Disclaimer: I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

The Fates of War

Imoen stood at the battlements, though she no longer looked outwards -what was there to see but the lights of the two armies who would meet tomorrow in blood? And she had instead turned to gaze over the city that would still be left whatever the battle's outcome, silent and afraid under a turbid sky.

A few paces from her, Captain Errard was patrolling his group of archers, the man himself a sorcerer of no little skill, the other mage of their own company already gone, Melissan believing her time would be better spent back down in the hall calming the Children she had led so blindly into this doom. Errard glanced up to notice her watching and send her a friendly nod, Imoen smiling as she returned it, about to turn and walk back to the steps when she felt that familiar presence next to her, and her stomach filled with lead.

'Hey,' she murmured, not bothering to look round at him –that gravely handsome face was no longer the comfort it once had been.

'Imoen,' came the sigh, a pause signalling his unease as he continued, 'Could we talk please; I would not face tomorrow with this still lingering between us.'

'There isn't anything between us -you made that quite plain.'

Another sigh. 'I hurt you before; I am sorry.'

Imoen shook her head. 'It's fine –I made a mistake, is all.'

'No, the fault in this is not yours; I should have been more guarded in how I presented my concerns.'

Imoen forced a gentle laugh, finally turning to face him, eyes sparkling and hard like cut peridot. 'Oh, no, I know you like me, Vals –I was just mistaken thinking you were strong enough to face your feelings, rather than hiding behind this fear of magic. But, really, it's fine, either way it is clear we aren't meant to be –don't worry, your rejection won't drive me over the edge.'

His face was set. 'You have quite the cruel streak.'

Imoen snorted, turning back to that darkened city. 'Yeah, well, so do you, and at least I don't hide mine behind a pretence that I hadn't realised I was going to hurt someone's feelings.'

'I did not mean to hurt you, Imoen.'

'No,' she sighed, his sincerity making it all the more painful, 'I know you didn't. But you knew I liked you and you could have done this a lot sooner if this was your plan. And yet you didn't, so you're either cruel or you're weak –take your pick.'

And there she left him, moving the few paces along the walls to where Jaheira was watching the furtive activity in the siege camp below with eyes that penetrated the darkness like hers never could.

'The catapults have stopped,' the druid offered in greeting. Imoen just shrugged.

'Maybe they've finally run out of things to throw at us.'

Jaheira had another theory. 'Respite leaves a peace in which the mind can contemplate its fears- I suspect Yaga Shura hopes that when he defeats the knights tomorrow, this last show of his prowess will frighten Saradush enough to send out what he seeks.'

Imoen sighed deeply, too weary even for her previous frustration. 'Why wouldn't they listen?'

'Men do not like things they do not understand.'

Imoen shook her head, eyes drawn to the lights upon the distant hills.

'I can't believe Anomen is out there, as well.'

'That the Order marshalled its forces is not so unusual, though it does seem fate is drawing us back together -it is a pity it seems set on keeping others apart.'

The druid glanced pointedly behind her, and Imoen just stopped herself from pillowing her arms on the battlements to hide her face in her embarrassment.

'Oh, don't; I can't even think about that right now.'

A hand upon her shoulder.

'I am sorry, Imoen, there is never a good time for such things -but now could certainly be considered one of the worst. He lost someone not long ago; I suppose it hangs upon him still.'

'Someone?' repeated Imoen sharply, 'Who? He never mentioned anyone to me.'

'Well, perhaps I should have followed his example then,' the woman demurred. Imoen sighed and suddenly decided she didn't care anyway.

'Well, whoever it is, or was, it doesn't matter much in the end. He can't get over this fear of magic, and I'm damned if I'm playing catch up to a ghost. It just wasn't meant to be.'

Jaheira smiled; she looked rather proud. 'You know, for all your silliness, you are a commendably sensible girl.'

'That's right; kick me when I'm down,' Imoen laughed, raising a hand to the man who had just ascended the steps behind them, 'Hey, Minsc, I thought you'd retired with Melissan.'

The Rashemi shook his great bald head. 'That hall is too quiet, the air echoing with fears unspoken, and the night before a battle, warriors should be with their comrades.'

'I hope I count then.'

And Imoen turned to see that freckled face, his eyes bright in the darkness.

'Agwin, I thought you were in the hall.'

'Nah, couldn't sleep. I'm a bit nervous about tomorrow actually,' he admitted with his usual grin. Minsc's hearty slap nearly floored the lad.

'All will be well, young Agwin.'

'Ha, easy for you to say; if I saw you and that sword coming at me, I'd turn and run the other way, giant or not!'

Minsc's laughter boomed over the battlements, Agwin smiling as he turned his attention to the lights beyond the walls.

'What are they doing out there?'

