Once Around the Realms (single books)

by Brian Thomsen

  "Maybe that's what happened at the gate. You mentioned that mythal stuff can mess the magic up."

  "No, it's not the mythal," Volo said with a certain amount of trepidation. "I fear it might be me. I should have sensed our visitor's approach last night, but I didn't. At the time I wrote it off to the fatigue of the road, but now I'm not quite sure."

  "What do you think happened?"

  "I don't know, but I fear that my magics have gone away."

  "You don't suppose that grouchy old Khelben put some sort of whammy on you?"

  "You mean when he bonded us to the jewels? I don't know. Maybe."

  Passepout, now fully recovered from his terrifying adventure beyond the gate, stood up and once again brushed the dirt of the road from his robes.

  That's why I don't trust wizards. They're always out to play some joke on you. I hear that even Elminster likes to have his fun with the likes of us."

  "Elminster!" Volo exclaimed. "He can help us. I'm sure that he can undo any dampening spell that Khelben cast on us. We must head to Shadowdale immediately!"

  "Immediately?" asked a slightly apprehensive Passepout.

  "Immediately!" Volo insisted. "The sooner I get my magics back under control, the sooner we can accelerate our distribution of the gems and thus clear the good name of Volothamp Geddarm, master traveler. There is no time to rest. Surely you must feel refreshed from your impromptu nap. I would have thought that you would like to see this whole thing over as soon as possible."

  "Agreed, Master Volo," Passepout said cautiously, "but it wasn't my own feelings I was referring to."

  "Then whose?" boomed Volo in a voice that echoed throughout the ruins.

  "Theirs," answered Passepout. He pointed to a band of orcs who now blocked their only avenue of escape and were cagily closing in.

  The orcs were an ugly bunch, obviously in search of treasure and fun. Unfortunately, one orc's fun is usually another person's torture, and neither Volo nor Passepout were adequately armed to fend off an attack.

  "We're doomed," Passepout cried, once again ready to go weak-kneed.

  "Now, hold on there, partner," said Volo. "Even without my magics we still have a chance. Lucky for us, orcs are stupid."

  "Oh, you mean you can't read their thoughts, either," said the master thespian, temporarily relieved of his panic.

  "Observe," Volo offered in a hushed tone. He approached the band and exclaimed, "Thank Eo you have arrived. I was beginning to worry that you might not come, and with such lovely weather it would be a shame to have to reschedule the show."

  The orcs stopped their approach as Volo neared them.

  "You there!" said Volo, approaching the leader. "You look like a stalwart fellow, an adventurer's adventurer if I might say. I bet the little woman is proud of you."

  The lead orc scratched his head, feebly trying to figure out the curious human whom he formerly marked as their next victim.

  "You know, you orcs lead such interesting lives. Right, Passepout?"

  "Sure," said the thespian, hoping that his master would let him in on whatever he had planned.

  "Don't dawdle, my good fellow. These orcs are in a hurry to get to Halruaa."

  "Oh, yeah, right," replied Passepout, finally catching on.

  "After all, we can't hog the gate all day."

  "Of course not," the thespian agreed.

  Volo put his arm around the head orc's shoulder and began to lead him over to the place of the gate.

  "Now you have to hurry or someone will get the treasure before you."

  "Treasure!" the band of orcs shouted.

  "Well, yes, treasure. Halruaa is a land of treasure, and it's right through there," the master traveler instructed, motioning to the gate that still led to the domain of the beholder.

  Immediately the orcs began to push and shove toward the gate.

  "Halt!" grunted the head orc, still slightly skeptical of the two strange humans, yet eager to be the first through the gate if indeed treasure lay on the other side.

  Passepout rushed to the other side of the leader in hopes of assisting his master in egging him on.

  "You'd better hurry," he encouraged, then opening the bag of gems from Khelben he reached in and pulled out a handful. "See! There's lots more than this on the other side."

  On the pile of green that rested in Passepout's palm, a single gem of red glowed into prominence.

