Chapter 8: Her father's daughter
Chapter summary: Misunderstandings occur, even to the best of us. What happens when this includes dangerous creatures and what is that stench coming further down the tunnel? Let's hope the scavengers are okay with a barbeque.
Disclaimer: Jarlaxle and Athrogate are the property of R.A. Salvatore and Wizards of the Coast. Forgotten Realms and Karsus the archwizard are the property of Wizards of the Coast. Fan characters belong to me. Other canon characters may appear throughout the story. Preview image is the property of iDaisan, commissioned by me a few years ago.
"Why do you fight?" The question rang out as clear as sunshine, and for the umpteenth time came the predictable reply.
"For the empire, Your Grace."
"And what does that mean to you?" she continued. Statistically, she was most likely to get 'I don't know' as her answer. Her father had a talent for sending her warriors that never contemplated their profession.
There was a slight pause. "Respect from my peers, Your Grace." That was the second most likely answer. 'Respect' that was earned, she'd witnessed on several occasions, by beating the stuffing out of women and children and taking fathers away from their families. When she asked them what was more important to them – having a sword in their hand or being respected, they didn't seem to understand the question. It was as if, to them, the two went together like sunshine and a blue sky.
"Do you think respect should be given or earned?" was the next question.
Again there was a pause and she noticed his eyes actually went back and forth a bit. Apparently his 'peers' hadn't prepared him for this question. Then again, she made a point out of creating new ones for each round of interviews. "Earned, Your Grace." His face broke into a smile and he nodded, as if he was certain with himself that he had arrived at the right answer.
"How would I earn your respect, then?" she pressed. His smile died down and he immediately began to stammer. The helmet he held in his hand fell to the ground and he started to mutter an apology. "I'm not asking you to apologise. Stand straight, you've broken no laws nor have you committed an offense."
Relief flooded over his face and he straightened, before seemingly thinking better of it, and bent down to pick up his helmet. Felicia felt bad for him – she could easily see in his eyes a good man with a good heart who no doubt simply wished to protect his loved ones. Like so many others who had taken up the warrior's profession, however, it seemed he hadn't fully understood what it meant in practice.
"How would I earn your respect?" she repeated.
"Your Grace already has it, of course," he explained, "simply by being Your Grace."
"Your Loross is a little awkward in places," she remarked. "Are you from the surface?"
He stiffened slightly and the corners of his mouth took a bit of a downturn, but he nodded all the same. "Yes, Your Grace. A small village on land still fertile, Jannath protect us all."
Very much a family man. Farmer background, strong body. No doubt he'd worked harder than the noble-born soldiers to prove his worth. Judging from his reaction to her question, he'd no doubt been treated unfavourably due to his heritage.
However skilled he was, it was easier to imagine him home, on the surface. That was where he should be, with people that loved him. Not up in some flying city serving an uncaring, perfumed lord arcanist with a stick up his ass. "Why do you seek to serve among my personal guards when you have loved ones back home? Do you not miss them?"
Surprise and a bit of pain slipped into his eyes, but to his credit he managed to answer the question. "I think about them every day, Your Grace. But it is for their sake that I wish to serve you."
She hid her smile at his first comment, but her surprise slipped through when she heard the second one. "I thought it was for the empire."
"The empire is an extension of my loved ones, as far as I'm concerned," came his response. "Your Grace."
"Why me?" It was her last question, and his response would decide whether or not she accepted him.
There was only a slight hesitation. "Because you're right, Your Grace. About the overuse of magic. What good does it do a farm boy like me to serve a lord or lady who thinks more magic use is the solution when it results in our lands going dry and our cattle dying?" He paused. Her eyes widened. While he might not have contemplated fully what being a warrior meant, he'd most certainly put a lot of thought into the politics that ran this empire. "We just want it to stop, so we can go back, rebuild and feed our people once more. There seems to be only a handful of lords and ladies that agree with you, Your Grace, some of whom have had fatal accidents lately. I'd like to make sure that doesn't happen to you."
The corner of her lip turned up ever so slightly. "Well, it's good to know I have loyal men like you to protect me from faulty ladders and mosquito bites." She nodded in the direction of the wooden door that led to the armoury. "Go don your cloak, good Sir Knight. You'll take your vows before my father at the end of this tenday."
A smile lit up his face and showed just what a wonderful father he would make one day. "Yes, Your Grace. Right away, Your Grace." He made to leave.
She smiled as well. "Make sure you maintain the simpleton act, too. You don't want anyone in court suspecting that you have political thoughts in your head."
