It was not out of fear Imoen squeezed my hand, or concern; I felt her in my mind as much as through my fingers. Her warmth pulsed, interlacing with mine. Her reassurance was unnecessary, but welcome all the same. We shared the same thought: together. As one, we reached out with our joined hand, and touched the stones.
They were cool to the touch; they felt ancient. Unlike the nearby roots, they were not covered with moss. Like metal, they seemed to suck in our warmth; I felt something resonate deep within myself, within Imoen. It tugged out our divine essence, reaching past the taint. Suppressed by the tree of life, and released from the vampire's curse, I still carried unseen scars, reminders. My senses were sharper, my reflexes quicker. I did not thirst for blood, or for raw meat, but I was more aware of the pulse of others. I could feel the living around me; whether it was my divine taint, or Bodhi's imprint I do not know.
Perhaps it was because of this I knew something was wrong; Imoen knew it too.
While I was linked to the Tree, something changed inside me. We were days away from the elf city, but I could still feel it, rooted through the forest. It was connected to the trees of this grove, and had led me here.
Had it led me into a trap? I could not believe it. There was no malice in it towards me. I closed my eyes, and I heard a voice. A voice like the grating of stone upon stone, like the turning of two mill wheels.
The dagger embedded itself a nearby trunk; contemptuously, Edwin deflected it with his magicks. Despite his constant mutterings, he was more aware than most gave him credit for. My eyes fixed on the pommel; I knew Imoen had seen it too. The sigil of the Mocking Skull, Bhaal's emblem.
I could not move. The stones were speaking. I wrenched myself away from their grip, their words lost. I reached out with my mind, and instantly connected with that of my assailant's.
She was beautiful, there was no denying it. Her eyes were cruel, dark, even black, her skin porcelain pale. Long, lush, black hair fell down an elegant, slender neck, and sumptuous lips twisted into an unladylike sneer. Her strut lifted one leg higher than the other; her hips seemed to sing, and the swell of her ample bosom was lifted by a leather jerkin. I could feel her chill, and Imoen's instant hate. There was no denying the power in her; it called out so strongly, I would not be at all surprised if Edwin could feel it.
"I have found you at last," she drawled, her eyes quick, cat-like in their flicker as she dismissed the Thayan.
I felt myself restrain Imoen's hand unthinkingly; our sister laughed. Rich, full and disdainful, she knew the power of her allure and made no effort to hide it. She was older than both of us, but despite her finely sculpted features, the taint marred her; like an inky blot on a page, it stood out; it repulsed us.
I stepped into the waking dream; I felt my mind clash against hers. Somehow, she had warded herself. Her sneer changed to momentary shock, then she hissed, "So you are stronger than even I imagined."
Be still, I thought to Imoen as she opened her mouth to retort; angrily, she glared at me, but held her tongue.
"They call me Illasera the Quick," her lips curled, "you will find I am more than a match for your pathetic magicks. While you and Imoen have been wandering Faerûn like witless cattle, I have been honing my skills in anticipation for this day. You may have slain Sarevok, little girl, but there are others just as strong, stronger. Do you feel it? Do you feel us? Our sire slumbers in his sleep; soon he will awaken."
Closing my eyes, I listened to the beat of her heart; beside me, I felt Imoen's indignation and fury rise. I tuned it out. Edwin was watching, waiting for that split-second shift; he could not best Illasera alone, but he was not alone. I could not help but nod in agreement; there was something stirring, something deeper within.
"The weak are preparing to be slaughtered. The pinpricks, so faint, will feed our sire. Those that remain shall grow in his power, and with your fall, I shall be unstoppable."
Once, Imoen would have snarled a retort; instead, her eyes were cold. My own smiled at our foe; the slightest frown knitted her brow. It was the sort levelled at a particular naïve child, indulgent, amused. I saw the hatred mingle with bile; it went deeper than Illasera. It was the mocking skull, urging her on, speaking through her. Even now, it tried to appeal to us, to me. It failed.
Whatever lecture it had prepared was lost.
"I will be the last!" She hissed the same words Sarevok had uttered; if there had ever been reason within her, it was now lost, just as she was lost to us. Leaping forwards, twin blades flashed at her wrists, and both flew from her hands.
