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Pacing around the Tower and worrying about Jaret was getting Lisl nowhere. Throwing together her few things, she took her leave of Zoya's generous hospitality-- well, took her leave of Glossaria, at least, as the high priestess herself was ensconced in a lab, as usual. She spent the remainder of that day at home slouched in her favorite chair, nursing a snifter of Sembian and staring narrow-eyed at the sunlight tracking across her floor while she thought through events. As dusk began to darken her windows, she gave a snort of disgust and unkinked herself to go for a run. It was full night when she returned home. She looked far more relaxed then she had when she'd first arrived, and had a determined set to her jaw as she took the stairs two at a time. She paused on the threshold of Elgara'a's room, scanning the dusty shelves carefully before making a soft "Ah!" of discovery. From the dresser she retrieved a small, cut-crystal bottle, pulling the stopper and wrinkling her nose before pushing it back in quickly. She carried the bottle over to the small table her mother had been using as a writing desk when last she stayed here. Lisl settled herself in the chair and pulled out a few sheets of the fine, blue-tinted parchment Aldis used, tapping a quill thoughtfully against her chin as she stared at the blank page. Finally, she wrote a few lines in a flowing, High Elvish script: "I greatly enjoyed our last encounter. I count the hours until I might see you again." She grinned slightly and left the note unsigned, blotting it carefully with sand and shaking the page clean. She addressed a second page to "Lt. Adiethian, Purple Dragon Barracks, Marsember" and stood, unstoppering the little crystal bottle and dousing both pages liberally with Elgara'a's spicy Anaurochian perfume. "Gods... how does Jaret *stand* the stuff..." Taken by a fit of sneezing, eyes and nose streaming, she retreated back into the hallway until the cloud of perfume settled enough that she could breathe without choking. She folded the first sheet gingerly and made an envelope of the second, sliding one carefully into the other and sealing both with dark blue wax. With a few more things thrown together in a small travel bag, she was out the door, loping towards Stick's Boys. The following afternoon found Lisl loitering outside the quarters of the Royal Post and Mail. One of Stick's Boys had arrived earlier that morning bearing her aromatic letter (and hadn't *that* taken quite a bit of convincing), and now she waited for-- ahh, and there she was. A foot messenger, her bag full with the afternoon's mail, strode past Lisl on her daily rounds. The unmistakable (to Lisl) aroma of exotic spices wafted in her wake. Lisl followed until she was certain she knew the scent trace, and then continued on to the Dragons' barracks before her quarry. The next week and a half taught Lisl a great deal about how the Royal Post and Mail worked-- or didn't-- in the country of Cormyr. She gained new respect for the speed and enthusiasm of Stick's Boys as she waited outside the Post and Mail office in Arabel a couple hours past dawn. The post rider whose bathing habits were now intimately familiar to her breakfasted inside. Lisl's stomach growled. She ignored it. Two hours later the post rider took his leave westward with a fresh bag, and her letter continued by foot to the Dragon's Rest, the Royal guest house and barracks of Arabel. Lisl strolled casually after, stopping to buy a clutch of boiled eggs from a vendor as she took in the sights. The walk across town was sobering; Arabel had been occupied for several months during the war, and the damage to its buildings and its people was far more visible-- still-- than it had been in Marsember. Rumor said that the entire corps of Purple Dragons stationed here had been wiped out, and Myrmeen Lhal, the lord of the city, had lost her arm in the invasion. But Lhal'd had the arm regrown with magic, just as she regrew an army out of a patchwork collection of mercenaries, rangers, scouts, and adventurers to take back her city from the orcs. Quite a lady, if the rumors were true. Lisl paused to let a lumber cart rumble past with a full load. In high summer, the pace of rebuilding here was frenetic. Arabel was a trading town, and the merchants were eager to get back to business as usual. Lisl's quarry ducked around a busy carpenter and entered the barracks. Lisl continued across the street to the temple of Tymora, goddess of luck, and tossed a silver into Her fountain before settling down to wait. Again. When there was still no sign of either her letter or Lt. Adiethian by an hour before noon, Lisl took herself to the offices of Eyes and Ears, Arabel's intra-city messenger service. On her way into town, she'd passed a small inn just outside the gate that would suit her needs perfectly. A few minutes later, two runners took off in opposite directions. One headed south to the Night Wlof Inn with a request for 1 PM lunch reservations for a Lt. Adiethian. The other made for the Dragon's Rest with a note on familiar blue paper, for the good Lieutenant himself: "Lunch at the Night Wolf Inn, 1 pm. I count the minutes." ***** <Narrator> The Night Wlof Inn (and indeed, it says "Wlof" on the sign-- one of the guardsmen had explained how a drunken sign-painter's mistake got turned into tradition) is a charming, rustic little inn just outside the southern gate of the city, nearly empty at this time of day. The food and ale are not top quality, but the prices are good. * Adiethian arrives for lunch a full hour before the 1PM time mentioned on Lisl's note. He sits in a chair with his back to the wall. * Lisl strolls in perhaps ten minutes after Adiethian. She glances around and lifts her eyebrows in affected surprise. "Lieutenant! I never would have expected to see *you* here. Are you meeting