=S=

The wall—the wall had moved with her weight upon it—whirled her right around, and now it had flipped, leaving Sajantha on the wrong side. Had there been a lever? A pressure plate under her feet? How could she get back?

No way to tell, not in the dark. Infravision did nothing, nothing, not without even a spark of heat to help. Cold things, here. Dead things. Holding her breath, would she hear them coming?

The torch, of course she'd dropped the torch back with that vampire, and now her empty hands could do nothing but explore the terrifyingly smooth surface—nothing, not a seam nor any give—was she…

Her breath flew free in a half-sob, half-snarl. Stuck. She was stuck (alone alone alone).

Banging her hands against the stone only made a low thump and left her palms stinging. Not loud enough, not enough.

"Hello—!" Could they hear her? They had to—they had to—this place was maze enough without adding in mysterious one-way passages; how would—

"Hello."

Heart in her throat, Sajantha spun, sweaty palms sticking to the dusty wall behind her.

Dark dark dark.

Except for twin lights—red—eyes.

She thrust out her hand. "Itmen mitne!" The simplest of spells—light—but the only light emerged behind her eyes, a blinding tear that burned, and she clutched her head in pain. No. Her sword—just reach her sword—

"That is incorrect." The voice was dry—in all senses of the word—hard and coarse and brittle, and a bit… confused? Amused? "Itmen mitne."

And even if the syllables had sounded exactly the same, when he spoke a mage-light bloomed out, an orb that rose to hover above its summoner's head and brought the caster into its unapologetically bright glow.

The speaker was exactly as dry and withered as that scrape of a voice suggested: little skin remained on his face, only enough to lend the appearance of flesh to the painfully obvious skull beneath, and thin wisps of white hair floated about his scalp.

Layers of rotting cloth hung oddly on the skeletal figure, but clearly they'd once been robes of superb make, for runes glimmered across the borders. Eye sockets lit with crimson fire left any expression unreadable. A lich. Even if the wave of wrongness had not made it clear: death, this creature was made of death, its phylactery all that anchored it from passing beyond.

But she was no stranger to death.

Sajantha released her sword-hilt: no use in trying that; this was assuredly a caster of no little power.

(And, her? What was she?)

A bard, once.

Tally and the Tinker, came Imoen's voice, a reminder of the gnome who'd brought down a dragon with only persistence and her voice, the very same strategy that had aided them later against Sarevok.

Sajantha swallowed. "You… you live here, don't you?" If one used the term loosely, but surely he wasn't an intruder, like them. A thousand years old, Edwin had said of these tunnels. (Miirym had already been locked away twice that long.) Gods! Who could stand it? "It must be so lonely."

"My pupils, they… they are around here, somewhere." His face wrinkled in what perhaps was a frown. "Aren't they…? So long, it's been. So long."

Not entirely together. And not currently violent. Well! Just keep him talking, then; that couldn't be so very hard.

She scanned their surroundings: the light illuminated the room nearly to its edges and hinted at the shape of tapestries and paintings shadowing the walls. Was this—was this some sort of treasury? On that table behind him, those were surely bound scrolls—and all those stacks along the floor, were those books?

"You've been down here this whole time with all these books?"

He turned, and the mage-light obediently swung with him, dancing over the—yes!—those were books, and so many! Piles with gilded covers, tomes of thick leather, some faded, some embossed with gold. All of them surely centuries old. How many missing from Candlekeep?

And the light had grown brighter—for it hung right over her as she'd sprung forward—only, oh, she oughtn't have moved so, should she? But that one on the top was—gods!—was that script written in Aearee?

She glanced up at the lich, and he was just staring—glaring?—at her and her outstretched hand with those glowing eyes; how was she supposed to tell what he was thinking? But she was still alive, and he'd not moved.

Though it was incredibly impolite to paw at someone else's materials without invitation; she straightened and clasped her hands together so he'd not need to worry about her—or the oils on her fingers—and to keep from being tempted. "When I was a child, I used to fear the day I ran out of books in the library. But, you… you must have had time to read everything here at least once." And the scrolls unfurled upon the tables—was this a treasury, or more a study?—certainly implied he'd not been idle.

He nodded, slow, but as if he couldn't connect that thought to aught of significance. Just how out-of-touch was he?

