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.

Author's note: I almost didn't post this week; Mass Effect 2 has taken over my life, lol. But I found some time in the end and, at the risk of inviting lots of comments to the contrary, I rather like how this chapter came out. So, if anyone has any feedback, I'd be glad to hear it. ^_^

– Blackcross & Taylor

With Tempest's Howl

Fritha ran, trying to deepen her breathing past the stitch as she threw herself behind a twisted four-armed statue, her eyes straining to find her next point of cover in those rolling, chequered plains, broken columns and grotesque effigies sticking like ugly grey fangs from the tiles. A frantic moment to tie back her hair, that roar carried to her on howling winds.

'You are MINE!'

'You are his, you know?'

She managed to stifle the scream to a modest shriek, Fritha whirling to find her ghoulish twin stood at her back, though gone was the skull now, a tight layer of grey skin stretched over the bones, and she looked like Fritha imagined she would after another tenday at that camp. 'Why do you deny him?'

Fritha didn't dignify that with an answer, hauling the girl roughly behind the statue, as well. 'Where is Sarevok?'

The girl smiled. 'Oh, the would-be guide? He is not welcome here. He hides from us, but we will find him in the end.'

The slow boom of approaching footsteps, Fritha whipping back, desperately searching for somewhere to run; the girl next to her leaned in.

'He comes for you. He knows you're here… He can smell you.'

'I'm not surprised. I haven't had a wash in-'

Rubble exploded over her, Fritha ducking to cover her head as the statue above shattered with a hammer's strike, and there it was looming over them, that twisted mix of man and monster, a clawed hand reaching down for her.

Oh, fu-!'

'Freya?

Fritha's eyes snapped open, her immediate reaction to kick off whatever was shaking her reined in as she found Jeollé's tanned face above, the girl already up and dressed, the hall about them opened by the milky dawn light.

'Freya, are you all right? You were thrashing in your sleep.'

'I'm fine, just a bad dream.'

'Well, you're awake now –not that it's much consolation.'

At the end of the hall, the doors were opening, the two guards finishing their conversation as they stepped through.

'Up you get then, time to be out.'

Fritha sat stiffly, easing out her aching arms and back, her face giving a painful throb as she wrestled back a yawn. Thank Sune, she didn't have a mirror; things always seemed to hurt more once you saw the damage. Next to her, Jeollé was running the comb through her hair, looking more cheerful for her wash, and Fritha stood as well, reaching down for her tunic, the garment stiff with dried sweat - it was a shame there was not more of a breeze; it would have made a very good kite.

The shutters next to her were ajar, opened upon a sliver of the bright courtyard where men were already lining up before the gates, chains jangling merrily as they were bound together for their day out digging the moat. There looked to have been an addition to their company that morning, the Turmian from the boat shoved into line by one of the soldiers, something he clearly protested against, a gloved fist his answer as the guard punched him in the stomach with force enough to double him. Poor bastard -perhaps she should have given him that water.

Back at the doors, the guards were still chatting, the pair laughing at some joke of their own as one turned to chivvy them along.

'Come on, ladies; let's not keep the wall waiting.'

…

Fritha had given up wiping the sweat from her face, the salty water stinging her eyes as she stooped for another rock, her hands bleeding and raw where the burst blisters had been worn open by another morning of labour. A high sun was beating down on her aching back and she thanked every god listening for the hundredth time that she did not suffer from sunburn –being a child of Bhaal had some useful, all be they, overshadowed benefits. Jeollé was dismantling today, the girl at the opposite end of the wall and working at a slow but steady pace, though whether by her own diligence or the proximity of two guards, Fritha did not like to guess.

'Right, all stop,' boomed the voice all had been yearning for, 'Line up there for your water. North block first, then south.'

Jeollé found her in the slow moving press towards the kitchens, the tables of cups already waiting for them, Fritha's eyes scanning the men and women serving behind rather than the welcome treasure they held.

'Hey, Freya, how was your morning? Gwillan said you were getting on all right.'

Fritha ignored the pleasantries. 'Jeollé, you said Lessel works in the kitchens; is there anyway I can get in there to see him?'

'Into the kitchens?' the girl repeated with a frown, 'No, no, I don't think so. I suppose you could go over to the men's- oh-'

'What is it?'

'That's him there, collecting the cups in.'

He was a short man, much worn by his time there, craggy, tanned skin all the darker next to his sun-bleached hair. He looked better than his fellows who spent their days at the wall though, his tatty green tunic clean beneath the apron, one twisted leg dragged uselessly after him as he hobbled to the next table, gathering the cups back into the basket he held.

'Jeollé, go and talk to that guard.'

'What? What about?'

'The sodding weather! Just make something up!'

And she left her there, still dithering, Fritha drifting casually over to halt the man with a word.

'Lessel?'

The man frowned, brows brought low over wide-set eyes. 'Who wants to know?'

'Freya. I understand you were one of the first to come here.'

Lessel snorted gruffly. 'Aye, for my sins. What of it?'

'I wanted to ask you who built the foundations to the washrooms.'

'Well now,' he considered slowly, 'no one built them, as well you likely know. The washroom was built over an old cellar that was already here as part of the ruins. I know what you're thinking and you're mad to even try.'

She shrugged – stupid seemed a fairer assessment considering her recent actions. 'Perhaps. So where is the harm in humouring me?'

The man snorted again, and shook his head. 'All right then, but not here- can you get over to men's block later?'

Fritha smiled, feeling that tiny bud of relief begin to blossom. 'Count on it.'

…

The day had passed at an agonising pace, though Fritha suspected it was only because she was desperate for it to go faster, thin soup thrown down her neck at sunset with a foolhardy haste –as Jeollé had scolded, you got more benefit if you ate it slowly. And no dull and dragging evening in any tavern had found her more eager for her bed, even her exhausted body kept from sleep by the eager chatter of her mind, the girl laid there watching the shaft of moonlight from the open shutters above creep across the beams as she waited for the hour to come.

