Careful, Travelers!

Nearly every scion of the Dragonspike Lineage had inherited the worst traits of Vander Dragonspike, the god from whom they descended: extreme pride, arrogance, and utter disregard for others. But they had inherited his virtues too. They sympathized with the weak, stood against the strong, opposed tyranny, and craved freedom as fiercely as they craved air.

They were hardly going to make trouble for Aaron, a Cormyr native of noble birth and modest strength.

As for the young priestess, that was simpler still. Vander Dragonspike had established his divine realm within the Moon Gate, whose master was the Silver Mother, Lady of the Moon Selûne. Strictly speaking, Vander Dragonspike, with his meager divine power, was something close to Selûne's subordinate deity—or, at the very least, an ally of lower standing.

The two were soon allowed through.

This was not a particularly dangerous journey. They were taking the kingdom's main road, so they had packed little beyond sturdy leather boots, thick cloaks, waterskins, some food, and a change or two of clean clothes.

The nobles had carefully planned a network of stops along the kingdom's main roads, ensuring that travelers could reach an inn offering rest and other services within a day's walk. Aaron and Eleanor had little reason to worry about running out of supplies.

"Here."

Three hours after leaving Seabury, Aaron and Eleanor reached a gentle slope. Dense birch woods swayed in the wind, wildflowers bloomed beside the road, and the air was full of life.

Aaron cut a branch from a tree and deftly trimmed it with his standard-issue longsword. A sturdy walking stick was ready in moments. Smiling, the viscount offered his "hiking pole" to the young priestess. "Miss Eleanor, I thought you might need this."

"Thank you, but I don't." After three hours on foot, a little sweat had formed on the young priestess's body and back. She waved away his gift. "Keep it for yourself."

"Don't pilgrims usually carry one of these?" Aaron was unbothered by her refusal. He gripped the stick and gave it a few casual swings. "And aren't you hot dressed like that?"

Eleanor was wrapped up from head to toe. He genuinely thought it looked uncomfortable.

"I'm used to it. A little warmth is nothing, and it isn't summer." Eleanor shook her head. After a moment's hesitation, she added, "Don't relax too much, either. Cormyr's mountain roads are much safer than the forest trails of Cormanthor, but that doesn't mean we won't have to fight. You know as well as I do that you were touched by my Lady. You're the last of the Salian bloodline. If you die..."

"I already died." Aaron gripped the walking stick and drove it into the ground, scattering soil and grass seeds. "Can't you feel it too? I'm nothing like the person I was before."

The young priestess stopped and looked at him with interest. "Can crossing the boundary between life and death really change someone that much?"

"It can." Aaron sighed. He nodded, then shook his head. "But I wouldn't recommend trying it. It's not a pleasant experience."

"Perhaps every noble ought to try it. The world would surely be a better place." The young priestess took a small flask from her pack. "Wine. I made it myself. Would you like some?"

"Oh? Wine made by Lady Eleanor herself? Then I must try it." Every gesture Aaron made was graceful, a stark contrast to his former self. "It isn't easy to taste your own vintage. I've heard of nobles offering a fortune for 'the Flower of the Sunken Sea's wine' and still coming away empty-handed."

"That's only a strategy." The young priestess placed the glass bottle in Aaron's hand, a note of pride in her lovely voice. "People love chasing rare things and feeding their vanity. A little promotion can work wonders."

"But promotion can't change what's in the bottle. Let me guess: the wine you make, Miss Eleanor, is delicious." Aaron swirled the bottle twice, listening to the wine slosh inside, then smiled. "May I save your fine wine for tonight?"

"Too many things go wrong when people drink on the road." With a deft flick of his fingers, Aaron tucked the bottle into his pack. The viscount strode ahead, leaving the young priestess with a dashing view of his back. "You don't need to test me like that, Miss Eleanor. I told you, I'm not the man I used to be."

A blush swept across the young priestess's face when she realized he had seen through her. She stamped her foot and hurried after him. "I wasn't testing you. I meant it. If my Lady hadn't favored you, I'd suspect something had possessed you."

