean stream, spirits had started to lift in their camp that night for all the siblings, and Rolan felt agreeable enough to cast his colored magic lightshow for their amusement. They’d cracked open a bottle of wine they had swiped and saved from an abandoned barn they had slept in a few nights before, and for the moment, they’d forgotten their sorrows.
Rolan had awoken that night to quiet sniffling noises. He remembered glancing up at the bright moon through the treetops, down to the shape of Lia snoring in her bedroll nearby, and then had spotted Cal, sitting on the edge of the dimming campfire light, facing the dark woods. Rolan approached tentatively, knowing his brother was crying. A small pit of dread formed in his gut but he sat next to Cal with a grunt, gracefully curling his tail beside him.
Cal had heard him coming and turned to him, eyes and cheeks wet. “Rolan. It’s all gone. Our house. All of mum’s things. All the memories.”
Rolan shifted his weight on the cold dirt. “Yes, I know. We’ll be fine. It’s a new beginning. That’s what you said, remember?”
Cal’s voice choked. “We couldn’t even take hardly anything. Those bastards stole it away. We’ll never see the garden again. We’ll never go to the treehouse by the river. Mum’s grave. Our friends.”
Rolan had felt a surge of anger and couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. “Oh, yes, how could I forget all our wonderful friends? Those friends that made themselves bloody scarce while Elturel’s thugs destroyed our lives. Who then stood by when everyone blamed us? To hell with all of them. Bastards.” He turned his body towards his brother, his fiery eyes blazing. “You listen to me, Cal. I will make sure we get everything back. You and Lia will want for nothing, and no one will be able to take anything away from us again, do you hear me? I swear it.”
Seeing his brother’s grief that night had reignited Rolan’s determination to get to Baldur’s Gate. This apprenticeship was his ticket to a better life for them all and nothing would stand in his way. Neither man had spoken of the previous night’s conversation as they packed up camp that morning, and Cal had returned to his cheerful, if slightly subdued, self.
Later that day, they had emerged from a wooded area onto a little-used dirt road. Lia had heard the wails and cries first, and sprinted ahead to get a look, despite her brothers’ protests. She stopped at the deep wagon tracks, blood and bodies strewn on the road, with sacks of food, linens, books and other belongings scattered among the gore. Rolan and Cal trotted up behind her, admonishing her brashness, but they had fallen silent once they stood at her side. Dead gnolls, and a few tieflings, laid in the blood-soaked mud. The voices came from up the road beyond the bend.
Hiking up his robes and gripping his quarterstaff, Rolan had barked to his brother and sister to stay behind him and be at the ready, as he strode down the road. Nothing could have prepared him for the sight before him; a huge caravan of tiefling refugees from Elturel, just like themselves. There were dozens of them, men, women and children, most huddled and sobbing, some holding weapons and trembling from adrenaline.
Two of their carts had been tipped over, and several agitated oxen that had wrested their yokes stood a distance away, scraping the rocks and soil with their hooves, their hides marked with bloody gashes. An older tiefling man, who seemed to be their leader, had been talking to a giant elf flanked by what looked like druids.
The tiefling leader immediately noticed Rolan’s group, and, pointing his swords at them, shouted at them to stay where they were. Lia and Cal had sheathed their weapons and put their hands up, while Rolan stubbornly squared his shoulders, lowering his staff but not relinquishing it.
This was when the siblings had met the caravan of refugees, fresh off a brutal attack by gnolls that had claimed three lives and injured countless others. The giant elf, the Archdruid Halsin, had luckily been out on patrol with two other druids, surveying his land, when they had heard the carnage and rushed to help. He offered the leader of the tieflings, Zevlor, refuge for his people in the nearby druid’s grove, the Emerald Grove, as he claimed this area had grown much more dangerous very recently, and so they needed to move quickly to safety.
Cal and Lia had jumped right away to assist the refugees in righting their carts, gathering the oxen, preparing the dead, and picking up whatever could be salvaged. Rolan had stood idly aside, ignoring pointed glances from the other tieflings.
He had never felt good about these refugees, thinking more deeply of it. Meeting them had been nothing but bad luck, and he felt annoyed that now, all these extra people intruded on his ambitions and his family. Despite this, he was swept up with his brother and sister and everyone else as they beat a hasty retreat to the fortified grove nestled in the heart of this wilderness, where they’d been for over four tenday now.
