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There’d been the application, the written test, practical tests in both archery and swordfighting, vows to the officers and the city and the duchy and a priest from the Temple of Helm – on top of that all the sneaking out to make it to those tests and appointments in the first place. And now, finally, it was one last speech about the history of the great organisation they were joining and its evolution from lawless mercenary gang for hire to an expansive institution of civil law enforcement and- blah blah blah. Boring!
The most important thing about the speech was that it was finally ending.
“But I bet we’re all eager to start the festivities.” Officer Kent raised his tankard. “Congratulations to you all, our new recruits!”
Skie practically leapt up in her seat, raising her own tankard of ale. “Woohoo! Let’s make some noise!”
The other recruits followed suit, more or less enthusiastically. Someone made a cackling joke about fresh meat.
“I can’t believe we’re official Flaming Fist scouts now!” Skie cried.
She didn’t know the other recruits all that well, but she didn’t hesitate to lean forward and clank her mug against those of a few of the friendlier and more familiar faces at the table.
“Well…” Connor, with sandy blonde hair and the anxious laugh, smiled and muttered. “Mother and Father should be pleased with the pay I send back home to the farm at any rate.”
“Figure I can’t get shaken down by the Fist, if I am the Fist,” Micah, with the callused hands and the slender build, reasoned with a playful little smirk.
“Shows how little you know,” one of the boys Skie didn’t know piped up. “Bet I could shake you down. Want to put it to the test, Mickey boy?”
“Hey!” Micah yelped in protest.
Skie turned her attention to the recruit sitting at the far end of the bench and bent over the table, struggling to reach over the distance. And though the recruit lifted her mug gamely, she turned her eyes down as soon as their tankards collided. She said nothing.
Livvy was the only other woman at the table, but she’d never sought Skie out on that basis.
“Heard some Aasimar up north’s gathering people for some bonkers crusade?” another one of the recruits scoffed.
“Oh Gods,” another groaned. “Leave me out of it, right?”
“But don’t you think it’s exciting?” Skie said.
“A… crusade?” the same recruit replied sceptically.
Skie waved this unenthusiastic reply away.
“It’s just so exciting!” she exclaimed. “I’m just so excited that we’re all here, ready to beat down crime and crusaders and do great things!”
“Oh, you’re excited, are you?” someone cut in lazily.
The speaker, yet another recruit, leaned over the table and turned his head to give Skie a dashing smile. He was sitting two seats to Skie’s right. And he had curly black hair and a handsome face, a pronounced nose and a strong jaw.
“All sorts of things get you excited, don’t they, kitten?” he leered. “Bet I could get you all excited in a few more ways.”
“Excuse you,” Skie gasped, feeling a little scandalised. But even as she said it, she smirked, throwing the recruit a sidelong look with drooping eyes.
It was pretty exciting being a little scandalised – being eyed-up and propositioned in a seedy tavern like this.
That was when Corporal Bence Duncan had to ruin it.
From his seat on Skie’s left, he cleared his throat and sat up straight.
“I expect you to treat your fellow scouts with more respect than that, Dakos,” he chastised in a stern voice that brooked no argument.
“Right, course,” the handsome one, Dakos, was quick to agree.
He sat up straight on the bench, and turned to make conversation with the recruits on the other side of the table.
And- Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Skie had to stop herself from stomping her feet as she slumped back into her seat.
She just didn’t know what to do about Bence.
Of course when Skie had first met him in the Flaming Fist Headquarters, she’d been happy that a seasoned officer had noticed her talent. She’d been grateful for the pointers he offered for her swordfighting exam. She’d been all too pleased to show a little kindness to a rough old man.
How was she supposed to know he’d end up following her around like a fussy hen? That he’d be around to steal all the fun out of everything, even congratulatory drinks between the new recruits?
Skie looked to his thick black eyebrows, and to the thin wisp of hair that he’d brushed forward to cover his balding forehead.
He wasn’t quite as old as Daddy, but he was getting there…
And did he have a crush on her or something? Skie wondered. How embarrassing!
But why else would he have volunteered so much of his time to attend her practical exams and check on her afterwards and follow her here for drinks?
Skie glanced at him again. Decided he didn’t actually look so awful, with that furrow in his brow and such a nice pair of shoulders and only a bit of a beer belly. She guessed she could-
But, no. No! She couldn’t. She shook her head furiously. And also he was boring! Not a teaspoon of spontaneity in his soul! He was such a terrible killjoy anytime she tried to do something even the least bit exciting…
“Here’s to Monday going well! Reporting for our first assignment!” Connor said, raising his tankard for the next toast.
“Hear, hear,” echoed down the table, as Skie raised her tankard to meet the next cheer.
“Anyone want to bet who’s going to be stuck polishing the officers’ shoes?” Micah suggested. “Fifteen gold says it’s Vahn.”
“Fifteen says that, if it’s not you on that job, Mickey, they’ll have you scouting the frontline of that crusade,” Vahn said. “Not going to risk anyone seasoned and knowledgeable catching enemy arrows like that.”
“Hey!” Micah yelped once more in protest.
“No, come on,” Dakos said, slouching in his seat. “If anyone’s got busywork in the camp, it’ll be the girls right?”
Without looking, he gestured with his thumb towards Livvy and Skie in quick succession.
Livvy narrowed her eyes, but said nothing as she drank from her tankard.
Skie wasn’t about to let it stand though.
“Well, a hundred gold says they put me on the archery lines, and Livvy guarding the supply caravans. I don’t think a single one of you scored higher than us on either speciality,” she asserted.
Livvy winced a bit, her cheeks going red behind her tankard. She seemed not to want to meet Skie’s eyes. But Micah, who’d already collected fifty some-odd gold from around the table and had begun to write up betting tickets, let out a long low whistle and threw Skie a cute little wink.
“Too rich for my blood!” he laughed. “But how’s thirty gold on that statement sound? I think you and I can work something out.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
It was Bence Duncan who had cut in again.