'Fortifying their camp in preparation for the knights' attack tomorrow,' provided Jaheira briskly, 'You can see them?'

The lad shrugged. 'The light from their auras, at least -they are nervous, but less so than the people in here.'

Behind them, Captain Errard called Jaheira to his side and Minsc left with her, Imoen watching the young man next to her watch the darkness, wondering suddenly how he saw the world.

'What do they look like?'

Agwin glanced back to her, shrugging as he dropped to sit on the narrow walkway, his back to the battlements and tugging at her sleeve to encourage her to the same.

'The auras? Well, it's just a halo, isn't it, around your body. In here and out there, they're mostly yellow, nervous, twitchy. Not your friends though,' he smiled, nodding further along the battlements, 'Minsc is red, vibrant, powerful- in fact, I've never seen him different. Jaheira's is blue, calm, calculating –she's too busy thinking to get nervous. And your Valygar's, well, he's usually the same, though not tonight.'

Imoen glanced back to where the man was talking with Minsc and abruptly turned away.

'He's not my Valygar, and I don't want to know what colour he is.'

'Fair enough…'

'Could you always see them,' she continued quietly, 'the auras, I mean?'

Agwin shook his head. 'No, not always, it came in around my thirteenth winter, when I was thankfully old enough to know that being different isn't necessarily something you shout about.' He laughed wryly, admitting with more than a little embarrassment, 'I honestly thought I was some sort of sorcerer at first -I couldn't wait until my other powers kicked in, and then goodbye toiling in the fields! Didn't quite work out like that though, and by the time I'd accepted my place was there in Pirash, I was being chased to the pale by an angry mob.' He sent a wistful look to the inky sky, 'All oranges and reds -very pretty.'

Imoen just shook her head; she knew she had suffered a similar loss when she had left Candlekeep, but had never felt the same, not when Fritha had been there with her.

'What did you do?'

He shrugged carelessly. 'Just gathered up my belongings –thanks be, young Hariva had seen fit to warn me they were coming- and walked to the nearest town. Jernsford sprawled on both sides of the river and got most of its wealth from there, too. I spent a couple of years living on the streets with a gang of similar youths, creaming a livelihood from the visiting traders, though we never did much more than feed ourselves, and the local thieves' guild didn't bother with us, either to recruit our skills or otherwise. It was all right, but you can't take much pride in a life lived on what you've filched from your betters. It wasn't until Melissan arrived that I really found a purpose.' Imoen watched him smile warmly, 'I would help her find others of our kind that we could spread her message and offer them protection. And I could read the people around us, too, sort those who might help from those who maybe planned to betray us later.'

'And that's how you'll continue after all this?'

'Well, it will depend on Melissan. If we all get out of this alive, I imagine she'll want to find somewhere else to hide us Children, and I'll be right there with her.' Agwin turned to her, suddenly eager, 'You know, you should come, too -we can look for your friend and help the other Children as we go. Melissan will always need people like you -the way you convinced the Children and the people here to fight together!' He smiled, something about his gaze darkening, 'There's something about you, Imoen, a magnetism.'

Imoen could feel the wry grin pulling at her mouth. 'Oh, aye?'

He nodded, dark red hair falling across his brow as he leaned in. 'Yes, I for one feel myself drawn to you most powerfully.'

Imoen burst into wild laughter. 'Oh yeah, next you'll be telling me this could be,' she raised her voice a dramatic octave, 'our last night together.'

Agwin tried to look indignant, something very difficult to do when laughing.

'Ah, give me a bit of credit, at least. Come on,' he grinned, 'let's go and find a space down in the hall and you can show me some more of those card tricks.'

And Imoen let him haul her up, the girl following him down the steps, Valygar's eyes on them as they went.

'Boo tells me they are just friends.'

Valygar started back to find the Rashemi watching him gravely.

'Sorry?'

'Young Imoen and young Agwin, they are but friends.'

'Such is no concern of mine, Minsc,' he muttered gruffly, sincerely wishing he had not turned, that he had just ignored the laughter and pressed on with the discussion of tactics that had held their pair. Minsc was sending him a measured look.

'I see… and does young Imoen know the same?'

'She does, and I would rather not discuss this with you further, Minsc.'

The Rashemi sighed. 'Boo understood it that you were trying to distance yourself from the distrusts of your past, good Valygar.'

'And I believed you were resolved to return and face judgement in Rashemen,' he snapped, the apology leaving his lips in the next breath. 'I am sorry, Minsc, that was-'

But the man cut off his regret with a wave of a large, scarred hand.

