Chapter 21
Striding up to the guest room at the end of the hall, Gorion grasped the handle, pulled the door open without knocking and marched straight in.
"Hey," said Winthrop, looking up from the scrolls on his desk with a friendly smile. "Nice of ye ta visit. Hadn't had a chance ta talk with-"
"You are leaving. Today."
Winthrop cocked his head, still smiling in spite of Gorion's grim, stone-faced glare.
"I agreed to let you stay for a few days. That was a week ago."
They stared quietly at each other. Winthrop lowered his gaze to the scroll, then slowly rolled it up and set it aside. "Ye don't like me bein' around him."
"He told me he was considering a career as a mercenary. Running his own company." Gorion's eyes narrowed, the fingers of his left hand curling briefly into a fist. Winthrop gave an apologetic shrug.
"He asked me what I did fer a livin', an' I told 'im."
"I want you out of here by sundown." Turning on his heel, Gorion stepped towards the open door.
"Ye know it's only natural fer him."
Gorion froze with one foot on the doorway.
"The books he's readin', too. Homicide mysteries, wars, battles, famous warriors an' killers. Lad's attracted to violence. There's no gettin' around it, Gorion, much as you try to-"
"I changed my mind," said Gorion without turning around. "You have one hour."
"Ye think ye could just keep him here, locked away from the world?" asked Winthrop. His voice was still relatively friendly, but there was a definite edge to it now.
After a long moment, Gorion turned around and slowly stepped towards Winthrop.
"What the hell. Would you know. About teaching a child?"
He stopped in the centre of the room, less than two paces away from Winthrop's desk. Silence fell between them again, and the very air itself seemed to hold its breath.
Winthrop then smiled again and nodded pleasantly.
"Ye've got a point there." He looked away from Gorion before speaking again.
"I need ta do somethin', and I may need ye help." He looked back to Gorion. The wizard stared coldly at him for several long seconds.
"Where?"
"East," replied Winthrop. "Far east."
"Where, exactly?"
Winthrop's smile faded, his expression turning serious.
"Rashemen."
Gorion paused, then turned away and walked to one side of the room. He stood quietly for a very long moment, staring at the wall with his arms folded across his chest. When he spoke at last, his voice was cold and hard.
"I do this...you and I are done."
Winthrop paused, then breathed deeply through his nose, his broad chest rising and falling. "Ye'll never hear from me again," he said, his voice and expression solemn.
Gorion grew quiet again, staring at the wall. He remained that way for several more seconds, then turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.
..
Well, this is just damn peachy.
Dorean stalked through the streets of Beregost, his sullen, glowering expression bringing him closer to the stereotypical image of his race.
My father's dead, I have a bounty on my head, the people I'm travelling with all want to kill each other, and the only exception among them doesn't seem to notice or care.
He glanced at Imoen, who was walking beside him as always. "Stop fidgeting," he snapped irritably.
"I can't help it! It's just too tight," Imoen complained, tugging at the sleeve of her newly-acquired gambeson. "It's your fault for not letting them take my measurements," she added with a frown.
"We don't have time for that," Dorean replied. "Kagain gave us a half-hour."
"So what if we're a little late?" asked Imoen, squirming uncomfortably and pulling at the gambeson's collar. "A few more minutes couldn't hurt."
"Could it?" said Dorean. "One of us just tried to kill him, and we're going to meet him when he'll be surrounded by his own men. I'd say being late to this meeting isn't going to help his opinion of us." At least Xzar won't be there.
Imoen's face fell, and she stopped fidgeting with her armour, lowering her hands to her sides. Dorean paused, then looked away from her. He felt guilty for snapping at her, and it only added to his vexation. Rather than risk looking behind him to check on Khalid and Jaheira, he settled for walking in sullen silence.
At the front of the group, Montaron briefly glanced over his shoulder at Dorean and Imoen before facing forward again. Khalid and Jaheira glanced sidways at each other, then at the silent duo in front of them.
"She is right. About the a-armour," said Khalid. "We could g-go back and replace it, if y-you wish."
