Chapter 2
"Tomorrow?!" Imoen cried in shock not dissimilar to what Darien himself felt not so long ago, though perhaps a notch or two louder.
Night had fallen and Darien paced back and forth in his room, randomly grabbing and discarding any given knick-knack that caught his fancy, quickly writing them off as less than necessary to a trip outside the walls of Candlekeep. Imoen sat at the edge of his bed, apparently still having yet to grasp the concept of 'personal space' as her hands threatened to rip a clump out of her own hair. "Tomorrow." Darien affirmed distractedly, tossing a bundle of quill pens from one hand to another thoughtfully before pitching it into his open bag. "When I asked him, he said he didn't want to wait any longer than that; said he'd wasted too much time already. I didn't want to push. He seemed... I don't know, worn out. He didn't decide this lightly, I gather."
"But why so sudden?" Imoen complained, bouncing impatiently on the mattress, "I mean, he couldn't have given you a couple day's notice? Head's up, Darien, your whole life's a'changin'! I mean- it's- it weird is what it is!"
Darien frowned, "I know. It's not like him to act so suddenly. Or to... well, lose himself in thought so long, as I guess he'd done the last little while. All I know is that it's pretty serious." He grabbed a pile of clothing; all neatly folded; a habit Gorion had all but beaten into him; and set it neatly in his bag with a sigh. "I figure he knows what he's doing, though. Don't you?"
Imoen looked at him uncomfortably for a moment before lowering her head with a defeated sigh. "Yyyyeaaah. I guess. I just, y'know..." she gave part of her hair an experimental tug, as though to make sure it was still firmly attached, and then let her hand fall to her side limply as she muttered sadly, "I don't want ya ta go."
Darien looked at her, a surprised, if pleased expression coming to his face, a soft smile that, nevertheless, wound up turning into a playful smirk. "Well, little one, if you really want I could ask him if you could come with us on our great journey." He was kidding. Sort of.
Imoen wrinkled her nose at him indignantly, "What's this horse flop now, 'little one'? I'm not much younger than you, y'know." She said, tilting her head back slightly before muttering, "Though ya sure did get tall fast.", putting one hand flat on top of her head before lifting it up to try to reach for the top of Darien's, and failing. In her defense, she was sitting down. "He wouldn't let me go anyway. News he got sounded way too serious."
Darien blinked, "What?"
"What?" Imoen echoed, glancing off to the side.
"What would you know about what my father heard?"
Imoen stood suddenly, "Ooooooooohhhh, nuffin', I mean, it's just- I figured y'know, what with- with- dire tones and... orders 'n... whatnot and- MAN, I gotta go, it's late, and Winthrop teases about us enough, y'know, ha ha! I'll see ya off, big guy; maybe make ya a pie or somethin', BYE!"
And the next thing Darien knew, he was staring blankly at the empty doorway Imoen had just occupied after a swift trek during her brief ramble.
It was, he admitted, not much odder than usual.
---
No pie had been produced, but Darien had not really been expecting one, so his disappointment was minimal. She was, however, there to see him and Gorion off, which was well enough so far as he was concerned, along with Winthrop and a few assorted tutors that had befriended or otherwise looked up to Gorion.
"And don't forget to bathe every now and then, or you'll stink like an orc den!"
"Imoen..." Darien groaned,
"What? I'm being helpful! Just go stand outside next time it rains, and-"
"Imoen..." This time the voice came in the form of the warning yet amused tone of Winthrop, who tapped her pointedly on the head twice, causing her to rub at the offended spot before giving a helpless shrug and a sigh. "I try. You don't listen, but I try."
Darien just shook his head bemusedly, an odd air about him, sad yet excited. Out with the old, in with the new, for the time being at least, childish thoughts of old tales and open roads in his head that he constantly tried to water down with the likely reality of the trip. Though, when he really thought about it, he rather preferred the fantasies. He winced suddenly, an old familiar feeling coming to him. "To think I may never feel this cold shiver run down my spine again." He said grimly, before turning around to see Ulraunt approaching the group of them, a dark smile on his face.
"So you're really leaving us. I dared not believe it, but here we are. Never really thought it would happen, but... well, no use in dwelling. Darien." He said shortly, turning his head to regard the young man in question, "Seems we'll be short handed for awhile, sadly. I dare say you'll be missed. You could, at least, keep a leash on young Imoen some of the time." He turned to look to Gorion just in time to miss the irritated glare on Darien's face, or the tongue Imoen was sticking out at him.
"Gorion, it's been an experience. Candlekeep will never seem quite the same without your... presence."
Gorion arced one eyebrow briefly, though he had learned a measure of patience when dealing with his theoretical superior. "Quite. Do try, though, to keep Candlekeep in shape in my absence, won't you Ulraunt? I have grown rather fond of the place, and would surely dislike seeing it fall on hard times."
Ulraunt sneered quietly, muttering, "Indeed..." before taking a step back away from the crowd, his verbal stride having taken something of a blow.