'Freya?' murmured that voice next to her, Jeollé turning over to find her sat and pulling on her tunic.

'I'm going over to the men's block; do you want to come?'

Fritha did not need to see her to hear that frown.

'Why though? What do you need to speak to Lessel about? Freya, I don't want any trouble.'

'And neither do I,' Fritha huffed, pulling on her boots; she doubted she would ever get the smell from them. 'I just need to ask him something. Stay here if you want.'

An instant of hesitation, and-

'I- no, I'll come.'

The men's block was crowded with its usual hushed throng, the man they'd engaged the previous evening watching them pass with a tight-lipped sneer as they made their way slowly down the hall. Whether his customary place, or he was trying to make himself obvious, Fritha could not say, but Lessel was easy enough to spot, the man sat upon an upturned crate near the back of the room, twisted leg stretched out before him.

'You came, then,' he confirmed in greeting. 'We can't talk here, come into the back.'

He hauled himself up with a grunt, catching up his crate and to lead the way, the group walking right to the end of the hall, a curtain sectioning off the back of the room just as it did in the women's block, Lessel peering round before nodding the 'all clear' the three moving behind to where four tin buckets served as latrines.

'So, you want to know about the foundations?' sighed Lessel, taking a seat on his crate once more, the girls bobbing to a crouch before him.

'Yes, under the washrooms,' pressed Fritha eagerly, 'it's a flooded basement, isn't it? Where is the outlet into the river?'

'How did you know there is one?' gasped Jeollé.

'Because they'd hardly let the water from the drain keep pouring into a room that would eventually overflow back into the camp. We'd all get cholera and die before the summer's end –the guards included.'

'You're a clever one, aren't you?' Lessel assessed coolly, 'Let's see how that pans out for you. But, yes, there's an outlet to the river under there. That cellar used to be part of the old ruins and there is a passage that runs all the way from it down to where the soldiers now have their jetty, for all the good it will do us.'

For a moment, Fritha was back there, moonlight silver on the rippling water, lambent reflections thrown against the dull metal surface.

'The iron door.'

'That's right, and don't even think that's the only obstacle you'll face. The trapdoor they've made into a drain is sealed by a grill, as no doubt you've seen, but even if you were to find your way past it and down there, the passage to the jetty is sealed by an iron gate. Even if you found it in the darkness, picking the lock would be nigh on impossible under the water.'

'Don't worry about the dark; I can see enough to get me there. As for the gate, where is it? How far from the camp?'

'Well, at a guess I'd say just past the inner walls, outside the paling…' He paused, her plan suddenly clearing behind his eyes, 'You a mage then, lass?'

'Not exactly, but I've magic enough to open that lock.'

Jeollé was frowning, seemingly worried things were running away with her. 'But how will we even breathe down there?'

'Well, last time I noticed, the first step was just submerged, so I imagine there's about a half foot or so left before the cellar roof, anyone going should be able to use that air to make their way. At the end of the passage there are steps up to the iron door, just low enough that when the water reaches the cellar roof it will overflow under the door and into the river, rather than back up through the drain. I warn you now, though, the end of the passage will likely be completely flooded; anyone wanting to get to those steps up to the door will likely have to swim for it.'

'So we've just got to get past that grate, find the gate in the darkness when we can barely breathe and then swim under water to break out onto the jetty,' Jeollé ran through shrilly. Fritha nodded.

'That's it.'

'We?' repeated Lessel, 'And what makes you think I'll help you?'

Fritha just shrugged. 'Don't then, but as I see it, this camp took something from you, something more than your freedom. Even if you don't want to escape, getting one over on the guards might make the next tenday here more bearable.'

Lessel chuckled. 'I'll buy into that. I don't know if I'll join you yet, but I'll help you get past the grate, though I imagine we'll need some sort of prying bar.

'You leave that to us.'

'Aye, fair enough, but either way I won't be able to do this alone; my leg wasn't the only thing ruined by this place and the work will need a stronger back than mine, someone who can come and go without the notice you girls'll draw.'

Fritha nodded once. 'I may know just the man.'

The Turmian was almost at the doors, a little apart from the others surrounding him and seated alone upon his bedding, the candlelight defining every rib in that emaciated chest as he hunched over, tearing long strips from the bottom of the cream tunic that was laid in his lap. Her shadow fell over his work.

'You still alive then,' he offered in greeting. Fritha nodded.

'Yes, and so are you; I was worried a day out digging the moat might have finished you off. Still, there's always the rest of the tenday to go yet.'

He laughed grimly, smile soon lost to a grimace. 'Cheery little thing, aren't you? No offence, flower, but you weren't so keen on making friends before.'

'I'm not now. I've a proposition for you.'

'Oh, aye and what might you be offering in that? Yourself?'

Fritha snorted –the men in there really needed to rethink their priorities. 'Something much better: my soup ration.'

This piqued his interest. 'For how many days?'

'For as long as it takes.'

The dark eyes narrowed. 'And why come to me with this offer?'

'Well, with you out digging the moat, it seems to me you might have a bit more cheek than is wise in the place like this, though perhaps that same sort of nerve would serve a man should he want to make an escape.'

He said nothing, just smiled and reached out a hand as worn and bloody as her own, both wincing as their palms closed together.

'Kuri.'

'Freya.'

…

'Right,' came Lessel, voice hushed as he leaned in, Kuri, Jeollé and Fritha grouped eagerly about him, 'here's the plan. Me and Kuri will spend the next few days working loose that grate. Now, I wasn't part of the team who put it in, but I imagine we're looking at iron pegs that have been drilled into the stone and then filled in with mortar for strength. I can smuggle a few things from the kitchens to chip away at it, but it will be slow work, and I don't know we'll be able to do more than a half hour a night before the guards I'll get suspicious.'

