II. VAHAERA

The inn was full–mostly merchants, mostly humans, a few travelers, and some eccentric regulars at the bar. Procampur was just as unpleasant and crowded as Graddick had remembered it; not for the first time, he wondered why he’d agreed to come. Five tendays had passed since he received Ystrien’s letter. He had joined his “cousin” in Selgaunt, and they’d sailed to the city where he’d grown up. From here, they would travel overland to Mulmaster and book passage on a boat to Melvaunt. Zhentil Keep, meanwhile, watched the best route to their destination. To the knight, the exaggerated circle they were to make around that evil place looked more like cowardice than prudence. When he mentioned his opinion to Ystrien, the novice shrugged. The clerics had chosen the route. It was part of the quest. Besides, wouldn’t he enjoy the trip to Procampur, his hometown? “No,” said Graddick gloomily. But Ystrien hadn’t given up on the idea, even now.

Ystrien hadn’t been what the knight expected at all. He was certain to find a slender, bookish youth; what he found instead was a statue of the god Lathander come to life. Ystrien was athletic, well proportioned, and handsome, with a bright white smile, golden hair, and gleaming green eyes. Though not as tall as Graddick–few people were–he was tall enough, and his confidence gave onlookers the impression of dignified height. He practiced calligraphy, but he loved music far more than books; he’d even mastered several bardic cantrips. He was a decent swordsman, too. He was no match for Graddick, who always won when they sparred–but he looked better losing than Graddick did winning. Ystrien had an oblivious, happy, all-consuming egoism that people instinctively took for granted, forgave, and even admired. In short, the two were as unlike as a young god and a pile of earth. This dissimilarity was evidence, if any were needed, that they had no blood in common.

Ystrien returned to the table with three flagons. “I’ve invited someone to join us,” he explained. “An interesting woman–half-Drow. Well-spoken, funny. Rather attractive. Here she comes.”