Loyalty

His reverie broken, Kivan groaned as he sat up in bed. Deheriana. Kivan didn't look to his right, knowing that she wouldn't be there.

And I thought I had moved beyond that.

There was a knock on the door. Looking out the window, Kivan saw that it was still dark outside and took a dagger from beneath his pillow before crossing over to the door.

Cracking the door open, Kivan recognized Imoen on the other side.

"Yes?"

"It's time," she said, "everyone is downstairs already, Saunder sent me to get you."

"Of course," said Kivan. The raid.

"Are you alright?" Imoen asked when Kivan paused.

"Yes," Kivan replied stiffly, "tell them I'll be there shortly."

"The Iron Throne will still be reeling from the loss of their mines here in Cloakwood," Saunder had told his party. "We have to strike them at their heart, in Baldur's Gate, before they can recover."

Saunder and his party now stood before the doors of the Iron Throne Chapterhouse: a gothic black-stone tower that stretched up into the night until it was undistinguishable from the darkened sky, which hid the stars behind a veil of clouds.

Donning his helm and ungirding his hammer, Saunder marched toward the tower doors.

"So these bandits were trying to ambush the caravan. Their leader, this big ugly hobgoblin, says he's gonna kill us all if we don't give up the iron. Of course, I wasn't about to let my reputation as a merchant guard captain be sullied. So I immediately lopped of the hobgoblin's head and the rest ran for their lives."

"How long ago was that?" asked the merchant named Ileana, whose attention the door-guard was struggling to keep.

"About two months ago."

"That's interesting, I was here just two months ago and I could swear I saw you guarding this very door."

The guard stiffened, "Well, this is just something I do part-time. I am a guard captain."

"Of course you are, I happen to be a duchess as well as a merchant." Ileana smirked, "Keep trying, sooner or later, it's bound to work on someone." The merchant walked away, relishing the sight of the door-guard's dropped jaw.

But her satisfaction turned to shock when the doors burst open and she found herself facing a pair of armored men with bared weapons. Hearing the sound of a sword clearing its scabbard, Ileana turned to see the door-guard running to meet the intruders.

One of the armored men strode forward to meet the guard, who brought his sword down in an overhand chop. The armored man deflected the attack off his shield and then bashed the guard's knee with a blow from his hammer. With a cry, the guard fell to the ground, cradling his wounded leg.

"Tell me where I can find Rieltar and Sarevok," the armored man demanded. The guard could only groan and mumble incoherently. "Tell me!"

"They're not here," said Ileana.

The armored man rounded on the merchant, walked toward her. Ileana could only just see his brown eyes through the helm's visor.

"Where are they?"

"I don't know. There are a few Iron Throne officers on the top floor. Maybe they can tell you." The armored man nodded, and gestured for the others to follow him as he headed for the stairs.

"Best to keep our weapons unsheathed; we may run in to more guards." said Saunder to the others as they crossed the wide foyer of the Iron Throne tower and ascended the broad stairway on the right side of the building.

Soon, Saunder's suspicions proved to be correct. The second floor was a gallery looking down on the floor below and, once Saunder stepped off the stair, an arrow flew from the far balcony and glanced off his helm. After deflecting another arrow with his shield, Saunder stepped aside to let Kivan off the stair.

The ranger already had an arrow nocked and quickly removed one of the enemy archers. Imoen came up next and, although her arrow missed, it still inspired the remaining two archers to take cover. With the archers cowed, Ajantis and Branwen stepped onto the second floor.

Looking to the far staircase, Saunder saw a number of Iron Throne Guards coming down.

"Watch those archers Kivan," said Saunder as he stood and moved toward the far staircase, Ajantis and Branwen following close behind.

The archers across the gallery tried to shoot the easy targets but the first fell to Kivan's arrow while the second was taken down by Imoen's magic missiles. Four guards had descended the stairs by the time Saunder and the others were close. These were not like the guard that had tried to refuse them entry at the front door. Clad in mail, they had the look of well-paid mercenaries and approached their adversaries in formation, two in the front with swords and shields and, behind them, two with spears.

Branwen was the first to strike, bashing her mace against her opponent's shield and barely avoiding the spear of the man behind him. But while the man directly in front of Branwen was recovering from her mace blow, Ajantis made use of his great sword's reach and thrust it through the mercenary's chest. Saunder deflected his opponent's attack with his shield and then rained a blow on his foe's head, the spike on the backside of the hammer easily perforating his helm. Moving past him, Saunder struck the spearman, sending him over the balustrade and down to the floor below. Branwen bashed aside the spear of her own opponent and finished the man with her mace when she was in too close for the guard to defend himself.

