Novak, Kate - Finders Stone 1 - Azure Bonds

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Azure BondsAzure Bonds

By Kate Novak and Jeff Grubb

Map 1 Map 2

The Sigils

The Hidden Lady

She woke to the noise of dogs—two distinct barkings beneath her open inn

window.

A high-pitched yip confronted a deep, throaty growl. Alias lay on the

tan-stained cotton sheets and pictured a long-haired puppy cast out from its

wealthy owner's household, fending off some huge boxer or Vassan wolfhound.

As with men and other savage races, the show of force was as important to the

dogs as force itself. The yipping canine was overmatched, yet its barking went

on for what seemed to Alias an eternity. Finally, the dog with the deeper

growl

reached the end of its patience and snarled savagely. The sound of toppling

trash brought Alias fully awake.

She opened her eyes, listening for a dying squeal from the smaller dog, but

surprisingly the next thing she heard was a series of deep yelps from the

large

dog. The sound faded away as the large dog fled from the window.

Alias threw off the light blanket and swung her feet to the floor. She rose

and

immediately regretted it. Her head felt as though molten lead had been poured

behind her eyes, and her mouth was as dry as the sands of Anauroch.

She blinked in the reddish light. Is it dawn or twilight? she wondered.

Pressing

the heels of her palms into her eyes, she yawned. Through the open window, the

sea breezes from the Lake of Dragons wafted into the room, along with the

far-off cries of fishermen returning with their catch.

Twilight, then, she decided. She shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs.

Must have slept through the day, she thought. When did I get here? For that

matter, where's here? And what was I doing before I came here?

Alias snorted derisively. What she'd been doing was obvious. This wasn't the

first time she'd awakened in a strange place after a drunken celebration.

Nonetheless, her surroundings seemed familiar. The inn was built in the same

fashion as a hundred others at this end of the Sea of Fallen Stars, and her

room

held the typical trappings: a bed cobbled together of a mixed pile of wood,

topped with a straw tick and sheets that hadn't been aggressively washed in

months; a small second-hand dressing table; a single straight-backed chair

draped with her armor and clothing; a small rag rug at the foot of the bed; a

brass oil lamp chained to the table; a chamber pot; and a single door. The

window, inset with colorless circles of crown glass that let in the light of

the

setting sun, opened inward on side hinges that creaked lightly in the breeze.

Alias got out of bed and padded barefoot to the chair. She furrowed her brows,

trying to remember the last few days. There was a sailing trip. Something went

wrong and I had to get out of a seaport quickly, she thought.

Random images of lizard men, shadowy swordsmen, and magic-users blurred in her

memory. She shrugged. It couldn't have been too important. I wouldn't get

drunk

if there was trouble, she assured herself.

She reached for her tunic and suddenly realized that this was important, that

she was in trouble. Serious trouble.

Along the inside of her sword arm, from wrist to elbow, writhed an elaborate

tattoo unlike any she had ever seen before. A pattern coiled about five large,

distinct symbols was set deep into her flesh, all done in shades of blue.

She held up her arm in the light of the dying sun. The symbols caught the rays

and glowed as if they were stained glass lit from behind. She flexed her arm

and

twisted it back and forth. It wasn't really a tattoo at all, she realized,

noting how her skin rippled across the surface of the massive inscriptions, as

though they were buried beneath the surface of her flesh.

Engrossed by the symbols, Alias unconsciously sat on the edge of the bed in

the

fading light. Afraid the symbols might have some hypnotic quality, she studied

them with her fingernails pressed into her palms so the pain would distract

her

from whatever power they might try to exert over her.

The first symbol, at the bend of her arm, was a dagger surrounded by blue

fire.

The tip of the dagger rested on the second symbol, a trio of interlocking

circles. Beneath this was a dot and a squiggle which reminded Alias of an

insect's leg. The leg danced above the fourth symbol—an azure hand with a

fanged

mouth in the center of its palm. The last symbol consisted of three concentric

circles, each a more intense blue, so that the centermost circle was the

white-blue of a lightning strike and almost unbearable to look at. At the base

of her wrist the pattern wound about an empty space, as if a sixth symbol was

yet to be added.

Alias cursed, rattling off the names of as many gods as she could immediately

think of. When neither Tymora nor Waukeen nor any of the others manifested

themselves, she sighed and reached for her gear. She considered bolting out of

the room, sword in hand, prepared to smite anyone she could hold responsible.

She also considered dropping to her knees and praying for a divine revelation

what she had done to deserve this. Neither action was likely to do her any

good,

so she settled for getting dressed.

Alias tugged her tunic over her head and stepped into her leather leggings.

She

frowned at the clothing. Why are these so stiff? I bought them over a year

ago.

They should be broken in by now. Unless they're replacements, she mused. There

was no mistaking the newness of this set of clothing-it even smelled new.

