Chapter Text
“Better,” Ed says judiciously, before picking up the bucket of water he’d drawn from the well earlier and pouring a generous half of it over the flickering flames. “Try it again.”
“Dad,” Kira groans. “I’ve been starting campfires since I was six.”
“Yeah, and you’ve always had me or Holga along to get it going when you can’t. Try again.”
She regards the pile of sodden kindling skeptically. “You got it all wet,” she points out, in the I-am-being-entirely-reasonable-and-can’t-believe-my-elders-aren’t voice that she’s been perfecting over the last five years.
“You think it doesn’t ever rain out on the road? Figure it out, kiddo.”
She eyes him malevolently. “Sure, Dad,” she agrees after a moment, in a tone so sweet that Ed’s already bracing himself before she whirls around to stalk away across the yard. She stops at the small tin box stored under the eaves, next to the wood pile, and helps herself to a handful of wood shavings, then to collect a couple of smaller sticks. Ed grins as she makes her way back.
“That’s right,” he says. “Cheating is always allowed.”
“I do not understand how that will serve her when traveling,” a voice observes mildly from somewhere behind Ed.
“I have a box for dry kindling in my saddlebags,” Kira says immediately. “And besides, you cheat all the time.”
An arm wraps around Ed, pulling him tightly in. “I do not think I know what you mean,” Xenk says, looking mildly startled and almost perfectly sincere.
Perfectly sincere enough to fool Kira, apparently. She regards him balefully before piling her handful of kindling just to the side of Ed’s wet spot--he decides to allow it--and says, “Creating water.”
“A useful skill, I admit.”
“Making light.” She strikes the tinder, sheltering her spark. It winks out, and her scowl deepens. “Riding around on a magic horse that you can talk to.”
“That is perhaps overstating the case,” Xenk murmurs. “It is a link more of feeling than--”
“Curing colds,” Kira says, and strikes again. This one catches, and she hovers over it protectively. “And that’s not even getting started on Dad.”
“Hey, I can’t heal anyone’s cold,” Ed protests.
“No,” Kira allows. “You just cheat all the time even when you’re not using magic.”
“I prefer to think of it as choosing the most expeditious solution,” Ed suggests, and feels Xenk’s quiet laughter. “There’s no point in doing something the hard way if you can come up with a better plan.”
“Is that what you call them?” Kira asks sweetly, carefully adding sticks to her fire.
“Careful,” Ed warns her. “Or this storm”--he gestures threateningly with the bucket--“might get strong enough to wash your saddlebags away.”
Kira rolls her eyes. Ed considers her for a moment, and then pours the rest of the bucket--turns out there’s more water in it than he’d expected--over her fledgling fire.
She turns to stare at him in outraged offense. “Dad--”
“No saddlebags left,” Ed informs her. “You’ve still got your horse and whatever’s on you.” He eyes her thoughtfully. “Although everything in your pockets should probably be wet too.”
“Don’t you dare,” Kira says.
Ed catches her glance at Xenk, but the appeal for help is clearly unsuccessful. Xenk just watches, mouth quirked in amusement, and makes no move to intervene. “You’re a terrible teacher,” Kira accuses.
Ed shrugs. “You’ll thank me when you can keep yourself alive in the middle of a flood.”
“No I won’t, because I still won’t know how, because you’re not actually teaching me anything.”
“I’m teaching you to rely on your wits,” Ed suggests.
“Just because that’s what you always do--”
“Learning from a teacher, or indeed a text, has served you well,” Xenk says, mercifully cutting the argument short. “But your father is not wrong. If you are to succeed in this, you must learn through experience and innovation as well as mentorship, as all who came before you have done.”
Kira doesn’t look entirely convinced. Ed knew he’d bought her too many books. “Fine, but if you’re supposed to be mentoring me you’re not doing a very good job. Neither of you is teaching me anything. What would you do if all your kindling got swept away?”
“I should use a knife to clear the wet bark from a branch and use its pith as kindling,” Xenk says serenely. “Your father, I believe, would locate a more fortunate traveler and use his charms to convince them to share their fire.”
“Hey!” Ed protests. “I would not.”
“Forgive me.” Xenk unwraps his arm from Ed’s waist and pulls away just far enough to offer a courtly half-bow of apology. To Kira, he adds, “Your father should find another traveler and, ah, relieve them of their own stash of kindling in an unethical manner.”
Kira snorts. “Sure. Like he’s that good at lifts.”
“I’m great at lifts,” Ed protests. He should have brought over a second bucket of water. It might be the only way to leave this conversation with his dignity intact. “I could steal anyone’s kindling.”
“They’d see you from half a mile away.” Kira pauses, and looks thoughtful.
“Now who’s cheating?” Kira sticks out her tongue at him, and Ed says, “C’mon, clock’s ticking. You’re wet and you’ve lost your saddlebags, you’re going to freeze if you don’t figure something out. What’s your plan?”
“Is there any milkweed nearby?”
Ed, utterly taken aback, whirls around a little too quickly and nearly loses his balance. Standing behind him, in the path that leads out of the forest, are Doric and Simon. Apparently they’ve just this minute arrived in Targos to give Ed’s kid firestarting tips (Doric) or smirk annoyingly at Ed (Simon).
“Milkweed?” Kira’s already demanding, before Ed can do anything civilized like greet their new guests.
Doric nods. “The pods keep the seeds dry, if they’re still closed. Sometimes cattails work too.” She shrugs. “Xenk’s not wrong about the inside of branches, though.”
Ed waves a hand at Kira. “Go find some milkweed pods, and I promise I won’t pour water on them until you’ve got a real fire going.”
As she gallops off towards the shallow ditch that runs along the next street over, Ed turns to give Doric and Simon a closer look. The horses they’re leading are dark with sweat. Simon always looks vaguely disheveled, but even Doric is travel-worn, with just the faintest hint of dark half-moons under her eyes. They’ve traveled quickly to get here, with little rest for themselves or their mounts.
That doesn’t mean anything good. Ed steps forward and offers, “Here, I’ll take your horses while you set your bags down inside.”
By the time he’s got the animals groomed, fed, and watered, Doric and Simon have re-emerged from the house and are giving Kira’s new fire its due admiration. Ed, true to his word, draws up a new bucket of water and sets it safely to the side. He’ll let Kira do the honors herself, once she’s ready.
Which, apparently, isn’t going to be anytime soon. As the long fall afternoon wears on, Ed decides it’s time to take Kira’s tutoring one step further. “Alright,” he says, once there’s a pause in the chatter about Doric’s recent encounter with a naga and Simon’s latest spell. “You’ve proved you can get a fire started, kiddo. Now it’s time to do something useful with it.”
**
Kira, it turns out, already knows how to make a decent stew.
Ed confines himself to only the mildest critiques of her flavors and techniques, and fancies that one or two of his comments are even well received. By the time they’ve emptied the stewpot and Xenk’s taken the dishes inside to be washed, Ed’s finally and completely run out of patience. He turns towards Simon with an inquiring eyebrow--he’s always more likely to crack than Doric--and waits.
Simon, who apparently isn’t even going to try to put up a fight, twists his mouth up in something that isn’t quite a smile. “Yeah, ok, we came here for a reason,” he says. “Stop complaining, I could have just sent a dream and we wouldn’t have had to ride all the way up here.”
“I’m not complaining,” Ed says instantly. “What’s going on?”
Simon glances at Doric, who smoothly takes over. “It’s the Neverwinter Wood,” she says.
That’s bad. And surprising. Between the Enclave and the Helmites to the north, most people know better than to mess with the wood these days. Ed hasn’t heard of anything going seriously awry there since that episode with Whyla’s trackers, several years ago now.
“There’ve been bandits,” Doric explains. “At least, we think it’s bandits. They keep robbing the forest’s holy places. Shrines, ruins, that kind of thing.” Her lips thin. “Destroying them when they’re done, too.”
“Well, shit,” Ed manages.
She nods. “The druids are doing what they can to keep them away, but they can’t be everywhere all at once. And the bandits have good intel. They’ve been avoiding us.”
To strike at shrines. The bastards. Ed has, admittedly, made that mistake himself, but at least it had been a mistake. And he hadn’t done it more than once. “So they decided to ask Xenk for help,” he says. “Makes sense.”
