Author's note: Dear friends, I must apologise for my prolonged absence. As sometimes happens, life got in the way of my best intentions, and I was not able to write for a while. The Crusader's story is far from over, though - here is the next installment, I hope you enjoy it.

High noon, and the Docks District was throbbing with life. The din of vendors calling out from their stalls, competing for attention, and of shrieking children playing boisterous games of tag, was rounded off by the wailing of stray cats, begging for fish. The glare of the sunlight reflecting on the ocean seemed unusually bright, and the noise cut right into my aching temples.

Arcane disguises were forbidden on the streets of Neverwinter; employing such would immediately attract the attention of the Cloaktower and the Watch. I did not know how many potential enemies I had in the city, but I believed that those whom I had reason to fear, would already know I was here. So I merely kept my face hidden in the recess of my hood, hoping at best to avoid public attention, and the delays it would entail.

The initial shock of hearing Gann's voice in my head had given way to a vague, yet persistent dread. I felt sick. My legs were weak, and my stomach clenched into knots. Though it had lasted for less than a heartbeat, I could still hear the pained cry.

I doubted that Milil believed the literal truth of my vision; perhaps he thought that I was simply worried about a missing friend, and that talk of the amulet had reminded me of him.

Were I in his place, I would have thought the same. I could not say with certainty that the experience had not, in fact, been born of emotional turmoil - from mixed feelings of guilt and loneliness, and the series of surreal experiences that constituted my life of late. The manifestations of such an affected state could be alarming. I was aware that the ability to suppress and conceal one's emotions, did not mean that one was impervious to them.

These misgivings aside, I could not rest until I knew what had become of Gann.

The news of Talona's demise – startling as it was – had only temporarily distracted me. In retrospect, I considered that I should not have been surprised, knowing what I did of divine politics. Milil had been shaken by the news, but now he seemed more concerned about me. His brow was furrowed as he gave me yet another sidelong glance.

"Should we pay your uncle a visit first?" He asked lightly.

We were making our way towards the Dolphin bridge, and the temple of Oghma. The god of knowledge would certainly be able to locate my friend the dreamwalker effortlessly, but I did not yet know how we would gain access to that information, without revealing our identities.

"You are more likely to be recognised if you remain outside." Milil pressed on. "I'll continue on to the temple alone, and inquire about your friend."

The Sunken Flagon came into view, down the street to our right. I had not seen Duncan since before the war; Daeghun had sent him word that I lived, after I had returned to Crossroad Keep. I had called the run-down inn home for some time, but I blanched at the thought of waiting there passively, whilst Gann might be in danger. Nonetheless, I relented.

"All right." I sighed. "I'll wait for you at the Flagon."

Before he could reply, I slipped away into the crowd. I knew he had intended to accompany me to the inn, but I needed to go alone. I had my own plans and methods.

The terrace looked exactly the same as I remembered it, except that the door and shutters were closed. I could still see the scorch marks up on the facade, bearing mute testimony to my first meeting with the impetuous sorceress, Qara. I knew that the feelings of regret I felt when thinking of her were not rational, but they surfaced nonetheless.

We had been polar opposites, she and I. I could not recall a single instance when we had agreed upon anything. Yet with time, we had reached a semblance of mutual respect and understanding, even if her distaste for my studious methods had not lessened.

I had not mentioned her betrayal, nor that of Bishop, in my official account of the Battle of Shadows. I had seen no reason to heap scorn upon them in death; they had, after all, aided me with their respective talents on many occasions before.

I had been forced to kill them both – I had no other choice at the time, and would do the same again under those circumstances. But they had ultimately died in a conflict that should not have involved them at all. A conflict into which I had drawn them – it was for this reason that their deaths weighed upon my conscience.

I was not naïve; I was not surprised that their tenuous loyalty had been swayed in the face of their own misguided beliefs, encouraged by the ancient demonic persuasion of the King of Shadows. I felt no malice towards them, though I knew that some of my other companions had not shared my sentiments – or my discretion.

Surfacing from my reverie, I pushed open the front door of the inn. I was surprised to find the front room all but deserted. A familiar figure sat on a barstool in the far corner, staring unseeingly into his tankard.

I walked over to him, shrugging off my hood.

"Hello, Duncan." I said, when he looked up.

The tankard crashed to the floor.

"Is it you, Lass?" he slurred, his face pale, apart from the rubor across the bridge of his nose. He swayed dangerously. Alarmed, I reached out a hand to steady him. He looked as though he had aged ten years since last I had seen him.