“No,” he reiterated. “You give all that coin back. There’ll be no betting on first shifts,” he told Micah.
Then Bence turned to Skie.
“There really is no need for this competitive streak, Miss Sky.” His mouth moved awkwardly around the fake name Skie had used for her application to the Flaming Fist. “Everyone will be assigned to the station where their talents can find the best use.”
Skie wasn’t sure what to say to this. So she nodded and made a non-committal noise, before turning to the rest of the table.
Micah was sulking as he passed the bets back to their respective owners and tore up the betting tickets. When his eyes met Skie’s, there was something angry and reproachful in his gaze.
Skie winced and made a show of an apologetic grimace.
She really hadn’t known Bence would do that!
Micah’s expression softened at that. He shrugged, and allowed her a half-smile, so she knew the apology was accepted.
But he turned away shortly after that, and Skie spent the next toast rooted in place, not sure where to look as she raised her tankard and drank to her apparent successes.
This latest toast had drained more than one tankard dry – Skie’s included. And one of the tavern serving women was circling the table now, refilling everyone’s drinks from two large silver pitchers.
And as she did, she reached over Micah’s head, pressed her curves into Connor’s side, gave Livvy an encouraging smile, and spun around the corner of the table only to find–
“Sorry, dearie. Seems we’re down to the dregs,” she sighed, as she upturned the last pitcher over Skie’s tankard, and found it empty but for a few drops. “Going to have to head back up to the bar and refill, but I’ll get to you.”
“Oh, no, pff~” Skie waved off the woman’s concerns. “You’ve got so many other tables to get to. It’s not a problem for me to bus my own drinks. I can head up to the bar myself!”
“That would be nice for me, dearie,” the serving woman admitted. “We do always try to show our best side to members of the Fist, so I’d be happy to serve you. But of course, you’re more than welcome to head up to the bar if it suits you.”
The woman gave Skie a gracious smile. And Skie nodded excitedly and prepared to press up from her seat.
But someone wasn’t about to allow that.
Corporal Bence Duncan reached to take the tankard from Skie’s hand. “Let me handle that for you.” His voice sounded almost bored.
It only made Skie startle more quickly to her feet – like a rabbit in flight. She pulled the tankard close to her chest.
And it was only then that she realised her reaction had been too harsh and abrupt for the lazy atmosphere of the party.
She made herself relax, and barked out a dismissive laugh.
“Gods, Bence, I can handle walking up to the counter to get my own mug refilled. Going to follow me to the toilets, too?”
She’d said it to save face. But there was something mortifying about the whistles and catcalls this prompted down the table. Almost as mortifying as the blank dumb look on Bence Duncan’s face, which seemed to say that he saw nothing interesting or captivating about Skie so as to warrant this stinging repartee.
Then why won’t you leave me alone? Skie wondered, as she turned quickly away and marched herself towards the bar.
Skie still hadn’t recovered when the serving woman caught up with her, about halfway through the tavern’s main room. The woman knocked lightly against Skie’s shoulder, and Skie blinked, startled away from the lingering sense of mortification.
“You’re alright, dearie,” the woman reassured, with a brief but lingering smile. “Take a moment to calm down. And ask anyone at the bar for a refill. They’ll see to you in that uniform.”
Having delivered that bit of advice, she swept off to the kitchens, clearly in a hurry to see to the rest of her duties. But Skie slowed, letting the woman’s words reverberate through her, along with the simple melody drifting over the tavern’s patrons. A song, plucked on lute-string:
No matter what you do, I will always love you.
Skie startled. She recognised that tune. That five-part staccato, taught at the college in Berdusk.
It matters not what you say, you'll never drive me away.
“Garrick?” Skie called. “Garrick is that you?”
I sing for you this song of love, spoken heart to heart – cooed dove to dove.
Her eyes zoned in on a figure sitting at a stool near the bar.
He was wearing a green and purple travelling cloak with the hood pulled over his head, facing the servers behind the bar rather than the patrons in front of it.
But Skie knew it was him, even before she placed a hand on his shoulder, and he turned – downy hair and round face.
“Garrick! Gods, praise Milil, I can’t believe it’s you!” Skie squealed.
Garrick bit his lip. And though he stopped singing, his fingers continued to pluck at the lute strings, continuing to carry the tune.
“Oh, I wasn’t expecting… Hello, Skie.”
He seemed far less enthusiastic about this than her. His eyes panned away almost as soon as he greeted her.
“I can’t believe it! What a coincidence!” Skie cried. “What have you been up to since, you know, all that nonsense with the Iron Throne and evil plots and Children of Bhaal and Daddy almost being assassinated and Eldo–”
Skie cut herself off. She wasn’t really sure Garrick wanted to hear about Eldoth.
“Er– Yes, what a coincidence,” Garrick muttered uncomfortably.
It was Skie’s turn to bite her lip. She’d gotten the feeling Garrick hadn’t been too happy with her when she hadn’t fallen into his arms after Eldoth had gotten turned to stone. And she’d gotten the feeling Garrick really hadn’t been happy with her when she’d finally unturned Eldoth from stone six months later, and had promptly taken him back in the aftermath.
But that had been ages ago! She’d thought Garrick would have been over it by now.
Garrick let out a frustrated little grunt, and confirmed he wasn’t over it at all.
“Look, Skie, I’m trying to woo the Lady Alyth here.” He plucked at the lute a little more aggressively, and nodded behind the bar. “If what you’re looking for is tea and sympathy, why don’t you head over there instead?”
Garrick finally took his hand off the lute strings, his song coming to an abrupt halt, and extended his arm towards Skie’s left. He flicked his fingers outward, like he was trying to shoo away a fly.
Skie was so taken aback, she stared blankly. And it wasn’t until he repeated the gesture, that she finally managed to turn her attention in the direction he indicated.
And then, immediately, she forgot about Garrick entirely.
The music of the lute resumed, as Skie passed her tankard across the bar to be refilled. And taking it back in both hands, hugging the ale to her chest like liquid gold, she took a few soft slinking steps nearer her goal.
