the priest—who had moved on from the bloody woman to a man with a head wound.
I should help, Brin thought, but his mind was racing with concern for his cousin and concern about the devils. What was he going to do?
“Don’t mind Mehen,” Farideh said. “He’s just annoyed we aren’t having better luck up here.”
“We’re bounty hunters,” Havilar chimed in. “Only we have the worst quarry these days. Mehen took her off another bounty hunter who’d given up. Fari’s sure we’ve gotten ahead of her. It’s like hunting a ghost. Except you can
lure
ghosts.”
“No you can’t,” Farideh said. “Who told you that?”
“
Everyone
knows that. You use whiskey. In a little plate.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
Brin blinked at them, the fog of the fight dissipating and the reality of what he was sitting amidst dawning. “You aren’t devils, are you?”
Both girls turned toward him. Farideh’s mouth went small and tight and her cheeks flamed. Havilar burst out with a snort of laughter that she quickly smothered.
“Yes,” she said, waggling the fingers of her free hand. “Devils. We’re bounty hunters of the Hells! Come to steal you away!”
“Stop it, Havi,” Farideh said. “It’s not funny.”
“Oooooooh!” she wailed, trying to stifle her giggles. “We’ll fry your innards and spit-roast your heart! Boil down your soul for …” She looked at Farideh. “What do they do with souls anyway?”
Farideh glared at her. “They draw power from them. We’re not devils,” she said to Brin. “Haven’t you ever seen a tiefling?”
“No,” he admitted, though now he felt foolish. What would devils be doing on Faerûn, chasing down errant novices like him? “I’ve … read about them. About you.”
Tieflings were the descendants of the unions between humans and fiends. While said union was many generations past, the taint of the devil’s blood bred true and all tieflings were cursed with strange, solid eyes; horns; and a tail. Many also had red skin, he had read, but the twins’ was fawn-colored—as ordinary as the Calishite priest and half the caravan in that regard. But their hair was such a black that it had a purplish cast, like a deep, day-old bruise … and their eyes …
He realized he’d been staring when Farideh said, rather delicately, “If you’d like to return to your family, we’d understand.”
“No,” Brin said. “I mean, they’re not my family, I don’t really know them. And I’m fine here. If that’s all right.” They weren’tdevils. They were only girls. Girls who had saved him from marauding orcs. Orcs he had run from like a coward. He felt worse than sheepish.
Havilar and Farideh exchanged a glance, so quick he nearly missed it. “It’s all right. Is your leg any better?” Farideh said.
“Why are you traveling with them if you don’t know any of them?”
“Havi, hush. That’s none of our—”
“He doesn’t
have
to answer.” She looked at him. “You don’t
have
to answer.”
“They’re … it’s … It’s a refugee caravan,” he said after a moment. “But in reverse, I suppose. Returning to Neverwinter.”
“Neverwinter?” Farideh said. “I thought Neverwinter was destroyed ages ago.”
“It was. But they’re rebuilding it. And the Lord Neverember—well, he’s the one taking control of all the rebuilding and such—has called back the people who fled when Mount Hotenow erupted.”
Havilar looked at him askance. “Aren’t you a little young to have survived a catastrophe from thirty years ago?”
“Not me,” he said. “My parents. They fled and went to, um, Amn. I thought … I thought there would be something better for me in Neverwinter.”
Havilar squinted at him. “How old are you? Fifteen?”
“Seventeen,” he said hotly, forgetting to lie.
Havilar snorted. “You weigh as much as my glaive. What exactly do you think you’re going to be doing in Neverwinter?” she asked. “Not
I should help, Brin thought, but his mind was racing with concern for his cousin and concern about the devils. What was he going to do?
“Don’t mind Mehen,” Farideh said. “He’s just annoyed we aren’t having better luck up here.”
“We’re bounty hunters,” Havilar chimed in. “Only we have the worst quarry these days. Mehen took her off another bounty hunter who’d given up. Fari’s sure we’ve gotten ahead of her. It’s like hunting a ghost. Except you can
lure
ghosts.”
“No you can’t,” Farideh said. “Who told you that?”
“
Everyone
knows that. You use whiskey. In a little plate.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
Brin blinked at them, the fog of the fight dissipating and the reality of what he was sitting amidst dawning. “You aren’t devils, are you?”
Both girls turned toward him. Farideh’s mouth went small and tight and her cheeks flamed. Havilar burst out with a snort of laughter that she quickly smothered.
“Yes,” she said, waggling the fingers of her free hand. “Devils. We’re bounty hunters of the Hells! Come to steal you away!”
“Stop it, Havi,” Farideh said. “It’s not funny.”
“Oooooooh!” she wailed, trying to stifle her giggles. “We’ll fry your innards and spit-roast your heart! Boil down your soul for …” She looked at Farideh. “What do they do with souls anyway?”
Farideh glared at her. “They draw power from them. We’re not devils,” she said to Brin. “Haven’t you ever seen a tiefling?”
“No,” he admitted, though now he felt foolish. What would devils be doing on Faerûn, chasing down errant novices like him? “I’ve … read about them. About you.”
Tieflings were the descendants of the unions between humans and fiends. While said union was many generations past, the taint of the devil’s blood bred true and all tieflings were cursed with strange, solid eyes; horns; and a tail. Many also had red skin, he had read, but the twins’ was fawn-colored—as ordinary as the Calishite priest and half the caravan in that regard. But their hair was such a black that it had a purplish cast, like a deep, day-old bruise … and their eyes …
He realized he’d been staring when Farideh said, rather delicately, “If you’d like to return to your family, we’d understand.”
“No,” Brin said. “I mean, they’re not my family, I don’t really know them. And I’m fine here. If that’s all right.” They weren’tdevils. They were only girls. Girls who had saved him from marauding orcs. Orcs he had run from like a coward. He felt worse than sheepish.
Havilar and Farideh exchanged a glance, so quick he nearly missed it. “It’s all right. Is your leg any better?” Farideh said.
“Why are you traveling with them if you don’t know any of them?”
“Havi, hush. That’s none of our—”
“He doesn’t
have
to answer.” She looked at him. “You don’t
have
to answer.”
“They’re … it’s … It’s a refugee caravan,” he said after a moment. “But in reverse, I suppose. Returning to Neverwinter.”
“Neverwinter?” Farideh said. “I thought Neverwinter was destroyed ages ago.”
“It was. But they’re rebuilding it. And the Lord Neverember—well, he’s the one taking control of all the rebuilding and such—has called back the people who fled when Mount Hotenow erupted.”
Havilar looked at him askance. “Aren’t you a little young to have survived a catastrophe from thirty years ago?”
“Not me,” he said. “My parents. They fled and went to, um, Amn. I thought … I thought there would be something better for me in Neverwinter.”
Havilar squinted at him. “How old are you? Fifteen?”
“Seventeen,” he said hotly, forgetting to lie.
Havilar snorted. “You weigh as much as my glaive. What exactly do you think you’re going to be doing in Neverwinter?” she asked. “Not
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