~*-{/=I=\}-*~

"So, this is what a real city looks like." Sajantha was trying real hard to tamp down her wonder, but the way her gaze was just darting from one sight to the next—from the rows and rows of peddler stands to the sweeping-tall buildings in the distance to the crowds of people—she still ended up gawking just like any star-eyed bumpkin.

Who could blame her? It was some work not to stare at the tall buildings and the people all packed in together. The city sprawled out all the way to the sea, around this whole bay; you could fit the whole town proper of Nashkel into just this corner of it, with room to spare.

"So many people!" Sajantha's gaze couldn't stay still. "And the wares—and all the colors."

Edwin wore a look of disgust an awful lot like Jaheira's; even their voices overlapped: "And the waste and noise of the unwashed masses..."

"These cities are all the same," the druid said, at the same time. They narrowed their eyes at each other, like even agreeing about something was annoying for them.

Easy to see why Jaheira might not care for cities so much—but, Edwin? "I'd think you'd be happy to be out of the woods," Imoen said. "Stop complaining so much."

Now he aimed his glare at her. "Were I not with you fools, I could enjoy it a good deal more. Besides, you are hardly 'out of the woods;' there are far too many variables in the city for any of us to be comfortable." He gave Sajantha a sneer. "If you require me to remind you once more of the dangers, there may be no help for you."

The dangers here would be quiet and sneaky, not the rampaging monsters out in the wilds. But with the bright sun warming up the whole sky and the sharp scent of the familiar sea (even if did smell a little fishy), it made it easy to worry about just one problem at a time.

"Think of it, Sajantha: soft, clean sheets tonight! We should get some sleepwear, too." It'd be nice not to wear the same couple clothes all the time. "Ooh, a warm bath and a warm bed." Couldn't hardly wait! "I'd turn over this whole purse of gold right now for it, if that's what it takes."

"If you choose one of the inns near the entrance, it may just," Jaheira said. "The establishments farther from the gates are much more reasonably priced."

Imoen poked her friend. "What's Volo got to say?"

Sajantha reached into her pack.

"Volo?" The wizard's lip curled. "You take the advice of such a one? Does this 'Volo' admit what a mingy miser he is? Bah! Do not listen to the half-wit. Let us find a place truly suitable."

"The Helm and Cloak," Imoen decided, flipping through the guidebook. "They're the most expensive, so they've just got to be the best." And have the best sort of rich patrons, yup; it'd balance right out.

Dynaheir pressed her lips together. "Shouldst we not keep to a low profile?"

"What is the point of this penny-pinching, if you cannot ever enjoy luxury?" Edwin demanded. "Fine! Pick some shabby lodgings, you—who are so used to sleeping on grass—could not even discern the difference. I, too, will find accommodations befitting my stature."

They ended up in a decent-enough inn—nothing too fancy, but not scraping the bottom of the barrel, neither, and chomped down on highbite sitting around the upstairs commons by their rooms.

"So," said Sajantha, "shall we pay a visit to the Iron Throne, do you think?"

Edwin packed his whole answer into a single disgusted look, but he couldn't let that be enough: "Yes, why don't you run headfirst right into their gates, in fact—and any other obstacles before you—as it seems to be standard practice; your plans usually boil down to that single strategy (or degenerate into it, quickly enough)."

He shook his head. Just in case they'd missed the sarcasm. Well, he probably did think they were all that stupid. "They send bounty hunters and assassins—using all manner of underhanded tactics—and you would charge them, head-on? The line between folly and courage is thin, indeed. Take a page from their own book, I say, if your brain can entertain a more subtle approach."

"They must know we're here—or they will, soon enough. What's the use in waiting?"

"Somewhere in the Iron Throne's employ is your father's killer. Are you so eager to blunder into his lair? The time is not yet right for confrontation. Let it be on your own terms."

"As much as it pains me to agree with him," Jaheira sure looked pained at the thought, "the wizard is right. We don't yet know enough to risk a face-to-face encounter."

