Once Around the Realms (single books)

by Brian Thomsen

  Cat would not hear of it. "Oh, you are much too modest," she insisted. "That subtle little entry brought down the entire villainous plot without panicking the entire city. You were a genius."

  "Well, I…"

  "Unfortunately, they never caught Hlaavin," she continued, bringing the tale to an end, "but the Hanging Lantern was shut down, and you can't have everything, I guess… but anyway, any enemy of a doppelganger is a friend of mine."

  Volo, glad that the story was over, changed the subject. "But that was seven years ago. We have new, more pressing matters at hand."

  "Oh," said Cat with a gleam in her eye, "you're after the Bleth reward, too."

  "The Bleth reward?" Passepout inquired, his eyes immediately seeing gold pieces.

  Cat turned to Volo and, indicating the thespian at his side, stated, "I take it he's not too bright."

  "I'm afraid that neither of us are," Volo replied. "This is the first I've ever heard of the Bleth reward."

  "Oh, well, I guess I'm one up on you then," Cat conceded. "Lord Gruen Bleth of the Seven Suns Trading Company has offered a huge reward for the safe return of his daughter, who was part of a caravan that was abducted while she was traveling through Thay. That's where we're bound, as a sort of general objective. Of course, if we don't find her, well find something to keep us busy. Still, the reward would be nice. Care to join us?"

  Volo considered the offer carefully and graciously declined.

  "Thank you, my fair lady, but I'm afraid we will have to decline due to prior commitments."

  "Prior commitments can usually wait," Cat offered flirtatiously.

  "If only they could," Volo countered, "but my word is my bond, and the matter is completely out of my control."

  Cat sighed. "A man of bravery, and a man of honor," she said wistfully. "I had hoped to share your company longer, but I respect your commitments. Perhaps we can travel together for a few days-say, until the road that leads to your destination diverges from the one that leads to ours. Which reminds me, if I might be so bold as to inquire, where are you and your roly-poly actor heading?"

  "Shadowdale," Volo stated.

  "Shadowdale?" Passepout questioned.

  "Why Shadowdale?" the gracious hostess pressed.

  "Because something has gone wrong with my magics, and I must have it corrected as soon as possible," he answered.

  "Well, toward the Dalelands it shall he then," she stated, adding, "and then on to Thay. The hour is late, digestion complete, and time for sleep. Tomorrow, Shadowdale bound so shall we be."

  A few hours later, still in the dead of night, Volo heard footsteps approaching, and mindful of their earlier midnight encounter, he quickly braced himself, dagger in hand beneath his blanket, and inquired, "Who goes there?"

  A sheepish voice broke through the silence of the darkness.

  "It is only I, Master Volo," said Passepout.

  "Is everything all right?" Volo inquired.

  "Sure," the thespian replied with all the enthusiasm of a slave bound for the block.

  "All right, then," Volo answered, adding, "Get some sleep. The open road beckons us for an early departure."

  "Great," said Passepout, with his usual lack of zeal.

  Rosy-fingered dawn saw the Company of the Catlash, and their two new companions, ready for the road.

  Volo noticed the auburn-haired staff bearer telling her comrades a story that invoked reams of laughter, which they quickly suppressed once they noticed his presence. His curiosity at the reason for their joviality and for Passepout's late-night stirrings was soon satisfied, when he saw the thespian at breakfast. Somehow during the night, his rotund bond servant had acquired a black eye, and a proclivity toward blushing whenever the redhead was around.

  Oh, well, thought the traveler, such are the risks of the inept Casanova.

  Vowing to himself never to mention what might have transpired, Volo helped his companion with his pack, keeping pace with him as they journeyed toward Shadowdale, subtly massaging the thespian's fragile, damaged ego.

  By lunch, the embarrassment of less than twelve hours ago seemed to be forgotten, and the thespian's earlier braggadocio had returned, much to the chagrin of the rest of the company.

  Chapter 7

  Shadowdale or A New Course of Action Is Required

  "I will miss your company, master traveler," sighed Catlindra Serpentar.

