Once Around the Realms

Chapter 6

Snap!

Crack!

Out of nowhere the lashes of a seven-strand whip sailed over the heads of the orcs, and slashed and cracked on the head of their leader, diverting his attention from his prey.

Snap!

Crack!

Again the whip came crashing down, its lashes striking two more orcs who quickly separated, diving left and right to clear a path between the holder of the whip and the orc leader and his prey.

Standing eight feet away was a tall, muscular yet thin woman with long brown hair, hard green eyes, and a seven-stranded whip whose twelve-foot range was deceptively disguised as two feet at rest. Behind her stood a band of no less than ten equally fearsome female warriors.

"We have been rescued by Amazons!" Passepout rejoiced.

Volo, knowing that Amazons were not indigenous to this area, nevertheless breathed a sigh of relief over the fortunate arrival of their rescuers and heard the orc leader mutter an orcish curse as he realized that his band was both outnumbered and outskilled.

One of the orc band, however, was neither as intelligent nor as perceptive as his leader, and with a loud war whoop, raised his blackened blade into the air and charged the newly arrived pack of humans.

An auburn-haired beauty, just slightly shorter than the company's leader, insinuated herself forward, and with lightning reflexes unleashed her rapier, skewering the oncoming orc before he had even realized that he was within striking range. With equal skill and facility, she withdraw her blade from the brute body, pausing only momentarily to wipe her blade on her victim's tunic to remove the remaining black flecks of orcish blood from its silver sheen.

Another equally foolish orc, dagger in hand, unaware that his comrade had already met his end, lunged forward at the bearer of the catlash who had dared to strike his father, the orc leader. His lunge, however, was quickly intercepted, blocked by the intervention of a quarterstaff whose bearer had vaulted herself forward to protect her leader. Thrown off-balance, the orc dropped his dagger and fell forward. He found himself pummeled across the side of his bovine visage by the oaken staff and spun around by its bearer, his orcish windpipe cut off from life-giving air by the staff that was now braced below his chin, his body coming to rest on the redhead's armored chest with his feet three inches off the ground. The former attacker's face was quickly turning white from asphyxiation.

Others in the orc band contemplated joining in when the orc leader barked an order, they all laid down their weapons.

The redhead looked to her leader, who responded with a sharp nod, and released her captive from her breathtaking grip. The asphyxiated orc fell to the ground, his air-starved lungs heaving, forcing the chest up and down, the only movement in his beaten body.

The orc leader focused on the catlash bearer, cruel stare meeting cruel stare.

The catlash bearer didn't bat an eye.

The orcs had met their match, and no further action was required.

The orc leader barked out another order, and two of his band came forward to assist their beaten comrade to his feet, chest still heaving in grateful inhalations. They bore him forward so that his father could face him. The leader's stern visage softened with relief as their comrade came around.

The leader tousled the bristles of his still-weak son's pate, and, turning back to the rest of his band, rapped out another order, at which point the rest of band started to retreat from whence they came. Father and son soon quickly joined them, following a lowly brute who dragged the corpse of their slain comrade.

Now alone with their rescuers, Passepout and Volo faced the band of female adventurers.

"O wonderful Amazons, thank you for your assistance," extolled Passepout, "but, of course, Master Volo and myself could have taken care of that loutish band on our own. In fact, I, myself, am well capable of handling twice as many orcs with one hand tied behind my back."

Volo whispered to his boisterous bond servant, "You know, brigands and rogues come in all sexes." Passepout fell silent, fearful that they had just traded one set of predators for another.

The bearer of the catlash came forward and said, "Smile when you call my band brigands and rogues, or we are liable to take offense."

"None was intended, good lady," Volo replied. "1 was merely stating a well-documented rule of the road."

The bearer of the whip scratched a white sword-scar on her cheek with the butt of the catlash before returning the weapon to its holster on her belt. "A rule of the road, you say," she continued, gesturing to Passepout, adding, "Porky here called you

Master Volo."

"That is correct," the gazetteer assented.

"Marco, or the real thing?" she persisted.

"There is only one real Volo, my lady. Volothamp Geddarm, at your service," he declared, then quickly added, "and this is my, uh, traveling companion, Passepout."

Passepout bowed with a flourish, adding to Volo's introduction. "Yes, my lady. I am Passepout, son of Catinflas and Idle, and master thespian extraordinaire."

The bearer of the whip ignored the rotund actor's salutation, though several of the adventurers in her band found it very hard to stifle their laughter and amusement.

"Then you are Volo, the master traveler, and author of Volo's Guide to Waterdeep" she persisted.

"Yes," Volo replied, "among many others. And whom do I bear the extreme pleasure of addressing?"

"I am Catlindra Serpentar, "she declared, offering her hand for Volo to shake.

Her grip was that of a warrior, reinforcing to Volo that even a beautiful woman such as this could be intimidating.

"And this," she continued, gesturing to her comrades, "is the Company of the Catlash."

