Shadows of War

The journey was uneventful until we neared the De'Arnise townhouse estates in the rich quarter; a night ambush, by the same slavers we had evaded leaving. Trying to bar our way, we rode them down, taking only two arrows: a glancing shot off Minsc's shoulder, and one firmly thudding into Korgan's shield. I doubt they expected us, but a less well-armed party? I shuddered.

Aerie's eyes were hard; she looked determined. I half wondered if we should return to finish the task, but Imoen's need was more pressing. We had wasted enough time. While guilt tried to deter me, I shook it aside roughly. Slavery had existed in Amn for centuries; could I, and a few companions, hope to put an end to it in one night? I was not a god yet.

I almost laughed bitterly. It had taken Sarevok years to built up what he had. With the use of gold, iron, arms, and a powerful father. I had none of these, not any more. Ruthless politics and lies had almost gained him a ducal seat; for a short time, he ruled an entire city. What had I to compare to that? A not even half finished fortress; the ruins of one. A lighthouse, a village. A bridge. Even that had been taken from me.

I wondered what the rest of my 'siblings' were doing. While I chased after Imoen, they would be gathering strength. I had not felt any fall since Sarevok, but he was one of the strongest; I had felt flickers, before the night Imoen left Candlekeep, but I had not known what they were. Now I did. I could feel it when one of us died; the rest of us grew more powerful. There had to be a way to stop it…

An idea, the beginnings of an idea, began to form. Imoen and our masked captor had been seized; the use of portals employed. Perhaps… perhaps I could find a way to portal to Nashkel, ride to the fortress. I winced; I was unused to riding, the trip there I had barely been aware of, but the trip back? Very much so.

Jaheira in her mercy had taken pity on all of us, even Nalia, a self-named rider. The balm was a bless not even Edwin could refuse. Jaheira rode as one born to the saddle; both gentle and firm with her mare, she made me feel painfully inadequate. My gelding and I had had words… and after many more such words, we reached an accord. He would not buck, and I would not withhold food.

Minsc was too large, even for the plough horse; Korgan looked comical on his pony, and Aerie was at once both ill at ease and natural on her mare, when she remembered to relax.

A wave of helpless frustration coursed through me; I did not even know if my gnolls still lived, what had become of my sirines, my xvarts, my wolves.