As always, thank you to everyone who's following this story.

Part Fourteen – Strays

Afternoon sunlight lanced through the open window, striping the rough wooden floor and the heap of Tayna's pack where she had left it sloped against the wall. The tavern was mercifully small, tucked behind a courier post, the rest of the village little more than a dusty square of a market and a handful of merchants' stalls. Days east lay the city of Saradush, and she found herself wondering if she might - wanting to - discover how the mazes of its streets fit together. Idly she thought she might be missing Athkatla, and its riotous pathways and the way she had learned it.

Flipping her pack open, she rummaged around for a vaguely clean shirt. After she found one – crumpled under a book and accidentally tangled with one of the rags she used to clean her sword – she hopped up onto the end of the bed.

Edwin was already sitting there, legs crossed and loose coils of parchment spread around him. He had a black-bound book open on one knee, and an inkwell balanced precariously on another book.

"How do you manage to take up this much space so quickly?" Tayna asked absently.

"What?"

"Nothing. What are you doing?"

His gaze stayed fixed on the parchment, one of his hands reaching for the quill. "I am trying to find any description, example or suggestion of something equating to or echoing the kind of power that you used to step between planes."

"Edwin, you don't have to –"

"There is little I have found in any of my books." His gaze flicked up, fierce and dark. "Though I suspect this gift of yours is entirely intrinsic, instinct over skill. Something emerging in your heritage, not a learned talent."

"Thanks," she muttered.

"What did it feel like?"

"I thought it, I felt it, and then it happened."

He arched an eyebrow. "Not helpful."

"Oh, come on. Me describing what that kind of thing feels like to you probably makes as much sense you trying to describe what casting feels like to me."

"A reaching-out to the Weave. An understanding of how to touch it, to make it respond to a spell, a ritual, an invocation. A gathering and build-up of energy."

Tayna grinned. "A build-up of energy. Right. We're still talking about literal magic here?"

"Insufferable creature." The quill dipped, words unfurling across parchment, glossy and black. Briskly he returned his attention to the book, flipping through two pages. "Someone somewhere must have seen this before, seen something like it, and written about it."

"Yes, but whoever did that was probably neck-deep in some creepy Bhaal-worshipping cult, and I don't think they let just anyone wander into their libraries. If they even have libraries."

"Perhaps," he said. "But even those who believe themselves to have locked away all evidence, to have kept their knowledge secret? Threads of truth or half-truth can always be discovered and chased and eventually uncovered to your own advantage."

Tayna blinked. "Why do I feel like I'm hearing your advice on first steps to surviving in Thay?"

He laid the quill in the inkwell. "Well. We are expected to keep our own knowledge close, and share it with none but our closest instructors."

"But?" she asked, softer.

Guardedly, he said, "But those of us who do succeed, we share none of it. Or at least, none that could take away from our own advancement."

"Sounds exhausting."

"How else are we to learn?"

Silently she watched the deft, rapid movement of his hands, darting between the inkwell and the parchment again. He reached for another scroll, flattened it open, and scowled when it misbehaved, the corners curling inwards immediately again.

"Thank you," Tayna said.

"Mmm?" His gaze shifted, not quite fixing on her, clouded. "It is the only sensible course, you realize."

"That's not what I meant," she said, and ached. "Just thank you. And since I know you like nothing better than to dive headlong into scrolls for hours upon hours, I'm going to go explore."

"Mmm."

"Never know what you can find on people in taverns. Especially when they start getting loosened up over ale."

Edwin dragged his head up. "Oh yes, a very clever way to announce yourself, I'm sure."

"Excuse me? Didn't I find you skulking in a guildhouse almost exclusively populated by thieves?"

"There was no skulking involved."

"Sure there wasn't."

The night came down, heavy with low cloud and still warm. After Tayna left her sister playing cards with Anomen – and attempting, with poor success, to teach the knight how to cheat – she asked for hot water and even managed to wrangle a square of rough soap. Upstairs, she discovered the wizard still reading, though this time his attention was pinned firmly on his own spellbook. He grumbled something about interruptions before pointedly looking back down at his spellbook.

Tayna leaned against the edge of the bath, her hands already busy at the laces on her shirt. "Joining me?"

"No."