But I don't remember buying any new clothes recently. Is this a spare set I

shoved into the bottom of my pack and forgot? she wondered. She looked around

for her pack, but it wasn't among her belongings. It might have been stolen,

she

realized, but then it was equally likely she lost it or even hocked it.

She slipped her shirt of light chain over her head but decided against

attaching

the breast, shoulder, arm, and knee plates. She felt a rocking sensation in

the

pit of her stomach. I know there was a sea trip. Did I get this. . . tattoo

before I sailed or after I arrived?

She pulled on her hard-soled boots. The soft leather uppers reached nearly to

her knees. She checked for her daggers. Each boot pocket held a slender,

balanced wedge of silvered steel. All that remained on the chair was her plate

mail and her cloak. Her fire-scorched longsword and the eagle-shaped barrette

she used to keep her hair in place lay on the dresser. Worse than her missing

pack, there was no money among her belongings, but she was still too concerned

about the tattoo to worry about money.

This memory loss and tattoo may be nothing, she tried to tell herself as she

reached for the barrette. Holding the silver clasp in her teeth she wound up

her

long reddish hair and bound it to the back of her head with the barrette. She

remembered Ikanamon the Gray Mage telling her about the time he got so drunk

and

obnoxious that his fellow party members had a vulgar scene involving centaurs

tattooed on his backside. Maybe this is just a prank, too, she reassured

herself. A clerical cure will get rid of it for me.

The small hairs on the back of her neck rose, and Alias realized that she was

being watched. Turning slowly toward the window, she locked gazes with a

reptilian creature peering in at her from the alley.

Looking like a cross between a lizard and a troglodyte, the beast's head just

reached above the level of the windowsill. His snout was thinner and more

refined than the lizard men Alias had fought before, and he had a huge fin

which

began just between his eyes and continued over the top of his skull. He had no

lips, only sharp, disjointed teeth, and his eyes were the yellow of dead

things.

In his claws he held the smaller of the two dogs Alias had heard earlier. The

puppy, unharmed, had short, white hair, not long as Alias had imagined. Both

creatures watched her with an intense curiosity, the lizard still as stone,

the

puppy wagging its tail, with its pink tongue lolling stupidly out of one side

its mouth.

Alias reacted instantly with the practiced grace of an experienced

adventuress.

She drew one of the daggers from her boot and, with a flick of her tattooed

wrist, shot it at her observer. The creature pitched backward without a sound,

but the dog fell into the room with a frightened yip. The dagger sank half an

inch into the oak window frame.

Grasping her flame-seared sword, Alias flung herself across the room in one

fluid motion When she reached the window, however, the creature was gone and

the

alleyway empty. The short-haired dog yipped at her feet, rising on its hind

legs

and placing its front paws halfway up her boots

"I don't suppose you know anything about this?" she asked the dog. The puppy

merely wagged its tail and whimpered.

Alias picked up the small creature, petted it briery, then dropped it outside

the window. The beast barked at her a few times, then began sniffing the

rubbish.

*****

"The lady has risen from the dead!" shouted the barkeep in a merry voice as

Alias entered the common room. She did not know this particular barkeep, but

knew others just like him who ran inns from the Living City to Water-deep. He

was a loud, boisterous man, full of "hail-fellow-well-met" attitudes, favoring

adventurers in his trade because the additional gold they usually carried made

up for the damage their barroom arguments caused.

A few heads turned to look at her, but there were no familiar faces among

them.

Alias had decided to wear her armor plate after all. She looked more suited

for

battle than for a few drinks, but many of the merchants, mercenaries, and

townsfolk were similarly armed and armored, so she fit in. Like most of those

the room, Alias wore her weapon at her side. Like all of those doing so, she

had

the blade's grip tied to its sheath by white cord, fashioned in "peace knot."

She took a table near an interior wall, away from any windows, where she could

keep an eye on both doors to the common area, and the barkeep as well. He was

portly, balding man, obviously guilty of sampling his own stock. He took her

attention as a request for service, and after a few obligatory passes with a

rag

over the bar, he filled a large mug from the tap and brought it over to her

table. Foam ran down the mug's sides, and beads of water condensed where the

rivulets did not run.

"Hair o' the dog what bit you?" offered the barkeep.

"On the house?" asked Alias.

"On the bill," the barkeep replied. "I like to keep things on a cash-and-carry

basis. Don't worry, you're still covered."

For the moment Alias was more interested in the blank spaces in her memory

than

in who was covering her tab. "I was here last night?" she asked.

"Yes, lady."

"Doing?" Alias raised an eyebrow.

"Why, sleeping it off. And it must have been a Hades raising drunk indeed, for

it is the seventh day o' Mirtul." When Alias stared at him blankly, lie

explained, 'You been here since the evening o' the fourth, done nothing but

sleep the whole while."