"People do grow." As the young priestess caught up, Aaron asked, "What was I like before, in your eyes? Mediocre?"

"You only ever did the proper thing and said the proper thing," Eleanor said after some thought. "Whenever you greeted me, an elder would bring you over, and your face would be bright red. You never dared talk about anything except the weather or card games at the tavern."

A vein throbbed on Aaron's forehead.

How am I supposed to answer that? I can't exactly say I went red and watched every word because I had a crush on you, can I?

The old Aaron had been rather reserved, with something of a fondness for older women. He admired confident, powerful women.

Eleanor Dinefur was an elegant, noble half-elf. Her origins and her parents were mysteries, and she never spoke of her past. It all left her shrouded in intrigue.

What people did know was that she had appeared in Cormyr about ten years earlier. The exquisitely pretty little girl had caused a sensation the moment she appeared, and people had dubbed her the "Flower of the Sunken Sea." Aaron could no longer remember whether she had joined the Church of the Silver Mother before or after that sensation. Either way, since becoming famous, Miss Eleanor had been firmly associated with Selûne.

Most famously, a young noble had once taken a fancy to her and paid some gang members to stage an attack so he could play the hero and rescue her.

Instead, the half-elf girl had drawn the Hand of the Moon warhammer from her waist. At fourteen or fifteen, she had cracked open every gang member's skull. Brains had splattered all over the alley.

Afterward, the young noble had reported her by name for deliberate murder. But thanks to the Church of the Silver Mother's efforts, and because the Purple Dragon Knights established what had happened, she had received no punishment as a minor.

After that, no one dared set their sights on her again.

It was also after that incident that she had begun wearing a veil, unwilling to show her face. To everyone's disappointment, her popularity had gradually faded, and the young nobles who clustered around her had drifted away. Aaron remembered people in Suzail's noble circles mocking the young priestess for "having an asset and not knowing how to use it."

But perhaps that was exactly what she wanted. Beauty could be an asset, but it could also be a burden.

A man who only said and did the proper thing, huh? Aaron muttered under his breath.

"Come on. We'll stay at the Kalan Inn tonight."

"An adventurer returned to his hometown, his heart swelling with the desire to share the wealth he had struggled so hard to win with his family. Yet he felt that simply showing it to them would spoil the surprise. By Tymora, how could he convey his joy?

The adventurer knocked on his family's door. 'I am a traveler. Might I stay here tonight?' His family gladly agreed. Then, as they had done before, they plunged a knife into their guest's chest in the dead of night. 'By Tymora, thank you for this unexpected fortune!'

'Gods, he's my brother.'

'Gods, he's my son!'

Adventurers, remember: keep your wealth out of sight, and never place too much faith in human nature."

—A fable of the Realms

In the Realms, traveling on foot was the most common way to adventure. Adventurers walked into every corner of the land, searching for dragon lairs, elven ruins in the forests, and dwarven treasure vaults deep in the mountains. Some even sought the old hilltop fortresses of the giants or lost demiplanes.

Wealthier adventurers often had mounts. Nobles favored trained horses: fine, versatile animals specially trained to carry riders and cargo. Riding horses came next. Strong and enduring, they could handle mountain terrain.

A step below those were crossbred farmhorses. The horses servants rode were stubborn and unreliable, with poor stamina to boot.

There was also a small horse called a pony, bred specifically for women to ride. As far as Aaron knew, it was fashionable in Suzail for noblewomen to ride sidesaddle on these little ponies around the city.

But those little ponies could carry little more than a delicate young noblewoman.

Aaron stole a glance at the young priestess. She wore full gear, with an ankle-length robe over a complete suit of inner armor, a finely bound holy book and a large warhammer hanging at her waist.

Yeah, a pony definitely couldn't carry all that.

Aaron thought his glance was discreet. But how could the keenly perceptive young priestess fail to notice? She sensed him looking at her almost at once.

That man is almost certainly thinking something he shouldn't! her instincts told her.

Keep looking and I'll hit you!

Fortunately, Aaron looked away after that one glance.