"Was that a no, or a not yet?" She kicked her breeches off and dragged herself over the edge and into the water. It was steaming still, at least, but some stupidly guilty part of her missed the guildhouse, and how it had been there, static, the long weeks she had spent there. "I'll scrub your back if you want."

"Reading," he muttered.

She leaned back, the loose ends of her hair trailing, wicking up the water. The heat eased into her shoulders, loosening the tension there. Almost absently, she traced the new scar, following the arc of it under her ribs. Straightening up, she reached for the soap, the water sloshing up around her waist.

"That is not fair," Edwin mumbled. "(Devious, deliberate, and now she's looking at me like that.)"

"You said you were reading."

"Gods above." He glared over the edge of his spellbook. "Yes, I know what I said."

"You so graciously declined my offer to share."

"You…" The smile she had already seen threatening the severe line of his mouth broke through. "You are terrible."

She grinned before dunking her head under the surface. She emerged to stinging runnels of water and the sight of him already halfway across the room and fumbling with his belt.

When he hauled himself in opposite her, it took them two tries to work out just how they could make themselves fit. He was thin and long-limbed and rarely any good at judging the impact of his own height in close quarters. She was much shorter but whenever she tried winding her legs around his, she ended up either tilted back awkwardly or else in danger of kicking him.

"Stop moving," Edwin muttered.

"Hey, this isn't that comfortable, you know."

"But it was your idea," he told her slyly.

Sliding his hands under her thighs, he guided her legs up around his hips, pulling her closer. Water slopped between them. Tayna adjusted, tried again, and found herself laughing when she slipped. "And it felt like a good idea when I imagined it."

"You imagined this?" he asked.

"Don't sound so scandalised," she said teasingly. She kissed the corner of his mouth. "I just happen to have a very active imagination. And you just happen to be too tall for this to work."

"My fault?"

"Shared blame," she said airily. "Lean forward."

"What?"

"We're in a bath, you argumentative man. Let me at least wash your hair."

"My hair is perfectly – "

" – clean by dint of you splashing around in a river yesterday morning. Not the same." She kneaded the soap between her hands until the lather coated her fingers.

"And you say I am finicky," he murmured.

"You are. Under the water, wizard."

Edwin complied awkwardly, shifting her leg to one side so he could. Laughing, she cupped her hands and ladled water over his head until the rest of his hair was plastered, black and shining. After he straightened up, blinking indignantly, she worked the lather through his hair. She caught him staring at her, almost warily, as if he was trying to work out just why she was taking her time with him.

"What?"

"Nothing," he said.

"Sure." After she rinsed his hair clean, she pressed the rest of the soap into his hands. "Your turn."

Slowly, almost uncertainly, he combed the lather through the unbound length of her hair. His hands lingered over her crown, and then at the nape of her neck, curiously gentle. After they had both washed the suds out of her hair, she scrambled over the side, dragging him after her.

"Not on the bed," he said firmly. "You're dripping."

"You're as soaked as I am. Floor?"

"On your cape."

Tayna glared at him. "Yours takes up more room."

"No."

Before he could add anything else, she darted past him, her wet feet treacherous on the floor. She snatched his cape up from where it was folded on the edge of the bed and unfurled it.

"You dare," he muttered, but his eyes were gleaming.

"You'll get over it." As fast, she let the cape flutter onto the floor.

Before he could object, she grabbed his arm and yanked him down beside her. Before he was on the floor he was laughing, his whole frame shaking under her when she straddled his hips. Her laughter joined his and she wondered at the absurd ease of it, of both of them, of how he was playing with her.

"Complaints?" she asked archly.

"I will think of a few."

"I'm sure you will."

She was about to say something else when he moved first, latching both hands around her face and dragging her mouth down to his. It started gently, languid and unhurried as he kissed her. She was aware of the slick feel of their skin as they slid against each other. Her knees dug for purchase in the rich folds of his cape. The movement of his mouth turned insistent. As desperately Tayna responded, her fingers digging into the wet mess of his hair, holding him there. She pulled away to gulp down a proper breath and felt his hand against her face, catching against her cheekbone. She glanced down and found him looking up at her, his eyes almost black with desire.

"I, ah," she said, and stopped herself before she said something stupid. "Alright?"

The wizard laughed. "Yes?"

"You're laughing at me," she protested, not quite able to stop herself from smiling. "You hardly ever laugh, and you're laughing at me while we're doing this?"