Doric hesitates. Simon’s already shaking his head. “It’s not Xenk they’re looking for,” he says. “I mean, I don’t think they’d mind if he came along, but they sent us up here to look for you. And Holga,” he adds, hastily, with an inclusive wave towards where she’s sitting next to an apparently-resigned Ria.
“I’m sorry,” Ed says. “They want who now?”
“It’s Neverwinter,” Simon says, as if it’s self-evident. “People there haven’t forgotten, Ed. The four of us are, well . . .”
“If you say we’re famous I’m kicking you out and you can spend tonight at the Trip and Shuffle,” Ed tells him.
“No, but they remember. They know we helped take down Forge. But we, uh, told them we needed you two, too.”
“And it’s just happy coincidence that we come along with the greatest paladin in all the realms?”
Simon shrugs. “There’s a good reward for getting the treasures back.”
Huh. Ed’s not ready to think about the people of Neverwinter remembering him as some kind of, what, heroic avenger--he’s not ever going to be ready for that, probably--but the reward might be welcome. A chance to lay in some coin before winter comes. It’s not a bad idea.
Besides, once Xenk finds out about this there’s no chance he’ll stay in Targos, and Ed might as well follow along. Since he’s been asked for. And anyway, this’ll be a better learning experience than sitting at home arguing about survival skills under strictly theoretical conditions. “Sure,” Ed says, with a sideways glance. “C’mon, Kira, put out your fire and then we can go over packing your own saddlebags.”
**
The journey south is, mercifully, as uneventful as anything ever is when you bring along a sensible druid, a sorcerer given to wild magic, a century-old paladin, and a teenager who’s far too smart for her own good.
A nearly-unanimous vote carries the day against Holga’s protests, and they ride east to Fireshear in the hopes of finding a vessel that’s headed down the coast. Ed, who’s done this kind of thing before, is in the middle of an educational lecture about the trick to finding a trustworthy sea captain--the sad truth being that there isn’t one, except to hope that their vessel still being afloat is evidence of their competence--when Doric gives a wordless cry and takes off running down the pier.
By the time they catch up to her, she’s enthusiastically greeting a party of sailors that are just disembarking from a dinghy. They don’t seem like likely friends for a druid from the Neverwinter wood, but in the flurry of introductions that follow it becomes clear that Doric knows these people well. Ed gives up on showing Kira how to find a berth, and even Holga doesn’t say anything when they’re all swept along on board their small barque in exchange for what even Ed has to admit is a pretty minor fee for the passage.
The sailor’s familiar care towards Doric expands almost immediately to cover Kira as well. As Holga lurks in a corner of the deck and repeatedly grinds out assurances that she’s fine, Kira asks an incessant stream of questions about sailing, ships, and the crew’s travels. Ed bites his tongue as Doric confidently leads her up into the rigging--it’s not like there’s much he could do to stop them even if he wanted to--and settles in to watch.
At least it’s easier than the time they’d sailed to Llast, in an effort to relieve a local duke of some ill gotten diamonds, when Kira hadn’t been any older than ten. She’d had the same determination then to climb the masts, but the sailors on that trip hadn’t been as patient or inclined to mentorship as this crew. In the end she’d snuck up into the rigging on her own, very early one morning, and only the grace of some particularly beneficent god had woken Ed up early enough to catch the moment she’d slipped and nearly tumbled overboard, clinging to some stray piece of rigging with all her usual stubborn insistence but unable to climb back down. He’d had to clamber up to rescue her himself, hoping the whole way that she’d keep her grip. At least now, as something vaguely approaching a grown woman, he can trust her to show a little more sense. Or at least fish herself back out of the sea, should she fall in.
The rest of them are treated with a polite, if distant, friendliness. The only exception is Holga, who quickly earns a wary, and significantly more distant, respect. It’s not until a couple nights into the voyage that Ed manages to convince the sailors that he’s sincere about wanting to learn new shanties, and trades a couple of his own in return. With Kira still on deck he can’t quite bring himself to share some of the more imaginative songs in his repertoire, but even the tamer ones prove popular, and they spend several more evenings singing together when the conditions permit.
All in all it’s not an unpleasant way to spend a tenday. The weather is calm, without any of the autumnal gales that Ed feared. The few stops they make along the way might slow their progress but also offer a welcome respite from shipboard life, although Holga’s the only one of the passengers who dares go ashore in Luskan. They only lose someone overboard once, and manage to pick Simon back up before the giant octopus gets within even ten yards of him, so in the end it’s really an uneventful voyage. Ed finds himself almost reluctant to disembark, upon their arrival in one of the smaller harbors that line the coast near Neverwinter.
It doesn’t help that they find themselves coming ashore in a light rain that, to judge by the mud pit where a road used to be, has been making itself at home for a while. Ed, determined not to ruin the party’s precarious good mood, puts up his hood and lasts a virtuous three minutes before starting to complain about the weather.
Xenk, shaking back the hood of his own dark blue cloak in a way that’s much more theatrical than necessary, gives Ed an unexpectedly fond look and suggests that, just for one night, they might find themselves a place at one of the taverns that dot the roads this close to the city. They can press on with their ride tomorrow, once they have the hire of horses and, with any luck, better weather. Ed, for one, takes very little convincing.
The warm taproom and comfortable feather beds turn out to be the last comfort any of them know for a while.
Upon their arrival at the inn they’re greeted with a message for Doric and Simon, bearing the tidings of a new attack on a sacred hermitage in the nearby eastern border of the wood. Despite the urgency of the situation, anyone sensible can see there’s no point in riding out that night, a fact which Ed points out in an increasingly louder tone of voice until everyone, even his extremely recalcitrant husband, gives in.
Inevitably, Xenk gets his revenge in the morning, when he rousts Ed out of bed at an obscenely early hour. Ed’s beleaguered nerves aren’t soothed by the discovery that everyone else got up without Xenk’s assistance, but he determinedly sucks down a cup of strong tea and gets himself ready to ride. Xenk, who’s apparently been up since all hours, has already obtained mounts for those of them who aren’t blessed with more supernatural steeds, and as the sun comes up Ed finds himself riding off into the woods.
Doric, mercifully, seems confident in their course. Ed lets himself fall into the meditative calm of a day of riding, broken only by pauses to water the horses and consume hasty meals. It’s midafternoon by the time Doric reins in to a walk and calls, apparently to the empty woods, “It’s us.”
The forest erupts into rather startling movement as two wood elves swing down out of a tree and a somewhat improbable half-orc materializes out of the undergrowth. Ed, who thinks he did a pretty good job hiding his startled jump, glances around to see that Kira and Simon are the only ones who even look surprised at all. Half a step behind Holga and Xenk, he hastily follows Doric’s lead in dismounting and coming forward for introductions.
To Ed’s mild surprise, the half-orc is named as a Winterstalker, the most senior rank in the Enclave and, as he understands it, the only level senior to Doric. Harven, dressed in familiar dark browns and deep greens but carrying significantly more weapons than Doric ever does, takes it on himself to introduce his companions, and nods politely as Doric performs her own introductions in turn. He at least seems to recognize Xenk’s name, judging by the slight widening of his eyes--at least someone around here has their priorities in order, when it comes to requisitioning heroics--but greets the rest of them with equal grim courtesy. Apparently that’s as far as the niceties go, though, because as soon as Doric’s gotten out Kira’s name he says, “You’d better come see what we’re dealing with.”
He leads them through the last few yards of undergrowth--Ed can see Holga and Xenk keeping a careful eye on the woods around them, despite the Enclave escort--and they break through into a small clearing, nestled against the side of an overhanging hill.
It’s clear that this would, once, have been a beautiful place. The shade is dark and cool enough to make Ed shiver, warm as the Neverwinter wood always is, but the center of the clearing is wide enough to admit a narrow circle of light. It illuminates a stone well that, even now, has an air of deep peace that can only come from some kind of sacred blessing. The low wall around it is still intact, but the rope that once would have let down a cup or bucket lies severed, and whatever vessel it used to carry is gone. A few paces further on, tucked against the hillside, is a blackened shell of stone that used to be a building.
Xenk’s the first one to stride across the clearing and peer inside, followed a moment later by Ed, Doric, and Harven. The hermitage is as small and simple as Ed would’ve expected from the name, a single room with only two narrow slits for light. There’s a hearth in one corner, but the rest of the space is nearly as soot-blackened as the chimney itself. Charred remnants of wood and a few fragments of cloth and paper can only hint at its former contents.
