Spellhold

When the comrades reached the peak of the road to the Asylum, Sime was not waiting for them. When asked what they should do, Jayda replied,

"She isn't here. We continue without her."

Then she lifted the wardstone to the gate, passed through, tossed it back to another, and the process repeated until all six of them had crossed over. The climb to the fortress was slow and quiet, the air eerie and stale. The complex was large but abandoned. Buildings with dark windows and crumbling structures were sparse along the vertical path up. Windmills atop buildings slowly turned but Jayda felt no breeze on her skin. There was a sense of doom here, as if they were fools to have come.

But Jayda told herself that it was just her apprehension at facing Irenicus.

Finally, they came before the grand doors of the Asylum and found the wardstone the key in opening them. With a surprisingly quiet creak, the double doors parted and the group went inside. When the resounding thud of the shutting doors echoed behind them, the finality of their decision settled uncomfortably among them.

The floor was blue and gray mosaic tile and an ornate, golden rug stretched the length of the hall. Thin columns spanned each side of the room and the ceiling domed above their heads in blue plaster and gold filigree. The hall was brightly lit with wall lamps and glass globes hanging from the ceiling. It was utterly empty of furniture and people.

Haer'dalis stepped close to Jayda while the others spread out to explore the room.

"Do you feel that, Jayda?" he asked, and his use of her name surprised her so much that she stared at him in confusion; his gaze was too busy exploring their surroundings to notice. "Something… something is very wrong."

"Something is always wrong," she told him.

"This is different. This is…" He finally looked at her. "You should not have ventured into this cage."

"I have to find Imoen," she reminded him. "I had no choice."

"No choice?" He scoffed. "No, lie to yourself if you must, but do not think to convince me that there was no other path to follow."

"There was no other path—"

"Is that true? Perhaps you did not see, but likely you did not look. You have acted very strangely these past few days. I met a woman who would have freed the house of whores rather than leave them to the fate of a cruel guildmaster."

Jayda swallowed hard, remembering his baffled expression back then. Perhaps… she would have freed those men and women before. But she had no time for that now. Imoen was in danger! In danger… just as she had been since day one. And yet Jayda had found the time to help the others… Did she really not have the time? What was wrong with her?

"You judge me?" she croaked.

"I would not judge you for these choices that align with my own, but you Primes have always baffled me in your inconsistencies. That is not the point now."

"Then what is?"

"You could have easily chosen otherwise, and now I fear you will fall prey to the danger that haunts these walls."

"Otherwise? You mean not rescue her?"

"It may already be too late for her, and now too late for you."

Jayda turned to face him directly. "I've never seen you this agitated before. You're afraid." She nodded, tracing the lines of fear in his unique eyes. "Of what? I would give my life to protect you and the others."

"Ah, raven, it is not me I worry for, or the others. No thing here has a desire for us. Only for you… my raven." He reached out and touched her cheek; his palm and fingers were gentle but his skin was rough with strength. His eyes looked deeply into hers and she shifted uncomfortably. "It is usually only your life that is in danger, and while I have little genuine desire at present to see your eyes glaze over in death," he briefly grinned, "I know truly that 'tis only a passing from one adventure into the next. But death," his brows knit together in concern again, "that is not what I feel within these walls of fear and cold stone… There are fates far worse than death."

Truth be told, his words unsettled her greatly, but not enough to shake her resolve.

"Well," she began, clearing her throat, "there is nothing to be done now. The way is forward."

He nodded and dropped his hand. "At least one thing is as it should be." He smiled at her when she looked his way. "I am at your side, my raven."

Jayda sighed. "Haer'dalis…"

"I'm being an actor again?" he guessed.

She fixed him with a stare, but before she could say anything, a door on the far side cranked open and a hunched figure in a brown robe shuffled into the room. Jayda's companions gathered to her, weapons raised defensively.

"Greetings, strangers," the old man mumbled. "I trust you have good reason to be entering this place, yes?"