"Let us attend this meeting first," said Jaheira, her tone softer than usual. "I agree that arriving on time would be prudent, considering the dwarf's mood." She paused. "And if his intentions prove ill, we will protect you, be assured of that." Dorean and Imoen both turned to look at her. She nodded to them, her expression dour and unsmiling. "Both of you," she added, looking directly at Dorean.
With his head turned to look at Jaheira, Dorean suddenly collided with something in front. Panic seized him for an instant as he leaped backwards almost into Khalid, and it was a few seconds before his heart remembered to keep beating.
Montaron had stopped suddenly and was now standing very still.
"Monty?" said Imoen. "What's wrong?"
The halfling did not respond, even to snap at her about the disliked nickname. He remained standing, his eyes fixed straight-ahead and as unmoving as the rest of him. Paranoia crept onto Dorean, and his gray eyes slowly moved from left to right, studying each and every face around them.
After a moment, Montaron simply resumed walking. Dorean and Imoen stared after him, and the latter turned to look at the half-elves behind them.
"What was that about?"
Neither of them had an answer for her. After a few seconds, they all hurried to catch up to Montaron before the small man was swallowed up by the crowds.
..
"Alright. They are moving again."
Releasing the breath he was unaware that he had been holding, Eldoth eased his chin off of Safana's shoulder.
"He is a sharp one," said Safana. "Good instincts."
"And dangerous," added Eldoth, stepping away from in front of the woman and then turning around to walk beside her.
"Is that fear I sense, Eldoth Kron?" Safana teased with a cruel smirk. The bard's eye-lids lowered for an instant before he smiled in return.
"I will not lie to you, my dear," he said languidly. "I admit that the halfling makes me feel slightly... less at ease than I usually am." His tone became more serious. "He might be a difficult one to deal with."
Safana smiled and looped her forearm around his elbow, creating the image of a happy couple out for a walk. "If fortune favours us, we may not have to. The woman clearly wishes him ill."
Leaning his head back, Eldoth regarded Jaheira, his lips twisting in a combination of a smirk and grimace. "Seems to me like the type who wishes everyone ill."
"Ooohh," trilled Safana. "I sense the scent of newly-born love."
Eldoth chuckled. "You wound me, my dear. As if I would have eyes for any other but you."
"But of course," she replied smoothly, her sarcasm obvious. They exchanged heavy-lidded eyes and half-smiles.
"The husband probably won't be much of a problem," said Eldoth, sneering at Khalid. "He'll be easy for someone of your calibre."
Safana's eyes lingered on the half-elf in question, and for a few seconds, her smug expression faltered.
Her demeanour swiftly returned as she sensed Eldoth turning his head to look at her.
"Yes, he would be," she said quickly. "Though I would prefer that his wife not be present if it comes to it."
Eldoth frowned, sensing that he may have missed something. Shrugging it off a half-second later, he turned his attention to the duo in the middle of the group.
"That one is a virgin."
Safana raised her eyebrows at him before turning to look at Imoen. "Really?" she asked, looking back at Eldoth with a mocking smile. "Your confidence in your perception of women borders on arrogance, Eldoth Kron."
"Perhaps, but it hasn't failed me yet," Eldoth replied with a cocky grin. His eyes narrowed and his grin became lopsided as he regarded the back of the girl's head. "She wouldn't be a challenge."
Safana glanced sideways at him, her face draining slightly of emotion for a few brief seconds, before looking at the final person in the group.
"Which leaves us with our main prize."
Eldoth smirked and gave a short huff. "Not much of a prize to me."
"Yet to someone, it is worth a thousand gold." Safana tilted her head, causing a curtain of her hair to flow across her face, and smiled. "Just leave him to me, Eldoth."
The bard raised his eyebrow at her. "Have you ever seduced a dwarf before?"
She tittered softly, her smile widening. "Do not underestimate me, Eldoth Kron."
Eldoth's other eyebrow rose to join the first, and for a moment he contemplated his partner-in-crime. "Indeed not, my dear."
Safana lowered her head for a moment, then lifted it to look at her partner. "Have you seduced a dwarf lady?"
