Mel Odom - The Lost Library of Cormanthyr

Vaggit sat on a limb ten feet above the ground, resting on the soles of his bare feet with his arms wrapped around his knees. An audience of forty and more men and women, young and old, had already gathered for the telling. Baylee knew the forest runner had only just begun the lengthy telling because Vaggit wasn't yet pacing along the thick branch like a stage orator from a house of arts in Waterdeep or other civilized areas.

Short and scrawny, looking near to flesh leaned out over bone, the forest runner wore gray and green splashed garments that blended in with the night and his chosen environment. His leather armor stayed supple and loose, moving without a sound. In his profession as heckler of the aristocratic greedy in and around Zhentil Keep, moving quietly was a necessity. His gray hair and long gray beard testified to the experience he had, and the scars and way he carried himself spoke of the skills he'd learned. A long bow occupied a space beside him on the branch, an arrow resting at the ready on the bowstring.

Baylee took up a position against a gnarled elm with low sweeping branches. Winged animal companions and some possessing climbing skills sat in the trees surrounding the small pocket clearing of the forgathering. Occasional cries or cawing as they shifted chased through the cool breezes coming down from the Dragon-spine Mountains.

"And lo," Vaggit said in his deep basso voice that was so surprising from so little a man, "wise and mighty Eltargrim, himself a warrior and experienced in many battles, looked out over this city that had become known as the Towers of Song, and he listened to the counsel of Elminster even though it cost him the support of the Starym and other families who left the Elven Court."

A young girl of no more than five or six. summers walked forward and held up a stone cup of mead. Her blond hair whipped in the breeze, almost touching the ground when the wind died down.

Amazingly, a section of the branch above Vaggit's head shifted liquidly. The color changed as Baylee watched, becoming the red-brown skin of a pseudodragon that fell from the branch in a loose sprawl.

For a moment, the pseudodragon looked certain to smash against the child. Then it opened its wings and deftly took the cup from the little girl's hands. She laughed gaily, then turned and ran back to her mother.

Vaggit held out a hand, never bothering to check for the cup. The pseudodragon put the cup gently in his hand.

"The old scoundrel has had a good year from all accounts I've heard," Aymric whispered at Baylee's side. "He's emptied the purses of several Zhentil nobles in his pursuit of justice in his woods, then spread the wealth back among the people those nobles robbed under the statutes of the law. Though why he didn't keep enough for a good set of clothes to wear to the concourse this year is beyond me."

Baylee smiled. He respected and admired the old forest runner. "If Vaggit cared about material possessions, he'd never be the man I he is. Should he have wanted a new suit of clothes, I'm sure one of the lonely ladies around Zhentil Keep who think so highly of him would have made a set for him just for the asking."

"To hear him tell it, mayhap."

"I've been in Zhentil Keep," Baylee said. "The people there who struggle against the tyrants talk well of Vaggit."

Aymric waved the comment away. "I meant no disparaging remark, old friend. In truth, the matter I was referring to was how many of the children in those homes that Vaggit himself might have fathered during his adventures. You forget, I'm older than you are. I remember Vaggit when he was your age."

Baylee smiled at the thought. Of all the rangers gathered at the concourse, old Vaggit indeed did have the least problem finding someone to care for his tent and precious few belongings.

"There you are," a feminine voice said. "I've been looking for you everywhere."

Aymric and Baylee turned together. "Serellia," Baylee said with a smile, opening his arms. "And how are you?"

The woman came into Baylee's arms with a flurry of leather. She was as tall as he, her garments crafted of purple-dyed leather, and her raven's-wing black hair cut short around her face. The one-piece skirt/tunic allowed a view of generous cleavage and an expanse of toned, healthy thigh. A short sword hung upside down from her back in a quick release sheath.

The hug lasted long enough to make Baylee feel uncomfortable in the presence of so many other people. He politely broke the hold and stepped back, his hands resting on Serellia's shoulders.

"I am fine," Serellia said.

"The last I saw of you," Baylee said, "there was the matter of a certain Red Wizard of Thay who'd sent a dozen or so sellswords after you to return a bauble you stole from him."

Serellia's eyes widened playfully, and she looked around behind Baylee. "Surely, they're not still in pursuit. It's been months."

"They gave up?" Baylee asked.

Serellia nodded. "After I killed three of them in their sleep, over the course of five days."

"Dear lady," Aymric said, "I can't believe any man would cease to chase after you." He took Serellia's hand and kissed her fingers delicately. "It would take death to still a man's heart after he's looked upon your beauty."

Serellia laughed out loud as she took her hand back from the elf. "What a bag of offal." She looked around the crowd. "Has someone got a camp spade?"

Baylee laughed as well when he saw the pained grimace flicker across Aymric's aristocratic features.

Why couldn't you be more interested in someone like Serellia? Xuxa asked. Now here's a human female even an azmyth bat can appreciate. Other men think she's beautiful. I've read their thoughts while they've been around you and her. Even Aymric appears smitten.

It's the wine, Baylee said.

Faugh! Look at her. She is beautiful, and I know she cares about you because I've read her mind on more than one-

Xuxa!

"Who's your friend with the quick compliments?" Serellia asked.

"You two haven't met?" Baylee asked, surprised. Sometimes it seemed that Aymric knew everyone, and everyone knew him.

"No," Aymric answered. "I've never had the… pleasure."

"No," Serellia said, "you haven't. Otherwise you'd know not to try to mire me in such an approach."

Baylee managed the introductions. "Aymric, I'd like to introduce Serellia Oparyan, an explorer like myself."

"For profit or play?" Aymric asked.

"For knowledge," Serellia replied without rancor. "And a chance to see all of Toril."

"Ambitious," Aymric said.

"Very," Serellia agreed.

"And this is Aymric Tailpuller," Baylee said. "A falconer without equal."

"I've heard of you," Serellia said. "Your birds are among the best in all of the Heartlands."

A shadow of a smile returned to Aymric's face. "Then I am to assume that you've not traveled much further than there. Otherwise, you would have learned that the birds I have trained are the best in other lands as well."

Baylee noted the disapproving looks they gathered from nearby people who were listening to Vaggit's tale of Myth Drannor's fall. He ushered his two friends out of the group and toward a campfire that had been all but abandoned. A small knot of men surrounded one of the tables, trading goods scattered across folded cloths as they bartered.

"I'll go get some wine," Baylee offered as Aymric and Serellia took up seats at the table. He guessed that would take the edge off for the elf, and Serellia liked wine as well.

Maybe it would be in your interest to try to spend more time with Serellia, Xuxa said.

At the closest wine cask, Baylee took up three clay cups and filled them. No.

She could fill those nights when you're lonely for companionship.

There is some concern about the past that is between us. Baylee took his cups back to his friends, finding them deeply engaged in a conversation regarding the care and handling of doves aboard sailing ships.