'No, no, it is true. I have yet to return and I wonder now if ever I will… Difficult it is, to want something and yet fear it, too. And so much of it is all uncertainty, for we know that what we fear may not even come to pass, but it is enough to stay our hands. Perhaps, one day, I will find the love of my homeland will outweigh any punishment my return will place upon me. But Rashemen will always be there when my decision is made…' His eyes held a remarkable lucidity in the starlight. 'Can it be the same for you, good Valygar?'

xxx

Above the dark canopy, a glary grey sky hung, the hazy dawn light still too weak to reach the forest floor and it was left to their many werelights to open that dark forest, trunks slick with algae, while wide rivers of black water slowly meandered their course through the mangroves. The air was damp and chill, the squelching tramp of their feet through the rushes stirring up the rich scent of decay and clouds of insects both, their droning mixed with the hissed curses of the drow behind her -the surface wasn't all majestic forests and rolling meadows.

They had walked through the night, all following their guide without complaint -even the clearly fatigued Bahia, and though Fritha felt for the girl, wearily trudging along between Vazaela and her husband, she just could not bring herself to halt their march, thoughts of Imoen caught in that foreign war driving her past exhaustion, past compassion, onward through that endless swamp.

And, at last, as a watery dawn was edging over that distant, unseen horizon, Ivic brought them to a halt.

'There,' he pointed, and Fritha could just see the first line of worn cobbles to that brown stone path, 'through the trees, there lie the ruins.'

She let her eyes linger upon it, that weight of hearts still slung and smoking over her shoulder, the girl filled with the uneasy sensation that some great secret was about to be revealed. Fritha glanced back to the others.

'I sense something here, something…' she trailed off, unable to put the feeling into words, 'I would go on alone, if I may.'

Ferdanil said nothing, just nodded once and Fritha started forward, Solaufein at her side; perhaps he had not felt her request applied to him. Perhaps it hadn't, she considered as his teeth flashed white in that reassuring smile.

The path led only a little way through the trees before they, too, fell back to leave a small clearing of mossy ground. And there it was before them, a wide building of brown stone, tall wooden doors hanging rotten on their hinges, its single dome still intact, in frame at least, most of the tiles missing from the western side.

Inside, the temple was in a similar state of disrepair, the space gloomy and stale and deathly silent. A shallow circle marked out the main floor of worship, the raised platform opposite them once the focus of the room, now just another disregarded corner in that decaying temple, rotten wooden stairs curving up from either side to the balcony above, though one flight had long ago collapsed and Fritha would not have liked to test the sagging second. Two winged demons were looming upon the dais between, their once terrifying visage now rather forlorn. One was in a very sorry state with a wing lost at the joint and two broken horns, his partner far worse off and missing his head, the pair perched in silent guard either side of that dark grey altar. The ceiling above was still mostly intact, no opening to allow the rain to wash it of its sins; the solid stone block still stained by countless sacrifices.

Fritha glanced down, the tiles beneath etched with a knot pattern, the lines brought out by her werelight. They were the same style throughout the temple and she could feel her small fingers tracing along the smooth, looping knot. And then she was being called; it was time and she was back in that main hall, the brown stone golden in the glow of the torches, the priestesses gathered on the edge of that circle, a wall of black robes, those same tiles feeling strange under her bare feet as she moved forward, up to the altar that towered above her and the woman that stood before it in scarlet robes that matched her own, a bone dagger held poised above as she kneeled and raised her hands as she had been instructed, smiling in welcome to the blow she knew would not come –yet, and all through her that sense of being special, of being loved, so loved by everyone –more than even Gorion had been able.

'Fritha?'

The voice started her back to that ruin, Solaufein staring at her, smooth face lit with worry, and she realised she was crying, the girl hastily brushing away the tears.

'It's nothing, I just-'

An anguished creak saved her from inventing an excuse, one of the hanging wooden doors hidden beneath the shadow of the balcony slowly easing back, the figure that slipped through little more than a shadow herself. Solaufein's sword was already drawn; after last time he plainly wasn't taking any chances, though Fritha wondered what threat she could possibly pose. Her coffee-skin was wrinkled like a walnut shell, near skeletal form wrapped in rags and her own long matted hair, trinkets of bone and teeth looped about neck, wrists and ankles, and rattling with every step, and Fritha fancied she had never seen anyone so old before without having first opened their sarcophagus, that ancient woman leaning heavily upon a stout wooden staff as she limped into the light.

'Hello? Who comes here?'

…

Anomen lowered his arms, the weight of his cuirass familiar and reassuring over his chest. He twisted slightly to check the straps were tight enough, before giving the nervous-looking squire a nod of approval, the lad hurrying back to his own knight as Anomen stooped to fasten his greaves.

Dawn had broken over the plains of Saradush, a gold suffused mist lingering in the east though, in truth, Anomen had been awake long ago; he had faced such battles many times before, the risk of death holding no fear when the cause was true, but this was the first time he had felt such reservations.

