Blood and Honor

Hintram led him to a large hostelry south of the city’s main square. Its gilded pillars and gaudy paintwork were meant to convey opulence, but they reminded Tarrel of some of the places in Firelight, Sharn’s infamous pleasure district. An ornately carved sign hung over the door, bearing the name Good As Gold picked out in gilt on a bright red background. The words stood on a bed of carved and painted gold coins.

Tarrel hung back as Hintram went inside, judging the lay of the land. The people entering and leaving the establishment were better dressed than he was in his laborer’s disguise, and he didn’t want to go in looking out of place and risk attracting attention. At the side of the building, down a dark and narrow passage, he saw an outside privy, obviously provided for the use of the establishment’s patrons. It appeared to be empty, so he ducked inside and closed the door.

He had hidden his Brelish clothes close to his lodgings, and by the time he had retrieved them, cleaned up and changed, his quarry might have moved on. If Mordan was right, Hintram was the only link he had to one of the badges his client’s daughter was hunting down. He couldn’t risk losing his only solid lead.

Rummaging inside his tunic, he pulled out the glassy wand again, then changed his mind. Invisibility had its uses, but the Good As Gold was a busy place, and he would be discovered right away if anyone bumped into him. Pulling on a leather strap under one arm, he unbuckled a scroll-case and thought for a moment. He murmured a single syllable, and the scroll-case opened. Taking out a scroll, he read aloud, still in a low voice. The air around him shimmered, and be became a slightly stout human dressed in the style of a Karrnathi merchant, rather than a grimy half-elf laborer. Stowing the scroll-case again, he stepped out of the privy, wrinkling his nose fastidiously and making a great show of dusting down his clothes. Then he went inside the hostelry.

The interior of the Good As Gold was as ostentatious as its street frontage. The tables and chairs were carved with vines and foliage, but were too solid in their construction to be entirely tasteful. The red and gold theme of the sign was carried on in the upholstery, with velvet and tassels everywhere. The serving staff, dressed in a uniform that suggested a noble livery, bustled between the kitchens and the tables. In addition to the large common room, several smaller private rooms ranged along the outside. Some had their doors closed.

Tarrel scanned the room but saw no sign of his quarry. He picked an unoccupied table with a clear view of the doorways to most of the private rooms, and ordered food and drink. It had been a long morning, and he was glad to take a break.

He suspected that Hintram was behind one of the closed doors, and took his time over his meal as he watched and waited. After ten minutes or so, a waiter knocked on one of the doors and took in a pitcher of wine. As the door opened. Tarrel caught a glimpse of his quarry, who was laughing and drinking with an older human man. This individual was well-dressed, in conservative but stylish Karrnathi clothes, and so fat that he occupied almost all of the small room by himself. He was making a point—or perhaps delivering the punchline of a joke—by waving a half-eaten joint of meat at his companion.

The waiter served the two and left, closing the door behind him. Although Tarrel had caught a glimpse of a window behind the fat man, it seems that the door into the main part of the hostelry was Hintram’s only practical way out, so he decided to wait. His meal—a cold plate of cured meats and cheeses with dark, heavy bread fresh from the oven, accompanied by a mug of the Nightwood Ale he had heard so much about—was not as fancy as some cooking he’d had, but the serving was generous and the ingredients were good quality.

As he ate, he made a mental image of the fat man, meaning to ask Mordan if he knew him. Judging by his clothes and Hintram’s deferential attitude, he was a person of some consequence in Karrlakton, and he wondered what business he might have with a smuggler of stolen weapons.

He was finishing the last of his cheese when someone else knocked on the door of the side-room. Like Tarrel, he was a half-elf, but he was younger and more muscular. His clothes—black breeches, calf-length boots, and a black leather jerkin over a plain white shirt—were less showy than those of the inn’s other patrons, and so was the shortsword that hung by his side. He went inside.

A few moments later, he came out again, accompanied by Hintram and the fat man. Their demeanor had changed; clearly the messenger had brought bad news. As they left, Tarrel tossed a handful of coins on his table and got up to follow them.

Chapter 6

A Rescue

Olarune 18, 999 YK

“So you’re just going to leave him there?” asked Solly. They were sitting at a booth in the Black Dragon, waiting for Tarrel to make their rendezvous.