Miirym had eagerly devoured the latest happenings in the Realms, delighting to be told new tales. "So much has happened since you've been down here!" The Godswar not the least of it. "Have you any window to the outside?"

He'd taken a step with her, standing closer, out of concern or eagerness? "No. I… I have to hide. Guard the knowledge. The Cowled Ones, they are still looking for me?" What had started off as a statement had become a question, and in his uncertainty, the emaciated lich looked like nothing so much as an addled elderly man.

"I quite doubt they are." If they'd known about this trove, they'd surely have torn this place apart long ago, long before these scrolls had begun to crack at the edges. That parchment would have to be enchanted before it could safely be picked up, lest some of the oldest turn to dust with but a touch! "I think you and your books are safe. And a good thing, too! I've heard tell there's something of incredible rarity collected here. Scribed by the Creators."

His defensive posture gave it away, those bony fingers over his face bringing to mind nothing so much as crawling spider legs. "You have heard of this?" He had it, didn't he! Was the Scroll actually here? In this very same room with her? "Such a thing is dangerous. Where it is… it is safe."

Her heart picked up speed. This was it—what Edwin had brought them for!—and this lich knew where. A Nether Scroll.

Sajantha licked her lips. And what if she should take it? What if she should be the one to present the Scroll to Edwin—for once, he'd have to thank her!—imagine the look on his face!

The lich had been receptive enough so far, might he even be reasoned with? Non-evil undead were incredibly rare, but there had been tales of guardians tasked to protect dangerous lore, and all such knowledge fell within the realm of Oghma: whether he worshiped the Binder or not, this lich could not fail to have some loyalty to his domain.

"Knowledge is power and must be used with care, not hid from others. So sayeth Oghma." Though quoting his strictures brought none of the customary warmth as when she had always done so before; the room remained terribly chilled.

The lich's spider-fingers wrung together, climbing over each other. "And just what would you use this vast power for, child? What is your greatest of desires?"

Easy. "My friend. I… I'd use it to find her, to rescue her. If I could find a way." There were originally fifty of the Scrolls, each dealing with different realms of study. Though who could say which the lich held, or how it might help?

He appeared to be mulling it over. "Others need to be protected from it. The power it holds… could be used for great evil."

"But surely not only that? Knowledge itself is never evil." Anyone familiar with Oghma's tenets knew that. "If you were trusted with it, you know it best." He'd read it—if he'd read everything here! "And if you've not destroyed it, it must be good for something more: not only evil." She held her breath. Might he perhaps give it to her?

"No," the lich relented, shaking his head once, slow. "Not only that."

The wall exploded.

Sajantha ducked through the thick dust, coughing as shrapnel stung her skin; she squinted through the haze.

A figure was clear even through the smoky debris—a red figure with arm outstretched— "Gethrisj!"

A dart flew forward striking the lich in the chest—he staggered back a step—then he disappeared.

Cold hands clenched against her shoulders—Sajantha jerked away—

"Get back!" Anomen's voice. His gauntlets. That's why his hands were so cold. His shield raised up, a barrier to the surge of magic that flew towards them: ripples of lightning sizzled through the room and knocked everyone off their feet.

And there was the lich, the decayed sleeves of his robes waving as he cast, safely behind the shimmering glow of a protective orb.

Not for long. 'Twas no use talking now: Sajantha reached for the wand at her belt. "Leor!" Pain sliced through her skull then fanned out like fractures splitting down her insides; if she'd not already been kneeling, she'd have surely fallen.

"The protections are down!" a voice cried, and there followed the sound of a whistling stream of arrows and a howling dwarf, though she couldn't see them—couldn't see anything—'til her vision returned in jumps and starts, further adding to her dizziness as she staggered to her feet.

Trembling, she tried to take in a breath and steady herself, but her vision kept jumping as if the lightning still flickered.

Then it all went white. What—what was that glowing? It hurtled right at her, and she ducked behind a table—it flew straight through!—a hand, a spectral hand: incorporeal, but it practically crackled with energy, infused with a lightning grasp.