"Well. Yes."

Deliberately slowly, she kissed her way down to the jut of his hips and stopped before turning her attention back to his chest.

"You vindictive, evil, teasing harpy," Edwin said.

She grazed her teeth across his collarbone sharply and he hissed in response. "Oh?" she asked innocently.

Retaliating, he cupped his hands over her shoulders and tugged. Giving in, she let him roll them both over until he was above her. She lifted her legs around his waist, shuddering when he finally sheathed himself inside her. Her thoughts scattered, happily dissolving. The dripping ends of his hair brushed her shoulder and she felt the pliant pressure of his mouth over her pulse.

Tightening her knees, she pitched him onto his back. When he scowled, Tayna silenced his disgruntled response with her lips. Whatever he had begun saying turned into a soft sigh. She rarely lasted long like this, not with the way he moved under her, her own fingers curling between her legs. Not with how he covered her hand with his, matching her rhythm.

She fell off the brink first, clenching hard around him. Somehow she remembered to keep moving, to keep rocking her hips against his. He arched up under her, groaning out something that sounded suspiciously like her name. After he started breathing again she watched him, enjoying how unguarded he looked, sprawled out and slightly flushed.

"You know," she said, and caught his mouth in a soft, lazy kiss. "We're still making a mess of your cape."

Edwin's eyes flew open. "Then get off it, you wretched creature."

Hiding her smile, she staggered upright. When he shook the cape out, glared at the rumpled folds and shook it again, she could not quite stifle her laughter. Pointedly ignoring her, he settled the cape across the windowsill.

After he joined her on the bed – both of them mostly dry - she burrowed into his shoulder and breathed him in. "Feel like I never want to move."

"Well of course you - don't?"

"You're so odd sometimes." She lifted her head long enough to grin at him. "Do your usual bedmates run screaming as soon as they're done?"

"No."

She pushed the straggling weight of her hair over her shoulder. "Gods, that's annoying me. Want to hack it off for me?"

Edwin blinked. "Excuse me?"

"My hair. Not all of it. Some of it. It's heavy, and feels like it's getting heavier as it gets warmer out here."

Almost uncertainly, he touched the loose brown wisps at her nape. "I – why would you want to do this?"

She smiled. "You like it. You like the way I look."

Resignedly he sighed. "No, I am completely above the pernicious binding attractions of the flesh. Yes, you idiot, of course I find you passable to look upon."

She spluttered into laughter. "Passable. Well, that's just going to get me gasping for more, I can promise you that. Is this just a you thing?"

"What?"

"You and my hair." Indolently she slid one hand into his hair, plying the damp black strands apart, flipping them between her fingers. "How long did it take for you to start growing your hair once you left Thay?"

"(And she says I'm obsessed with her hair.)"

"Well?"

"Not long," Edwin admitted. "Not initially, though. Not while I was in the company of other Red Wizards, of course."

"I just think it's strange. Given how you never ditched the robes, the jewels or any other part of the 'why yes, I am from Thay, thank you for noticing how obvious I am' part."

Dryly he said, "So you would prefer it if I did return myself to how I looked just as I left?"

"No." Gently she scraped her nails against his scalp. "Not remotely. And you never did say why."

"Laziness. Vanity. Curiosity. A mix of all three," Edwin said, and she could have sworn he was almost smiling.

"My gods. Are you making a joke? A joke about yourself?"

"Shut up," he muttered.

They left one lantern still burning, the light fluttering over Edwin's spellbook and the spill of the sheets. Drifting close to sleep, Tayna shifted closer to him so that her forehead was against his, so she could feel him breathing against her lips.

"Hey, Edwin?"

"Mmm?"

"Are you awake?"

"No. I'm talking in my sleep."

"Very funny. And you don't talk in your sleep. Not to the point of making any sense, anyway."

"Oh, you know that, do you?"

She took advantage of his proximity and kissed him. "I know you very well, wizard."

"So tell me. What do you know?"

"You're a few years older than me. Though less years than you pretended when we first met."

"Pretended? Me? I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Alright, lied outright to appear more impressive," she said wryly. "You're clever, and you're very good at magic but you know it. And you're an insufferable bastard."