There were three figures seated at a high table in the corner.
The profile of the first could be seen clearly – warm brown skin, round flat nose tilted proudly in the air, a braid of wiry dark hair falling over the travelling cloak fastened to her left shoulder.
The second was wearing a travelling cloak as well – black and gold with the hood up – facing away from Skie. But a slender hand with ashen grey-white skin could be seen, fingers strumming against the surface of the wooden table.
But it was the third figure whose Skie couldn’t look away from. The broad set of their shoulders. That helmet adorned with ox-horns. The field of yellow hair cut just above the shoulders. And the heavy broadsword laid against the thigh of a spread leg. Skie would have recognised the woman anywhere.
“Tee?” Skie called, as she drew closer. “Tee, Shar-Teel, is that you? Gods, would you believe all the people I’m running into this Saturday night? And in a city as big as Baldur’s Ga–”
Dynaheir tilted her head, and Viconia braced her hands against the table to turn around in her seat. Both their eyes flitted to Skie’s – the recognition immediate, their gazes openly appraising and ready to pass judgement, whatever that judgement might be.
But when Shar-Teel turned, it wasn’t Skie’s eyes that she looked to, but the fiery-red feather tucked into Skie’s helmet and the crest on her breastplate.
“Hold, Fist swine!” she snarled. Her hand shot immediately to her blade, and she jumped out of her seat. “Take one step closer, and we’ll see how many cuts it takes to bleed a pig out!”
But the way Shar-Teel’s nose scrunched and hair bounced… How furious and fierce she looked, baring her teeth…
Skie couldn’t help but let out a laugh of pure joy.
It was only when Shar-Teel snarled furiously, and crouched into a battle stance, that Skie realised she’d best hurry to explain.
“Tee! Tee, it’s me!”
Skie giggled and lifted her arms in surrender, displaying her tankard of ale in one hand, the air in the empty palm of the other.
“Skie!” she cried, before she remembered the tavern was full with people who were only supposed to know her by a false name, and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Skie Silvershield? You remember me, right?”
A look of confusion passed over Shar-Teel’s face, and she squinted, like she couldn’t quite be sure of what she was seeing, if she was seeing clearly at all.
Viconia let out a snort, and turned away in her seat, muttering something about surfacers. But Dynaheir raised her chin and called imperiously over their heads.
“Get the spirits and the barlights out of thine eyes, Shar-Teel!” she commanded. “This is no illusion, nor deceit. Our woman-friend is who she claims to be. Release thy weapon.”
At this, Shar-Teel finally startled out of whatever darkness had taken hold of her. She relaxed her shoulders and her grip on her sword, and stood at her full height – several heads taller than Skie.
“Of- Of course I remember you,” she declared. “And of course I would never turn my blade on a woman.”
Though by the redness in Shar-Teel’s cheeks and the evasive flitting of her sky-blue eyes, Skie was left with the impression Shar-Teel felt rather ashamed by her own behaviour.
“Why don’t you have a seat?” Shar-Teel added, hurrying to pull out the barstool next to her at the table. “There are far too many men squirming and crawling around the tavern tonight, for you to go about on your own.”
Skie let out another giggle. Tee was always so dramatic about these things. But she accepted the apology for what it was. She let Shar-Teel take her tankard and set it on the table, and then accepted Shar-Teel’s hand for balance, as she stepped up to sit on the barstool.
“And so we are four, with Shar-Teel’s little wench,” Viconia announced scornfully, to no one in particular.
“Behave,” Dynaheir scolded sharply, before turning a magnanimous smile on Skie. “What a most coincidence exceptional to meet thee here, Miss Silvershield. What hast brought thou to the Elfsong this eve?”
“Eeee!” Skie shook with excitement. “I’ve been accepted as a new scout for the Flaming Fist! Me and the rest of the new recruits are out for a night on the town to celebrate!”
“Ah, how very quaint,” Dynaheir said. “Yet also joyous.”
Shar-Teel grunted and scowled, as she pulled herself up into the adjacent seat. But in that moment, Skie couldn’t do anything but beam, until-
“Oh, but-” she winced, and smiled apologetically. “I couldn’t really sign up under my real name. Because of Daddy and all. So if anyone around here asks, I’m Sky Vane for the night, not Skie.”
“Of course, Miss Vane,” Dynaheir agreed.
“They’d better not come ask, if they know what’s good for them,” Shar-Teel said darkly. She pulled her broadsword, still unsheathed, across her lap, and palmed the hilt anxiously.
“Not that it isn’t a pleasure to see thee, but-” Dynaheir let out a weary sigh, and turned to Viconia. “Remind me again, why thou hast chosen this establishment – overrun as it is with the local law enforcement – when our companion can scarcely keep her sword sheathed in their presence?”
Viconia let out a snort. “Find us a tavern in this city without any officers, and I’ll find you a golden goose, abbil.” She snorted again, as she strummed her fingers against the table. “And even then, there will be men…”
Skie’s eyes widened and she pursed her lips. Shar-Teel and Viconia loved to talk about men. And Skie had always been a little scandalised and taken in – equal shades intrigued and amused and repulsed – by the gruesome shades their gossip took.
True to form, Shar-Teel grit her teeth.
“If any of them get close, we’ll see how much steel their guts can take,” she promised.
Viconia was of a somewhat different mind.
“Their eyes can look,” she allowed with a pensive tilt of her head. “But should they draw near… We shall see how easily the pathetic things find themselves trapped,” she declared, strumming her fingers impatiently against the table.
Dynaheir quite pointedly rolled her eyes.
“Aww,” Skie crooned. “You know, it doesn’t have to be like that, Vicky~”
“And yet it is!” Viconia snapped. “Always! They want me, for all they claim to detest me. I’ve yet to meet a surface man who could keep his eyes away…”
Her voice grew quiet, as she broke off into dark mutterings in the Drow language.
But Skie couldn’t help but pout. She couldn’t help but think that there was something really pitifully sad about Viconia. Because she was beautiful, in a different way than Skie or Shar-Teel or Dynaheir, but sooo beautiful. And it was true that plenty of people had stolen a glance.