'And where are we going to put those tools once you've got them?' questioned Kuri, 'They decide to search us going to or from the washrooms and we're caught.'

'Can you leave them in the washroom?' asked Fritha, 'The guards don't use the place, do they, and we've got another six days before they troop everyone through there for a wash.'

But Jeollé was shaking her head. 'No, the guards wash in the barracks, but they go by to inspect them every morning.'

A pause, all minds working furiously through this hitch when-

'You can put them through the grate!' hissed Fritha triumphantly, 'Just put them on the steps under the water. No one will see them, the water's filthy.'

'Yes,' agreed Lessel, 'and I'll bring some flour from the kitchens. Any mortar we can take out we can fill with dough paste. That should fool anyone as long as they don't look too close.'

Kuri shifted his weight, a smile quirking his thin mouth. 'Good, that sets my mind at ease, though there'll only be so much we can do there without some sort of prying bar. I can't get one; even if I had somewhere to hide it, they count the spades and that back in each night.'

'They'll be some in the storeroom from when they built this place,' offered Lessel. Fritha frowned.

'That's where they store the spades you use, isn't it? Leave that to me and Jeollé.'

The veteran among them nodded. 'Right then, once we're past the grate, someone is going to have to get down there and find that gate. Freya's elven blood will let her see better in the dark, so she's volunteered for that, though for the rest of us, I'd feel better if we'd some sort of rope –when it comes to it, we may not have a lot of time.'

'I'll get that, too.'

'All right, lass, now once the gate is open, Freya can tug on the rope to signal us and we can start down after her, while she goes to open the last door and then we're out.'

'And then what?' hissed Jeollé, 'We're fugitives, with no coin or equipment; where are we going to go?'

Fritha stopped to consider it. Where could they go? She had no idea where her friends were, or even if they had managed to find her, all she knew was where they should have been heading before she'd mired them in this mess.

'We'll go south to the mountains and then head west. I know of a place on the border with Calimshan; I've a friend there who'll help us.'

A brief farewell and the girls were back in their own beds but a few moments later, Fritha staring unseeing into the darkness above as the plan whirred through her mind, that urgent hiss breaking through her thoughts.

'Freya?' And Fritha turned to the girl next to her, Jeollé's face a mask of hopeless fears. 'Freya, are you really going to go through with this? I mean, do you trust those two for a start?'

'Yes, I do. I have to; we'll never get anywhere if we don't.'

Jeollé looked almost tearful in her frustration. 'Freya, please, think about this! I've been here for months now; do you honestly think you're the first person who tried to escape? No one had ever managed it! The guards caught them every time. They hung the bodies of the last lot up for days; staked out on the walls and left to rot in the sun and flies- what makes you think you can just arrive here and get out within a tenday?'

Fritha sighed, shifting onto her back if only to avoid those desperate green eyes.

'I don't know, but someone once told me I have a way of making things happen, and I'm going to. But I will need help, Jeollé, so if you want to stay here, say now and I'll find another to replace you. Come on,' she continued more gently, turning onto her side again to nestle under her blanket, 'you'll feel better after some sleep.'

xxx

Getting a couple of battered spoons had been easy enough for Lessel, the man proudly showing them his loot in the latrines the following night, Fritha and Jeollé staying there in the men's block for a reasonable length of time so as not to arouse any suspicions, joining a game of cards while he and Kuri left for the washrooms. The prying bar had taken a little longer to find, yesterday afternoon finally providing their opportunity; a vociferous argument between Kuri and Fritha in the courtyard, in which even some of the older guards likely learnt a few interesting new insults, proving distraction enough for Jeollé to slip in and out of the open storeroom before the spades were returned for the night, a thick crowbar hidden under her robes.

Fritha turned from the west where the low sun was setting the sky ablaze, the mountains looming dark against burnt orange clouds, the girl closing her eyes until the wave of faintness had ebbed- a few more days on just bread and water and she'd doubted she'd even reach Amkethran, escape or not. At least another day's labour was finally finished, Fritha lingering in the emptying courtyard, bread already eaten and soup cup cooling in her hand, her stomach giving barely a grumble as she waited for the manacles to be removed from that line of sagging men. Kuri stooped, rubbing each ankle in turn to amble unsteadily over to the tables with the other men just arrived back from the moat, all eager to get their meal, the Turmian fetching his own soup before wandering across to join her.

'Another day over,' Fritha sighed, Kuri nodding tiredly.

'And I'm glad to see it. Nazeem wasn't so lucky; they carried him back just after high sun. I wonder if he's still with us.'

'I heard one of the guards saying he was still passed out on his bedding, but he's alive – I think Carstil's going in to see him after dinner.'

'That cleric, eh?' Kuri confirmed very casually, 'How d'you know him, then?'

'He was with the company that brought me in.'

'Is that all? Just I heard a rumour he might be sweet on someone, seen as she started a brawl on her first day and he jumps straight in to her rescue.'

Kuri was grinning, his teasing smile drawing out her own.

'Enric is very kind; I don't think he likes what happens here.'

'No,' Kuri sighed, eyes on the barracks as he drew a hand distractedly across his stubble-blackened chin, 'still goes along with it though, doesn't he?' The rubbing at his jaw became more vigorous, 'Damn, this stuff itches.'

Fritha thanked the Fates she was born a girl. 'You need a shave.'

'Aye, apparently couple of the guards lend out a few blunt old razors come wash day to the more trusted prisoners. Suffice to say, I doubt I'll be one of them.'

Fritha shrugged evenly. 'Come wash day and you won't be here.'

He grinned. 'No, and neither will you. Lessel thinks it will just be another day or so to go now we've got that bar. Still, it's a shame one of you girls can't come along to keep us company of a night; with me and Lessel always disappearing off there on our own, the other men are starting to talk.'

'At least, with that in mind, you won't be disturbed.'

Their laughter warmed her, Kuri's dark eyes shining fondly. 'I knew it when I first saw you, you were a fighter.'