"We have come for a young woman who was brought here a few months past," Jayda told him. "She is like a sister to me; I have known her all my life. She is innocent in her accused crimes, acting only in self-defense without any knowledge of the crime she'd be committing."

"Ah, I see." The cloaked head nodded. "That is something, yes, a reason enough. I am the Coordinator of this institution. What is the name of the child you seek?"

"Imoen," Jayda replied, flesh crawling with unease. All of her dealings with the Cowled had been violent or unhelpful. This man was the complete opposite of everything she had known the Cowled to be.

"Imoen, yes. She is in good health, and I will direct you to her." The Coordinator turned and started toward the exit, glancing back at them only to say, "this is not a prison, but an institution of healing and learning."

"Healing and learning?" Jaheira balked as they followed him into a hall similar to the entry, though not as grand. "She was taken here against her will!"

"Perhaps, at first, for her own safety," the man replied. "The incident she was involved with was violent and distressing, and she needed help."

"It is not as simple as that—"

"It never is, is it? Still, I'm sure you will understand more once I have explained."

"I understand plenty already!" Jaheira snapped. "This place reeks of corruption and deceit!"

"Please, allow me to show you what I mean. I shall let you examine the facilities, and Imoen, for yourself."

Jayda looked back at the druid and they shared an apprehensive stare. This did not seem at all normal behavior for the self-important and all-powerful Cowled Wizards. But what choice did they have but to follow him? It was more than possible they were being led into a trap. Jayda was certain they were. But at least they knew where they were being led. Storming the Asylum on their own could prove more dangerous.

They passed through a door, crossed another corridor, walked down a flight of steps, and passed through yet another door. All the while, they noticed how eerily empty the place was.

"The Residence for the Magically Deviant houses many people," the Coordinator was explaining as they moved into a long hallway of cells, "all of whom can benefit from a structured environment. They can also be studied, such that what they are capable of is understood better." He stopped in front of a cell where a little girl was playing with dolls on the floor. "Take young Dili here. She was cast from her family for her talents." He looked back at them and nodded with sympathy. "At a remarkably young age, she learned how to shape magical energy, allowing her to change her form as she wishes."

The little girl's big, blue eyes suddenly looked at them, looked past them. She peered for a long while and then scrambled to the bars.

"Do you have a new face today?" she asked, voice hushed in wonder. "I think you do. I can see the real one!" A sly, secretive smile spread across her mouth. "Tomorrow, I will be you, okay?"

The Coordinator sighed in content. "Here, she is safe," he explained, leading them further down the hall, "and others have learned something of what she does. It is invaluable information."

The Coordinator continued to detail cases of various 'occupants', as he called them. There was Wanev, the former Asylum Coordinator whose bad reaction to a spell dramatically unhinged him. Another was Naljier Skal, a former bard who tried to see what lay beyond the universe and the gods, which didn't end well for his sanity. Then there was Aphril, the girl whose planar travel had given her sight into the other realms and, thus, the ability to see the denizens of other realms… at all times. Another was Tiax, a crazed gnome who believed he ruled the world, and Dradeel, the traumatized elven mage. And many, many others.

Finally, they left the levels of cells and came before an ornate door.

"And lastly, the one you seek," the Coordinator said, opening the door and letting them into a large waiting room with a hearth in the center and curving stone benches wrapping around it. "She is quite well, considering the circumstances."

Imoen was sitting on a red cushion, staring into the flames. Jayda and her friends rushed into the room.

"Imoen!" Jayda exclaimed, racing to her side. She threw her arms around her and hugged her tight, but Imoen just rocked back with the force of the hug and sat limply in Jayda's arms.

"So empty…" she mumbled. "Empty…"

Jayda leaned back and frowned. "Imoen? What's wrong? What have they done to do?" There was no response. "Imoen!" But the girl had a faraway look in her eyes as she lazily stared at the fire. "What have you done to her? She looks a mere shadow of herself!"

Jayda got to her feet and whirled to face the Coordinator, who was now standing tall in the doorway.

