Azure Bonds

by Kate Novak

  He froze in his tracks. He could not have been mistaken. The voice was unknown to Akabar, who prided himself on his recognition of voices as a way of remembering customers. The speaker’s voice was succinct enough for that phrase to carry over the high hedge. It was probably only a townsman reporting the story of how Alias had cleared the kalmari from the gap, but Akabar, his curiosity aroused, was overcome with the urge to peek through the hedge and see the speaker.

  As Akabar crept up to the hedge, the scent of freshly baked bread wafted over him, setting his stomach rumbling and reminding him that he hadn’t eaten for over twelve hours. Then he heard the same voice say, “I think ye will find ye are mistaken,” then pause, then say, “I did not mean to question thy discernment—” then pause again. This led Akabar to the conclusion that there was a second speaker who spoke too softly to be heard by any but the first speaker. When the mage finally discovered a break in the greenery, that was not what he saw.

  The first speaker was a tall man, taller than Akabar, and thin, with expressive hands withered with age. He wore a cloak with the hood pulled up, and his back was to the hedge, so Akabar would not have been able to identify him even if he had known him. But the person the hooded one spoke with was known to Akabar. It was Dragonbait.

  The lizard knelt on a bench beside a vat of water he must have commandeered for a washbasin. He held a fluffy, brown towel up to his chest.

  The hooded one stood opposite him on the other side of the vat. He asked Dragonbait a question, but all Akabar caught were the last words—“remain here?”

  What puzzled Akabar, besides the lizard traveling down the road to wash, was that the hooded one stood before the lizard, still and attentive as though he were listening to the creature. Yet Dragonbait remained mute. The scent of roses from some garden caused the Turmishman’s nose to twitch irritably. He held his fingers up to his nostrils hoping to stifle the sneeze he felt coming on.

  “I can offer ye much,” the hooded one said. Then his words grew more quiet. But the last one was clear to Akabar—home.

  Dragonbait whistled, not with his lips as a human would, but from the back of his throat. It was really only a wheezing cry, but it conveyed the same sense of awe a human whistle would have.

  “Once they’re removed, ye’ll be completely free,” the hooded one continued, pointing to the towel Dragonbait clutched to his chest.

  Dragonbait dropped the towel on the bench.

  Akabar gasped, fortunately not loudly enough to give himself away. There on Dragonbait’s chest was a snaking pattern entwining sigils by now quite familiar to the Turmishman. In the same bright blue colors, the same symbols Alias wore on her arm were imbedded into the lizard’s green scales!

  Only the shape of the lizard’s tattoo was different. While the sigils on Alias’s arm lay in a straight line, those on Dragonbait’s chest were arranged at the points of a hexagram. At the top-most point, the joining snake pattern wound about an empty space. Clockwise from that lay the Flame Knives marking; then the interlocking circles once so aggressively defended by Zrie Prakis; at the bottom, Cassana’s squiggle; then Moander’s unholy symbol; and finally the unknown bull’s eye sigil.

  Akabar’s mind raced. Is this the bond that keeps the lizard so close to Alias? If she knows of it, why hasn’t she told me? Of course she doesn’t know it. The lizard has kept it a secret from her. That’s why he’s come all the way down here to wash. No doubt he is afraid of losing her trust if he reveals that he too is branded. Is he truly just a benign companion helping her evade her enemies or is he one of the enemies’ servants helping to track her?

  Akabar caught one last phrase spoken by the hooded one. “Sure ye will not accompany me?” he asked.

  Dragonbait hissed and shook his head.

  “Ye’ve chosen the hardest path. I’d wish ye Tymora’s grace, but I don’t believe in it.” The hooded one turned to leave.

  Hastily, Akabar leaped back to the path and began walking toward the road to conceal his eavesdropping. But when the Turmishman rounded the hedge, the hooded one had vanished and Dragonbait’s back was turned as he pulled on a shirt of kelly green cotton.

  Confused by the hooded one’s disappearance, but anxious to see Dragonbait’s reaction to his own sudden appearance, Akabar called out cheerfully, “Dragonbait? What are you doing here?” as though he’d just spotted the lizard.