In the instant before he responded, Eldoth's expression clouded and his eyes glazed over, his face becoming not unlike that of the masks worn by nobles and jesters. Then it passed, and he answered Safana's teasing inquiry with another cocky smile.
"Eldoth Kron!" said Safana with exaggerated wonder. "I knew you were a man of many talents, but I never thought of you as a miracle-worker."
Smirking arrogantly, Eldoth looked away and focused on the party once more.
"This will be quite the challenge," he said after a moment.
"That's what makes it fun," replied Safana. The duo walked arm-in-arm, following their quarry through the Beregost streets. After over a minute, Eldoth cocked his head quizzically.
"Are we forgetting someone?"
"The other dwarf?"
"No...not him," said Eldoth hesitantly. "The, the messy-haired one. The one who left the range by himself."
"Ah. Yes. That one," said Safana. She paused. "Leave him for later. Let us see where these people will take us for now."
Eldoth hesitated, then nodded.
About a dozen paces behind them, an old, wrinkle-faced peddler hobbled through the streets, nodding in apology whenever his large rucksack bumped into someone.
His worn, tattered tunic flowed down to his ankles, concealing the bright green robes underneath.
..
"So this is the Red Sheaf?" said Imoen, looking up at the signboard displaying two crimson-coloured bundles of grain stalks. "Doesn't look nearly as shady as Volo says."
Dorean frowned, his ears twitching as he picked up the racket coming from the building. He glanced at Montaron whose second abrupt halt in their journey through the town was the reason for their brief delay. The halfling was staring up at the inn, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he glanced back at the rest of the party, then simply headed for the front entrance.
A woman was standing on the porch. Dorean blinked upon recognizing the familiar outfit worn by the Dented Shields company, then blinked again when he looked up at her face.
She was a half-elf, judging by her pointed ears, but her height, build and most of all the two fangs protruding from behind her bottom lip suggested that the other half of her parentage was likely of the orcish persuasion.
Upon seeing them, she ran a hand across the top of her blond, close-cropped hair and stepped forward.
"Montaron," she greeted, her voice low and deep. The halfling silently returned her nod. The woman's eyes moved to the rest of the party and lingered on Dorean and Imoen. For a few seconds, a frown creased her brow. Then she turned around, giving Dorean a good view of the scimitar on her back. From the size of the scabbard and pommel, the weapon must be massive.
The dwarf hesitated, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He felt Imoen's hand grasp and gently squeeze his own. Momentarily regretting wearing his gloves, Dorean returned the squeeze, then opened his eyes and followed Montaron into the inn.
..
The noise from outside the building became a cacophony to their ears the instant they stepped within.
Aside from a small number of merchants and peasants, the large, spacious common room was occupied almost entirely by Dented Shield mercenaries.
Moving his eyes from left to right, Dorean counted over twenty of them before focusing on the dwarf standing on a table in their midst.
Noticing the party, Kagain nodded briefly to his half-elf, half-orc subordinate before lifting his chin and bellowing at the top of his lungs.
"SHUT UP!"
In the silence that followed, the woman silently pointed at a table situated in a corner at the end of the common room before moving to stand beside Kagain's table.
"Now," said the mercenary leader. "I understand ya have some concerns."
"Concerns?" said one of the men. "I think what we have right now counts as more than just concerns."
"There's bad talk goin' around," another piped up. "Says we aren't fit for nothing other than taking money from folks and then gettin' them killed. Says we oughta be run outta town."
"People say all kinds of shit," replied Kagain roughly, glancing for a half-second at Dorean's party making their way to their designated table. "More so the idiots, an' this town's fulla them. Don't pay them any mind."
"They're certainly payin' us a lotta mind," another mercenary muttered loudly. "The looks I got on me way here, I thought the whole friggin' town was gonna jump me."
"Everyone ya ever met has wanted ta jump ya," Kagain retorted, causing a light chorus of mocking laughter. "An' that includes ya mother. Now shut up an' listen!"
"An inspiring leader," Jaheira droned, reaching the table first and taking a seat. The others followed suit, Dorean releasing the grip that he had been maintaining on his belt knife as soon as he had entered the inn.
