R. Salvatore: The Companions

“Once I knew of Harkle,” Catti-brie dared to admit, hoping that name from yesteryear would spark some recognition. “Once I knew of Bidderdoo.”

“The Bidderdoos?” the man behind her gasped, and fell back, shaking his head.

Catti-brie glanced at him curiously, not quite understanding the reference, or why he had used the plural form of the name. She shook her head and looked back to the mage, to find him already fumbling with the gate. He and the others waved her in and escorted her up the hill.

“I am Penelope,” the middle-aged woman introduced herself, coming into a comfortable room where the others had left Catti-brie, bidding her to be at ease. Catti-brie started to rise from her chair, but the older woman waved at her to remain seated and took the seat opposite.

“Ca-Ru-” Catti-brie started to respond, but she had to pause and laugh at herself, for what should have been a simple greetinline-height: Isummong apparently was not. To use her real name would be to open potential questions much larger than her arrival here at the Ivy Mansion, and to use her Desai name might well make it easier for Lady Avelyere to regain her trail.

“Delly,” she replied with an inviting smile, borrowing another name from her distant past. “Delly Curtie.”

“Well met, then, Ca-ru-delly,” Penelope Harpell replied, smiling knowingly.

“Delly Curtie,” Catti-brie said flatly.

“And what brings Delly Curtie to Longsaddle, pray tell?”

“Your display of magic this night, mostly. I was on the road and noted it, and since I, too, am practiced in the Art-”

“Then you already knew of Longsaddle, no doubt, and needed no fire and lightning display to lure you here.”

Catti-brie stared hard at the woman, who returned the look. She started to concoct some explanation, but realized that she was only digging herself deeper with her lies, beneath the careful gaze of Penelope. These were the Harpells, Catti-brie reminded herself, goodly folk, if quite … eccentric. Ever had the Harpells been allies of the Companions of the Hall, and of Mithral Hall. Indeed, they had come running to Bruenor’s aid when the drow had invaded the dwarf tunnels.

“I was bound for the coast,” Catti-brie said. “But recent events slowed me, and perplexed me, I admit.”

“Do go on.”

“Changes,” Catti-brie replied. “With magic.” She shrugged and threw in her chips, once again pulling up the sleeves of her robe to reveal her two spellscars, now seeming as different colored tattoos.

Penelope’s eyes narrowed as she stared at the woman’s marked forearms, and she leaned out of her seat and moved closer, even reaching down to turn Catti-brie’s arm a bit to get a better look at the seven-pointed star on the left arm.

“What artist did this?” Penelope asked.

“No artist.”

Penelope looked her in the eye once more. “They are spellscars?”

“Or were.”

Penelope stood straight and glanced around. She moved to the door and closed it, then walked back to stand before Catti-brie. She hiked up her robe and turned sideways, revealing a marking on her left hip, a blob of brown and blue discolored skin.

“Would that my own had taken a more attractive appearance, as have yours!” she said. “You did nothing to touch up the scar?”

“It only just happened, when I was alone on the road.”

“And what were you doing alone on the road?”

“Heading for the coast, as I told you.”

“These are dangerous lands for anyone to be traveling alone, even a mage.”

“I was flying,” Catti-brie admitted. “Through the power of the scars, I was flying as a bird. And then I was falling.”

Penelope sucked in her breath.

“What is happening?” Catti-brie asked.

“Are you going to tell me your real name, Delly Curtie?”

“You asked, and Catti-brie nodded. bpa"› expect would not believe me, so no, not yet. In time, perhaps, when we have both come to a place of greater trust.”

Penelope walked around her chair. “You mentioned the Bidderdoos, I am told.”

“Bidderdoo,” Catti-brie corrected.

“A Bidderdoo, then. Which?”

Catti-brie gave a confused little laugh. “Bidderdoo,” she replied. “Bidderdoo Harpell.”

“There is no Bidderdoo Harpell.”

“There was. And what are Bidderdoos, then?”

“Bidderdoo has been dead for a century,” Penelope answered. “His legacy lives on, in the forest around Longsaddle.”

Catti-brie thought about that for a few moments. “Werewolves,” she whispered.

“Yes, the Bidderdoos, so we call them. The townsfolk are quite afraid of them, but in truth, they guard the town and do us no harm. I am surprised that you were not confronted on the road, coming in at night so suspiciously, as you were. But then, perhaps the Bidderdoos were enjoying our celebration.”

“It was quite extraordinary,” Catti-brie agreed.

“An extraordinary display for exciting times,” Penelope admitted. “Strange things have been happening all across the Ivy Mansion.”

Catti-brie laughed at that understatement. “The reputation of the Harpells precedes you, good lady.”

Penelope paused as if to consider her reply, then couldn’t suppress her own grin. “Yes, I expect it does. A well-earned reputation.” She sat in the chair again, her expression growing serious.

“How could you know of Bidderdoo Harpell? And you mentioned another at the gate.”

“Harkle.”

“How could you know of Harkle?”

“I was raised in Mithral Hall.”

Penelope sat up straight and took note. “Raised among the Battlehammer dwarves? And you learned the ways of magic?”

“I am fairly trained,” said Catti-brie. “No archmage, certainly!”

“I saw your fireball,” Penelope replied. “You favor evocation?”

“I like blowing things up,” Catti-brie said with a wry grin. “Spoken like a Harpell!”

“I like blowing things up when I’m not standing next to those things I blow up,” Catti-brie clarified, and Penelope laughed aloud and slapped her knee.

“Maybe not a true Harpell, then,” she replied. “Tell me, have you any other spells in your repertoire this day?”

Catti-brie thought for a moment, then nodded. “A fan of flames,” she said, tapping her thumbs together and waggling her fingers.

Penelope looked around, then motioned for Catti-brie to follow her to a clear spot in the room, where she might enact burning hands without setting the place on fire. “One moment,” the older woman said, then left the room, returning a short time later with two others, a man around the same age as Penelope and one much older.

“My husband, Dowell, and Kipper Harpell, the olde looked at her curiously. o he decidedimst of the clan.”

Both nodded cordially, and Dowell unrolled a parchment, holding it up before Kipper with a nod to Penelope.

Penelope motioned to the empty space before Catti-brie and bade her, “Please proceed with your spell.”

Catti-brie lifted her hands and began the incantation.

“Louder, please, dear child,” Kipper requested.

Catti-brie cleared her throat and went at it again, and a few moments later, a fan of flames spread out from her fingers, a solid dweomer, if not overpowering. She turned to regard the three witnesses, to find them all grinning, and Kipper nodding.

“And look at her arm!” Penelope said, noting the blue mist gathered around Catti-brie’s left forearm. She rushed over and tugged Catti-brie back to the others, pulling back the sleeve to show the seven-starred marking.

“What?” Catti-brie asked.

“Mystra,” Kipper said reverently and bowed his head.

“It is true, then,” Dowell added, grinning widely.

“What?” Catti-brie asked again.