It had been the moment Edwin had been waiting for; he unleashed his magicks in a deadly barrage. In the same instant, Imoen struck. Lashing out, raw tendrils of power whipped around her, whipped towards her enemy. The daggers pierced the first, second, third layer of Edwin's expanding fire. Followed with energies more deadly than I cared to dwell on, a mirage of colours and hues permeated the air. The daggers went through them; Imoen's threads did not so much catch them as tore them out of sky.
I felt Illasera recall the embedded dagger in the trunk; I could feel her tug, her control, her command as it slowly tried to lift itself. Imoen's magicks whipped her; they rebounded off an invisible sphere. Encased around her, the bubble drank in Edwin's violent attack. To his ire, the mage noted how ineffectual his attacks were, and began weaving a complex spell with arcane gestures and mutterings. Imoen tried no such elegance; instead she blasted through the shielding orb, and ripped it asunder, only to find a second, stronger one underneath the first. Illasera laughed darkly, amused by the attempt.
I watched.
The dagger came free, the blade shooting back to her hand. Now Illasera began to circle, prancing, as if toying with us. Without doubt, she had faced mages before.
I could have drawn my own knife, a gift recovered from the ruins of Suldanessellar; it had been discovered in a temple, and though it was of elvencraft, none, not even Joneleth knew how old it was. The drow that had surrendered and renounced their faith in favour of their brethren's gods shied back from it. They did not understand it, nor did the elves; they only sensed it was old, perhaps as old as the stones. When Joneleth presented it to me with Ellesime's blessings, I wanted to refuse it. I felt the Tree urging me to take it, and I did.
Had I added my sire's power to it, I have no doubt it would become a potent weapon. Perhaps it was a godslayer. With it, and the lingering traces of vampirism's touch, augmented by learned skills and essence, I could have crossed the distance between us faster than a phase spider. Since my ordeal, I had gained insights into my own capacities and with the Tree's knowledge, and guidance, I had utilised the sirines' teachings beyond those of my teachers. I had touched the minds of the elven gods, and it had changed me as surely as being linked to the Tree had, as surely as being what I was.
Imoen's might slammed against the spherical shield a third, fourth, fifth time; each time, she shattered a layer, only to find a stronger layer beneath. Her eyes aglow, her hair wild, raw power crackled around her. Edwin added to her magicks, lancing the sphere with siphoning spells. As Imoen battered it, he sapped it. Where he had learnt that I wasn't sure, but he certainly hadn't demonstrated that particular spell since before Irenicus' downfall. I rather suspect he may have snuck off to question the mage about his spellcraft.
Despite Illasera's initial laughter, her eyes were gradually widening and her brow knitting as she diverted her energies to maintaining the shield. I did not think she had forgotten about her dagger, but the strain was beginning to show. She needed to end this quickly.
It was then I struck. It was not through the waking dream, or with any sirines' song, but it was an inward action. With the battle, the taint pulsed more strongly within us, awakening. I could feel it, its malevolence; it was alive. Even with the seal, it stirred. Its power, intoxicating, I knew that my sisters drank from it, its sickly sweet, sickening allure passing their lips. It laced through their veins, an intricate web of power. Its hold was strengthening, sustaining, fuelling them. The intricate strands were becoming thicker, rope-like. I pushed down. Calmly, slowly, with a will tempered by the experience of ages, I took possession of myself. It was like resisting the incoming tide; it fought me, furiously surging, its fury, its hatred, the red mist trying to blind me, dominate me. I ignored it. With a certainty beyond my years, I understood it. I knew its familiar ways, its call.
Down and down I pushed, refusing it, refusing to rise to its ire, its taunts, its bile. Fighting it with its own weapons would only shape me in its image; firmly, I pressed on it. Flailing, quailing it sank. It fought every step of the way; my will never faltered.
I ignored the gasps around me.
Illasera's shield collapsed. With the same tenacity, I suppressed the taint, and as I held it down, it fell in my sisters. I felt the confusion, the fear, the hate. Even Imoen's; the taint within her drove her magick on some level, and I had weakened it. With a final push, I locked down the well deep within me, and with the sudden still, my sisters' found themselves muted.
Edwin's magick rocked the older woman; sent sprawling to the ground, her enchantments crackled, burning up around her. Her eyes met mine; I held up my hand, forestalling the killing strike. The magick lancing from Edwin's fingers froze; a single twist of his upturned hand, and the greenish-black energies would coil towards her.
My words spoke directly into her mind, my thoughts filling hers, the Skull's. With pictures and sounds, I conveyed my message in purest form: raw communication.
