“The truth is,” Morgrim continued softly, as if regretting his loss of composure, “if the Prince of Lies had called you, your soul would be serving him even as we speak.”
The priest moved even closer to Aidan, brushing his fingers across the captain’s chest as he finished speaking. Aidan stood transfixed, his heart pounding wildly, whether from Morgrim’s words or his featherlight touch he wasn’t sure. He only knew that at this moment, he stood closer to death than ever before.
Nervously, Aidan cleared his throat, looking away from the promise in Morgrim’s steady gaze. “Why,” he repeated his question, “did you save my life? Tell me, priest.”
Morgrim walked toward the old, scratched table and poured himself a glass of wine. “I have need of you.”
Aidan sat down on the bed. “You have need of me,” he repeated, his voice quavering between disbelief and incredulity, “For what? I will not participate in your murderous rites-even if you send me to Cyric as a slave.”
The priest shot Aidan a glance, bright eagerness alight in his eyes. “And what of yourself? Do you not kill? Does your sword not taste the blood of the living?” Morgrim took a quick sip of wine and thunked his goblet down on the table.
“I am a Purple Dragon,” Aidan protested. “I fight against injustice for the honor of Cormyr-”
“You are a soldier! You fight where you’re told to,” interrupted Morgrim. “When the Cormyrean king unleashes his Dragons upon Sembia or the Zhentarim, what do you think the Sembian farmers say to comfort their families? They say, ‘Do not worry, I go to fight for the honor of our people and our land.’ And when tho8e farmers die, pierced by the teeth of your swords and your spears, who is it do you think greets them on the other side of death?”
Aidan tried to reply, to say that he was different. He knew in his heart that he was no murderer, but the words died on his lips. Finally, he said, “I cannot find the words to debate you, priest. But I know what I am.”
“Peace, Aidan,” the young man said. “It is not your words that I require.” Morgrim’s voice was gentle, sliding once again into velvety tones. The sound soothed the old warrior, calming him so much that he barely heard the priest call him by name.
He looked up, surprised. “How did-”
Morgrim held up a thin, graceful hand. He took another sip of wine and said, “The thieves weren’t the only ones waiting for you in that alley. Someone stole an object of great importance from my order, an object that I have spent many months searching for.”
“The dagger,” Aidan cut in.
The young priest nodded. “Yes. The dagger, as you so elegantly call it, is the Linthane-a high priestess’s ceremonial blade and the symbol of her authority.”
Aidan drew his hand across his grizzled gray beard, trying to make sense of the priest’s words. “I don’t understand. The blade was well crafted, something far beyond what an old soldier like myself would carry but-”
“It didn’t resemble an unholy blade consecrated to the Lord of Three Crowns?” Morgrim finished. “Believe me, the Lirithane does not look like any weapon you would want to carry. Whoever ordered the theft wove powerful illusions about the blade, making it difficult to track.”
Aidan sat for a few minutes, weighing what the priest had said. He didn’t believe Morgrim-at least not fully. Oh, the young man sounded earnest, that was certain, and his eyes, dancing with the reflected light of the fire, looked as guileless and trusting as a doe’s. Unbidden, Aidan found himself thinking of Morgrim’s feather-light touch…
The fire hissed and popped as he brought himself back to the present. “All right, let’s assume for a moment that I did carry the blade of the high priestess of Cyric last night. How did I come to possess it, and who were the cutthroats who attacked me?” he asked. Despite the warmth of the fire, Aidan felt a queer chill in the pit of his stomach, as the events of the last day swirled around in his mind. He wasn’t sure he really wanted an answer to his question.
Morgrim hesitated before speaking, as if sensing his thoughts. “I do not know how you received the Lirithane- though the identity of your attackers is easy enough to impart; they were members of the Fire Knives.”
Aidan shook his head. “Impossible. The Purple Dragons and our allies destroyed the Fire Knives.” He had been a young lieutenant then, and the memories of that fierce struggle still pulled him screaming from his sleep.
