From the Cradle

"Come on!"

Evelyn pumped her legs harder, desperately trying to keep up with her best friend as she pulled ahead and around a woman's skirts into the street. Eve nearly collided with the woman, only sparing time enough to shout up an insincere apology at her before hurrying on.

"Yer gonna miss it, Eve!" the other was yelling back at her. "Come on!"

They tore through the beaten earth of the Candlekeep streets, around stalls and past frowning monks toward the Inn. The other always stayed just ahead of her, her stick legs somehow managing to beat her best friend to their prize. But she wasn't about to let Imoen win this time.

Evelyn twisted away from the path of a sudden then, and darted back and into the stables. It was a shortcut they knew but the other had missed, and she was finally going to beat her best friend for her mistake. But then she heard voices.

She slowed as she came around to the long, thatch-roofed room that held the few horses of the keep and its travelers, the animals enjoying small sacks full of grain tied around their long heads. Evelyn stepped past them quietly, hearing the voices coming from the large storage closet at the end of the room, where they kept the horses' things – saddles, and harness, and such. It was past there that she needed to go to get out closer to the Inn and hopefully beat Imoen, and she didn't want to be seen or get in trouble for being there. But as she got closer, she heard her father suddenly speak and she nearly jumped in surprise.

"I do not know what you had planned on accomplishing here, priest," the old man was saying angrily, "but know that your trickster god will never learn of whatever it is you think you might have found out."

For a moment Evelyn had thought she had been found, readying herself for another lecture as she was hauled out by her ear. But then she realized that he was not speaking to her. He was in that room with all the hay, talking to someone else. That someone else laughed.

"Oh, but my trickster god could hardly be kept from the truth for long, wizard." His voice was low and slippery, reminding her distinctly of that snake Imoen had tried to catch just outside the Barracks two days ago. "He already knows … and he will know just where to find these others when I return to him, in death or otherwise."

"Your master does not rule the Hells, priest!" her father spat back. "And that is exactly where you will be going …"

Evelyn was just beside the opening that let into that little room, slipping her eyes past a wooden beam to look inside. She saw her father standing over a ragged looking man that had been bound to the wood behind him, his unkempt hair and beard smeared with blood. As if out of a nightmare, he suddenly looked straight at her … and smiled.

"You cannot hide them forever, old man," he was saying suddenly then – the priest, or whatever he was. He certainly didn't look like any priest Evelyn had ever seen before. "Cyric will know this one's face as I do now soon enough!"

Gorion rounded on her instantly. He had had his hands raised and stretched out toward the haggard man beneath him, but then he suddenly withdrew at the sight of her. "Tethtoril," he called back over his shoulder quickly as he moved toward Eve. The other old man, standing there silently in his red robes, abruptly moved, and took up her father's place before the priest.

Gorion took her gently by the shoulders, leading her just outside the room and away. She tried to look past him as the priest started laughing, but he blocked her view. There was only a flash of light from behind, heat, and then the sickening smell of something she didn't know. She almost thought she heard someone start to scream.

"Evelyn," her father was saying softly to her, kneeling down and looking her straight in the eyes. They were soft just then, and searching her own.

"Papa, who was that?"

But he just shook his head.

"Do you know why there are so many bad men in this world?" he asked, still holding her by the arms.

She shook her head, and he tapped her nose with a smile.

"It is because there are so many good!" Her father let his grin broaden until she was finally smiling back up at him as well. The man in the red robes – Tethtoril – moved up beside him.

"It is the place of good men," her father was saying, and then he took her cheek in his wrinkled old hand, "and good little girls like you, to make certain that there are not too many. Justice can only prevail so long as good hearts stay true, and stronger. Evil will only devour itself in the end. A beast that will never be satisfied always does."

He stood, picking her easily up from the ground.

"Now," he cast a glance at the man beside him, the smile never leaving his face, "I believe an old friend has come to visit. And, if I remember correctly, he promised you and your little friend both some gifts."

"And magic!" she reminded him quickly. "Don't forget magic!"

The old man bounced her up even higher.

"Yes, now how does that sound?"

She nodded her head as vigorously as she could. And he tucked her down against his shoulder. Tethtoril smiled up at her from beneath his cowl as he followed behind.

"I think Master Aumar will be happy to see you both."

It was night. And Evelyn was still being carried.