someone?" <Adiethian> I suppose I am, Miss Ferinsdottir. And yourself? What brings you to Arabel? <Lisl> ::grinning:: Oh, just tracking down old friends, making sure they're still not dead. You know how it goes. <Adiethian> I suppose I do. Won't you be seated? The service is reasonable here, once the staff is certain where you're seated. <Lisl> Thank you. ::taking a seat:: So... you're not dead, are you? <Adiethian> Oh, no. Not just yet. I've merely not around Marsember as much anymore. How about you? <Lisl> Alive and kicking, much to the dismay of... well, I'd say it's about a third of Marsember, now. <Adiethian> Oh, really? You sound as if you've been busy. <Lisl> Well, you know how it is when you live a life of infamy. Actually, I've been spending most of my time lately doing... ::makes a small face and shrugs:: "good deeds." Zoya said they might help. <Adiethian> Fighting rumormongery on the up-and-up? I have the highest of hopes for you. <Lisl> ::looking sour:: Aye, well, I don't. Which is part of why I thought I'd ease my mind a bit by making sure you weren't locked up somewhere, too. <Adiethian> Your concern is well received. But aside from my relocation, I'm as well as can be expected. <Adiethian> ::a serving girl approaches and looks expectantly at Adiethian and Lisl:: I'll have some of the roast, bread, and whatever ale you have. <Lisl> Aye, well... ::pauses to answer the serving girl:: I'll have the same, and a whiskey, if you've got it. ::She continues after the girl leaves, lowering her voice a bit:: I think you'll find expectations at an all-time low, there. Someone willing to cast a spell over the entire city can't be expected to stint at "handling" a nosy guardsman, don't you think? <Adiethian> I don't handle as easily as some might think. And you can't be serious. The entire city? You'd need a platoon of mages to cast something like that. <Lisl> *I* know that. I don't know if *he* knows that. Hells, I have no idea *what* he might know, or whom. Took me a bit of thinking to decide if you'd been affected, and left willingly, or left to... keep from stirring waters best left quiet. And no, according to Zoya, you wouldn't need a platoon, tho' he's likely got that, too. All you'd need is a magical contagion. Spreads *itself.* * Adiethian leans closer. "Brass tacks. I can't say whether I'm watched or not. Who's 'he'? And a contagion... that's different than something that's cast over the whole city. Much more manageable with smaller numbers. <Lisl> ::shrugs a shoulder:: Manageable from his end, perhaps, sure as hellfire not from ours. It seems that Niralan carried it-- wittingly or no-- and last I knew of, Zoya and Jaret were scheming to get him free. And no, you weren't followed. Except by me, of course. ::she grins:: <Lisl> ::leaning forward herself:: And "he"... well, that's the question, isn't it? Zoya thinks it's Barise. I'm... not so sure, that seems too simple. And I can't quite see him being able to relocate, well, *you* so easily. But... I'm no spymaster, my head's no good for this sort of intriguing. ::she raises an eyebrow at Adiethian:: <Adiethian> Could be Barise. He's the head idiot of a band of mages; Dandolak's Casters. Not idiots, actually, they're fantastically bright. But proud. And Barise... while not one to build bridges, does not burn every one he comes across. <Lisl> Aye. ::makes a face:: A politician. We met him, Zoya and I. ::snorts:: My friend Jaret may bump into him as well, he moves in those circles, after all. Although... at the moment he's on retreat, so he may not be seeing much of anyone for some time. * Adiethian sighs and looks at his mug of ale and lump of roast as it arrives. "What's Malkier got himself into this time?" <Lisl> ::nods thanks to the serving girl and takes a sip from her whiskey, raising her eyebrows a little in surprise at its quality:: I told you, he's on retreat. ::grins:: Well, sort of. He's, ah... having a go at the penitent life. You know the sort of thing, early to bed, little, close cells... prayers every *morning*? <Lisl> The sort of place a man can leave his problems. At least, we'd heard that Barise left his there. <Adiethian> I see. I see. ::he begins slicing his lump into bite-sized pieces:: Well, I... If he doesn't... Nothing I can do about it from here, either way. <Adiethian> So, now that you've confirmed my state of being, what next? <Lisl> Wellll... ::drawing the word out slowly as she thinks, taking another sip of whiskey:: The cover story back home is that you'd been, ah, relocated, because you were sticking your nose into this Hall business. True? <Adiethian> Not officially, of course. But unofficially... it seems likely. <Lisl> So... if Barise didn't do it, officially, who did you get your marching orders from, if I may ask? And... unofficially, did you find anything you might be willing to share? <Lisl> It's just... well, as you said, he's got plenty of bridges. And I don't think trying to stay out of the public eye's helped me any, here. ::looking Adiethian in the eye and coloring faintly:: You're the only Marsembrian official-sort I trusted, you know. ::taking a quick belt of whiskey:: * Adiethian smiles quietly. "I'll appreciate that. A name, and then I must go. You understand the value in a name?" <Lisl> ::nods:: <Adiethian> Major Ols Sheshillian. ::he stands:: Pleasant travels to you. ::he drops a stack of silvers on the table:: Lunch is on me. Too bad I ate alone today. <Lisl> ::nods:: I thank you. Safe harbors to you as well, Lieutenant. ::half-smile:: May they see you home again someday. * Adiethian leaves the Wlof Inn. * Lisl spends a few minutes more making short work of her (overcooked) lunch before rising to leave. The fanciful ship-clock over the bar shows that it still lacks ten minutes to Adiethian's scheduled "date" as Lisl strolls out the door, headed south. |
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