He stopped dead in his tracks, but to his credit he kept his back turned. "No, Your Grace. Thank you, Your Grace." Then he opened the door and left.
Felicia was pleased. She had gained her nine faithful warriors, none of whom liked the lords that wasted their time plotting and scheming against each other, and all of whom had enough love and compassion to balance out the eagerness of their sword-arms. It would send the message that her father had so insisted she send to the rest of the court, but it had been on her terms. Almost all of it had been on her terms.
Now what she needed was someone to lead this group of rambunctious, self-aware men. She tapped her chin with the feather on her quill. It was always the most difficult task that came last.
Well, that and living with an undead father.
Jarlaxle found the cavern network of the beholders easily enough, but he was surprised to find them so... vacant. Some corpses lay strewn about, with deep cuts in their round forms, but some were like the human bodies on the first layer, with no outward wounds on their skin. Had the Shade killed beholders, too? The one he and Entreri met hadn't seemed that powerful.
He slipped quietly through the cavern, found it met up with yet another – typical beholder hive – and was about to step into it when the most unexpected thing occurred.
A hive mother – a badly burnt one at that – came flying straight towards him, two regular beholders following suit. He was invisible, so none of them could see him, but that wasn't his main concern. Sitting on top of the hive mother, on her lower legs, was Felicia.
Hundreds of thoughts clashed inside his head even as he stepped aside so the monsters wouldn't bump into him. It seemed the princess had teamed up with the beholders, as unlikely a scenario as that seemed. Had this been her plan all along? Was this the form her betrayal would take? She'd led them into the beholder caves to get rid of them so she could take their items for herself? It was chillingly logical and it was such a damn shame, too, considering the circumstances. Then again, little Miss Princess probably figured she'd need everything she could get her hands on.
On the other hand, he'd never heard of eye tyrants teaming up with anyone outside their race, let alone their hive – they fought among themselves the most! Only intimidation with crushingly advantageous terms could convince them not to kill each other, let alone outsiders. While Felicia was a capable enough sorceress, it was an exceedingly rare thing for any mage to threaten a hive mother and two beholders into her service. Unless the beholders had struck up a deal with her so they could get a hold of his and the dwarf's items. Considering the immense powers of these creatures, however, it made no sense for them to bring Felicia along, and something about the hive mother's burns bothered him.
Curiosity welled up inside him. If he continued in the direction that Felicia had come from, it was very likely that he could get an idea of what had happened to convince these monsters to work with her. On the other hand, if it turned out to be betrayal, which seemed very likely, then that meant Athrogate was in real danger. As a statue he could be restored, but if that statue was shattered then Jarlaxle would have a hard time putting him back together.
Then again, whatever hold she had over the beholders suggested she was more than she seemed. If he went up against her without at least an idea of what she was capable of, he wouldn't be at full advantage.
Yet again he chose to leave a friend behind. It was becoming a bad habit, but so was not knowing his enemies.
He moved as quickly as he dared down the tunnel, but it didn't take him long to reach the site of the battle between eye tyrants and princess. His skin met with residue heat in the cavern first, followed closely by the smell of burnt flesh. Even before his eyes took in the sight of all the corpses did he begin to gain an understanding of this woman's power. Despite that knowledge building up inside him, a sense of apprehension came over him when he finally took it all in. Dozens of beholders lay dead, some of them on top of each other, all of them badly burnt.
Jarlaxle was pretty sure not even he could accomplish such a feat, not single-handedly anyway. Perhaps Gromph, the archmage, could destroy a good number of beholders, but this many would be stretching it, even for him. Just what was Felicia made of? She seemed human enough, and he had no reason to believe otherwise. While she was the daughter of one of the most powerful wizards to have ever lived, to be able to accomplish such destruction put her on par with – and he hated to think of it – some deity's Chosen. Was she one of the Seven Sisters in disguise or an agent working for them? Perhaps she had lied about being Karsus' daughter all along. He'd heard something about "those who harp" and how many of them had quite the acting skills.
No, the circumstances and everything that had happened during their trek so far discounted such things. Unless Mystra's Chosen had taken an interest in him specifically? Then again, with two of them living in Waterdeep, they had been only a teleportation away from visiting him during the months he'd spent there. This was a very long way around just to say 'hello', especially since Jarlaxle hadn't done anything to make himself stand out in the City of Splendours – yet.
Then there was the fact that, if Felicia really was a Harper, she probably wouldn't be so sloppy in covering up her tracks. Not that she seemed to be the bragging type, in fact it could very well be that she withheld information about her powers out of simple practicality. It was a habit of Jarlaxle's as well, after all. The mystery of his resourcefulness was what kept his mercenaries on their toes.
