Getting Aribeth to meet us had been easier than I had anticipated. The way she broke down in Puff's arms was something of a surprise, though. We hadn't known what Gaston told me – that Aribeth had been riding the edge ever since Fenthick's death, and when we showed up with our ready understanding and acceptance, it had been exactly what she had needed to release some of the pent-up anguish she was suffering.
Admittedly, Gaston didn't seem to be overcome with trust for us, but then again, his devotion to Aribeth made it clear that he would mistrust anyone who swept into her life the way we had, even if it had been Tyr himself. Not that a visit from Tyr would have been out of order just now. Aribeth really needed reassurance that her God still believed in her as much as she believed in him.
Once Gaston and I had come to an agreement that we both were primarily concerned with Aribeth, I pulled Lada aside to find out her impressions.
"Are you picking anything unusual up?" I asked.
"Aside from enough psychic energy to give me a migraine?" she answered. "I think you're right about Morag. Aribeth is being constantly assaulted by someone. Or maybe several someones. I can filter it out, but it would make them suspicious."
"Can you create a false persona for them to focus on, instead of Aribeth?" I asked.
"I … I don't know," Lada said. "I've never tried anything like that."
"Try it," I suggested. "I think Aribeth could become one of us, if we can just get her free of the attacks."
"I think she could become one of us even if we don't," Lada said, smiling. "Just look at how well Puff is doing with her."
"Puff's giving her an outlet for her grief," I said. "I'm not sure how much more she's able to handle right now."
"Trust me," Lada said, "what I'm feeling from her is not entirely grief. If she was giving this kind of energy to Fenthick, they'd have been the perfect couple."
"Given how much pain she's in?" I said, "I think they probably were. But right now, I just want to get her free of the attacks."
"I'll do what I can," Lada said. "It's going to take me a little time to build up the false persona, though."
"Can you bleed off the pain while you're doing it, or are we going to have to do that for you?" I asked.
"Hmmm ...," Lada said, then paused for several seconds. "You know, I could use the pain to help make the persona more believable."
"That's good news," I said. "Seriously good. We'll work on keeping her distracted, then, while you work on the persona."
"All right," Lada said.
I knew Lada would do everything she could, so I left her to her work while I talked with Imoen. I noticed that Gaston was talking with his men, probably to get their analysis of our group. That worked for me.
"What's the situation, love?" I asked, squeezing Imoen's hand as I did.
"They're worried about her, naturally," Imoen said. "There are apparently three groups within the guards. Those loyal to Aribeth, those loyal to Nasher, and those who don't care who's in charge, as long as they're defending Neverwinter. Since the Plague, those loyal to Nasher have become more dangerous. Aribeth's faction have spent almost as much energy defending people from Nasher's faction as they have watching for external enemies."
"Sounds like we have more to do than I expected, then," I said.
"Given how sketchy that silly game of yours was," Imoen said, "I'm not surprised. Still, if we can deal with Morag and get them back on their feet, it'll help make a reputation for us in this part of the world, too."
"Good thing," I said. "Having a good reputation will help us if we have to spend any time here."
Imoen nodded toward Gaston, and I looked that way. He was approaching us, while his men stood back, waiting.
"Yes?" I asked, when Gaston got into conversation distance.
"I would like to know," Gaston asked, "if you intend to make the acquaintance of the … Hero … of Neverwinter."
No doubt about it. The way he put it, he did not like having to use the word in relation to whoever it was.
"I suppose we'll have to," I said, with a heavy sigh. "I get the feeling, though, that we're not going to like it, are we?"
"That all depends," Gaston said, deadpan. "Do you have a fondness for pathological bloodthirsty homicidal maniacs?"
"Only if they're in comics – OOF!" I said, glancing at the spot where Imoen had planted her elbow in my ribs. "Seriously, though, no. I tend to kill them."
"Unfortunately," Gaston said, "this one saved Neverwinter from the Plague. She's an accomplished wizard – far more so than anyone expected, given her age and lack of experience when she came to the Academy." He paused, considering his words, apparently, then added, "It's as if she transformed during her training, from the confused innocent that she was when she arrived, into some sort of evil beast."
"Transformed?" I asked. "Did anyone survive who saw this transformation take place?"
"Unfortunately, no," Gaston said. "I have to say, it's not as literal as all that. She still appears as she did before her change. It's her soul that's different. The closest I can compare it to is possession, except for the fact that if it is a possession, it's the kind that an exorcism will not work to expel."
"So," I suggested, "we need to keep Aribeth away from her, too?"
"It would be for the best," Gaston said. "Everything about her arouses Lady Aribeth's instincts as a paladin, yet because of her service to Neverwinter, she cannot deal with her as she should."