'Aye, I could always pick a lost cause. Here, before it gets cold.'

He raised a hand, forestalling the cup she made to pass him.

'Nah, you keep it. Seems to me, this is reward in itself.'

They raised a toast of lukewarm soup; the richest wine had never tasted as fine, or admittedly as lumpy, the pair smiling widely as they lowered their cups.

'Oh, looks like you're wanted,' said Kuri with a nod behind her, Fritha turning to see Jeollé beckoning to her urgently, the women lining up behind her as they filed into the dormitories. 'Best go before your sister there gets herself in a tiss.'

'Aye, you and Lessel take care.'

And she left Kuri in the courtyard, the hall that familiar bustle of women stripping from dusty clothes to settle on their beds to chat and laugh and try to forget for a few hours, before sleep would take them into the next morning. Jeollé was already ridded of her robes, the girl lingering at the window, seemingly unmindful of the cold as she stood there in only her worn slip, and Fritha closed to her, her skin bristling as she pulled off her filthy tunic.

'What's wrong?'

Jeollé pressed her lips together, not daring to voice her fears. 'This plan – do you really think it will work?'

'Yes, I do.'

'I was nearly caught the other day getting that pry bar, and we've still to get hold of a rope.'

'And we will.'

'Well, Lessel was saying earlier that the guards were in the kitchens the other day, asking about those missing spoons.'

'Which cannot possibly be traced to him.'

Jeollé looked little reassured. 'The guards are already suspicious; if they find out…'

'And what's our other option?' Fritha hissed impatiently, 'To stay here and wait until the next Bhaalspawn army arrives?'

'That might not happen. The walls and guards-'

'Will do nothing! And even if this whole thing does just blow over and we survive, what then? They took us against our will, imprisoned us, abused us, executed us at whim –do you really think they'll just let us go, so we can run back to the capital to tell Queen Zaranda how her army have been disregarding her orders?'

Fritha watched the truth of it dawn on her, Jeollé's voice breaking in her horror.

'You- you don't know that…'

Fritha snorted grimly. 'Then, I suppose the question comes down to whether you want to risk spending the rest of your life out there building that wall.'

And the girl turned at her gesture, eyes falling on the scene just beyond those shutters, the wall a silhouette in the fading light, uneven and halfway through the building -just as it was at the end of every day. Something about her expression hardened.

'No, I don't.'

xxx

It was an hour she rarely saw. The pre-dawn sky was marbled in lilacs and blues, the merest silver of gold highlighting the eastern horizon, while the dew-speckled grasslands shimmered like the iridescent fish that swam about the hull, a solitary heron stood further up river patiently awaiting its breakfast, and Imoen considered they could be moored upon the lush banks of the Oceanus, were it not for that dark shape to the west, an ugly black tooth rising from the misty plains.

Solaufein had seen it first, his sharp eyes finding it on the grey horizon before the coming dawn had stolen much of their strength, and they had sailed only until Jaheira could make it out as well, the camp still little more than a dark outline to Imoen's gaze when they had moored.

Imoen turned from away, the foothills just to the south rising up into those smoke-wreathed mountains, Talos's Trident looming over them, clouds hanging dark over the peaks, untouched by the approaching dawn. It was the twenty-second day of Kythorn according to Eruna's almanac. They had been seven days on that boat, the journey taking much longer than the mere distance would have suggested. The narrow tributary they had taken from the Agis was shallow and sandy, tacking against the current making the journey all the harder, and they had run aground a few times, poles bending to almost breaking point as the men had pushed them clear.

That presence behind her, the warmth of his body making her realise just how cold she was, and they stood together a moment, Valygar drinking in the scene with her, her voice hoarse as it broke the silence.

'You're away soon?'

'Yes, we need to be over there before the dawn proper.'

'Who's going now then?'

'Just who was first agreed: myself, Jaheira, Minsc and Solaufein.'

Imoen snorted coolly. 'Brieanna finally given up trying to convince you she should come, too? What'd she want to go for anyway? Fritha's not her friend.'

'I understand she sees her as leader though; Torm is known to value loyalty.'

'Been trying to convert you, has she?'

'I do not need to worship the gods to know of them.'

Imoen had no rejoinder to this, eyes drawn from back to that speck of black, her stomach trembling as a hand landed lightly upon her shoulder and slipped down her arm in an imperceptible caress.

'She will be fine, Imoen; you can say much of your friend, but that Fritha is strong, not one among us can doubt.'

Imoen smiled, at last turning to him, her eyes poring over his face, bathed in the dawning light, as though she had never seen it before.

'Yeah, I know.'

She leaned up, about to kiss his cheek when that surge of emotion and lingering dread pressed her forward, catching his mouth to taste the bitter tea that had been his breakfast, the short kiss leaving them both unduly breathless.

'Come back safe, Vals,'

Valygar was gazing down at her, his lips still parted, that frown he so often wore softened to a half-smile, a large hand raised to gently hook some hair behind her ear, the man seemingly embarrassed by his own tenderness as he gruffly patted her arm and stooped for his quiver, and Imoen turned back to the plains; that heaven which held a hell.

…

Those few hours seemed some of the longest of her life, even the days at the asylum not as drawn as Imoen gathered upon the deck with those others left behind, just watching as the sun rose behind them and made its slow arc across the sky. It was hung right above now, a blazing eye upon their game as they talked over a round of cards that had been all but given up on half hour ago, Anomen and Athic sweating on the sun-scorched deck and allowing the three women to lounge in the shade of the awning, Imoen not even bothering to hide her cards as she lolled in the heat.

Eruna shifted upright, cards in her lap as she lethargically rearranged her skirts. 'How long as it been now?'

'About another half hour since you last asked,' sighed Athic.

'Do you think they could have been seen?' asked Brieanna. Imoen frowned into cards that had long ago lost her attention.

'No, they'll be careful; that'll take time.'