"Her consciousness comes and goes," he explained, and his voice changed as he spoke; it lost the elderly edge and became harder, deeper. "It is fortunate you arrived when you did… I am quite through with her for the moment."

He reached up and tossed back his cowl. Irenicus stood before them. Weapons were immediately drawn, but he was utterly unafraid.

"The Cowled Wizards no longer run the Asylum, I'm afraid," he told them. Secret passages began opening around the room and vampires slipped from the shadowy depths. "They put up a noble defense, but it was useless in the end."

"Irenicus," Jayda growled. "I owe you a great debt of pain."

"You are intent on revenge or justice, I care not." Irenicus seemed bored as he walked into the room. The vampires encroached upon them, rounding them up into a tight circle while their leader rambled on. "Your fate was sealed since before you arrived. A simple addition to rations and meals by a master of herbs, mister Saemon Havarian." He smiled as the truth sunk in and Jayda realized why she had been acting so strangely. "A spell component," he explained, "gone into a soup or some other dish—undetectable, and nothing more than a seasoning until my casting. You will find you are powerless, child, and I have taken precautions so that you will not be damaged. Rage would be wasted."

At that moment, rage was all there was. Jayda was consumed by anger, blood boiling furiously. She heard the scream but didn't realize it came from her. She threw herself at the wizard, not noticing at first that none of the vampires leapt to his defense. Her vision blurred as she hacked viciously at his visage. She heard voices calling her name, shouting desperately for her; the voices warped and slowed, sounded far away. Her sight distorted into awkward shapes and then to simple splotches of color until nothing was recognizable.

"There is no battle, no heroics," a sinister voice whispered in her ear. "Only sleep."

And the whole world went dark.

/

Sound. Sound came before sight. There were voices, distorted and deep, like demons in the warbled noise of hell. This was hell, wasn't it? Why else would she be in such pain? She tried to open her eyes but her lids felt so heavy. She was so tired, but she hurt too much to go back to sleep. It was the pain that had woken her, not the voices. Not the noise.

She blinked several times, trying to force her lids to work, to open, but everything was so dark. That's when she noticed how hard it was to breathe. She grunted, giving up her fight to see for her struggle for air. She tried to reach up, but could not. She was bound, strapped to something, vertical.

"You're awake," a voice said, still distorted but the words were distinguishable. It was a voice she knew, a voice she detested. "Good."

"I…renicus…" she whispered.

Colors began to fade in and out, cold variations of gray, but it was something more than darkness. There were other voices, but she didn't understand them, couldn't detect where they were coming from. Someone was screaming, but it was only distant noise.

"I fear I have had an advantage over you," Irenicus pontificated from somewhere below her. "I have planned your coming from the start. It could be no other way. It is as I predicted. It has all been."

He said something about treachery, about Saemon, and his plans, but she focused more on trying to see. His features slowly became more than a pale blur, the room more than a vast span of gray. She was in cage in a large, steel room. There were glass bulbs around the room, higher up, but she couldn't tell what they contained. There were more people gathered, further away than the deranged wizard speaking to her, and she could not tell who they were.

"But I'm afraid you won't have to think about any of this or that," he said, and she looked at him again. "Your life ends today."

"Imoen…" she muttered. "Imoen… what have… you done… to Imoen?"

"Don't worry, Imoen has already suffered what she must for my cause," he replied, and Jayda felt the sharp slice of pain in her heart. She was too late. She was always too late. "She even survived, and this bodes well for you. You are stronger, more focused… and you are aware."

"Aware…?" She lifted her head, but Mask, it hurt like hell to do it. "Of what?"

"Aware of what you are," he said, "child of Bhaal."

Jayda frowned and tried to understand his implications. It was hard to think. Her head was fuzzy. Even though the world around her was beginning to take shape and the voices were clearing, her mind was still foggy, brain pounding. Someone was still screaming. She thought she heard her name being called.