If she could just draw it out of his eyesight—but where was he? Invisible, he'd gone invisible—

She whipped out her sword—the enchanted blade had to work!—in time to reach the hand, the collision hit her with almost the same force the lightning spell would have: the blade spat sparks, and a current of electricity hummed through it to sizzle her fingers; she grit her teeth and clung to the weapon for another strike. Spectral summonings couldn't hold up to much damage, so she only had to keep at it—just had to—

Arcs of lightning tangled and snapped between the blade and the hand, their rocking surge nearly flinging the weapon from her grasp; with a shudder, she swung again. Again.

And then hit nothing. Saw nothing.

Panting, she swung her head to get her hair out of her face. Was it coming back? Had she destroyed it? The lich was out-of-sight, too, but not yet defeated, not with the clash of battle and colorful bursts of spells that kept the room practically quivering with their vibrations. She almost—no. 'Twas the effects she felt, not the weaves themselves.

A wave of magic throbbed through the room and pulsed against the very walls, leaving the thumps of heavy frames hitting the floor and a ringing in her ears.

More explosions? Gods! Who—who was casting like that? "Be careful!" Her voice barely rose over the din. "You'll destroy it!" A thousand years old, so much knowledge here, and so much could be lost.

"It should be destroyed!" Disembodied, the lich's voice rose, certain where it had once been tremulous. "You are not fit to—"

At the sound, Edwin spun: "Ixen kaxic!" His outstretched hand flung drops of fire, sizzling as some struck: there the lich was, no longer invisible, and an arrow whizzed towards him even as he cast.

Yoshimo's arrows! But—Anomen! Dark tendrils of energy swirled about him—crouching, he tried to stand—his raised shield blocked off the worst of the damage, but its surface smoked and bubbled over his shaking arm as the lich's own arm stretched out, channeling.

A blast from behind him—Edwin!—and the lich was knocked back: right into Korgan. And his axe.

Time had not been kind to the reliquary's holdings, and the spells even less: the room lay in shambles of broken ceramics and flaking ash of parchment scraps. Shards of glass cracked under her step. Gods! Was there even aught here to salvage?

The instigator of the destruction stood scanning the room, or his work; even with his hands at his sides and not at his spell pouches, something still seemed ready about him. Perhaps he awaited a sign something else needed be trampled underfoot.

"Edwin."

She must have startled him for how swiftly he turned. Was that familiar disapproving crease naturally grooved into his brow, or was he simply unamused by her rebuking tone?

The leaking adrenaline left her feeling drained and empty, though it looked to still hold Edwin very much in its hold as he stared back at her: his set shoulders rose and fell with quick breaths, even yet ready for a fight never mind that the enemy lay dead. More dead.

"Tarrasque," she accused. Mightn't the lich have turned the Scroll over to her without any violence at all?

And he gave his head a small shake as if to clear it before he turned away. "Elements cannot damage Nether Scrolls," he spoke over his shoulder. "You think they would have lasted so long, if so?"

Completely missing the point! Sajantha frowned, but he wasn't looking at her; his brief calm had ended as he spotted Korgan already poking about.

"You!" Edwin's pointed finger leveled at the dwarf. "You will await me." The mage-light dipped with his words, lowering enough to glisten the sweat on his brow.

The Scroll. The Scroll, of course he'd first need to secure the Scroll: he glared at Bloodaxe with such force as to nearly snarl.

A touch on her arm sent a returning surge of adrenaline through her, just enough to leave her jittery. Anomen. But it took her pounding heart another moment to slow. She glanced back: Korgan was muttering something—and touching his axe a bit worrisomely—but he'd stood back to watch Edwin's search.

Ugh, even her legs were shaky! Sajantha leaned back against the wall—well, the part of it that hadn't caved in—had that stone melted?

"Ah, our shortest adventurer—whom we would actually miss—" A smiling Yoshimo arrived, with a pointed glance at the dwarf, "is safe. And much better at finding the treasure than the rest of us, it seems!"

Far from insulted, Korgan actually grinned, giving them a glimpse of yellowed teeth behind his thickly-plaited beard. "There better be some yet left, or I'll hack out me share in other ways."

"Indeed, it is heartening to find you well, my lady." Sincere, Anomen sounded—even if he'd paused to glare a bit at the two—he'd not realized how little she'd needed their 'rescue,' either. "When you disappeared, I feared the worst."