Imoen had been watching the battle on Saunder's side of the gallery when she heard steps descending the stair directly behind her. Whirling around, she saw half a dozen men running down the steps. Without time to look, Imoen retrieved one of the wands she had collected and triggered it, then recoiled when a fireball erupted from the wand and struck the stair. The blast was blinding and scattered splinters of wood and, Imoen realized distastefully, charred pieces of the former guards.

When the dust settled, Imoen found herself looking at the crumbled remains of a staircase and was certain she had burned off at least one of her own eyebrows.

While the next two floors of the building were deserted, Saunder found the reception he was expecting on the fifth floor. Six men stood at the other end of the room. A quick appraisal revealed two men wearing leather armor and carrying war hammers, who Saunder figured to be priests, two heavily armored warriors, one of whom carried a sword and shield while the other held a crossbow with a halberd across his back, a robed man and another in leathers, who leaned casually against a column. The room was wide and spacious, with only a pair of columns as decor.

More mercenaries, realized Saunder, and not the rank and file variety by their manner.

"Hello," said Saunder, "I understand that at least one of you could tell me where to find Rieltar or Sarevok."

The warrior bearing the crossbow responded, "We know who you are, Saunder. Your meddling ends here. I, Zhalimar Cloudwulfe, will see to that personally."

"Save your threats," said Branwen, "everyone else who has made like claims is dead now."

"That is because those you faced before us were fools, as you are," continued Zhalimar, his tone resonant, "Those before us were weak, as you are. Those before us were not Zhalimar, or Gardush, or Naaman, or Diyab, or Aasim, or Alai."

"He certainly likes the sound of his own voice," murmured Imoen.

"They all do," Branwen returned, hefting her mace.

The man's tone dropped, "Those before us are dead, as you will be. So it has been decreed, so it shall be done. So orders Sarevok!"

Seeing one of the men in leathers begin to murmur the words of a spell, Kivan quickly fired an arrow, striking the man's shoulder and interrupting his casting. Branwen began casting a spell of her own but was struck by a bolt from Zhalimar's crossbow and stumbled back.

"Tend to her her!" Saunder ordered Ajantis, and rushed to confront his enemies.

The two priests were the closest and Saunder reached them as one was attempting to heal the other with the wounded shoulder. Saunder promptly struck down the healer then blocked a sloppy attack from the wounded priest before using his shield to bash the man's face. His enemy stunned, Saunder perforated his chest with Ashideena's spike.

Turning about, Saunder saw a swordsman coming toward him and, a moment too late, saw a robed man behind the warrior finish casting a spell. A moment later, Saunder found that he could not move. The warrior brandished his sword as he drew closer to Saunder.

After using his limited healing abilities to help Branwen, Ajantis turned to see Saunder frozen in place and rushed to his aid. A warrior was already pulling back his weapon to run Saunder through. But Ajantis' charge was cut short when he found himself staring down the wrong end of Zhalimar's crossbow.

As the crossbowman was pulling the trigger, another man tackled him. At first Ajantis thought it was Saunder, then recognized the warrior he was sure had been about to kill Saunder.

Ajantis flinched when an arrow flew past his ear, then followed its path to see it embed itself in the mage's forehead. Sparing only enough time for a glance, Ajantis saw that Saunder was still under the influence of the spell. Turning back, Ajantis watched Zhalimar grapple with the man who had been his ally. This must be Imoen's work, a charm spell of some kind.

Zhalimar promptly ended the grapple by pulling a dagger from his belt and thrusting it past the other man's gorget and into his throat. Blood drenched the front of Zhalimar's armor as he stood and pulled his halberd from his back, lowered it toward Ajantis.

The paladin brought his great sword to a middle guard and, when Zhalimar made a sweeping motion with his halberd, turned his weapon into a downward parry and, with the halberd blade hooked, brought his weapon back up, effectively placing himself inside Zhalimar's guard. Unable to use his halberd to any advantage, Zhalimar head-butted Ajantis, but as the paladin staggered back he wrenched the halberd from Zhalimar's grasp.

Cursing, Zhalimar snatched his fallen comrade's long sword from the ground and fled up the stairs behind him before Ajantis could regain his balance. With the immediate threat gone, Ajantis turned back to where Branwen had fallen to see that Kivan was ministering a potion to her.

"How is she?" Ajantis asked.

"Fine," said Branwen, as she attempted to stand only to collapse again.