"I don't give a xvart's arse what ya have been hearin', thinkin', or seein' today, " said Kagain, placing his hands on his broad hips. "We've got a job, an' that's all you lot should be soddin' concernin' yourselves with for now." He paused for a moment to look around the sea of faces. "Caravan, same as always. Merchants are willin' ta pay us three times our usual price. We get it done an' done right, all of ya concerns," he dragged out the word as his men began to speak up again. "Will be gone before ya know it. Now, anyone of yas got any more concerns to share before I give out ya roles?"
"I might have some, yeah," said a gruff, slightly muffled voice. All eyes turned to a auburn-haired dwarf clambering onto a table a dozen paces from Kagain's. "Might be a little important, to the company an' all."
Dorean cocked his head as he contemplated this new dwarf; like Kagain, he was carrying an axe and shield, and wearing chain-mail and a helmet, though the latter was nowhere near as stylish as the mercenary leader's.
Kagain gave a sneer that was somehow clearly visible despite his thick beard. "That was a rhetorical question, ya moron. Get down from there an' shut-."
"Oh, I will. Just as soon as you tell us what happened to our people on the road up north of here."
The murmuring began again, low and ominous this time. Kagain stared quietly at his fellow dwarven mercenary before lifting his head, looking around him, and speaking in a voice as blank as his face.
"Ya all know what happened. They screwed up."
"Maybe," replied the auburn-haired dwarf. "Or maybe it was you that screwed up."
The silence that followed was broken by the shuffling of chairs and feet as merchants and other non-mercenary patrons began their hurried departure from the Red Sheaf. Dorean suddenly became aware of the distance between his group's table and the exit.
"Ten men for a six wagon caravan, Kagain? Ten? There should've been at least twenty, fifteen at most if we're stretchin' it! Why the hell weren't more of us assigned to it!?"
There were many nods and murmurs among the mercenaries.
"I'll tell you why," said the dwarf, his voice growing louder. "It's cos that greedy old bastard is stretchin' us thin; makin' us do too many jobs at a time!"
"Karlat's right!" shouted a youthful mercenary, leaping to his feet and pointing an accusing finger at Kagain. "The one we had two months ago, from here to Athkatla? He only put twelve of us on it! For an eight-wagon! We lost seven people 'cos'o him!"
"I didn't hear ya whinin' when ya were collectin' yer pay, boy," Kagain snarled, baring his teeth.
"That's because he didn't know then just how much of a chiseler you are," said Karlat.
Kagain's face slackened and his eyes went wide. "What did ya just call me?"
The tension in the room could now be cut with a knife. More and more of the mercenaries were getting to their feet.
"The pay, Kagain," said Karlat, folding his arms and lifting his chin. "Tell these people how much of a share you've been gettin' compared to the rest. Tell them."
Kagain fell silent. So did most of the men around him.
"Don't want to?" said Karlat. "Then I will." He paused. "Half. Half of all the pay from all of our jobs."
The murmuring started again, louder and angrier than before.
"Is it true, Boss?" Karlat asked, mockingly accentuating the last word and raising his voice to be heard above the din. "Tell us. Tell your men, whose lives you've risked over and over and over and over. Tell them if what I said is true! Tell them!"
Kagain's head moved slowly from left to right and back like a pendulum, surveying the numerous faces staring back at him. Next to him, the half-elf, half-orc woman glanced at her leader, her expression unreadable.
When he finally spoke, Kagain's face had contorted into an ugly sneer.
"If ya can't handle it, then don't. Get outta here an' I'll find someone else who can."
"That why you brought them!?" shouted Karlat, pointing at Dorean's table.
"We have to get out of here," Dorean hissed, lowering his hooded head as roughly thirty heavily-armed faces turned towards them.
"Door's too far," Khalid whispered, surreptitiously unsheathing his sword from below the table.
"Both of you listen," said Jaheira. Dorean and Imoen looked at her. "As soon as it starts, get to the second floor," she gestured with her head to the staircase in the corner. "Khalid and I will cover you."
Imoen hesitated, her eyes darting over the increasingly agitated mercenaries, then nodded. "O...okay. What about-"
She and the rest of the party looked around. Montaron had vanished.