"I am always right, druid. (Though far less often heeded than I should be.) I will investigate this myself, as it requires a subtlety and finesse you monkeys are clearly incapable of."

Now, there was a laugh! "Yeah," Imoen said, "those red robes of yours just scream, 'subtlety,' don't they."

His eyes narrowed. "Tell me, what does not draw attention by the lot of you witlessly meandering about, stuck together like an oversized family of ducklings? And, this giant brute." He pointed at Minsc, who tilted his head. "Not to mention you!" His pointed finger poked towards Imoen. " 'Subtlety?' Pfeh. Do not get me started."

Imoen scratched her head. Was he still hung-up on that sulphur she'd pilfered?

Edwin sniffed. "As to my robes, they serve as all the introduction necessary. Why not make use of the reputation my kind has cultivated? It certainly aids my own methods of information-gathering."

The Red Wizard's smug smile made Imoen's stomach turn; she dropped her head in her hands. "Ugh. I don't even wanna know."

"W-we have contacts in the city we may reach out to, as well," Khalid said.

"If it's true the dukes are entertaining thoughts of war with Amn, the authorities need be made aware of what we know regarding the iron crisis—and the Iron Throne." Jaheira looked to Sajantha. "You still have all the documents?"

"Aye."

"It may be there art something I can divine of those involved," said Dynaheir. "Such villainy hast surely left a mark upon this place."

"Let's give it a good shake, and see what falls out!" Minsc grinned.

"And Imoen and I can look around, ask some questions."

"I think not." Edwin gave Sajantha a frown. "We are in this Sarevok's domain, now; who can say what manner or multitude of spies it may harbor?"

Sajantha's hands fell to her hips. "I need to do something! I'm not going to run and hide while everyone else does the work, while they're in danger."

"Yes," the wizard said, "you are."

"That's not fair. I can help."

"You—and your magic—is chaotic and unreliable. Your 'help' is unnecessary, and presents many more problems than it alleviates." Like that wasn't dismissive enough, he turned his back and spoke over his shoulder, "Remain here, where you will be far less of a nuisance."

Sajantha's cheeks went pink. "Don't speak to me like I'm a child!"

"Then cease sulking, and do not act like one."

She bit her lip so hard it almost went white. Red-faced, Sajantha must have realized anything she said after that would look like a tantrum; she walked all stiff towards their room. The careful click of the door behind her was loud as any slam.

Edwin gestured after her, muttering something.

"I'll stay with her," Imoen said, reaching for the doorknob. "Y'all can just... do your thing." She tugged, but the door wouldn't open. "I can't—hey! I'm stuck!"

Edwin waved his fingers, and the spell let her go with a lurch. "You wish to remain, as well? Know that my magic serves as a far superior guardian than any other." He studied the door a moment. "This requires something stronger. Ah." Whatever he'd thought of couldn't be anything good. "Well?" he snapped, waving his hand. "I must wait to secure it til you are within."


~*-{/=S=\}-*~

Sajantha looked up from her notes as Imoen stepped into the room. The door shimmered behind her as a new spell settled atop it, barring the exit, and another weave wound over it as if the two entwined together. Some manner of abjuration, certainly, but with a series of commands embedded into it...

With study, perhaps she could pick them apart and identify their purpose. So many possibilities to weave together! Few minds could direct multiple threads simultaneously. If she were ever to compose a spell to free Miirym—elaborate, as the binding that held her was—it would take a staggering amount of focus for anyone to cast.

Sajantha rubbed her forehead and turned her attention to her friend. "You're waiting with me?" And suddenly the open hours of quiet study—the first time she'd had alone to focus upon her spell in months—were as good as vanished. But, at least Imoen's company wouldn't feel so much like nurse-maiding. Even if she couldn't ever get any studying done around her.

Imoen surveyed the room, hands on hips. "Waiting? Nah. I'm all set to scout out the Iron Throne headquarters. I've got this new invisibility spell I wanna try out. And, if it don't work, I've got these potions for backup. Whaddaya say?"