“In Tilverton, perhaps” Morgrim replied, “but remnants of the cult survived your attack. They were lost without their little god, and it was a simple thing to take them in and bend them to our purpose. They were our dark hounds, and we sent them out to hunt across the face of Faerun.”
Aidan’s blood froze. “Then why did they attack me?”
The priest sighed and said, “The hounds have gone feral. They used their familiarity with our temple to steal the high priest’s blade. They aren’t smart enough to carry this off by themselves; someone put them up to it. I tracked them across Cormyr until they ended up here, where they delivered the blade to their unknown master. Apparently, this person felt the blade was too dangerous to keep in their possession and used you to ‘deliver’ it back to the Knives.”
Morgrim paused and Aidan sat still as the priest finished, “I need your help in finding their leader.”
Nothing made sense! Aidan had spent a lifetime battling the forces of chaos and darkness, struggling to carve out a safe haven in the world, and now, on the eve of his retirement, an agent of darkness called upon him for help. His choice should have been clear.
Then why, by Tymora’s Thrice-Damned Tresses, isn’t it? he thought.
“Look, if you won’t help me out of the goodness of your heart, do it for yourself.” Morgrim whispered as he crept closer to Aidan’s silent form. “Someone set you up-someone who didn’t care whether you lived or died. Don’t you want to find out who that was?”
Aidan held his breath. Gods it was hard to think with the strange young man so close. Still, the priest had a point:
Someone in Tilverton was trafficking with dangerous forces. Retired or not, he had a duty to find out the identity of that person. With a silent prayer, he made his decision.
“What do I have to do?” he asked.
The midmorning sun shone brightly as Aidan walked down the Street of the Sorceress, heading toward the marketplace. Tilverton’s streets were crowded at this time of day, and the city seemed to take on a life of its own. Horse-drawn wagons and carriages pushed valiantly against the steady press of people, carrying loads of flour, wool, and other items for the marketplace. The people, in turn, parted reluctantly for the transport, immersed in their own private conversations. Musicians dotted the street corners, playing wildly for small groups of onlookers, their music a rhythmic counterpoint to the constant hum of conversation.
Aidan felt comforted by the sights and sounds of the city. He had spent most of the last tenday since his attack peering and poking throughout Tilverton for any information regarding the mastermind behind the Lirithane’s disappearance. So far, the results were frustrating. Whereas before his rank in the Purple Dragons opened the tightest lips, he now found himself facing a wall of silence. He was just another citizen. There was little he could do to force information from the unwilling. Even so, he managed to get a few nibbles. Unfortunately, each one had led to a dead end.
To make matters worse, he had finally returned to his own house after spending the last six nights in the mausoleum that Morgrim called a room only to find a letter from Commander Haldan requesting his presence this very afternoon. It was easy to guess what the commander wanted. Even when they were both lieutenants, Haldan had resented any civilian interference in official Dragon business. Not only had Aidan not informed his friend about the fateful attack in the alleyway, but he had also begun an investigation without official sanction. By now, the commander had most likely discovered both those facts. Aidan didn’t look forward to this interview.
A rough bump jolted Aidan from his rumin
ations. He looked up to find a burly fur-clad man shaking his fists; a stream of guttural language poured out from the man’s mouth. All around the angry giant, a number of animal skins lay dashed in the mud. A small crowd gathered behind the incensed man as Aidan realized with a shock that he had just stumbled into a trader’s stall. He hastily mumbled an apology and gave the irate merchant a gold coin for his troubles. Shaken, he entered the marketplace proper.
If the press of people were the lifeblood of Tilverton, the marketplace was its heart. Every road flowed into it, from the Street of the Sorceress to the Great Moonsea Ride, all paths met here at the city’s center. He ignored the tantalizing smells of the marketplace-the heady aroma of spiced meats and the thick, gooey sweetcakes designed to entice a man’s coin from his pocket. Instead, he made straight for the Council Tower, a white stone bastion rising up from the marketplace like the finger of Torm.
