by Mark Anthony
Caledan took a deep breath of relief when he saw the old three-story inn at the end of the small lane. He had half expected to find it gone, what with the rest of the changes that had transformed the city. However, the half-timbered, gable-roofed inn still stood at the very western edge of the Tor. Half of the building actually jutted precariously out over the precipice, hanging in thin air where it was supported by a mazework of stout oaken beams anchored deep in the sheer rock of the cliff-face. A brightly painted sign hung above the intricately carved door, depicting an emerald green dragon dozing peacefully on a mountain of golden treasure. Caledan smiled despite himself. It was good to lay eyes on the Sign of the Dreaming Dragon again.
He dismounted and carefully lifted the Harper from Mista's back. The gray mare flared her nostrils and shifted nervously from hoof to hoof. Caledan bent his ear to the Harper's chest, then grinned at the horse.
"Fear not, friend. She still lives." Caledan carried the Harper to the stout, iron-banded door. He pushed through the doorway and into the inn.
His heart sank.
Everything was different inside. In his memories, the common room of the Dreaming Dragon was a warm place filled with firelight and the clinking of mugs, reverberating with garrulous voices, laughter, and song. This dim, sullen room was just the opposite.
The great fireplace was cold and dark, and only a few smoking oil lamps offered their wan illumination. The polished wooden bar that had once stood against one wall was now covered with dirty cloths. Lord Cutter's Rules were posted in plain view.
A handful of sour-faced cityfolk looked up from the bare tables, staring at Caledan with suspicious eyes. Grimly, he laid the limp form of the Harper down on a long bench and surveyed the scene. The longer he looked, the worse it seemed. This place had been his home once. Now it was almost as inviting as a dungeon, but not quite. "Listen, stranger, we don't want any trouble here." Caledan turned around and found himself looking down at a stout, curly-haired halfling. The halfling's nut-brown eyes glittered warily, and his broad face was drawn down in a scowl. He stood firm, raised to his full four feet, gripping a cudgel in one hand. "This is a respectable establishment. At least as respectable as you can find these days. We post the city lord's rules for all to see. You'd best be off, ruffian. Work your mischief elsewhere."
Caledan winced. Ruffian? He rubbed the dark stubble on his chin. He was going to have to do something about his appearance.
"Friend," he said wearily, "I have a lady here who's been gravely hurt. Once there was a healer who lived here, a woman who would never have turned away one in need. Has she vanished as well, like everything else of good in this city?"
The halfling's gaze took in the limp form of the Harper, and his wide-spaced brown eyes softened somewhat, though they remained resolute. "Come back in the morning."
"Gods, man, she may not have until morning!" Caledan bellowed in exasperation. He took an angry step forward. A half-dozen chairs scraped against the floor as an equal number of burly men stood, glaring at Caledan. He froze. It looked as if this was about to turn nasty. He crouched, ready to give his best before he was dragged down.
Suddenly a halfling woman clad in a gray homespun dress entered the inn's common room from the kitchen, a startled expression on her kindly face. "Jolle, what is it?"
"Stay back, wife!" the halfling man told her, lifting his cudgel, but before he could swing it the halfing woman let out a cry and dashed forward, throwing herself at Caledan. Caledan nearly tumbled backward from the impact. Then he caught himself and returned her embrace.
"By the Lady above, Caledan!" the halfling woman cried, caught between laughter and tears. "You've come home. You've come home!"
Caledan cast a wry grin at the halfling man in answer to the fellow's look of bewilderment. "It's good to see you after all these years, Estah," he said, hugging the halfling woman tightly. "Especially when so much has changed. But I've someone here who needs your attention more than I."
"Oh, by the Lady!" Estah said, letting go of Caledan and only just now seeing the still form of the Harper lying on the bench. Concern flooded her deep brown eyes and touched her broad, rosy-cheeked face. She laid a small hand gently on the Harper's pale brow. "My pretty child," she said, and then she assumed an air of briskness. "How like you, Caledan Caldorien, to drag a poor lass about when she's hurt like this. Now don't be in my way. I've work to do."