  Dragonbait wheeled about and went into a defensive crouch. Startled, Akabar fell back a step. Hardly the behavior of an innocent creature, the mage thought. Aloud, he chided the lizard, “Jumpy this morning, aren’t we? I just got through at the sage’s. Are the others at the inn?”

  Dragonbait glared at him suspiciously and nodded curtly.

  “Well, you had better come back there with me then.” The lizard continued to glare at him.

  “Can’t have you dawdling about people’s backyards,” the Turmishman joked. He felt as though he were addressing a wall, and a hostile wall at that. Dragonbait’s gaze was like a snake’s, unblinking and unwavering.

  Finally, the lizard turned and snatched up his towel and cloak from the bench by the water vat. Akabar could tell something long and stiff was wrapped in the cloak. Undoubtedly the creature’s sword. Dragonbait pushed past the mage without a sign or sound and headed down the road toward the inn.

  As he followed Dragonbait through the town, Akabar marveled at the creature’s rudeness. In Alias’s presence, he was always the polite, servile clown. Perhaps he really is an arrogant servant of some sinister power, Akabar thought. His conversation with the hooded one must have upset him greatly. He’s dropped his guard and revealed himself.

  If he told Alias of Dragonbait’s behavior, with no one else to substantiate his words, would the swordswoman believe him? Probably not. Alias was very attached to the lizard. She felt safe with him.

  Which left Akabar to decide whether or not to tell the swordswoman of the markings on her scaly follower’s chest. Trying to get the creature to remove his shirt to prove it would no doubt prove painful and perhaps even violent. And was no guarantee of Alias’s reaction. It was possible that she would perceive the lizard keeping his markings hidden from her as an act of betrayal, but it was more likely that she would feel even more attached to him, believing him to be a fellow victim. Were Akabar to try to convince her otherwise, she would no doubt accuse him of jealousy or paranoia.

  No, he would be better off waiting, keeping a close watch on the lizard until he could discover some incontrovertible proof of the creature’s guilt. But would it be too late by then? he wondered.

  As he reached The Old Skull, Akabar remembered he had one other subject which required some consideration—his meeting with the sage. Alias, intent on reaching Yulash, had not really shown any interest in the mage’s self-appointed mission to the sage of Shadowdale, but it would not have slipped her mind. She would ask about it. In the face of his uselessness the evening Dragonbait had destroyed the kalmari, the Turmishman was loath to confess his failure to gain an audience with Elminster.

  * * * * *

  The hooded one flipped down his shadowy cowl and shook out the full, gray beard that he had kept tucked within it. “Surely our guest hasn’t given up waiting on my pleasure so soon,” he joked.

  Lhaeo looked up and shrugged. “For a magic-user he seemed a bit impatient.”

  “Takes all types,” Elminster commented sagely as he threw his cloak over the chair Akabar had only recently vacated. He sat down and stretched out his long legs.

  “Did you discover what you needed to know?” Lhaeo asked.

  “I have all the pieces of the puzzle and I have put them all together. But the picture makes no sense.”

  “Oh?” Lhaeo said, a little surprised.

  “I may have to make that journey to the other planes after all.”

  “Shall I begin packing?” Lhaeo asked.

  “Not just yet,” the sage replied. “There’s a good chance the puzzle may just throw itself on the fire.” But
a rare ache crept over his bones and he knew he was wrong. “In the meantime, maybe ye’d better dig some of the old Harper scrolls out of the vault.”

  Lhaeo nodded and slipped out of the office jangling a set of great iron keys. Elminster retired to his study to research a single puzzle piece.

  Back at The Old Skull, oblivious to the sage’s concern, the four adventurers tended to their own business.

  Akabar worried about the meaning of the sigil he had been unable to trace and considered how to trap Dragonbait into betraying himself.

  The lizard kept his own council and told no one of his plans.

  Olive counted the platinum coins four more times, finally tucking them neatly into the pockets of her backpack.

  Alias slept the morning away, and when she awoke in the early afternoon on the last day of Mirtul, she felt refreshed and peaceful.

