"Save your offended zeal for fighting the Zhentarim," Morn retorted. Turning to Holly, he asked, "How is he?"

Holly had placed her hands on Joel's face lightly, but the pressure was nearly unbearable. Then the bard recognized the rosy-hued aura of the paladin's healing touch. The sharp pain in the back of his head subsided to a dull throbbing and an unpleasant itching all about his nose.

"Feeling better, Joel?" the girl asked.

Talk about your rough audiences," Joel muttered.

Morn grunted agreement and reached out with his hand. Joel missed the hand the first try, but grabbed it the second. The Rebel Lord pulled the Rebel Bard to his feet.

Joel cocked his head at Bear. "If he hits the Zhents that hard, you'll soon have no worries," the bard joked. Then the room swayed about him, and he had to steady himself against the table.

Take him to one of the cottages to rest," Morn instructed Holly. "When he's recovered and wants to continue his journey, Bear will serve as his escort, by way of an apology."

Neither Holly nor Bear looked pleased with that arrangement. Bear opened his mouth, no doubt to argue, but shut it again a moment later. The huge man nodded to his lord, then turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd. A few members of the audience raised a mug to Joel, but most of them had returned to their earlier diversions. Another typical evening in Daggerdale, the young bard suspected.

Morn handed Joel his pipes. "Sorry about that," he said sheepishly. "Bear often sees threats where none exist. He's a good man, though."

"So you've said," Joel replied, taking the pipes with one hand while holding his tender nose with the other. "Really, though, you needn't spare him for my sake. Holly's been a wonderful guide."

"Yes, but I'm afraid I have need of her skills in the days to come. Yet I would prefer knowing you were escorted safely through my land."

"Bear it is, then," Joel agreed, though only so as not: appear disagreeable to Morn.

"I'll have someone see to your horse while Holly shows you to your quarters," Morn said.

Holly led Joel to the door. Outside, the air had turned cool. The moon had not yet risen, and the sky was a jumble of stars. Not far off, hidden in the dark, a large cat snarled. Joel remembered the guardian that had scared his horse.

A young dwarf handed Holly a lantern, and the paladin led the bard away from the manor down a meadow path. Firestars zipped about them. Holly halted at the door to a small cottage and set the lantern down on the front stoop.

"I'm sorry I can't escort you farther," the girl said.

"I understand. You have a duty to Morn. I'll be fine with Bear."

"About Bear…" Holly paused, as if searching for the right words. "Just watch yourself with him."

"I'll stay out of arm's reach," Joel assured her with a grin.

"I don't trust him," the paladin whispered.

"Why not?" Joel asked, thinking immediately of the legendary paladin's ability to plum the depths of the soul.

"It's not what you think," Holly replied. "I don't sense evil about him. And it's not that he's ever done anything really wrong. He's just so utterly devoted, so grim, so humorless. He makes my stomach knot. It's not exactly something I can tell to Lord Randal."

Joel nodded with understanding. Morn wasn't likely to have his judgment swayed by a girl's gut instinct, even if she was a useful and loyal subject. "I'll keep my eyes open," he assured her.

"Just take care of yourself," she ordered. "And thanks for everything back there, with the Zhents."

"My pleasure," the bard insisted. He thrust out his hand, and Holly grasped his wrist as he held hers.

"Good-bye and good luck," the girl said. A moment later she disappeared into the darkness.

"Good luck to you, Holly Harrowslough," Joel sang softly after her. Then he picked up the lantern and retired into the cottage.

Once inside, Joel tugged off his boots and flopped down on the bed. Placing his fingertips across his brow, he sang a short discordant scale and concentrated his energies as Jedidiah had taught him. His hands glowed a soft blue, and a moment later the throbbing in his head and the tingling in his nose dissipated.

He still felt a little fuzzy, but that, he suspected, was the ale. Just need to get some sleep, he told himself. A few minutes later he was snoring softly.

The next morning the young dwarf who'd served him ale brought by a tray of bread and milk and a message from Bear that he was waiting at the manor and would be ready to leave whenever the bard gave the word.

Joel sent back word he'd be ready within the hour.

Scrubbed and fed, the bard strolled down to the manor house where Butternut was tied up, groomed, fed, bridled, and saddled. Bear stomped up leading a heavy black draft horse for his own mount. Joel greeted him a good morning, to which Bear grunted. The huge man had no words of greeting, let alone any of apology. At least he did not glare so much as he had the night before, or so Joel imagined.

Kharva poked her head out of the door. "Lord Randal and Harrowslough left at dawn. They said to wish you fair travel. There are fresh provisions in your saddlebags. I packed you some pies made from the leftover stew."

"I can smell them," Joel noted. "The scent will drive me crazy all morning. I thank you." He made a deep bow. Kharva laughed and disappeared back into the manor.

No one else came to see them off. They must all be working, Joel told himself. Still, it felt odd that not even a few children or one old geezer stood by to wave them out of town.

Joel mounted Butternut. "I'm headed for the opposite bank of the River Ashaba, then into the mountains," he explained to Bear.

Bear grunted and mounted his draft horse.

"Anytime you want to stop and point out some local sites of interest, feel free," Joel added.

Bear grunted again and kicked his horse into motion.

Having expended all the topics for morning conversation, Joel followed behind with Butternut.

Bear led Joel out of the dell by a northward path wide enough for a single rider, which suited the Rebel Bard perfectly. He lagged behind the black draft horse by several lengths, alone with his own thoughts.

Mostly those thoughts were preoccupied with Holly and the nature of her faith. She was so much younger than he, yet she seemed to have effortlessly melded her duties as a paladin of Lathander into the rest of her life. Was it something she had prepared for all her life? If I wear the title of priest long enough, will it finally feel like it fits? he wondered.

From the time he had first spoken with Jedidiah, Joel had been excited by the idea of following Finder, but he still couldn't fathom why Jedidiah had been so eager for him to be more than a follower. What in the Realms made Jedidiah think I would make a good priest?

Finally thoughts about the scenery shoved their way into the forefront of Joel's mind. The path Bear chose led them past, by Joel's count, over thirty abandoned farms, each marked by great swaths of meadow that had once been fields, overgrown orchards, and burnt-out farmhouses. Between the deprivations of the Zhentilar occupation, marauding orcs, and no doubt a dragon or two, the Daggerdale folk hereabouts had apparently given up and left their land to lie fallow. Anathar's Dell's survival was a lone exception to the rule.

Hoping to brighten his mood, Joel was about to suggest to Bear that they stop for an early lunch. He urged Butternut into the field and pulled her up alongside Bear's draft horse. That's when he spotted the Zhentilar. There was a whole patrol resting in the shade of an old orchard at the far side of the meadow he and Bear were now crossing. Most had dismounted and were idly chucking rocks at the tree trunks, but at least three remained in their saddles watching the horizon.