Sajantha lowered the book to her lap. "It's dangerous." Yet—without doubt—a place answers could be found.

"Sure, and more dangerous waiting for this axe to fall, if we're just sitting around with our thumbs up our bums. You said it, yourself! How we going to dig up any details without getting our hands dirty?"

"I can't say I approve of those metaphors together." But she had a point. Sajantha glanced towards the door; the magic enshrouding it filled enough of the air to give her goosebumps. "Won't it set off the wards, us going past the door?" No doubt any attempt to deactivate them would send warning, as well; Edwin would have planned for such a thing.

"The 'door,' " Imoen snorted. "Oh, hon. You really don't know the first thing, do you?" She sidled over to the window, looking over her shoulder, "This is how we do it."

Was she serious? "We're on the third floor!"

Imoen stepped back, hands on hips. "And, if we were conjurers, might be we'd summon up a rope. Does Mister G have any spells for us? I've only got the few scribed."

There'd been a spell to lighten weight to a feather's, but it hardly seemed a proper precaution to test out whilst falling. "Nothing that would fit, really." Best double-check, though; she flipped through the book.

Imoen went back to the bed, started pulling off the sheets. "Well, we'll make do."

"Here, a spell to control rope. But that doesn't really help, if we haven't one."

"Sure, it will." Imoen sat upon the bare mattress, using her dagger to tear strips of blankets in her lap. "But not just yet."

A rope braided together from sheets? "This is kind of crazy." Sajantha's heart beat faster as she stared down at the loops and knots of the finished product trailing from its tie to the leg of the bed out over the windowsill.

"You didn't notice?" Imoen grinned at her. "We live in crazy." She glanced out the window once more. "Have to drop the last bit. I can go first, 'n catch you, if you want."

"Or, you can go first because it's your idea, and your construct!" Sajantha laughed. "Not that I don't trust you."

Imoen adjusted her gloves, then rubbed her hands together. "It ain't pretty, but it'll do, in a pinch."

The sheet-rope strained with Imoen's weight, but didn't loosen any; Sajantha followed her down and hit the paving stones with a lurch that knocked the breath from her.

They both stared up at the window, at the knotted mess of blankets twisting from it. "Got your rope spell, now?" Imoen asked.

Sajantha waved her hand, though her friction-burned palms protested the delicate motions. "Rerk mojka."

Instead of winding back into the room, the blankets twisted and spread, like threads unraveling; dozens of tiny creatures erupted, pouring forth to crawl across the wall.

They took a large step back. A handful of squirming bodies slapped the paving stones as they fell, but most kept clinging. Sajantha's cheeks heated in the silence that fell after the spiders scuttled off.

"Well," said Imoen, clearing her throat. "That does the trick, too."

Sajantha matched her steps to Imoen's quick strides.

"You're usually full of reasons not to go along with my schemes," Imoen said as they walked. "I like this, you being so supportive! But, what gives?"

"I don't know." Sajantha let out a sigh. "I'm just tired of being treated like a useless child. If there's some way I can prove myself..." She rubbed at her sore fingers, wringing her hands. "Do you think this is really the best way?"

"They're a merchant cartel. A nasty one, sure, but we're not aiming to attack them, are we? Just get a look around."

It was doubtful such an establishment would have the means to detect magical illusions in place at the entry—and, if they did, they could simply turn around. "This invisibility spell. What materials do you need to cast it?"

"Oh. Oh, right." Imoen chewed on her lip. "Gum arabic—whatever that is—and some eyelashes. Hope we can get both of 'em at the store; I don't really fancy pulling out any of ours."


~*-{/=I=\}-*~

"Here we are." The Iron Throne stood just as strong and impressive as its name, a solid building all bulked up overlooking the docks. Dramatic enough, sure, but not half-so-ominous as it should be.

Imoen's nerves started up that warm hum as they did whenever she was about to set off on a prank. Lady Luck. She took a breath. "Here goes."

A fat-bellied merchant lumbered past them, almost running right over them in his hurry.