  Run Aground

  Giogioni Wyvernspur, suddenly aware of his duty to posterity, began the first entry in his journal, despite the inconvenience of the rocking boat. With a stick of soft lead he scrawled:

  The last day of Mirtul has dawned fair and bright, and the Dragonmere’s southern coastline is now in sight. The trip across the lake from Suzail has been a pain in the britches. The ship, on which that cad Vangerdahast has seen fit to book passage for me, is no larger than a festhall and a good deal less clean. A violent storm last night threatened to capsize this vessel, and consequently dinner was not served. But all that hardship is behind me. We will dock tonight in Teziir and proceed to Westgate in the morning, traveling along the coast, with land in sight at all times, thank Tymora.

  This business of being a royal envoy might not be so bad, Giogi thought as he closed his journal. All he had to do was carry a letter from Azoun to a member of Westgate’s ruling council, find out if they knew anything about this Alias person, and then keep an eye out for her in case she showed up within the next two months—all at the crown’s expense.

  As he stood at the upper deck’s railing, the Wyvernspur noble could pick out snatches of the conversation the captain was having with Teziir’s harbormaster. Something about an increase in the docking fee—another ten gold pieces was owed. A reasonable sum for making it to land, Giogi thought, but the ship’s captain had another opinion.

  “Outrageous! I won’t suffer such extortion. I’ll bring her in without your help. See if I don’t!”

  Somewhere astern, on the lower deck, a high-pitched voice asked another passenger, “Penurious, our captain, or merely recalcitrant?”

  Giogi turned toward the sound of the voice. Funny, I didn’t notice any halflings aboard before.

  The passenger the halfling had addressed was a lady cloaked from head to toe. When Giogi saw her face he froze. The halfling was male, completely unfamiliar, but the woman’s face—he couldn’t be mistaken. It was her!

  “Why, Master Phalse,” the lady smiled. “If I had known you were traveling on the same vessel, I might have forsaken dinner with the captain for your company.”

  “Dinner with the captain, dinner with me, while poor Zrie is left alone in Westgate. You can be so cruel, Lady Cassana. You know he falls to pieces without you.”

  So, Giogi thought, Alias isn’t her real name, after all.

  The Lady Cassana laughed with cruel amusement. “He needs the reminder occasionally. What are you doing here? I didn’t notice you board.”

  “That’s because I only just popped in. I thought I might accompany you. How’s your arm?”

  The lady frowned. “How did you know about that?”

  “My master’s been scrying you to be safe. There was a blur as the One approached your bird form. When she passed by we noted the dagger in your wing.”

  Cassana shrugged. “All healed when I polymorphed back to my own body.”

  “Well, our condolences on the failure of your mission.”

  The lady snarled. “The beast sleeps with his damned sword, so I could only use the subtlest of magics lest I alerted him to my presence and he dispelled my attacks. My creature would not approach him, branded as he is. I almost had the mage and the thief, but Puppet managed to shake me off in time to raise an alarm.”

  “Well, there will be other opportunities,” the halfling replied, shrugging.

  “We were lucky she had the brands checked for magic, or we might still be searching all compass points. But it was a fluke she had it done again near Zrie’s old rock garden, and a fluke that my creature spotted her in the gap. Don’t you think it’s time your master got involved in this?”

  “There is no need when he has such efficient, clever helpers as myself.”

  “Oh? And what have you done lately to earn such praise?”

  “Planted a tracking device in the One’s, or as you would say, Puppet’s, party. A device strong enough to be detected despite the enchantment of misdirection about her.”

  “Planted with the thief, I presume.”

  Phalse nodded.

  “But, how did you find the party?” Cassana asked.

  “Upon interrogating Nameless I learned of a peculiar desire he had to sing in Shadowdale. Like father, like daughter. I kept watch on the town. As soon as my scrying power became blurred, I knew the One must have arrived. Sneaking in was a bit perilous—the town is heavily warded against my kind, but nothing I couldn’t handle. Now, aren’t you glad I didn’t let you kill poor, foolish Nameless?”

  Cassana smiled slyly. “I suppose I am.” From her pocket she drew out a small serpent. The reptile tried unsucessfully to slither from the woman’s grasp.