He kissed the corners of her mouth. "You are a few years younger than me. You were raised in a heap of stone resembling a monastery. You are tolerably fast with a blade. And you are," he said, and stopped. As if he was wrestling with his voice, he said, "And you are beautiful."

Tayna swallowed. She eased back slightly so she could look at him properly, long silent moments stretching before he finally met her gaze. "If we had this conversation in the morning, in daylight, and not after we'd just rolled around on the floor, would you say the same thing?"

"Yes. I think so. Would you?"

"I – no," she amended. "I'd say – I should have said – I like this. You and me, I mean. If you weren't here I'd miss you."

"And?"

"And shut up."

The wind woke her, and the thrumming in her blood. Stiffening, she shut her eyes again and then opened them and tried to will her heartbeat to slow itself, to ease. Slowly, she became aware of the small nighttime details of the tent around her. Her pack, abandoned near the blankets along with her boots. The lantern they had left still guttering behind its panes, down to its last half-inch of candle. The wizard's slumbering sprawl behind her, one of his arms hooked around her waist and his head lolling against the back of her shoulder.

She had dreamed of the city in flames again, the same city, she was almost certain, high walls crumbling. She had dreamed of the Slayer, and how it had burst through her skin and reshaped her bones.

She had dreamed of her brother.

Very carefully, Tayna straightened up. Behind her, Edwin sighed wordlessly and delved back under the blankets. For long moments she sat silently, arms wrapped around herself, and the memory of the dreams like fire under her skin.

Not quite letting herself think about it, she yanked her boots on. After scooping up her sword, she padded out into the wind-raked darkness. Tipping her head back, she let the night wash over her, welcomingly cool. Somewhere, she thought. There was something here. Something that had its hooks under her skin and sending her heartbeat galloping and something just on the edge of her awareness.

Teeth gritted, she padded silently around the side of the tent, keeping away from the last fluttering curls of the fire. Minsc was on watch, his back to her, and when he did not turn, her stomach clenched guiltily. A few steps took her into the dense gloom of the trees, full of the whisper of leaves.

No, Tayna thought, almost idly, the realization bursting into her mind. There was not something here, in the ground or in the trees or in the insistent press of the wind. There was only the roil of her blood, the certainty that it was her. Between the high stands of the trees she stopped. It was easier this time, frighteningly easy, the way she thought it and felt it and wanted it and the ground blurred beneath her. The air against her tongue lost the soft damp scent of the forest. The odd light here fluttered, not quite flamelight, not quite beating from the red rock.

Here, she realized, here, her heartbeat had slowed. Here, the incessant tug of her blood had eased.

She had walked beneath the dizzyingly high spread of a stone arch when a shadow slid across the ground ahead. She paused, the skin between her shoulders tightening. When she finally saw him – her brother and she had killed him and yet he was standing in front of her, walking towards her – she stepped back, her shoulders bumping warm stone.

"Oh," Tayna said, forcing her tone flat. "It's you again."

He was tall, towering in fact, shoulders and chest encased in armour. The sword strapped across his back had the same jagged-looking hilt she remembered.

The sword he had killed Gorion with.

The sword he had fought her with, and she remembered how the heavy wide blade had split the air open and then back of her leathers and how the point had dug under her skin and how she had abruptly realized just how brutally strong he was.

She swallowed back the urge to step back from him, to run. Somehow she marshaled her nerves and said, "Didn't I kill you twice already? Damn, but you're persistent."

Sarevok was still moving, wordless and prowling, and she guessed he was gauging her, gauging how she might have changed, how she had changed.

"Twice?" he said eventually, his voice as heavy as she remembered.

"In the hells. You were there."

Sarevok blinked. "And why were you there, little sister?"

"Is that a height joke or an age joke?" She fastened a hand around her sword hilt. Part of her mind was painfully uncertain if it would even work in here, blade and strength and speed, here where the air moved all wrong. "I was there because a madman wanted my soul, got it from me, and I decided I just couldn't let him keep it. So after I beat him senseless, we followed him down into the hells."

Sarevok laughed, the sound of it bleak. "And you found me."

"Something that looked like you. A ghost, maybe. Or an echo." She stared at him. The blunt, bluff angles of his face were almost the same – a little paler, she thought, perhaps – but still fierce and implacable. His eyes were unnervingly amber, and the line of his jaw was marred by the thick knot of a scar that ran down the side of his neck. "What are you, here? Alive, dead? In between?"