"We'd well be off now, child." Gorion said, tapping Darien twice on the shoulder after letting the quiet moment pass; just barely enough time for Imoen to revert back to something resembling a straight face. "... Right." Darien said quietly, stunned for a moment despite himself. He turned back to Imoen, smiling sadly. "I guess this is it, squirt. I'll write you."
Imoen scowled, "You'd darn well better!" she exclaimed, poking Darien in the chest twice before hopping up on her tip toes to peck him on the cheek once before shoving him in the direction Gorion was now walking, a bemused smile on his face.
"Mind your father!" Tethoril, one of Darien's now former tutors called after them, waving with most of the others.
"G'bye! See ya! This- aw- this bites- Hey!" She called as well, muttering the less cheerful part before hopping up, "If you have to come by the coast again, don't forget we can put you up! Good old fashioned rats nest, cheap!"
Imoen promptly got a light whap in the back of her head from Winthrop for her trouble, "Quiet now, girl, my hotel's as clean as an elven arse, and don't you forget it."
Darien snickered quietly despite himself, casting one last long wave behind him before he set out ahead to catch up with Gorion.
As they moved past the open gate, Gorion spoke to his ward, "Now listen, child. If we ever become separated, it is imperative that you make your way to the Friendly Arm Inn; I've marked it on your map. There, I'm assured, you'll find Khalid and Jaheira. They have long been my friends, and you can trust them, if, indeed, I do not reach them first." Darien pondered this a moment, and nodded, replying with a simple, "Got it." though he did not dwell on it, the subject just being a precaution so far as he was concerned. He was much more taken with the sight of the land stretching out before him; open fields dotted with numerous trees. He'd seen the lands outside of Candlekeep a number of times from the walls, but always from above, never from within. Always locked away from them; never wandering over them. This was something entirely new. A bright, weightless feeling he enjoyed, that seemed to call to him from within.
Darien left Candlekeep with a smile on his face.
---
Behind the duo, watching them shrink into the distance, Ulraunt stood, his expression dower as he motioned Tethoril to come to him, shaking him out of a thoughtful trance as the small crowd dispersed, Winthrop leading a distinctly downhearted Imoen away. "Sir?" said the aging tutor as he drew near, brow furrowed.
"Did you dispose of the body?" Ulraunt asked bluntly, making the old man wince.
"Yes sir, we did. He's gone; buried."
A few days ago, a man had arrived at Candlekeep, somewhat brash and ill mannered; he was nevertheless allowed entrance as he supplied a suitable book to the keep. He had immediately begun asking questions in a manner one can only assume he believed to be subtle. Concerning one Darien Kreshire. When Gorion had learned of this, he looked into it, having already become somewhat paranoid on the subject. When confronted and pressed, the man had attacked Gorion, however foolishly, with a dagger. A nearby guard had made short work of him. In one of the few instances in which the two men agreed, Ulraunt and Gorion had kept the incident quiet so not to raise alarm. It had no doubt prompted Gorion's decision to leave, among other things, which, so far as Ulraunt was concerned, was too long in coming. Moving the body to a proper place out of sight of Candlekeep's inhabitants, and getting it there unobserved, however, had proved quite a chore.
"Good." He said simply, turning to walk away, but stopping with his side to Tethoril. "Tell the guards to keep their ears open. If anyone else comes sniffing, I want to know about it."
He didn't stay to hear Tethoril's response.
---
Night fell quickly over the Sword Coast, ensnaring the traveling pair within it, Gorion's pace becoming somewhat hurried even as he visibly tired. All told, Darien wasn't feeling his strongest either, though so far as he was concerned he could go on for days more without rest out here. It seemed a bit late in his life to discover he was this easy to please, but he figured he was due a surprise or two after all these years.
It had, however, begun to rain some several minutes before, and seemed to come slowly but steadily harder as time went on. Darien reasoned that this was a point against that feeling of his. Irrationally, he felt the impulse to duck into Candlekeep's main study and keep by the fireplace awhile, allowing himself at least that one moment to miss his old home already.
As Darien slowed for a moment, Gorion called back to him, "Hurry, child, the night can only get worse, and we must find a place to make shelter, soon."
Darien nodded once and regained a bit of speed, speaking up as he walked, "And maybe then you can tell me the reason for this trip?" He prodded, not letting his father forget that eager though he may be, he was not going fully blind. Gorion smiled ruefully. "Don't worry. Your answers will come soon enough." Though for a moment after his spoke, his eyes darted off to the side, peering out into the night silently for a moment before he simply moved on, going completely quiet suddenly as he moved forward, a bit faster than before, enough to put a bit of strain on old bones.
"What, what is it?" Darien asked, but got no answer, left merely to keep up with his old man for several moments as he would occasionally cast his eyes in any given direction, squinting. Focused, though somewhat unsure. Gradually, though, he began to slow, until he suddenly stopped outright, casting one arm out to block Darien's path as he drew a dagger from his belt with the other. "Wait." He said as he did so, eyes sliding from right to left slowly before settling on one spot, his body turning to face that direction. "... We are in an ambush." He said darkly.