"You've never brought in outsiders before, not once!" Karlat shouted. "Care to explain why, Boss? Thinkin' of joinin' up with someone else, maybe!?"
Kagain's nostrils flared. He looked around again at the sea of faces, many more of which were now looking back with open hostility.
"Know what I think, lads!?" said Karlat. "I think it's time we had a change o' leadership around here!"
A chorus of agreement rose from the men around him. Kagain went very still, his head lowering and his chin resting against his broad chest. From the corner of his eye, Dorean noticed the innkeeper, a thin, balding man, half-crouching behind the counter along the east wall, his eyes wide and terrified.
After a long moment, Kagain lifted his head, staring straight at the other dwarf across the room.
"...so ya wanna be the new boss, eh, Karlat?" He spread his arms. "Then come an' get it."
For six long seconds, no one moved or spoke.
"At 'im, lads!"
At Karlat's words, over a dozen weapons were drawn from their scabbards amid a chorus of battle-cries .
"Kill the traitors!" Kagain screamed. The remaining mercenaries echoed his cry, drawing their weapons in answer to the mutineers.
The common room erupted. Almost immediately, five men at the edge of the skirmish made a beeline for Dorean's group. As Khalid kicked the table away and moved to stand between them and the rest of the party, Jaheira briefly turned to look behind her. Her eyes widened upon seeing that while Dorean had already risen off his seat, Imoen was still frozen in place.
"Go now!"
Dorean reached up and took hold of Imoen's arm to pull her out of her chair. In that instant, a throwing axe whizzed across the room. The blade grazed his head, tearing hair and flesh from his temple, and the dwarf tumbled to the floor, taking Imoen with him.
Screaming Dorean's name, Imoen looked up as a shadow fell across them. Her face paled at the sight of the man standing over them with sword raised. He then gave a sudden, violent jerk, his eyes and mouth opening in surprise.
Removing his knife from the mercenary's side and stepping deftly around his falling body, Montaron grabbed Imoen roughly by the collar.
Looking up with one hand over his wound, Dorean saw the halfling dragging his roommate to and up the stairs. With a grunt of pain, he staggered to his feet, which saved him from Karlat's axe as it struck the ground where his head had been. Cursing in dwarvish, the mutineer lifted his axe and swung again in a horizontal arc, the blade missing Dorean by inches as he leaped backwards to avoid its deadly kiss.
With another curse, Karlat made to attempt another swing, then turned at the last second and raised his shield to block Jaheira's quarterstaff. The Tethyrian was then immediately distracted by two mercenaries attacking from behind.
For a half-second, Dorean's eyes went to Montaron violently pulling Imoen up the stairs.
If you hurt her...
He then turned and ran from the advancing Karlat towards the open door in the east wall, ducking and dodging under and past flailing legs and weapons.
..
"Let me go! He's down there, I have to-"
Already bent over by the halfling's grip on her collar, Imoen's resistance was answered by him jerking violently on it, nearly tearing a chunk of her shirt from the neckline of her gambeson and sending her falling onto her stomach.
Still tightly gripping her collar, Montaron dragged the struggling girl across the floor. He ignored her attempts to free herself, not flinching in the slightest when she dug her fingernails into his wrist.
Stopping in front of a door at the end of the corridor, he released his grip on her and then quickly planted a foot on her chest. As she thrashed below him, he produced a key from his pocket, unlocked the door, pushed it open, then grabbed Imoen again and unceremoniously tossed her into the room.
He pulled the door closed just as she reached it, turned the key and snapped it off in the lock, then turned back and swiftly returned the way he came.
..
With blood pounding in his ears, Dorean ran down the corridor leading to the back of the inn. Speeding through the kitchen and ignoring the high-pitched shrieks of the barmaids and cook, he entered a second corridor and immediately made for the nearest door. A snarl escaped through his beard when the knob refused to turn.
A second chorus of high-pitched shrieks mixed with loud, ironclad footsteps spurred him to the next door, then the next.
Come on, come on, come ON...