"In between." His teeth flashed in a smile. "I have a proposition for you."

"No. Whatever it is, you can forget it."

Sarevok moved again, circling her. She twisted, trying to follow him, hating the crawling intensity of his eyes on her. His sword sheared free of its sheath, slicing the air.

"You are much changed," he said, almost musingly. "You seem stronger. Defiant."

"Oh, because of course I was completely useless the first time I fought and killed you," she said blandly.

His shoulders stiffened. "What have you seen?"

"Hells. Sarevok, I am not doing this. I am not having some family reunion with you here. Or anywhere," she added. "Ask what you want to ask so I can refuse, and then I'll go."

"Your dreams are changing, aren't they? You are here, after all."

Warily she said, "Alright. Go on."

"The path you walk is one that must come to an end. And it is one that will feed Bhaal, however you choose to walk it."

"Cheerful," she muttered. "And I know. I was – there was a grove, near Suldenessellar."

"So you know that Bhaalspawn will be drawn into conflict. With each other, against each other. Against others."

"Well, there was something delightful about us always bringing death to the land."

"These words are not wrong," he said severely, and she wondered at the odd patience in him. How long, she thought, had he been here amid the silence, waiting? How long had it taken for his anger to settle, to sink back beneath his skin? "The realms will run red with blood."

"Talk faster," she snapped. "And try being a little more reassuring."

"It will begin in Saradush."

Tayna laughed, sharp and painful. "Of course it will. Are you about to tell me we've been unconsciously wandering that way just by accident?"

Sarevok smiled, sly and slow. "Amusing, little sister, don't you think? You are pulled and guided by something you do not quite understand. And yet, of the two of us, you were raised in a place of learning. A shame your foster father did not care to divulge your past in any way."

"He was protecting me," Tayna snarled.

"Not well enough, if you remember rightly."

Without thinking she flew at him. He was almost as swift, his sword shearing free of its scabbard in one fluid movement. Her sword caught against his, just above the hilt. Sarevok responded immediately, shoving her back. Righting herself, she gauged her distance to him. Her foot slammed hard against his thigh, solid with muscle. Another lashing kick knocked his knee sideways.

In response the sweep of his elbow sent her staggering, all his weight behind the blow. Too slowly she turned, and Sarevok's next kick buckled the back of her legs. When she hit the ground, she rolled away furiously. The icy point of his sword lodged under her chin.

Heart hammering, she snapped, "Get away from me."

The sword stayed there, the tip unmoving against her throat. "Listen to me. That's all I ask."

Teeth gritted, she said, "Talk then."

"I know about the prophecy. I cannot give you all the answers you seek, but I can help. I can point your way for your next steps, here and in the mortal realm."

"You understand what this place is, you mean?"

"To an extent."

"Riddles and half-truths," she said waspishly. "Give me something that isn't either of those."

He lifted the sword away. When she stayed rigid, braced on her elbows, he sheathed the blade across his shoulders.

"This place is contained within itself. It reflects us, and tests us, and you – particularly you – and you will learn it," he said.

"Will I," Tayna muttered.

"You will, or you will lead yourself into nothing but death."

Awkwardly she sat up. She reached for her sword, and kept the blade balanced bare across her knees. "Tell me about Saradush."

"A city where war has already begun."

"It's on fire," she said, remembering the vivid flames in her dreams. "Or it will be?"

"It will be," he said.

"Right. Anything else?"

His smile lingered. "Not yet. Not without you handing me something in return."

Warily Tayna asked, "And just what might you want in return?"

"Life," he said flatly. "And a way out of here."

Tayna snorted. "Not a chance."

"Consider it, sister."

"And then what? Let you go, unleash you to do whatever you want? Because there's no way I'm believing you just want to go join the city watch somewhere. Or open a tavern. Or take some time wandering the countryside until you rediscover some forgotten, forest-loving part of yourself."

Sarevok blinked slowly. "Tell me sister, have you always been like this?"

"Oh, that's right. We didn't really have many conversations before this." She scrubbed a hand across the back of her neck.

"All I would need," he said, and paused. "Is part of your soul."

She grinned. "You're serious?"

"Very," he said stonily. "A piece. A small, insignificant fraction."