"Thanks. I'm fine." She stared down at the floor and the broken stone crumbled across it, a heaviness sinking in her chest as the rush of battle faded. Why couldn't Edwin just…?

"Hurry 'n pick out yer artifact then, and we'll clean up the rest." If the dwarf had any virtues, 'patience' appeared not among them.

Not that there could be so very much remaining worth taking.

But Edwin's pleased cry disagreed: he must have found his treasure.

=E=

Edwin pulled his dagger free of the disintegrating corpse and shook off the grave-dust, but some still clung to the white smear of the lichbane left upon the blade; he wiped it off with his handkerchief before returning it to his belt.

The Scroll had been locked within a small chest (with enough gems and other pedestrian riches to keep the rest occupied) and the more vulnerable books and manuscripts stored around it were hardly in salvageable shape, but the Scroll's enchanted nature kept it looking as pristine as its day of creation; not time nor even fire could harm it, not when it would simply reform again. And destroying the lich's phylactery (what idiot kept such a vulnerable thing so accessible?) would ensure the lich would not reform again.

Such fortune, that no other had before stumbled upon this place! That guardian could not stand against anyone with so much determination—once it may have been a formidable foe, but no longer—the twisting tunnels and hidden passageways had served far better than a decrepit lich to keep the Scroll from discovery.

Ha! Laying for centuries right beneath their noses! If the Cowled Fools did not cripple themselves to the ridiculous rules of those who feared them, such a treasure would not have been allowed to languish unused in the crypts, as useless as the dead—and undead—surrounding it. Power belonged only where it would be put to use, after all.

Edwin ran a careful hand along the surface of the artifact. Ancient runes shimmered into existence as he touched the golden page, text that would change and reform once read, as if pages in a book had been turned.

His. And the possibilities it promised—the power—would be his as well. Soon. As if he had centuries to waste! As if he wished to remain in these uncivilized lands a moment longer than he must! Eltabbar's towered landscape beckoned, gleaming, with its glittering canals, a shining jewel to crown his return; the Hall of the Zulkirs would—

Footsteps neared: his fingers tightened upon it. Her—only her—but still the urge to hide this treasure out of sight squeezed through his hands (not to mention the urge to simply leave with it, to pore over and devour and savor every last rune!).

"May I see it?" But Sajantha kept her distance—kept her hands to herself, behind her back—only leaning over his arm to shake her head. "That's incredible. Such a piece of history!" The awe was clear in her hushed voice, in the shining eyes that looked up at him. "These helped create the very foundations of the Faerûn; Netheril would never have existed without their lore."

Indeed. Here was a piece of the power that had created the greatest magical empire in the history of the world, and possessing even a single building block of it opened up possibilities well beyond the reach of any mortal. "I would not have it be known I carry such a thing." Not that the others would be able to remotely comprehend its worth, but he kept his voice low.

She glanced down at the dust across the floor, the little that remained of Nevaziah, and a line creased in her brow—was she about to wail and whine about his tactics as she always had last year?—but she only gave her head a shake, taking a step back. "Of course." She looked back up with a neutral expression upon her face. "We can't have you be a target for the next treasure-hunter to come around."

Target. Nor could he allow her to wander off unsupervised."Sjach lleisgar vur wiilirk," he murmured after she'd turned away, and for a moment her shadow darkened, deepened.

=S=

The faint throb in her head hadn't receded even as the battle ended; for a moment exhaustion struck through her as if she'd never drank that potion, and Sajantha steadied herself before jumping over the lip of the new 'doorway' out of the lich's lair.

Before her, Yoshimo had nimbly hopped across it, Korgan had swung over it, and even Edwin had no long robes to impede him; he'd stepped over with ease.

A bit of a clatter behind her announced Anomen hadn't had quite as much luck, but he'd cleared it by the time she turned, with nothing but pink ears to give him away as they returned to the echoing hall.

"My lady." He'd noticed her looking. "Are you alright?"

"Mm." He was the one who'd tripped! "Am I alright?" But her joking tone shaded his ears full to red—he didn't take so well to teasing, did he?—and she gave her head a shake, ignoring the lurch as her vision spun a bit. "You were the one singled out by the full force of that thing's spells—he really had it in for you! Are you alright?" Some manner of dark magic had funneled through those tendrils wrapped 'round him, and near melted his shield! Oh—his arm—! Sajantha reached for it as he stepped up beside her, but there wasn't any sign of the attack.