  "And I yours," replied Volothamp Geddarm.

  "I hope you solve your problem," she added.

  "In matters of magic, Elminster knows all," replied the departing traveler.

  "You mean we're going to see Elminster" interrupted Passepout, destroying the poignancy of the friends' farewell.

  Cat kissed Volo on the forehead and with a dry wink rejoined her company along the road that would bypass Shadowdale.

  Volo sighed for a moment and started down the road to Shadowdale proper.

  "But, Master Volo," Passepout persisted, "I've always heard that Elminster is a bit of a curmudgeon and not really fond of unexpected visitors. And given the way we didn't exactly hit it off with Khelben, I don't think we can afford to get on the wrong side of another archmage."

  Volo just shook his head.

  "You can't believe everything you hear," he replied. "I'm sure he'll be glad to see us."

  The sign read, Trespassers May Be Polymorphed.

  "We're not trespassers… I mean… you've been here before," said the very concerned Passepout, who had no desire to pursue his acting career as a trained seal or some such other animal.

  "Afraid not," Volo replied.

  "But you have met Elminster before, haven't you?" the thespian persisted.

  "Sort of."

  "What do you mean, sort of?"

  "He wrote introductions to some of my guides."

  "Like Volo's Guide to All Things Magical?"

  "Well, no," Volo hedged. "Now that you mention it, he was slightly miffed at me for that one."

  "But that was a long time ago," the thespian demanded. "Right?"

  "Sure was," Volo agreed, paused for a moment, and continued, "Now that you mention it, that was probably the last time we had business together. I hope he doesn't hold a grudge."

  "Eo save us!" Passepout prayed.

  At last they arrived at the most famous residence in the Dales, Elminster's tower.

  The sign read: Enter At Your Own Risk — Have You Notified Your Next of Kin?

  Passepout did a one-eighty and took off back the way they had come, saying, "Darn it! I knew I forgot something. And it has been a while since I dropped a line to my dear parents. After all, what will Idle and Catinflas do without me?"

  Volo reached back, grabbed his bond servant by the collar, and turned him around,

  "Do you want to risk separating, given Khelben's spell?" Volo calmly asked.

  "I guess not," Passepout reluctantly agreed.

  "And don't you want me to get my magics back, so that we can divest ourselves of these accursed gems, complete our world tour, and get back to the city comforts of the Dragon's Jaws Inn?"

  "Most assuredly, Master Volo."

  "Well then," Volo pressed, "ring the bell."

  Gently the thespian pulled the bell cord. Its tintinnabulation carried throughout the dale. If anyone were home, they would have undoubtedly have heard it-as would anyone else within a mile radius.

  No one came to the door.

  "Again," Volo ordered.

  Again the chimes sounded, but still no one came to the door.

  That's odd," said the master traveler. "It's not unusual for Elminster to be away, but I would have expected Lhaeo to be around. Perhaps we should force the door, maybe look around some."

  "But, Master, shouldn't we find a place to spend the night?" Passepout implored, trying to distract the traveler.

  "We're not too far from the Old Skull Inn," Volo answered.

  "Well, why don't we check in for the night and perhaps ask around for news about their whereabouts? It is ge
tting late, after all, and you did promise me a night under a roof."

  "So I did," Volo replied absently. "1 guess we can check back tomorrow."

  "Sure," agreed Passepout, discreetly dropping a red gem on the doorstep. "Sure," he repeated.

  To himself he thought, "I'll wait until after dinner to remind Master Volo about not retracing our steps. We'll state to find a solution at someplace more friendly with fewer warnings".

  Jhaele Silvermane, proprietor of the Old Skull Inn, was a fine judge of human nature and a shrewd observer of new faces to Shadowdale who just happened to stop by her taproom. Given the Zhent troubles of the past few years, she was always on her guard and prone to "accidentally" overhearing conversations among new patrons. It was no surprise that she listened in on the two new arrivals, and even less of a surprise that she sent a messenger to Storm Silverhand when she recognized the mentions of Khelben and Elminster.

