Helm's Guards

Kalan Inn stood alone in the wilderness of Cormyr. Five stories tall and as imposing as a castle, it had more than a main building: a ten-foot wall, two annexes, a small smithy, stables, a livestock pen, and a large reservoir. The inn had clearly been built to withstand a long siege.

Most roadside inns in the Realms doubled as fortresses to some degree.

Aaron knew the owner of Kalan Inn. He was a Half-elf named Tama Qiaoya, nearly seventy years old and in the prime of his life by Half-elf standards. He had a long, horse-like face with regular features and liked nothing better than standing behind the bar listening to travelers' stories.

Tama Qiaoya was chaotic good and often did things his own way. The inn had made him wealthy, and he also liked lending money here, though almost never to fickle adventurers from out of town. He detested running tabs; hardly anyone could do so at his inn. Yet the Half-elf proprietor was generous in his own fashion. Any adventurer who had truly run out of money could say so at the bar and receive a full mug of barley ale, two rock-hard pieces of black bread, and a piece of salted meat.

The food was free. All the adventurer had to do was share news from the surrounding area with the owner.

Many of Cormyr's large roadside inns were run by Half-elves or Elves, and there was a reason for that. The full story could wait for another time. In short, the land that now formed the Kingdom of Cormyr had once belonged to the Elven Multiverse Empire. As humanity rose, the Elves withdrew, leaving the land for humans to settle and cultivate while teaching them magic and craft.

Much as America owed the Native Americans, Cormyr owed the Elves something. Even the most extreme, fanatical Cormyr nationalist could not deny what the Elves had contributed to the kingdom.

The inn had a sizable guard force, twenty or thirty strong. Several guards devoted to Helm, the god of guardians, were also stationed there. Helm's Holy Symbol was carved on either side of the iron gate.

That symbol at the inn's entrance meant every feud and quarrel had to be settled outside the iron gate. Anyone who drew a weapon or cast a spell after entering could hardly blame Helm's guards for showing no mercy—they had lawful authority to kill troublemakers.

The Rogue and Barbarian scouting ahead had reached Kalan Inn's gate in the evening light. In the distance, the stone building looked gilded by the setting sun, while thin curls of cooking smoke rose into a scene fit for a medieval painting.

The iron gate beneath the inn's ten-foot-high entrance drew closer. Ferrara raised a hand to halt the mercenaries, then approached Aaron himself. "My lord, we're here."

"Then go in. Why wait for me?" Aaron said with the hint of a smile.

"Ah, you jest, my lord. We aren't from Cormyr and don't know the place or its rules. Please tell us what to do, and we'll do it." Ferrara bowed low.

"Very well. I'll handle it." Aaron nodded slowly. Under Miss Cleric's faintly disdainful gaze, he straightened his robe and collar, then strode toward the Helmite Watch guards at the iron gate.

A noticeboard stood outside the inn's walls.

"By decree of Alusair Obarskyr, regent of the Kingdom of Cormyr and its second princess, in light of recent events:"

"First: all persons entering Cormyr must register with an officer of the border garrison."

"Second: foreign currency may be used only in designated places. Exchange your money for Cormyr gold lions at the earliest opportunity."

"Third: adventurers must obtain a permit before undertaking any activity as a group."

"Fourth: all weapons must be kept secure. The sole exceptions are members of licensed adventuring parties and mercenary companies who can provide proof of employment."

"Fifth: harming cats is forbidden."

"Sixth: bow to the royal family and local nobility."

"Seventh: Purple Dragon Knights may search you when required."

"Eighth: hunting on private land is forbidden."

"Stop!" Helm's guards had been watching the uninvited party for some time. Every hand rested on a sword hilt as they kept watch on Ferrara's group. The mercenaries had not entered the area under their protection, however, so the guards could only stand there.

As soon as Aaron approached, they signaled him to stop. "Identification and permit, please!"

Aaron nodded and took his document of noble identity from inside his robe.

"Viscount Salian! Welcome!" One of the Helmite Watch glanced at the document and immediately saluted. "We're only doing our duty. Please forgive us."