Xenk’s mouth is a straight, firm line, but his voice is very calm as he asks, “Was the hermitage inhabited at the time of the attack?”
Harven shakes his head, and Ed feels at least a little of the horror fade away. “Haven’t had anyone called to live here in nearly ten years, now. Been empty since then, but undisturbed. Until two nights ago.”
“What was taken?” Ed asks. “Or, uh, can you tell?”
Behind him, Kira’s peering down into the well. Simon’s staring around the clearing, but at least has the sense not to wander around the perimeter until someone’s had a chance to check for tracks. Judging by the way the grass is trampled, there had been at least half a dozen intruders sacking this peaceful place.
“Silver cup,” Harven says. At Xenk’s inquiring look, he elaborates, “The well is said to be blessed by Selune. Drinking its water from the cup is supposed to bring on visions. At least that’s what the hermits always say.”
Ed can’t help note the skepticism. Probably not a druid, then. Maybe Harven’s one of the Enclave’s rangers. “Will this cup give visions on its own?” he asks, before he can stop himself. “When it’s away from the well?”
That earns him a taciturn shrug. “Doubt anyone knows,” Harven says. “Bandits can still get a good price from some rich collector, though.”
“They had no cause to burn the hermitage,” Xenk says, and his voice is low and steady in a way that sends every nerve Ed has on high alert. “There was no benefit to be gained from such destruction.”
“They’ve all been like that,” Doric says. Ed’s never noticed, before, how well the quiet intensity of her anger mirrors Xenk’s. All things considered, he could probably have done with never having the opportunity to figure that out. “They take what they want and then they burn or tear the rest down.”
Xenk eyes the ground at the edge of the clearing and tilts his head inquiringly at Harven, who nods. “Tracks lead north to the river,” he says. “We couldn’t pick them up from there.”
He leads Xenk, Doric, and the curious Kira off towards the northern edge of the clearing. Ed, who’s as useless at tracking as he is at swordplay, finds his feet taking him back to the burnt-out cottage. He kneels, sifting through the ashes. A few of the scraps of paper float free: “first snow,” says one, in a thin, spidery hand. Another, in heavily printed letters, reads only, “--lune’s blessi--”. Digging deeper, he unearths the twisted remains of a fork and spoon, and then wishes he hadn’t. Laid out on top of the ashes, forlorn and alone, these few survivors only serve to emphasize the extent of the destruction. Quickly, not thinking too hard about what he’s doing, Ed buries them again.
By the time he stands up and makes his way back over to the group, he’s fully in sympathy with Xenk and Doric’s fury. “Alright,” he says. “I think we’ve seen enough. Why don’t we set up camp and come up with a plan?”
**
By some kind of mutual accord, they keep riding until they’re a good twenty minutes away from the desecrated hermitage.
Ed, for one, wouldn’t mind going just a little bit further. But when Harven slows and then stops, he has to admit that his nerves aren’t a good enough reason to pass up this campsite. It’s on a shallow bluff, with good sightlines and a small creek that trickles past before cascading into what might, very generously, be called a waterfall. Besides, they’ve been riding all day, and, judging by the speed at which the others dismount, he’s not the only one who’s ready for a break.
He’s just following Holga and Simon towards the stream when he hears an ominously familiar sniffing sound. His heart is already sinking by the time Xenk announces, quietly but intensely, “There is evil here.”
It’s probably unjust to wish that Xenk could, for once, just let something go. Besides, there isn’t really time to. The rest of them are still figuring out whether to draw their weapons or mount up again when what Ed had taken to be a pile of brush lying just on the other side of the creek shifts, rises, and lurches towards them.
Ed knows, as soon as he sees it move, that the creature has already made a fatal mistake. He’s vaguely aware that mounds are more intelligent than most people would give them credit for, and surely this one should have known better than to attack a company that includes five Enclave members, Holga, and Xenk. Around him there’s the whisper of weapons being drawn, and Simon’s already bringing his hands together in the classic gesture of someone about to unleash a fireball. Ed doesn’t even have to look over to know that Holga’s grinning in anticipation, although he does get a glimpse of the two wood elves swinging out wide to take flanking positions.
And then, before anyone else can even take a step forward--before the shambler is even across the creek--Xenk charges past, leaps over the water in one bound, and is on the creature while Ed’s still fumbling for his lute. By the time Harven roars out his first order, Xenk’s already swung once, then twice. As Holga lunges forward he spins and stabs again, and as Simon’s shaking out a pinch of whatever the hell he needs to cast a fireball Xenk takes a step back, steadies himself, and sinks his sword hilt-deep into what might pass for the shambler’s head.
Simon’s fireball sails through the place where the mound used to be. The rest of them watch, frozen, as the creature crumples silently to the ground. There’s a hushed waiting moment, and then Xenk pulls his sword free, turns, and stalks back towards them. “I believe we should go,” he says. “There may be scavengers in these woods, and we do not wish to remain near the corpse for the night.”
The Enclave’s people, faces still shocked and blank, start rounding up the horses. Simon shrugs, as if this is no more than he’d expect, and Holga mutters something impolite under her breath, but Ed’s too distracted by turning around and seeing an entirely visible Kira, knife in either hand, staring after Xenk too.
He’s old and wise enough now to know the value of privacy in preserving everyone’s dignity--turns out experience is good for something--so he waits until they’re mounted again before he lets himself drop back to ride beside his daughter. After considering a variety of opening lines, ranging from the sarcastic to the solicitous, he discards them all and turns to Kira with one sardonic eyebrow raised, and waits.
She raises her chin and meets his eyes defiantly. “I had my knives,” she says, with a painfully familiar edge to her voice.
“Uh huh,” Ed says. “And we had a deal.”
She scowls. “We had a deal years ago. Didn’t you ever stop and think that maybe—“
“A deal,” Ed continues inexorably, “where at the first sign of trouble you would use that extremely valuable pendant of yours and vanish.”
“That was when I was a kid,” Kira protests.
“I don’t remember an expiration date.”
“But I can take care of myself now.” She’s keeping her voice as low as Ed’s, thankfully. The last thing either of them needs is for this argument to go public. “I have my knives.”
“Sweetheart, you’re great with those, but . . .” Ed steels himself against her betrayed look, and soldiers on. “Throwing knives aren’t always going to be enough against something like a shambling mound. And you can still throw them if you’re invisible, you know. Just from somewhere safer.”
“Fine,” she says. Ed’s just foolhardy enough to be congratulating himself on this reluctant surrender when she asks, eyebrows raised in challenge, “And what was your plan?”
“My plan?” he echoes, blankly.
“You were just standing there. You can’t even turn invisible, and all you have is an old lute.”
Well, apparently the betrayal cuts both ways tonight. “Yeah, and a hell of a lot more experience in fights than you do.” And his own smattering of magic. And his wits. And, of course, his paladin and his barbarian, which he has to admit are often what end up making the real difference. “Look, you’re still mine for a little longer,” he tries. “My rules. Just for now. Humor me.”
There’s a dangerous pause. Then Kira says, grudgingly, “Alright.”
“Good.” Ed lets that sit for a minute, then asks, in a voice that sounds offensively tactful even to his own ears, “You, uh, doing ok with all of this?”
Kira flicks her eyes down to her horse’s ears, and shrugs. “It’s fine.”
“It doesn’t have to be.” No response. “Look, kiddo, this is pretty different than any job we’ve brought you on before. It’s alright if it feels different, too.”
“Do you think we’ll catch them?” she asks, glancing over at him with a painfully earnest expression.
“Probably,” Ed says. There’s an even longer silence, and he realizes what she’s really asking. Damn. He should know by now that parenting never gets easier. “I hope we do,” he adds, gently. “It’s the only way to stop this. And sooner or later there are going to be normal people in their way, and then it’s not just an empty hermitage that’s going to get hurt.”
“Yeah, but what are we going to do when we find them?”
“Hand them over to the Enclave,” Ed says. Even to him, that sounds more like an evasion than an answer. “I’m not sure what they’ll do, bug. They’re allied with Neverwinter now, though. Maybe the bandits will end up somewhere like Revel’s End.”