It seemed no one wished to ask that most pressing question: what they were going to do if that camp proved impenetrable, and the talk died once more, Athic taking his turn merely for something to do, the whine of the damsel flies and lap of the water a languid lullaby. Eruna's sigh broke the spell, the girl heaving herself up and suddenly vivid as she left the shade of the awning. 'Well, I'm going to get some food prepared for when they return.'

Brieanna rose as well. 'I shall help you.'

Anomen glanced up from his cards.

'Should I-?'

'We will be fine…' Brieanna trailed off, cool dismissal dying as her eyes caught on something in the western plains, Imoen instantly on her feet to see those four dark shapes approaching through the long grass.

'Here, they're back. What news?' Imoen demanded, at the boat rail and yelling out to them, 'Did you see Fritha?'

'No, we saw little inside the camp,' explained Jaheira at a much more reasonable volume as she stepped from the gangplank onto the deck proper, the three men fanning out behind her, 'though from what we saw outside it, we can assume those within are engaged in some sort of labour.'

'Outside? What are they doing?'

Valygar's frown told her it wasn't anything good. 'About twenty or so men are being forced to dig what looks to be a moat.'

'In this heat?'

Solaufein's hat hid nothing of his scowl. 'Those we saw look half-starved.'

Anomen wanted to know only one thing. 'What is the plan?'

The question was their cue, the group all moving to settle there, Jaheira taking a rough piece of chalk from her pocket to draw straight upon the foot-smoothed deck.

'We will split into two groups. The camp itself is surrounded by two walls, both with gates to the east and about ten or so yards between them. The inner wall has four watchtowers set at each corner. The walls are high; someone from the first group will have to help the second over the outer wall, the northern one will be best, and then the first group will move to the main gates where they will request to speak to the camp commander concerning a certain Bhaalspawn they have been tracking.'

'I will do this,' volunteered Anomen, 'I can use the Order's name and claim to have tracked the fugitive from Saradush. Perhaps Brieanna would concede to add to the tale?'

The woman frowned, but nodded all the same. 'As it is needed.'

'Good. Then, Minsc, Valygar and Athic can join you.'

'No, wait,' interrupted the warrior, Athic uncharacteristically urgent, 'that leaves just you girls and Solaufein to go inside alone.'

The drow quirked a cool eyebrow. 'You doubt our skills?'

'Not a bit. But I still want to add to them. This is a dangerous undertaking.' Dark eyes flicked unwillingly to the girl opposite. 'I promised your mam I'd bring you back safe, Eruna.'

'Athic, we'll be fine.'

A pause, Imoen expecting the druid to dismiss his worries, when at last she nodded.

'Very well, Athic will join myself, Imoen, Eruna and Solaufein inside. We will head to the nearest watchtower. From there we should have a good view of the camp and, gods willing, be able to narrow our search for Fritha. Eruna and Imoen will then cause a distraction, and under this cover Solaufein and I will use the rope to climb down and find her. We would hope to bring her back the same way, but should this route be unavailable, the men will give us a second chance at escape.' Her gaze seemed to linger on each of them. 'I would rather do this cleanly, though I understand there is a potential for violence.'

'Such men as these deserve no less,' rumbled Minsc, 'though Boo tells me there are times for caution.'

'When do we strike?' asked Brieanna. Valygar spared a glance to the bright blue sky.

'There would be many advantages in waiting until nightfall.'

Solaufein bridled an instant too late.

'And leave Fritha at their mercy until then?' demanded Anomen. 'I know rumours of what happens after dark in such places; I will not wait a moment longer than we must.'

'Then we will move at dusk,' resolved Jaheira, 'when the men are brought in from the moat. All should be returned to their cells by then and, if we time it right, many of the guards may be distracted by their evening meal.'

'Boo wonders what we plan once we are all escaped.'

'We will head back here to the boat,' answered Valygar, 'We can turn it about before we set off; at least the current will be with us.'

Eruna was nodding eagerly. 'I've been studying on a smoke spell to mask our escape, though I haven't had a chance to try it yet.'

Jaheira smiled. 'Good. I myself may be able to call up a fog, should Silvanus bless me with the power.'

'So we move at dusk,' affirmed Athic, 'What are we doing until then?'

'I think a meal, and then for any who can manage it, a sleep may serve us well.'

Sleep? Imoen snorted; who said Jaheira wasn't an optimist?

...

Fritha moved down the hall with a nonchalant haste, the women about her distracted enjoying those few hours between the end of their work and lights out, gathered in small knots on their bedding, tidying their hair and comparing blisters, one kindly soul from the kitchens completely surrounded as she mended the many clothes brought over to her with the needle and thread she had snuck out under her apron. Fritha reached her bedding to drop immediately to a crouch, a hurried glance ensuring all immediate attention was elsewhere as she drew the prickly coil of rope from under her tunic and quickly stashed it under her blanket; she would hide it in a better place later. A nascent thrill of hope trembled in her stomach. Everything was coming together; just a couple more days and they'd be able to make the attempt.

'Assemble beside your beds! Now!'

Fritha whipped back, trying not to look guilty as two guards strode through the doors, Jeollé ushered before them and for one ironic moment, Fritha worried the girl was in trouble. A flurry of movement as the women around her hurried to take places next to their bedrolls, Fritha watching as the three advanced up the room. They halted at her bed.

'You, draw back your blankets.'

Fritha stared at them, Jeollé unable to meet her eye. One of the guards was growing impatient.

'I said-!'

'I heard you!

And Fritha bent with a tight resignation to reveal that thin coil of rope.

'Well now,' the second guard sneered, 'what are you doing with that?'

'I was planning to hang myself.'

His companion snorted. 'You may soon wish that were true. And the rest of it?' he barked, but the question was not to her. Jeollé's voice was high and quite unhesitant.

'The tools are hidden under the drain in the washrooms –she bribed the guards to let her over there with a pearl earring.'