They had since been joined by a wandering group of adventurer trash led by a human named Aradin, and another human calling himself the Blade of Frontiers, which aggravated Rolan greatly. Humans were always so full of themselves, and despite these two men being worse than useless, it didn’t surprise him that the druids immediately treated them with more friendliness than they ever had any of the tieflings. It’s not like he cared for any of these refugees either, but it still stung.
Now, Rolan had to listen to Cal and Lia have inane conversations about the merits of these insufferable people, as they languished their days away in flea-infested muck, stuck in this stalemate situation. He tried to make the most of this down time, but it was hard to concentrate on his studies lately. Every day, he asked himself how it had come to this, and his eagerness to leave for Baldur’s Gate increased by the day, while the chances of leaving soon shrank more and more.
He had planned for them to head out, that very first day, as soon as everyone had settled in to the grove, but Cal and Lia had been hesitant to hit the road so soon. The grove had, at first, seemed like an oasis after hard times on the road. Rolan had wanted Cal and Lia to relax in relative comfort and refresh themselves for a short while, plus his siblings seemed to enjoy conversing with other people after having had only themselves to talk to for so long.
But the roads had become too dangerous in the meantime. And just like everyone everywhere else, these druids treated the tieflings like inconvenient leeches, and tensions rose. Sure, they had been polite on a surface level, healing their wounds and grudgingly offering meager rations, but Rolan sensed the judgment, the scorn, under the surface. He’d always rather someone hate him to his face, rather than keep up the pretense of good will. Being a tiefling, he was used to it.
The only druid worth a damn had been Halsin, but he had headed out recently on some fool’s errand with that prick Aradin. The rest of the druids used that as a perfect excuse to start some kind of ritual to kick them out of the grove, led by their new self-appointed Archdruid, Kagha. They faced involuntary exile, once more. Rolan felt his quill crack between his fingers as he realized he was grasping it too tightly.
Lia sat up straight. “Do you hear that?”
Distant shouts floated from the front gates, down into the grotto where they lounged. They saw a few tieflings, including Ikaron and Zevlor’s second in command, Asharak, running toward the gate, followed by that Blade of Frontiers man. Lia sprang to her feet, grabbing her bow.
Rolan dropped his book on the grass. “What the hells are you doing? Don’t get involved.”
“Something is happening! We have to check it out!” She sprinted up the dirt hill toward the gate behind the others.
Cal stood also, hesitant. “Come on, Rolan, we should follow her. Maybe it’s nothing.”
The shouting intensified, the words “goblins” and “gate” clear as day, and they heard the faint sounds of arrows and war cries.
“Or not,” said Cal, grabbing his shield and javelin.
“Cal, we cannot get involved in these petty skirmishes! We have a very important future awaiting us in Baldur’s Gate. Do you want to die in this godsforsaken place?”
“We can’t just let her go alone!” He ran after his sister, pausing once to beckon Rolan to follow.
“Damn it all!” Rolan stomped up the hill, in a foul temper. The gate entered his view up the hill, bright sunlight assaulting his eyes. Tieflings scrambled across the ramparts up top, shooting at unseen attackers on the other side. Zevlor shouted orders at the archers to direct the chaos, and then he ducked out of sight.
Rolan saw Cal holding his weapon and shield, dancing on each foot as if stuck on where he should go, as the gates were closed and he had nothing ranged. Rolan’s anxiety flared; he couldn’t see where Lia had gone and she wasn’t among the archers on the wall. He spotted one of the druids, a halfling named Arron, standing back and watching the activity at the gate impassively.
“How noble of you,” Rolan snarled, “to let strangers defend your own grove. Why aren’t any of you helping?”
Arron considered him a moment, a hint of fear flashing in his eyes. “Is it our grove, tiefling? I’d say since you lot bring the dangers, then you can handle them. Besides, I could say the same for you. Aren’t you a spellcaster?”
“Oh, piss off!” Rolan huffed and headed toward Cal.
“Rolan! Lia went up that way, to the right, but I lost sight of her. What should I do?”
Rolan’s eyes burned with Weave as he cast his Mage Armor on himself. “Mactē virtutē! Stay here. If anyone breaks through that gate, run. I’m going after our sister.”
He started up the grassy path, ignoring Cal’s weak protests, scanning for any sign of Lia. As he crested the top, he felt the wind from whistling arrows fly over his head. “Ah! Lia!” He crouched into the bushes and slowly made his way to a vantage point where he could see over the edge of the high cliff walls while being obscured.
