Waterdeep by Troy Denning

wouldn’t do any good,” Adon noted softly. “But I’d welcome your company.”
    The chatter at the head of the table died, and Kelemvor glanced at the cleric with a raised eyebrow.
    Realizing he had made a social gaff, Adon quickly added, “Perhaps we could discuss your - er, your -“
    “Milord?” the girl asked, impatient with his floundering.
    “Are you happy as a serving wench? Surely, you have other ambitions. We could talk-“
    “I like what I do,” she answered in a huff. “And it wasn’t talking I had in mind.”
    Lord Deverell roared in laughter. “Your charms are wasted on him, Treen,” he said to the wench, breaking into a new fit of laughter.
    The officers slapped the table and guffawed. Kelemvor frowned, uncertain as to whether he had missed the joke or the situation simply wasn’t funny. Finally, Deverell brought his mirth under control and continued, “Perhaps, Treen, you’d have better luck with Kelemvor - a tower of virility if ever I saw one!”
    Treen obliged her liege by rounding the table to Kelemvor. She ran her hand over his arms. “What do you say, Sir Tower?”
    Midnight and Adon were the only ones who did not burst into laughter.
    Kelemvor took a long swig of ale then sat his mug on the table. “Why not?” he asked, glancing at Midnight. “Someone must make amends for Adon’s rudeness!” The warrior was intentionally trying to provoke Midnight. He was confused and hurt by the bitterness of their disagreement concerning Cyric, and could not help but believe there was more to it than he understood. If his flirtation angered Midnight, then at least he would know she cared enough to become jealous.
    When Treen slipped her fingers beneath Kelemvor’s shirt, Midnight could hold her temper no longer. She sat her wine goblet down hard. “This is one thing Adon should do for himself,” she said coldly.
    A surprised mutter ran around the table. Kelemvor smiled at Midnight, who simply glowered back. Treen with drew her fingers from beneath the warrior’s shirt. “If this man belongs to you, milady -,” Treen began.
    “He belongs to no one!” Midnight snapped, standing. She did not doubt Kelemvor had meant to hurt her, and he had succeeded. The raven-haired magic-user frowned and turned to Deverell. “I am weary, Lord, and wish to retire.” With that, she spun on her heel and disappeared into the gloom.
    The table remained silent for several moments then Treen turned to Lord Deverell, “I’m sorry, Lord. I meant-“
    Deverell held up a hand. “A jest gone awry, girl. Think no more of it.”
    Treen bowed then retreated into the kitchen. Kelemvor drained his mug then lifted it to be filled again.
    Adon was glad to see the girl go. In the days ahead, it would be difficult enough for Midnight and Kelemvor to get along. The cleric knew the pair loved each other, though at the moment petty anger prevented them from realizing that fact themselves. But if they didn’t come to grips with their feelings soon, the journey ahead would be a long one. It would have been much simpler, it seemed to Adon, if Midnight had been a man, or, better yet, Kelemvor a woman.
    The page entered again and approached Lord Deverell. In the room’s silence, it was impossible not to hear his whisper. “Milord, Captain Beresford orders me report the absence of three sentries from the inner curtain.”
    “The inner curtain?” Deverell exclaimed. “There, too?” He considered this for a moment, mumbling to himself. Like most of the men in the hall, he was rather drunk - too drunk to be making command decisions. “Beresford’s discipline must be sorely lacking,” he said at last. “Tell the captain I will personally correct this problem - in the morning!”
    Sneakabout frowned at Adon. That five guards would abandon their posts in one night seemed strange. “Perhaps we should sleep lightly tonight,” the halfing whispered, glancing at Kelemvor. The warrior had just downed his third mug of ale since