About him, men were performing similar tasks, squires helping their knights and each other to don armour, the common foot soldiers keeping mostly to themselves, though always ready to provide an experienced hand when needed, while other priests and paladins had gathered for small services. Anomen could see through the avenues of tents Simon's golden head dipped in prayer with others of his faith before an old cleric. Erick and the other Helmites were likely somewhere in the camp doing the same, though Anomen did not seek them out, just kneeling there before his own tent to makes his prayers, his fingers lingering on his prayer book and the picture hidden within. That she wasn't within the city was a blessing of sorts, but Anomen was still left with the worry of where Fritha actually was.

A horn over the camp and he rose, buckling his mace to his hip and swinging his shield across his back, to move with the other knights, all assembling before Sir Elquist's tall pavilion. A nod from Erick in the gathering, Simon sending him a grin that looked more nervous that his usual nonchalance allowed, Anomen trying to offer him a reassuring smile in return, though he doubted he managed it, all eyes suddenly in front as the tent flap before them slapped back and Elquist appeared, already resplendent in finely etched armour, a commanding smile upon his stern face.

'Right, I have liaised with Sir Tavidad of the Silver Chalice and the deployment will run as follows.'

Anomen let the list of names and companies wash over him, his attention pricked by his own.

'And finally, Sir Anomen: you will lead the seventh mounted company in a striking force behind Sir Flavel's foot troops. Now, I understand that there are some fire giants within the enemy forces, including their leader. I am sure you will have heard the rumours of his apparent invulnerability, though I would like to think that any man of reason will have already dismissed these claims as falsehoods designed to strike fear into the hearts of those foolish enough to believe it. As to the fact that they are giantkin, tactics for these remain the same as for any large humanoid. As previously mentioned, companies four and five are to ally with your corresponding companies within the Silver Chalice to focus upon these particular targets, though if any should face them, keep moving -your agility here will be your advantage- and once you have struck do not be reluctant to retreat, regroup and in the case of the lancers, rearm. Understood?'

The dull chorus was deafening.

'Yes, sir!'

…

Imoen stood at the battlements, Melissan and Jaheira on either side of her, Agwin, Minsc and Valygar just behind as they watched the knights' battalion form up at the foot of the north-western slopes with the sort of unblinking dread that would not allow them to turn away.

Yaga Shura's army had used the night to their gain. There would be no clear battle on the plains, where even the outnumbered knights would have the advantage, the brigands instead spending their efforts fortifying the siege camp, staking out palisades and digging trenches with hopes to hamper their horses and narrow their avenues of attack.

Imoen watched the two armies gathering; the knights, a gleaming mosaic of silver, streaked by coloured banners, half their troops on foot, the others mounted, their enemies forming looser bands behind their defences and siege towers, something which seemed to hold little concern for the score or so of giants who were gathered upon the field. They each stood at twice Minsc's height, or likely more –everything looked smaller from up there- the dark men striking each other's shoulders and bellowing incomprehensibly into the sky as they frenzied themselves for the battle to come.

Imoen tore her gaze away, looking instead upon those below her, gathered and ready, the third and final army in that conflict: the two hundred strong force of Saradush, citizens and Bhaalspawn alike all assembled in the large square before the gates that would not open until Yaga Shura's invincibility was proved fable, archers and those who could turn their skills to magic lining the western walls, and Imoen recognised the young mage she had seen in the square the previous day, her face and sleeves twisted in her nerves.

The distant bellow of a horn whipped her attention back to the plains. The knights were advancing, their formation close and fast, the brigands' archers barely able to get off two rounds before the knights hit the camp in that first charge, the thunderous clash of arms echoing about the walls, two large battalions hanging back and fanning out behind them.

'What are they doing?' asked Imoen of the man behind her.

'Staying back as reinforcements, young Imoen. The knights will have to advance slowly and take care they are not overrun.'

At Minsc's side, Valygar nodded, keen eyes sweeping across the field. 'They cannot risk getting surrounded. With only three hundred head of knights, the brigands outnumber them two to one.'

Imoen's face must have shown her dismay at this news, Jaheira noticing to add reassuringly, 'Do not fret; with disciplined troops those odds are not so poor.'

'It will not matter once Yaga Shura decides to join the fight,' offered Melissan. Imoen snorted.

'Well, he hasn't bothered to make an appearance yet, has he? Maybe he's not invincible after all.'

The mage drew herself up to her full height, her face set. 'I pray you do not see me proved right.'

But back at the battle, things seemed to be going in the knight's favour despite the traps that had been laid with trenches and pits, the foot soldiers and squires clearing a path for the horses as they swept quickly through the camp, the remaining battalions flanking either side to prevent the brigands from encircling them.