"Silent!" Irenicus cursed at the person shouting and then focused back on Jayda. "You didn't know," he said as a matter-of-fact. "You must have suspected. Perhaps she felt no symptoms, but the taint was there. I suspect her innocent charm and humor suppressed the darkness. She showed no symptoms because there was no place for shadow in her spirit. But she is a similar age, and was apparently secluded as a child, just as you were."

"No," she groaned. "No, it's not… it's not possible…"

"Yes. It is." He seemed to delight in educating her. "Imoen is indeed a child of Bhaal. This Gorion of yours should have told you about yourselves early on. You might have learned not to fear what you are." He glanced back at something in the room, something she could not see. "I had to show her some very dark shadows, indeed," he murmured. "It is unfortunate that it had to be done, but it was necessary to get what I needed." His cold gaze fixed on her eyes again. "Now I must focus on you."

"I won't help you…"

"You assume you are a volunteer, but I do not need your cooperation. I will take the essence of you regardless." He stepped up so that he was eye-level with her. "You are in pain. It will soon end."

"Where are the others?"

"They are safe. For the moment. What are your earliest memories?"

"Well…" Jayda swallowed hard. Talking was such a chore, but she was filled with too much hatred to leash her tongue. "I remember coming in that door behind me… Beyond that, it's all a blur. Sorry."

Irenicus looked bored with her sarcasm.

"Have you violent thoughts?" he asked, as though he were a doctor examining a patient. Was this for his science, his experiments? "Of course you do. Have you violent thoughts often?"

"I'm having several right now," she replied, ignoring how her voice cracked. She swallowed again, cotton-mouthed and still finding breathing a difficult task. "Really good ones, too. You'd laugh if you could see them. Well, no, maybe you wouldn't."

Irenicus sighed in agitation. "This is not a game. You do not get points for sarcasm and ill-conceived wit. Answer my questions or further prolong your suffering." She looked away but he gripped her jaw hard and forced her to look at him. "If you used what energy you had in cooperating, you would shorten your misery. It is as in life—if you had used what you had, you would not be in this predicament. You would be a god now, and I would be dust at your feet. Do you understand this?" He seemed to become angrier the more he spoke, and his disgust at her failure to embrace her heritage showed plain on his face. "Now answer my questions—"

"Jon!" a woman's voice called out to him. Jayda knew that voice, too. Where did she know it from? She tried to think but couldn't.

"You interrupt me while I'm working?" he growled.

"The time for this has passed," she purred anxiously. "These experiments are useless now. Do what you must and be done with it."

"You're right," he agreed. He leaned in so his face was close to hers. "Don't be afraid," he whispered. "I suspect this will be mercifully quick."

Irenicus stepped back and began casting a spell. Someone began screaming again. It was a woman's voice. Jayda looked frantically for the source.

"No, please! Please!" the woman screamed. "Jayda! Don't let him do this!"

"Sime?" Jayda exclaimed, squinting up at the glass bulbs. After a moment, she realized there were people inside of them, their cages connected by wiring hooked up to a great machine that extended behind her. The people were Shadow Thieves, she knew; they were the missing Thieves from Amn. "Sime!"

Irenicus' power was building around him, his chanting growing louder. Jayda struggled against the bonds but they were too tight and her body was too weak, too agonized. Sime was banging against the glass, shouting for help, begging him not to do this, throwing her shoulder against her cage repeatedly.

"Jayda!" she cried.

And then Irenicus released his power into the machine and a loud churning sound overtook all noise but Sime's screaming. One by one, the men inside the cages were zapped by dark energy, their souls ripped from their bodies. Sime threw herself at the glass more frantically, banging as hard as she could, and then the light reached her and, in seconds, she slumped to the ground.

When a dozen men were dead, the energy came for her. Jayda closed her eyes and waited for the blow. The feeling that enveloped her was cold as ice. It cut deeper than the sharpest sword, speared into her chest. And she felt pain ripping out of her, drawing from every nerve ending in her body. It raked up through her, never ending.