Below him, he saw Aradin’s team of adventurers, only three people left of nearly a dozen that had departed, fighting a small horde of goblins, with a bugbear and worgs. Halsin was nowhere to be seen. The goblin leader whooped war cries and closed in on Aradin with a slavering worg at his side.
Zevlor had made his way down into the battlefield somehow, cornered by four goblins, and with a swing of his swords, a crackling divine smite instantly killed one of them. The Blade of Frontiers perched on a ledge, skewering a goblin with a rapier and unleashing an eldritch blast at the bugbear below him.
The Blade being a warlock piqued Rolan’s interest momentarily. He scanned the battle, trying to find a good target. He decided on the bugbear, who advanced on the adventurer archer woman, Remira. The bugbear taunted her with lewd gestures. Rolan readied a Firebolt at the disgusting creature’s back.
“Ignis!” He tried to keep his incantation as quiet as possible, but he needn’t have worried. There was so much noise and chaos, no one noticed him.
The firebolt hit, singeing the bugbear’s fur, but it did not fell him. He hollered, looking around wildly for his attacker. Remira was able to climb atop some rocks in the distraction and loose an arrow at the bugbear, which planted itself firmly in its flank.
Rolan readied another spell. He heard a twang and a whish to his right, and an arrow sailed into one of the goblins surrounding Zevlor. Rolan snapped his gaze to the sound’s direction and there was Lia, also hidden in brush about four meters to his right, bow held at the ready. Noticing her brother, she lowered her bow and nodded, holding her finger to her lips.
Across the field, an entourage of people came barreling toward the battle, surprising enemy and ally alike. Rolan had never seen these people before. Out in front was a human woman, a tangle of black hair piled on her head, in shining, intricate paladin mail, sword drawn and heading into the fray. He strained his eyes to see the others. A pale elf, and another elf? A human man with a beard, and some greenish-skinned woman whose race he couldn’t place.
An odd collection of people, but he did not have much time to ponder before the black-haired woman landed a fierce strike on the goblin leader, radiating with divine might, while the bearded man unleashed the red glow of three Magic Missile bolts at the archers on the nearby rock formation.
Another wizard, or possibly a sorcerer? Rolan appreciated seeing another spellcaster, and the tide of the battle quickly started to turn. The other members of this new entourage split to tackle the remaining forces in a fluid motion, revealing their battle acumen.
Lia signaled to Rolan, and the two of them retreated from their hiding spots, as the goblin numbers dwindled without their assistance. They met up with Cal behind the gate and slowly made their way back to the entrance of the grotto. They waited together as the sounds of goblin cries and weapons died down.
Eventually, the gates opened, and everyone, including the strangers, poured into the grove. A shouting match had started between Zevlor and Aradin, but the siblings had their own concerns. They checked each other over for injuries, and were glad that they were all right.
Lia’s eyes blazed with awe between Cal and Rolan. “Did you see those people? Who were they? I wasn’t sure we’d win that one, that was incredible!”
Any enthusiasm Rolan had been feeling before in the heat of battle dissipated, and his head began to ache. “This tears it. We are leaving this place, now. Get your things together, you two.”
Lia scowled. “Are you serious? No. I’ve made up my mind. We’re staying to help.”
“Have you gone insane? We have no allegiance to these people! We don’t even belong here!” Rolan’s voice raised into a strained holler. “How many more attacks will there be?”
“Listen to me! We are all going to Baldur’s Gate. We can handle ourselves in a fight. These people need help and what I just witnessed made that clear. Look at what a difference a few more fighters made! Cal, you agree, right?”
Cal’s eyes widened at being suddenly addressed. “Well, I - “
Rolan didn’t allow his brother to speak. “You need to listen to me. When do you suppose these people will get off their arses and go? I am not willing to rot here in interminable dread as we wait to die! I have waited enough indulging the two of you, damn it! No, it’s best that we should leave, just the three of us. A huge group will only attract attention.”
As Rolan and Lia continued to argue, Cal watched the somber crowd file past them, sweaty and edgy, and Ikaron mumbled as if in a trance, “By the gods, we’ve been found. The goblins have found us.”
A very tired-looking Zevlor strolled down the dirt path speaking with the strange black-haired paladin woman, when they stopped to exchange some more words, before Zevlor retired to his room in the stone cavern. The woman watched him walk away and then stared at the siblings. Rolan and Lia did not see her sidle up to them, listening to their row.
“No! You just care about your stupid apprenticeship!” Lia shouted, balling her fists.