Imoen and Melissan were pressed against the walls now, sending spells down into those foolish enough to stray too close in their effort to escape, Valygar never stopping as he found target after target -and then Imoen saw him, rising from the troops at the far end of the camp. He was at least a head taller than even his fellow giants, his ugly boulder of a face thatched in a crop of thick orange hair, a huge double-headed axe held proudly aloft as he waded forward, Melissan's eyes fixed upon him with an expectant horror: Yaga Shura.

…

Anomen ducked the spell as it roared over them, though more by luck than judgment, his mount twitching under him as he smashed away the brigand's spear and caved in his temple with the backswing. The air about him was choked with smoke from the burning palisades, stinging his eyes and throat as he tried to shout orders over the battle around him.

'Keep together! Press forward!'

But it was an order which was hard to follow, the brigands crowding in about them, bows abandoned for spears as the fighting got closer, and he had seen more than one horse fall beneath its rider, the knights about him joining the squires and soldiers on foot as they pressed ever forward. And they were doing well, their forces slowly advancing through the camp, trampling all before them and leaving an open field for the lancers behind.

Anomen felled another brigand with a spine-shattering blow, the squire he had been fighting turning instantly to aid his friend in his own battle, a deafening roar before him pulling Anomen's attention back to the front line before he could help them, and in the distance he saw it bobbing head and shoulders about the surrounding troops. A giant he could only assume was Yaga Shura was wading through the brigands' ranks, an eager smile upon his face as he closed to their lines.

And this, it seemed, was the moment for which Sir Elquist and the commanders of the Silver Chalice had been waiting, the way before them clearing almost instinctively as they lowered their lances for a full charge. The four men seemed to strike all at once, the giant not even attempting to avoid the blows as four lances pierced him soundly through the chest. For an instant, the whole field seemed to stop and then it came: that booming laughter.

Yaga Shura did not even pause, men's shouts mixing with the scream of horses, one sliced in two with its rider as his axe swung down in with mighty sweep, and Anomen could not see what happened next, the world erupting about him, the brigands surging forward, as invincible as their leader in this triumph, Anomen trying to keep his company together in the surrounding terror.

'Stay together! Slow retreat back to the-'

His voice was lost in the blast and the shriek of his horse both, the terrified creature rearing back as the spell exploded before it, and a moment of near weightlessness came to an abrupt end as Anomen hit the churned ground beneath.

…

'You are Sister Nyalee, aren't you?'

The woman shrugged in answer to her question, Fritha watching as she cast a wistful gaze across the ruins about them.

'Once, perhaps, but I am sister no longer –I betrayed my family long ago.' The woman turned back to them, black eyes keen. 'I knew you would come –I read it in the bones, of the fiery maid and the dark one, and I know what you want of me.' Nyalee drew a deep, disconsolate sigh, her gaze back on the altar once more. 'Even back then I was old, too old, and as they began to bloom with Bhaal's blessing, I was left barren, a mere husk. Resentment grew in place of that babe, and it found for me a different path.'

'Yaga Shura,' confirmed Solaufein. The old woman turned back to them with a stern nod, her eyes suddenly hard.

'Yes, that worthless ingrate! The sisters kept a herd of goats upon the mountains, and it was as I was performing my duties as shepherd and searching for one of the wandering beasts, that I found a greater prize. Born to a giant tribe who made their home in the distant hills, I saw the mark of Bhaal upon the boy even as he lay in the crib, and it was from there I stole him. I abandoned my sisters and escaped into the forests to raise him as my own, taught to him the old ways of the old gods as my mother had long ago taught to me. Then, when this temple fell to some holy rabble, I returned here with my son to our home.' Nyalee's face twisted in her anger, 'I wished to raise in him a new Lord of Murder, but he betrayed me, tempted away by coin and false worship!'

'They say he is invincible now,' offered Fritha quietly, 'you know of that, don't you?'

The old woman nodded eagerly. 'Yes, yes, for it was I who showed him the old ways: how to take out a heart and yet live three lifetimes; how to keep it bathed in magics and be as a god!' She snorted, contemptuous of her own past trust. 'But this was my undoing. Once he had the power, he realised I was the only one who could strip him of it; he stole my own heart and left me here to rot!'

The woman shook her head, anger faded once more to leave only her misery as she looked again upon that rotting hall. 'I should have believed in my sisters –they knew, they knew all along who would be the one.'

Fritha and Solaufein shared a glance –if they were going to achieve this peacefully then the time had come. The drow voiced their request.

'If you had Yaga Shura's heart would you remove the enchantment that preserves him?'