Another thoughtful pause. Ed waits, hoping it’s long enough to let her process, and then says, “You know, this isn’t the kind of thing you have to do if you don’t want to.”
That’s enough to startle a less guarded look from her. Since Kira announced her plans to strike out on her own last month, Ed hasn’t been sure if she’s being deliberately reticent, or if she genuinely doesn’t know yet what, exactly, she wants to do. He’s been trying hard, and not entirely successfully, to refrain from pushing. If she really wants to do this, it’s just the first of about five million things he’ll have to trust her to figure out for herself.
Unfortunately, she doesn’t seem to be in the mood to relieve his suspense now, either. “I know,” she says, and then, “But it is going to help people.”
Gods above, he should have known that bringing Xenk home was going to be a bad influence on her. “Yeah,” he says. “I hope so.”
They ride in silence for a moment. Kira looks less worried, but no less pensive. After a moment she nods towards the front of the party, where Xenk is riding next to Harven, and says, “You should talk to him. He seems upset.”
“Yeah, well, he’s angry. You know how he feels about this kind of thing.” As if that’s even a remotely adequate way to describe Xenk’s iron-clad faith and unwavering devotion. Ed’s suddenly and overwhelmingly grateful that it wasn’t some sacred place of Ilmater’s that had been destroyed. “But he’s done this kind of thing before. He’ll be fine.”
“He seems really angry,” Kira says, with an unflattering note of doubt in her voice.
The problem is, she’s not wrong. It’s obvious even from back here, in the tense line of Xenk’s shoulders, the deliberate stillness of his hands on the reins, the way he’s staring straight ahead without any expression at all. Not to mention his efficient enthusiasm in cutting down shambling mounds. “He’ll feel better once we’ve made a plan,” Ed says, optimistically, and then, “But I’ll make sure he’s alright.”
Kira nods, looking a little more settled at this admittedly paltry reassurance, and they ride on.
**
They end up a good hour’s ride away from the desecrated hermitage.
The mood, as they set up camp, remains somber. But between their own practiced routines and the Enclave people’s efficiency, it isn’t long before they’re settled around a fire, stewpot nestled down in the coals. Xenk, predictably, is the first one to break the silence, in the same tightly controlled voice he’s been using since the hermitage. “When was the latest attack?”
“Two or three days ago,” Harven says. “We think. We’ve been trying to keep a close eye on things, but the woods are big, and there aren’t enough of us.”
“Then how long until they next strike?”
That earns him a shrug. “It’s hard to say,” Doric says. “Sometimes it’s just a few days between jobs. Sometimes they hide away for a couple of tendays.”
“Is there a pattern to where they’re going?” Ed asks. “Maybe they have some kind of home base.”
This is enough to make Harven unearth a map from his bag. He spreads it out on a nearby patch of grass, and he and Doric pass a frankly fascinating interlude recounting the past few months of violence and defilement. It feels like a good first step to get a full picture of what’s been going on, although the recital doesn’t seem to be making either Kira or Xenk any happier.
Unfortunately, in the end it’s not much use. Ed holds out brief hope that someone smarter than him might be able to make out some useful pattern in the flood of information, but even Xenk regards the map blankly for a few minutes before admitting that it holds few clues. There doesn’t seem to be any way to predict the next target, or when the bandits will strike.
“How many more shrines are there?” Ed asks, in eventual frustration. “Can we just stake out the rest of them?”
Harven gives him an unamused look. “The Wood has a long history. There are more holy sites than can be easily numbered, many well hidden and nearly forgotten. Even those of us who walk the Wood don’t know where all of them are, and there are too many to guard.” Or they would already be doing so, of course. Ed suppresses a guilty wince.
“Yeah, ok,” he says. “Although that begs the question of how they know where to go.”
“It does,” Doric says. She hesitates, glancing at Harven, and goes on, “They might have done their research. There are maps, and scholarly accounts. Someone could have put enough of it together to get them this far.”
“Or they could have aid,” Xenk says.
The words fall into a heavy, unrelenting silence that isn’t relieved by the alarmingly clinical detachment in his voice. Ed’s instantly grateful when Holga finally breaks it by asking, in tones of mild interest, “How many of ‘em are there?”
Of course, no one has an exact answer to that either. But the general consensus that the bandit camp can’t be very large, given their agility, provokes her wolfish grin and the pronouncement that once they find the bastards they can start the real fun. The bloodthirsty satisfaction in her voice lightens even Ed’s mood, and he sets himself to studying the map again. There’s got to be something here that can help them.
“You said they could get a good price from a collector,” Kira says, thoughtfully.
Harven, to Ed’s relief and mild surprise, considers that with the same weight he’s granted every question the rest of them have asked. He nods, mouth a tight line. “Some folk’ll pay for anything.”
“How are they selling it?” Kira asks. “When we were--” She catches herself, with barely a sideways glance at Ed, and goes on, “When we were working on those robberies in the noble houses in Llost, the thieves had to leave to go to the fences. They didn’t want to come near the houses, just in case someone tried to pin the robberies on them, and the thieves didn’t have any choice if they wanted to sell the goods.” She glances around the circle, voice taking on a note of uncertainty for the first time. “Serious collectors are probably even more picky. Would they want to come into the woods? Or would the bandits have to leave?”
There’s another pause, a thoughtful one. Then Harven says, slowly, “The reputation of the Wood sometimes discourages outsiders. They might not come in if they didn’t have to.”
“So where would they meet?” Kira asks.
“There are towns on the edge of the wood,” Doric says. “Some of them are too small for a stranger to blend in, but a few would be big enough.”
“So we go see who’s had strangers come in to do business recently,” Ed, who’s apparently becoming obsolete, suggests. “Stake the likely ones out and wait until the bandits come in to make a sale. Good idea, kiddo.”
Harven nods his approval. “If we were quiet about it, they might lead us back to the camp.”
“And then we’ll beat ‘em up,” Holga says, with immense satisfaction.
No one seems to feel like arguing with her about that.
**
The prospect of a plan eases some of the dark atmosphere hanging over the camp, but dinner is still a subdued affair. Ed, who’s starting to find the brooding more than a little oppressive, makes a valiant effort to lose himself in his knitting, once they’ve all settled in around the fire. That distraction proves absolutely inadequate in the face of not one but three people rhythmically rasping blades against their whetstones, though, so he gives up on Xenk’s new sweater--he’d given up his perhaps irrational prohibition against sweaters now that they’re married--and digs out his lute.
At the first twang of tuning Kira rolls her eyes, but Ed gets interested looks from the wood elves, which is all the encouragement he needs. Bolstered by Xenk’s restrained half-smile, he strums a few experimental chords, adjusts his tuning pegs, and launches into one of the songs he’s been keeping in his back pocket for a while. “There once was a ship that put to sea, and the name of that ship was--”
He’s disconcerted to look up and discover Xenk’s spurious half-smile has disappeared behind a much more genuine raised eyebrow. Kira’s managed to simultaneously bury her head in her hands and shake it no, which is frankly impressive, and Simon’s staring at Ed in horror. Baffled, he lets his fingers continue picking out the notes while he abandons the lyrics to demand, “What’s wrong?”
“You can’t sing that,” Kira says.
“Sure I can,” Ed says. “I was singing it, before you lot distracted me.” She unburies her head long enough to roll her eyes at him, and he relents. “Why can’t I?”
“Because everyone’s singing it right now,” she says.
“Everyone who?” Ed says, tilting his head vaguely at the entirely silent circle of watchers.
“Everyone everyone,” she says.
Simon nods. “It’s true. I heard three bards sing it in three different taverns when we were traveling up to Targos.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Ed says, but he finally lets the chords of the chorus die away. “It’s just an old shanty. It must’ve been a weird coincidence, Simon.”
“I am afraid Simon is correct,” Xenk says. Ed gives him a betrayed look, and he adds apologetically, “I have heard it several times recently on my travels. And at home in Targos, from a traveling minstrel.”
“And in the Trip and Shuffle,” Holga says. “You play it better than Mari, though.”
“That song?” Ed asks, although he privately stores the compliment away for later examination. As if he didn't know he played better than Mari. “Really? But why?”
Kira shrugs, Simon looks blank, and Xenk, still apologetic, says, “I do not know.”