But so far as Skie could tell, nobody had ever really looked at Viconia in the way Khalid looked at Jaheira, or Skie herself had once looked at Eldoth, or even the way Coran looked at Safana – with love and admiration all twisted up together, so tightly that you couldn’t really tell them apart.
“These men capable of keeping their eyes to themselves… How strange that thou hast not met any,” Dynaheir scoffed at Viconia, “I might name several dozen that have walked right in front of the both of us.”
Viconia scowled, hunched over further in her seat, and threw Dynaheir a glare beneath the cowl of her cloak. It seemed to have all the meaning in the world.
“Jealous, abbil?”
“Don’t worry, Vicky!” Skie cut in.
And she was about to promise that Viconia would find someone – someone who looked at her in all the right ways and made everything better. Someone dashing and exciting, but who also made her feel safe – like nothing could hurt her.
But before Skie could say anything more, she winced at the sound of clanking armour. And before she even turned to look over her shoulder, she knew Bence Duncan was upon her.
“Miss Sky,” he said stiffly, bullets of sweat condensing beneath his receding hairline. “Might I ask why you are sitting in this corner, during our celebration for the new recruits?”
Just hearing this, something inside Skie wanted to cry out in anger and frustration. What was it going to take for him to take the hint?! And not only that – Skie wanted to burst into tears, admit defeat, and let someone else take pity on her. Let someone else rush to her rescue.
But even as she thought this, she somehow felt, rather than saw, the disturbance on the barstool next to her.
Shar-Teel’s shoulders were shaking with rage, but not only with rage. It was something else that made her face go so red, as she reached for her sword.
And, without really thinking, Skie reached over Shar-Teel’s lap to clutch at her hand. And Shar-Teel’s hand was a lot bigger than hers. But Skie clung to the other woman’s ring and pinkie fingers about as hard as she could, and it was Skie’s hand that was the firm and steady one.
Shar-Teel bristled, but then relaxed with a resigned grimace. And it was then that Skie knew:
It was up to her to handle this and make sure the situation didn’t escalate, for Shar-Teel’s sake as well as her own.
Bence was still talking. “And what’s this about a confrontation? Did I see correctly that this woman drew her sword on y–?”
“Tee is my friend!” Skie snapped back waspishly. “The thing with her sword was just an inside joke.” She huffed out a mocking laugh. “It’s not my fault you can’t tell a friendly greeting, Bence!”
Bence’s eyebrows shot upwards. And he took what appeared to be an involuntary step backwards, before steeling himself, eyes narrowing and shoulders squaring.
“Miss Sky,” he began, his voice harder and firmer this time.
But Skie wasn’t about to let him continue.
“You know, I don’t even know why you’re giving me so much flack, Bence, when-” Her eyes flitted around the room for inspiration. “When plenty of the other recruits are off chatting up girls at other tables.”
And they were! Skie realised. Dakos and Vahn and Connor and half the original celebration had spread out through the tavern’s main room, freely exchanging words and drinks and touches with the tavern’s other patrons.
“I don’t know why I’m the only one you’re giving trouble for it,” Skie declared. “When all I’m doing is catching up with a few friends.”
This gave Bence Duncan pause.
Of course he didn’t actually explain why he had singled Skie out to reprimand. But the immediate silence – the lack of denial – was confirmation enough for Skie that he had singled her out, for whatever reason. And she’d keep knowing that, no matter how he might try to deny it later.
It was then that Dynaheir spoke up, lifting her chin to gaze down at Bence. And, though her words were polite, her tone was absolutely scathing.
“Miss Vane is a woman grown,” she asserted. “And though few know it, she is a Hero of Baldur’s Gate in her own right.”
Skie couldn’t stop from flushing. That was high praise, coming from Dynaheir of all people.
“In Rashemen,” Dynaheir continued, “it is understood that a woman will spend her nights wherever best suits her. Surely thou cannot begrudge Miss Vane if, during a celebration held partly in her own honour, she wishes to spend some of her time with companions of her own choosing?”
It was this that finally had Bence Duncan looking chastened.
“Er, no,” he admitted sheepishly. “Of course not.”
“Most excellent,” Dynaheir said magnanimously, before raising her hand and dismissing him with a flick of her wrist.
Even then, Bence Duncan seemed to hesitate, before turning on his heel. His shoulders slumped, as he made his way across the tavern.
Speaking up for the first time since the encounter had commenced, Viconia gave a derisive snort.
“In the Underdark, he would have been quartered and fed to the driders.” Her voice was full of scorn. “Absolutely pathetic.”
Skie didn’t know if that meant Bence was pathetic, or them for not quartering him into spider food. But she couldn’t really be bothered to care. It was only then she let out a sigh of relief and, giving Shar-Teel’s hand a squeeze and a rub, released her.
“Wow! That was amazing!” she told Dynaheir. “I have been trying to lose him for days! I can’t thank you enough!”
“Thy wish – ‘tis my pleasure to provide,” Dynaheir said importantly. “Although, thou must handle the rest thyself, I fear. We have tarried here too long already, whilst poor Minsc remains lost in the city.”
“Oh no!” Skie’s face fell. “Has something happened to Minsc?”
Shar-Teel muttered something under her breath about male idiots and female coddling, but nobody paid any mind.
“That is what I intend to discover,” Dynaheir confirmed.
Her expression gave nothing away. She was all unflappable calm and poise, as she slid off her barstool and readjusted her travelling cloak. But she lingered an uncomfortable moment longer, brushing non-existent dust from the skirt of her dress. And it was only once Dynaheir had finished that pantomime, that her lips finally twisted into a frown.
She turned a hard glare on Viconia, who had failed to vacate her seat.
Viconia shrugged carelessly. “I told you this morning that I had plans to meet Shar-Teel for drinks tonight. Plans that I was not willing to miss.”