"Are you alright, sir?"

The man gave Sajantha and her a look, white ringed all around his eyes; he made a high little noise that trailed after him a bit, but didn't slow down none at all.

Imoen fumbled at the components. Better get this done, fast, before they missed anything. Or before whoever was chasing that poor sod came out and noticed them hiding in the shadow of the building.

"What did you write all over this?" Sajantha was looking at the scroll. With a little bit of a smile to her. "Are these pronunciation guides?"

"Yeah." Imoen yanked it back. "So? Not all of us got the Draconic script memorized." Those scratchy symbols all looked the same. What was it she'd said? Kobolds had written 'em? That wasn't much of a surprise. Definitely gonna be a headache.

"I suppose it'll do, for now. But you won't be able to read anything new."

"You just watch me." Imoen cleared her throat. "De shio saurivic."

Sajantha blinked.

Imoen scratched her head. "Are we... are we supposed to be able to see each other?"

"I don't know." Sajantha looked down. "I don't think so. Um. Imoen..." She held out her hand. "That sign, there, the one with the circle? That's telling you how to move your fingers. There's a symbol for each one of them, and the dashes after it are how long you hold it, 'til the next step."

"I know that! Dynaheir and I didn't practice nothing, you know!" But she'd just better get that translated out of gibberish, too. Why didn't they scribe this stuff so it was actually legible? For half a moment she was tempted to hand it over to Sajantha to deal with—and Sajantha looked half-ready to snap it up, too—but, there crept the creepy-crawly feeling of those spiders. Imoen shivered.

"It's alright," Sajantha said. "You just weren't starting in the proper position, is all. Try it like this."

It took a few more attempts before the spell took hold. Good thing they'd bought enough components to practice on. And good thing she'd packed along those potions, too; they'd better have a safety net. She handed one to Sajantha, which took a few tries, too, fumbling around all blind. Probably should have done that before, when they could still see.

Enough traffic in-and-out of here that they could slip in behind a noblewoman—an extra-wide one, which helped—the guards held the door open for her, and they snuck right in behind.

Nice-enough-looking place. Stone statues stood watching from the walls, and polished marbled tiles all the greens and blues of the ocean that the candles lit to sparkling. Clean, though. Sparse. The kind of empty that echoed. Those purple plush rugs looked valuable, but nothing they could carry with them. Too bad.

Sajantha's voice came from somewhere to the side, growing closer. Imoen felt a fumbling at her arm, then fingers slipped down to link through her own. "I don't want to lose you," Sajantha whispered.

No, that sure wouldn't do. Imoen squeezed her fingers, then tugged them forward to the stairs.

Even when Imoen had been new at sneaking around, stairs had never been such an obstacle, but trying to climb up with someone in tow—and keeping sure to make no noise or crinkle the rugs as they did it—was some kind of difficult. The hushed quiet that filled the whole level didn't help none, either; any sound they made would be more than a little obvious.

Where would they be hiding the good stuff? These lower floors were almost boring. A guard here and there, but more of them potted plants than people. No one to make noise, but no one to notice their noise, either; it made it extra-easy to hear her heart pounding.

The next floor up was a little louder, and a lot more interesting. Here were some more folk, and none of them too happy.

A red-faced man stomped around, spitting; either his fancy collar was buttoned too tight, or he was a kettle all set to boil over. "I'm here to speak with Rieltar, not his damn son! You'll not give me the run-around any longer."

"I'm sorry, sir, but you'll have to calm down. Sarevok–"

"Sarevok is not in charge here! Do you not know to whom you speak? The council sent me, fool—the Anchevs answer to me." He pushed past the merchant. "I'll not be deterred any longer. Is he upstairs? Out of my way."

The noblewoman put her hands on her hips. Squeezed into her fancy dress—all the layers of silk made her even more shapeless—she looked all set to chase him up the stairs.

"I've no intention of being late to the negotiations," she said to the merchant, the high pitch of her voice sounding even more snide. "You'll not keep me."

