The willowisp kept hitting me. I didn't have my usual staff. This one wasn't magic and would do no damage. Still, I flailed at the flickering light, hoping that somehow I could stop the onslaught. I tried to cast a spell, but my powers of concentration were tapped. More wisps came to join the first. They balled together, flying into my face, blinding me. Desperately, I waved my arms, trying to quiet the buzzing and whining --
And I sat up in bed. A lone sunbeam shone through a hole in the curtains, right onto the place where my head had lain. But the buzzing wasn't gone -- oh, there it was, a huge, horrid fly, lighting on the bedpost. I tried to wave it away, but it flew in my face, barely missing my eye.
"Bah! Shoo!" I waved it off a few more times, but it kept coming back. I wouldn't need a magic weapon to get it out of my way. Apologizing to the Mother of All, I picked one of my boots up from under the bed and waited for the fly to land on the bedpost again. Then, with a well-timed whack of the heel, I sent the little fellow to Fly Heaven.
I picked the tiny corpse up by one wing and looked for a place to dispose of it with dignity. I decided he should join his fallen comrades on the windowsill. I drew the curtain back. The square below was already crowded with people, all running back and forth, calling to each other or stopping to bargain. I'd planned to get up at dawn and meet Uncle Zophia and Tinna on their return. I had to squeeze Zophia's story out of him -- why had he and father argued? Why had Father wanted me to come to the City of Men?
I laid the fly gently on the windowsill and stole out to the front room. There was Uncle Zophia, still in his armor, snoring away on the floor. Tinna was curled up in an armchair, covered with a leather cloak. They looked as if they'd been asleep for some time. I hadn't the heart to wake either of them. I would have to wait until nightfall for my answers.
I sneaked back into the bedroom and put my boots on. Father would be going mad with worry. I should find a way to get word of my safe arrival to him. As quietly as I could, I grabbed my staff and went downstairs to the bar.
"Well, good morning, Sleepyhead!" grinned the bartender. "What'll it be?"
"I'd like a muffin, please." I tried to smile, but my face was not yet willing. "And some tea." Someday, I thought, someone would invent a beverage with magic properties that made one wake up more quickly in the morning. Until then, I was doomed to being grouchy until noon.
The muffin was cold, but edible. I pulled up a barstool and drank some tea. What would I do until Uncle Zophia got up? I still didn't know my way around very well, but I thought I could probably get back to the Hogcaller's Inn from where I was.
Behind me, the door slammed open. "Damn those dervishes!" said a familiar voice. "By the time I get done with them, they'll be down in the basement of Befallen, crying for their mothers!"
I turned to see Bankerra storming up to the bar, with a Wood Elf and a Drow in tow. They looked as if they'd had a very hard fight. Bankerra didn't appear to notice the blood dripping down her cheek from the gash on her forehead. The Wood Elf limped slightly as he followed, holding his dented bronze helm under one arm. The Drow's black robe remained neat, but his long white hair had fallen partially out of its bow. With a very annoyed expression, he was trying to smooth it back in.
"Bankerra," I said as she reached me, "What happened to you?"
"Elf," she said. "If SOME PEOPLE knew how to fight -- "
"And if some OTHER people knew how to wait for one to regain one's concentration," the Drow said. Pulling out a very white handkerchief, he dusted off the seat of the barstool next to me and sat down. "You are a surface elf, I suppose," he said, looking at me as if I were last week's potato peelings.
"Of course she's a surface elf, you worthless excuse for a necromancer!" Bankerra snatched the handkerchief away and began to mop the blood from her forehead.
"That was CLEAN!" the drow said. "Humans! You disgust me!"
"Now both of you," warned the Wood Elf. "Stop it, or I'll sing the song that makes everyone wince." He turned to me. "I am Wrixlan," he said. "And this is Nazix. I see you have already met the lovely Bankerra -- " he dodged as Bankerra took a swipe at him -- "but I didn't get your name. Elf, is it?"
"No, it's Gwion," I said. "Nice to meet you. Why don't you all let me heal you? I just got up, but I think I can do it."
"No need." Wrixlan put his helm down on the bar and produced a lute from his backpack. "I will sing for a short time. Gwion, would you like to join our party?"
I hesitated. "Well, I do need to get word to my father in Kelethin --"
"Always an excuse!" Bankerra threw the handkerchief on the floor. "Yesterday you had to talk to your uncle, now you have to talk to your father. Is that what druids do all day, run around talking to each other?"
"All right." I shrugged. I had to do something until Uncle Zophia got up. I might as well help these poor souls any way I could.
"Very good then." Wrixlan pulled up a nearby stool and cleared his throat. "I shall sing of the bright battle-fame of the lovely Bankerra, and the bravery of noble Nazix."
As he sang of the sneak attack by the Dervish Cutthroats, I began to feel more awake. I watched Bankerra and Nazix closely. Their wounds began to heal. Gradually, the gash disappeared from Bankerra's forehead. She looked almost tranquil. Even Nazix's haughty expression changed to what could have passed for a smile.
When Wrixlan finished singing, I stood up and applauded. "That was great! I feel wonderful now!"
"Thank you, Gwion. I like to feel as if I can be of service to my comrades, and --"
"Oh, shut up," growled Bankerra. "Let's go back and teach those cowards a lesson!" She jumped to her feet and drew her sword, holding it high in the air, scaring the bartender, who ducked behind a nearby post. "Who's with me!"
"Well," I said, "I guess I can come along. I have some time."
But already, Bankerra was charging out the door, shouting "Let's go! Let's go! AAAARRRRGGGHHH!"
Nazix sighed. "I suppose we'd better catch up to her before she accidentally stabs someone again. I'm not anxious to try to explain her zealotry to another ogre. Come along, Wrixlan. Elf?"
"Gwion," I muttered, following them out the door.