Ed gives up on the shanty, and on his own sanity. “Fine,” he says. “That’s fine. I can play something else.” Something that won’t make all his nearest and dearest mock him for trying his modest best to lighten the mood, which is clearly a thankless task tonight.
Although, if he’s being honest, the mood around the fire is already better, and Ed’s generous enough that he can live with that being due to everyone laughing at him. He’s too stubborn to give up now, though, and if it’s a lighter mood he’s going for, Ed knows just the song.
This time he manages to get two full bars into Fruit of the Vine before Simon says, “Ed, no, not that one.”
Ed’s never taken artistic direction from Simon and is not about to start now. He ignores the interruption and keeps playing, but even over the exhortation to tip the tankard--and wouldn’t that be a nice option right now--he can still hear Simon’s protests. An argument isn’t going to do much to further his agenda, so Ed gives up, stares at Simon incredulously, and demands, “Now what? You don’t mean to tell me all Faerun is singing that one too?”
“No,” Simon says. “But it’s going to get stuck in my head all night.”
Ok, maybe an argument is what they all need. Or what Ed needs, at least. With true nobility he quashes the impulse to challenge this spurious excuse--since when is being too catchy a bad thing?--and grits out, “Fine.”
No shanties. No drinking songs. That’s fine. Ed’s got an extensive repertoire and plenty of experience performing for difficult audiences. He can handle this. Maybe a love song.
“Fair young maid, all in a garden,” he starts, and at this point it’s not even really a surprise when Holga shakes her head at him before he can get any further. He stops, and just looks his inquiry at her.
She’s trying not to laugh at him, dammit. But there’s still something sincere in her eyes as she says, “You can’t play that, Ed. Marlamin used to sing it for me. He said it reminded him of the two of us.”
There’s a lot to unpack there--for one thing, Ed never knew that Marlamin could sing--but this may not be the right time for in-depth inquiries. He thinks of the principal characters in the song John Riley--the virtuous maiden at home in her garden, refusing all other offers, secure in her devotion to her wandering sweetheart despite the dangers he faces--and has a premonition about where this is going. “Because you were away so much?”
Holga nods, a disconcertingly fond smile on her face. “He used to get all kinds of offers while I was gone, too,” she says. “Even after we were married. But he always waited for me.”
Until he didn’t, but it’s not like Ed’s going to point that out. “Alright,” he says, almost completely certain she’s telling the truth and not just pulling his leg. Fine. No love songs. He can work with that too.
Unless she is just being difficult on purpose. It’s starting to seem like playing songs his audience already knows is a strategic error, which just means Ed’s going to have to be creative. Which is fine, because “creative” is practically his middle name. He thinks about the tunes he doesn’t play very often, ones he likes well enough to keep in his memory but that have, for various reasons, slipped out of his repertoire. He briefly considers the Gundarlun Boat Song, but anything nautical seems to invite the possibility of mockery, and he discards the idea. From some back corner of his mind a line rises up and, almost unbidden, his fingers start picking out the melody on his lute.
It’s an old song, and normally it’s not something he’d play when he’s trying to cheer anyone up. But it’s one he hasn’t played in years, and the novelty alone might be enough to distract his companions--and, with any luck, end this stalemate.
The line he’s picking out on the strings comes back around to the first verse, and he sings, softly enough to grab everyone’s attention, “I am a poor wayfaring stranger, traveling through this world alone.”
This time, no one makes any move to interrupt. Instead, as he wends his way through the measures, there’s a general sense of settling in, of attention to the music that Ed’s learned, from years of performing, is a good sign.
He’s still not entirely expecting it when he gets to the chorus and hears a harmony rising over his voice, quiet but clear. The golden voice is instantly recognizable, and Ed supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. Xenk’s been around long enough that Ed should be used to him recognizing songs that most people have already forgotten.
The harmony is so quiet, and so pure, that he finds himself reluctant to even look at Xenk, just in case he breaks the spell. But as he launches into the second verse he hears Xenk still with him, perhaps just slightly more confident, as they sing together, “I know dark clouds will hover o’er me, I know my path is rough and steep.” The rest of their companions have fallen silent, even the rasping of the whetstones mercifully stilled, and Ed puts everything he has into the simple chords, and the soulful line of the melody. To his pleased pride, no one so much as shifts on their log until he and Xenk let the final “I’m just going over home” fade away into the forest night.
It’s hard to top that performance, and after a brief moment of silence Ed’s tempted to give up then and there. He overcomes the impulse, though, and starts pulling out whatever other obscure songs he can think of. It becomes a game, eventually, Kira and Holga suggesting the ones he hasn’t played in years. Even the Enclave’s people get in on it, although Ed finds he’s unable to fulfill as many of their requests as he’d like.
Despite his high hopes, he doesn’t hear Xenk’s voice again that night. In fact, he gets so caught up in a half-remembered approximation of John Barleycorn that he misses the moment Xenk leaves the campfire, and only realizes he’s gone several minutes later, when they finally call it a night.
Xenk won’t have gone far--aside from concern for his own safety, there’s not much that could induce him to leave the rest of them unguarded after a day like this--and it only takes a couple of minutes of searching before Ed pushes through a stand of saplings and sees Xenk, no more than a silhouette, kneeling in the middle of a tiny clearing. He must have heard Ed coming, but as usual he doesn’t move, too absorbed in his prayers to be interrupted by anything besides immediate danger.
Well. Xenk doesn’t always pray in the evenings, but it’s hardly unprecedented. Especially after a day like today. Ed pulls back, as tactfully as he can, and decides to be a good husband by setting out their sleeping rolls instead.
He’s fully intending to talk to Xenk when he comes back from his prayers. They can’t talk much, amongst the rest of their companions, but even a whispered conversation in the dark has to be better than nothing. But as soon as Ed crawls between his blankets he finds his eyes closing, despite his best intentions, and in the end he has no idea when Xenk comes to bed.
**
The investigation is surprisingly fruitful.
Considering the number of prospective rendezvous sites, they split up. Ed spends an enjoyable hour triaging the list of possibilities, filtering out those villages and posting inns that are too expensive for bandits and focusing on the locations most accessible from Neverwinter, the sea, and Luskan. In the end, Harven and his people ride north, to look at the villages nearer to Luskan--Ed’s still not entirely sure of his welcome in that vicinity, and is pretty sure Xenk wouldn’t let him make the attempt if he tried--and the rest of them go east, to spread out along the edge of the woods near Neverwinter.
Ed’s perfectly sound plan of pairing himself with Kira and Holga with Xenk is thwarted almost immediately, when Holga puts her foot down with resounding firmness. No one, not even Kira, is on Ed’s side in his argument that neither of them really needs someone with a sword along, and in the end he watches her ride away with Holga while he and Xenk angle north.
Which is fine, obviously. More than fine, really. It’s not like Ed wanted to send Xenk away. It’s just that, watching Kira ride away, he’s overcome with the newly-familiar sensation of something precious trickling through his fingers while he stands by, unable to hold it still.
But it’s only for a few days, so Ed settles in to work.
To no one’s surprise, he and Xenk make a good team. They quickly develop a strategy to gauge the reputability of each inn, tavern, village well, or other meeting place they investigate. Xenk takes the lead on anything that seems likely to be on his side of the law, as any vaguely conscientious barkeep shows an alarming tendency to offer him a complete confession of all wrongdoings at the merest hint of interrogation. The time they try that tactic at a seedier tavern backfires badly, though, and so Ed pulls out his more ragged traveling clothes and does his own investigation at those.
Even so, by the time they make it to the rendezvous six days later, they have only a few nebulous leads of dubious reliability. It turns out that, while Holga and Kira didn’t have much better luck, Simon apparently used his persona of a morally questionable sorcerer in need of cash to get a referral directly to the bandits themselves. The barkeep doesn’t know when they’ll come back, and his suggestion that Simon drink in his tavern every night until their return was perhaps made with more of an eye to his profits than to Simon’s convenience. But it’s by far the best lead they’ve gotten yet, so Doric sends a raven north with a message and they start planning in advance of Harven’s return.