"I have the knowledge of the rite that was used on Irenicus, and in turn was used on us. I will use it to strip away not our kindred's souls, but our sire's taint.
"This war will end."
She tried to scream her protest; I could feel it rising. I could feel the Skull's screams. This was not what was supposed to happen, this was not the way it was meant to be. It could never have foreseen this. I was meant to be the Son of Murder, the Destroyer; the Terror of the Sword Coast. I was meant to rid Faerûn of all my siblings. I was supposed to be the sacrifice to restore my dead sire; I was supposed to murder Bhaal and take his place, and in so doing, become him.
For the first time, the Skull knew fear. I would no longer heed it, no longer live by its rules. I would not play its game.
Death had not proved the barrier the Skull thought it was. Reunited in life and love, Jaheira and Khalid, Minsc and Dynaheir had become stronger, not weaker. Had I murdered the tree of life, I would have been unstoppable; the taint would have corrupted its power, and I would have swept aside all and any opposition. Instead, I had respected it, defied my own birthright, my own reason for being, and chosen my own destiny. I might still fall, but the Skull would never have me, not even in death.
I had denied it.
It screamed its fury, its hatred. It would rend all I cared for, all I loved from me, it vowed. It would–
Imoen's magick flared; Illasera became stone.
"Shut up," she snapped, though whether it was directed at Edwin, me or the Skull, or at all of us, I wasn't sure.
Soundlessly, I walked over to our transmuted sister, and slowly set my hands on her. Aware of the intense still, I reached down into her, past the stone. Deep, deep within, through what was once flesh, bone, sinew, veins, blood… into her taint; frozen, waiting to be unleashed, waiting for her life to shatter, for the power to flow out. It called to me, even now; I ignored it. Pushing past the taint, I touched the wellspring of our sire's essence. It still pulsed, muted, humming. Despite being stone, some part of Illasera still lived; I felt her soul tied down by the taint, darkened, stained. Gently, I began to untangle the strands. The Skull, the taint given form, screeched. Letting its shrieks pass around me, through me, I carefully unthreaded its hold; the hold it had worked so hard on cultivating.
What should have taken years in the waking world took a few moments in the dreaming. This was my reality. Helpless, it watched.
When the final thread came loose, I let it fall back into the crimson darkness, the sticky ichor. Worse than tar, heavier, thicker, it clung; I shook it off. It slid more easily than raindrops after a spring shower. Now I reached for her soul, and pried it free of the lies, the promises, the power, the lust, intoxication, the addiction.
Using the rite, I sent the taint back down to our sire's throne; I glimpsed the columns of statues. I felt the rush, the surge; it was the same when Sarevok died. All our kindred would feel it, and the strongest would be drawn to it. Power flooded into me, into Imoen. Into all of us.
Illasera still stood, held in stone. Underneath Bhaal's throne, where all our statues awaited, her place was empty as Sarevok's, but her soul remained in my grasp. Gently, ever so gently, I released it back into her. I felt something deep inside her gasp; something had changed, something was missing… something had freed her. Her statue had not crumpled into dust; frozen though she was, she lived.
I wouldn't always have the time, the luxury to do this, the Skull vowed. I would not be able to save everyone. Even if it could not have me, it would have others. Others would, and did listen. They would come for me. I could not withstand them all. Not even I could face their combined might.
I smiled at the Skull; it read my thought, and fled in terror. Bring all of my siblings to me at once, filled with whatever essence is bred into them; I would suppress it and in that moment, the Skull would lose its hold. Not all would listen, but there would be those who broke free. Reason would prevail; the truth would be revealed. That the taint was nothing more than a masked slaver.
There would be those that didn't care, the Skull warned, its parting shot laced with spite.
But for those that did listen, it would be enough. I was no longer the hunted; I was coming after each of my siblings, coming to show them the truth. As long as they clung to darkness, to lies, to murder, they had already lost. Murder could not snuff out all Life; it was dependant on life to exist. Without life, there could be no murder, and without fear, there was no power. I did not fear the Skull; I understood it, and with that knowledge, it feared me.
"When this is all over, we will release you, sister." I vowed softly to the statue; somewhere deep within, some part of her acknowledged it. Perfect in likeness to Illasera, I admired it – her – beauty. I did not need to look at Edwin, or see Imoen's slow nod. Neither were entirely sure they believed what had just happened. "Bury her?"
The red robed mage complied.