The merchant looked to the guard, who gave a shrug. "Where are they gonna go? Zhalimar's men can handle them."

The other man shuddered. Sounded like something juicy, there.

"Rieltar?" the barkeep on the next floor asked. "He's off to some important business in Candlekeep, I'm afraid; you'll not find him here."

Imoen noticed how sweaty their hands were together when Sajantha's slipped; her friend drew in a sharp breath. Candlekeep. Something else grabbed their attention, quite a bit closer.

"Mmn, hello." A gnomish man waddled up—about eye level, with them crouched down—but his gaze veered up to the noblewoman next to them, before looking down at a binder full of notes. Gods, his face was close! "The Grand Dukes sent you, yes?"

She might have nodded, might have answered, but all Imoen noticed was the paper flying free of the little gnome's notebook, whisking through the air to land right against her foot. Either she or Sajantha jerked; the movement went through both of them.

"Let me see on the list, here..." He bent over, fumbling at the ground—his eyes still on his notebook—and almost patted Imoen's foot. She held her breath.

"Ah." He straightened. "Emissary Tar?" And he started bustling her towards the staircase. "They're waiting for you upstairs. Don't allow me to keep you another moment, Emissary. Great things are afoot. I'm proud to have met you on behalf of the Iron Throne, and I hope—for everyone's sake—that the negotiations proceed swiftly. Yes. Thank you."

Didn't that sound just a little bit shady. Imoen knew where they were going, next.

The sounds of the barkeep and the few employees might have been cover enough, but then that nobleman still shouted, too; Imoen dared a whisper out of her dry mouth. "What do you think?" Couldn't be too much time left on the spell.

Their palms slipped together. "Keep going up," Sajantha whispered back, "to get to the bottom of it?"

They'd come this far.

And they'd slunk halfway up the stairs when footsteps clopped up behind them. Not enough room on the staircase for everyone—not when it was that big ol' lady, twice as wide as either of them.

Pressure squeezed hard against her hand—for a second—then, none at all, as Sajantha let go. Her shadow flickered as she ran up the stairs.

Imoen's heart raced, maybe as loud and fast as the lady's footsteps, maybe more; all the blood was in her head—because Sajantha flickered, again—and she must have known it, too, for she just kept running past the folk gathered up-top, all the way down the hall. Pray to Tymora the rooms back there were empty. Imoen sucked in her breath, pressing against the wall as the lady swept up past her.

"Ah, Emissary. If you could have a seat..." On the other side of the pillars, in-and-out of view, a robed figure directed her. "This will take but a moment."


~*-{/=S=\}-*~

Sajantha slipped into a room just as the spell wore off; her hands fumbled at closing the door before they came into view and she could better direct them. The sigh of relief caught in her throat.

She wasn't alone.

"You're Sajantha, aren't you?" A dark-haired woman stood on the far side of the room behind a large desk. "Of Candlekeep?" Her wide-set eyes stared out with a curious intensity.

"How do you know?" Muscles tensed, Sajantha reached for her pack—for the invisibility potion within—but the other woman seemed more interested in the books on the shelf behind her; she half-turned, enough to show a wry twist of her lips.

"You're almost all I've heard of, this last year. You've captured Sarevok's interest quite soundly." She touched her chest. "Sometimes, a precarious thing... and, often, a dangerous one."

"You—you're with with the Throne?" She wasn't acting like it. "Do you have any idea what they're doing?"

The woman leaned forward. "Do you wish to stop them? You'll find Rieltar in Candlekeep. If you want to bring him to justice, he should be carrying enough evidence with him to compromise the entire organization. And indict everyone in it."

"Why would you want that? Why are you telling me this?"

A hand covered her mouth as her eyes slanted to the side. "I'm not going to stand against them," she said, "so maybe this is all I can do." She cleared her throat. "He'll reach Candlekeep in a few more days; you can find him there. Maybe you can stop him."

"What about Sarevok? Where is he?"

The woman's fingers trailed across some papers on the desk before she folded her arms to her sides. "I haven't seen him in a few days."