In the end, it’s not a particularly complicated plan. Since they don’t know exactly when the bandits will come back, they’ll alternate nights in the taproom, one or two at a time, while the others wait outside as backup. Ed ruthlessly relegates Kira to permanent lookout duty, despite her protests, and actually gets Holga’s support this time. He considers making the same ruling for Xenk, less for Xenk’s protection and more because he’s still not entirely confident in the paladin’s ability to blend in. But one look at Xenk’s face is enough to make it clear that it’s a losing proposition, so he resigns himself to doing his best with old clothes and strategic seating.
With nine of them in the rotation, it’s just Ed’s luck that he and Xenk are the ones in the taproom on the fourth day, when the bandits come in.
It’s not entirely a surprise. Ed had made the contact--collector, high-end fence, or someone’s agent--as soon as they’d come into the room. She’s seated at a quiet table in the corner, dressed in dark clothes that are probably supposed to be inconspicuous but that are far too well made to belong to any of the tavern’s normal denizens. She’s nursing a single tankard and carefully not looking around the room, but her expression is too sharp for someone who’s just here to lose themselves in a drink.
Xenk spots her just seconds later, and Ed has to do some real maneuvering to get the seat with the best view. It can’t hurt to keep Xenk’s all-too-recognizable face shadowed, and the strategic advantage is probably worth the glare it earns Ed.
Shit. He’d been hoping it would be someone else in here when the bandits showed up, someone less recognizable than Xenk. Holga already belongs in here, and Simon’s been remarkably convincing recently. The bandits have already proved themselves pretty remarkable at evading pursuit, and if they scare them off now they’ll never get a chance to follow them back to the camp.
The wait seems interminable, but Ed has to admit that it’s probably not that much later when the contact arrives. Disconcertingly, it’s a young man not much older than Kira. He’s dressed in the dark browns and greens traditionally worn by anyone trying to be inconspicuous in a forest, with a cloak of really quite fine grey wool--a undyed, natural color, Ed’s almost sure, with an unusual silvery sheen--that doesn’t deserve his negligence as he slings it over the back of his chair, from where it slips, unnoticed, to the floor.
Xenk shifts in his chair ominously, and Ed kicks him gently on the ankle before he can turn around. That earns him a glare, but Ed’s too busy watching the new arrival to take much notice of it. The young man is carrying a large leather bag, large enough to hide a silver cup and any other number of holy treasures. Unlike the maltreated cloak, he’s careful of it, keeping the satchel balanced on his lap as he sits and, not trying to disguise his suspicion, surveys the room.
Ed glances back down at his tankard, casually, as the young man’s eyes pass over him. Across from him, Xenk is practically vibrating with tension. “Relax,” Ed hisses. “You’re going to give us away.”
“We must inform the others so that they are prepared to follow him,” Xenk says. “Perhaps if I were to--”
“Not yet,” Ed says firmly. “It’s too soon. Give it five minutes, then pretend you need the privy.” He eyes Xenk doubtfully. “You think you can pretend you’re drunk?”
“I have had extensive experience of observing others in that condition,” Xenk says a little too pointedly, which is hardly fair. Ed rarely gets drunk these days. Then again, over a hundred years of sobriety maybe Xenk has had time to get tired of drunks, and Ed should stop taking things so personally.
“Good,” Ed says, because if they start arguing they’re only going to draw more attention. “Then we can--”
He glances covertly back up, only to discover the bandit staring directly back at him. The man’s face is furrowed in a narrow-eyed suspicion that, even as Ed watches, hardens into certainty. Before Ed can even figure out what’s gone wrong he’s snapping out something to his companion, rising, and striding towards the door. Xenk, who must be able to see the panic on Ed’s face, turns just in time to see the bandit stalk out into the night, satchel still clutched tightly in one hand.
“Damn.” Damn, damn, damn. Ed tries to think past his bewilderment at the sudden turn of events. The collector, or fence, or whatever the hell she is, is staring around the room as if she’s as desperate to figure out what happened as he is. He looks away, quickly, shadowing his face behind Xenk as realization sets in.
The folks in Neverwinter haven’t forgotten them, Simon says. They’d asked for Ed and Holga by name. It’s possible, Ed realizes with a cold recognition, that he should have been less worried about someone recognizing Xenk.
There’s no time to think about that now, though. Xenk’s already rising, with an artistic stumble, and weaving his way towards the door. He nearly collides with the fence, who pauses only to throw a handful of coppers on the table and then hurry for the door herself, and then suddenly Ed’s alone.
Some of the others will do their best to follow the bandit without spooking him--as if it’s not already too late for that--but that’s a job for Harven’s people, not for Ed. There’s no real rush to get outside, and it’s hardly worth drawing any more attention right now. Ed takes his time counting out his own pile of coppers, then stands and meanders, as casually as he can, past the abandoned table in the corner. He bends and scoops up the cloak, which may be the only clue they have to the bandit’s whereabouts, and makes his own way to the door.
At the rendezvous point, he discovers an anxious band that’s apparently only waiting for his return before retreating to their camp. Doric and the wood elves have set off after the bandit, although the general consensus is that they’ll be lucky to catch up with him, and even luckier if he ever risks showing his face in this vicinity again.
Ed, unable to offer up any real explanation for what happened, offers out the cloak as a distraction. The others spend a few minutes poring over it, without much result. There are a few copper coins in the pocket and generous splashes of mud around the hem, but nothing so useful as a distinctive seedpod caught in the wool or a scrap of parchment with a convenient map or anything else remotely helpful.
Which means they’re stuck waiting and trying not to engage in recriminations--Ed, who’s still fairly sure the whole thing isn’t actually his fault, appreciates the others’ forbearance--until Doric and the elves emerge out of the darkness, faces so grim that no one has to ask whether or not they’d been successful.
Ed puts on water to boil, because a hot drink can only improve the situation. Kira, who’s been doing a pretty decent job of curtailing her anxious fidgeting, demands, “What do we do now?”
Harven shakes his head in frustration. “As soon as he’s back to camp, they’ll be moving on. Not much hope they’ll come back here, either.”
“And next time they’ll be more careful where they meet up,” Holga says grimly. She swings out a foot to kick the cloak, and Ed can’t quite restrain his impulse to bend down and scoop it up. Despite the mud it’s really quite good quality, with an interesting sheen he hasn’t seen to wool before, and it’s really not fair to the cloak to blame it for their bad luck.
Doric’s eyes flick to him at the movement, and then to the cloak in his hands. Holga, about to say something else, stops abruptly when Ed shakes his head at her. There’s a brief, expectant silence, and then Doric says, slowly, “That’s not yours.”
“He dropped it,” Ed says. “I thought there might be a clue.” And he’d wanted a closer look at the unusual fiber, but now didn’t quite seem to be the time to say so. “No luck, though.”
Doric thinks for a moment, in the deliberate way she always does before committing herself to a plan, and then says, “I might be able to find them.”
**
They decide to postpone the attempt until the morning. Doric needs a still pool of water to scry in, apparently, and even if they could find one of those tonight they wouldn’t be able to see very much in the dark. Besides, if they’re right about the bandits shifting camp tonight--and Ed can’t imagine any other outcome to the evening’s disaster--then there’s no point in finding their location right now anyway.
He’s pretty sure he’s not the only one who passes an uneasy night. Xenk’s inevitably too controlled to do anything so undisciplined as toss and turn, but the few times Ed wakes up enough to glance over at him he’s pretty sure he can see Xenk’s eyes open, watching the canopy of leaves above them. The memories are as hazy and confused as anything that happens in the middle of the night, though, and when they wake up in the morning Xenk seems as fine as ever, so Ed gives up on worrying about him and focuses on forcing tea into Kira and Doric instead.
It turns out that Doric already has a nearby spring in mind, so they’re spared the need to do any fruitless searching. Once they arrive, they dismount, the others keeping the horses well back from the still water, as Doric approaches. Ed resists the urge to loom over her shoulder--it’s not like the rest of them will be able to see or hear anything anyway--as she pulls out a scrap of paper and pen. Simon comes up long enough to offer out a handful of some kind of ingredients, then takes a single step back as Doric casts them into the pool and mutters something under her breath.
For a long moment, Ed’s not sure whether it’s worked. Then Doric peers into the pool with a new level of focus, head cocked. “I have him,” she says, and then, “I think they’re in a cave.”
Not a bad plan on the bandits’ part, but it’s hardly as if the forest is full of caves. Surely that will help them narrow it down. Ed resists the urge to ask if she can see anything else, and forces himself to wait.