  “You took him with you?” The halfling sounded surprised.

  “He proved quite useful in holding Puppet’s attention. He really is a remarkable storyteller.” Cassana slipped the snake back into her pocket.

  Giogioni withdrew hastily from the railing. It isn’t possible, he thought. She’s supposed to be heading to Yulash. Something has gone very wrong. She’s here, discussing the most sinister-sounding things. Using magical attacks against branded people, threatening to kill someone’s father, and turning humans into snakes. Instead of a sell-sword named Alias, now she’s a sorceress called Cassana. Giogi didn’t know what to make of it all, but his duty was clear. The woman had to be placed under arrest.

  The sailors were all too busy dropping lines overboard and calling out numbers, so the Wyvernspur noble made his way toward the captain. “Excuse me, sir, but there is a woman aboard your ship who is wanted by the Cormyrian authorities. A very dangerous woman.”

  “Ten!” a sailor shouted from the port bow.

  The captain seemed not to see Giogi. His eyes were fixed on the port, his hands clenched about the ship’s wheel.

  Giogi stepped closer, whispering confidentially. “Why, not sixteen days ago she tried to assassinate a very important Cormyrian official.”

  “Eight,” shouted another sailor from the starboard bow.

  “The fourteenth of Mirtul to be more exact,” Giogi said.

  “Nine,” the first sailor called out.

  “We all thought she’d gone north to Yulash, which is over six hundred miles away, but,” Giogi gave a nervous laugh, “I just saw her on the lower deck.”

  “Seven,” called out the sailor on the starboard bow.

  “It doesn’t seem possible. I mean, it would take nearly two rides, twenty days, for her to get back here that quickly, but maybe she never went there to begin with, don’t you see.”

  “Five.” This last came from the starboard bow.

  “Five!” the captain shouted. “Nine Hells!” He twisted the wheel furiously, but it was too late.

  Giogi felt the deck rise in a most peculiar fashion. It began sloping rather steeply down to the stern and remained that way. “I say! Have we hit a shoal or something?”

  The captain glared at him with murder in his eyes. “Strike the sails!” he shouted.

  The ship’s first officer approached with his evaluation. “It’s no good, sir. We’ve grounded too far. Have to wait for a
change of wind to shift us.”

  The ship listed perilously to starboard, and Giogi was forced to grab the wheel to keep from slipping on the deck. A peculiar cracking noise came from the housing beneath.

  The first officer looked at the captain with alarm in his eyes.

  “Prepare to disembark the passengers, Master Roberts. Start with this one.” The captain jabbed Giogioni Wyvernspur with his index finger.

  “That’s most thoughtful, Captain,” Giogi said. “I say, but I can wait for the woman and children first. Wyvernspurs know their duty when they see it.”

  “Sir,” the captain said. “You can disembark now in the longboat, or you can walk the plank.”

  Giogioni found himself lowered in the longboat. He’d been too busy fretting over his baggage as the other passengers were loaded in beside him, so it came as quite a shock to look up and find himself staring into her eyes.

  Giogioni gasped, “You!”

  “I beg your pardon,” Cassana said. “Have we met?”

  Giogi gulped. This close up he realized he’d made a mistake. This was not the lovely, mad sell-sword Alias. The woman seated opposite him was too old. Her hair was the wrong shade. Her flesh was soft and unmuscled.

  “Excuse me,” he mumbled. “I mistook you for someone else.”

  “Attractive men need never apologize for mistaking me for someone else. Provided they never mistake me again. I am Cassana of Westgate.” Cassana squeezed the Wyvernspur noble’s knee in a suggestive manner.

  Flustered, Giogi tried to explain further. “I meant—that is, you look just like her, except older. I swear you could be her mother, er, older sister.”

  Cassana’s eyes narrowed, and Giogi kicked himself mentally for violating a sacred rule about never telling women how old they really looked.

  “This woman I look like,” Cassana whispered. “Tell me about her.”

  Giogi gulped again. Oh, gods! Suppose she is her mother? “Well, she’s like you. Very pretty. With red hair and green eyes. She’s a sell-sword though, not a lady like you.”