Estah promptly began running her hands over the unconscious Harper, expertly feeling for injury. Caledan looked at the halfling man-evidently Estah's husband- and shrugged.
"We're old friends, Estah and I," was all Caledan said.
The halfling man whom Estah had called Jolle simply nodded and lowered his cudgel. "Then you're welcome here, friend."
As if on cue, the room suddenly burst into action. "Coast's clear!" a man keeping watch out the window called. With a swiftness and efficiency that suggested the movements were well rehearsed, the inn's patrons proceeded to transform the common room. Bright cloths were spread across the tables, candles were lit, and a fire sprang to life on the hearth. The dirty cloths were snatched from the long wooden bar and quickly stowed away. The board bearing Lord Cutter's Rules was turned around to reveal a notice that read: Ale, Two Silver Pieces. Stout mugs clinked together merrily as they were filled to the brim with foaming brew.
"Welcome to the Dreaming Dragon, stranger," a grizzled fellow said as he handed Caledan a tankard.
The only answer Caledan could manage was an amazed smile. It looked as if some things hadn't changed so much after all.
It was well into the morning when Caledan awoke. Pale, golden sunlight streamed through the small round window of his third-story room — the same room that had been his when he had lived in the inn, in the days when he had been a Harper, and Estah had been his oldest and truest adventuring companion. He rose, washed his face in a tin basin, and scraped the dark stubble from his chin and cheeks with a straight razor he found in a drawer. He laughed, and the reflection in the mirror laughed silently back at him, green eyes dancing.
Last night Estah had tended to the Harper woman, Mari, in her efficient, caring manner. Mari's shoulder had been dislocated by the wizard's magical bolt, and the shock had jolted her into unconsciousness. However, the halfling healer had inspected the wound and announced that it was not dire. She had deftly pushed the joint back together- Caledan was rather glad the Harper was not conscious for that-and then from beneath her own blouse had drawn a small, intricately wrought silver amulet.
It was engraved with the flowing symbol of Eldath, the Goddess of the Singing Waters. Caledan had seen the amulet on too many occasions, when he or one of his other traveling companions had been wounded in battle. It had been given to Estah by her mother, and while in most hands it would have been but a pretty, lifeless piece of metal, Caledan knew that in the hands of a true healer the amulet had impressive powers. When Estah laid it on the Harper's shoulder Caledan thought he heard a faint musical humming. The Harper's brow-furrowed in pain, even in unconsciousness-relaxed, and her breathing grew deep and even.
They had carried the Harper upstairs to sleep, and then Caledan and Estah, along with her husband Jolle, had sat by the flickering fire, talking late into the night. They spoke of the seven years since Caledan and his band of companions had separated and gone their different ways.
He had met them, one by one, in his missions as a Harper agent, and each-for his or her own reasons-had chosen to throw in with him. Their journeys had taken them across the length of the Realms, fighting tyranny wherever they found it, and over time they had become more than simply friends. They were a family. They had called themselves the Fellowship of the Dreaming Dragon, for the six of them had all resided in this very inn that Estah still owned.
But all of that had been before Lord Ravendas, before Caledan had buried hope and music in the hard earth and had left the Harpers behind him. Seven years ago the Fellowship had disbanded, and all Caledan had tried to do since was fo
rget the past.
"But you didn't forget," Estah had said, placing her hand on Caledan's. "And now you've come home."
Caledan sighed. Home to what? Estah married Jolle a few years after the Fellowship had disbanded. Now the two of them spent their time struggling to keep the city guards from harrowing the inn, not an easy task in these difficult times. They did their best to foster the illusion that they obeyed Cutter's rules, all the while secretly maintaining the inn as a refuge for the cityfolk, a place where they could still find a pleasant hint of the days when Bron had ruled in the tower. "I'll choke on her rules before I take a single word of them to heart," Estah had said, her eyes flashing.
Ravendas and her Zhentarim servants had taken over Iriaebor about a year ago and had been steadily sapping the life out of the city ever since. If Ravendas caught sight of Estah, the Zhentarim lord was bound to recognize the halfling healer from her encounter with the Fellowship seven years ago. That would spell the end of the Dreaming Dragon.