Nyalee laughed bitterly. 'That I would, and many nights since he left I have imagined the glorious horror of his realising it! But I cannot, not without my own…'

She trailed off, watching as Fritha removed the cloak from her shoulder and laid the treasures at her feet. Nyalee's wizened face lit from within, her age suddenly reduced by decades in her genuine joy, though her eyes were not on the hearts, Fritha feeling Solaufein shift warily behind her as the old woman's gaze locked enraptured upon her.

'Of course,' she breathed, still smiling, 'of course…'

And then she had snatched up both trembling hearts under one arm and was limping over to the altar, the smaller of the pair slipped back into the bladder pouch that was slung at her hip, the other set carefully upon that smooth stone surface. A mutter under her breath, gnarled fingers held over that tirelessly thudding muscle, and the bright florid mass slowly darkened.

'There,' Nyalee sighed, gazing down at the still beating heart, the old woman small and tired with the air of one who had lived too long, 'it is done; I am whole and the boy's heart is now as cold as his mother's. A simple thing to end so great a power…' She glanced back to them, lined face etched with a sudden dismay, 'Now you will hurt him, won't you… No, I must stop you! I must warn him! My precious Yaga Shura!'

The old woman lunged for Fritha, one hand aglow with a sick green light, the other striking out with her staff, clumsy and desperate, Fritha torn between defending her herself and stepping in to catch the toppling woman. Solaufein had not her hesitation, his blade quick and quite without mercy and that altar tasted a spatter from its final sacrifice, Nyalee collapsed and dying before it, her lips sighing the last words they would ever make.

'They knew, they always knew…'

…

Anomen was sprawled on his back, very aware of the dull heartbeat in his winded chest, the chaotic thunder of hooves and feet about him somehow slowed and distant. His head felt light, dazed from the fall, and in the unfocused meeting of sky and frenetic silhouettes above, his eye caught on a rich blot of colour. A discarded banner, the lance that bore it planted in the dry ground. Anomen watched it ripple in the slight breeze; a winged deva upon an azure field, her sword held out before her, urging, insistent, while behind streamed a luxuriant mane of flaming red hair.

And in a blink, he was back on that field, shield swung round in time to catch the blade poised above, the brigand about to finish him suddenly swept from his feet with a mace swing, another caving in his head an instant after and Anomen was up, the battle raging about him ignored as his eyes fell upon that giant. Yaga Shura was wading proudly across the field, driving all before him as he laughed and reaped his harvest of blood, and Anomen felt it quiver through him, the man suddenly alive with a thirst that defied all reason and fear, and all at once, he had caught up that lance, the rage only building as he charged through the battle towards that monster.

The creature was glorying too much in his own power to notice him, and Anomen did not even pause to align the tip as he thrust the lance up under his cuirass to impale the yielding flesh beneath. The giant whirled, face split in an ugly rictus as he found Anomen there and panting, the man still clutching the bloody lance and trembling in his anger.

'Ha! Another knightling eager to die! Meet my-'

Yaga Shura staggered forward a step, the axe he held aloft lowered as he watched with slack-jawed disbelief the blood that was still pouring unchecked from his side, Anomen hardly able to believe it either, and the battlefield itself seem to shake under the monster's roar.

'NO!'

And Anomen was turned and barging back to his own lines as the axe came sweeping down.

…

Imoen could not have shouted louder if she'd been on fire. 'Yaga Shura's hurt! He's hurt! They've dispelled the enchantment!'

'What?' shrieked the woman next to her, Melissan nearly knocking Valygar off his shot as she threw herself at the battlements for a better look at the bloodied giant that was swinging wildly at friend and foe alike in his outrage. Imoen ignored her, screaming the orders with all the breath she could draw.

'Yaga Shura's wounded! Open the gates!'

The guards about them had already taken up the cry, the news sweeping around the walls and Imoen knew it would not be long before it reached the gatehouse, the chaos about them somehow muted as she turned to see the three assembled gravely behind her, Valygar at last lowering his bow to turn, as well. It was Minsc who gave voice to the inevitable.

'We must go now, young Imoen.'

She nodded, trying to ignore that gnawing worry that always came with such farewells. 'I know, Minsc. You lot be careful,' she glanced pointedly to Agwin, 'all of you.'

A round of nods, Minsc and Valygar clapping each other's shoulders as Jaheira brought her close in a brief embrace, and the three were gone, clattering off down the steps to disappear into the city. Imoen turned back to the battlements, Melissan still watching the fight rage, her mouth agape. Imoen threw a grin to the man next to her and pushed up her sleeves, suddenly filled with a fierce hope.

'Just you and me now, Vals -I'll show you how dangerous magic really is.'