/

Thunder cracked loudly outside the window and a bright flash of light filtered through the open blinds. Gaelan sat up in bed, drenched in a cold sweat, and used the sound of the torrent of rain to steady his breathing. He got to his feet, pulled on another layer of socks and a warm tunic, and started a fire in his bedroom hearth to warm the chill. He went to his window and stared at the dark, soggy streets of the Slums.

Something had woken him from sleep. He couldn't remember any nightmares, but he couldn't shake the horrible feeling in his bones.

The guild war had ended, the Shadow Thieves' power reestablished in the city, and all had gone back to the way it was before the vampires had come. All but him, who was still hung up on a red-headed woman that had come into his life and changed it forever. He had hoped that he would forget her in a week or two, but that had been a vain wish. As he had known all along, there was no forgetting. There was only remembering. And regretting.

Gaelan put his hands on either side of the window and hung his head. The more time that passed, the more childish he felt he'd been for not trying harder to hold onto her. Then he cursed himself, laughed at himself, would have kicked himself if he could've. He'd not tried at all to hold onto her. He had only wanted for something she could not give, and was disappointed when he did not receive it.

Even then, he couldn't say the words, not even in his mind. He mentally alluded to the ideas and the feelings with ambiguous phrasing so that he could make his thoughts coherent but vague enough not to admit the truth of his own stupidity. He struggled to think on other thoughts instead, and sometimes he succeeded, but only on the days he remembered their time together instead of what it had meant.

Oddly enough, the memories he valued most were not the ones where they were making love, but rather the ones where they were talking and laughing together late in the night with one torch burning on the wall and her in his arms. Or the time they spent in the Copper Coronet, silently signaling each other across the tavern with smiles and inconspicuous gestures; she might express boredom at one of the knightling's noble tales, or he might warn her about the talkative nature of various drunken patrons that passed by him, and sometimes they merely found secret ways to signal how much they desperately wanted to ditch their company, their clothes, and relieve the day's tension in each others' bodies.

Sometimes, he remembered how excited he would be during the day, knowing that when night came… she would come to him. The anticipation of being with her could be just as rewarding. One night he recalled very clearly. He was alone, counting the guild's cut of his profits, and feeling disappointed because he'd heard a rumor—from an unreliable source, he admitted later—that she had gone out of the city that day, and he knew she wouldn't be coming that night. And then, as he counted out the one-hundred and fiftieth piece of gold, she suddenly put her arms around him from behind, fingernails gently clawing at his chest beneath his shirt, and her lips went to his ear.

"Good evening, Gaelan," she'd said.

And he had been filled with such—

Gaelan looked up as thunder cracked again and more lightning flashed. He hoped to Mask she was all right, wherever she was. He didn't know why he had been awoken in the middle of the night, why he was filled with such dread, or why he suddenly had such a strong sense of her with him in that moment. But he was worried… worried it might have something to do with her, with some trouble she might be in.

"Jayda," he whispered to the storm. "Ye can get through this, can't ye?"

It was a stupid notion, talking to someone who wasn't there. He felt more than childish for doing it, but somehow also felt comforted. He wanted to also tell her to stop being stubborn and come back. He wanted to tell her to forget her heritage and just be a thief in the night. He wanted to promise he would forever be her shadow if she would be his. He wanted to tell her to come back…

But all he said was, "Ye can… can't ye?"

/

"Do… not fight…" a voice whispered.

Jayda opened her eyes and saw blurry swirls of red and orange and black.

"To fight… is to lose…"

She blinked, groggy, and tried to stand up. Dry dirt fell from her cheeks and hard clumps dug into her palms as she forced herself up.

"Do… not… fight…"

"Imoen?" Jayda called.

"Come to me…" the voice beckoned. "Find me…"

Jayda struggled to stand, her feet sliding in the dry earth. She looked around at the red ground and the orange sky. There was a gate in front of her and a path to a bridge, a bridge to a giant keep. Candlekeep. She remembered, but… not the Candlekeep from her youth. The Candlekeep of her dreams. A lifeless purgatory for her troubled soul.

