Chapter XXXVIII: Unwrapping
"Mountains," Reynald cursed, "are not my favourite landscape." Especially, he considered silently, with the Red Dragon Scales weighing him down distinctively, though he was dimly grateful to not be as heavily laden as the fully armoured Sarevok and Anomen, both of whom were lagging behind the party as they struggled uphill. If he hadn't been so focused on keeping his own footing, making sure he wasn't about to be dragged over backwards by his pack, and keenly aware that the climb was still continuing, he would have found the grim solidarity the two had settled into rather amusing.
As it was, he just kept his attention on the so-called path before him.
"All of nature has its ways of trying the outsider," Jaheira said, though he found her druidic spiel to be a little less focused than it usually was. "Some more harsh than others. But at least we are not so high that the temperature has dropped significantly and the air has grown thinner."
"Trust me, Jaheira, the temperature dropping is quite a merciful development when we compare it to the alternative of the desert." Still, Reynald reached down for his skin full of fresh water, refilled at the last river an hour back, and gave his parched mouth some much-needed moisture.
There was a pause as he just managed to walk and drink at the same time, then he glanced forwards at where Imoen and Harrian strode ahead of the group, both lightly armoured, carrying lighter packs, and a good deal less bothered by their surroundings than even the more seasoned travellers in the party. "They do not seem to be perturbed by the journey."
"I suppose it may be a pay-off of blood, though I do not understand why," Jaheira commented, her eyes down-turned. "They have other notes of perturbation without needing to be pestered by rocks or sand."
Reynald kicked one of the aforementioned rocks off the path, and watched it bounce down the slope of the mountainous hills they climbed. Their path was a winding one, gently weaving around their current hill that rumour and Balthazar insisted Abazigal's tower lay at the top of, but four days of hard journeying were beginning to get to him. "And we do not have our own perturbations?" he asked, a little petulantly.
"We do. But none of dead gods of murder." Jaheira shifted her pack and leaned heavily on the quarterstaff she, for once, was using. Her scimitars were still strapped to her back, but she had insisted as they started this journey that little would help her as much as a sturdy wooden staff.
"I have a perturbation of a living god of duty who is not best pleased with me," Reynald countered wryly, groaning a little as they clambered over a fallen rock that came to his waist. "And you have a perturbation that would be a child of a dead god of murder who is currently going through… stressful times. Pretending that we are all happy and devoid of trouble as they struggle on is not the way forward."
"No?" Jaheira leapt lightly over the rock with a good deal less effort than Reynald had employed, with his heavier pack load and armour. They both wore only medium armour, but her elven chain was a good deal lighter than the dragon scales he wore. "Because he needs to know of how I worry over what is nothing as he fights his own fights." The sarcasm was almost palpable.
"You think it will not motivate him to succeed if he knows how his struggle affects those around him?" Reynald wondered out loud.
"It may. Or it may prompt him to disappear within himself again if he knows that it bothers us, as he attempts to try and relieve us of a burden of concern that cannot be lightened," Jaheira said, her expression serious once again.
Reynald sighed. "Did the Bhaalspawn of the prophecies have to be so… obtuse?"
Jaheira did smile thinly at this, shaking her head. "You look at Harrian… how old did you think he was, when you first met him?"
Reynald shrugged as best he could without making shoulder muscles complain at the extra strain against the pack on his back. "My age, perhaps. Maybe more."
"He is over five years your junior, Reynald. And until two years ago, he lived a sheltered life in a sheltered library. Imoen seems younger than him because she has been less affected by the taint; they are comparable in age. He has been forced to grow up very quickly." Jaheira's gaze was fixed on Harrian's back as she spoke, and Reynald looked forward to see him now jostling lightly and joking with Imoen, looking more relaxed than he had for several days.
"He is not in the slightest the same as when I met him. When I met him, he was an abrasive, annoying youth." Jaheira sighed. "In two years, he has become a man. But you think that he matures in all ways in a mere two years? In the ways of battle, in the ways of loss, in the ways of death, he is a man, but in so many others he is still a boy."
"And reacts to hardship as a boy still might; hiding away." Reynald sighed.
"And then I have to be the guardian again, a role I no longer needed to take on shortly after the death of Khalid." Jaheira snorted faintly. "He was my guardian in those times. It is hard to know what role to play at any given moment."
Reynald hesitated briefly. "It is never good to hide problems. You fear him hiding his troubles from you – and how do you think he feels when you hide your troubles from him?" he pointed out, one eyebrow raised.
"I…" Jaheira paused, frowning. "I honestly did not consider it from that perspective," she admitted after a moment's contemplation. "I suppose… I have assumed that he is oblivious to the world around him. Though I do not mean that as a criticism. I mean that he has so much shouldered that my own problems would not be on the priority list."
Reynald gave a tight smile. "And now, you see, the two of you are as bad as each other, trying to protect each other from troubles which you should face together. What drove him to the violent stabbing of that mercenary, how that makes you feel… we are all in this together, even if our Bhaalspawn do claim that it is 'not our problem'. Because it is." He shrugged, the ache of his shoulders having numbed a little.