"Wonderful," Passepout declared, eyeing the bevy of warrior beauties with ill-planned lust as he tried to make eye contact with the red-headed staff bearer. When he did, he gave a suggestive wink and a leer.

The redhead ignored his facial invitation, exit the rotund thespian chose, in turn, to ignore her obvious lack of interest.

Two of her blond comrades giggled, amused at his obvious denseness.

"I have heard of you, and your company," Volo offered.

"I would expect no less from the master gazetteer," she replied. "You may call me Cat."

"It will be my pleasure. Cat, but if I recall correctly, you and your band are not usually this gregarious. Do you treat all of your rescuees like this?"

"Only those with whom I share a common goal."

"And what goal is that?" he inquired.

She tilted her head back as if to release a kink in her neck, and shook her luxurious mane of brown hair.

"There is enough time for questions later," she replied. "Our camp is on the other side of the city. Why don't you join us for dinner? Nightfall will be here soon, and you probably don't want to be wandering around these ruins then. No telling who or what you might run into during the day, let alone after dark."

"We would be honored," Volo replied.

"Wonderful," Passepout agreed, then quickly turned his attention back to the redhead with the staff. "Perhaps the walk over there can give us the time to get better acquainted?"

The redhead continued to ignore him and set off at a brisk pace toward the company camp. Soon the thespian fell behind, out of breath.

Volo adjusted his pace to stay in rank with his rotund, out-of-shape companion while keeping track of the company's progress far ahead of them so as not to lose their way amidst the confusion of ruins that had once been a great city.

"You know, Master Volo," Passepout sputtered between gasps, "I think that redhead really likes me."

"Indeed," said the gazetteer, glad that something had finally taken his companion's mind off food.

"I just hope she can cook," the thespian added.

Volo just smiled.

After a wondrous meal of hare and venison stew that no traveler on the road had any right to complain about-even Passepout confessed to being sated-Catlindra and her company gathered around the campfire, as was their custom, to wait out the digestion and passage of their meal with conversation, so that bodily functions would not interrupt their sleep later.

Volo listened to tales of the company's exploits, as related by some adventuresses who were probably hoping for a casual mention in one of his books. During a lull in the tale-telling, he turned to their hostess in hope of continuing the conversation from earlier in the day.

"You know, Cat," he started, "earlier I asked you about the common goal that you referred to. Do you care to elaborate now?"

Cat grew wistfully melancholy, and began her tale.

"More years ago than I care to admit, before I took to the road and adventuring life, I was just your typical small-town tomboy, getting into trouble, embarrassing my parents, the usual stuff. My parents didn't really mind. They knew I would outgrow it eventually. They were the best parents a girl could ever hope for."

"I know the kind of whom you speak," Volo offered, striving for a closer affinity with this bold adventurer.

"One day that all changed. I don't remember what it was I noticed first. All I knew was that there was something odd about my mother. I asked my father about it, but he laughed it off, figuring it was all just part of a girl's growing up. You know, a daughter feeling herself to be the rival of her mother for her father's affections."

"Sure," said Volo, not really understanding but willing to write it off as one of those tricky differences between men and women, and quickly noting that perhaps he should ask his mother about it at some later date.

"I persisted, and Father eventually lost his temper and locked me in the cellar. That's what he used to do whenever I used to throw a tantrum: lock me in the cellar and let me cool off. He was a loving father, and never struck me."

"I'm sure," said Volo, intrigued to see where this story was going.

"There in the basement, I found my mother's body."

Volo stifled a gasp.

Cat continued her tale in an emotionless monotone.

"You see, the thing that I had thought was my mother acting strangely, wasn't really my mother at all, but a doppelganger who had killed her and insinuated itself into our family."

"So what did you do?" Volo asked, still not aware what this had to do with the mysterious common goal that supposedly he and she shared.

"I escaped from the cellar and killed it before it could murder my father or me."

Cat paused for a moment to look in the flames of the campfire, then continued with the story, eyes still focused on the dancing flashes of red, yellow, and orange.

"Unfortunately, my father couldn't handle it. The death of his wife, his not recognizing her murderer's insinuation into their marriage bed. He went insane, cut himself off from the entire world, and retreated into his own little world. A friend of the family who was a cleric offered to take care of him. He's in a monastery now, still cut off in his own world, never making contact with anyone. I continue to send money to them, and they care for him as best they can."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Volo offered.

"Oh. others have had it worse. That which doesn't kill you usually makes you stronger," Cat said, trying to sound as matter-of-fact as possible. "Anyway, ever since then I've had this thing against doppelgangers."

"Well that's understandable," Volo agreed, still trying to figure out what all of this had to do with him.

"And when I heard about a certain travel author exposing an entire ring of murderous doppelgangers in Waterdeep, well, I knew I had to meet him."

"Who did that?" Passepout inquired.

"Why, Volo, of course," she replied.

"You did?" Passepout inquired of his shocked master.