"Imoen!" Jayda called louder, but her throat was so parched. "Imoen!" she rasped again. "Where are you?"

"Find me… Find me within… You cannot fight alone… Find me within…"

Jayda took one shaky step forward, nodding brokenly and muttering, "I'm coming… Imoen… I'm coming…" She stumbled through the courtyard, weak and bleary. She was so tired. So tired. She just wanted to sleep. But she couldn't. She had to do something. Had to find someone. Had to find Imoen. She didn't know why, just that she had to. She must.

Or it would be too late.

The air was stale and tasted acrid. The ground was cracked and dead. Gaping sinkholes on either side of her road gave way to the starry void. The sky was enflamed and dark clouds churned slowly above. But the air was stagnant. There wasn't a drop of moisture in this place, or an ounce of wind.

Her boots hit the wooden boards of the hollow bridge, echoing as she shuffled across. Then she could go no further. There was something in her way—something tall and black and covered in scales. She looked up and saw a demon beast like a great dragon, its head nearly touching the top of the keep.

"This path is to the core," he gurgled, voice deep and growling. "Only through sacrifice can you walk the path." He grunted and smoke shot out of his wide nostrils in short bursts. "Do you give of yourself that you will know yourself? Let go of what you are, that you might see from a distance."

Jayda's hands went to her hips, clawed for her weapons, and she jerked her swords from their loops. She tried to attack him, but her movements were lazy and uncoordinated. She could barely stand, barely balance herself. She was moving through molasses, through mud, through water; that's why she couldn't breathe, she was submerged in water.

"I'll fight you!" she screamed. "I won't let you hurt them. I'll protect them. I'll fight you!" She lashed out at the creatures legs, but her blades passed right through him. "I'll never stop fighting…"

"I am but the guardian at the door," he told her, and more smoke curled from his nostrils. "To fight me is to fight yourself. I will not be moved." He grunted again. "Do you give of yourself that you will know yourself?"

Jayda swayed but managed to stay on her feet. Her swords clattered to the ground and her head lolled back on her neck so that she could look at him.

"Yes," she muttered.

"Choose what you will sacrifice."

"What do you want?" she groaned. She had given something to everyone. She would never stop giving. Not until they had every piece of her. And Bhaal would have her soul. "Take it," she called up to him. "It's yours."

"Your strength which pulls you through, sustains you, drives you." The dragon beast growled and stomped his giant paws, snorting and grunting more smoke out of his nostrils and mouth, as though he were choking on the stuff. "Through your weakness, you shall suffer and know yourself through what you have lost."

Jayda felt the energy leaving her, felt her willpower draining from her heart and limbs. Somehow, she managed to remain standing. The dragon's long neck curled against his body as his head lowered and his gaze was level with hers. She saw herself in his bright, amber eyes.

"Pass as you should, and do not fear what comes."

And just as he had appeared, the beast was gone. A door stood before her. She reached for the handle and it opened on its own. A cold blast of air collided with the stagnant heat. She staggered inside. The library was in ruins, empty, forgotten, and dark. She stumbled across the chipped marble floor, looking for signs of life. There was no one. It was empty. She was alone. Alone save for the resounding absence of the ghosts—the ghosts she knew haunted this place.

Upstairs. Maybe they had gone upstairs.

"Imoen," she whispered and then collapsed on the stone steps.

She didn't know how long she laid there before she knew she had to move, felt in her heart she had to keep going. She reached out and gripped the step, strained as she pulled herself up. She reached out again and, this time, she grasped a hand. She looked up into the face of her lost friend squatting next to her, knees curled into her chest.

"Imoen!"