The sounds of merchants hawking their wares seemed to fade away as he approached the tower. It was always like this. Standing in the shadow of the tower, his concentration intensified and his strength seemed to increase. It was the strength of assurance-that whatever befell the city, this tower, and the Purple Dragon garrison within it, would strive to set it right.
He approached the guards at the tower gate, sighing inwardly as they struggled to decide whether or not to salute. It’s all different, now, he thought. No matter how recent his retirement, he was an outsider. The memories of his service in the Purple Dragons were just that-memories-and the camaraderie he shared with his shieldmates, while no less real, would eventually fade. He felt an aching loss inside, like a wound to the gut.
Quickly he jostled past the guards, sparing them any further discomfort, and entered the building. As always, the tower’s first level literally hummed with ordered chaos, as uniformed soldiers and messengers scuttled about making reports and planning the watch. The captain entered the building with measured practice and walked up to a young soldier filing papers behind a desk. He knew the officer, a steady-nerved man named Joran.
“Excuse me, Sergeant,” he said in measured tones, “but may I see the commander?”
Aidan watched as Joran looked up, the officer’s face transforming from steadied boredom to carefully concealed joy.
“Captain Aidan, ‘tis good to see you again, sir.” Joran stood up quickly, scattering papers to the floor.
“At ease, son. It’s simply Aidan, now.” It hurt less if he said it quickly. “I’m supposed to see the commander. Is he in?”
Joran nodded. “Yes, Ca…sir. He asked not to be disturbed, but he’s expecting you.”
Aidan smiled gratefully and followed Joran up the stairs to Commander Haldan’s private office. The chamber was simply appointed, almost spartan, and very much like the commander himself. A sturdy desk took up one corner of the room, and a small fire burned in the mantle. Military accouterments hung on the walls, a testament to a lifetime of soldiering.
Haldan looked up as Aidan and the sergeant entered, breaking off a quiet conversation with a white-robed man. The captain saw his friend’s eyes widen in surprise, only to crease immediately in a familiar, wolfish grin. A quick word sent the white-robed man from the room, but not before Aidan caught a hostile glance from the stranger as he shouldered roughly past.
Aidan waited for Joran to shut the door before speaking. “Sorry to barge in Commander, but you wanted to see me. I hope I didn’t come at a bad time.”
Haldan rose from his seat, rubbing a salt and pepper beard. “Nonsense,” he said with a smile. “I always have time for one of my best captains-and friends.”
Aidan returned the smile, relief flooding through his body as he looked upon Haldan once more. The commander was solid and well built, an imposing officer whose martial training did not waver in the face of age and promotions. The man’s career was dotted with acts of bravery and selflessness, and his soldiers followed him as much out of love as duty. The two had met while recruits, both learning to hold a sword for the first time. Haldan had risen through the ranks quickly, leading with boldness and distinction. Thinking back on his friend’s career, Aidan knew that the commander deserved every accolade and promotion. He is the best of us, Aidan thought.
Standing in Haldan’s office once more, Aidan felt pride at their friendship. No matter the outcome of his present situation, he knew that he could always rely upon Hal-dan.
“So, Aidan,” the commander spoke, his resonant baritone easily filling the office, “I don’t suppose you know why I’ve asked you here?”
The question hung in the air like pipeweed smoke. Aidan began to answer his former commander’s lightly phrased question and then stopped. For just a second, he thought he saw an expectant gleam in Haldan’s eye. Then it was gone, replaced by the officer’s ever-present mask.
Haldan cleared his throat, and Aidan realized that he’d been staring silently at the commander. He breathed deeply and said, “Yes. It’s about the attack in the alleyway.”
Haldan rubbed his beard before speaking. “Go on.”
Slowly, Aidan recounted the events that had occurred on the night of the attack. Strangely enough, he found himself reluctant to speak about Morgrim and the dark priest’s purpose. It all seemed like an empty dream, a substanceless fear that vanished in the light of Haldan’s solid presence.
