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For the umpteenth time an unsteady hand absently wandered to his neck neck, fingers tracing the sore crease that now crossed the flesh just below the stranger’s jaw. Down the hall he could hear the maids and attendants whispering to one another, still trying to figure out this enigma that had fallen into their hands.
“A black day, indeed. His entire family just wiped out in seconds.”
“Well, did you see his wife? I don’t care for what reason, a woman that far along with child should be in bed, not traveling.”
“Hush yer’self. They were up here for a reason of their own an’ it ain’t your place to judge.”
The voices paused for a moment, the speakers mulling about silently and unsure of what to do.
“Well, do we know who they are?” one of the women offered weakly, “These folks got to have some family we can send for.”
These women were all servants to a wealthy estate owner. They likely thought they were out of his earshot all the way down the hall, but after years of having to endure the ridicule that came with his family name the stranger had developed a distinct talent for dropping in on hushed conversations. One of the braver and more curious girls had ventures so far as to bring him a basin of warm water and some towels, but her efforts to get information were lost when the wounded man didn’t even acknowledge her presense. She had left quietly; the water had gone cold hours ago.
Not that they knew about his family’s reputation, he mused absently. They didn’t know who he was, and even if they did it would matter to anyone this far north. The stranger decided to let the ladies draw their own conclusions about him. It was, in his experience, what people tended to do anyway.
While tracing the wound the man’s fingers hit a gouge on his neck that sent a sharp bite of pain coursing through his body. At first his hand instinctively drew back to stop the ache, but after it subsided he felt strangely hollow. Suddenly freak mentality took him over - that was his only feasible explanation for it - and again he was pressing his fingertips into wound, intentionally this time. The stinging of his nails reopening the healing flesh caused him to hiss unwillingly in response, but in this fit of rage he continued on. This ache was nothing compared to what she had endured; this suffering was nothing in comparison to how she had suffered.
The priest prayed in the back of his mind that the pain would magically stir him from the nightmare and would return things to normal. He and his wife would both be back in Maztica, soon expecting their first child, and never would she have proposed that they travel to Candlekeep for the birthing.
But, as he had expected, he was deprived that relief. He felt his pulse in his hand, the numbness in his throat, and the warmth of the dripping blood running between his fingers. All of this on top of the grief swelling in his chest, and it was then he realized what was truly happening. The joke’s was all on him. No tests this time; no games or dreams. He was surrounded by an entire household of handmaidens and servants, yet he was entirely alone.
In earlier days Anomen had learned many lessons from the people he had traveled with. Besides the knights of the Order of the Radiant Heart, there was Caprina and her merry band of asylum escapees. At first glance the mismatched group of highwaymen, thieves, and gits would draw the immediate attention of law enforcement merely for how suspicious they looked, but after the then-squire had been accepted as one of the group’s own it occurred to him that they had no ulterior motives; they just knew something the rest of the world didn’t. One of Delryn’s most frequent teachers of lessons learned the hard way was an ever-vexed woman named Jaheira.
The secret to surviving massive manhunts while on the road, she had once told him, was to merely become some one else. Should something bad happen, shut up and think before accidentally causing you own downfall.
Anomen, much wiser now, looked back and had to think the statement was more directed towards his tendency to make his name and exploits publicly known wherever he went. Regardless, it was because of Jaheira’s words that when one of the attendants outright asked the stranger’s name he lied without a second thought.
“Arath.” His voice cracked at being used for the first time in at least a day. If it had been another time he knew Caprina would have made a joke about him never having had that problem in the past.
“I’m very sorry for your loss, Arath,” she said sympathetically. Anomen didn’t know why he chose that specific name in the spur of the moment - Arath Sigor had been a Bhaalspawn that Caprina’s party had met during the wars in Tethyr. Last they’d seen him was in Saradush, and everyone on the Prime Material who had ever heard a bard sing knew what happened to all the Bhaalspawn in that city when Yaga-Shura overran it.
‘Arath’ looked up and realized that the attendant was waiting for him to say something. He had missed her question.
“I apologize, my lady. I am… distracted.” Unfitting as it was, he scrubbed at his eyes with his palms; the ill-founded hope that the action would rouse him somewhat awake failed. Like it or not, Anomen thought, he was among the living.
“Oh, goodness, no! Considering what you’ve been through, I think you’re entitled to reside in your own mind.” He hadn’t been very observant at the time, but the girl seemed to relax a little right then. Getting this man to speak assured her that he wasn’t going to go on a grief-induced homicidal rage on the first person who dared get too close. “I’ve only come to ask if you have anyone whom we can send a messenger for.”
She rested on a stool across from the bed on which he sat and neatly folded her hands in her lap. In her grasp were some bloodied ribbons of fabric. It took Anomen a moment to realize that she had furtively changed the wound dressings on his forearm while he had been daydreaming. Distracted, indeed.
The maid waited patiently for a reply, which was good as it took Anomen a moment to decide to tell the truth in this once instance.
“We had planned to go to Candlekeep. They aren’t expecting us, and I don’t know anyone there personally who could come.”
“Candlekeep?” Her young face furrowed like she was trying to understand something incomprehensible, “If you were going there, why did you not just stick to the roads?”
Because we were foolish.
“We had wanted to avoid the towns. Ca…” He stopped himself abruptly, but the maid likely mistook it for grief. “Katrina didn’t care for towns much.”
That was only a partial truth. His wife, much to his dismay, was a kleptomaniac who often went on pick pocketing sprees when in a crowd. Caprina loved civilization, and the only reason the two had traveled through the wilderness was to keep from being recognized, renowned as they were for various reasons. Caprina would have undoubtedly been recognized eventually, and the pair truly didn’t want anyone to know of their presence in the Gate region until they had arrived in the sanctity of Candlekeep.
The girl, who’s name Anomen hadn’t caught, opened her mouth like she was about to say or ask something but then decided against it.
“My... husband is home now. I can send him out on horse to request some one come claim you. They won’t let him inside without a tome for payment, but perhaps the Keeper will hear him out?” To Anomen she looked only eighteen and she was married. After getting past this thought he shook his head at the suggestion.
“Our attackers may still be out there,” he said in place of an excuse. The girl appeared to be quite relieved.
“The Lord is away, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you staying here until you are ready to move. I’m sorry that we can’t get a priest to take care of you,” she sympathized, examining the stab wound on his arm and the slit across his upper neck. She couldn’t have had any idea that Anomen was more than capable of healing himself. His only identification as a cleric, a simple necklace with the symbol of Helm, had been lost in the attack. He didn’t bother correcting her, leaving an awkward silence. “Well, is… is there anything I can get or do for you now, sir?”
“I would like to be alone with my wife,” he said without missing a beat, surprising even himself. The maid had asked the question out of routine, so would have been offset with any answer, much less that one. She tried not to make him feel too uncomfortable by casting an uneasy stare at the floor.
“The others are cleaning her up, I believe, sir. If you will wait a while longer?”
The girl whirled on a heel and darted out, leading Anomen to believe that he really didn’t have much of a choice. She would go on to help wash the dirt and mud off Caprina, but more importantly she intended to clean away the blood and stitch together the open wounds. Maybe the girl felt that it would be improper to let this ‘Arath’, who had practically carried his dead wife across a monster infested wood to this city, see her in such a condition. Perhaps she feared that he would do something drastic if he was to see the desecrated corpse.
Anomen knew that he was going to do something very drastic, regardless.
(Continued)