Reaching the final door at the end, Dorean grasped the handle and released his held breath when it turned. Shoving the door open with his shoulder, the first thing he saw was the innkeeper standing in an open doorway in the opposite wall, his hands grasping the edges of a large, hinged section of it. The man's eyes bugged out upon seeing him, and he redoubled his efforts to close the secret door.
Crossing the room at a run, Dorean leaped through the opening an instant before the innkeeper could close it enough to deny him passage.
"Get out!" The old man shouted, reaching down and grabbing Dorean by the shoulders. "Get ou-!"
Dorean did not hesitate; he had already drawn his belt knife. The blade plunged upwards into the left side of the old man's belly just below his ribs, piercing his heart.
With a choked cry, the innkeeper fell to his knees. Prising the man's hands off his shoulders, Dorean stabbed him again in the side of the neck, then quickly turned and pulled the door closed. He then retrieved his knife and stood very still, listening to the sound of stomping footsteps beyond the closed wall.
After a long moment, they receded away. Breathing deeply and wiping the blood flowing from his temple into his right eye, Dorean glanced down at the innkeeper. Quickly confirming that the man was truly dead, he then placed his hands on the wall and pushed. He gave up after a few more attempts with a frustrated growl and turned around to look at the stairs leading downward.
There has to be another way out. Heglanced again at the innkeeper. He wouldn't have sealed himself in here.
He gave a deep, low breath, his expression now a determined grimace.
Find a way out of here, get to Imoen. Worry about everything else later.
Nodding to himself, Dorean descended into the gloom.
..
Imoen ceased pounding on the door to rub her reddened hands, holding them close to her chest to quell her hyperventilating.
Gotta stay calm...gotta stay calm, just like he taught me.
She took deep, drawn-out breaths, counting slowly to three between each.
Won't get out by banging on it. Have to find another way. She looked quickly around the room. Aside from a window too small for her to fit through, there did not seem to be any other exit.
"No, no, no, no," she muttered aloud, running her arms as anxiety began flooding her senses again. "Think, Imzy, think..."
She paused, then placed Gorion's pack on the floor. Fumbling with the strings and uttering a curse that would have earned her a week's worth of extra chores from Winthrop, Imoen opened the pack.
The first thing she saw in it were three scrolls resting on top of the other items. Taking them, Imoen quickly unrolled them on the floor and scanned their contents.
Armor, Magic Missile, Burning Hands.
At that moment, a thought occurred to her that it was strange for a wizard as skilled as Gorion to be carrying scrolls for such low-level spells. She shook her head, brushing it from her mind. Her eyes lingered on the Burning Hands scroll, and she looked up at the locked door.
Better not. Smoke might kill me first, or worse, I burn the whole place down.
Grabbing the Magic Missile scroll, she stood up and faced the door. Taking two deep breaths and counting to three between each, she then held the scroll in both hands at arm's length.
Just like he taught me..
Raising her chin, Imoen recited the incantation loudly and clearly. The scroll disintegrated, transforming into a shimmering ball of brilliant, whitish-pink light.
Yes!
Elated by her success, she aimed and released the charged spell at the door lock. For a single second, it appeared to be unaffected. Then, in an almost reluctant fashion, it partially broke away from the frame.
Taking a step back, Imoen sprang forward, throwing all of her weight against the door. It gave way with a deafening crack of wood, and she landed in a heap across the now-open doorway.
Staggering to her feet and clutching her shoulder, Imoen ran with as much speed as she could muster, leaving Gorion's pack and the two remaining scrolls in the room.
..
The common room of the Red Sheaf, well-regarded and liked for its cleanliness and quiet atmosphere, was now a scene of gore and carnage. Men lay dead or dying in spreading pools of blood, smashed furniture and body parts.
Breathing heavily and keeping her bloodied quarterstaff at the ready, Jaheira looked over herself for any serious wounds; there was a dark, spreading bruise on her forearm from a mace whose swing she had only managed to partially avoid, but aside from a few minor cuts, she was relatively intact.
Her eyes swept over the common room; the battle had yet to reach its end, but the total number of mercenaries still standing was now down to ten at most, Kagain and the female half-elf/orc among them.