"I used Helm's blessing to heal me," he answered, and she let go. (Of course not all damage was visible.) "You… I do not know that you would accept such."

And now it was her ears' turn to redden. A question there, not an accusation, but Sajantha stared forward, biting the inside of her lip.

"You are still wounded."

"Not enough to bother with." Using the wand had once again left her buckled over in pain (what was wrong with her what was wrong with her), but in the chaos of the battle it had gone unremarked. She glanced up. "…How can you tell?" Edwin certainly hadn't noticed, but he'd been rather preoccupied with his new find—and was likely to remain so—the monks at Candlekeep would go absolutely mad with the possibility of unlocking such a treasure; how could he be any less eager to uncover those hidden secrets?

Anomen shrugged. "A cleric can develop the ability to monitor such things: detecting injury enhances our ability to diagnose and treat it."

"So, you're monitoring me, then?" She tried not to sound too teasing.

"Oh. Well, I, ah…" He coughed.

"It's alright! I seem to have rather awful luck, honestly; it's a relief to know someone's watching out for me." And as she said it—aye, it really was true. Terrible luck, and terribly lucky to have someone on her side trying to thwart it. "It means a lot. Thank you."

His chin lifted. "I am only doing what any concerned person ought do. I am fortunate I have the means to help me act on it as well. If you do wish healing, you need only say the word."

"Thank you. And, thank you for sticking with us, even after…" She cleared her throat. "I know it's not really your idea of a righteous quest." What might have impressed him? Dragon-slaying, or some such?

"I have not given up on you yet." His eyes grew lighter when he smiled, an almost golden brown. "The Lady Fortune works in mysterious ways, does she not?"

Fortune. "Imoen… she's the one with the luck. She…" Well. Not so lucky, this time. "She follows Tymora. Always getting into scrapes—and out of them just as fast—when we were growing up."

"We will pray Tymora continues to smile upon her, then." Anomen tilted his head. "Tell me of her."

"You—you really wish to hear of her?" Or was he simply making conversation?

He looked away a moment—oh, up ahead—but he must have found nothing amiss with the rest of the group, for he turned back to her. "She is important to you."

"More than anything. She's the only family I have left."

And he listened to a disjointed tale that could not capture even a shade of Imoen, bits and pieces of childhood pranks… and then… skipping, fragmented, to the moment the Cowled Wizards had teleported her and Irenicus away.

"You are lucky you were not taken as well!"

In a cell—Irenicus—

And something of her dread must have shone through, though Anomen did not seem able to identify the cause for it. "Are you not also a spellcaster?" He frowned.

"I… no. Well… no."

"I had thought only magic-users could cast from wands." His eyes strayed to her belt.

"Aye, you need to be able to draw upon the Weave to activate the stored spells. I didn't do so lovely a job at it though, if you noticed." Though Edwin was the one with arcane training, and he'd surely not noticed.

Anomen's brow creased, somewhere between concerned and contemplative. "Are you suffering some curse? I have heard of accursed items which grant all manner of mysterious symptoms, but I'm afraid I know little enough of magical ailments."

"No, it's nothing like that."

"You sound very sure." What is it, then? His unasked words vibrated between them.

And for once the sight of undead was a relief, for Anomen's line of questioning was lost as he leapt forward into the fray before them.

=E=

The tomb Bloodaxe sought (saved for last, lest the dwarf be tempted to terminate their deal prematurely) lay beyond a few twists and turns, and a scattering of skeletons.

Just what had they been guarding? Funerary urns lay split, spilling ash upon the ground, and fragments of pottery patterned the cracked tile with bone. The reek of spoiled meat was surely due the zombified creatures already dismembered across the floor, their rotting flesh not yet liquefying, so not very long ago dispatched.

"This tomb looks to be looted!" Korgan's axe looked just as wild and angry as his eyes as the weapon slashed the air. "The rank, stinking bastards beat us here!"

So his competitors had found a faster route to this area, had they? Edwin stifled a sigh. Why waste time on such pointless pursuits in the first place! The Scroll waited in his pack, far more patiently than he. "You required our aid to plunder this tomb, yet it seems the task is done, thus rendering any agreement null and void."