"But not if I can help it," Caledan growled to no one in particular. Then he laughed grimly at himself. That sounded like something Caledan the Harper would have said. He had always been so ready to play the hero. Fool was more like it.
He pulled on his black leather breeches and the matching jerkin over his white shirt. He jammed his feet into his boots, checking to make sure his dagger was in its sheath. He was about to head downstairs when the door to his room burst open.
Two very small people bounded through the doorway, laughing and giggling. They were Estah's children, Pog and Nog. Caledan had been surprised when Estah had introduced him to them the night before.
"It's time for breakfast, Uncle Caledan," said Pog. She Was the elder of the two, pretty yet impish.
"Eth, geckfebst!" echoed Nog. He was the younger, a tiny, round-cheeked boy who spoke in a language only Estah and Jolle seemed capable of deciphering.
Caledan let Pog and Nog lead him down the back stairway that led to a private chamber situated behind the common room. Neither one of them stood higher than his knee, and he felt like a great behemoth towering above them. Deciding Estah would be angry if he stepped on one of them, he grabbed both children and stuffed one under each arm. They squirmed and squealed a great deal, but he let them go when he reached the foot of the stairs. They promptly forgot their big new friend-much to his relief- and scampered off, probably to torture each other, or whatever it was children did. This uncle business was going to take some getting used to.
Jolle had suggested that both he and the Harper keep to the back room in the wing of the inn that jutted out over the edge of the Tor. Given yesterday's incident, it seemed best for Caledan and Mari to keep a low profile.
Caledan saw that the Harper was sitting in a chair pulled close to a small fireplace. She was wrapped in a patchwork quilt, and still seemed a bit pale, but otherwise looked little the worse for wear. Estah was with her, and Caledan found himself slightly perturbed to see the two talking animatedly. He ambled over and sat next to them. The Harper's smile quickly vanished as Estah looked at him worriedly.
"You might have told me, scoundrel," Mari said sullenly.
"Would you have believed me?" Caledan asked her with a wry expression. He winked at Estah. "I seem to remember someone saying I looked more like, let's see… what was it? Ah yes, more like a Vagabond cutpurse than a hero of renown.'"
Mari frowned at this, but after a moment she began to laugh. "It's true, you know. Though you are looking a bit more presentable today. I see you actually have a face beneath those mangy bristles."
Estah smiled hopefully at Caledan and then left them alone to discuss their "Harpery business" as she had always called it.
"You still look more like a highwayman than a hero," Mari added stingingly after the halfling was gone.
"Listen," Caledan said, anger suddenly flaring in his chest. "I'm sorry that I'm not the storybook knight you were expecting, but let me set one thing straight. I am not a Harper anymore. Nor do I wish to have dealings with them. When I left the order seven years ago, it was final. Is that understood?"
"Really?" she asked archly. "If you cared so little, why didn't you simply leave me there in the alley, Caldorien? It would have saved you some trouble."
"Gods, woman. I saved your life, and all you can do is mock me for it?"
She lifted her square chin defiantly. "For that I thank you," she said stiffly, "but from now on you needn't concern yourself about me. Next time you may be the one who needs rescuing."
"Is that so?" Caledan sneered. 'Well, maybe you wouldn't find yourself on the wrong end of a wizard's magic if you tried to be a little less conspicuous. Didn't the Harpers have the sense to teach you to keep that blasted sigil under cover? Or did you think that if you wore it in plain view all the Zhentarim agents would simply flee in terror? Who is your prime master, anyway?"
Mari's eyes smoldered, but she did not flinch beneath his harsh words. "Belhuar Thantarth, Master of Twilight Hall, gave me this mission."
Caledan grunted. He remembered Thantarth. Seven years ago Thantarth had been a journeyman Harper, but even then he had the kind of ambition and staunch-if overly idealistic-values the Harpers treasured so much. No wonder Thantarth had risen to the highest seat in Twilight Hall in the city of Berdusk, to the west of Iriaebor. It didn't surprise Caledan that Mari had been sent by Twilight Hall. That bunch believed in giving their new agents a trial by fire. The Harpers of Shadowdale were a more impromptu and secretive lot. They would never have let someone as green as Al'maren journey alone to a city crawling with Zhentarim.