Jaheira then looked at her husband standing about seven paces away; his shield and armour were battered and blood-stained, but he seemed otherwise unhurt. Having lost his sword while fighting three opponents simultaneously, Khalid was now wielding a broken chair.
Slamming his shield into an already wounded mutineer's face, he then swung the chair down onto the man's head three times, smashing it into a pulp.
Jaheira watched him for a moment, her expression glazed and downcast, before spotting movement from the corner of her eye. She looked up and saw the pink-clad girl hurtling down the stairs.
"Imoen!"
Khalid stopped in mid-swing and whirled around. Imoen jumped down the last five steps and ran up to the duo, barely avoiding tripping on a severed arm.
"I told you to-" Jaheira began angrily.
"Where's Dorean?!"
Khalid and Jaheira froze.
"We have to find him!" Imoen shouted, trembling and bouncing up and down frantically on the balls of her feet. "He could be hurt, or being attacked, or-"
"I saw him running for the back room," said Jaheira. Imoen immediately made to move past her, and she took hold of the girl's right arm. "Imoen, don't-"
"Let me go!" Imoen attempted to wrench free from Jaheira's grip. As the latter fought to keep the former restrained, her eyes met Khalid's, and he nodded.
"I will go. Keep her safe!" With that, the Calishite turned and ran for the door. Jaheira watched him leave, then turned a fierce, no-nonsense stare onto Imoen.
"Back upstairs, now."
Imoen met her gaze with a furious, defiant glare of her own. With a loud huff of her nostrils, Jaheira forcibly turned her around and frogmarched her back towards and up the stairs, Kagain's loud cursing and the squelch of his axe as he downed another mutineer following them.
..
Look like Volothamp wasn't lying about this place, Dorean mused, looking around the cavern. Maybe he doesn't embellish his stories after all. He eyed the crates and boxes stacked along the walls. Smuggled goods? He gave a light sniff, and his nose wrinkled. Or narcotics?
Suddenly he stopped and turned around.
Did I hear something?
Bending his knees slightly and making as little noise as he could, Dorean slowly drew his crossbow and a bolt from his quiver. He loaded the weapon, then went very still. For an entire minute, he remained that way; knees bent, crossbow at the ready, and moving nothing but his eyes.
Finally, he eased from his stance, then quickly turned around and continued to follow the dark passage.
Gotta find a way out of here. Maybe there's a-
There was no warning; nothing that alerted him to it just before it happened. In an instant, his entire body suddenly spasmed as waves of electricity slammed into and coursed throughout his small frame.
His knees hit the floor, followed by his face. The world spun around and around in his head, and it was all he could do not to pass out.
In the midst of his own gasps and heaves, he heard a voice, seeming to come from a distance away and at the same time in his own head.
"...at the end of your rope, I wager."
Something inside him screamed at him to get up, to stand up now or die. Dorean raised himself up on his knees, gritting his teeth in pain.
He had to blink several times before his vision cleared, revealing the auburned-haired dwarf standing ten paces away from him with axe and shield in hand.
"Wha...what was that?" Dorean forced himself to ask. Karlat smirked in response.
"Magic barrier," Karlat answered with a smirk. "That old codger sure knows how to make 'em. Might be wrong, but I'm guessin' you don't have the means to pass through it." He paused. "Well, this ain't anything personal, you understand, but I'm afraid your time on this here ball of mud is just about done."
From the corner of his eye, Dorean noticed his loaded crossbow lying on the ground between them.
...gotta stall him.
"Why...why are you doing this?" He rasped, getting shakily to his feet. "I've done nothing to you."
Karlat shrugged, his smirk still firmly in place. "Done nothing to anyone, far as I know. Don't matter one whit to me. A price is a price and a head is a head, and whenever the two meet, there's old Karlat makin' his living." He gave a twirl of the axe in his right hand. "Like I said, it's nothing personal."
He began to step forward, his shield moving in front of him, when Dorean raised his right hand.
"Wait! Just...wait. Just listen," he pleaded hoarsely. "Whatever you're being...being paid..." Dorean staggered, putting more into it than he actually felt. "I can double it."
