"I'm sorry to bore you with my story," Tarl concluded. "The deaths of my friends weigh heavily on me, but I still can't believe I'm telling all this to you."

At a loss for words, Shal sat quietly for several minutes, lost in thought. "What makes me feel so bad," she said finally, "is that I let you heal me and help me find clothes and a place to stay without ever even considering that you might have your own problems."

"Enough said, my friend. Let's eat." Tarl clapped his hands to get the attention of the big blond man who was working the tables.

"We'll take chowder and biscuits… oh, and wine for the two of us," said Tarl after consulting with Shal. "Is there anything else you'd recommend?"

The big tavern worker didn't respond. Instead, he stood staring, slack-jawed, at Shal. Tarl cleared his throat to capture his attention again.

"Yes, sir… ma'am. Would you repeat that?"

Tarl repeated his order and his query.

"Well, we have some quail eggs that the cook does a terrific job on. They'd go well with your chowder." The tavern worker's intense blue eyes never left Shal as he spoke, and Tarl noticed that she was turning red under the big man's scrutiny.

"Is there something going on here that I'm not aware of? Do you two know each other?" asked Tarl, irritated by the attention the man was paying to Shal, not to mention the obvious discomfort he was causing her.

"No, sir," said the tavern worker, and he bowed hurriedly and left the table. Tarl noted that the man did not move like a typical tavern worker. Despite the fact that he stood a hand taller than Tarl and had brawn that rivaled Anton's, the big man made his way through the crowd with the grace of a warrior, or perhaps even a thief.

In minutes, he returned with a tray full of food, which he spread out on the table one dish at a time. Again, his full attention was focused on Shal.

"Are you always in the habit of staring at the inn's guests?" Tarl asked, catching the tavern worker's sleeve to get his attention.

"Was I staring?" The waiter paused, and his face flushed a deep red. He realized that was exactly what he had been doing. "Please accept my apologies. It's just that you… you remind me of someone. I really am sorry."

"Hey, you!" came a shout from a nearby table. "What happened to our food?"

"Yeah, what does a guy have to do to get some service in this joint?" called another voice.

Ren was oblivious. "Allow me to introduce myself. I'm called Ren… Ren o' the Blade." Ren shook Tarl's hand and then Shal's. He consciously looked down at the floor to avoid staring again. The woman could have passed for Tempest's twin. Seeing her was eerie, like seeing a ghost, but overwhelming at the same time. The woman shared all the traits that had originally attracted him to Tempest-her firm figure, her captivating eyes, her flowing red hair. And if anything, she was even prettier. Her facial features were fine for a woman her size, and the green of her eyes was even more intense than Tempest's had been.

One of the men who had called from a nearby table, a warrior with a sword and a long dagger at his belt, was approaching Ren from behind. "Hey, you there!" The man's words were slow and slurred, but Ren understood nonetheless. "Ya big galoot! We got food comin', and we're sick o' waitin' for you."

"I'd like to speak with you again later if I have a chance," Ren said to Tarl and Shal, then turned to face the warrior. "Excuse me." He turned and ushered the drunk back to his table. "I'll have your food in a minute," Ren said as he sat the man down firmly. "Now, if you'll all pardon me," he added, bowing as he left the warrior and his companions.

Shal watched Ren work his way back through the crowd, then she turned back to Tarl. "First that seamstress, and now this guy. Every time I start to feel as if I can cope with the change in my appearance, someone looks at me as if I were a freak."

"He said you remind him of someone. I'm sure that's why he was staring," Tarl assured her. "He didn't seem to be trying to be rude or unmannerly. In fact, he went out of his way to be polite and took a big chance of offending that warrior and his comrades."

"That's for sure. I hope he doesn't turn his back on those fellows tonight." Shal took her first spoonful of the chowder and realized after having a second that she was famished. Tarl did likewise, and the two forgot about conversation and began to eat heartily.

When Ren finally brought out the beef pies and refills of the pitchers of ale ordered by the table of fighters, they complained bluntly about his service. Under ordinary circumstances, Ren probably would have apologized and tried to do something to make amends, but on this night, he wasn't even paying attention. Instead, he was staring once again at Shal. He set the plates down on one end of the table, making no attempt to match orders. And when he started pouring the ale, he accidentally overfilled one of the cups, sloshing ale in the laps of the customer.

"What do you think you're doing, you clumsy oaf?" the warrior blurted angrily.

"I'm awfully sorry. Here," said Ren, handing the man a bar rag. "I've got to find out her name." he muttered, as if to himself.

Ren turned on his heels and strode to the table where Shal and Tarl remained seated. Behind him, the fighters were sputtering angrily, but Ren neither saw nor heard them. He was staring down again at the woman who so startlingly resembled his lost love. "May I know your name?"

Shal didn't answer. Instead, she pointed behind him. Ren didn't react, but Tarl did. From the corner of his eye he had been watching Ren ever since he first approached the warriors. When Ren spilled the ale and walked away, Tarl knew there was going to be trouble. "Dagger!" shouted Tarl, and he rushed past Ren and tackled the approaching fighter.

Ren spun around to confront the three other men who had been sitting at the table. Normally Ren would have tried to maneuver in such a way that he only had to face one man at a time, but he didn't want any of these rabble getting anywhere close to the woman behind him. He spread his bearlike arms as wide as they would go and plowed forward, taking all three men to the floor with him.

Sot heard the noise of the fight before he saw what was happening. "Not another fight!" he muttered to no one in particular. "Used to be a scuffle in a tavern was no big deal, but now the town council sends the Watch Guards out to break it up. A guy can lose customers that way." He grabbed his club and leaped over the bar. Unfortunately, he landed hard on the foot of a customer who was making his way toward the center of the action. Sot learned the hard way that it is almost impossible to apologize with a cudgel in your hand, and in moments the entire inn had joined the fray.

Shal watched as Tarl expertly administered a chop to the neck of the man with the dagger and sent him reeling. Quickly he followed up to finish the job, while Ren was wrestling with two of the warriors he had knocked to the floor. The third was up and was about to kick Ren in the spleen, but Shal leaped into the action and pushed him hard from behind, screaming, "Leave him alone!" The man fell full belly onto a table of food and immediately began to be pummeled by several people who had been calmly attempting to eat despite the fracas.

"Hey! What do you know?" said Shal, looking down at her hands. "Being strong has some advantages after all!"

"You all right, Shal?" asked Tarl, pausing after fending off still another brawler with a well-placed kick.

"So the name is Shal, is it?" Ren shouted as he pushed one of the warriors toward a boisterous knot of fighters that had formed near the center of the room. "Do you have any relatives in Waterdeep?"

"No," called Shal above the din. "Why do you ask?"

At this point, five fighters advanced toward the trio. Two well-armed women rushed toward Tarl like charging bulls, and two good-sized men began to pummel Ren with their fists. The fifth fighter planted himself squarely in front of Shal and began to wind up for a punch to her midsection. Shal had never been in a fist-fight before. Instinctively she threw her arms up to protect her face and tensed every muscle in her body. His blow to her firm stomach didn't even phase her. Slack-jawed, the man looked up at Shal, his face turning green. She looked down at him, formed a fist just like her attacker's but larger, and slammed a hard uppercut into the man's chin. He staggered back and crashed to the floor well beyond where her first victim had landed.