'So, going to leave us, were you?' accused the second guard, 'You couldn't have planned this alone –who was working with you?'

'No one.'

The fist caught her across the face hard enough to floor her, hot blood gushing over her chin from her burning nose, the guard blurred behind a constellation of fizzing stars.

'Don't lie to me, bitch! Who were you working with?'

'Please,' cried Jeollé, fighting to get in front of him, 'Please, she was alone - she told no one but me.'

The first guard laughed. 'Aye, and I bet she's sincerely regretting that. Come on, Len, let's get these two before the commander.'

A guard on each arm, Jeollé left to hurry freely in their wake as the guards hauled Fritha up and marched her from that room of whispering women.

The barracks held their usual disparate air of spotless calm, the distant rumble of soldiers in the refectory the only noise to break the stillness. The guards brought them to a halt before the commander's office, one entering, supposedly to announce them, and Jeollé slipped forward to take his place at her arm, her voice a hiss of worthless regret.

'I'm sorry, Freya, I really am. But your plan, it never would have worked and I don't want to die. I knew if I told the commander he'd let me work in the kitchens -I just can't spend another tenday building that damn wall!'

Fritha glowered at her, the pain of her still dripping nose merely fuelling her hatred, and she just hoped all the contempt she felt could be conveyed in that blistering glare. 'I pity you. Your weakness has doomed this land!'

Jeollé looked stricken. 'Please, Freya-'

The door before them cut her off, the two straightening instinctively to be escorted inside, the guards taking up positions behind them, and there was silence as Commander Merenc's pale eyes came to rest upon Fritha. He leaned back with a deep, disappointed sigh.

'So, we meet again. It is a shame to see you before my desk once more, and under such circumstances.' He leaned forward, the frown deepening, 'You were planning an escape.'

Fritha affected an even shrug, to angry to even weep and beg, and try to squirm her way out of it. 'You keep me here against my will, why should I not?'

The slam of his fist made them all start.

'We keep you here for the safety of Tethyr! Ah,' Merenc sighed, calm once more, 'there is no point reasoning with you; I cannot hope to change such selfishness.' He glanced to the guard behind her, 'Did she have accomplices?'

'No, sir, she says she was working alone and the girl confirms it.'

The commander exhaled in what could have almost been a laugh. 'Well, I don't quite believe that… An example will have to be set. Take her outside, bring everyone from the barracks and dormitories; it will serve best if the whole camp sees.'

Jeollé looked suddenly wild. 'What? No! Please! You promised if I told you, she would be spared! She just wanted to leave. Please, sir!'

But the commander was shaking his head.

'I am sorry; you may still have your place in the kitchens, but an example must be made. Guards.'

…

Imoen landed lightly on the other side of the wall, her limbs tight with a nervous energy as she crept forward, moving just in time as Athic landed more heavily behind her, and she could hear Anomen's arrogant tones drifting back to her as he summoned the guards to the main gate. Solaufein was already at the north-eastern watchtower, Jaheira at his heels as he slipped though the open doorway and Imoen felt that frisson of anticipation shiver over her as she stepped in after Eruna, Athic pressing in behind them, all crowded about the ladder. The hatchway was open, two men sat on the boards above them, backs to the opening and Solaufein pressed two fingers to his lips in a signal to the rest of them as he stepped noiselessly upon that first rung. Imoen waited, feeling the bodies twitching restlessly about her, that cramped tower plunged into an instant of darkness as Solaufein filled the hatchway above. A strangled gasp, two thuds dislodging a shower of dust and the drow landed amongst them again with barely a sound.

'It is done.'

Jaheira nodded. 'Right, Imoen and Eruna, you are first, quickly now.'

A flurry of movement as bodies shifted and squeezed past one another, Imoen first to the ladder, Eruna's squeak somewhere behind her.

'Watch your hands, Athic!'

'Sorry, flower.'

'When you get up there, put their helmets on and keep low,' said Jaheira, her orders coming muffled as Imoen cleared the hatchway, eyes avoiding the two bodies in favour of the camp laid out before her, a square of buildings set about an open courtyard, though all was not as she would have expected at the moment. There was some sort of commotion going on, the guards keeping order as their prisoners filed from the surrounding buildings.

'Here,' came Eruna, the girl at her side and passing her one of the two helmets. It was far too big, but Imoen put it on anyway; hopefully the right silhouette would be enough to keep those below them fooled for long enough.

'Something's going on,' the girl continued for the three still below them, 'people are being brought into the courtyard.'

'They couldn't already be searching for the Order's fugitive…' murmured Jaheira. Imoen watched as a line of ragged women was marched from the building but a stone's throw away.

'It looks like the women's block is just beneath us, and –Oh Hells, the barracks is right next to it.'

'At least we are close –any sign of Fritha?'

'Not yet.'

'What about the men?'

Eruna threw a glance behind them. 'The front gate looks to be open.'

'Right, we need our distraction now.'

'There,' said Eruna, hand thrown to the other side of the bustling courtyard, 'that building has a chimney. A fire starting in the kitchens would be common enough. Ready?'

A nod between them, Imoen drawing a breath as she delved for the magics that thrummed within –and delved –and delved…

'Well?' came that impatient hiss below, Imoen opening her eyes upon Eruna's ashen face.

'I- I can't; nothing's happening!'

'Imoen?'

'I- Nothing's there.'

'Oh, no!'

And Imoen followed Eruna's gaze up to the flat roof but a few yards above them, ring upon ring of runes scorched into the wood. The young mage was aghast.

'There's a paling, here –a ward against magic!'

'By Silvanus! The men will be inside soon -we need another source of disturbance. What is going on out there?'

'I'm not sure,' hissed Eruna, 'It looks like the whole camp is just gathered around the edge of the yard.'

Solaufein's patience was finally spent. 'That will be distraction enough. Let me up; I am going over.'