Imoen's hand squeezed mine – hard – and she whispered, "That sounds like …." She raised her voice and asked, "What is the name of this … Hero?"
"Her name?" Gaston asked. "I take it you were transported in from some ways away, then, if you do not know the name of Penelope of Candlekeep."
Imoen went white. Her terror was palpable enough that I could feel it, and I'm as sensitive as a rock. As suddenly as she blanched, she collapsed, unconscious.
Lada looked at me over her unconscious form and said, "I hope I did that quickly enough. She should stay out until I'm done with what I was working on."
"I hope so, too," I said. "Thank you, love." Meanwhile, my mind was racing. Elminster had said she was dead. How could she be alive and in Neverwinter? It didn't make any sense, not unless … yes, I supposed that could be possible. We wouldn't be able to find out until we had a chance to examine her. Preferably dead. The important thing to remember was that, assuming Elminster had been right when he told us what he told us, she was no longer a divine child. She was, at best, the clone of a powerful wizard, and had, apparently, required some time to recover her soul when she had been activated. That meant she shouldn't be as powerful as Imoen or Puff alone, and the two combined could easily best her, even without considering Lada's talents, or my own.
"Thanks for the reality check," Lada thought at me, her distraction apparent in her tone.
I scooped up Imoen and carried her over to sit beside Puff and Aribeth, attempting to reduce the distractions Lada had to deal with while doing her work.
"I take it you recognize the name?" Gaston asked, once I was sitting with Imoen curled up in my arms.
"Oh yes," I said. "We had hoped she would stay dead. Apparently, though, she had a clone waiting for that contingency."
"You had hoped …?" Gaston asked. I think it was the first time I saw actual surprise on his face. It vanished as quickly as it appeared, though. Apparently, the deadpan butler schtick was his trademark.
"Yes," I growled. "She spent six years torturing someone I love, and that someone only managed to escape her when Mystra herself intervened. She died three or four years ago – I'm not sure of the exact date of her death – along with every other Bhaalchild in the world."
"She was a Bhaalchild?" Gaston asked. He sat facing me and demanded, "Tell me everything you know about her."
"Imoen knows the most," I said, "but what I know is that she was one of Bhaal's children, raised in Candlekeep by a monk named Gorion. Even in Candlekeep, she found ways to incorporate torture and degradation into her practice of magic, so when Sarevok tried to use the Iron Throne to advance his goal of ruling the Sword Coast as the incarnation of Bhaal, she was able to defeat him and take his place. Not long after she did that, though, Jonaleth Irenicus kidnapped her in an attempt to steal her divine spark and use it to regain his own immortality. She defeated him and recovered her power, then became involved in the wars between the various children of Bhaal, as they all fought to become the one to claim his throne. From what I've learned, though, she failed, and was killed by Bhaal's former high priestess, in Hell, where her death should have been permanent." I paused, thought a moment, then said, "The only way she could be here, now, is if she had prepared a clone and hid it somewhere in this part of the world before taking part in the wars. Still, that could explain the change in her that your people witnessed. If her clone activated without her soul, and then her soul managed to find its way from Hell to Neverwinter some time after the clone had developed its own personality, it could explain the change."
"Doesn't work that way," Imoen mumbled, wrapping her arms around me and clutching me with all her strength.
"Sorry," Lada said softly, still obviously distracted by her work.
"We're here, love," I said gently, holding Imoen close. "She's not getting you without going through us, first. What do you mean, it doesn't work that way?"
"Clone needs a soul," Imoen said, snuggling against me. "No soul, it's just dead flesh."
"So how would it have activated, if she died in Hell?" I asked.
"Maybe it's not a clone," Imoen said. "Maybe she was sent back."
"That's even stranger," I said. "What could possibly profit by sending her back?"
"Anything that could use her power," Imoen said.
"Fred," Lada asked, still sounding distracted, "can you ask when you pray in the morning? See if he can tell you anything?"
"It can't hurt to try," I said. "Hell's not his domain, but a soul being sent back to the physical world, after its time to die, is."
Imoen snuggled against me, as if she were trying to hide herself inside my chest, and whispered, "Never again. I won't let her. Never again."
"We won't let her, sweetheart," I said. "Every one of us will fight her for your sake."
"This is the one?" Gaston asked quietly. "Mystra herself intervened?"
"That's right," I said. "And now, she's a child of Mystra."
"If she's a child of Mystra, Penelope doesn't stand a chance," Gaston said. "If not for the fact that she's a favorite of Lord Nasher, I'd be tempted to send her up here to meet you in person."
