We passed a sign informing us that we now trod upon the Lion’s Way as the sun reached the zenith of its course across the sky. My stomach growled, and I realized I hadn’t eaten since breakfast a day ago. I wondered if Imoen or either of our two new companions had any food, but before I could ask, a soothing voice interrupted.

“Ho there, wanderer.” An old man in a red hat and cloak ambled toward us. My hand tightened around my sword hilt.

“Stay thy course a moment to indulge an old man. It’s been nigh unto a tenday since I’ve seen a soul walking this road, and I’ve been without decent conversation since.”

I held my ground and my tongue. He seemed harmless enough, but the events of the past day had opened my eyes to the dangers beyond Candlekeep’s walls. I would not be caught unawares a second time.

The old man took my silence as permission to continue. “Traveling nowadays appears to be the domain of either the desperate or the deranged. If thou wouldst pardon my intrusion, might I inquire which pertains to thee?”

My eyes narrowed at the hint of a threat behind those words. Curt responses flashed through my head, and I knew if I did not answer quickly, Montaron would pipe in with his own insult. Or Xzar would blurt out some incoherent phrase in a shrill voice that clearly said “deranged” to any who heard. I took a chance that the old man’s concern was genuine.

“A fair bit of desperate, actually. Might you know the way to the Friendly Arm Inn? I was told I might find someone who can help me there.”

“That I would,” the old man said. “The inn is but a short distance to the north, and its doors are open to all. I have no doubt that thy friends shall be there, waiting with open arms. My sympathies for any hardships the road may have inflicted upon thee, though I am certain everything shall turn out for the best.”

I ground my teeth as he prattled on to keep from unleashing my anger. My father was murdered–not by the road, but some armored fiend that wanted me–and he was certain all would turn out for the best. He could take his sympathies and shove them.

As though he could sense my boiling rage, the old man looked up at the sky then back at me with a smile. “My. but I have wasted too much of thy time and said too much already. I shall take my leave and wish thee all the best.”

We parted to let him through then started off down the road without looking back. We followed the Lion’s Way past a south fork that led to Beregost, and soon after the road turned north. The soft thud of our boots on the cobblestones was counterpointed by the occasional chirp of birds or the sharp cry of an eagle. The hours past without event until a walled keep appeared on the horizon. We stood before its open drawbridge as dark fell. I had not seen any sign indicating how far til we reached the Friendly Arm Inn for hours, so I approached one of the guards stationed at the drawbridge and inquired how much farther.

“You’ve found it, traveler. Don’t cause no trouble with other guests and you’re welcome to stay.”

I nodded, dumbstruck. I had expected a roadhouse, perhaps two stories at best, not some towering fortress with impregnable walls. Imoen gave me a shove and we moved inside. A few individuals roamed the yard, mostly guards in leather with longswords in hand. I saw one of them yawn, and felt my own fatigue threatening to overwhelm me. We made our way toward the steps of the keep proper, but before I could put a foot on the first one, a man in dark robes appeared and the top and made his way down toward us.

“Hi, friend,” he called. “I’ve not seen you here before today. What brings you to the Friendly Arm Inn?”

“I am here to meet some friends,” I answered, my mind so fogged by the need for sleep that any thoughts of caution fled.

“Oh, you must be whom I am to meet then. Is your name Drakyn?”

“Yes, but no. Wait, I don’t think you were who I….” I shook my head, trying to clear the cobwebs. Something was not right. Gorion had mentioned two people that would meet me, but I could not remember their names. Whoever they were, I was suddenly sure this man was not one of them.

“I may not be who you were expecting, but you are indeed the person I seek. Hold still a moment, won’t you.” He began to chant and wave his hands.

“He’s casting a spell,” Montaron snarled. Xzar shrieked, drawing the attention of some nearby guards. I slashed with my sword on pure instinct, events moving too quickly for my tired mind to keep up. As my blade arced toward the man, he finished his incantation and suddenly he split into three mirror images of himself. My sword passed harmlessly through one of them and it disappeared. I heard a twang from behind me and something whizzed past my ear. Another image winked out of existence.

That left one more, and the mage was starting another spell. Montaron and I converged on our attacker, joined by two of the guards, and the villain fell beneath our blows.

“Is everyone all right?” One of the guards asked while the other rummaged through the belongings of the dead man. We checked ourselves over and nodded.

“Is one of you Drakyn?” The other guard asked, standing up. He held an unfurled scroll in his hand.

“I am,” I said. “Why?”

“Looks like someone wants you killed.” He handed me the scroll. On it was written a bounty notice. Proof of my death would earn the assassin 200 gold. “You have the right to claim this man’s belongings,” the guard continued. “Let us know when you are finished and we’ll dispose of the body.” Montaron was down on his knees before the guard even finished speaking.

“A few scrolls and some gold,” he reported. I held out my hand and he grudgingly gave them over. I climbed the stairs without a word, my mind numb. I just wanted to sleep.