  The head orc snatched the glowing red gem, and while Passepout quickly returned the rest to the sack, he proceeded to swallow it in a loud gulp.

  "Not looking for treasure!" the orc replied, backing away from the gate. "Looking for lunch!"

  With that the head orc approached the corpulent thespian, salivating at the meal that he was about to behold.

  Passepout smelled the stink of orc's breath closing in on him, and felt himself going faint. He cried, "Oh, no! Not again!" as he looked to Master Volo for assurance.

  Unfortunately, the look in the master traveler's eyes indicated that there wasn't any, and the brave gazetteer was preparing himself to meet his doom.

  Chapter 6

  Rescued by a Catlash or Good Company Is Always Appreciated, Especially When It Shows Up In the Nick of Time

  Snap!

  Crack!

  Out of nowhere the lashes of a seven-strand whip sailed over the heads of the orcs, and slashed and cracked on the head of their leader, diverting his attention from his prey.

  Snap!

  Crack!

  Again the whip came crashing down, its lashes striking two more orcs who quickly separated, diving left and right to clear a path between the holder of the whip and the orc leader and his prey.

  Standing eight feet away was a tall, muscular yet thin woman with long brown hair, hard green eyes, and a seven-stranded whip whose twelve-foot range was deceptively disguised as two feet at rest. Behind her stood a band of no less than ten equally fearsome female warriors.

  "We have been rescued by Amazons!" Passepout rejoiced.

  Volo, knowing that Amazons were not indigenous to this area, nevertheless breathed a sigh of relief over the fortunate arrival of their rescuers and heard the orc leader mutter an orcish curse as he realized that his band was both outnumbered and outskilled.

  One of the orc band, however, was neither as intelligent nor as perceptive as his leader, and with a loud war whoop, raised his blackened blade into the air and charged the newly arrived pack of humans.

  An auburn-haired beauty, just slightly shorter than the company's leader, insinuated herself forward, and with lightning reflexes unleashed her rapier, skewering the oncoming orc before he had even realized that he was within striking range. With equal skill and facility, she withdraw her blade from the brute body, pausing only momentarily to wipe her blade on her victim's tunic to remove the remaining black flecks of orcish blood from its silver sheen.

  Another equally foolish orc, dagger in hand, unaware that his comrade had already met his end, lunged forward at the bearer of the catlash who had dared to strike his father, the orc leader. His lunge, however, was quickly intercepted, blocked by the intervention of a quarterstaff whose bearer had vaulted herself forward to protect her leader. Thrown off-balance, the orc dropped his dagger and fell forward. He found himself pummeled across the side of his bovine visage by the oaken staff and spun around by its bearer, his orcish windpipe cut off from life-giving air by the staff that was now braced below his chin, his body coming to rest on the redhead's armored chest with his feet three inches off the ground. The former attacker's face was quickly turning white from asphyxiation.

  Others in the orc band contemplated joining in when the orc leader barked an order, they all laid down their weapons.

  The redhead looked to her leader, who responded with a sharp nod, and released her captive from her breathtaking grip. The asphyxiated orc fell to the ground, his air-starved lungs heaving, forcing the chest up and down, the only movement in his beaten body.

  The orc leader focused on the
catlash bearer, cruel stare meeting cruel stare.

  The catlash bearer didn't bat an eye.

  The orcs had met their match, and no further action was required.

  The orc leader barked out another order, and two of his band came forward to assist their beaten comrade to his feet, chest still heaving in grateful inhalations. They bore him forward so that his father could face him. The leader's stern visage softened with relief as their comrade came around.

  The leader tousled the bristles of his still-weak son's pate, and, turning back to the rest of his band, rapped out another order, at which point the rest of band started to retreat from whence they came. Father and son soon quickly joined them, following a lowly brute who dragged the corpse of their slain comrade.

  Now alone with their rescuers, Passepout and Volo faced the band of female adventurers.