"She needs more potions," said Kivan as he drew another flask filled with a frothy blue liquid. Two similar empty flasks already lay by the injured priestess.

"Don't waste any more of those potions on me," Branwen protested, "I just need to stretch my legs." Kivan and Imoen both placed hands on Branwen's shoulders to keep her from attempting to stand again and she responded with a string of muttered curses. "Let me kill Zhalimar," she insisted, "that should be a good enough warmup."

Ajantis frowned, looking to the stair. The paladin didn't like the idea of Zhalimar still being unchecked. Ajantis glanced to Saunder's still frozen form.

"Imoen?"

"Yes?"

"Do you know how to dispel magics?"

Imoen glanced at Saunder and bit her lower lip. "I don't have it memorized yet but I think I have it written down some where." Retrieving her spell book, Imoen started thumbing through the pages.

Ajantis turned back to the door leading upstairs. He thought of closing it, but that would give Zhalimar the opportunity to wait in the doorway and ambush the party when they reopened it.

"Found it," said Imoen energetically. She slowly walked toward Saunder and began murmuring the words to the spell.

A moment later there was the sound of a coil snapping and Saunder straightened, shook his head.

"I hate those bloody hold spells," he muttered, then turned toward Imoen. "You used a domination spell on the warrior that was about to kill me didn't you?" he asked.

Imoen nodded proudly, "And I used him to save Ajantis."

Saunder made a quick appraisal of the room and decided to keep his hammer ungirt.

"I don't see Zhalimar's body."

"He fled up the stairs," said Ajantis, "we should pursue him now."

"Wait a moment," said Saunder looking around Ajantis to see Branwen, who sat up against the wall by the stairs, eyes closed with the retrieved pieces of a bloody arrow lying beside her. Kivan stood over her, and gave a slight nod to Saunder, a subtle indication that she would be okay.

"But those stairs just lead to the roof don't they?" said Imoen, "If there's no other way down from there we can just bar the door and make sure he stays up there."

"The longer we leave him alone the more likely he is to come up with some mischief," said Ajantis.

"Agreed," said Saunder. The paladin took a brief look over his group before speaking again, "Myself, Ajantis and Imoen will deal with Zhalimar. Kivan, stay here and watch Branwen."

Saunder was the first up the stairs with Ajantis looking over his shoulder. The spiral stairs were narrow, and Saunder understood that Zhalimar could be around any one of the stair's numerous bends.

At length the stair ended, revealing the flat rooftop of the black-stone tower. A cold breeze wafted through the open door way. Cautiously stepping through, Saunder noted that the battered door was barely hanging on its hinges. Saunder looked quickly in each direction, expecting an ambush, but failed to see anyone. Ajantis followed Saunder while Imoen hung back slightly.

One Saunder and Ajantis had both cleared the door, a figure dropped down from the structure housing the door. Landing just behind Ajantis, Zhalimar placed his long sword across the paladin's neck and began to pull.

Hearing the blade begin to tear through his leather gorget. Ajantis dropped his great sword and vainly tried to pry the weapon away from his neck. As the last thread of the gorget tore Ajantis felt the death-cold steel on his neck.

Suddenly, Zhalimar's grip faltered and Ajantis was able to push the blade away. Turning to face his enemy, Ajantis saw the warrior stagger, Imoen's dagger embedded in his backplate. Despite his injury, the warrior struck out violently when Ajantis attempted to disarm him.

But while Zhalimar was focused on Ajantis, Saunder rushed toward him and bashed Zhalimar with his shield, knocking the already disoriented warrior onto his back. Saunder stood poised over Zhalimar, hammer ready to deliver the deathblow.

Zhalimar backed up against the fence and tore his helm off. The warrior was breathing heavily and sweat beaded on his brow. But Zhalimar's countenance remained scornful, his baleful eyes locked with Saunders.

A moment later, Saunder brought his hammer down, crushing Zhalimar's skull and leaving his face an unrecognizable mess of blood, flesh and bone. Saunder winced as he girt his hammer and turned away, found himself facing Ajantis' steely eyes.

"Does Bhaal's blood hold even greater sway over you than before?" asked Ajantis angrily, "that man was unarmed."

Saunder's brow furrowed, "Look at his hand!" he exclaimed, pointing to Zhalimar's left hand, which was hidden from Ajantis' view.

When the older paladin moved to a better vantage, he saw that the dead warrior's hand was poised over the hilt of the dagger he had used to kill his own comrade earlier.