Karlat stopped and eyed the smaller dwarf. "Will you now?" After a moment, he shook his head and gave a contemptuous snort. "Somehow I doubt it, but then I don't meet a lot of honest people in this business. Never have the money on them, and never come back if they say they're going to go get it."
"I'll get you the money!" Dorean replied, inserting desperation into his tone. "I swear it by all the gods! Just let me l-live! Let me live and I'll get you your money! I'll, I'll even give you something, something to prove you've killed me! You can get my money AND collect the bounty! Just please don't kill me, please..."
Tears appeared at the corners of Dorean's eyes as his voice trailed off into mewling sobs. Karlat's beard parted to reveal his lips as he sneered at the pleading dwarf. "Maybe you will, maybe not. It doesn't matter though. I'd never take your panic money over a proven contract. It's just not sound business." He stepped forward again. "Now quit your crying and face your end like a-"
Dorean's left hand flew up from one of the pouches in his belt. Karlat's contemptuous sneer instantly turned into a howl of anguish as he lurched backwards, dropping his weapon and shield as he brought his hands up to his eyes.
Swooping forward and picking his crossbow, Dorean bent down on one knee, brought it to his shoulder, and aimed forward and up at Karlat's open, screaming mouth.
A half-second before he fired, a trickle of blood worked its way from the wound in his temple into his eye, forcing him to blink.
Karlat's instincts may have kicked in, or he may have heard the click of the weapon, but somehow, he dove to the floor the instant that Dorean pulled the trigger. The bolt struck his helmet at an angle, skimming across it to land somewhere in the cavern beyond.
Dorean cursed and hurriedly reached for another bolt. With an animalistic roar, Karlat charged blindly forward. His ironclad head slammed into Dorean's chest, sending the crossbow spinning up into the air. Stars appeared in the smaller dwarf's eyes as the back of his unprotected head smacked against the stone floor.
Then Karlat was crawling forward, his hands grasping and tearing at his trousers and shirt. Dorean lashed out with boots and knees, his hands desperately seeking one of his knives. As the larger dwarf's head drew level with his own, Dorean drew his belt knife and wildly stabbed at his chest. The blade failed to penetrate deep, stopped by the chain-mail, and with a cry of pain, Karlat grabbed Dorean's knife-hand. The latter screamed as the man viciously tightened his grip on his fingers. The knife slipped from his grasp and slid across his body to the floor.
"You little piece of sh-aaahhhhh!" Karlat's curse was cut off as Dorean dug the thumb of his free hand into the man's shredded eye, pressing at the shards of glass he had thrown earlier. Howling in pain and fury, the assassin seized hold of Dorean's wrist and wrenched both of his hands away from his face. He then drew his helmed head back and snapped forward.
The helmet smashed into Dorean's face, shattering his large nose and causing his head to bounce sickeningly off the stone floor again. Fingers closed around Dorean's throat, squeezing tight.
I'm not dying here, I'm NOT DYING-!
With a sudden burst of strength, Dorean flicked his wrist, his right hand screaming in protest, and brought his sleeve-knife up into Karlat's jaw.
The blade pierced deep enough to illicit another enraged bellow from Karlat, but stuck halfway through.
His damned beard-
Karlat grabbed his hand and crushed his fingers again, forcing Dorean to relinquish another one of his knives. His head snapped backward and then forward, smashing Dorean's face a second time. The assassin's hands closed around his throat once more.
Can't die here. Can't d-
His strength was gone. Weakly holding onto Karlat's wrists and choking feebly for air, Dorean's already-blurred vision began to dim. Karlat's face swam out of focus, and darkness crept at the edge of his eyes.
...a skull?
The pressure on his throat suddenly lifted, and the darkness fled. Karlat went stock-still for a few seconds, foam appearing between his lips, before falling face-down on top of him.
Dorean lay still, too weak to even move his head.
Something loomed into view, looking down at him. Dorean could only stare back, unable to make out its features.
His vision began to clear just as the fatigue of his ordeal caught up with him. The last thing he saw before he fainted away was Montaron rolling the twitching body of Karlat off of him.