Jaheira sighed. "And you, Reynald? You say nothing of your worries of this quest, and yet I know you are not here solely for your own redemption or an abstract hunt for a 'greater good'. What have your silent observations left you with that worry you?"
"Blood, as always," Reynald said with forced nonchalance. "Although I may not comprehend the great depths of Bhaal's voice, I have heard the whispers of murder in my ear, and acted upon them. I have caused pain and devastation as nothing more than an angry knight. It does worry me what those two… what any powerful Bhaalspawn… may wage upon the land should they submit." Reynald glanced down, frowning. "And I… and I shall not let that happen."
"None of us will," Jaheira mumbled. "Though it is hard to tell what we can do to support them in resisting."
"Support, or outright stop. Physically, if necessary." Reynald's expression twisted into a scowl. "Though I pray it does not come to that." He finally glanced up to meet Jaheira' eyes, not wishing to say what his intentions were should all of the hells break loose.
"If necessary." Jaheira tore her gaze away, fixing it back on the shapes of Harrian and Imoen ahead. "Do you think they know? How we feel, how far we shall go to save them from Bhaal, or from themselves?"
"Ideally not." Reynald grimaced, his voice dropping. "The notion of plotting to kill, if truly necessary, good friends for their own good is not something I have ever wished to plan in detail. But telling your target your intentions is never a good start."
Jaheira looked uncomfortable, though there was a set to her jaw that was resolute. "Do you know what we should expect from Abazigal?"
Reynald nodded at the change of topic, and could not argue with the desire to avoid discussing the potential murder of close friends, whatever the reason. Though the soldier in him insisted that they should have a plan of action, he and Anomen and Jaheira – somehow, it never crossed his mind to include Sarevok – for what they might do should the worst happen. It just made his stomach plummet to consider the potential unreliability of Anomen and Jaheira, even in the face of the very worst possible consequences.
He thought he had left murder behind him.
"Hold up!"
They all glanced ahead to see Harrian, who had just reached a somewhat higher spot than the rest of them, pause in his steps, his gaze fixed on something that none of them could see until they picked up the pace and moved to stand alongside him.
"Does that look at all like a wizard's tower to anyone else?" Harrian waved a hand at the tall stone structure on a rocky outcropping ahead as they all reached him, his tone nonchalant yet with an undercurrent of concern.
"Wizards. Damn them," Sarevok cursed, winning a sideways glance from Imoen that he didn't quite return.
"We took down Irenicus, I think we can take down some magical Bhaalspawn," Imoen said with confidence. "Then again, I might just want to have a few scrolls handy, in case this gets at all difficult."
"And a wand or two. Actually, give me a wand…" Harrian glanced over at her.
"Last time I gave you a wand of lightning was back in Baldur's Gate. The Cloakwood mines to be precise," Imoen reminded him lightly.
"And, as I recall, it went off when you were standing in a corridor," Jaheira recalled dryly.
"It took out four guards," Harrian said, shrugging.
"It also destroyed your armour, your clothes, and left your hair standing on end for hours." Imoen chuckled, despite the circumstances. "I never laughed so much in a fight than I did back then…"
"Hey, I'm nowhere near as incompetent anymore. I just activated it a little early before. But it might be handy to have a magical attack on hand from a direction this Abazigal fellow won't be expecting." Harrian was, by now, tossing one of his throwing daggers from hand to hand. Reynald winced every time he caught one by the blade but, as he recalled, normal blades had been shown to have little affect on him since their little jaunt to the Hells.
"Perhaps this bickering is pointless," Reynald said dryly. "Abazigal is rumoured to hold copies of the Prophecies of Alaundo. Considering the fact that we cannot return to Candlekeep to read these, it might be certainly worth investigating as we are here. Perhaps we may find a clue or two as to… what is happening."
"I studied the prophecies in-depth, but all of what I read I applied to myself," Sarevok said, his expression a thoughtful one. "If I could re-read any, with this greater knowledge and a less… biased perspective, I may be able to provide us with some insight into the future. A warning, perhaps."
"I thought the prophecies were meant to be carved in stone?" Harrian looked rather unhappy. "Even if we know what's to come, we can't stop it."
Sarevok smiled a feral smile. "Knowing the future is half the battle. Since my untimely fate, I refuse to believe in a future carved in stone."
"You think we can just saunter in to a wizard's tower and read the prophecies, even if we don't face him until we're ready? He'll have someone around," Imoen interrupted, frowning with a faint concern.
Anomen and Jaheira exchanged glances. "Perhaps we should prepare some suitable spells of our own," the druid said. "If nothing else, I find it unlikely that there is a Bhaalspawn mage on his own in a tower without any lackeys."
There was a pause, a sudden stillness in the air, and they all glanced about briefly, urgently. Then, from the top of the tower, as they all watched, a large shape suddenly emerged and shot into the sky, great wings unwrapping and flapping briefly.
The silence continued was they watched the shape take flight, circle the tower swiftly, and then return into the top of the tower from where it had emerged, disappearing from sight.
Finally, it was Sarevok who eventually broke the silence. "Do you find it so unlikely that there is a Bhaalspawn dragon on his own in a tower without any lackeys?"