'Solaufein, wait-'

Imoen shifted, making way for whoever managed to fight their way up, when she stopped, her eyes catching on a blot of orange but a building's width below them, and Imoen felt the dismay rise gurgling from her throat in the only word she could mange.

'Oh, no, no, no…'

Seven days! She couldn't have kept out of trouble for seven sodding days?

'What is it?' demanded the druid, Eruna the only one with a voice left to answer.

'It's Fritha; she's being led from the barracks.'

That was a colossal understatement, the girl stumbling as the guard wrenched her before him by her hair, her face swollen about her purpled nose, blood splattered down her tunic and smeared across her chin where a careless sleeve had wiped it away, Eruna's commentary relaying the scene for those below.

'They're making her kneel.'

'What?' came that fraught chorus. Muffled shouts and a scuffle below them as Jaheira scrambled up to see for herself, tawny head appearing in time to meet the mage's cry.

'Oh, good gods, I think they're going to execute her!'

…

The fine gravel of the courtyard was sharp under her knees, the evening air cool with a hint of rains she would never feel, a few young stars peeking through that lavender veil to watch the spectacle, Merenc's voice echoing about that still square.

'You are brought here to bear witness firsthand to what happens to those who would so brazenly defy the rules of this place-'

It had not taken very long to gather everyone, Fritha brought from the barracks to find the courtyard already ringed four men deep, guards here and there keeping the shifting sea of bodies back. Fritha let her eyes scan the faces now surrounding her, some looking away, others watching with a morbid fascination, and in the press she caught a glimpse of Kuri, the man sending her nod of grim respect; they both knew why she was there alone.

They had not even bothered to bring the block out for her in the end. Captain Gravin had been given the honour of the kill -she wondered if she should be offering him her other pearl earring in return for a clean dispatch, Leff and Ambreen stood with the rest of the guards before the barracks, laughing and eager for their revenge, Enric a pace or so from them, his eyes down as he made a melancholy examination of his hands. Poor man –he had warned her.

'In a conspiracy to ignore wilfully the danger to this camp and Tethyr as a whole, this woman planned-'

She wouldn't even die under her own name… Fritha wondered briefly if she should harness her anger and try to force the change, but then she would likely kill them all - the exact opposite of what she had come there to do. Perhaps it was just better to accept her fate as it was. She could have almost laughed. It seemed her arrogance had made a fool of her again, the girl a sword's sweep away from proving was she wasn't chosen for anything more than this empty death.

'And she will now face the penalty. Captain.'

Fritha felt the blade above her rise. She wondered if it would hurt.

A shadow rippled over the sun, too sudden for any cloud, the strangled cries from the onlookers her only warning as fire suddenly engulfed the northern watchtower and the prickle danced across her skin as the paling dissipated. Gravin was still above her, sword aloft, their eyes meeting for an instant of searing clarity.

Fritha had once listened with youthful disbelief as some sage had told her that human bodies were half water…

A surge of her will and his scream filled her senses, blistering hands clawing at his face as his eyes burst, scalding blood spattering the ground in a grisly rain. His hilt was warm in her hand as Fritha straightened, and Merenc's lined face did not even have time to change its horrified mask as she ran him through the stomach. Another blast of fire, flames consuming the kitchens. People were running about her, guards fighting to regroup in the chaos, shrill screams drowning the bellowed orders to open the gates.

Fritha ignored it all, head thrown back to find them wheeling in the sky above her, sleek, lithe bodies twisting in the air with every effortless sweep of their wings, scales of blue and green catching the dying light to burst with colour, and a fierce whoop of angry joy rose in her throat even as fire exploded around her, because they had confirmed one thing in that world of uncertainty. She was alive, she was saved –she was chosen!

…

Imoen ran on, air pounding with the stampede around her, Brieanna in the lead as the two groups converged to tear towards the inner gates. It was just like her dream, the fire, the screams, the sky above her black as storm clouds seethed and eddied with smoke. They had seen them in time, but only just: three dragons, two young and one much older swooping over them, the group scrambling from the tower a mere instant before flames had engulfed it. Brieanna had reached the inner gates, Anomen but a step behind her, hoarse orders bellowed over the clamour within.

'Imoen, destroy-'

The gates burst open before he could command them levelled, a tide of people pouring through, some screaming as they fought to shed their burning clothes, the torrent forking either side of them as they surged out across the plains.

And there in the courtyard she stood in that field of charred corpses, motes of embers swirling in the air like clouds of fireflies, Imoen halted in her disbelief, that voice of her nightmares given form as Fritha slaughtered those soldiers foolish enough to attempt to recapture her, one cut down as he made to retreat.

'You will DIE! YOU WILL ALL DIE!'

Brieanna was halted next to her, seemingly rapt, the two women frozen in their awe. Another explosion of fire, the elder dragon plunging low into the courtyard and Imoen was suddenly fighting to get through the crowds.

'Fritha!'

…

Fritha slashed him across the stomach, another faceless guard felled with a stab to the throat, the shield she had found heavy on her arm as she drove it into his neck. Movement to her left, her attention snapping to it and her sword was raised for its next victory when she stopped, blade lowered before the trembling figure who had just straightened from the slaughtered remains of a fellow soldier.

'Enric.'

The man nodded, throat bobbing. Fritha's eyes narrowed.

'Run, Enric.'

'Y- You-'

'I said run!'

He turned to heed her an instant too late. Fritha kicked out, the man tripped to the dirt with a cry, and she was already leaping over him, smacking the dragon's snout away with her shield.

'Run!'

The creature reared back with a smoky hiss, all its fires spent in the sky, its wings unfurling to block out the sky and the wall of wind sending her sprawling, Fritha scrambling to her feet as that yawning jaw lunged from the darkness.

'Fritha!'

The spell left Imoen's hands without a thought; a surge of white hot energy that left even her surprised, it roared across the square to strike the creature in the back, its piercing howl joining the tumult of battle cries as the others charged towards it, Fritha already up and dancing back from a sweep of those cruel talons.