She stirred only slightly, thinking it at first to be Gorion, and tried to go back to sleep. But then she looked up, and saw a familiar, handsome Elven face staring back at her. Xan merely arched an eyebrow.

Evelyn was twisting around then, and she caught sight of slightly pointed ears before her ride suddenly came to a halt and put her back down gently to the ground. It was Khalid, and he was steadying her with a hand.

"I'll be alright," she told him simply, testing her legs gingerly before letting him retract his arm. She realized then that the others had come to a stop somewhere just ahead of them.

"I appreciate your assistance," someone was saying as Evelyn pushed her way closer. For a moment she didn't recognize the voice. "It is a long enough trip to the Icewind Dale, even without these constant interruptions."

The night was dark, and she could just barely make out those standing around before her. She was looking around hurriedly, but she didn't see anyone missing or much worse for wear. It seemed she had been the only one to really suffer during the attack. She was thankful enough for that.

Lights sprouted all over in the distance, slate-roofed buildings rising up from the ground ahead beneath the horizon. A road wound steadily away beneath their feet. It could only have been Beregost.

Imoen caught sight of her, standing beside Jaheira and some of the others, and hurried over. She gave her best friend a fierce hug, and then pushed something into her hands. It was the ashwood staff.

"I think you lost this," was all the other woman said before turning away.

"You hardly have to thank us, Drow," Jaheira was saying. "If the Gnolls had not been hunting us so far afield in the first place, you would have never had any such trouble at all."

Evelyn finally realized who they were speaking to, his ebony skin all but blending into the gloom about. She pressed forward then, excitedly.

"You're alive!" she exclaimed as she caught sight of the Dark Elf, not even a scratch upon him that she could see. Of course, it was dark.

"As are you, my young friend," he said right back, smiling faintly. "I had thought the large one was mine, but you seized the day. I should certainly be proud of so fierce a foe vanquished."

Her excitement died instantly at that, as she suddenly remembered. She moved one hand up to touch her forehead, feeling the dried blood there. Some of it began to flake off.

"Yes," was all she said, quietly.

"You said something about a camp?" the Drow was turning back toward the druid. "I do not recall banditry being of such epidemic proportions in this area; how long has this been so?"

"It was not always this way." Jaheira gave her husband a look as he came up beside them. "We strive to return peace to these lands."

"Noble goals indeed," the Dark Elf nodded, "and ones I would hold dear myself. Alas, I cannot help you now, I am afraid. I am needed elsewhere."

The druid merely canted her head. "I am sorry to hear that. But we will do what we must, as I am sure you will do as well."

Drizzt studied her for a moment, looked around to each of the others in turn, and then continued. "Your struggle will be difficult," he told her quietly, "for the bandits that I have encountered – being beset at every turn as I am – are no mere vagabonds with blades. The humans bear the style of the Black Talon, and the hobgoblins that of the Chill. Mercenary groups both of them, and as such it is unlikely they are the architects of this endeavor. You would do well to insinuate into their ranks, and determine their true masters. Difficult, but not impossible, and potentially the most fruitful course."

"We already know their true master," Kivan was muttering off to one side then. "A half-Ogre. Tazok."

The Dark Elf spared him a glance, but only shrugged. "I suppose you have all that you need then. You have but to destroy them now. Luck be on your side."

He turned aside, and the ranger was clasping arms with him quickly. He spoke something in Elvish, looking the other straight in his lavender eyes. And the Drow responded in kind with a bow of his head.

"An honor to join battle with you, Drizzt Do'Urden," the ranger was saying, releasing the other. "The true blood of Ilythiry runs strong in you, uncorrupted by Lolth's treachery. I do not blaspheme my faith by shaking hands. Even after five thousand years, goodness still nests in the darkness."

"Shevarash has a grimmer perspective," the Drow said simply, shaking his head. "Those thousands of years of hatred that divide our peoples will not be easily forgotten. We must hope, however. With Mielikki's blessing, Kivan of Shilmista."

"May your ways be green and golden, Dark Elf." The other nodded, and turned away.

"You're not even gonna stay one night in a warm bed?" Imoen was demanding suddenly, calling at the man's back as if he were mad. "Even after all that?"