Ferrara hurriedly waved the mercenaries through.

"Wait!" a guard called, stopping Ferrara's attempt to usher them in. "Viscount, these mercenaries... did you hire them?"

"Yes. They're my guards," Aaron said calmly.

"Do they have a permit or proof of employment?" The bearded warrior in armor refused to let it go. He braced himself on his spear, his other hand gripping the sword at his waist. "Those are the rules."

"You need proof of employment?"

"Forgive us, Viscount. We mean you no difficulty, but rules are rules. Everyone must follow them."

"If you need proof of employment, shall I write some for you now?" Aaron took a pen and ink from his pack. With a faint smile, he added, "I recall that only Purple Dragon Knights have the authority to demand it."

"..." That was beyond the Helmite Watch's knowledge.

As guards, these followers of Helm had the right to ask visitors for identification and foreign adventurers for their activity permits.

As a local noble of Cormyr, Aaron only needed to show his identification. He had the authority to issue permits himself. In a sense, he was a walking permit.

Helm's followers had no authority to order Aaron to do anything, least of all to demand that he write a permit specifically for them. Only Purple Dragon Knights had that power.

The Helmite Watch often found themselves caught in contradictions like this. The guards looked at one another, and none dared decide to let the group through.

"Please wait, Your Excellency. We'll explain the situation to the innkeeper and ask him to make a fair decision."

The Helmite Watch went inside. Miss Cleric walked slowly up to Aaron, contempt in her voice. "They're always like this."

"They? The Helmite Watch?"

"The god of guardians' guards are just like him. Their heads are full of granite. They follow orders blindly, whether they're told to protect a city, inn, or ruin from creatures of the wild, or to crush helpless women, children, and the elderly and drive a handful of good Beastfolk from their homes. They obey. They never ask why. They're puppets without feelings, happy to let others pull their strings." Eleanor plainly thought little of Helm. "They scarcely deserve to be called alive."

"If Helm hadn't made that idiotic decision during the Time of Troubles, the Lady of Magic would never have fallen. He bears at least half the blame for the disasters that destroyed countless families," Eleanor continued. "I can hardly believe his followers can stand here with their heads held high, shamelessly acting as if none of it happened. It makes me sick."

Aaron said nothing. He knew about it.

Helm had once wielded considerable influence across most of the Realms. An original guardian and ever-vigilant sentinel, he had always obeyed the Overgod Ao's command to guard and watch over the Realms. His devotion to order was extreme. Once he accepted a task, he carried it out to the letter and almost never made exceptions—unless children were involved. Helm was fond of children, so only when dealing with a minor would he consider showing leniency.

Helm's Church had once been called the "shield of civilization" and was especially renowned for producing excellent guards. People trusted the Helmite Watch as the most dependable protectors. Most good-aligned Deities got along well with him.

Then came the Time of Troubles.

During the Time of Troubles, the Deities were cast down to the mortal world and forced to walk it as avatars. Helm, however, received Ao's command to prevent every Deity from returning to their divine realm. The god of guardians assumed the authority of an enforcer and stood watch over the Celestial Stairway.

That ultimately led to the death of the Second Goddess of Magic and enraged the good-aligned Deities. His indifference to the countless disasters across the Realms also revealed his true nature to mortals: obey orders, hold your post, and never mind good or evil.

His soul was colder than stone.

After the Time of Troubles, mortals and Deities alike were repulsed by Helm's conduct. No matter how his Church tried to make amends and recover its strength, his influence throughout the Realms had undeniably plummeted.

Aaron thought it was hard to say Helm had been at fault. He had simply carried out his orders faithfully. The Second Goddess of Magic had brought about her own death by trying to exploit a loophole and take a shortcut.

Yet the Goddess of Magic had meant to end the disaster as soon as possible and find a way to tell Ao the truth behind it. She had acted for the safety of mortals. By comparison, Helm's coldness looked bad. Very bad.