“Poor Minsc is completely alone – in a city as vast and cruel as Baldur’s Gate – and you consider your tavern appointments a greater concern?!” Dynaheir demanded.
Viconia waved this off.
“Your berserker is probably just asleep in some warehouse, or trapped in a pocket plane after haplessly stumbling into some angry wizard’s personal affairs.”
Dynaheir’s glare only intensified. “Forgive if thy words are no balm to my–”
“And you have no leads,” Viconia pointed out, dry and sharp, “now that we know Edwin and his halfling had nothing to do with it.”
Dynaheir fell silent at that. For once, her nose was pointed not upwards in commanding superiority, but turned petulantly down to the floor.
Skie bit her lip. It was terribly exciting to watch Viconia and Dynahier argue, but not if Dynaheir was going to go looking like that about it.
“You know if you need help finding him, I don’t mind coming along,” Skie offered. “I am a scout for the Fist, after all! Finding missing persons is basically part of the job descript–!”
Skie was cut off by the nasty scowl that passed over Viconia’s face – an arresting flash of dark and narrowed eyes.
In an instant, Viconia had scrambled down from her barstool and taken her place at Dynaheir’s side. Though she was already attempting to reassert her usual air of apathy and disdain – slouching languidly, heaving a sigh of apparent exasperation.
“Oh, I suppose I may as well help you, abbil,” she told a thoroughly unamused Dynaheir, before rolling her head around to take note of the rest of the group. “It would appear that our Shar-Teel is a bit distracted this evening anyhow.”
At that, Shar-Teel startled out of whatever state she had descended into, and met Viconia’s stare with an angry furrow of her brows.
“Who’s distractable?!” she demanded. “You had best know that my focus and drive aren’t to be outdone by anyone – man or woman.”
“No?” Viconia tisked mockingly. “It appears to me half the tavern could get the drop on you tonight, Shar-Teel.”
Shar-Teel grit her teeth and let out a sound almost like a snarling dog.
But Viconia was not deterred. “Even your wench, flighty and mercurial as she is, has eyes like a spider’s tonight. Now command your own wits, Shar-Teel.”
Strangely, Shar-Teel seemed less angry hearing that, more chastened. With a deep breath, she sat up straight and steeled her shoulders.
“Farewell, Viconia. It has been an honour fighting alongside a woman warrior such as yourself,” she said stiffly.
“Oh, the pleasure has been all mine,” Viconia said, in an unusual show of magnanimity. “May you find prosperity and victory on your trip south.”
Skie waved. Dynaheir allowed the table another nod, before gesturing for Viconia to take her arm and follow her out of the Elfsong. And then it was just Skie and Shar-Teel alone at the table – a gaping silence settling between them.
Skie took hold of her tankard in both hands, and lifted the rim to her mouth. The ale tripped over her lips and down her throat, and warmed her from the pit of her stomach to her cheeks and the very tips of her ears.
She glanced sideways at Shar-Teel, who was back to slouching, shoulders hunched over as she narrowed her eyes moodily at the surface of the table.
“So what have you been getting up to since that whole Iron Throne fiasco got settled?” Skie asked.
Shar-Teel let out a snort. “Bleeding things. Killing pigs.” She grimaced at her tankard. “Snatched a bounty right out from under that imbecile’s, Ajantis’s, nose.” She smiled a bit then, even if she was still refusing to look Skie in the eye. “Should have seen the look on the idiot’s dumb face.”
“Aww, poor Janty,” Skie cooed. But Shar-Teel’s smile was contagious, so Skie’s sympathies might have come off a bit insincere.
“Yeah, well…” Shar-Teel raised a hand over her mouth as she coughed, and when she dropped it, she was frowning again. “What about you? What have you been doing?”
Skie bit her lip.
“Well, Daddy almost died, I guess? So… that wasn’t too good,” she laughed anxiously at the dry understatement. “Yeah, that wasn’t a great week, waiting around anxiously with Mom while High Cleric Fenster was holed up trying to call Daddy back. But, you know, he’s back now, and back to his usual boring self so…” Skie shrugged. “Here I am!”
“Joining the Flaming Fist,” Shar-Teel grit out.
Skie blinked incredulously, unsure of what to say. It was obvious enough that Shar-Teel wasn’t happy about her new appointment, but–
“And the swine?” Shar-Teel asked hurriedly.
“What?”
“Are you still seeing him?” Shar-Teel’s lips twisted, and she moved her mouth like she’d caught a bad taste. “…Eldoth?”
Skie laughed.
“No, not any more,” she said. “Eldoth and I had some fun times. And we had some bad times. Really bad.”
Skie chuckled at the memories. He’d written songs for her. They’d made love under the moonlight. He’d told her to shut up and left her crying alone in their room at the inn. But even though none of it had been all that long ago, Skie felt like it must have happened in another life. She felt so different from the person that all had happened to.
“It just wasn’t the same after he got turned to stone, and I took that half a year to turn him back,” Skie explained. “I guess he didn’t seem as exciting, after I’d gone adventuring all those places without him. I didn’t feel like I needed him to have fun anymore.
“Also he cheated on me with some harlot,” Skie added. “I guess that’s technically why I kicked his ass out. But I think I was already looking for an excuse to get rid of him by that point.”
“Good.” Shar-Teel snorted and gulped some ale from her tankard. “That degenerate wasn’t good enough for you or anyone.”
Shar-Teel said this so earnestly, so vehemently, Skie had to hold back a laugh.
Well, yeah. She was Duke Entar’s daughter. Of course Eldoth wasn’t good enough for her; nobody was. But was she never supposed to go out – never supposed to have fun with anyone – just because of that?
But Shar-Teel had an axe to grind. One with Eldoth’s name engraved on the blade, it seemed.
“That low-life swine,” she snarled darkly. “Some day that sorry excuse for a dung heap best get what’s coming to him.”
“Do you remember when we first met?” Skie asked, feeling warm and rosy with nostalgia. “Remember how furious you were when you lost that duel to him?”
Shar-Teel didn’t seem to appreciate the reminder.