"Let me guess," Caledan said flatly. "This is your first mission." Mari said nothing, her hands clenched into fists. Both of them knew he was right "You know," Caledan went on a bit smugly, "you still haven't told me why you were searching for me in the first place."
The Harper looked away, gazing out a window into the morning light. On the plains below the Tor sprawled the New City like the shining but deadly web of some vast spider. "It's simple enough," she explained, turning to regard Caledan once more. "You don't think that the Harpers would simply stand by idly while the Zhentarim enslaved the richest trade city between the Sword Coast and the Moonsea, do you?"
"No, I suppose that would be too much for a bunch of meddlers like the Harpers." Caledan laughed grimly.
Mari shot him a fiery look. "These 'meddlers,' as you call them, are all that stand between the Zhentarim and the Realms. If not for the Harpers, the Black Network would not stop until it ruled every land. Would you be a slave to the Zhentarim, Caldorien?"
He had no reply to that.
"Anyway," Mari went on, "the Harpers sent me here to spy on Lord Cutter-that is, Lord Ravendas-and the Zhentarim. We need to learn how their operations work here, discover what their weaknesses are, and devise a way to help the people of Iriaebor drive them from the city. At the same time, I was supposed to search for the legendary Caledan Caldorien, even though he had not been heard from in seven years." She eyed his frayed and road-worn clothes disapprovingly. "But it seems I've failed in that part of the mission."
"Why? You found me, didn't you?"
"Really?" Mari scoffed. "I was searching for a Harper, Caldorien. What I found was a worn-out drifter who doesn't seem to care about anything, least of all himself."
Caledan winced. That one hurt, especially because it came dangerously near the truth.
"I don't know the reason you left the Harpers, Caldorien, and now I find that I don't particularly care. I thank you for your assistance yesterday, but I won't bother you again." She shrugged off the quilt and rose stiffly.
"Sit down, Harper."
"What?"
"I said sit down," Caledan growled fiercely, and in her surprise Mari complied, sinking back down into the chair. "Maybe you don't want my help anymore," he went on, "and I don't want yours, either. But there is something you should know. Lord Ravendas and I have… encountered each other in the past." He laughed darkly. 'This was during my last mi
ssion as a Harper. It was not a pleasant meeting. Someone… a friend of mine… died that day. But I think I always knew that someday I would face Ravendas again. Now it seems that the time has come, and the meeting is destined to be here."
He stared fiercely at the Harper, as if daring her to question his resolve. "I had the chance to be happy once, you know. Ravendas stole that from me. I won't let her do it a second time."
Mari regarded him carefully for a long moment, her expression guarded. "So you will work with me then, Caledan Caldorien?" she asked finally.
He let out a twisted laugh. "Oh, no, Harper. You're going to be working with me."
The crescent moon was just rising over the city's spires when Caledan and Mari slipped out a side door of the Dreaming Dragon and into the walled garden Estah kept behind the inn. Caledan searched along the high stone wall until he found what he was looking for-a small wrought-iron gate overgrown with morning glories. The secret portal led into a narrow alleyway behind the inn.
"Are you going to tell me where we're going, Caldorien?" Mari asked as they made their way down the shadowed alley. "Or is this supposed to be some sort of surprise?"
Caledan grimaced. Why did the Harper always have to make such an issue out of everything? "We're going to see an old acquaintance of mine. His name is Cormik. In fact, I was on my way to pay him a visit when I had the misfortune to cross paths with you."
The alley opened onto a larger avenue. Making certain no guards were about, the two headed on foot deeper into the heart of the Old City. The streets were deserted. It was the hour for thieves and murderers. And Harpers and scoundrels, Caledan thought wryly.
"And what does this Cormik do?" Mari asked softly.
"You might call him an entrepreneur," Caledan whispered back. "Then again, you might call him a greedy, self-centered, crooked-hearted swindler." He laughed quietly. "It just depends on how much you like him… and on whether he likes you."