"Oh, let me think. How about no? Last time someone wanted my soul, I ended up spending months underground, had to go to Brynnlaw Island, broke into an asylum, and turned into a giant spiky monster."

"Answer me," he growled. "Yes or no."

"If I did this, what would it mean? Would we be linked, connected in some way?"

"No. The only connection would be at the moment of giving."

She squinted at him. "How can you possibly be certain?"

"Because I am certain, sister. I have had much time to think on this."

She swallowed, the inside of her mouth dry. "Give me your information first."

"No."

"So, what? We just sit here until I get hungry enough to just give up and leave?"

Sarevok smiled, all teeth. "You are intrigued, sister. I can see it in you."

"This isn't a deal unless I get some room to move as well. You're not giving me anything that convinces me that this won't be one of the worst ideas ever."

"Suggest something," he said.

Her fingers tightened against each other, stiff with tension. Eventually she stood, looking up at him. "I don't travel alone. I'll leave, bring my friends here if they agree to come, and then we'll talk."

His eyes narrowed, fierce and raking over her. "Why?"

"Because I don't trust you."

"And can I trust that you will come back?"

"No," she said, and felt herself grinning at him, deliberately goading. "You can't. Believe me or don't believe me."

"But?"

"But I am certainly not letting you within an inch of my soul right now. That's my side of the deal."

For long moments he gazed at her, searchingly, as if he was trying to read her, trying to read through her.

"Deal?" she asked.

"Very well."

Steeling herself, Tayna held out one hand. "Done."

His hand closed over hers briefly, the pressure of his fingers punishingly hard. Absurdly she nodded to him – to him, to Sarevok, and some part of her wanted to laugh –before she backed away, always keeping her gaze on him. When she was finally past the high sweep of the arches, and when she was almost certain he was not following her, she stopped.

She willed her way through it, keeping her eyes open while the stone walls shimmered and collapsed around her. When darkness surged up, startling her, she clamped her eyes shut, her gut roiling.

The grey light of dawn met her, still and impatient somehow, the trees above silent. In the glade, she discovered Imoen sitting cross-legged by the firepit, her eyes absently on the trees. Imoen turned, smiling when she noticed Tayna.

"Hey, you. What are you doing up so early?" Imoen straightened up. "What's wrong?"

"Wrong?" Tayna hesitated. "We, ah. We all need to talk."

"You did what?" Jaheira demanded.

"And you spoke to who?" Edwin snapped.

Spreading her hands wide, Tayna said, "Hey, let's talk through this first."

Jaheira's eyebrows lifted. "Then talk."

"I haven't agreed to anything," she blurted out, and briefly wondered just how Jaheira still managed to reduce her to awkward stammering with a single fierce glance.

Tayna sat, sinking down onto the dew-flecked ground. Mainly to give herself time to sort through her thoughts, she unbuckled her sword, laid it beside her, and wrapped her arms around her knees. In spare, unadorned words, she explained how she had walked the curving stone passageways until she had discovered Sarevok. How he had offered advice, perhaps answers, likely neither, in exchange for breath and life.

For long moments Jaheira was silent. "What happens if you agree to this, and he turns on us?"

"Then I'll kill him."

"Are you certain you could, if it came to that?" Edwin asked.

Tayna turned, half expecting him to be smirking, or else regarding her resignedly. Instead, his eyes were thoughtful, speculative. "I think so," she said.

"Hey, no," Imoen cut across her. She shook her head, the bright ends of her hair feathering into her collar. "No. He nearly killed all of us the last time we fought him."

"Not all," Edwin muttered. "(Forgotten the details already, foolish child.)"

"Forgive me," Anomen said steadily, his gaze on the ground. "This is the same man you fought in Baldur's Gate, yes?"

"Yes."

"And he is the same – I mean, he has the same heritage as you, yes?"

Tayna shrugged. "He did. I don't know whether he still does, if that makes sense."

"Not at all," Imoen said, and grinned briefly.

Edwin frowned. "Is it Sarevok?"

"What do you mean?"

"Not some wraith, or spirit, or other formerly formless being taking his shape in order that you will grant it some advantage in the waking world?"

"No," she said immediately. "It was him. He's been dead, yes. He's not quite the same man. But it was him."

"What else?"