"And if you did, I would thank you for the opportunity," I said, looking Gaston in the eye. It was clear, he understood exactly what I meant, and agreed.
"We can't do that, though," Aribeth said. "Not officially." I looked toward her voice, and saw that she had curled up in Puff's arms, while Puff was tenderly blotting away her tears with a handkerchief.
"Of course," I said. "I wouldn't dream of asking you to do anything official with her." I thought a moment, then smiled as a very cold thought crossed my mind. "In fact, we want her alive. After all, she has work to do for Neverwinter, when you get to Port Llast. Important work. We'll just have to make sure that Aarin Gend gives her the right information when she speaks with him."
"He's scheming again," Imoen said, punctuating it with a sound that was somewhere between a hiccup and a giggle. "Someone's in deep, deep trouble."
"Mmm-hmm," I agreed, smiling. "Someone is very definitely in deep, deep trouble. Here's hoping it's terminal trouble."
"I'm going to have to not know, aren't I?" Aribeth asked.
"If only for the sake of being able to not lie when you say you don't know, yes," I said. "As a paladin of Tyr, you can't lie, right?" Aribeth nodded in response, while looking at me as if searching for some clue in my face. I reached out with my free hand and gently touched her cheek, while I looked into her eyes. "So, if we don't tell you, then you won't be lying if you say you don't know."
"Fenthick," Aribeth whispered, almost a sob, as she pressed her cheek into my hand.
"We can't bring him back," I said, as soothingly as I could, "but we can extract payment from those responsible."
"Oy, boss," a small, weaselly-looking guard said, as he slipped into view from behind a bush. "They chased their own tails right out of the Graveyard." He stared at Aribeth as if she had sprouted horns – or as if curling up in the arms of another woman was something he'd never imagined her capable of.
"Good work, Louis," Aribeth said. "These are the people we came out here to meet. The man with the bastard sword is Fred MacManus, paladin of Kelemvor. The woman in his arms is Imoen MacManus, daughter of Mystra." Louis stared long and hard at Imoen, as if her name meant something to him. "The woman with me is Puff I'Liyalai MacManus, sorceress and servant of Sharess, and the woman who looks as if she's having a bad headache is Lada MacManus, monk of the Yellow Rose."
"Imoen, eh?" Louis asked. "You wouldn't happen to be from Candlekeep, would you?"
"Uh, yes?" Imoen answered, stiffening in my arms, until I had to nuzzle the side of her neck and whisper to her to get her to relax.
"Thought so," Louis said. "Our so-called 'Hero' has mentioned your name a time or two. OK, more than a time or two. She's positively obsessed with finding you."
Imoen whimpered and buried her face in my chest. Within moments, she was unconscious again, and Lada nodded to me when I glanced over at her.
"Positively obsessed, you say?" I asked. "That could work in our favor. What's she been doing since the Plague ended?"
"Skulking about in the homes of thieves, pirates, and assassins," Louis said. "When she's not doing that, she's at the Cloaktower, or ranting about the greatness that was stolen from her, whatever that means. She's spent a lot of the money she gained, working for Neverwinter, on hiring bounty hunters and spies, all of them to find your Imoen." Louis peered at Imoen curiously and asked, "Why?"
I considered the question. Would Imoen want the information spread widely? Then again, these were people Aribeth trusted enough to bring them here with her when she answered our letter. That meant that Aribeth, at least, trusted them implicitly. I looked over at Aribeth and raised an eyebrow in question. She looked me in the eyes and nodded. That was enough for me.
"Imoen was her slave, for six years," I said. "Mystra intervened personally to save her – from Penelope and from Irenicus. I have no doubt that Penelope considers Mystra's intervention to be theft."
Louis stared at Imoen for a few moments, then asked, "How old was she when she became a slave? Ten?"
"Exactly," I said. "And Penelope was the same age. But, Penelope had already acquired the more obvious of her father's personality traits, and so she needed a victim to ply her trade on. Imoen was lost, confused, and easy prey, so Penelope took her."
"Her father's personality traits?" Louis asked.
"Oh, you know, the usual," I said. "Sadistic, bloodthirsty, homicidal, evil to the core, that kind of thing. It's too bad, really. From what I've heard, not every child of Bhaal had those traits."
"Not every … child of Bhaal," Louis said, slowly, staring at me intently. "You're saying that Penelope of Candlekeep is a child of Bhaal."
"Not any more," I said. "At least, if what we were told is correct, since she died in Hell, she's no more a child of Bhaal than you or I. But, since she died in Hell, someone has to have decided she's useful enough, as a tool, to have sent her back. When I have a chance, I'm going to be searching for more information on that."