“That low-life used underhanded bard tricks to trip me up!” she protested. “Trust an inferior male to resort to magic trickery – to toss honour to the wayside – and then pretend he bested you!”
“Yeah,” Skie agreed. “But you acknowledged you lost the bet, and came with us anyhow,” she pointed out.
“Just because he had no honour, doesn’t mean I didn’t,” Shar-Teel assured.
“I was so in love with him back then~” Skie reminisced. “It seemed so romantic at the time – the dashing hero winning a duel on an adventure in the Sharp Teeth Plains~ You guys were being so terrible – saying such mean things to one another – but I was so happy.”
Skie remembered it well. Even though Eldoth had been so impatient and temperamental the whole trip south– Even though he’d acted so disgusted with her when she’d tried to comfort him in their tent the night before– It had been so easy to feel happy that day. It had been so easy to be happy when he’d won that duel. She’d hoped it would make him feel better – less moody. But even if it didn’t, she’d still been so, so proud of him.
“And then he stumbled into that Basilisk nest a couple of hours later,” Skie laughed. “Gods, I was devastated. Sobbing my eyes out.”
“The swine had it coming,” Shar-Teel grumbled.
“You say that, but you were the one that carried his statue four miles through the plains, before we finally decided we had to leave him behind,” Skie pointed out. “You were the one who insisted you could, when I’m pretty sure nobody else wanted to carry him even that far, if they even could have lifted sixteen arrobas of stone to start with.”
Shar-Teel flinched and, maybe for the first time that night, really looked at Skie. She raised her voice, angry and pleading both.
“You think I did that for him?!” she demanded.
Skie’s eyes widened, confronted directly with the piercing blue of Shar-Teel’s eyes. She leaned back involuntarily in her seat.
“I didn’t do it for the damned swine! I did it for you!” Shar-Teel insisted. “If you saw how upset you were, crying about how you couldn’t leave him behind… I–”
Shar-Teel cleared her throat, and looked away.
“I thought if I carried his statue – if you saw him like that – you might start to understand that there was nothing tragic or romantic about him. That he was nothing but a burden to you.”
Skie took this in, felt the heat rise to her cheeks. And, even turned away, in the dim light of the tavern, she thought she saw the edge of Shar-Teel’s cheek turn red as well. And Skie thought there was something terribly romantic and tragic about the shape of Shar-Teel’s jaw, the straightness of her blonde hair, the scars on her ear and neck.
She leaned in, and bumped her arm against Shar-Teel’s.
“But you were the one carrying him,” she giggled, “so I’m pretty sure if Eldoth was being a burden to anyone, it was you.”
Shar-Teel let out an exasperated grunt. She didn’t seem to see the humour in the joke, but she didn’t push Skie away either.
“I guess I can’t really regret anything that happened with Eldoth,” Skie admitted. She knew plenty of people wanted her to, but- “Yeah, sure he turned out to be a jerk. And it wasn’t very nice of us to extort money from Daddy and all. Just if I hadn’t met Eldoth – hadn’t let him whisk me off my feet and out of the estate – I’m not sure I would have gotten to meet you and Vicky and Dynaheir and go adventuring. And that was so much fun. I wouldn’t give it up for anything.”
Skie could feel the muscles tense in Shar-Teel’s arm, and then carefully relax.
“No regrets? Good.” Shar-Teel gave a curt nod. About this, she sounded sincere.
But there was something wounded and cutting that slipped into her voice as she continued.
“And the Flaming Fist,” Shar-Teel scoffed. “You won’t have any regrets about that either. Of course you won’t.”
Skie shifted uncomfortably, taken aback by her friend’s sudden change in tune.
But some sort of panic seemed to overtake Shar-Teel. She flustered badly, grabbed for Skie’s wrist, and shoved her tankard of ale, still half-full, into Skie’s hands.
“Y-You can have this,” Shar-Teel sputtered, blue eyes flashing furiously. “If you want it. You can even think of it as congratulations.”
She really is devastatingly earnest, and desperate to be liked, Skie thought. And she watched as Shar-Teel’s face already began crumpling in on itself, shame and disgust already overtaking her.
“No,” Shar-Teel amended, “but you wouldn’t want half of someone else’s mug, when you still have your own–”
“Thanks,” Skie said hurriedly. She lifted and drank from the tankard, before Shar-Teel could try to snatch it back.
She thought about where Shar-Teel’s lips had pressed against the rim – whether her teeth had grazed its edge.
Shar-Teel seemed to relax some. She leaned back in her seat, and her voice came out in a mutter.
“So what made you decide to join up with those pigs in the Fist?”
Skie pondered the question, as she drained Shar-Teel’s tankard.
Daddy had survived.
Skie’s brother, Eddard, had been killed by bandits on a trip to Beregost. Skie still couldn’t believe he was gone. And if Daddy hadn’t survived, when those assassins almost got him, Skie probably wouldn’t have been able to believe that either.
But Daddy had survived, even if Eddard was still dead.
Eddard had been younger than Skie, but everyone knew he was where all of Duke Silvershield’s hopes had been. He’d been the only son. Mom had always coddled him. Daddy had been training him in diplomacy and stateship. And everyone had long since decided that Skie was much too flighty and silly and wilful to expect much of anything from. She’d been left on her own to shoot targets in the yard, bother the maidservants, and relieve her own boredom.
But then Eddard had died, and suddenly everyone cared about Skie – where she was going, what she was doing, and how safe she was doing it. Suddenly all their hopes were on her – even if they still thought she was too flighty and silly and wilful to do much more than marry the right man to be Daddy’s new protégé. She’d gotten so sick of it, she broke out of the estate and headed out to the docks and met Eldoth and made plans to run off with him the very same night.
But then Daddy had almost died. And Skie thought she could understand why her parents had been so upset and bossy and not wanting her to leave the estate and go adventuring and forget being a noble. If they’d been half as afraid of losing her, as she’d been afraid of losing Daddy then, she thought she could understand.