Outrage flamed in his chest. This opportunity was everything they need to secure their futures forever, and Lia thought it was stupid? How could she say such a thing after going through hell and losing everything? How could she dismiss his grueling, years-long effort? His astounding talent?
So many things came to his mind, but all he could spit out was, “Take that back! Right now!”
“Hells! We can’t just leave, they’re kin!” Lia said.
“I’ll not gamble our lives, our futures, on people who are as good as dead! We must leave for Baldur’s Gate at once.”
Cal interjected. “Can we all just take a moment, please?”
As though Lia didn’t hear her brother’s plea, she continued, impassioned. “What’s the point of blades and spells if we don’t bloody use them? We should stay! These people aren’t fighters, we can help!”
Cal sighed. “Or yell louder. That’s fine too.”
Rolan hated when she got like this. Now, the argument wasn’t just because of her temper, or the issue at hand, but about her turning it into one of her tedious moral crusades.
A soft voice chimed in. “You should stay. A single blade could make a difference.”
“Thank you!” Lia said, turning to the speaker. Her breath caught a moment at seeing this woman up close. This mystery paladin that had charged into battle and defended them all with no obligation, now stood before her, agreeing. Lia turned to Rolan. “It’s the right thing to do, and you know it.”
Cal shook his head. “She’s right Rolan. We’re better than this.”
Rolan scowled at this woman, ready to double down, but her open, disarming gaze caught him off-guard. There was something about her eyes, contemplating him beneath the flecks of dirt, beads of sweat and blood splattered across her skin. Large, light hazel eyes, lined with thick, black lashes and brimming with intelligence, discernment, and warmth. They contrasted with her messy black hair, giving her a striking aura. His resolve wavered under her scrutiny, not to mention the mounting disapproval he felt from both Cal and Lia.
“Zurgan,” he cursed. “Fine. I’ll stay too. Lest you both end up with your throats slit by a goblin’s blade.”
“Thank you, Rolan,” said Lia, her anger evaporating. She addressed the woman. “What’s your name?”
“Mari,” she answered. Two of her companions had caught up with her, gathering behind her patiently, taking in the sights of the grove. Mari gestured to them. “This is Gale, and Shadowheart. The others are around here somewhere, too.”
“Well met. I’m Lia. That’s Cal, and fool over there is Rolan. Thanks. Now, I need a sit after that. Come say hello later, if you want.” Lia turned to walk away, throwing a wink at the woman over her shoulder as she headed back to their usual loafing spot.
Cal leaned in to Mari and quietly said, “Thanks for cutting in. There might have been more than words if you hadn’t.” He followed his sister.
Rolan stood in place, his jaw clenching, his eyes narrowed, assessing this Mari person. Why did he agree to stay? Was it the influence of this dreary human paladin? What was his alternative, leaving his family behind? That was never an option. He felt like he’d been tricked.
She regarded his gaze with a flicker of amusement playing on her mouth, which only maddened him. What was her game? He noticed that bearded wizard, Gale, making small movements with his hand that Rolan recognized as absentminded somatic components to spells. The dark-haired half elf woman, Shadowheart, loitered nearby, a cleric by all appearances, looking bored and surly. She started wandering off.
Mari took a few steps toward him, about to open her mouth to speak, but he spoke first.
“We should have left by now. Damnation!” He wanted this stranger to know he wasn’t pleased. It was all her fault, after all. “Instead, we're just sitting here, practically begging to be attacked. Staying is a mistake.” He threw a pointed glower at her, as if to ask her if she was happy.
“You're doing the right thing. These tieflings need help.” Her words oozed sincerity; not a drop of confrontational energy behind them.
He cocked his head to the side and sneered. “And what about us? There's every chance we've doomed ourselves by helping these people. We will end up fodder for some goblin's blade, all because Lia insists on helping every wounded foal we see! Our best chance to make it to Baldur's Gate is on our own. This place is lost.”
Mari frowned, looking concerned. “There's every chance you'll die on the road. It’s bad out there.”
He rolled his eyes. “Please. I can handle myself. It's others that are the issue.”
Mari folded her arms. “Why the rush to leave, anyway?”
He sighed. “You don't understand. My apprenticeship with Lorroakan begins shortly. I cannot be late.” He drew himself up taller and smirked. “Yes, that Lorroakan. The greatest wizard in Baldur's Gate.” He waved his hands in a flourish.