"Those that deigned to ally with you were found untrustworthy? Ha! Forgive me if I am not surprised. Or sympathetic: I'm sure they simply chose to betray you before you did they." The squire stood in the doorway, hands on hips, as if unaware such a ridiculous pose left him entirely vulnerable to an attack from behind.

The rogue—arms crossed—stared at the knightling without expression. Thinking the same thing?

Caught in a rage, Korgan—fortunate for the boy—did not appear to hear the taunt. "Those grog-blossomed prick-me-dainty's have crossed me one time too many. Stolen out from under me!" He spat the words. "Thrice over their graves I'll be dancing, I swear!"

"This dance will be a solo endeavor; your problems are yours alone." No reason to linger. Far more valuable things could be accomplished with this time; at last armed with the Scroll, the stifling city and its invasive regulation of magic could be left behind, for Sajantha need not stay here to gather gold.

Strange that she'd said nothing. Once she would have spoken up for the wretched soul—or at the very least remonstrated Edwin for his attitude—but she only stood with arms folded, head lowered.

Until she noticed his gaze. "I'm tired," was all she said, small and pale in her dark clothes, a sentiment that echoed in his own aching head; halved, the effects of the potion would not carry them so much longer, and they did not need to be down here when it wore off.

He stepped to her side and took hold of her shoulder. "We will meet back at the Coronet. And… perhaps dredge up these partners of yours whom so need killing." The dwarf had come through on his end of the deal, after all, and it would not hurt to retain his axe for future use; with his prize in hand, Edwin could afford to be generous. "Ti tenpiswo mi si."

The teleport carried them both outside the Coronet, and Sajantha stumbled a bit as he released her.

"What..." She blinked at their surroundings, squinting at the sudden light. "You just—did you just leave them all down there?"

He gave a shrug. "They are not so incompetent as to lose their way back." The sun still shone strong: this grave-escapade had taken a good deal of the day but not all of it, and their return path would take but a fraction of the time. "It will allow us at least an hour or two: you may rest, and I may look upon the Scroll." Already fatigued, his head still pounded from the exertion of spellwork, but such concerns were trivial compared to what awaited him.

Sajantha did not look half so pleased as she ought. "That place is a maze, full of monsters, and you think it's alright to just abandon them there? And you made me do it with you. I—I can't believe you just left them!"

"Truly, you 'cannot believe' it?" Interesting choice of words, from one who'd before been so gullible. "You imagine their feelings are of some import to me?"

"You're not still worried about them turning on us? It's not as if you're doing much to prevent it." She shook her head. "Wouldn't it be simpler, to keep the peace?" As annoying as her idealistic challenges always were, this familiar intensity was still improvement to the dullness of a blank gaze fading off.

He straightened his sleeves. "If they should wish to challenge me, I will be ready. It gets no simpler than that." There were far better grounds to battle on than such tombs, especially if her safety must also be factored in.

In the late afternoon lighting, 'twas clear the damage the vampire had done, her torn clothing still bloody.

"Have the druid take you shopping." At least that one had her priorities straight. "It seems you require an upgrade already; this is what happens when you settle for inferior offerings." Quality protection was worth the price: the vampire's claws had ripped through that flimsy covering as if she'd worn no armor at all. "Bad enough you look like a mangled street rat, but the next time someone tears into your chest, at least try to make it difficult for them."

Her lips pressed together as her gaze dropped away.

"Now, if we could only discover from whence to procure you some good sense." How many potential problems would this avert? The shadow guarding her could only do so much, but it would suffice at least for the eve.

"I'm so tired," she whispered, tipping her head into her hands.

"Then get some rest! Why else did I deign to bring you back with me—I must carry you to your room, as well?" She should take better care of herself, jumping into danger, then insisting others correct the consequences of her impulsiveness!

Her hands fell to her side; face flushed, she disappeared into the inn.

Edwin teleported back to his room at the Mithrest Inn, into the single corner he'd left free of his warding.

=S=

The other women at the Coronet looked just as hard and haggard as the rest of the clientele, but for the harried serving-ladies and the painted-up strumpets in the hall, and their occupation was easy enough to guess. So it oughtn't be a surprise that Sajantha, who looked like none of them (though just what did she look like, now?), might draw eyes, but surely she could ignore them long enough to cross the large dining area. Had the distance grown? The stairs seemed so far. Just keep walking. Don't look back at anyone.