But Daddy hadn’t died. He’d survived. And nobody was about to lock him up in his estate or marry him off to the right person, just to make Skie more comfortable and less afraid for him.
Skie wouldn’t have known how to explain this to Shar-Teel, even if she’d wanted to. But she thought about what it felt like to forge that application and break out of the palace and walk into the training yard behind Flaming Fist Headquarters. And when she set the empty tankard down, she knew how to begin.
“Well, Daddy used to be an officer in the Flaming Fist,” she explained. “Like, a long time ago now. But that’s why everyone likes him and respects him so much. It’s not like he gets to boss everyone around because he’s got a fancy name and a dukedom. He gets to boss them around because he used to be one of them – knows what it’s like to be bossed around himself.”
Shar-Teel was watching her with an almost disbelieving tilt of her brows. But Skie knew she was onto something and forced the rest out despite the heat in her cheeks and the sputter that had snuck into her voice.
“So… I thought… If I joined the Flaming Fist myself, everyone would have to look at me like that, too,” Skie admitted. “Like I’m not just some silly noble that they have to humour. But like I’m someone important, whose decisions about what she wants to do with her life matter.”
And so far as Skie could tell, it had worked. When people saw her walk about the city with the emblem of the Flaming Fist on her breastplate, they gave her a wider berth. They knew she was part of the city’s peacekeeping force. They greeted her more politely and offered favours more freely – the way the serving woman here at the Elfsong had done tonight.
Though, thinking about it now, she knew that not everyone had done so out of awe or kindness or reverence. Some of them… they’d looked a little scared. And Tee had looked really scared when Skie had first approached her in this uniform.
“I can’t believe this.” Shar-Teel spat, and turned away with a strangled noise of frustration.
Skie thought she might leave the table entirely, when she turned back just as quickly and furiously and bore down upon Skie.
“You know,” she said, every word terse and measured, “when I told you not to think yourself second to any man, I didn’t just mean Eldoth. You’re worth at least as much as your father. You don’t need to prove it to anyone.”
Skie leaned back, shocked by Shar-Teel’s vehemence and intensity.
But, no, Skie had never thought of it like that. Of course she’d assumed Shar-Teel had been talking about Eldoth. And of course Skie could never think of herself as second to Eldoth. Nobody could. She was Duke Entar’s daughter, after all.
But who would ever imply that Duke Entar’s daughter was worth as much, or more, than the Duke himself? Who but Shar-Teel?
Shar-Teel must have mistaken the shock in Skie’s eyes for fear, for she’d already leaned away, cursing Helm and then herself and all the men of the world with a nasty scowl over her face.
It took a moment for Skie to regain her bearings. “You’re upset I joined the Fist,” she decided to point out the obvious.
Shar-Teel’s scowl deepened. “Collection of sword-happy pigs rolling around in their own male filth.”
“You know, Angelo’s gone,” Skie said. “He’s gone now, so you don’t have to–”
“And you think he was the only filthy, rotten animal among them?!” Shar-Teel cut her off with a hiss. “Angelo wasn’t even the worst of the men in your Fist. I liked him better than most, and I was still glad to see him skewered on that–”
“It’s not even an all-male force,” Skie protested. “I’m not even the only girl among the new recruits. Livvy is there too.”
“Do you think it matters?!” Shar-Teel continued to hiss, inconsolable in her fury. “Do you think a couple of women, head-down and cowed, make a difference in that place?! All they do is look away when the swine reach into their trousers and pull out their ugly, lumpy, disgusting manhoo–”
The words were out of Skie’s mouth – sharp and incising – before she could think better of it:
“What did they do to you?”
Shar-Teel flinched. She went silent immediately. And turned away once more.
Skie breathed. She was happy for a silent moment’s reprieve from the argument, but terrified she’d gone too far. She began to count the seconds.
It wasn’t until the eighth, when Shar-Teel turned back. And, though Skie had expected the other woman to be furious, Shar-Teel was smiling now – lazy and self-satisfied and cruel.
“I snuck back into the army camp in the middle of the night and cut that swine open by the throat.” Shar-Teel leered. “His scream woke the others before he died. They thought a river spirit had possessed my drowned corpse.” She let out a braying laugh. “The stupid men had no other explanation for how a fifteen-year-old girl fought so fiercely.”
Skie’s brow furrowed with concern. But even now, Shar-Teel’s grin was so infectious, and Skie bit her wobbling lip to keep herself from smiling.
“I killed two more of them, before the rest of the soldiers managed to restrain me,” Shar-Teel said. “I didn’t get the last one. But I heard he fell down a ravine and died while on duty a year later. Angelo was the only witness.”
Shar-Teel’s smile widened.
“That’s what I did to them,” she corrected.
She looked so proud and fierce and brave. And it was so absurd, that Skie couldn’t help the giggle that burst from her throat.
She was mortified, but then Shar-Teel giggled too. Then Skie giggled more. So did Shar-Teel. And pretty soon they were both laughing in earnest.
And, as absurd as it was, this was what Skie loved about Tee. She loved that Tee would rather sit here and brag and laugh and own up to every ugly thing she’d ever done, rather than admit anything had ever hurt her. It was the most precious thing.
It took a while for the both of them to stop laughing.
“Do you really think I’d do that?” Skie asked. “Just keep my head down and look away and let something like that happen?”
Shar-Teel let out a heaving sigh that didn’t quite snuff out her smile. She rocked her head to and fro, as she considered, before letting out a begrudging admission:
“Probably not.”
“And don’t you think,” Skie suggested, “that it’s better to have more people in the Fist who aren’t just going to look away from things? Who aren’t just like Angelo – burying a few bad people, or saving a few good ones – but actually trying to make things better?”
Shar-Teel’s sigh was more defeated this time, and her smile did vanish.
She mulled it over for a long minute before answering.
“If anyone could make those dung-heap headquarters better, it would be you.”
Skie beamed, but even though Shar-Teel finally seemed calm and relaxed and satisfied, there was something sad and resigned about her as she slumped against the table.