The Dark Elf smiled back at her, casting a glance toward the town. "I would prefer not to sully this encounter or your good hearts with the unwelcome stares I would no doubt bring. Besides," he added after a moment, "I still have a long path to tread ahead of me. And the sun will be up soon. Farewell, my friends. May we meet in happier times."

And then he was gone.

Jaheira turned back to the others, the night having grown still and silent about them. The lights of Beregost were almost welcoming in the distance.

"I think we will all enjoy a warm bed tonight," she said quietly, pursing her lips and looking down to the town below. "With few exceptions. This has certainly been an ordeal."

She took a step forward, muttering the next beneath her breath. The others were not supposed to hear, Evelyn was sure, but she was close on the other woman's heels.

"The hardest part has yet to come."

Evelyn lay wide awake, clasping her hands atop her chest and staring up into the ceiling of the small apartment that she, Imoen, the druid and Dynaheir all shared. The pink-haired woman was snoring quietly in the bed beside her, but the other two hardly made a sound. She couldn't really be sure if they were sleeping at all. But it didn't matter just then. Her thoughts were somewhere else.

The men had taken another room, though it wouldn't have been surprising if Minsc had decided to stand awake all night outside the women's – or even if he were sleeping against their door. He had not dared to be parted from his witch for even the briefest moment since retrieving her from the Gnolls' fortress. But the Rashemi woman had finally agreed that it would have been unseemly for them to share a room – and they certainly had little enough coin to afford another. In the end, the giant warrior could not refuse the woman's command. Brage had been tied up and left with them.

They had decided on another inn to stay in that night – the Jovial Juggler on the south end of town. The Feldepost and the Red Sheaf had certainly been out of the question. Too many might remember just what had taken place there not too long ago. And they had wanted to avoid attention. Unfortunately, they had been recognized – Jaheira had been at least, and her husband. Evelyn had not been quite sure what to make of that.

Word had spread fast of Nashkel – of how Jaheira had led a small, intrepid band to rid the mines of their demons and solve the crisis of the tainted ore. Iron was once again shipping steadily out from the mine, if not pouring out in droves from what they had heard. The master of the mines was intent upon making up for lost profit, it seemed, and had no compunctions about working the miners nearly to death now they had no more need to fear it from below.

What had proved troubling, though, was the news that the bandit raids had increased since then. Even though the iron was moving steadily from the mines to smelts and blacksmiths all up along the Sword Coast, more and more caravans were turning up missing, or butchered – all for the sake of that same iron. It only made their next task all the more urgent, and Jaheira had certainly resolved to conclude with it quickly. She had given them one day to rest. And as far as Evelyn was concerned, it was a mixed blessing.

She lay there atop her blankets in little more than her shift, a small length of steel held firmly between her fingers. It was Gorion's dagger, the one she had found on his body after the night he had been murdered. And it was the blade that she had vowed to end the life of his murderer with when the time finally came. She had kept it safe inside her pack up until then. But as she had scrounged through it for the last of her clean clothes before sinking into a bath in the copper tub they had been given, she had seen it … and remembered. Helping Minsc rescue his witch had been distraction enough, but deep down, she hadn't forgotten. Gorion had seldom been in her dreams of late, though.

The voices had quieted as well … at least some of them had. It was not as if they had ever spoken to her though really. It was more as if they had been irresistible urges and feelings that had never been hers before all of this. They had felt decidedly alien at first, and she had known them to be wrong. But over time they had begun to fade into the background, and to seem less and less different from her own. She was beginning to have more and more trouble distinguishing between them, though the hunger that suffused her sometimes could never fully become one with her. She had rejected it so utterly after what it had made her do, and it had tried so hard to drive her to do more. But she pushed it away, and it was left clawing at the edges. She could only hope that was where it would stay.

Whatever came of their assault on the bandit camp … her father's killer would be there, she was sure of it. Tazok would be too. And they would all have their revenge at once – or die trying to take it. For her part, Evelyn was not so sure that they wouldn't. She had begun to remember the demonic man in earnest that night, now that he was so close, and she hardly knew if she was any more suited to slay him just then than she had been more than half a month ago. Her hands had begun to shake around the dagger at the thought, and she wasn't quite sure if it was with hate or fear. Maybe both. The man had killed Gorion with ease. What hope could she have possibly had?

