“Truly, my lord,
the bounty of your halls has not diminished since last we drank together.” Fandral the Dashing drank deeply from his
tankard of mead. “I suspect, however,
that you asked me here for something other than the pleasure of my company?”
The warrior
leaned back, smiling and wiping his wet beard.
“The Trickster is
afoot, Fandral.” Tyr Grimjaws nearly growled in response. “I would know at what game he plays. Forever we are at odds, he and I, the
Lawbringer and the Betrayer. I sense now
that his gaze has drifted afar, beyond the Nine Worlds. I would have you draw out his purpose.”
“Surely one of
your many angelic servants would be of better service for such a task?” Fandral refilled his great mug and drank
again. “You know, I have often envied you your heavenly host, my lord. Fairer than any valkyrie, they are, and just
as deadly!”
The angels of
Mount Celestia were not of Asgard, as all knew.
Nor were they of any of the Nine Worlds, for that matter. Tyr himself was neither one of the Aesir, nor
of the Vanir. Despite all this, Fandral
had no wish to insult his host, as he was quite fond of the Grimjaws, despite
his rigid, and oft times dour, personality.
“None of my
servants are fit for this task, Fandral.
The trickster would quickly turn them out, or worse.” Tyr leaned forward onto the great oaken
table. “Only you are clever enough to
ascertain Loki’s designs.”
“I still do not
follow, my lord,” he replied. “Loki would no more allow me into his halls than
he would the mighty Thor.”
“It is not his
halls that I ask you to investigate.”
Fandral’s
eyebrows arched in curiosity. “Then
what?”
“The skeins of
fate stretch taut over a small world in the material plane. This world is called Toril, and it has been
of interest to me for some time.”
The Grimjaws
reached inside the folds of his jacket and pulled out a scrap of
parchment. He unfolded it and handed it
to Fandral, motioning for him to read it.
After briefly scanning it, the swordsman placed it flat on the table and
shrugged.
“It is a missive
from one of my mortal servants, a paladin of my faith, “ the Lawbringer
explained. She seeks the direct
assistance of my greatest celestial general, Ambrielle en’Teiva, who also
happens to be this mortal paladin’s forebear.”
Fandral continued
to look at him blankly.
“Perhaps I am not
as clever as you estimate, my lord, for I still do not see where you are
going.”
“The paladin had
a child, who is also one of my servants.
The child’s father is a rake named Bastian, an aasimar whose lineage you
know all too well, I believe.”
Fandral laughed
heartily.
“Fate has drawn
this young priestess to Toril, to combat some great evil spawned from the Hells
that dwells in a forsaken keep there.
But I fear the Trickster also has some hand in all of this. There are dark powers drawing toward that
place, and I would see the scales swing back toward the righteous. The young priestess is blood of your blood. She is my devoted servant. We have common purpose to see the Trickster
thwarted, Fandral.”
“Very good, my
lord!” Fandral declared, leaping to his feet. “I am most intrigued by this
adventure and will set forth immediately.”
The swordsman refilled his tankard and raised it up. “After, of course, we both drink to our great
success!”
The Grimjaws
mouth drew into a tight smile. As they
drank, Fandral had already begun to form a plan . . .