"Hey! Lookit that blade, there—the little girlie thinks she's an adventurer, does she?" The smile the drunken man gave her was anything but friendly. "Hey, dolly girl: you want to try that sword on me? I've got something of me own you can play with, if yer up for a little joust. Just your size."

Did he expect—? Oh. Her cheeks burned as his gesture clarified his meaning.

"No? Still too much for you?" Slapping backs and nearly spilling their ale, the three men shared a chortle.

Hot all the way to her ear-tips, Sajantha ducked her head and walked as quickly as she could past the jeering men. If she could withstand Edwin's verbal assaults, surely nothing else could come close enough to cut through her.

"Running away? Come back when you're ready to face a real man!" Their laughter hung in her ears.

Between highbite and eveningfeast, most tables were empty: less danger to watch for—good—she could hardly focus upon aught but her feet, anyway.

The stairs. The stairs swam in her vision. Almost there, almost there. But when she reached for the banister she nearly missed it, as if the very staircase swayed and buckled.

The potion had worn off. What did that mean? Vampires drained life force. What did that mean, if she hadn't enough left to spare?

Just get to her room. It would be alright to fall apart in her room. Not before that.

She pulled herself up. Paused on the middle platform. Twenty more steps. One foot in front of the other. Twenty times. (Twenty-thousand.)

The hall stretched before her, a mile long blurring into infinity. The torches shivered as she passed beneath them, a whisper humming in her ears.

But she made it.

Inside, she peeled out of her clothes, the dried blood sticking them to her skin. Anomen's spell had proven effective enough to calm the angry red from her wounds, but left them itching. The vampire's claw-marks had receded to faint lines, and the bolt-wound had lost its wetness. Even the scar down her chest had faded to a pale pink, less puckered; her fingers traced only the barest edge of it before nausea clenched her stomach. Cover it, hide it, cover it up—though her clothing was still stiff from blood and gritty from the tomb—nothing to hide behind but the covers, she drew them over her head and squeezed shut her eyes.

The first unwelcome whispers slipped around her—almost close enough to touch—she couldn't shut her ears.

=E=

Two hours had proven time enough to shake off the lingering fatigue from the vampire's attack, and to confirm none of the divination books he'd yet gathered were effective. Ugh! Why did translation techniques need to be so damnably specific? The Scroll resisted all standard means of deciphering—or at least the handful Edwin had been able to replicate—and clearly required far different tactics than he'd prepared for.

Time to leave the confines of his room, at any rate—even the high-ceilinged noble suite was feeling stifling—nothing was being accomplished there but the resumption of his headache.

While the Coronet would surely only exacerbate that particular annoyance, outstanding business required him here (an additional pity it had to be during the crowds of eveningfeast). Walking into the din of slurred voices and donkey-braying laughter (and that foul odor which could only be a blend of unclean peasants swimming in their own drink and filth), Edwin squinted through the haze.

Ah, there, at a booth by the door—at least no need to walk any farther in—sat the three adventurers, though with the way the squire kept to the edge of the table, he'd just as little interest in suffering this place. (Though it appeared to be the company he found most repulsive, especially as his sneer deepened when Edwin approached.) So obvious, that one, Edwin allowed himself a smirk.

Before he could leverage a satisfying insult against the boy, a weight pressed against his shoulder, and Raviwr's squeaky whisper reached his ear: "She sleeps; yes, she does."

"I did not ask you to speak," Edwin growled in Mulhorandi. Certainly not in front of idiots who had no right to know this information (or that he had requested it)—had they heard?—the rogue had raised his eyebrows. "Now see to your other task." He shook the imp off, and switched back to Common: "So you are all back in one piece, I see. Consider me pleased." Yes, if this business could be concluded with haste, the better.

"A little late for such words when it's clear our lives mean nothing to you!" The only reason the squire did not spit the sentence appeared to be the force with which he clenched his jaw. "You expect any of us to actually believe you?"

"Sajantha looked quite faint on her feet, I thought," the rogue put in. "Would we not have done the same for her, were we able?"