The moment stretched out, and seemed like there was nothing more to say. Shar-Teel had given Skie her blessing, and Skie could carry that with her, hold and cherish it, as she said her goodbyes and returned to the celebration with the other new recruits. As she rose in the ranks of the Fist and garnered all the respect people like Daddy and Dukes Eltan and Belt and Lady Janneth did.
But would any of them care about her as much as Shar-Teel did? And would any of them respect her as much as Shar-Teel already did, right now, before she was anyone but herself?
Skie cleared her throat, and reached for her helmet.
“You know, Tee,” she said, “I know you don’t believe it about yourself, but I really do think you’re a beautiful person. I really meant it, when I said that.”
Shaking her hair out, she lifted the helmet from her head and set it gently on the table in front of her. Then plucked the flaming red feather from its clasp to lay flat beside it.
“And I really meant it, when I said I feel so, so safe around you,” Skie said, reaching to untie the leather straps that held her breastplate in place. “I feel like you’re really looking out for me in a way nobody else ever has. I feel like nothing can hurt me, so long as you’re around.”
It took a minute to doff the armour. Skie didn’t rush herself, working the knots loose with methodical precision, bracing herself with a deep breath.
“And so I really, really want you to feel that same way around me,” Skie concluded. “Comfortable and safe. Like nothing gets to hurt anymore. And if this is going to get in the way of that–” She lifted the breastplate with both hands and shook it to rights, before lying it next to the helmet on the table. “–then it’s not worth it to me.”
She finally turned to Shar-Teel then, and found the other woman staring with fear and confusion and poorly concealed hope. Like she couldn’t quite trust what Skie was offering her.
“Really?” she asked, a little desperately.
Skie bit her bottom lip, gave a wide toothy grin, and nodded her head eagerly.
No matter what Shar-Teel thought, Skie knew there were other people who could make the Flaming Fist better. People like Daddy or the other Dukes, or maybe even Connor or Livvy or Micah.
But Skie was pretty sure that nobody in the world could be a friend to Tee like she could.
“Yeah, really,” Skie said. “But come on. We should get out of here before the others notice.”
Slipping out of her seat, Skie threw a few gold coins on the table. (Probably enough to cover whatever bill Shar-Teel and Viconia and Dynaheir had racked up several times over. But who cared? It was just money, right?) They quickly gathered their things, and Skie grabbed Shar-Teel by the hand, and led her out of the Elfsong and into the street.
They were both giddy and giggly. Shar-Teel squeezed her hand tightly. And Skie was so excited.
Running out on everyone and everything like this? Vanishing into the moonlit night with someone so big and strong and fierce? It really was so exciting. Maybe a little scandalous. Definitely really romantic.
And Skie and Shar-Teel got less than a quarter of the way down the street, before an angry voice called out:
“Miss Sky!”
Skie grit her teeth and suppressed a shudder. But, caught under the light of a streetlamp, she turned back to face the man that had followed them out.
Bence Duncan’s harrowed and wrinkled face moved into the glow of the lantern.
“Miss Sky, what are you doing?” he demanded. “Where are you going?! You can’t just leave in the middle of our celebration. You have a responsibility towards the Fist, now, towards your fellow recruits!”
“Er–” Skie wrung her lips uncomfortably. But there was no point in mincing her words. “Yeah, I’m not doing that anymore. I decided the Fist just wasn’t for me after all so…”
Bence’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull, with the shock and anger that passed over his face. It seemed one of the veins bulging on his forehead might pop too.
“You can’t just decide the Fist isn’t for you,” he seethed. “You were accepted into the force this very morning. You signed a contract promising your services against the crusade. You can’t leave without even tendering your resignation. This is desertion!”
“Oh, wow,” Skie said, a little breathlessly. “So I’m like a deserter? A criminal?”
You had to admit that did sound pretty exciting.
Bence Duncan heaved a sigh through his gritted teeth.
“You can’t rely on your father to get you out of every–”
Skie’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. What did Bence Duncen know? And who did he think her father–?
But before Skie could even consider getting answers, Shar-Teel stepped forward, placing herself protectively between Skie and Bence.
Shar-Teel’s shoulders were shaking again – with how much fear or how much rage, Skie couldn’t be sure – but she held her ground. And she was at least as muscular as Bence, and a few centimetres taller to boot.
“I think I’ve heard just about enough from this pig!” she spat.
“Miss, who–?” Bence sputtered. He squared his shoulders and placed his hand over the hilt of his sword as a warning.
But Shar-Teel was beyond warnings and, in an instant, before Bence could even finish speaking, she had crossed the space between them and swung her whole torso into a brutal punch that burst blood over his face and knocked him directly to the ground.
Skie stood in place, suddenly breathless, as if Shar-Teel’s punch had stunned her instead of Bence.
Shar-Teel drew her own sword, and raised it over the dazed and disoriented corporal.
“I’d say everyone has had just about enough of your controlling, masculine-ego-fuelled–”
“N-No!” Skie cried out.
She ran up and wrapped her arms about Shar-Teel’s waist.
“No, that’s enough!” Skie said. “Please! You can leave him alone now! You don’t have to do anything more! I’m okay now! I’m safe!”
And that also felt really romantic. Skie wasn’t sure she’d ever felt so womanly as she did now, begging Shar-Teel not to kill someone on her behalf. And it felt even better knowing that she was actually the one coming to Shar-Teel’s rescue. Because, really, the last thing Shar-Teel needed was the Flaming Fist chasing after her for the murder of Corporal Bence Duncan.
Skie rubbed her thighs together, and tried to ignore the heat pulsing in her groin as she clung tighter to Shar-Teel.
Shar-Teel looked conflicted, but she slowly drew herself out of fighting stance and lowered her broadsword, the tip coming to rest on the cobbled stone of the street.
“Are you sure?” she asked Skie. “This man was harassing you,” she pointed out.
“I’m positive,” Skie assured her. She regained her grip on Shar-Teel’s hand, pulled them past the gawkers, and urged them into a run. “You saved me. You absolutely saved me.”