…

Anomen blocked the brigand's blow with his shield, the soldier at his side running him through in a spray of blood, his half-orc ally brought down by a squire's lance from somewhere behind them, Anomen's own battle reduced to holding that line before the panicking hordes; the banner planted at his back, flicking fitfully like a bloodied tongue, a rallying point for the surrounding men as he yelled hoarse orders above the turmoil.

'Geth, not too far ahead; let them come to you. Sedis, hold the- I SAID HOLD THE LINE!'

Yaga Shura was far back in the press now, the monster's initial anger turned to fear, though his retreat was being hampered by a group of paladins and mounted priests, their stout warhorses hemming the giant in, the clerics holding above a divine paling to deflect the desperate axe blows as the knights hacked at his legs and stomach. Anomen ducked a wild sword swing, the young brigand behind it barely nineteen winters and would not be seeing his twentieth as mace collided with jaw; just another corpse in the wake of that giant. Anomen did not think about it, just squared his shield and readied himself for the next.

'Hassin, watch the flank! Raik step up there; keep in line!'

…

Jaheira rolled her shoulders, adjusting and readjusting the grip on her staff in that tense press of people, Bhaalspawn and citizens both, taking up arms and ready to fight for their city, the druid recognising more than a few from the hall and the riot the day before, the tall warrior who had been so strident just ahead of them in the press, a hand gripped tightly about the hilt of the bastard sword at his hip.

She pulled her attention to her own company, Minsc stood at her side, though he was clearly far away from there and unusually focused as he waited in grim silence, while on her other side was Agwin, looking bright-eyed and painfully young in the leather armour he had borrowed. He noticed her watching to flash her a grin and Jaheira turned away; his eyes would never again hold that youthful spark after this, the hush over the square broken suddenly as a horn bellowed over the city and the gates before them, at last, ground slowly open.

…

Anomen risked a glance back at the baying from the city walls, the man unsure as to what it could mean when a jubilant roar made all clear, the distant flash of iron in the early sunlight their herald as the city gates swung back and the people of Saradush joined the fight. But the giant's army was not defeated yet, Yaga Shura flanked by two giant captains as they fought desperately to save their leader, the brigands regrouping behind the narrow palisades, archers and mages retreating to the siege towers to fire into the enemies beneath.

This was no real protection, though, and Anomen thought of Imoen as a spell roared overhead from the city walls to explode into the nearest tower in a hail of fire, the men atop trapped by the knights waiting below as flames licked up the wooden frame. The battle was on the turn, and Anomen could see the army of Saradush drawing ever closer in the press as the enemies between them fell. And then it came, that anguished bellow, a knell for those few brigands still hoping to see the battle won that day. Yaga Shura was staggering forward, scattering horses and men alike as they hastened from his path, his body a bloody mess from the chest down as he dragged his mighty axe after him, his other hand gone, the bleeding stump raining blood all around him as, at last, the giant fell.

…

Fritha stood staring down at the body before her, so frail she would not have been surprised to see it crumble to dust. One moment the priestess had been alive, and now there she was dead –just like all the others. Solaufein had stooped and was cleaning his blade on a corner of her rags, his look worried as he straightened to press a hand about her shoulder.

'I am sorry, but you made no move and her intent was plain. Come, Fritha, at least that city will have a chance now; Tandith tells me Saradush is not far, we can make it in-'

He had turned to lead them out, Fritha taking a step to follow when she felt her knees begin to buckle, his voice fading as the world fell away and suddenly she was on the edge of the Wealdath, her simple cotton smock catching on the sage brush as she played with the other children, their shrieks and laughter unbroken as a voice called out her name and Fritha turned to see her stood in the doorway of that grand temple, the woman swathed in a mane of long red hair.

A flash and the walls of the main chapel was towering about her, men and woman running this way and that, their screams echoing over the roar of spells that surged above and the clash of steel, flames licking up the beautiful banners that had once adorned the walls. The red-haired woman was before the altar, shrieking for her to come, but this time the words were lost in a scream as the spell engulfed her, thrown by a bearded man in ash grey robes. And then Fritha was up, her ribs aching from the tight grip of the arm scooped around her and shaking with his pace, the room retreating as the man fled, the fire raging across the rafters.

And then she was cold; always cold in that place of grey stone and grey skies and grey people, where everyone looked down at her with unfriendly frowns. The bearded man was smiling, trying to press into her hand a small felt lion, but she didn't want it –she wanted her friends and her mother; she wanted to go home.

And then Fritha blinked and it was all gone, and she was back on that desolate plane of grey chequered tiles, the great, aged warrior smiling broadly at her arrival.

'Well met again, my sister.'

Fritha nodded, making attempts to secure her hair in the howling winds, the world about her moving too quickly for her even to attempt to stop and make any sense of it.

'Hello, Sarevok.'

'So, you are returned here,' the man continued, glancing pointedly about the wasteland they stood in, 'what did you do?'