  "But, Master Volo," Passepout implored, "we can't go back to Elminster's tower. You remember what Khelben said about retracing our steps."

  "Why didn't you remind me of that when we were at the tower?" Volo blustered, having lost his temper with the rotund thespian for the first time.

  "I forgot… and I was hungry… and think the raven-haired barmaid likes me… and 1 didn't think Elminster would appreciate us waiting inside, given all the warnings, and such."

  The master traveler sighed, and conceded, "You're probably right. Normally I would have relied on my magics to alert me to any booby traps or such."

  "What will we do now T

  "I don't know," Volo replied. "Since my magic has gone away, I feel helpless. If only Elminster had been home. He would have been able to crack this magic-dampening cloud that seems to be following me around."

  Passepout eyed the crowd at the taproom, trying to find the barmaid whom he was sure that he had impressed with his tales of the theater and of his exploits on the road as Volo's right-hand man. Though he obviously felt sympathy for his master's plight, he couldn't help but wish that more magic users could experience how an average guy has to get by. It would serve them all right.

  The raven-haired bartender was nowhere to be seen, and had he not known better he might have thought that she was avoiding him.

  "Excuse me," offered a recently arrived patron, "did your friend mention Elminster?"

  The speaker was a tall, good-looking young lady with silvery, long hair held back from her face by a tiara of silver, and the brightest blue-gray eyes Passepout had ever seen.

  "Yes he did, milady," Passepout replied, acknowledging that the speaker was a much better catch for the evening than the barmaid would be any day. "We have an appointment with him… but he's not home."

  "What sort of an appointment?" she pressed.

  "Very important business," he replied, "but nothing to worry your pretty little head about. It will have to wait. So, in the meantime, why don't we get to know each other a little better?"

  "I don't think so."

  Passepout continued undaunted. "I am Passepout the legendary thespian, and this is the honorable Volothamp Geddarm, best-selling author of guides to Waterdeep, the North, and All Things Magical."

  "I recollect El telling me about that one," she interrupted.

  Passepout pulled himself up short, remembering his master's comment about the old mage's reaction to the aforementioned book of magic.

  "You know Elminster?" he asked sheepishly.

  "Yes, I do," she replied, "and I don't remember him telling me that he was expecting anyone, and I know he wouldn't appreciate strangers calling at the tower-probably as much as I enjoy the company of braggarts in my local tavern."

  "I meant no offense," the thespian replied, trying to backpedal as fast as possible.

  "I'm Storm Silverhand," she boomed, "and what business do you have with Elminster?"

  "Storm Silverhand!" Volo exclaimed, breaking out of his stupor of self-pity. "I am Volothamp Geddarm, master traveler of the Realms."

  "So he claims," Storm replied, "but I've heard of more than one fellow falsely claiming the Volo moniker."

  Volo rolled his eyes. Again he was confronted with doubt and confusion due to that imposter Marcus Wands. Reputation matters, he thought, damn it!

  "I am the real Volo," he replied, keeping his tones as measured as possible, "the one and only. I have come to Shadowdale in hopes that Elminster would be able to help me with a problem, but now that I think about it, it was all just foolishness on my part. He's probably back in Suzail at the War Wizards' meeting."

  "You know about the meeting?"

  "Sure. Vangerdahast has convened the college for some reason or other."

  Storm considered the two strangers for a moment. There was always the possibility that they were not who they claimed to be, particularly the fat one… but Elminster would not want her to turn away someone who was really in need, nor would the merchants of Shadowdale want to risk alienating a famous gazetteer like Volo from writing kindly of their area. Either way, they looked harmless enough and posed little threat to a hardened warrior such as herself.

  "For the time being, I will accept whom you say you are. If you have a problem, perhaps I can help. Let's go back to my farm, away from the crowds of Shadowdale's only tap house, so that we can talk."

  "Sure," Volo agreed, picking up his pack. "Lead on."

  Passepout scrambled to set his own pack in place and quickly fell in beside his master.

  "Did you hear that. Master Volo?" he whispered. "Away from the crowd, she said. I think she likes me."

  Yet again, Volo just rolled his eyes.