Mari blinked and furrowed her brow in confusion. Behind her, Gale had heard the name and it snapped him out of his reverie to join their conversation.
“I've heard that name before. A young man, yes? Lives in Ramazith's Tower in the Upper City?”
“The very same!” Rolan said. He couldn’t help but smile when talking about his idol.
Gale grimaced. “Word in Waterdeep has it he's a bit of a cad. But you say he's an accomplished Wizard?”
Frustration bubbled up inside Rolan. How dare these nobodies question such a famous, powerful wizard? This is what truly great people must endure. The small opinions of low folk, fueled by petty jealousy.
“Of course he is! The greatest spellcaster along the Sword Coast. As if I'd settle for a lesser mentor.”
Gale nodded approvingly. “In that case, I'd very much appreciate it if you could arrange an introduction should we reach the city.” He glanced toward Mari, eyebrows raised.
Mari shrugged a little. “Sure. Powerful acquaintances never hurt.”
“If it's powerful acquaintances you're after,” Rolan said to her, drumming up all his charm, “you have to look no further than yours truly. Few can match me, in either magic or talent.” He studied his well-manicured claws. “In years to come, you will boast of this meeting, I can assure you. May we meet again in Baldur's Gate, my friend.”
He finished with a small bow. She had to know who she was dealing with, and if it put her off, all the better. Most people couldn’t handle being around one of the genuinely talented few. In his experience, the ignorant ruled this world. He waited for her to balk, or mock him, or tell him she wasn’t impressed. The usual reaction he expected from people, especially those who fancied themselves divine, righteous heroes.
“Might we, then.” Her eyes dropped to the side and the tips of her ears grew pink. “What school do you study?”
Her response threw him off. “Evocation, of course. But I am adept with magic from any school.”
“I assume you’re from Elturel? Did you attend academy there?”
He narrowed his eyes, the chafing at her probing questions battling with his fondness for talking about his magic. “I taught myself everything I know, and my talents were enough for Lorroakan to choose me out of doubtless hundreds of letters he receives every year. I didn’t need to attend academy.”
Mari’s eyes widened. “That’s quite impressive.”
“Yes, quite.”
“I’d love a demonstration of your skill sometime,” she said. “Can you summon a rabbit?”
He bristled. “The nerve! I am not some cheap magician. I will be an Archwizard someday, mark my words.”
Mari laughed. “Sorry, I’m just teasing you. You’re very passionate and I admire your confidence. They love people like you in the city. You’ll do well. I wish you all the luck.”
Rolan hesitated at her forthrightness, and he was vexed by her amusement. The way she looked at him made him uneasy. “I don’t need luck. I’ve worked myself to the bone for this, and my talents will speak for themselves. But thank you, truly. It’s always good to have admirers on your way to the top.”
He flashed her what he hoped was a dashing smile. But she only watched him patiently in response, still beaming with those striking eyes, as if waiting to see what else he’d say.
He cleared his throat. “Well. I should get back to my family, and you have places to be, surely. If you’ll excuse me.”
She looked around the grove. “I do. My companions have all scattered, it seems, except you.” She spoke to Gale, who still stood by her side.
Gale raised a finger in thought. “That reminds me, I’d like to have a look around myself, for anyone selling items of the magical variety. Unlikely in a place such as this, but one never knows. Do you need anything?”
Mari produced a small coin purse and handed it to Gale. “Hmm, I’m not sure yet. We could use some potions, but let’s assess the quality first. I don’t want to be cheated into buying a suspension of twigs and goose shit. Here, get whatever you need.”
Gale smiled. “My lady is too kind, my sincere thanks. And you, young man,” he said to Rolan, “it’s been a pleasure. May fortune await you.” He started down into the grotto depths.
Rolan picked up on their easy comradery; they seemed quite fond of each other. He conceded that if this woman enjoyed the company of a wizard, perhaps she wasn’t a complete dolt. And Gale seemed a rather talented wizard in his own right, if Rolan’s eye for fluid somatic movements told him anything.
She turned back to him, and he thought he saw a blush on her cheeks. “I hope to see you around, Rolan. It was really nice to meet you.” She waved and walked off.
“I’m sure it was.” He made sure to drip extra sarcasm into his parting words, but she didn’t flinch. He examined her back as she left. Something inside him told him not to trust this woman. He barely trusted anyone at all, but people like her, who seemed so open and kind, and generous with their flattery? Who people loved without question? Who would throw themselves into battle to play hero for strangers? They were the worst, most dangerous people of all.