No … thoughts like that were useless. She had grown. She had learned how to use everything Jondalar had taught her to do and just what she had needed in order to take her vengeance. Jaheira might have seen helping the Rashemi as a misadventure … but it had taught Evelyn something. She had learned something from everything that she had done. And Kivan had been right. Being taught to learn on her own had still been something. And she had.

She got up from the bed and put Gorion's dagger back in her pack. It wasn't time yet, but it would be soon enough. And whatever happened, she would not rest until she had driven that little piece of steel deep inside the man's murderous heart. She had already promised that.

She pulled a long tunic on over the shift, deciding that she had had enough sleep for the past three days. It was not as if those few hours before light would have been enough besides, and Jaheira had resolved to begin their work early in the morning. Evelyn wasn't sure just what that might involve … but it was a fading thought just then. And as she stepped outside of their room, mildly surprised not to find Minsc lying there, she remembered something more pressing. Kivan stood at the end of the hall.

He had his back to her, leaning against the wall and staring down through a window to the Beregost streets below. She moved slowly down the passage toward him, careful not to make a sound. He looked as if he was as deep in his thoughts as she … and she could easily imagine of just what they were. She would not dare to disturb them so callously.

As she stepped closer, however, he suddenly spoke, quietly and reproving. "Your trade is not mine," he said back over his shoulder without turning, "and I would thank you not to ply it on me."

She ceased moving instantly, but then shrugged to herself, and started forward once more.

"I never had a chance to thank you for saving my life," she told him then, coming to stop mere paces behind. He turned hard eyes toward her briefly.

"And I never cared to thank you for saving mine."

"So is that why you've been avoiding me?" She cast a glance around to the hallway about, pursing her lips. "I hardly have you trapped now." There was a flight of stairs leading back down to the common room just beside him.

"I have not been avoiding you." He shook his head. "You were hardly fit enough to continue our lessons anyways."

"That's hardly an excuse. You've barely said anything to me since that night."

"I have spoken to you plenty of times since then."

"At me … not to me."

He shook his head, muttering something in Elvish.

"What do you want, Evelyn?" he turned toward her, sounding irritated. It angered her for a moment, making her feel almost like some kind of nagging child. But she let it pass.

"The same thing you want," she told him evenly. "Revenge. And I'd think that you would respect what I did for you a little more since it kept you alive long enough to be here right now."

"I did not ask you to save my life," he muttered quietly, and then his voice picked up fervor. "One way or another I would be with Deheriana in Arvandor … Do you begrudge me wishing to be there sooner rather than later?"

"What about Tazok?" she asked simply. The other turned away.

"Tazok was never the one that mattered."

She took a step closer after a moment, letting her voice fall low.

"I think you are afraid of him, Kivan."

He rounded upon her instantly.

"Afraid?" he hissed at her, incredulous and infuriated both. "I hate him … that is enough. And I love Deheriana. There is no room left in my heart for fear. They have divided it equally between them." But she only stepped closer.

"I think you are afraid that you will be just as powerless as before to stop him," she persisted. "I think you are afraid that you will fail."

"Shevarash will not let me fail!" He stabbed a finger toward the ground.

But Evelyn only shook her head. "You're not afraid of failing Shevaresh, Kivan," she frowned at him sadly. "You're afraid of failing her. Again."

His brown eyes widened at that, and, for a moment, melted away. But then he was as hard as stone once more. And twice as cold. "I will not fail," he uttered simply. "That Tazok has wormed his way into my heart at all is reason enough for him to die. That place belongs solely to her, and no one else."

"You don't have to hide it, Kivan," was all Eve said, gently. "I'm scared too."

"And of what could you possibly be scared?" he demanded angrily, nearly spitting the words at her. "Have you suffered anything even close to what I have suffered? Did you watch as beasts tore your love apart in the dirt before you? Hear them laugh? Feel them burn and twist your own flesh until it was barely your own anymore? Have you?"

He suddenly tore off one of his leather gloves, revealing the naked limb beneath. He thrust the hand before her face, showing her the blackened purple and red, oozing flesh that grew there, scorched and hacked until it hardly resembled a hand at all anymore. Unless you looked from afar and could see all its joints.

She swallowed loudly, but stood her ground.

"You think that if you fail her again, Kivan," she continued slowly, "she will not take you back. Or that you won't be worthy of her anymore. But if she loves you … if she really loves you … then it won't matter what you do or don't do. She will take you … so long as you love her too."