Briefly she considered demanding to know just when the wizard had started to read her so sharply, and so well. "I think he's desperate. I'm not saying he's honest – why would he be, with me? With us? But I think there's something to what he's offering."

Anomen shook his head. "And if it is something we could discover, ourselves?"

"And that's the problem," Tayna admitted. Her gaze dropped to the ground, to where her boots were denting the soft loam. "But truthfully, I don't know if we have the time. I wouldn't know where to start."

"Illasera certainly knew something," Imoen said thoughtfully.

"Yes. And she won't be the only one."

Anomen nodded. "I understand the necessity. But I will admit I don't like the necessity."

Sharper, Tayna said, "But?"

"But if you feel this is the only way," he said, and shrugged helplessly. "I will support you, if you wish."

"Thank you." She twisted her hands against each other. "Minsc?"

Minsc shook his head. "Sarevok should not be up and walking around."

"On that we're agreed."

"If," the ranger said slowly. "If he is like he was – Tayna, I cannot promise –"

She touched the back of his wrist. "And that's fine."

Imoen grimaced. "Stupidest thing we've ever considered doing?"

"Hey, at least you didn't just sit here sounding like you're on Sarevok's side of the argument."

"Good point."

Tayna glanced back up at Jaheira and read the same grim determination in her face. "Agreed?"

"Agreed," the druid answered. "With all due recognition deserved to genuinely surprising me, Tayna. I quite honestly did not think this was how we were going to spend the morning."

Tayna groaned. "Alright. Very funny."

Jaheira's expression softened. "Let's get it done, shall we?"

The stone arches were deceptively silent, and Tayna had to remind herself to slow down, to let the others look, and stare, and stop.

"Tastes strange," Imoen muttered. "The air, I mean."

"I know."

Sword drawn, she advanced past the high red pillars, each brisk glance searching the shadows for him. Under her skin, her blood sang.

"Sister," Sarevok said, and she jerked her head up.

He was standing – deliberately and absurdly trying to be unobtrusive, she thought – against the rise of the stone ahead, his sword sheathed.

"Sword on the ground," Jaheira said flatly.

Slowly Sarevok complied, unslinging the weight of blade and scabbard and belts.

"Step away from it."

As slowly he did, closing the distance until he was paces from Tayna, his frame filling her vision. "Talk," she said. "We're here and we're willing to listen. That's all you get for now."

"Ah, sister. Did we not agree that you would help me, and then I would help you?"

She clenched her teeth. "I'd rather you helped me first."

His gaze flicked past her, predatory and slightly wry. "Such company you still keep," Sarevok said. "The thief, the druid. The ranger. The Red Wizard. And I see you have found yourself a knight."

"Your time's running out," Tayna said blandly. "You want to hear the sound of your own voice, or you want to get on with this?"

"Your side of the bargain, sister. Now."

"Tell me how, and I'll consider it."

Sarevok sat, startling her. He held out one broad scarred hand. "Here."

Beside her, Edwin's hands moved, as rapid as whatever he was murmuring. Flames arced between his palms, the rippling edges blurred white with heat.

"It's alright." Tayna touched his elbow.

The spell held steady, but the wizard did not take his eyes off Sarevok. "If he so much as breathes –"

"I know."

" – I'll turn him into cinders, and you will have the task of sweeping him up by way of gratitude."

She bit back the urge to grin. "I know." She sat, one hand still loosely clasped around her sword hilt. The silence stretched, glassy and deafening. "Well?"

"So protective," Sarevok said, his grin widening mercilessly. "I do not recall that, from either of you."

"Well?" she said again.

He grabbed for her hand, fast enough that she heard Edwin snarl something at him. Sarevok's fingers closed over hers, engulfing her hand in his.

"Hope you know what you're doing," Tayna muttered. "Because I've got no idea."

It happened silently, or almost silently, a jolt that ran between them, burrowing from under her skin to under his. Tayna fought the urge to yank her hand away. Her fingers scraped against his palm. When he let her go, his fingers juddering, she uncoiled upright, lurching away from him.

"Tayna?" Imoen asked. "Hey, you alright?"

"Yes. Yes. Fine." Blinking hard, she looked at Sarevok again. "You?"

Sarevok smiled, slowly, quietly somehow. "Yes," he said. "Flesh and blood and bone."