Darien didn't know what he was talking about until nearly the last moment, staring intently in the direction Gorion was and seeing nothing; nothing save but for a faint, unexplainable shimmer in the air; intangible movements appearing for an instant at a time in a few separate spots before the empty land it happened in was suddenly inhabited by a number of figures, half hidden in the dark.
There were four of them all together. Two ogres, large, brutish beings, heavy of muscle and light in brains, humanoid save for the awkward way their jaws jutted out, eyes and nose set too closely together, and seeming to sink into their faces. Both wielded spiked maces and grunted eagerly as the stared down at the two travelers.
The third was a woman, armored lightly in studded leather for ease of movement, features exotic and, Darien imagined, rather beautiful save for the black markings over each eye. Like thick vertical scars over each one.
The fourth was a nightmare figure. Armored, head to toe with long spikes protruding from his arms and shoulders, curved horns on top an already high head reaching for the sky. Solid yellow eyes glowing in the night.
And it spoke. "Very perceptive for an old man." His voice was deep, hollow, but smooth. And mocking. It was speaking to Gorion... but he was staring at Darien. "Hand over your ward, and you will be spared. If you resist, it will be a waste of your life."
Darien took a step backward before he had even realized it. A moment later he remembered to breath. Gorion, however, merely scowled, "You're a fool if you think I'd trust your benevolence. Stand aside, and you and your lackeys will remain unharmed."
There was silence for a long moment, broken by a slow dark chuckle emanating from the armored giant as rain hammered the steel encasing his body. "Indeed." He raised one hand slowly, grabbing the hilt of the monstrous sword strapped to his back as he ordered, simply, "Kill them."
The two ogres stalked forward, chortling amongst themselves; slow, stupid beings that nevertheless stood intimidating enough in the night to make Darien retreat backwards a step with each one they took forward. The girl, however, did not move from her spot at the armored behemoth's side, calmly and without fanfare raising a bow level to her chest while drawing an arrow from the quiver on her back. The arrow was knocked back, and released, flying straight and true, directly into Darien's shoulder as he noticed at the last moment and attempt to duck to the side.
He cried out in pain, falling gracelessly to one knee as his free hand grasped at the arrow protruding from his arm. The call was enough to draw Gorion's gaze away from the approaching Ogres, and onto Darien long enough to bark, "Run, boy! Run!"
And with fear in his heart, Darien did; the sounds of battle behind him.
---
The Ogres were slow; and too sure of their superiority over the old man in front of them. They paid no mind when Gorion began chanting quietly, unintelligible words of incantation, meaningless to most, though it suddenly meant a great deal to them when a ball of searing fire flew forth from Gorion's extended arms, impacting against the first Ogres chest and engulfing him, bringing him to his knees as the flames roared and roasted his flesh, unhindered by the rain.
The expression on the other's face was almost comical as he watched the first fall over, dead; his dumbfoundedness lasting until he again heard the old sage's voice, and saw the light forming between his hands. With a roar it lunged forward, arm pulling back for a mighty swing of it's mace that never came, as a bolt of lightning lanced forth through it's heart from Gorion's hands, the old man only barely stepping out of the way as the Ogre tumbled with his momentum before falling dead in a heap in the mud.
Gorion's eyes remained on its twitching carcass for only a moment before turning back to those who remained, just in time to see the armored giant bearing down on him, only barely moving out of reach as his sword swung through the area Gorion had just inhabited. He recovered fast; too fast for someone his size, quickly turning to where Gorion had moved behind him, pacing backwards as he chanted and released a number of red hot bolts of magical energy at his enemy, each one impacting on his body, yet only slowing his approach as the giant stalked towards him. Wave after wave of these magic missiles flew forth, all hitting their mark, and all failing to do anything more than slow him, the distance between them closing rapidly.
Gorion had always held that nothing was truly unstoppable. His enemy here tonight seemed intent on disproving that theory.
When mere feet separated the two, the strain of his castings written in every line in Gorion's face, he released one more spell, a purple lance of energy that struck the man's armor, and spread over it, shaking every separate piece of the armor until reaching his face, the only partially exposed part of his entire body. The behemoth growled in pain and rage, taking all of one step back and hunching over slightly; still leaving him towering above Gorion, but enough to give him a moment's hope as he stopped, now holding his ground.
The light of another casting formed between Gorion's cupped hands. The behemoth was weakened; he was vulnerable; he was-
He was laughing.
Gorion realized his error a moment too late, eyes widening in the split second before the armored man rose up again with speed impossible for his size; for the weight of the steel encasing him; and effortlessly pushed his sword straight through Gorion's torso with a sickening slice of flesh and blood.
Gorion gasped wetly, blood erupting from his mouth in a heavy cough as his enemy lifted the sword; and Gorion; into the air, pointing them at an increasing angle until Gorion began to slide down the length of the blade, until his torso impacted against the hilt.
The last thing the old sage saw was the mad grin of his murderer, the burning glow of his empty yellow eyes, before he was carelessly cast off of the blade with one mighty swing, his body flying into the earth in an undignified heap.
And there he was left to rot.
Behind him, Darien Kreshire could hear his father's cry, the ungodly loud impalement that ended his life. But he couldn't turn. He couldn't help him.
He could only flee into the dark night.