Sajantha glanced at the papers, then back at her. "Siteli," she murmured, and the other woman stared, transfixed, at the colorful illusion that bloomed in the air.

Sajantha's hands darted out with none of the elegance of Imoen's stealth, but she managed to whisk off the first few pages. About to stuff them into her pack, a few words caught her eye: her name, paired with Zhentarim? She lowered the letters to find the woman shaking off the spell.

The woman's eyes swept down to the papers Sajantha held before meeting her gaze. "He hates you, you know."

A flush of heat swept through her. "I—I don't even know him! What could I have done to him? This—none of it's fair! I'm not anything they're saying—I'm not a mercenary, I'm not some Zhentarim. Why is he doing this? None of it's even to do with me; I never started any of it."

The other woman looked away. "I know," she said. "Rieltar has the answers you seek. Go to him."


~*-{/=I=\}-*~

"Where is Thaldorn? I was told–" That's as far as the lady got, before getting cut off; then came some really weird noises that the pillars didn't muffle. Only part of the back of the chair and the figures facing it were visible.

Something was going on, though, and no mistake; Imoen grimaced at the pillars in the way, and crept forward a tiny bit more. She'd been all set to sprint after Sajantha, at first, but the men in the room stopped her—already alerted enough by her friend's footsteps, she didn't need to tip 'em off anymore. At least one was a mage: they could see right through her spell, if they tried to poke a hole in it; she'd be as good as naked.

"Sarevok will be pleased," one of them said—in a hushed tone, hardly enough to hear—with the kind of reverence you heard more often in a temple. One of the others murmured something, too. So quiet, though! Imoen crawled a bit closer. Where'd that lady gone?

"What was that?" one of them said, head snapping up, and Imoen backed away on shaky heel found the edge of the stairs; she flailed a second before she caught her balance, and almost got knocked over again by the force that ran right into her—would've tumbled right down the stairs, in fact, if she'd not reached out and had something to grab onto. Something invisible.

Sajantha? She didn't risk a breath to say it, though, but it must have been it; she patted her friend on the shoulders and they slunk out of there, quick—and quiet—as they could.

Not til they were well-away from the robed figures and any other eyes—nestled into the side of the building as their potions wore off—did Imoen dare to speak. "Thank the Lady." The words caught thick in her throat. "You scared me half to death, in there."

Sajantha's eyes were bright. "We did it!" She laughed. "We did it, Imoen."

"Better not press our luck." Imoen glanced back at the tall building, not feeling warm again til they left the shadow of it.

"Sarevok's father is on his way to Candlekeep," Sajantha said as they walked back to the inn. "You heard that part, aye? A woman told me he has the evidence we'll need."

"Had time for a friendly chat while you were in there, huh?"

Sajantha opened her mouth to reply and two men prowled out of the alley ahead, hands on hilts. Like they needed the extra menace, just popping out of shadows like that! Those scowls said they meant business, never mind the sturdy leather armor they'd geared up in.

Shoulders bumped as they stepped closer together, but Sajantha was blocking her sword arm. Imoen's hand clenched around the hilt, anyway.

The two men stepped forward, one a little in front of the other. Both of 'em pretty slippery looking, though the lanky one hanging back was a bit more ragged 'round the edges. "We're giving you a warning, but just the one: stop interfering with our employer's business."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Sajantha raised her chin, hands on hips. She moved just enough to give Imoen some maneuvering room, but it put her right close to the fellows. "Just who is your employer?"

The shorter man shrugged. Reminded her of Montaron, with those steely eyes. Not that short, though. "Ignore it, if you want," he said, "it'll be the last decision you ever make."

"A couple footpads in an alley?" Sajantha tossed her hair. "I'm not sure your 'employer' is even serious. That's all you have to wave around? A handful of words, that's supposed to scare us, when he won't even dare come after us, himself? Why don't you tell Sarevok to quit lurking about in the shadows, and face us in the light!"