"Ssshhh… before the shadows return to me…" she whispered. "I have seen what is to come. One alone cannot fight. Alone, you would fall… whether you win or lose… But together. Together… he does not expect us together… but he has shown me how. Together, we can fight… together, we can win…" She looked up, at something beyond them. Fear flickered in her eyes. "Together… It is your only chance… and my last…"

She started to shrink away, back up the stairs, and Jayda struggled to her feet, reaching out, refusing to let go.

"Imoen!"

"Together," she echoed. "Together."

Imoen disappeared, terror and uncertainty on her face. Jayda got to her feet and whirled around, drawing her weapons; when did she get them back? She didn't know, only that she had them, always had them. She did not know what she would face, only that she had to fight, had to protect Imoen. There in the door stood a tall and imposing figure, wrapped in spiked armor and armed with a toothed sword. His muscles flexed dangerously beneath his skin as he stomped toward her, eyes like fire burning beneath the slit in his helmet.

"Fall to your knees!" he boomed, and she felt power in his voice. It tugged at her insides, yanked at her body. "You can do no other!"

She nearly dropped to her hands and knees, nearly obeyed. She held her sword tightly, grunting as she fought the gravity weighing her down.

"I am within you! I am your essence!" the figure told her. "You can never run from yourself; you can never defeat yourself! I am the blood! I am the instinct! You will fall to your knees! You can do no other!"

Jayda screamed as she resisted, shutting her eyes tightly so that she could focus on standing. The great weight was within, pulling her down. She felt hooks in her knees and elbows, tugging with unrelenting force. Her limbs shook, begged for release. Give in, they said, but she couldn't. She wouldn't.

"I will never bow to you!"

"I am your instinct, yet you deny me? Fight me within your own mind? I should devour you!"

Jayda screamed again as more power ripped through her veins and tried to force her to the floor, to her knees. It struggled with her violently, demanding she bow, demanding she obey.

"Imoen!" she cried, knees bending toward the stone.

Then suddenly there was a hand that shot out of the darkness. Without hesitating, Jayda reached up and grabbed it. And then the power pulling her down was gone. She nearly reeled when she was released, but steadied her footing and managed to keep her grip on her sword. There was no hand in hers, but Imoen appeared beside her, stronger than before and unafraid.

The figure gawked angrily.

"How do you stand?" he boomed and shuffled toward her. "I sense… your soul… it has taken form to guide from within. Strange, even among your kin." The creature continued to come close, softly growling in his throat. "But it is weak, weak and will not help you again."

The figure stood before her and it was as if he had moved out of shadow. His helmet was gone and his face—a weathered skull—looked into hers. His eyes were bright amber balls of light in those empty, black sockets. She knew these eyes. She knew this face—this skull. He smiled down at her, a sadistically loving, skeletal smile.

"Bhaal," she whispered.

"No," Imoen muttered, suddenly frantic. "Something is wrong… Something is… is wrong! I.. no! Not again! Not again!"

"Imoen!" Jayda exclaimed as the girl beside her screamed.

There was a burst of light as she was ripped from the world. Jayda reached for her, tried to catch her, but Bhaal suddenly had her by the throat, his face inches away.

"You are empty inside," he muttered. "There is nothing within… but the instinct!"

/

Jayda's head lolled in darkness and a cool sensation tingled in her flesh.

"Well, you are a strong one, indeed," a man said. "You resist beyond all reason. A pity you are dead inside."

Someone was touching her, unlatching whatever held her up. And then she was falling, but did not have the strength to stop it. Cold arms caught her and pulled her up, held her limp form upright. Someone came closer, an enveloping presence. A voice whispered to her.

"I have drained you," he said, "drained you of the very thing that made you special. It is the worst of curses… I should know." A vice-like grip clamped around her jaw, jerked her head up. She could not see who or what; her eyes would not open. "I have taken your very divinity… I have drained you of your soul. You will wither, you will wane, and you will die."

Her head was released and it dropped back down, hanging limply between her shoulders.

"I bid you farewell, child of Bhaal," he said, almost gently. "We shall not meet again."

Whatever held her up dragged her feet across the ground, and then she was falling into more darkness.