Besides riding mounts, travelers also used horse-drawn carriages, ox carts, and donkey carts. But contrary to the luxurious coaches a modern person might imagine, most two- and four-wheeled vehicles in the Realms were poorly suited to travel in the wild. The reason was simple: the roads were terrible.

On rough mountain tracks, passengers were often jolted about or even injured.

Generally speaking, riding a horse was faster. A cart could not keep up. Tales of a master driver leaving a band of elite cavalry behind in a donkey cart were rare indeed.

Mages' enchanted carriages really were comfortable, like inns on wheels, but those were another matter.

As the pair traveled farther from Seabury, the road narrowed. What had been more than ten meters wide dwindled to four or five. The broad fields and closely packed villages along the way gave way to dense forests, narrow paths that vanished into their depths, and the occasional battered signpost.

"If you weren't in such a hurry to get back to Suzail, we could have waited for the Dragonspike Lineage's wagon train to give you a lift." The young priestess watched their surroundings closely, never letting her hand stray far from the haft of her warhammer, the Hand of the Moon. She clearly had plenty of adventuring experience.

"The Dragonspike Lineage's wagons? Oh, please. I don't want to spend the journey with those people who look down their noses at everyone." Aaron kept a wary eye on their surroundings while answering her. "A Lineage with a god in it... Damn it... I arrived too late..."

"Too late? For what?"

"Nothing." Aaron hurriedly shook his head. Even thinking about it still made his heart ache.

I arrived too late!

"Don't think of them that way. The Nameless Bard"—another name for Vander Dragonspike—"works closely with my Lady, and they are on good terms. You were touched by her. However proud the Dragonspike Lineage may be, they won't do anything to you," the young priestess explained patiently.

"Well said. Then why do you wear a veil?" Aaron asked without the slightest restraint.

"You...!" Aaron's retort left the young priestess speechless. She could neither get angry nor admit he had a point.

Damn it, I really am going to hit you!

The young priestess clenched her teeth beneath her full, cherry-red lips.

Silver Mother, please understand your humble servant. This man is unbearable! If he weren't one you'd touched, I'd teach him a painful lesson!

They rounded a bend, where the forest ahead grew thicker. Spring sunlight shone everywhere, and the earth teemed with life.

But the young priestess's expression suddenly changed. She reached for the warhammer at her waist.

"There's a foul scent on the mountain wind! Goblins are nearby!"

"Lord Salian, prepare to fight!"

"Right!" Aaron's senses were not as sharp as Eleanor's, so he reacted a beat later. But muscle memory took over. His sword flashed free, and he quickly adjusted his stance.

Keeping pace with the young priestess, he passed beneath the thick canopy. Ahead stood a wrecked wagon. The horse was gone, one wheel lay on the ground, and the carriage had tipped onto its side.

Arrows lay scattered across the ground, and faint traces of blood were visible among the grass and bushes.

"Goblins!" Aaron wiped a finger across the grass and brought the blood beneath his nose. "Goblins attacked this wagon?"

"It looks that way, but something's wrong." The young priestess crouched to study the tracks. "Look. There are only a few goblin footprints."

"Only a few?" Aaron's expression turned grave.

Goblins, gnolls, and kobolds were known as the three best friends of novice adventurers in the Realms—and their enemies, too.

All three peoples shared certain traits: they bred quickly, survived on little, and excelled at guerrilla tactics.

They were creatures you could never wipe out. They matured quickly and were astonishingly hardy. They could live on meat or grass roots. Leave just a few alive, and a tribe could recover its numbers by the following year. Wipe them all out, and another tribe would migrate in.

There was always another generation.

But goblins differed from gnolls and kobolds in one respect: they were utter cowards. Left to themselves, goblins would never attack humans unless they outnumbered them five or ten to one.

Aaron and Eleanor had found tracks from only a few goblins.

Something was wrong.

It meant these goblins had a leader, and that leader was almost certainly no ordinary goblin. Most likely, it was a bugbear or a hobgoblin!

Aaron turned his attention to the wagon. Its canvas cover was in tatters, but in the shifting light, something seemed to be inside.

He extended his sword and carefully lifted the flap.

At the very moment he raised it, a shout came from deep in the forest.

"Careful, travelers!"

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