Imoen's heart hammered. Either of them could pull his sword out and run her through, right here! Or maybe that kind of lip would just goad Sarevok into sending the monster-man after her again.

Nobody moved, not til the leader scratched at his stubbly chin. "We're not here to bandy words about." His mouth curled up in something like a smile. "Next time you see us, it'll be a different game." He flicked his fingers in a dismissive salute as they walked away.

Once they were out of sight, Sajantha sank back down to her heels, deflating. "Do you—do you think they followed us, from the Throne? Did they know we were in there?" She glanced back over her shoulder.

Imoen let out a laugh. "That was just you bluffing? I done thought you went crazy for a minute, there."

"Did I manage to be convincing, then?" A lopsided smile slipped onto her face. "Sometimes pretending can be enough. It's easy to be brave when you're invisible; maybe it hadn't worn off, yet."

Imoen shook her head. "I think we'd better get back to being boring. Let's get out of here."

They reached the inn without any more to-do, but the closed door to their room just stood there staring at them. The magic on it wasn't visible, but that didn't mean nothing. Imoen scratched her head. After that last spell Edwin had left decorating the door, she didn't really want to meet its upgrade.

Sajantha's hand hovered in the air. "The warding's still upon it—it's still locked."

"Eh." Imoen shrugged, flipping through the few scrolls she'd collected.

"A dispel?" Sajantha asked.

"Better let me handle it." Imoen pushed back her sleeves. There was a spell for unlocking, too, and she'd actually practiced this one. She cracked her fingers. "Nomeno ifni nific."


~*-{/=E=\}-*~

"This is of no use to me!" Such a waste of time and spell components. Edwin glared at the gaggle of giglets seated around him. Who would have thought it possible to find women infinitely more annoying than those he traveled with!

"Oh, Sarevok's a real charmer," she continued, the spell loosening her tongue to flap it freely. "And not such a bad one to look at."

"He's unmarried, too," another added.

"Not for long—I plan to change that." They erupted in giggles.

Even the noble-born here were as vacuous as the peasantry. Edwin rubbed his forehead. "Have you anything to say of remote intelligence?"

Fingers settled upon his arm as the nearest one leaned towards him; he jerked out of her reach. "The Iron Throne really rose out of nowhere. He's done wonders for their reputation!"

Ah, perhaps here was something, at last. He turned back towards her. "What might that reputation be?"

A small burst of magic flared behind Edwin, the tug of his familiar when it was near. Only one reason for the creature to disturb him.

"Bah!" He stood, glancing back at his enthralled subjects. "Count yourselves lucky you did not take up any more of my time." The only silver lining. At least those he'd 'interviewed' earlier had surrendered something of more substance; the day was not an entire waste. "Ti tenpiswo mi si."

His vision split and blurred as he cut through the plane, holding his destination affixed firmly in his mind. The third-floor common room came into slow focus as his gaze flew through it: his warding had indeed vanished. Nor was there a trace of Dynaheir's, though the witch could have hidden it. Edwin threw open the door, the imp flying through behind him. "What–"

The two girls looked up from playing cards spread out over the bed. No sign of damage, or struggle, and yet...

The pickpocket peered around him, out the door. "Wow! Did you just teleport straight here? That was f—ouch!" She rubbed her leg.

Sajantha straightened, her too-wide eyes looking far too innocent.

Edwin narrowed his own. "Where is the warding?"

Her face twisted into an inane mockery of a scowl. "Where are your manners? Barging in like that, without even a knock! Why, we might have been... changing, or, or something!"

"A pity you did not. (Anything should be an improvement over those rags.)"

Movement caught his eye—the girls sat perfectly still upon the bed, but something small scurried along the floor, too fast to identify it.

A glimpse of leg in the rustling skirts as Sajantha's feet left the floor; she hugged her knees, giving the ground a wary look. Why was she wearing her boots? They were not even clean! And was the bed bare beneath her?

"Just what is going on, here?" He scanned the room. His familiar had taken a perch by the open window, but naught else seemed amiss, though the air outside was chill. Perhaps this explained their rosy glow, though why the window was even open begged a better question.

