The Mage in the Iron Mask - Brian Thomsen [24]
Volothamp Geddarm, the captain of the Hawks repeated to himself. Why does that name sound familiar?
4
Miss Alliances
At the Retreat:
Volo did exactly as the voice he now recognized as female instructed, dropping the blade from his hand, and moving his arms away from his sides, palms out and empty. All of this was done slowly and carefully, without any sudden movements.
The master traveler of all Faerun (if not all Toril) had no desire to drown in his own blood.
"Spread your legs further apart," she ordered.
"Glad to," the master traveler answered, complying. As he felt a slight decrease in the pressure against the blade that was still resting against his throat, he slowly tried to turn his head so as to get a look at the fellow visitor to the slaughterhouse that had been known as the Retreat.
"Eyes forward!" she barked.
"Sorry," he answered, once again complying, as he felt a deft hand giving him a practiced body frisk.
Volo, in an attempt to ingratiate himself with the overly cautious woman, started to volunteer certain information about what he was holding. "I have a bando-"
"Quiet!"
"Sorry."
Her practiced hands undid the bandolier of blades that the master traveler always had concealed under his cloak, dropping it to the ground. She also quickly removed several of his other concealed surprises (though missing a few that the master traveler thought better of volunteering).
The frisking done, the mystery woman made a strange request.
"Remove your hat," she ordered, "and do it slowly."
Volo slowly followed her instructions, eyes still forward, and legs still spread apart. With beret in hand, he felt her hand gently tug at his beard, and run through the flowing locks that covered the top of what he thought to be considered as one of the more handsome heads of Faerun.
"Well, at least I don't have to worry about you being one of those murderous wizards from Thay," she said. "You can turn around, but very slowly, hands still away from the sides of your body, and no funny stuff."
"Gladly, my dear," Volo answered in his most charming tone, as he slowly turned around to face the woman who had come very close to slitting his throat. "Your wish is my command."
She was slightly taller than the master traveler himself, and was attired in a garb more suited to a ranger than the ravishing beauty that she was. Her tight leathers enveloped an obviously well endowed and maintained figure, and her flowing brown hair seemed to reach the base of her back, barely obscuring the long sword that was sheathed behind her.
Drawing on his extensive knowledge of all things public, and most things private and secret in Faerun, Volo hazarded a jibe.
"Is that a long sword," he asked with a light gesture from his left hand, then added jovially, "or are you just happy to see me?"
The female ranger ignored the double entendre, and answered simply, "What if it is?"
"Then Storm Silverhand sends her regards," the master traveler responded, "as I assume that I am addressing Chesslyn Onaubra."
"How do you know the legendary bard of Shadowdale?" she interrogated.
"Know her," Volo quickly answered, trying appear more at ease than he really was. "I've stayed at her farm on numerous occasions." He then quickly changed the subject, shifting focus back to the armed and deadly woman who was standing in front of him. "Rumor has it that you can hurl that long sword for a distance of up to fifty feet. How much of an exaggeration is that?"
"It isn't an exaggeration," she replied, letting her guard drop ever so slightly. "And what is the name of this loquacious friend of Storm Silverhand's who seems to know so much about me?"
Volo quickly replaced his beret, which sat atop his head just long enough so that he could once again remove it with a flourish and a bow saying, "Volothamp Geddarm, master traveler of all Faerun, at your service."