Korgan gave a snort, but the squire at least protested no further (though 'twas tempting to rile him up even more, did time permit).

Edwin glanced between them, gaze lingering on the rogue. (Hn. Perhaps that one might prove of some use after all.) "So is the dwarf to summarily disembowel me or shall we proceed to the next item on the agenda?"

"I did'nae get me treasure nor the satisfaction of slicing yer smug self in twain, ye wimpled lank." The single pitcher beside Korgan named it unlikely any intoxication should deter his aim; one of the few admirable traits of the pugnacious race was an ability to hold alcohol. "Pick one, and dinnae make me wait past the bottom of this glass."

"Did you hear me not? (Or perhaps his pint-size brain requires multiple repetitions.) I said I would meet you here, and so I have." The Bloodaxe could be a valuable asset, especially if all required to retain his service was something so disposable as gold; if it came to a choice to duel the dwarf or his former party members, one option stood out as significantly more profitable to the long-term. Certainly he was less trying a presence to endure than, say, other armored idiots.

Lines of disgust wrinkled the boy's face. "I will have nothing more to do with your illicit dealings! I've half a mind to call the guard on you—" and he transferred his glare from Korgan to Edwin, "and the Cowled Wizards on you."

One of Korgan's heavy eyebrows raised. "I dinnae recall asking ye along, lad." He raised his mug to his lips, giving Edwin a glance. "Might be me ears aren't so keen after all. Did ye hear any such?"

"Nothing of the sort." Edwin waved the squire away. "Go call up your guards, then; perhaps they will wish to listen to you. ('Half a mind,' indeed.)"

Face red, the squire stormed away. Unlikely he would follow through on his threat, and if he did, 'twould be all the easier to convince Sajantha to leave this loathsome place.

Korgan chuckled, then clanked down his mug as he turned to the remaining man; the Kozakuran had been quiet enough one might forget he was there. "Ye wish to come along, trap-seeker? Always called Scrooloose 'arrow-bait,' I did; one of yers could catch him right in that mouthy yap."

The rogue gave a shrug and sat back into his seat. "I believe I will remain here. I wish you luck, of course."

Luck. As if they needed rely upon so fickle a thing.

Edwin took a step back, allowing the dwarf space to slide free of the booth. "You have an hour of mine." Time enough for Raviwr to locate the necessary tomes, surely. "I hope you shall make efficient use of it."

Korgan gave him a grim smile and patted his axe. "I intend to, wizard, that I do."

The dwarf had rattled on a bit about his former group earlier as they walked the tombs, but the details (irrelevant, at that juncture) had not remained in Edwin's memory. "Tell me of this group of yours." There were not so many left (from Korgan's own confession), but a clear picture of what they faced would not hurt.

And while Sajantha would have waxed on about inane facts including their favorite past-times and such, the dwarf relayed exactly what information might be necessary in orchestrating their defeat.

What other reasons might one grow close but to uncover that which could be taken advantage of? There was a reason Red Wizards rarely worked in teams.

"And if ye be as 'efficient' as ye be claiming, ye'll have one more 'ancient artifact' added to yer collection, eh? The only spoils I be after are a trio of heads dripping red."

Messy, of course it would be messy, but the dwarf would be the one on the front line, after all. And they carried something else looted from the tombs, did they? Hm. "Very good."

Bloodaxe glanced back as he opened the door, a grin curving behind his beard. "And mayhap I won't be needing to kill ye all anytime soon."

Edwin smiled.

[Author's Note]: This was intended to be one long chapter, but then it got even longer o_O and now it is two short chapters. Related: I have hereby appointed Kyn as my extra-spectacular fixer/beta-er. Thanks as always for your astounding advice! :D

In reply to the anon user N.L. ~ If you'd like to make a ffnet account I shall happily gush all over you in a PM but I feel as if I ought to maintain a measure of... well, brevity, at least xD here so I will just say *thank you!*; I'm so glad you commented! Especially since now I am able to thank you for your BG1 review as well; I took your advice and I really appreciate all you'd said. I'm so happy you're still following along and took the time to comment… it came at a really valuable time for some personal reasons, too, so just know that it meant a lot. :)

Hope everyone's enjoying the ride so far! If you're enjoying some parts more (or less) than others, please feel free to let me know. ;)