"I—I've had a vision."

"Oh?" Something off in her voice, something that brightened her eyes as she licked her lips. Nervous, or lying? "Do enlighten us."

Sajantha glanced at her friend. "Best wait til the rest of the group returns, aye? And we can all pool our information together. I'm sure you've something to share, as well?"

He'd learned much, though whether any of it was at all applicable to their situation would be a stretch. "The rumors crawling about the city are as manifold as the pests." Edwin wrinkled his nose as a spider crept across the wall. Large, but only for the household variety: no wider than his palm.

Sajantha followed his gaze over her shoulder, and shot upward, brushing at her hair. Her feet danced the few steps to the door; she halted in front of him. "Um," she said, breathless, "l-let's go downstairs, shall we?"

With her vacated from it, the bare state of the mattress was plain to see. "Why does your bed have no blankets?"

The two girls shared a look. "Oh, it used to," the pickpocket answered.

"The sheets, they're spiders, now," Sajantha said. "I thought they all went out the window, but–"

Only wild magic would explain such disorder! "And you insist your magic is no distraction? Pfeh." At least she'd not burned the entire place down. "Be grateful that the surge did not take you with it."

"They weren't in the room, then," his familiar said, with a troubling amount of satisfaction.

"What! Raviwr," he growled the imp's name. "When was this?" Between Sajantha's red face and the stupid thing's smugness, he'd not been called nearly soon enough. He switched his speech to Mulhorandi, "You were to watch the door!"

"Yes, Master. I did. The door," the creature replied in Common.

Edwin clenched his teeth. He'd deal with the pest later. "Begone." Sulphur lingered in the air, as did the bitter taste in his mouth.

"You should really be more careful," the pickpocket said, smirking.

"I?" Edwin leaned forward. "I should be? Just what trouble did you two idiots manage for yourselves during your outing? I see you still breathe, which is more than anyone could have expected of you. Have you given away your presence—or your location—in the meantime?"

They shared another glance. "No one saw us, really."

"A vision," he scoffed. "I do not have time free for you to waste. Straighten out your story before I see you next. Ti tenpiswo mi si."


~*-{/=S=\}-*~

She couldn't breathe. Chest and stomach clenched, left her gasping. Crawling fingers traveled inside her, seized her stomach; Sajantha gagged as darkness erupted from her mouth and poured across her feet. It moved—it swarmed—alive.

Spiders.

Blankets tangled and twisted as she lurched upright; pounding heart and rolling nausea left her vision swimming. Fingers gripped the bedding as her gut tightened, and Sajantha emptied her stomach onto the floor.

The other side of the bed shifted as Imoen awoke. "You okay?"

A dream: no spiders. She took in a breath, wiped at her watering eyes. "A-aye. Something I ate?" Her arms shook as she pulled herself up.

"Hm, maybe." Imoen—especially pale in the cold moonlight—touched her stomach. "I don't feel all that great, either."


[Author's note]: Okay, I think I should be able to stay on track updating from here! I've got the next 40k words done... just through Candlekeep. Haha. You guys would laugh if you knew how much time I spend on this. Or else be entirely horrified. It's pretty much a full-time job. ^^;

Anyway, I never want to do these notes because I know I will just ramble on, but I just want to say again that your comments are unbelievably helpful and inspiring; I have no idea whether anyone is reading this or enjoying it or even cares at all if you don't tell me, so it is a really great motivator for me to know if I am writing for an actual audience instead of just blabbing to myself.

And I honestly don't mean that like I'm just trying to fish for compliments, either; I'm going to be starting on BG2 (hopefully soon) and intend to approach it in an entirely different (and organized!) fashion, though we'll see how that goes... but if there's things I should focus on or need to improve on or whatever, that would be insanely helpful to know beforehand.

Thank you! Hope you are all enjoying it. I have to say I'm quite pleased with how these next parts ended up unfolding, so hopefully I can keep the momentum up through the ending. :)