Eleanor was a devout follower of the Lady of Silver, and Selûne and the Goddess of Magic were steadfast allies. It was hardly surprising that Miss Cleric bore Helm ill will.

"Miss Eleanor, I'm not saying you're wrong. But at least you can stand here and criticize the Helmite Watch as freely as you please, and they can't do anything to you. Am I right?" Aaron sighed softly. "If you were in their place, could you do the same?"

Miss Cleric froze.

"Viscount Salian! Is that Viscount Salian?!" A Half-elf in his prime trotted up to Aaron with several guards escorting him. He seized both Aaron's hands excitedly. "Come, let your uncle hold your hands! Has it only been a few years? Look how much you've grown!"

"Uh..." This was plainly Tama Qiaoya. The Half-elf innkeeper's enthusiasm left Aaron at a loss.

"Oh, your father and I were old friends. What happened to your family grieved me too, but let's not dwell on the past. Come in, quick! Let me introduce you to everyone!" The Half-elf innkeeper hooked an arm through one of Aaron's, while a human woman at his side—his second or perhaps third wife—took the other. Together they ushered him straight into the inn. "The last Salian!"

"Mm..." With everyone watching, Aaron was swept into the inn in the fading light of sunset.

"Come in, all of you." Given the innkeeper's welcome, the Helmite Watch had no reason left to stop them.

He's welcome everywhere he goes. Watching Aaron disappear through the gate amid a crowd of admirers, Miss Cleric felt a faint pang of envy.

She had once had that: being everyone's darling, the center of attention. The Half-elf had enjoyed it... until an attack one day made her realize people surrounded her not because she was exceptional, but because she was beautiful.

The discovery had disappointed her bitterly. From that day on, she wore a mask.

Sure enough, once she put it on, the people who had surrounded her drifted away. That hurt even more. What Eleanor hated most was being seen as a "beauty" instead of an "excellent Cleric."

Ferrara's mercenaries hurried to load up their goods and bring them inside the walls. When Eleanor saw that the Rogue was drenched in sweat, she could not help asking, "Have you been waiting long?"

"Not long, my lady. We'd only been here a little while when we sensed you coming." The short Rogue grinned and deliberately pulled a face as he joked, "I could smell you from miles away, my lady. Heh. Pretty sharp smell, too."

A pressure like a gale edged with steel swept through the darkening night. It came from Miss Cleric and drove the little Rogue down onto his backside.

"M-my lady?" The Rogue was terrified. Miss Cleric's body was trembling slightly, especially her hands.

Emotion surged through her, but she forced it down.

"If you don't want to die, stay away from me." A few seconds later, Miss Cleric slowly turned and walked away. She brushed at the bugbear brains clinging to her robe, frowning.

My smell?

Yes. I'm a Cleric who walks a road of blood, cleaving through all things in Selûne's name in pursuit of the primordial light.

I'm neither human nor Elf. I have nowhere I belong.

If I lose my faith too, I'll have nothing left.

But at least, at least... Eleanor tightened her grip on the warhammer at her waist, then clutched the small pendant at her chest as though it were a lifeline.

Right now, I'm too weak. I have no right to save anyone.

Great and supreme Lady of Silver!

What should I do?

As Miss Cleric walked away, Ferrara exchanged a glance with his deputy Montero and gestured for the Rogue to hide elsewhere.

"What do you think?" Montero asked quietly. "Do we keep going?"

"No. Let's finish this job properly." Ferrara shot his deputy a warning look. "I believe now that meeting the Viscount was Tymora's blessing."

"Once this job is done, we must make a donation at Tymora's temple in Suzail to thank her for her favor."

"If all goes well, certainly." Montero agreed wholeheartedly. Their luck on this trip had been extraordinary.

"If all goes well, we might even work with the Viscount again. Then, over in Zambia..."

"Did you feel it? The Viscount's magic—and his charm. There's something unusual about them!"

"What kind of noble needs a Cleric following him around?"

An update! I posted two chapters today! I'm incredible!

I've completely run out of draft chapters, waaaah~

(End of chapter)