Doric is sketching on the paper, in soft, sure strokes. “I can’t quite see--I think they’re on a riverbank,” she says. “If only he’d move--” Another waiting, breathless pause, and then, “They’re talking.” Painful silence. “They’re glad they lost us. One of them’s still not sure it was really you. They’re going to lay low--they were going to attack the old temple of Helm south of the Crags. Now they’re going to wait.”
That’s good, at least. If nothing else, Ed’s blunder has bought them some breathing space. “Wait, he’s--they’re telling him to check on the horses,” Doric says. “Maybe he’ll go--”
Her hand flies over the paper, drawing a wide curve, bare bank, trees a few yards further down. “By a river,” she says. “Too big--I think it’s the northern branch of the Neverwinter. The horses are tethered in the grass by the water, but all the gear is inside the cave. It’s shallow, just big enough for the bags and about half of them to sleep.” Another interminable pause. “I see ten horses.”
No more than ten riders, then. Fewer, if they keep spares. That’s the best news they’ve had all day. “He’s turning around,” Doric says. “Maybe I can see--”
The silence is so abrupt that Ed feels as if he’s just stepped off a ledge he didn’t know was there. Then Doric sighs, and sinks back on her heels. “I lost him,” she says.
Harven moves forward immediately, Xenk on his heels. Ed hovers at what he hopes is a not-too-annoying distance, while Simon offers Doric his waterskin. “The river looked narrower than usual,” Doric says. “And it was moving quickly.”
“To the north, then.” Xenk frowns down at the drawing. “Near the mountains, perhaps. Of what color was the stone?”
The consultation that follows is dense and nearly incomprehensible to anyone who hasn’t spent years exploring the Neverwinter Wood. Ed gives up trying to follow the salient points, up until the moment when all three of them agree that they think they can narrow down the location of the cave to an area of no more than a few miles of riverbank, a day’s ride away.
Making the plan while riding has never been Ed’s favorite way to approach a problem, but he’s not given much choice in the matter. As they mount up, Doric explains as much as she can of the basic layout of the camp: horses tethered on the grassy side of the river, trees no more than a few yards from the cave up and down the river, a bank more of earth than stone, with at least one alcove deep enough for a few bandits to shelter in. Bags in the cave--they’re all assuming any valuables are safely stashed there--and a sooty pit that used to be a fire, out in front.
“Easily defensible,” Xenk says, frowning. “They will surely have sentries in the trees and on the top of the bank.”
“So?” Holga says. “There’s just ten of them.”
“That is still enough to post sentries,” Harven says, sounding just a little mystified.
“She means she thinks we could take them in a frontal assault,” Ed says, and to Holga, “Still seems risky.”
She shrugs. “Put Simon up in a tree--”
“--No one,” Ed insists sternly, “Is ever climbing a tree again--”
“Doric changes to an owlbear, Xenk and I take point, Harven’s people cover the woods in case anyone runs.” Holga shrugs. “Three minutes, tops.”
“Too risky,” Ed insists, graciously overlooking Holga’s assumption that he and Kira will peaceably stay behind. “And lacks subtlety.”
“Effective,” she insists, but both Harven and Xenk are shaking their heads.
“They still have at least one treasure in their possession,” Xenk points out. “Possibly more. We should not wish harm to come to them, if any may be restored to their rightful home.”
“And if we take them alive, we might find out where they sold the others on to,” Harven says.
Holga gives a snort of patent disapproval, and a voice next to Ed asks, “What about a distraction?”
He hadn’t noticed Kira coming up to ride beside them. She looks intent and thoughtful in a way that’s worryingly similar to Holga’s expression as she advocated outright attack. “If someone snuck into camp and let the horses go, maybe,” she says. “Or started a fire, or something. It’d distract even the sentries, and then we could get in, get the treasure, and then round them up.”
Harven shakes his head. “There’s a clear line of sight on the riverbank,” he says. “We’d never get in without them . . .” He trails off, looking around the rest of the party, eyebrows knitting together. “What?”
“Nope,” Ed says. “Absolutely not.”
**
So of course that becomes the plan.
Holga actually helps Kira win the day, which would be wildly unfair if Ed didn’t have to admit that it’s really a good idea. He’d kept up his resistance long enough to let Kira feel like she’d truly won her victory, and then conceded with what he feels to have been pretty good grace.
It’s not until they stop to rest the horses that he realizes he’s not the only one opposed to the scheme.
“You cannot intend to permit her to do any such thing,” Xenk says, sotto voce.
Ed jumps before he can help himself, and turns to glare. Xenk, who surely never used to be such a sneaky bastard, is close enough that he’s nearly brushing Ed’s shoulder. Worse, he’s now smirking. “Apparently I don’t get to ‘permit’ her to do anything,” he says. “This is what happens when you raise children. Eventually they grow up.” He pauses to consider that. “Or think they do, at least.”
“It is not a question of age, but of experience,” Xenk says. “Kira may be of adult years, but she does not yet know how to keep herself safe.”
“Yeah, well,” Ed says. “She, uh, might have more experience with this kind of thing than you think.”
He’s worried, for a moment, that he’s somehow missed the cues that this is a real argument, but to his relief the look Xenk gives him is distinctly dry. “Even after many years of your acquaintance, I find it difficult to believe that you encouraged a child to join you in such exploits.”
“Hey,” Ed protests. “It was family time. Shared hobbies are important, you know. I was a very involved parent.”
“Crime is no hobby.”
It’s so much better to know that the restraint in Xenk’s voice is from his attempt not to laugh, rather than tightly-controlled anger, that Ed decides to let this falsehood go. “You can’t say I wasn’t right,” he says, in mock outrage. “Turns out it was useful life experience after all.”
“I still cannot like it,” Xenk says, more seriously.
“Yeah, well, neither do I.” Ed leans over far enough to let one shoulder buffet against Xenk’s reassuringly solid one. “But we’ll be right there if she needs us.” The tree line is no more than a few yards away from the camp, and he has no intention of letting Kira out of his sight.
Xenk nods, and the last of the humor leaves his eyes. “I trust so,” he says, and wraps a comforting arm around Ed’s shoulders to pull him in close.
**
Which isn’t to say it’s not still hard, watching Kira vanish into thin air and then waiting, in breathless silence, to see what happens next.
As promised, they’ve stayed where they have a clear view of the bandit camp. Ed’s crouched behind a thicket of thorny bushes, Xenk a handful of steps to his right. Harven’s somewhere behind them, Holga, Doric, and Simon stationed on the other edge of the camp. Harven’s elves are further back, scattered throughout the woods as scouts. No one’s getting away this time.
Ed’s glad Kira’s being cautious, he really is, but it seems to take a small eternity before there’s any sign of activity within the camp. It’s late afternoon, verging on evening, and most of the bandits have been in or near the mouth of the cave, engaged in casual games of dice, the usual weapons maintenance, or what seems to be a long and far-ranging argument over whose turn it is to cook dinner.
Then, almost halfway between their hiding place and the cave entrance, comes a wisp of smoke. Ed holds his breath, but the bandits don’t seem to notice anything amiss. A moment later a second one starts rising, a few feet closer to the entrance to the cave. Ed can just make out the tiny nest of kindling, sparks starting to catch and glow as a few more sticks are fed in. Kira has enough sense to move on before she can be discovered, though, and after a moment the fledgling fire is left to feed on the small mound of scrounged fuel.
It’s enough. From the mouth of the cave comes a muffled exclamation that’s probably some kind of swear word, followed by a louder yell as one of the dice players rolls to his feet and sees the fires blazing just outside their theoretical door. After a lot of debate with Doric and Harven, Kira had promised to lay them only on the stonier ground of the bank, where they couldn’t spread, but the bandits don’t seem to have put that together yet. One rushes out of the cave with a bucket--that makes eight, there must be two more on guard--and another dips a saddle blanket into the river before running over to smother the second set of flames.
So far, everything’s going to plan. Kira had promised to start the fires on this side of the cave to draw the bandits away from the horses, then creep around and free their picket line. With any luck, that’ll draw the sentries in, and everything will be in chaos and confusion even before they unleash Holga on the camp.
