Crypt of the shadowking - Mark Anthony [66]
"Go," a voice said softly. A hand fell gently on Estah's shoulder.
It was Jolle.
Estah turned to gaze at him, shaking her head softly. "Go," Jolle repeated. "It means everything to you. And it might mean everything to all of us as well."
"But I can't," Estah said softly. "Why, who will run the kitchen in the inn? And tend the garden? And take care of the children? And who will light new candles for you, husband, when the old ones burn too low?" Jolle raised a finger to her lips to silence her protests. "Go," he said one last time. They embraced. His eyes shone with sorrow, but also with pride and love.
Scant minutes later Estah sat in her pony's saddle, and the Fellowship of the Dreaming Dragon, reunited, was ready to take up where they had left off.
"I'll be here when you come back, wife," Jolle cried. Estah only nodded, as if even that was more of a farewell then the two of them could bear.
"Take care of yourself, Jolle," Caledan advised the baffling innkeeper. "If any of Ravendas's men come around asking questions, you don't know anything about where we've gone. Be careful. Don't get yourself into trouble."
"Don't you worry about me," Jolle said, a hard glint in his eye. "I can take care of myself. It's you who ride into danger, not I. May the gods watch over you."
The riders made their way single file down the alley behind the Dreaming Dragon. Ferret rode at the fore, scouting ahead. When he indicated the way was clear, the companions made their way out of the alley, riding through the city streets in the early morning light.
As they approached the city's west gate, they fell silent. They were about to pass through when a rough-looking guard stepped into their path, halting the companions. He didn't look to be Zhentarim, but his hand rested on his sword hilt with practiced ease.
"All right, mates. Show me your papers," the guard said, eyeing them distrustfully.
"Papers?" Caledan asked, apparently taken by surprise. "That's right," the guard growled. "It's a new rule, come down from the tower just yesterday. No one's to leave the city without papers bearing Lord Cutter's seal. Seems some city guards have been getting badly cut up, and Lord Cutter doesn't want the rats who are doing it to sneak out of Iriae-bor before she rewards them properly. Now, you got papers or don't you?"
Mari saw Caledan's hand creeping down toward his boot-and his concealed dagger. "Sure, I'll show you our papers," Caledan said, his body tensing.
Suddenly his horse was jostled aside as Morhion rode forward. "Here they are," the mage said, handing the guard several pieces of parchment. Mari's eyes widened. The papers were completely blank! The mage was going to get them all killed. She started inching her own hand toward the saddlebag where she had stashed a crossbow.
"Well, everything seems in order here," the guard said. Mari stared. The man wore a vacant look on his face, and Morhion watched him intently as he folded up the blank parchment and handed it back. "Well, get on with you," the guard barked. "I haven't got all day."
Morhion spurred his horse through the gate.
"Come on," Caledan whispered to Mari, and she nudged her horse to follow. Whatever magic Morhion had used to trick the guard, it had worked.
They rode swiftly for a league or so until Iriaebor, the City of a Thousand Spires, disappeared behind a low hill. They turned west across rolling plains that were green with the new growth of early spring. Pale, tiny flowers dotted the grass, their fragrance sharp in the air. The sun was warm, and Mari threw her cloak back over her shoulders. It felt good to be away from the oppression of the city. She had forgotten how bright and lovely the world could be.
They had a long journey before them. Even riding hard, the city of Berdusk was almost four days' away, and the Fields of the Dead lay another hundred leagues to the northwest, nearly a tenday farther, and that only if the weather held.
Shortly after midday,