"I would appreciate it," Saunder began, "if you would not presume to know my intentions."

"Your heritage demands that I pay close attention to–"

"My heritage? If you are going to be doubting me at every turn I don't know how I can trust you."

"Trust me? After everything I've done for you?" asked Ajantis, baffled.

"You haven't done anything for Saunder that hasn't somehow benefitted you," started Imoen, "Besides, ever since you found out Saunder was a Child of Bhaal you've been looking for ways to blame him."

Ajantis rounded on Imoen, "What are you suggesting?"

"Well, you told us that the reason you're helping us is because you need to accomplish some great deed so you could become a full member of the Order. Would bringing a dangerous Bhaalspawn to justice qualify?"

Ajantis pointed his finger at Imoen and threateningly stalked toward her, "Now you're out of–"

A hand seized Ajantis' shoulder and flung him to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. Propping himself up on his elbows, Ajantis saw that Saunder had put himself in front of Imoen.

"I think you are the one who is out of line," said Saunder.

"So this is the shape of things to come, is it?" asked Ajantis. The paladin stood with a groan, well aware that Saunder was staring levelly at him.

His words met with silence, Ajantis only nodded as he picked up his sword and continued to stare at Saunder.

"I am disappointed, Saunder. Truly, I am."

"Save your prattling," muttered Saunder.

Ajantis sighed, started for the staircase, then stopped at the threshold.

"I want you to know that I will continue my investigation of the Iron Throne. Whatever you may think of my motives, I intend to see this through to the end."

"Then let's try to stay out of each other's ways," said Saunder.

Saunder took a deep breath as Ajantis disappeared down the stairwell and removed his helm, moved to the railing. Beneath him, the street lamps of Baldur's Gate lit the facades of the buildings and wharf. Only the roiling ocean beneath the wharf was covered in shadow.

Imoen glanced at chunk of meat and bone that was Zhalimar's head before turning to Saunder.

"I think we should go back down," she said. "I don't like this place, bad things have happened here."

"Considering the owners of this place I wouldn't be surprised," said Saunder. A moment later: "You can go down, I'll search Zhalimar's body."

"Alright," said Imoen, hesitating, "don't take too long."

Looking at the street below Saunder couldn't help but think that it seemed like a long way down.

With the mercenaries dead and the building otherwise vacant, there was no one left to question, forcing Saunder and his party to resort to searching every nook and cranny for any letters or journals that could provide some hint as to where Rieltar and Sarevok had gone. Branwen was still incapacitated, slowing the search that much more.

Imoen surreptitiously stepped into the room Kivan was searching and started looking through the contents of one of the chests, her interest obviously feigned.

"So, what's wrong?" asked Imoen.

"What do you speak of?" Kivan asked, irritated.

"Well, you're even more quiet than you usually are. And you've been scowling a lot too. Something's bothering you."

"One of our companions is incapacitated while another has left and we have no idea where Rieltar or Sarevok have gone. I feel that I am well-justified to be 'bothered.'"

"You know what I mean. You were acting like this when I knocked on your door. Say, no one did anything nasty to you while you were asleep, right?"

Kivan put down the letter he was reading to glare at Imoen.

"Well you did look kind of spooked."

"If I answer will you cease your questioning?"

Imoen leaned in, her eyes intent.

"Many years ago I lived in the forest of Shilmista, among other elves. My wife was Deheriana. On the fifth day of Eleint, Deheriana and I were on a journey that took us far from Shilmista. During the trip, we were ambushed and captured by Tazok."

"The bandit leader?"

"The same."

Kivan's face grew dark.

"He did unspeakable things to Deheriana, and then he killed her."

"I'm so–"

"I see her, every night. Sometimes I see her as Tazok brutalized her. Sometimes I see her as she was in Shilmista, but it is always painful for me. Now, is your curiosity satisfied?"

Imoen gulped, looked back down to the chest she was sifting through and a long, uncomfortable silence followed.

"I didn't mean to bring up any bad memories for you, Kivan," Imoen said at length, "I just thought I could help. Sometimes it does help to talk."

"Sometimes," Kivan admitted.

Imoen finished searching the chest and, finding nothing, closed the lid.

"I'm going to try another room," she said quietly.

"Imoen," started Kivan. That alone was enough to stop Imoen, the ranger rarely addressed anyone by name.

"When I feel like talking, I will tell you."

Imoen smiled, "Thanks, Kivan," she said, "I'll listen."