"He thinks you are his niece." A woman's voice came from behind the bar; husky, but not unpleasant. "Hardly a day goes by that he does not accost an elven woman, demanding to know where she's been."

The woman was human – plump, but pretty, with her brown skin and dark hair in intricate braids. She had a pleasant, friendly face. She gestured apologetically at Duncan:

"I'm sorry if he frightened you." He had frightened me, but not in the manner that she meant. His eyes had closed, lost in his drunken stupor. I understood now why the tavern was so quiet at midday – it seemed the proprietor had lost interest in his surroundings.

Following my gaze, the woman said:

"Do you remember the place differently? It has been closed for a long time, but I hope to receive customers again soon. I'm Zea, by the way. Would you like something to drink?"

It was clear that Zea was looking after the business alone – and probably Duncan, as well. The poor woman seemed to have shouldered an unenviable burden, I thought guiltily.

"Yes, I remember when things were different – the outside is the same, but the inside is much changed." I looked at Duncan sadly, and the ambiguity of my words was not lost on Zea. She looked at me quizzically. I hesitated, before adding:

"And I am his niece."

Her hands stilled around the glass she had been polishing.

"I see." Her voice carried a wintry edge.

"I have been away for more than two years, but it was not through my own choosing. I did not know that he was unwell." I tried not to sound defensive.

Zea stared at me, frowning. Then she shrugged.

"Who am I to judge? Life's path is not a straight one, and cannot be seen far ahead." She added with a trace of bitterness:

"My own kin have not received word from me for several moons, though I doubt this has distressed them much."

Duncan had clearly dozed off, his head lolling to one side. Zea looked at him tenderly, before saying quietly:

"Ah well, it is not for one's kin that the heart harbours the deepest love." Her words drew my attention back to the sickening ache in the pit of my stomach. I walked quickly around the bar, and implored Zea in a low, urgent voice:

"Zea, I shall return soon, but now I must go. Time does not allow me to explain now, but I ask that you try to understand. Please do not tell anyone that you have seen me here, save for a fair-haired man named Evan, who will no doubt come searching for me soon. Please may I use the service entrance through the kitchen? I'm afraid I may have been watched, and I would like to leave unobserved."

Again, I realised my effort at subterfuge was likely in vain, but I was not about to make it easier for anyone to follow me.

Tamzil

I leaned back in a comfortable crouch, melting into the shadows cast by the eaves overhead. None but the keenest eye would notice me perched on the wide window gable of the harbourmaster's house.

I had scaled the wall a few feet away from a watchman on patrol. I had been within easy striking distance of him for almost an hour now. I had a generous supply of fellroot darts, which would stop the heart within seconds of the poison reaching the blood. No-one would wonder at a fat, middle aged watchman dropping from a weakened heart whilst on patrol.

Tempting as this was, I could not afford any distractions today. I had learned of the illustrious Captain's arrival within minutes of her passage through the city gates. A scattering of breadcrumbs attracted street urchins more readily than pigeons in Neverwinter, bringing with them an assortment of valuable information.

Following a target is the sign of a second-rate mercenary. A true assassin anticipates a mark's movements; knowing what he would do and where he would go even before he did. A little research and subtle inquiry was all I had needed to understand the thinking of my latest project.

She was an elven mage, and thus almost certainly aloof and arrogant – she would prefer solving her own problems to seeking the council of others. She had lost companions before, one of whom was rumoured to have been her lover – she would be reluctant to draw others into her troubles now. She would be traveling alone.

For all her intellectual posturing, she had one obvious and fatal weakeness - forming emotional attachments to those around her. Years of study had not saved her from becoming a sentimental fool. Despite the risk, she would not be able to resist paying the drunkard at the Flagon a visit.

She was described as quiet and composed, and endured public attention with reluctance. She probably cared little for the prestige of her title. She would not consider her recent abandoning of Crossroad Keep to be a shirking of her duties – she was simply acting out of a greater necessity, though I did not yet know what that was. What I did know, was that her actions had not earned her any friends in the upper ranks of Neverwinter. She would be aware of this, and be discreet in her movements.

This would be far neater and simpler than waiting for her to seek out her minion, whom I still detained. Besides, I was not certain how much longer he would last. His sullen, obstinate demeanour had begun to annoy me. He was also sickening. If all went well today, I may just dispose of him. I would devise something creative for his final moments - perhaps I would get some enjoyment out of him after all. I am ever the optimist.

I refocused my full attention on the task at hand. This was almost too easy. She would go to the inn, and later emerge through the back door - of which I had an unobscured view from across the street . All I had to do, was wait.