Pool of Radiance_ Ruins of Myth Drannor - Carrie Bebris [4]
The once-human creature lurched to its feet still clutching the dagger. Its scream of pain now a murderous cry, it advanced on Urdek.
Kestrel turned and ran as fast as her nimble legs could carry her, not caring how much noise she made.
* * * * *
“Now can you tell me?”
Kestrel lowered the shotglass back to the table and shuddered-whether from the liquor or the memory of what she had witnessed earlier, she couldn’t say. She shook her head at Ragnall. “One more. At least.”
“You’ll regret this in the morning, you know. I’ve never known you to drink firewine before.” Nat’s firewine, the Bell’s house liquor, was said to be distilled from wine mulled in the inn’s washtub. It was also said to pack a nasty wallop. Despite his warning, Ragnall signaled to the barmaid for another shot.
Kestrel regarded her friend. At least, Ragnall was the closest thing she’d had to a friend in a long time-the fair-haired scoundrel had never betrayed her, which was more than she could say for most of her acquaintances.
The only person she’d ever really trusted in her life had been Quinn, the old rogue who had found her in a burned-out house when she’d been barely old enough to walk. Quinn had raised her as a daughter, at first trying to protect her from the shady side of his life but eventually teaching her everything he knew. At the age of seven she was winning bets from unsuspecting tavern patrons by throwing daggers with amazing accuracy. At nine, her mentor had deemed her old enough to dabble in minor illegal activities like picking pockets. By twelve she was learning more lucrative-but also more dangerous-skills.
Then Quinn had died.
That had been ten years ago, and she’d survived on her own ever since. All she had left of him was the knowledge he’d passed on to her and a custom-made club he’d commissioned. The compact steel baton was easy to conceal, but with the flick of a wrist it telescoped to thrice its size. She’d lost track of how many times the weapon-and Quinn’s training with it-had saved her life. While daggers were her weapon of choice, the club sometimes proved more practical.
Though there had been times when she’d wished for Quinn’s advice or guidance, years had passed since she wanted to talk to him as badly as she did tonight-not as a master thief, but as the only parental figure she’d ever known. The scene at the pool had shaken her more than she thought possible.
Quinn was gone, and she was an adult now. She pulled her thoughts back to the present conversation and Ragnall’s admonition about the firewine. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “You know I could drink you under this table if I wanted to.”
“I know,” he conceded. “I’ve witnessed it.”
Kestrel rarely drank to excess. In her profession, it was too risky not to be in full possession of one’s faculties. She didn’t intend to get drunk this evening, just dull the tingling in her collarbone. Though she’d fled Valjevo Castle hours ago, the sensation hadn’t ceased. If her adrenaline didn’t stop pumping at this rate, she’d be too exhausted to leave town in the morning.
Which is exactly what she planned to do. Phlan could keep its creepy Pool of Radiance and the undead creatures it spawned. She was moving on.
The serving wench returned with the liquor bottle. She refilled the shotglass, which Kestrel immediately emptied and slid forward for more.
“Slow down, Kes-you’ll make yourself ill.” Ragnall turned to the barmaid. “Bring us two tankards of ale instead.”
Kestrel made no objection. The firewine was burning a hole in her gut anyway. “And some bread and cheese,” she added.
She looked around, taking in the atmosphere of Nat Wyler’s Bell one last time. Though she’d called it home for several months, she wouldn’t miss this dingy little corner of Phlan. The common room had a hard-packed dirt floor and rushes that hadn’t been changed in years. The tables and walls were scratched and scarred. At its best, the fare was mediocre. Her corn-husk mattress upstairs was in