Page 83 of Astarion

“If they knew the truth, they might well be in danger. My master doesn’t like questions. Or loose ends.”

“Are you telling me you’re lying out of the goodness of your heart?”

“If it makes you more comfortable, you may tell yourself I’m lying because I’m fundamentally lazy. Killing those people would be effort.”

Den Suriel shook his head but couldn’t quite hide a smile.

“I’ll tell you something absolutely true, though, my dear paladin. I’m dreadfully tired of all these wretched little passages. I feel as if I have done nothing for the last tenday but stagger about, stepping on broken bricks and getting dust all over my clothes.”

“It will be good to see the sky again.”

“Forget the sky. I want to see a hot bath. With bubbles.”

“Bubbles?”

“Don’t say it as if it’s a wasting disease. What, are paladins not allowed to have bubbles?”

“Tyr and Lathander have been curiously silent on the subject.”

“What about the Badger?”

“He’s more of a symbolic ideal. I can’t say that bubbles came up much in seminary, though.”

“I would personally refuse to worship any deity who did not allow their faithful to take the occasional bubble bath.”

“We’re very punchy, aren’t we?”

“It’s been an extremely long evening.”

The evening, as it turned out, was nearly over. By the time they reached the river stairs, it was nearly dawn.

“The sky’s lightening already,” den Suriel said. “Can we get to the Rat’s Run in time?”

“In time for what?” asked the gnome.

“We must be at the Rat’s Run by dawn.” Den Suriel glanced at Astarion, clearly struggling for an explanation. “It’s…err…complicated?”

Astarion studied the soft gray smear of light just visible behind the rooftops. “It will be awfully close…” He turned to the druid. “I don’t suppose you can wild shape into a horse?”

The druid looked annoyed. “I can wild shape into any animal I’ve seen. That doesn’t mean I want to be ridden through the streets.”

Astarion opened his mouth to say something either mildly offensive or mildly obscene, but den Suriel was faster. The paladin put a hand on the druid’s shoulder and said, in that magnificent golden gravel voice, “I know you serve nature, but to serve nature is to serve life, is it not?”

The druid rolled his eyes and allowed that this was so.

“If you allow this, you will be saving both a life and a soul. I will owe you a debt, my friend, and my people do not forget their debts.”

Stronger men than the druid would break under that voice. “Very well. If it’s that critical that you reach the tavern by daybreak…” He stepped away from them and shook himself, his body rippling, and then he was a tall dappled horse reared up on his hind legs. His front hooves clattered when they struck the cobbles.

Astarion flung himself at the animal’s back and got a leg over. No saddle. No bridle, either. He took two handfuls of mane and hoped that the druid didn’t intend to leap any walls.

“Thank you,” he heard den Suriel say, and he turned just in time to see the barbarian woman give the paladin a boost onto the horse’s back. “It’s been a long time since I rode without stirrups.”

“My pleasure.” She slapped the druid’s rump. “Now, get moving!”

The druid put his ears back at that, but he broke into a rapid trot. Astarion clung to his mane, and den Suriel clung to Astarion, and the druid eased into a canter and tore through the sleeping streets of Baldur’s Gate.

Had Astarion not been in imminent danger of turning into a pile of ash, he would have gotten off and walked. Riding bareback was uncomfortable at the best of times, let alone with a man in plate mail clinging to you. It was better than being burned alive, but only just. He bent low over the horse’s neck, wincing with every stride.