Beside Ed, Xenk turns his head sharply to look back into the forest. Ed gives it a minute, then flicks a glance back over his shoulder to see one of the elves hanging off of a tree branch to whisper something in Harven’s ear. He turns back, unwilling to miss the excitement just because of a scout’s report--both fires extinguished, the bandits have fallen to arguing with each other about whose fault they were--but a moment later there’s the nearly-imperceptible sound of Harven pushing through the undergrowth towards them, which is unexpected enough to distract Ed again.
Worse, Harven’s face is creased in something that looks a hell of a lot like worry. Ed can already feel his breath catching in his chest even before Harven murmurs, barely audible, “New report. Bandits attacked the shrine of Rillithan Rallathil two nights ago. Ransacked everything.” He takes a deep breath, then adds, “Stole an amulet that acts against magic in the vicinity. Makes spells useless. They couldn’t sell it last night.” And then, more urgently, “It’s probably in the cave. Range of about ten feet.”
Ed’s already crashing through the undergrowth, Xenk no more than a step behind him, when Kira blinks into existence in the middle of the bandit camp.
There’s a roar from the forest and Holga bursts out of the trees--she must have started running as soon as she saw them moving, before Kira even appeared--as Ed rips his lute from his back and swings it, as hard as he can, into the nearest head. The bandit staggers but is already drawing a dagger, and Ed might have been in real trouble if, as he ran past, Xenk hadn’t sliced a long swipe down the bandit’s knife arm.
From there, it becomes hard to keep track of anything besides Kira. Ed keeps her in sight even as he swings and ducks and dodges. He sees her flinch back from the first of the arrows that soars over the edge of the embankment--they must have been right about the sentries--and recover enough to pull out one of her knives. He sees her throw it point-blank into someone’s shoulder as they lunge to grab her, running back several steps as they snarl and pull the knife free. He sees her glance darting around, not in panic but in analysis, as she works her way towards the embankment, and the moment where, just as she gets her back to it, Holga lunges protectively in front of her. She has her ax held high, snarling fiercely, and Ed’s so relieved that he almost stumbles into the path of a fireball that had clearly been aimed at the woman next to him.
The sight of Holga planting herself between Kira and all danger is possibly the only thing that could make him feel better, and he takes out his remaining adrenaline on the nearest bandits. There’s apparently no point in anything subtler than brute force, and Ed’s never going to be a match for a real fighter, but a sharp blow to the wrist is usually good to make someone drop their weapon. The arrows stop suddenly--must be Harven’s wood elves--and then there’s the comforting cry of an owlbear. Doric’s at the edge of the wood, safely out of range of the amulet, intercepting those that try to flee.
Holga was right. They’re more than a match for these people in a fight. The tide turns, and Ed feels an almost joyful surge of adrenaline as he wallops the nearest bandit between the shoulderblades, sending them stumbling into the wrong end of Harven’s staff.
And then there’s a sudden sharp cry from the other side of the clearing, in a voice Ed recognizes better than his own, the cry that has so many times roused him out of distraction or deep sleep, or darkest despair. He whirls to see Holga sinking to the ground, clutching one thigh and grimacing. A bandit, sword wet with her blood, has a firm grip on Kira’s arm and is dragging her away from her protector.
Ed lunges forward, heart in his throat, but before he can take more than a step Xenk is there. He doesn’t even bother with his sword, just backhands the man--boy, it’s the same boy as the night before--hard enough to make him fall to his knees. Ed scrambles up behind them and clutches at Kira, who shoves frantically at him for a moment until she realizes who he is. Then she goes limp with almost alarming suddenness, and he’s pulling her gently backwards, and away. She half-falls to the ground and he goes with her, clutching her close.
The clearing is strangely quiet around them, and Ed realizes that nearly all of the bandits have been accounted for. The kneeling boy looks up, naked fear in his eyes, and drops his weapon, shaking hands held out empty.
And Xenk raises his sword.
For a dangerously long moment, Ed doesn’t realize there’s something wrong.
He’s seen Xenk like this before. They all have. For all his faith and devotion, he can become truly, deeply angry when someone threatens the vulnerable, and that’s nothing to his fury when his family is at risk. They’ve allseen this before, the moment where Xenk reins in that terrifying fury, leashes it before it can do any harm.
Except that he doesn’t. As Ed watches he hefts his sword just a little higher, eyes cold and inimical in a way Ed doesn’t recognize at all, and Ed realizes something is wrong.
There’s no time to think. Instead he finds himself lunging forward, still on his knees. His lute is already in his hands, and as Xenk’s blade swings down he raises it, bracing himself for the blow.
It’s as powerful as he would have expected, and Ed nearly collapses under it. Xenk’s sword, the one that Ed’s seen take down monsters and pirates and the undead, the one that normally hangs on its peg next to their front door, the one he’s seen Xenk polish endlessly while Ed cooks dinner or knits or sings, bites deeply into his lute. It slides easily through the metal plating, and Ed can, viscerally, feel the way it slices through the lute’s bowl only to slow and then stop as it becomes lodged in the thin wood of its soundboard.
Xenk must have pulled the blow after all.
For a moment they stand there, in a frozen tableau. Ed can barely breathe, heart pounding in his chest, shattered lute still arched over his head. Below him, half-sheltered by his body the same way Kira was moments ago, the bandit is openly sobbing. Above him Xenk stares down, fury wiped away by what looks like blank shock.
Then the lute is wrenched out of Ed’s hands as Xenk roughly pulls his sword away and casts it down onto the pebbles of the riverbank. Holga’s already staggering to her feet and the bandit doesn’t seem to be in any shape to continue the fight, so Ed merely watches as Xenk turns and, hands empty, strides away.
Even with most of the bandits incapacitated or captured, the clean-up still takes time and attention. Ed, grateful for the practical tasks in front of him, collects weaponry, binds hands and feet, and helps Holga limp far enough into the forest for Doric to heal the wound on her leg. Doric’s already sent a crow for more help, and Simon spells the unwounded guards into sleep as they carefully ferry their prisoners back into the cave.
It’s only once there’s no more work in front of him that Ed finds himself standing next to a boulder near the river’s edge, arms wrapped around a trembling Kira. Seated like this she can still curl up against his chest, and he indulges them both in long minutes of a nearly-silent embrace. Neither of them, he thinks, quite cries, but it’s only once Kira’s shuddering breaths have calmed that he pulls away far enough to ask, “You ok, bug?”
She nods. “I’m alright,” she says, and then, more confidently, “I’m fine.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not,” Ed says. “That was terrifying.”
For a moment he worries that it’s too much, that he’s violated the unspoken contract where he’s the one strong enough to take care of her. But Kira nods agreement, and clutches Ed’s arm just a little more tightly. “I thought he was going to kill him,” she whispers, and Ed realizes they’re talking at cross purposes.
Well, it’s not like that’s new either. This doesn’t seem to be the moment to try to set things straight, though. Besides, she’s not wrong. “Xenk was pretty mad,” he says, which earns him an incredulous look. He smooths Kira’s hair back out of her face and says, “He cares a lot about you, sweetheart. You know he’s protective of all of us. I think he must have been scared too.”
She sighs, and he tightens his arm around her. Now isn’t the time to dismiss what she’s saying. “But it wasn’t good,” he admits. “You know we can talk about this, right? It doesn’t have to be ok just because it was Xenk.”
“We don’t need to talk,” Kira says.
This, at least, he knows how to deal with. “We do,” Ed insists. “I know you’re growing up, but you’re always going to need someone to talk to, and that means I get to--”
“Dad,” she says, and the exasperation in her voice is a welcome relief from her earlier uncertainty. “That’s not what I mean. We don’t need to talk right now.” She gives him a look, then shakes her head and apparently gives up. “Xenk’s really upset. You need to go check on him.”
Ed’s first reaction, to say that Kira will always be his priority and that Xenk is an adult who can look after himself, seems unhelpful. Besides, he remembers the expression of empty shock on Xenk’s face, and the rigidity in his shoulders as he threw the sword away. His sword, which is still lying in the dirt.
Ed glances towards the woods, in the direction where Xenk had disappeared. Kira might, he has to admit, have a point. “Yeah,” he says, and reluctantly lets go of her. She sits up, spine straight and eyes determined. “Why don’t you go help Doric and Simon have a look through those saddlebags,” he suggests. “I have to talk to Xenk.”