"What do you know?!" he suddenly barked at her, snatching at her tunic and pulling his contorted face in close. "What can you know?" he hissed. "You are a child … nothing more! Nothing! You know nothing!"

He abruptly forced her away, pushing her back. And then he turned toward the window once more. "Leave me," he said, quietly. "I will thank you for saving my life … but never do so again. Whatever foul magicks you have inside of you," he stabbed a hand, "I want no part of them. They are your burden to bear. Do not make them mine – again."

She had listened to it all with calm and patience. She had let him rant and rave in those brief moments as he had before at her, and she had let it all wash over her as if it were nothing. She knew it was nothing. But at that … at that last bit that he had lashed out at her with, hardly giving it any more thought than he would have some kind of insect squirming in the dirt … Evelyn suddenly felt something inside of her snap.

"You think I know nothing?" she stepped up close to him once more. "You think you know something of hate?"

She raised both her arms toward him, and he turned around.

"You look at my hands now … and you tell me I know nothing of pain … and suffering!"

The ranger opened his mouth to bark something angry back at her, but then he did look at her hands as they abruptly thrust closer in front of his face. Even in the early morning gloom, he must have seen that same glow that she felt. He looked up to her in surprise.

"You say you felt your soul leave you as Deheriana died," she was continuing quietly, her teeth bared and angry tears in her eyes. "You say you felt hers leave her too."

He frowned at her, his brow furrowing fiercely. She wasn't done just yet.

"But do you know what it feels like to tear someone else's soul from them?" she demanded angrily. "I do!" She stabbed one of those glowing red hands toward her chest. "Do you have any idea just what that feels like?"

"Evelyn …"

"No!" She shook her head fiercely from side to side. "No … you don't. You don't have any idea what it's like to feel that hunger inside you – to know that I could kill you right now … and that a part of me would enjoy it … wants it so desperately." She thrust both her hands back before him. "Look at my hands," she told him feverishly, "and tell me you don't see it!"

"Evelyn," he pushed her hands slowly away, his voice suddenly soft, and bemused. "I do not see anything."

She stared at him wide-eyed, unable to believe. Every thought flew out of her head as quickly as they had appeared, and no more words would come. She stood there, horrified and dumbstruck … and he just stared right back.

It made her feel all the less sane just then, as if that madness inside of her was somehow invisible to everyone else. For some strange reason, to think that it wasn't … it had made her feel just a little bit better.

She turned away, her horror-stricken eyes finding the floor beneath her. And then she started away without another word.

But the ranger caught her arm instantly.

"Evelyn," he began calmly anew, bringing her back around. She refused to look up at him. "You told me that Gorion was not your true father."

She nodded slowly. She wasn't looking at anything at all.

"Who were your parents?"

Her eyes slowly found his, bearing down on her intently. She remembered all the way back to the Friendly Arm Inn so long ago … standing before a mirror and treading dangerously close to that very same question. He had not asked it, but she knew he must have been wondering all along. She almost laughed at that, shaking her head.

"I don't know."

That he had waited so long to ask a question she didn't even know the answer too … it seemed so suddenly silly just then. She had nothing to hide. She didn't even know.

He seemed disappointed, though she could hardly tell by the look on his face, as unreadable as it was. She felt it though, and felt a little sorry for him too. But there was nothing she could do about it … except maybe lie. But she doubted that that would accomplish much at all. It hardly mattered.

She pulled him to her abruptly, wrapping her hands tight about his back. He seemed surprised at the gesture at first, but did not fight it. She rubbed a hand comfortingly against his tunic.

"We'll find Tazok," she told him quietly, her voice steady as she remembered just why she had really come to speak to him. "We'll take your revenge. We won't fail." She smiled as warmly as she could, turning her head aside. "And when we are finally done … you'll have Deheriana back. She will love you just as much as you love her. No matter what happens. I promise you that."

They stayed there for a long time … but it wasn't long before the ranger finally came apart in her arms, finally letting some of it all go at last – she could only hope. She thought she heard him thank her at some point, but she couldn't be sure. All she knew was that she felt she might have finally given him something worth all the trouble she had put him through, as small a thing as it was. That … made her forget everything else for a while. Just a while.

She hoped, at least for him, that it would be enough.