Minsc reached it first, the creature whipping back to meet their arrival with its thrashing tail, the Rashemi ducking clumsy under it, Athic not so quick as it caught him across the chest, the man smashed back into Brieanna and the pair hitting the ground an instant after to move no more. Minsc was back and worrying the creature's flanks, Fritha and Valygar joining him, Anomen pulling Jaheira behind his shield as the creature snapped down at them, yellow teeth flashing, the distraction allowing Solaufein to slip under its wing and drive that fine blade into a back leg and take first blood.

Imoen kept her mind focused, summoning her next spell, Eruna at her side, sleeves pushed back as her hands wove patterns before her, her frown of concentration lit by the unnatural blue light as she released a spray of razor-sharp ice into the creature's back, shredding its wings. Its roar of pain left her ears ringing. Any other dragon would have retreated by now –if it had been allowed to, Imoen recognising the stilled distance to its movements; another held the reins here.

A flash of light, the carnage about them opened in blinding white as lightning forked across the sky and the heavens rumbled, rain sheeting down to hammer into the burning buildings like bullets, churning the ground to a fine slurry.

The dragon was growing fearful, movements wild as it tried to snap and claw at the many biting swords, one knocked back only allowing another to sneak in, its blue scales pocked here and there with scarlet, blood washed into a vermillion soup at their feet. It crouched, tensing to make the great leap that would get it airborne, perhaps meaning to retreat, at last, though it was too late. Its tattered wings could not support it. Two feeble flaps kept it hanging in the air only an instant, before it crashed back down in a tangle of leathery wings, Anomen seizing the chance to leap forward, mace hefted in one mighty blow that cracked its skull and the creature collapsed, legs sprawled beneath it, head lolling on its long neck only to flop into the mud, its voice rasping in the silence of the victory as the bonds upon it faded, at last.

'I curse you, fleshlings… but more than you, I curse the godling who bound me to this… Abyss take you, Abazigal…'

The rain was already easing, clouds rolling on as suddenly as they had come, the fires about them dying away to leave a ruin of smoking wood, their group stood in the empty courtyard, panting and soaked to the skin, Anomen bent over the groaning Brieanna, while Athic was on his feet and leaning heavily on Minsc. The last two dragons were now but specks on the southern horizon, Fritha watching their flight southwest into the dusky mountains.

'Fritha?'

The girl glanced back, bruised and bloodied and wholly radiant.

'Imoen'

Her face opened with a beatific smile, and she dropped where she stood.

…

Fritha knew where she was even before she opened her eyes; there was no pain for a start, the girl laying still a moment to appreciate the sensation, heart still rattling in her chest as she opened her eyes on that pale green sky. Sarevok reached a hand down, his grip firm and rough with calluses that now matched her own, eager eyes sweeping over her.

'You were in battle; I see the thirst in you still. What was it?'

Fritha shrugged. After a tenday of stifling heat, the cold winds of that wasteland were like the breath of heaven. 'A dragon, an army -all fell.'

Sarevok's face split with the first smile she had even seen him wear in that tiled plane. 'Ah, you feel it, don't you? The thirst for blood, for the power you were born to!'

'Yes, I feel it –I hate it.'

The man snorted, amused by her continuing resistant. 'Love it, loath it, it will consume you in the end.'

'Oh, the end, the end!' Fritha cried, sick of wondering about the thing, 'But what is the end to all of this? I know the prophesies all say Bhaal will be reborn, but how? Where?'

Sarevok was frowning; she had a feeling she would not like this.

'There are few accounts that actually give details of his rebirth, and they are of little use to us now. Bhaal was to inhabit the being of his chosen vessel – the last of the Bhaalspawn, whose sacrifice would not have been meted out by a priestess's blade, but walked into willingly. When enough Children have died and enough essence collected, the last Bhaalspawn would seize this power and Bhaal would awake within him, consuming his soul and reforming his body for His own purpose. But whoever that person was, he is gone now…'

Fritha swallowed tightly. 'Yes…'

'As it is so, Bhaal will most likely awaken within the last surviving Bhaalspawn.'

'So it could just be anyone?' cried Fritha, thinking of all the Children who had survived to leave Saradush -at least a couple must have got away and hidden by now. But Sarevok dismissed her worries with a patronising chuckle.

'No, no, sister, Bhaal could not manifest within just any one of His Children. It would have to be one such as you or I, who hold within ourselves enough of His essence to allow us to claim the rest, which has been gathering in His old realm, ever since that first Bhaalspawn met his end.'

'But what if enough of the Children survive? Then there won't be sufficient power to resurrect him!'

Sarevok snorted, contemptuous of her empty hopes. 'Survive until when, sister? Old age will take those the blade does not; it is just a matter of time. Bhaal has waited this long, another hundred or so years will mean little to Him. The essence will accumulate, and one will rise to take it, for good or ill, and Bhaal will rise in him, He will slaughter any Children that still survive and take His vengeance upon this world.'

Fritha felt something inside her slump – Brieanna had been right, it had all been for nothing.

'So that is it? There is nothing I can do? Bhaal will return no matter what?'

Sarevok smiled slowly, almost appraising of her.

'Perhaps, sister, but there is another prophesy, less well-known and much suppressed by the priesthood; the one that awoke in me that first desire for war. It runs almost as the others, but as the essence is claimed, it is said that a strong mind may be able to shape the power to their own will and become a god within their own right. I was young and foolhardy back then; I believed such a thing would be simple for one of my might. Death has shown me the true nature of such power and what it would take to wield it, but,' he shrugged carelessly, 'there is still a chance.'

'So those are my choices?' cried Fritha 'Godhood or death?'

'At least you have the choice, sister; death comes for us all in the end.'

Sarevok quirked her a wry smile- he knew of what he spoke.