  "O wonderful Amazons, thank you for your assistance," extolled Passepout, "but, of course, Master Volo and myself could have taken care of that loutish band on our own. In fact, I, myself, am well capable of handling twice as many orcs with one hand tied behind my back."

  Volo whispered to his boisterous bond servant, "You know, brigands and rogues come in all sexes." Passepout fell silent, fearful that they had just traded one set of predators for another.

  The bearer of the catlash came forward and said, "Smile when you call my band brigands and rogues, or we are liable to take offense."

  "None was intended, good lady," Volo replied. "1 was merely stating a well-documented rule of the road."

  The bearer of the whip scratched a white sword-scar on her cheek with the butt of the catlash before returning the weapon to its holster on her belt. "A rule of the road, you say," she continued, gesturing to Passepout, adding, "Porky here called you

  Master Volo."

  "That is correct," the gazetteer assented.

  "Marco, or the real thing?" she persisted.

  "There is only one real Volo, my lady. Volothamp Geddarm, at your service," he declared, then quickly added, "and this is my, uh, traveling companion, Passepout."

  Passepout bowed with a flourish, adding to Volo's introduction. "Yes, my lady. I am Passepout, son of Catinflas and Idle, and master thespian extraordinaire."

  The bearer of the whip ignored the rotund actor's salutation, though several of the adventurers in her band found it very hard to stifle their laughter and amusement.

  "Then you are Volo, the master traveler, and author of Volo's Guide to Waterdeep" she persisted.

  "Yes," Volo replied, "among many others. And whom do I bear the extreme pleasure of addressing?"

  "I am Catlindra Serpentar, "she declared, offering her hand for Volo to shake.

  Her grip was that of a warrior, reinforcing to Volo that even a beautiful woman such as this could be intimidating.

  "And this," she continued, gesturing to her comrades, "is the Company of the Catlash."

  "Wonderful," Passepout declared, eyeing the bevy of warrior beauties with ill-planned lust as he tried to make eye contact with the red-headed staff bearer. When he did, he gave a suggestive wink and a leer.

  The redhead ignored his facial invitation, exit the rotund thespian chose, in turn, to ignore her obvious lack of interest.

  Two of her blond comrades giggled, amused at his obvious denseness.

  "I have heard of you, and your company," Volo offered.

  "I would expect no less from the master gazetteer," she replied. "You may call me Cat."

  "It will be my pleasure. Cat, but if I recall correctly, you and your band are not usually this gregarious. Do you treat all of your rescuees like this?"

  "Only those with whom I share a common goal."

  "And what goal is that?" he inquired.

  She tilted her head back as if to release a kink in her neck, and shook her luxurious mane of brown hair.

  "There is enough time for questions later," she replied. "Our camp is on the other side of the city. Why don't you join us for dinner? Nightfall will be here soon, and you probably don't want to be wandering around these ruins then. No telling who or what you might run into during the day, let alone after dark."

  "We would be honored," Volo replied.

  "Wonderful," Passepout agreed, then quickly turned his attention back to the redhead with the staff. "Perhaps the walk over there can give us the time to get better acquainted?"

  The redhead continued to ignore him and set off at a brisk pace toward the company camp. Soon the thespian fell behind, out of breath.

  Volo adjusted his pace to stay in rank with his rotund, out-of-shape companion while keeping track of the company's progress far ahead of them so as not to lose their way amidst the confusion of ruins that had once been a great city.

  "You know, Master Volo," Passepout sputtered between gasps, "I think that redhead really likes me."

  "Indeed," said the gazetteer, glad that something had finally taken his companion's mind off food.

  "I just hope she can cook," the thespian added.

  Volo just smiled.

  After a wondrous meal of hare and venison stew that no traveler on the road had any right to complain about-even Passepout confessed to being sated-Catlindra and her company gathered around the campfire, as was their custom, to wait out the digestion and passage of their meal with conversation, so that bodily functions would not interrupt their sleep later.

  Volo listened to tales of the company's exploits, as related by some adventuresses who were probably hoping for a casual mention in one of his books. During a lull in the tale-telling, he turned to their hostess in hope of continuing the conversation from earlier in the day.