  The chill from Storm's initial manner soon wore off in the confines of her farmhouse, where she fed the two worn and discouraged travelers ample portions of typical Shadowdale fare, washed down with freshly brewed Shadowdale ale. Between munches, draughts, and numerous expressions of gratitude, the gazetteer and the thespian told their tale.

  "That doesn't really sound like Khelben," she observed, throwing another log on the fire, as the chill of the evening made its presence known.

  "It was Blackstaff, all right," Passepout interjected. "I would have known him anywhere."

  "Quite," Storm replied in a tone usually reserved for parents of opinionated and obstreperous children, then turned her attention back to Volo. "Well, it's obvious that your magics have been dampened by something. Maybe something happened when you tried to scry the gate at Myth Drannor. Sometimes the areas of wild magic cause an overload, a sort of mage hangover, you might say."

  "My magics had left prior to Myth Drannor. I should have been aware of our camp's intruder the night before," he replied. "No, I'm sure it is something that must have happened to me back in Suzail, something linked to the gems, the bond, and the wager."

  "If you ask me," Passepout interrupted, "it's just another case of a mage throwing around his powers, to have some fun with the less enchanted ones."

  Volo ignored his servant's comments and continued with his train of thought.

  "Now that I think back, I distinctly remember a chill passing through me as I shook his hand. 1 didn't think much of it at the time, but now…"

  "No offense meant," Storm apologized in advance, "but it still doesn't sound like the Khelben Arunsun I know. He's more tolerant of braggarts than I am."

  "What do you mean by that?" Volo asked.

  "Well, you do seem to stake a lot on your reputation."

  "It's well earned, and nobody ever questioned it before that rogue Marcus Wands started calling himself Marco Volo."

  "I know, but it's not as if anyone actually called you a liar."

  "Well, no."

  "And it's not like you were forced to accept the challenge."

  "I had to. There is only one master traveler of the Realms?"

  "And you weren't tricked into accepting the challenge?"

  Volo hedged for a moment. "Well, actually, I do recall accepting it before hearing what it was to be."

  "So even if the chall
enge had been that you must travel with a servant, dropping markers along the way, never retracing your steps, and never using your magical arts, you would have still theoretically agreed to it."

  "Well, yes, I reckon so," Volo agreed, and then chuckled. "I guess I should keep my big mouth closed until I've heard all the details of a deal."

  "This doesn't change the fact that Volo has been tricked," the thespian demanded. "How can Khelben expect us to pass this test without the help of Volo's magical arts?"

  "Is that true, Volo?" Storm asked gently. "Is that the real reason for your reputation as a master traveler? Is it all just another magic trick?"

  "No," he replied, a grin spreading on his lips. "Of course not. It just makes this harder."

  "But not impossible," Storm added.

  "No, not impossible," Volo conceded.

  At the night grew long, Passepout once again became cranky and was about to suggest that they return to the Old Skull Inn when he realized that the ploy that he had used to prevent Volo from returning to Elminster's tower now prevented them from returning to the inn-and the arms of an appreciative serving wench who would probably like nothing better than to partake in an assignation with a famous thespian. Eyeing his hostess, he realized that maybe another alternative existed.

  "You know, Storm," he declared in his most man-of-the-world voice, "life gets lonely on the road."

  "I know," she replied in a respectful monotone.

  "Particularly for a thespian such as myself who is used to the presence of many adoring funs."

  "Of course," she replied in the same tone.

  "And Master Volo is wonderful company… don't get me wrong… but I was wondering if…"

  "You could spend the night snuggling up close to a more feminine warm body."

  "You read my mind," he replied, leaning in close.

  "No problem, it was easy," she answered, getting to her feet and helping him to his. "I was going to offer you one of the guest rooms, but I realize now that simply won't do."

  "Great minds do think alike."

  "Uh, yes," she replied, leading him to the door.

  Puzzled, Passepout asked, "Where are we going? Some little hideaway cottage?"

  "We are going nowhere," she succinctly replied. "You are going to the barn. Mystia and Mandy are waiting for you."