'Not a lot -just extinguished the magical fire about a particular Bhaalspawn's heart, rendering him mortal once more.'

The warrior pondered this a moment, but seemingly knew no more than she. 'Hmm, an act of apparent insignificance to us, but perhaps the essence knows different, yes?'

Perhaps so, and Fritha was fast losing patience for its games.

'Well, since it refuses to share, what do you know?'

Sarevok snorted. 'If you believe I look from high upon your travels, sister, you are gravely mistaken. I can lend you no insights unless you first give me some question.'

'Oh, stuff your insights!' she snapped, whirling to roar up at that boiling green sky, 'I don't have time for this, you hear? Imoen is in danger! Just- just send me back!'

Sarevok laughed tiredly. 'It will not heed you, sister, it has other plans. Do not waste your time with worries of your rivals-'

'She is my friend!' Fritha cut in fiercely. Sarevok remained firm.

'We are all rivals in the end, sister. Just hope she can be as of much use to you as I, after you've impaled her upon a blade.'

Fritha felt the outrage surge at his words, but just as suddenly it died. His view of the future was tainted by his own black character; certainty for him was impossibility for her, and Fritha knew she would never harm Imoen -she did not need to convince that murderer of it.

'You know nothing of this, Sarevok.'

Broad shoulders bobbed in a not quite conceding shrug. 'Perhaps, but I have much knowledge of the prophecies, so do not be a fool and avail yourself of it while you may.'

Fritha drew a breath and nodded –he was right.

'There are the ruins of two temples in Tethyr, do you know of them?'

The lined face was smiling again, wise and knowing. 'Ah, the twin temples; two sisterhoods hidden in the forests of Mir and the Wealdath; they called them the Groves of Bhaal –grove being-'

'The old Netherese for testicle,' she snapped impatiently, 'yes, I get the pun – you know of them then?'

'Yes, I know of them, sister, the Mir from study and the other… the other we both know far more intimately.'

He was staring down at her, pale grey eyes boring unblinking into hers even as the wind whipped hair across his face.

'We were raised there, weren't we?' she confirmed. The cold smile broadened.

'Are the old memories returning, sister? Yes, we were born there in the Wealdath to the priestesses as were many others of the Children, though you and I hardly met often; I was older than you by a few years – five winters seems little difference now we are grown, but it is a world away when you are young.'

'The temples are both ruins now -what happened?'

Sarevok snorted in slight contempt. 'The same that happens to all who strive for power outside the honest methods of coin or birth: righteous men with righteous tempers came and destroyed them. The temple in the Mir fell first to the Champions Vigilant, men of honour slaughtering the women and children to the last. The second temple was, as you know, discovered and destroyed by the Harpers a few years later.'

'To prevent the sacrifices, yes, I know,' pressed Fritha, 'but to what end? Now the Children are all grown up and killing each other just as Bhaal intended-'

'No, sister,' Sarevok interrupted gravely, 'not as He intended. These scattering of Bhaalspawn you see about you now were but a failsafe, a misdirection to His true intentions. It was in these hidden temples where Bhaal's return was to be hatched. As the texts had it, a child from one of these temples was chosen and it was in him that the god would arise again. The other Bhaalspawn there were but vessels to be sacrificed over the years, transferring the power to that one child as he grew older.'

Sarevok smiled, his eyes alive as he no doubt imagined it. 'The one Bhaalspawn chosen to reach adulthood; the most powerful of his kind, who would manipulate armies and shed blood of the Children and mortals alike until Bhaal Himself could arise from the ashes!' He sighed and the look was gone. 'But the plan did not come to fruition –the child was either killed in the Mir or lost when the Harpers attacked our temple. In the chaos, I escaped to Saradush and there met Rieltar and the other men who would later found the Iron Throne. Rieltar saw on me the mark of Bhaal and took me as his own. You, I saw being carried off by the mage, Gorion. Later, it was all I had to go on when I began my own plans to slaughter our kin -I found Gorion in the end, and with him I found you.'

Fritha swallowed dryly, disregarding this offhand mention of her father's murder as she asked, 'So who was the chosen one?'

Sarevok shrugged again. 'Who can say? I thought it was me once.' He smiled grimly. 'It was not. But with both temples destroyed and the Children scattered, many things are left uncertain. I suppose the game is still anyone's -the true knowledge of it died with the sisters. We children were never told; perhaps they felt those of us fated to survive for long enough to question their role as sacrifice may try to escape or rebel.'

'No,' agreed she quietly, 'they told us nothing.'

And Fritha turned from him, the girl wrapping her arms about herself against the howling winds, their chill nothing compared to the sudden coldness within, because she knew now whom it had been.

Her.