It wasn't long before the party completed the search, finding nothing more than a note from Sarevok ordering Zhalimar and his men to beset Saunder's party. Saunder wasn't sure where the next break would be, but it clearly was somewhere other than the Iron Throne Headquarters. At least the search had given Branwen time to come around on her own.

The building seemed to be completely abandoned. Only when the party walked out the front door did they get their surprise: seven armored men with drawn swords faced them and the party hurriedly drew their own weapons.

"Stand down!" the armored man in front shouted to his men before sheathing his own sword. Then Saunder noticed what he should have recognized immediately, the red-plumed helms of the Flaming Fist.

"We couldn't be sure who would be coming out of this building but had reason to suspect it would be you, Saunder. I am Sergeant Caedmon of the Flaming Fist and I have orders to personally escort you to Duke Eltan. You are not under arrest, but the Duke said it would be in your best interest to meet him."

A duke wants to see us? thought Saunder, surprised, Well, we didn't find any leads on where to find Rieltar or Sarevok, maybe the duke knows something.

"We'll come," said Saunder.

"A wise choice," said the sergeant, and turned to face his men. "Corporal Fane, the squad is yours, by order of Duke Eltan this building is restricted. Detain anyone who attempts to leave and allow entry to no one."

After the two mercenaries saluted one another, Sergeant Caedmon led Saunder and his party away from the Iron Throne compound.

"You can trust him," the sergeant said quietly after the party had been walking for some time.

"What?" asked Saunder.

"You can trust Duke Eltan, and his second, Scar."

"That sounds like a very small number of trustworthy people, just what is going on here?"

"Many things are just wrong," Sergeant Caedmon replied, "tainted iron, increased garrisons in Beregost, threats exchanged between Amn and Baldur's Gate. And people here have been acting strangely. Recently, Scar led a raid with some of his trusted men on the Seven Suns, a mercantile organization, and found that nearly all of the merchants had been replaced by dopplegangers. Fortunately, they've managed to keep their findings quiet."

"What are dopplegangers?" asked Branwen.

"They are grey-skinned humanoids with long, dagger-like nails, able to take whatever shape of they want," said Kivan.

"It's true," said Caedmon, "I saw the bodies myself. Be careful who you trust in this city."

"And why are you telling us all of this?" asked Saunder, "Why do you trust us?"

"I trust you because Duke Eltan and Scar seem to think you can be trusted and we have heard much of your exploits from reliable sources. From killing the mad priest Bassilus to your escapades in Nashkel and Cloakwood. Your actions speak loudly and people are noticing, the Grand Dukes included."

The Flaming Fist compound was a cold, drafty fortress. The entrance hall was lined on both sides with cells, most of them occupied.

"We have all the dregs of the city in here," said Caedmon, "The past few months have been worse than any I've seen. With caravans having a hard time getting in a lot of people have lost their livelihood. When that happens, good people get desperate."

Sergeant Caedmon led the party past the jail and into a room that seemed to be the hub of the fortress.

"Take those stairs all the way up and you'll find Duke Eltan's quarters. He said he would be waiting for you."

Cautiously, Saunder walked up the final steps and stood on the landing of Duke Eltan's quarters.

"I'm in here, come."

Turning, Saunder saw an older man sitting at a table through a doorway. The Duke stood to meet Saunder and shook his hand. Eltan was taller than Saunder had at first thought and bore a patrician countenance.

"I'm afraid I don't have enough seats for all of you, but you may help yourselves," said the Duke, as he took his seat again.

Imoen was hardly shy about taking one of the three remaining chairs. When no one else moved, Saunder took one as well. That left Kivan and Branwen staring at one another.

"Go ahead," said Kivan.

"No, you take it," replied Branwen.

"I prefer to stand. Besides, you were wounded earlier, you should conserve your strength."

"Are you saying I'm weak?"

"Will one of you," interrupted Saunder, "just take the damned seat. It has been a very long night and I do not intend to spend the rest of it listening to you argue."

Branwen gave Kivan a fierce glare before sitting down.

Saunder rubbed his temple and spoke to Duke Eltan, "Please forgive my companions and my lack of formality. I'm not used to dealing with nobles and I am very tired."

After storming the Cloakwood mines, marching to Baldur's Gate without rest, staying at the inn only long enough for cover of darkness, storming the Iron Throne, and then walking to the Flaming Fist Compound, Saunder was feeling the strain of having fewer than six hours of sleep over the past three nights.

"I can see that," said the Duke, "I will make this brief then. I would have contacted you earlier but we had only just become aware that you entered the city. We know that the Iron Throne has a hand in all of the troubles that have been happening but don't have enough information to put the puzzle together."