Did this mean she was keeping him on his toes? The irony of it didn't go past him unnoticed. Such power dynamics had to be shifted back in his favour, clearly, especially in light of recent events. He started listing all the tricks he had available to him as he made his way back, stopping only when he reached the corpses of the beholders that the Shade had possibly killed. A part of his mind poked at him, but he was unable to grasp it into thought. He stood still, feeling temporarily confused as he tried to take form of this strange thing that was bugging him, but then it disappeared. Realising that his invisibility was gone, he re-activated the power in his wand and sneaked back up to where Athrogate was waiting.
Unaware of the danger approaching, Felicia did her best to guide the hive mother back to where she guessed Jarlaxle and Athrogate were. Hopefully neither of them were dead or had become statues. Well, the latter she had a solution for, at least. If in a bad state, she told herself, it was better that they be statues than dead.
The climb was slow, even with the floating magic of the beholders pushing them along. Felicia had pondered offering the hive mother some measure of healing magic, but it could very well result in the creature turning on her. She didn't believe for a second that creatures so willing to commit violent attacks on strangers were in any way, shape or form trustworthy beyond a sharing of immediate goals. If she could find her companions, however, then she might stand a chance for when the inevitable betrayal happened.
One such dark figure appeared just as the hive mother flew her over a pile of rocks. Short and massive build, it could only be a dwarf. Felicia called out, but not only was there no response, but Athrogate stood completely still. She noticed a couple of dead beholders lay next to him. It wasn't hard to guess what had happened.
"One second, I need to go help him," she told the beholders and slid off the hive mother before she could object. Felicia then took some slow, tentative steps in the warrior's direction.
The ground beneath her feet was mostly rubble and there was no telling from sight which stones were stable. It became a path of trial and error – mostly error – until she finally stood before him.
She grabbed the wand on her belt. Statue Athrogate would become regular Athrogate soon enough, and hopefully he knew where Jarlaxle was.
When she pointed the wand at him and opened her mouth to utter the command word, however, no sound came past her lips. Confusion welled up inside her, although she knew a silence spell when it hit her. Who would do that to her, though? Surely the beholders didn't possess such powers. Had the Shade returned?
She couldn't hear anything while under the effects of such a spell. Putting the wand back on her belt to keep it safe, she then absorbed the magic she was under. Something slapped against her skin when she did, like the strike of a whip, and fell to the ground around her feet shortly after. She looked down to see a very familiar rope that she knew was enchanted and belonged to Jarlaxle.
The beholders were above her next, rays shooting forth in the direction that the rope had come from. At first there was nothing, but that did nothing to deter the creatures as they then fired their rays in the surrounding area, even floated off in the direction they believed the assailant had gone. It didn't take long before the dark elf came into full view. He wore the look of someone with the intent to kill, and that was all she could take in before he tossed something at one of the eye tyrants. A ray shot forth to meet it, but that resulted in an explosion that shook the underground level and brought out a pained howl from the thing. The trembling also sent her to her knees.
Felicia looked at the rope on the ground. Like with spells, she could also absorb the magical power in items, whether they be potions or great, magical artefacts. That rope had targeted her, suggesting that the drow had tried to take her captive. Why would he do that, especially when she was in the middle of restoring his companion? Did he prefer Athrogate as a statue?
She had a nagging suspicion that a misunderstanding had taken place, one that would have deadly consequences if she didn't act. Grabbing the wand on her belt, she pointed it at Athrogate. A shout of 'no' sounded from Jarlaxle, but she ignored it and uttered the command word. Slowly but surely did stone turn back to flesh.
"Hold your breath until you feel your lungs are back to normal," she instructed the dwarf once his ears were back to their meaty selves, and she made sure her words were loud enough for Jarlaxle to hear. "Jarlaxle, stop! There's been a misunderstanding! We need to talk!" The reply was silence, followed up by another explosion. "Hive mother, please instruct your kin to stand down." She turned around to look at the burnt eye tyrant. The creature opened her mouth to speak only for her face to get locked in that expression.
A sight that Felicia had seen only once before, of dark shadows twisting in unnatural patterns, surrounded the hive mother. If the sorceress was to describe it, it looked like heatless, black smoke billowing beneath it, seemingly harmless. She'd seen that same smoke before, and it had killed the archaeologists that had tried to help her. Felicia felt a knot form in her stomach and her blood froze. Despair washed over her and she would have run if her legs hadn't chosen that particular moment to remain stuck. Materialising out of the shadows came a man in finely crafted armour and a sword on his hip, one hand held up against the dying beholder, the magical smoke emanating from it.