"Did I come alone?"

"Yes. Well, maybe not. May I?" He pointed to the empty seat at the table.

Alias

nodded, and he lowered his ponderous weight into the chair, which groaned

under

the load.

"One o' my regulars, Mitcher Trollslayer," he continued, "stumbled over you

that

evening after the last call. You wuz laid out on my front stoop like a

sacrifice

to Bane."

The barkeep drew the circle of Tvinora on his chest to ward off any trouble

uttering the evil name might bring. "Anyway, there you wuz with this sack o'

money alongside. I put you up. using the money in the sack to cover your tab.

Here it is, too, with only the cost o the room deducted." From his apron

pocket

he fished out a small satin sack "Doesn't count the beer, o course."

Aliais shook the contents from the sack. A small, greenish gem, a couple of

Lantan trade bars, some Waterdeep coinage, and a scattering of Cormyrian

coins.

She shoved a silver falcon at the barkeep. "I don't remember coming here.

Someone must have left me. Did you see anyone?"

"I figgered you must have been carousing with a bunch o' mates who, when the

effects caught up with you, left you on mv doorstep with enough cash to

guarantee your comfort. No one told us about you until Mitcher found vou on

his

way out. You wuz alone."

Aiias looked at the mug as the foam on top diminished to reveal a watery amber

liquid. It smelled worse than the rubbish outside. "Why wouldn't my 'mates'

bring me inside?" she asked.

The barkeep shrugged. The mates-leaving-the-lady-on-the-doorstep theory was

apparently his favorite, and it was obvious that he had been telling and

retelling it over the past few evenings. He was reluctant to change what

seemed

to him a concise and well-rounded tale.

"No one has asked after me?" Alias pressed.

"Not a one, lady. Perhaps they forgot about you."

"Perhaps. No lizards?"

The barkeep sniffed. "We keep the premises clean. We wuz waiting for you to

wake

before cleaning your room."

Alias raised a hand. "No lizard-creatures, then? Something that looks like a

lizard-creature?"

The barkeep shrugged again. "Perhaps the last brew you had haunted you some.

You

recall what you wuz drinking?"

"I recall precious little, I fear. I don't even know what town I'm in."

"No mere town, but the gem of Cormyr, the finest city o' the Forest Country.

You

are in Suzail, lady, home o' His Most Serene and Wise Majesty, Azoun IV."

Alias had a mental map in her head of the region. Cormyr was a growing nation,

sitting astride the trade routes from the Sword Coast to the Inner Sea. The

name

of its ruler struck a responsive chord. Is he a friend? An enemy? Why can't I

remember things?

"Last question, wise barkeep," she said, holding up another silver orb, "and I

will let you go." She turned the hand holding the coin to reveal the inside of

her arm and its bright tattoo. "Did I have this when I arrived?"

"Aye, lady," said the barkeep. "It wuz there when we found you. Mitcher said

the

Witches of Rashemen wear such tattoos, but a Turmishman said he wuz full of

bee

droppings. There wuz some mutterings, but I put my foot down and, as you see,

the sky hasn't fallen on my inn. I considered you a good omen, at that."

"Why?"

"The name of this house. The Hidden Lady."

Alias nodded. Taking this as a dismissal, the barkeep scurried back to his

bar,

rattling the orbs in his hand as he went.

Alias reviewed what the barkeep had told her. It makes sense, she thought.

Adventurers have been known to dump off drunken companions, leaving a tattoo

a reminder. But why these symbols? They mean nothing to me.

Alias gulped a mouthful of ale, then fought the urge to spit it across the

table. The brew tasted like fermented swill. She forced herself to swallow it,

wondering if the wretched taste of the beer had been why her unknown

benefactors

had left her outside and not entered the establishment,

"I hate mysteries," she muttered with annoyance. She toyed with the idea of

pitching the nearly full mug at the barkeep, accusing him of poisoning the

clientele. When in doubt, she thought, start a brawl.

She pushed the beer away, her attention diverted. The barkeep was talking to a

tall man wearing robes of crimson highlighted with thin white stripes and an

ivory white cloak with red trim. The barkeep motioned a pudgy hand toward

Alias's table, and the man turned to look at her.

His skin was dusky and his hair a curly brown mane banded with gold cords,

hung

to his shoulders. He had a moustache, and his beard was cut straight across at

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AzureBondsAzureBondsByKateNovakandJeffGrubbMap1Map2TheSigils1TheHiddenLadyShewoketothenoiseofdogs—twodistinctbarkingsbeneathheropeninnwindow.Ahigh-pitchedyipconfrontedadeep,throatygrowl.Aliaslayonthetan-stainedcottonsheetsandpicturedalong-hairedpuppycastoutfromitswealthyowner'shousehold,fendingoffso...

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