"I've done it already," Adon said. "There's no use arguing. This is where Our Lady needs you, and this is where you'll stay."
Corene downed her wine in one swallow. "Are you doing this because I mentioned your scar?" she demanded, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her robe.
"It has nothing to do with anything you've said during our journey, though you've certainly given me reason enough to chastise you," Adon replied. "I selected you for this task before we left Arabel. "
Corene narrowed her eyes. "Why didn't you tell me then?"
"Because I know how much you love the city," he said. "You would've complained for the whole journey, and maybe even tried to avoid it altogether."
"I might have," she agreed. "Throwing myself into the Starwater doesn't seem an unreasonable alternative."
"I'm sure there's no need to remind you of your vows," Adon said.
"I couldn't forget them if I wanted to-which, at the moment, I do," sighed Corene, though both knew she really didn't mean it.
Despite her disappointment, the novice remained as radiant as ever. His heart softened by her beauty, Adon tried to console her. "I know this assignment will be difficult for you," he said. "But it requires someone with an independent spirit. That's why I chose you."
Corene did not answer, keeping her eyes fixed on the far edge of the veranda. Adon turned to see what had captured her attention. There, standing just inside the cafe's entrance, was a handsome newcomer. The man had striking features, with high cheekbones, a dark brow, and a roguish mop of auburn hair that hung down to his collar. His figure was trim and solid, with broad shoulders covered by a fur-lined cape and a narrow waist entwined by a cummerbund of the finest purple silk. Ignoring Aden's presence, the fellow flashed a scoundrel's smile at Corene.
The newcomer moved toward the back of the veranda. At the same moment, Sarafina stepped out of the kitchen with a covered basket. As soon as her eyes fell on the stranger, the basket slipped from her hands, spilling slices of dark bread over the floor. She backed toward the door, yelling, "Father, come quickly!"
"What's wrong?" Adon asked, rising to his feet. "Do you need help?"
The stranger paused to sneer at him. "If you know what's good for you, traveler, you'll tend to your own business."
Myron came bustling out of the kitchen and placed his brawny form between his daughter and the stranger. "Tell your master no, Broka," said the innkeeper. "The answer was no yesterday, and tomorrow it'll still be no."
"I must hear that from your daughter's lips," said Broka. He bent down and began gathering up the bread Sarafina had dropped. "Why don't you take this to your guests? I'm aware that you've a shortage of customers these days, and it wouldn't do to let these go hungry."
"We've no complaints," said Adon. He moved toward the handsome stranger, intentionally leaving his mace behind. If it became necessary to intervene on behalf of Sarafina, there were more effective ways to do it than by resorting to weapons.
Myron raised his hand. "Stay out of this," he said. "I can protect my own daughter."
Broka returned to his feet and shoved the refilled basket toward Myron. "Protect her from whom?" he asked. "I've only come to ask a question of fair Sarafina."
"Then ask and be gone," Myron said. He slammed the basket onto the table next to him.
Broka smiled wickedly at Sarafina, "Are you ready to return the love of my master?"
"No!" she yelled. "I'll never be ready-even if he turns me into a harpy!"
"Are you sure?" Broka asked. He stepped past Myron, at the same time reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a small mirror. "Have a look at yourself, and remember that all the women of Tegea share your fate."
He reached for Sarafina's veil, but Myron shoved him away. As Broka fell to the floor, the mirror flew out of his hand and shattered against a chair.
"How dare you touch me!" Broka leaped to his feet, a dagger in his hand.
As Broka stepped toward Myron, Adon smiled. The lout was providing him with a perfect opportunity to prove his power. Calling upon the magic of his goddess, the patriarch cast a spell that would make the dagger too hot to hold.
Nothing happened.
Adon stared at his hand in dumbfounded shock. Something was terribly wrong.
Broka grabbed Myron and pressed the blade to the innkeeper's throat. "Perhaps you'd remember your place if you looked more like your daughter," he hissed.
"Do something!" whispered Corene, stepping to Adon's side. Following her patriarch's lead, she had left her weapon on the table. "He'll be killed!"
Desperate to save the innkeeper, Adon attempted another spell. This time, a ray of green radiance sizzled from his fingertip, leaving a streak of white vapor in its wake. When the beam hit the blade, a high-pitched chime rang across the veranda. The knife shattered into a dozen shards.
Broka cried out in surprise, then tossed his useless hilt aside and stepped out of Myron's reach.
"Before you leave, I suggest you apologize to Sarafina and her father," Adon said.
Broka whirled around to face the cleric. "Do you know who I am?" he demanded.
"A bullyboy who torments women and hides behind his dagger," said Corene. "And it's a real shame, too. Before you behaved so badly, I thought you rather handsome."
Broka ignored Corene's rebuke and pointed at the castle on the far side of the village. "I'm seneschal to the lord of that castle," he reported. "And at present, I'm conducting my master's business. I suggest you keep out of it-or you'll be answering to him."
With that, he turned back to Myron. "My instructions are to examine your daughter's face," the seneschal said, staring into the innkeeper's eyes. "If you deny me again, I'll have your whole family lashed."
"Let him, Father," said Sarafina, reaching up to undo her veil. "It will cause me no pain to have him look."
As Myron reluctantly stepped aside, Broka smirked at him. "If your daughter cared about the women of Tegea as much as she does her family, she would come with me to the castle," he said. "Then, perhaps, your customers would forgive you for Sarafina's stubbornness."
"She's done nothing wrong," said Adon. He grabbed the seneschal by the arm. "After you apologize, you'll return to your master and tell him to leave Sarafina alone."
"By whose order?" Broka scoffed.
"By the command of Adon of Mystra, patriarch of the Servants of Mystery," volunteered Corene.
This only made the seneschal laugh. "My master recognizes the authority of no churches here," he said, returning his attention to the innkeeper's daughter. "Now, let me see what my lord's curse has done to your beauty."
Adon jerked Broka back, and the seneschal came around swinging. No stranger to a fight, the cleric blocked the punch easily. He countered by driving a palm into his foe's chin, at the same time slipping a foot behind an ankle and sweeping Broka off his feet. The seneschal slammed into the floor with a resounding thump, his pained cry leaving no doubt that his impact had been a hard one.
Adon placed a knee on Broka's ribs. "Apologize."
The seneschal's only reply was to utter a colorful curse.
"Perhaps you'd be more sympathetic if you weren't so handsome," said Corene.
The novice uttered a spell and touched Broka's brow. Her magic worked perfectly.
The seneschal's face darkened to a deep shade of red, then it erupted into a rash of boils and festering sores. Screaming in alarm, he crawled away and grabbed a piece of the mirror he had dropped when Myron pushed him.
"My face!" Broka howled, staring at himself in the shard.