"Lovely. Let's go before I change my mind."

Sarevok's eyes swiveled, fixing on her. "And then?"

"And then you tell us everything you know, and we decide whether to let you keep that delightful new flush of life you've just gotten a hold of."

The forest was unchanged, flooded with innocuous afternoon sunlight, and Tayna wondered why that prickled at her. It should have been changed, she thought stubbornly, what with Sarevok sitting beside the firepit and the others eyeing him and the way he kept tilting his head back to breathe as if their weapons and their presence around him were nothing more than a brief nuisance.

"Talk."

Without opening his eyes, Sarevok said, "Bhaalspawn will gather at Saradush."

"Why?" Jaheira asked.

"They are drawn there. You are drawn there, sister."

"And your stake?" Edwin's voice was cold.

"Not godhood," Sarevok said, his eyes eventually opening. "Not now. But others will seek it."

Tayna grinned viciously at him. "But you're assuming Bhaal even would elevate anyone beside him. Why would he? I could be wrong, but he doesn't strike me as the sharing and caring type."

"That will not stop others of his blood from the attempt. And besides, sister, our father had long remained buried."

"Buried, maybe. Gone, not so much, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Lots of Bhaalspawn, all at once," Imoen muttered. "Great. Wonderful in fact. Family gathering of sorts."

"Who is drawing them to Saradush?"

"That I cannot say."

"You're proving less useful by the minute," she told him blandly.

"Doubtless you have heard rumours? Skirmishes turning to battle? People, and too many of them, running?"

"Yes," Tayna admitted. "Alright. Since I'm assuming you aren't able to leave – wherever it was – wherever it is on your own, I'll give you that one."

"You are correct," Sarevok said, grating the words out. "I was not and am not able to take myself there. That is your gift, sister."

She grinned. "Good to know."

His hands clenched hard over his knees. "And it is not wherever, it is somewhere, and it is part of Bhaal's realm, closed off and contained. It is a maze, of a sort, where opening each part of it will open the next, and so you will learn. Through learning, you will be tested. You past, your blood, the places you have walked. You have become strong enough to find it, and so it will respond in kind, and test you."

"Also good to know," Tayna said, and somehow her voice did not waver.

"What?"

"When you get angry, you talk more," she said, and saw him scowl furiously. She glanced past him to Jaheira, the druid's closed-off expression mirroring her own.

"You won't be standing watch. Not on your own," Jaheira said. "And you'll not have your weapons."

"And if we are attacked?"

"You're big enough and ugly enough to manage, I'm sure," Imoen murmured, almost a whisper.

The last stretches of the afternoon stayed warm, the air full of the smell of leaves and, later, the rich scent of stew over the fire. The others were quiet, and so was she, the silence only broken occasionally, when Imoen sat with Minsc, or when Anomen asked Jaheira about the swiftest possible route to Saradush. Sarevok remained reticent, and Tayna could have sworn he was toying with them, with the way he kept sitting close to the fire, in the centre of the glade, with the damnable way he appeared so relaxed.

When the sky darkened overhead, Tayna sat beside Edwin. She discovered his shoulders as stiff as she suspected her own were. His spellbook was propped over his knees, one hand tracing the coiling shapes of the ink.

"You're not really reading, are you?"

He grunted something, noncommittal.

"I don't like it either."

"Mmm."

"Hey, Edwin?"

"What?" The set to the wizard's mouth – when he finally raised his head – was unsurprisingly mulish.

"You know I'll cut him in half if he looks at me wrong, right?"

"Yes," he said, still sounding distracted.

"So," Tayna said, and ducked under his arm so that she could attach herself to his side.

Muttering to himself, the wizard latched his arm hard around her, his hand digging in just above her hip. She eased herself closer, until he shifted back slightly and she was lying half across his lap, her head against his thigh. Edwin sighed, his fingers plying through her hair.

"I'll sleep first," Tayna said, and felt him laugh, short and terse. "And then you can. Agreed?"

He stayed obstinately silent for long moments. Unmoving, she let herself look across the glade, to the tents, and to Minsc's broad-shouldered frame, and finally to Sarevok, where he still sat. She heard the snap of Edwin's spellbook closing, and then he hooked his arm around her again, desperately somehow, as if he should have been able to pull her even closer.

"Agreed."