When Aidan finished the tale, the commander leaned forward. “How did you survive against such odds?” he asked.
Aidan heard the keen interest in his old friend’s voice. He wanted to tell Haldan the truth, to confess his involvement with Cyric’s priest. Instead he laughed and said, “It’ll take a lot more than a few cutpurses to kill this old soldier.”
Haldan’s answering smile hit him like a spear. There it was. He had lied to his friend and former commanding officer. Why? Aidan tried to think, but his shame and guilt snapped at his thoughts like hounds upon the hunt.
Haldan rose and walked toward a bright shield on the wall. “Well, that explains what happened, but why didn’t you report this to me instead of going off on your own?”
Aidan turned toward the commander, inwardly cursing the night he had met Morgrim. “At first, I was too shaken. Then, I decided that I could make more progress using unofficial methods. Believe me Haldan, I was going to report to you as soon as I uncovered anything solid.”
How easy the half-truths came now that he had lied once.
Haldan nodded as Aidan finished and said, “Perhaps you can tell me what you’ve already uncovered.” He turned from the shield and looked at Aidan.
The commander’s dispassionate tone confused Aidan. He wasn’t quite sure how he had expected Haldan to react, but it wasn’t like this. Unsure of his footing, he answered the question as truthfully as he dared. “I don’t believe the attack was an accident. The thieves seemed intent upon stealing the dagger I received as a gift from Lady Rowanmantle.”
"Are you sure of this, Aidan?” Haldan asked.
“Yes,” he replied. “Whoever attacked me knew exactly where to find me.” Once again, he hated not telling Haldan everything, but Morgrim had planted a dark seed of doubt and it had sprouted.
“I agree with your assessment,” Haldan said after a moment’s pause. “Rest assured that we will send out our best investigators to get to the bottom of this.”
“With all due permission, sir. I would like to assist in the investigation.”
Haldan sat back behind the desk and steepled his fingers together. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Aidan. You are no longer a member of the Purple Dragons, and I can’t risk putting a Cormyrean citizen in harm’s way.”
“But-” Aidan started to protest, but Haldan interrupted.
“I’m sorry Aidan, I really am. You’ll always have an honored place among the Dragons as long as I’m in command, but I can’t involve you in official inquiries.”
Aidan stood up, trying hard to control his growing anger, his hands clenched into fists. “Haldan,” he said, trying to appeal to his frien
dship with the commander, “I have the best chance of identifying whoever attacked me and finding out exactly who planned it. I’m the most logical candidate to-”
Haldan’s fist smashed down on his desk, “Aidan, for the last time… you are not to pursue this investigation at all! Do you understand me?” he thundered, not waiting for Aidan’s nod. “If I find that you went against my orders, I’ll jail you for interfering in official business. Is that clear?”
Aidan, stunned at his friend’s outburst, didn’t reply at first. In all the years he had known Haldan, the man had never shouted at him. Anger and hurt gave voice to his reply. “Abundantly clear,” Aidan said in a clipped tone.
Haldan let out a deep breath and leaned forward. “Look, Aidan, I didn’t mean. to yell like that,” he said. “Overseeing the safety and security of this city is a tiring job, and Lady Rowanmantle isn’t making it any easier. What I meant to say is that you should relax and enjoy your retirement. You’ve served Cormyr faithfully for many years and now its time for someone else to do it. Spend your time in peaceful pursuits; gods know you’ve earned it.”
Aidan looked closely at his old friend. The worry lines had increased around his eyes, and his face looked tired, almost haggard. Clearly, something was bothering Hal-dan. Damn you, Morgrim, he thought. He wanted to reassure his friend, but the face of the dark priest kept drawing him forward.
He stood up to leave and said, “Don’t worry, Haldan. You have my word.”
“Thank you, my friend” the commander said.
Aidan left the tower feeling lost and adrift, like a storm-damaged galley on the Trackless Sea. He had promised his obedience, gave his oath to a friend-an oath he never intended to keep.
Realms of Mystery a-6 Page 21