  "You know, Cat," he started, "earlier I asked you about the common goal that you referred to. Do you care to elaborate now?"

  Cat grew wistfully melancholy, and began her tale.

  "More years ago than I care to admit, before I took to the road and adventuring life, I was just your typical small-town tomboy, getting into trouble, embarrassing my parents, the usual stuff. My parents didn't really mind. They knew I would outgrow it eventually. They were the best parents a girl could ever hope for."

  "I know the kind of whom you speak," Volo offered, striving for a closer affinity with this bold adventurer.

  "One day that all changed. I don't remember what it was I noticed first. All I knew was that there was something odd about my mother. I asked my father about it, but he laughed it off, figuring it was all just part of a girl's growing up. You know, a daughter feeling herself to be the rival of her mother for her father's affections."

  "Sure," said Volo, not really understanding but willing to write it off as one of those tricky differences between men and women, and quickly noting that perhaps he should ask his mother about it at some later date.

  "I persisted, and Father eventually lost his temper and locked me in the cellar. That's what he used to do whenever I used to throw a tantrum: lock me in the cellar and let me cool off. He was a loving father, and never struck me."

  "I'm sure," said Volo, intrigued to see where this story was going.

  "There in the basement, I found my mother's body."

  Volo stifled a gasp.

  Cat continued her tale in an emotionless monotone.

  "You see, the thing that I had thought was my mother acting strangely, wasn't really my mother at all, but a doppelganger who had killed her and insinuated itself into our family."

  "So what did you do?" Volo asked, still not aware what this had to do with the mysterious common goal that supposedly he and she shared.

  "I escaped from the cellar and killed it before it could murder my father or me."

  Cat paused for a moment to look in the flames of the campfire, then continued with the story, eyes still focused on the dancing flashes of red, yellow, and orange.

  "Unfortunately, my father couldn't handle it. The death of his wife, his not recognizing her murderer's insinuation into their marriage bed. He went insane, cut himself off from the entire world, and retreated into
his own little world. A friend of the family who was a cleric offered to take care of him. He's in a monastery now, still cut off in his own world, never making contact with anyone. I continue to send money to them, and they care for him as best they can."

  "I'm sorry for your loss," Volo offered.

  "Oh. others have had it worse. That which doesn't kill you usually makes you stronger," Cat said, trying to sound as matter-of-fact as possible. "Anyway, ever since then I've had this thing against doppelgangers."

  "Well that's understandable," Volo agreed, still trying to figure out what all of this had to do with him.

  "And when I heard about a certain travel author exposing an entire ring of murderous doppelgangers in Waterdeep, well, I knew I had to meet him."

  "Who did that?" Passepout inquired.

  "Why, Volo, of course," she replied.

  "You did?" Passepout inquired of his shocked master.

  "Well, I, uh… " Volo fumbled.

  "Of course he did," insisted the company leader, who began to relate this tale of bravery previously unknown to Volo himself. "You see," she persisted, "there was a conspiracy in Waterdeep led by an evil doppelganger by the name of Hlaavin, His group called itself the Unseen. They were a consortium of shapechangers, thieves, illusionists, and assassins who had originally come from the Rat Hills to Waterdeep with a plan to gain control of the city by supplanting all of the most powerful people within Waterdeep society. At first their infiltration began slowly, taking more than ten years to maneuver impostors of a few minor functionaries in place, and then Hlaavin hatched an ingenious plan of setting up a high-class festhall to cater to just the types of society members that they wanted to supplant."

  Volo finally saw where she was headed, and stated, "The Hanging Lantern."

  "The Hanging Lantern?" Passepout questioned.

  "Of course, the Hanging Lantern," Cat assured, "and you exposed it seven years ago."

  "You did?" Passepout asked of his master incredulously.

  "All I did was to say in my guide to Waterdeep that the Hanging Lantern was a festhall run by doppelgangers," Volo offered, trying to put his alleged heroic deed into the proper perspective.