"I can help you there," said Saunder, "Rieltar and Sarevok, the leaders of the Iron Throne, created the iron shortage by having their lackey, a half-orc named Mulahey, poison the ore of the Nashkel Mines while funding another lackey, Tazok, to organize bandits to prey on any iron caravans in the region. All the while, Davaeorn, a mage, was running a secret mine in the Cloakwood forest with slave labor."

"So far, I, and the three people you see with me in addition to one other who is no longer with us, have cleared out the Nashkel Mines of kobolds, crashed the bandit camp, freed the slaves of the Cloakwood mine and flooded those mines so no one can exploit them again. After we found out Rieltar and Sarevok were in charge of everything, we spent a day and a half walking here and then found out they weren't home. Instead we found a half dozen ill-tempered substitutes and no leads on where our two quarries have gone."

Eltan nodded, "I thank you for telling me all of this. Now, there is one thing I can tell you. I do not know where Sarevok is but my agents have told me that Rieltar left Baldur's Gate yesterday for Candlekeep."

In that instant, Saunder's fatigue disappeared and his eyes were wide open. Imoen also straightened up in her seat.

"Candlekeep, why?"

"He is going to finalize a deal with several officers of the Red Shields."

"We have to go then," said Saunder, shooting to his feet.

"Sit down," said the Duke, his voice commanding respect. Saunder found himself firmly in his chair before he realized it.

"If there is going to be a fight," said Branwen, "we will be too exhausted to fight it by the time we get there. We need rest, Saunder. Even you need rest."

"How long is Rieltar going to be in Candlekeep?" asked Saunder.

"Several more days," said Duke Eltan, "you have plenty of time to make the journey and confront Rieltar well-rested."

Saunder nodded, but still seemed more than willing to bolt off at that moment.

Duke Eltan stood and walked over to his desk, retrieved a book and set it in front of Saunder. "You will need this," said Eltan. "The price of entry into Candlekeep is a rare book. This one should suffice."

Saunder took the book and carefully placed it in his satchel.

"Thank you, Duke Eltan."

Since returning to the inn, Saunder had spent several hours tossing and turning in his bed. Taking deep breaths and trying to clear his mind had also failed to bring the paladin any measure of sleep. Tired of trying to sleep, Saunder got out of bed and made for the common room.

The common room was nearly empty, with all but the most dedicated tavern-goers gone. With surprise, Saunder saw Imoen at the bar and took the stool beside her.

"Can't sleep?" he asked.

Imoen shook her head, "I was hoping this might help," said Imoen, motioning to the half-empty mug in front of her, "seems like it worked for that fellow." Imoen indicated the sleeping man next to her.

"I think it took more than half a mug to get him there," said Saunder.

"Probably," Imoen shrugged, "do you have any idea what we're going to do once we defeat Rieltar?

"No," Saunder admitted, "I don't think much about it."

"Maybe we should," murmured Imoen, "we don't exactly know any 'honest' trades."

"Wherever we end up, I doubt we'll be merchants."

Imoen chuckled, "Probably not, but it's pretty amusing to picture you trying to run a store. Heheh, you never even figured out the weight system. 'How many ounces are in a pound again?'"

Saunder smiled, "Well, if it's employment you want, Puff-Gutts might–"

"Don't. Start," interrupted Imoen, "What about that Order place that Ajantis was always talking about? Have you thought about going there?"

"I don't know," said Saunder, "Ajantis encouraged me to seek the Order out before but, after he found out about my heritage . . ." Saunder trailed off. "Well, I don't think I can count on a recommendation from him anymore."

"He's just a squire, I doubt his word counts for much," Imoen patted Saunder on the shoulder, "You're a good guy, if those Shiny Heart people can't see that then they're not very good paladins."

"Maybe," said Saunder, suppressing a chuckle, "but if I joined the Order what would you do?"

"I'd figure something out," said Imoen, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

"That's what I was afraid you would say," returned Saunder. "I wouldn't put you in that position though. You've promised to stay with me and I promise you the same. Whatever comes our way we've got a better chance–"

A snore interrupted Saunder and he looked beside himself to see Imoen sprawled over the counter like the man next to her.

Saunder sighed; "Sleep well Im."

Well, I have to admit that this story has achieved the disappointing ratio of 1 review to 1 chapter. That being said, if you've read this far, chances are you have formed some kind of opinion or criticism so please, let me know. All feedback is appreciated, even negative feeback, if it is constructive.