"Well, I, uh… " Volo fumbled.

"Of course he did," insisted the company leader, who began to relate this tale of bravery previously unknown to Volo himself. "You see," she persisted, "there was a conspiracy in Waterdeep led by an evil doppelganger by the name of Hlaavin, His group called itself the Unseen. They were a consortium of shapechangers, thieves, illusionists, and assassins who had originally come from the Rat Hills to Waterdeep with a plan to gain control of the city by supplanting all of the most powerful people within Waterdeep society. At first their infiltration began slowly, taking more than ten years to maneuver impostors of a few minor functionaries in place, and then Hlaavin hatched an ingenious plan of setting up a high-class festhall to cater to just the types of society members that they wanted to supplant."

Volo finally saw where she was headed, and stated, "The Hanging Lantern."

"The Hanging Lantern?" Passepout questioned.

"Of course, the Hanging Lantern," Cat assured, "and you exposed it seven years ago."

"You did?" Passepout asked of his master incredulously.

"All I did was to say in my guide to Waterdeep that the Hanging Lantern was a festhall run by doppelgangers," Volo offered, trying to put his alleged heroic deed into the proper perspective.

Cat would not hear of it. "Oh, you are much too modest," she insisted. "That subtle little entry brought down the entire villainous plot without panicking the entire city. You were a genius."

"Well, I…"

"Unfortunately, they never caught Hlaavin," she continued, bringing the tale to an end, "but the Hanging Lantern was shut down, and you can't have everything, I guess… but anyway, any enemy of a doppelganger is a friend of mine."

Volo, glad that the story was over, changed the subject. "But that was seven years ago. We have new, more pressing matters at hand."

"Oh," said Cat with a gleam in her eye, "you're after the Bleth reward, too."

"The Bleth reward?" Passepout inquired, his eyes immediately seeing gold pieces.

Cat turned to Volo and, indicating the thespian at his side, stated, "I take it he's not too bright."

"I'm afraid that neither of us are," Volo replied. "This is the first I've ever heard of the Bleth reward."

"Oh, well, I guess I'm one up on you then," Cat conceded. "Lord Gruen Bleth of the Seven Suns Trading Company has offered a huge reward for the safe return of his daughter, who was part of a caravan that was abducted while she was traveling through Thay. That's where we're bound, as a sort of general objective. Of course, if we don't find her, well find something to keep us busy. Still, the reward would be nice. Care to join us?"

Volo considered the offer carefully and graciously declined.

"Thank you, my fair lady, but I'm afraid we will have to decline due to prior commitments."

"Prior commitments can usually wait," Cat offered flirtatiously.

"If only they could," Volo countered, "but my word is my bond, and the matter is completely out of my control."

Cat sighed. "A man of bravery, and a man of honor," she said wistfully. "I had hoped to share your company longer, but I respect your commitments. Perhaps we can travel together for a few days-say, until the road that leads to your destination diverges from the one that leads to ours. Which reminds me, if I might be so bold as to inquire, where are you and your roly-poly actor heading?"

"Shadowdale," Volo stated.

"Shadowdale?" Passepout questioned.

"Why Shadowdale?" the gracious hostess pressed.

"Because something has gone wrong with my magics, and I must have it corrected as soon as possible," he answered.

"Well, toward the Dalelands it shall he then," she stated, adding, "and then on to Thay. The hour is late, digestion complete, and time for sleep. Tomorrow, Shadowdale bound so shall we be."

A few hours later, still in the dead of night, Volo heard footsteps approaching, and mindful of their earlier midnight encounter, he quickly braced himself, dagger in hand beneath his blanket, and inquired, "Who goes there?"

A sheepish voice broke through the silence of the darkness.

"It is only I, Master Volo," said Passepout.

"Is everything all right?" Volo inquired.

"Sure," the thespian replied with all the enthusiasm of a slave bound for the block.

"All right, then," Volo answered, adding, "Get some sleep. The open road beckons us for an early departure."

"Great," said Passepout, with his usual lack of zeal.

Rosy-fingered dawn saw the Company of the Catlash, and their two new companions, ready for the road.

Volo noticed the auburn-haired staff bearer telling her comrades a story that invoked reams of laughter, which they quickly suppressed once they noticed his presence. His curiosity at the reason for their joviality and for Passepout's late-night stirrings was soon satisfied, when he saw the thespian at breakfast. Somehow during the night, his rotund bond servant had acquired a black eye, and a proclivity toward blushing whenever the redhead was around.

Oh, well, thought the traveler, such are the risks of the inept Casanova.

Vowing to himself never to mention what might have transpired, Volo helped his companion with his pack, keeping pace with him as they journeyed toward Shadowdale, subtly massaging the thespian's fragile, damaged ego.

By lunch, the embarrassment of less than twelve hours ago seemed to be forgotten, and the thespian's earlier braggadocio had returned, much to the chagrin of the rest of the company.