"Your Highness," said the Shade, his voice colder than winter frost. His red eyes gleamed with an unnatural light, yet they possessed no warmth or compassion. She would liken it to some of the soldiers back in ancient Netheril if it hadn't been for the blatantly foul aura that he radiated on top of all the other things that were wrong with him. Despite the medusa's words about him being Netherese, there was nothing about this man that was even remotely human any more.
Felicia had known fear in her life. When she had first come to realise that her father was a lich, basically a spellcasting horror from beyond the grave, not long after arriving in Eileanar at that, and felt that unnatural aura of his had she been physically ill. Lilith, a demon on par with Demogorgon, had practically loomed over her shoulders as a constant reminder of her powerlessness. The court of arcanists was about as safe as a battlefield, except you never knew from where the dagger would strike. Not unless you were perceptive enough to see it coming and resourceful enough to defeat your would-be attacker.
She was both perceptive and resourceful. Along with her sisters had she stood up to the most powerful wizards the world had ever seen. The libraries had been revolutionised in no small part due to the influence of her and her allies. Those same people had also assisted her in trying to end slavery and reduce the overly gluttonous use of magic. She had faced her fears and fought hard to overcome them.
Now, in the presence of this Shade, she couldn't even find the courage to speak.
He continued talking. "I've come to take you home, Your Highness. Do not resist me like you did last time, or your new companions will perish as well."
Despite her rebellious and stubborn nature, a part of her knew that he possessed that power. He had just single-handedly killed the most powerful type of beholder there was. A dozen mages and many more warriors had been unable to defeat him. Also, unlike her, he didn't hesitate to kill.
He held his hand out to her. It was probably the best offer of peace that she was likely to get from someone like him. She didn't want more people dying because of her – Lilith's words to her about Netheril's fall still rang loudly in her mind. While it had been caused by her father, he had done so only out of desperation because she had refused to be his weapon. She had indirectly caused the destruction of her home and the deaths of countless people. If she didn't comply with this Shade, probably more would die.
"Surely that's no way to talk to a princess." Jarlaxle's voice cut through her haze of fear and despair. Both she and the Shade turned in the direction of the voice and saw the drow astride the last beholder, rays already shooting straight at the man. They struck him directly and pierced through his chest. Instead of going down like a mortal man would, his form melted into a dark pool that spilled out on the ground before disintegrating.
"It's his shadow!" hissed the beholder. "I saw him do that once before! The real one is somewhere else!" A long, sharp, black spike thrust shot forth from the ground, faster than any of them could anticipate, and pierced through the creature, only barely missing its central eye. It howled in pain and Jarlaxle threw himself forward as more spikes came at both him and the eye tyrant. To their credit, they managed to avoid those, although the beholder was bleeding profusely.
Felicia reacted instinctively, rushing forward and using what magic she'd absorbed for the second usage of her unique power – healing. She crouched next to the fallen aberration and placed her hands on it. Warm, soothing, bright light shone from her hands and she spoke to it with a firm, but gentle command. "Stay with us." The healing was only minor, but it managed to stop the bleeding, at least, and the beholder stirred.
Behind the spikes sounded the same voice from before. "Don't meddle in Netherese affairs, drow. The princess is coming with me."
Her stubborn streak flared up, along with good, old-fashioned defiance. She was reminded of the words that had been whispered to her when she prayed for spells for the first time. Silver is the soft, pale glow that pierces through oppression and leads to freedom. Whether intentionally or not, Jarlaxle and the beholder had reminded her of the teachings of her goddess. She'd made a vow in her deity's temple, a promise to herself as much as the rest of the world. As such, the Shade's terms were unacceptable. There was no going back to an empire that was now nothing but ruins. All she could do was go forward. If he tried to stand in her way, then she would remove him by whatever means necessary.
She rose to her feet and met the mockery of a Netherese man and his cold gaze directly. "My name is Felicia Helenus, daughter of Karsus and Silianna Helenus. Netheril is... gone and my home is where I make it so. However, I will not be making it with you." Her eyes narrowed and her jaw set as she openly glared at the Shade. "Begone from this place and never seek me again, or I will give you a thorough, up-close and personal demonstration as to why doing otherwise is a bad idea." Self-defence was one thing, but now she was angry.
"You are your father's daughter," the Shade remarked.
"You've no idea," she warned. Behind her, she felt something being pressed into her hand. She looked down to see a golden key. Not wasting time, she closed her eyes and activated its magic even as the Shade started casting another spell. She sensed magic being discharged to her left and heard the beholder cry out about something not working, but already she was lost in memories.
