Disclaimer: I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.
Author's note - Thanks to everyone who left feedback - it really means a lot this close to the end. ^_^
– Blackcross & Taylor
The Forked Road
Another distant rumble of thunder; the storm was past them now, at least, boiling atramentous clouds rolling northwards above the swaying canopy. Fritha waited behind him as Anomen readied to leap a narrow brook, a bundle of cloak and pack under the sagging brim of his hat. She pushed her hat back. The damp air was refreshing against her clammy crown, the girl gazing upwards and letting the raindrops patter her already wet face. After a tenday in that seemingly boundless labyrinth of trees, the sky was the only hint that a world outside even existed. For three days they had walked west in a heat that had only grown muggier and more oppressive with each day; it had been a relief when the storm had at last broken, however inconvenient it was now. Ahead of her, Anomen made his jump, the large man landing on the opposite bank, arms thrown up helplessly as his feet almost went from under him.
'Anomen?'
'Be careful here,' he managed as he righted himself, 'the ground is slippery.'
She minded the advice, inching as close to the edge as possible before making the leap, her body heavy under her pack and damp clothes. Anomen grabbed her arm as she landed, though it was more to reassure himself than from any need, and they set off together once more, their short gasps joining the fine hiss of rain. Time seemed to lose all meaning travelling there, Fritha currently distracted in keeping a count on the retreating storm, and it was likely a good half hour later when Anomen slowed his pace.
'I think I can see it up ahead.'
They marched on for a few more moments, the trunks about them no less densely packed for the slivers of light she could glimpse through them and then, suddenly, the trees were gone, the forest halted in an abrupt line by the road that had cut a swathe through that ancient woodland. It was as though, after over a tenday in the forest, Fritha did not know what it was. The rains were mixing the surface to a fine slurry of pale gravel and she half expected she see a barge slowly ploughing through its meandering course.
'The Southern Trade Way,' said Fritha. Neither made any move to step upon it; the pair merely stood side by side under the canopy of dripping leaves. Fritha watched a fat droplet spiral down a sagging curl to drip onto end of her nose. The forest had felt oppressive once, but since Alhali it had been like a home, a shelter against the exposed world outside.
'The map said we can follow this north to Ambril,' said Anomen.
'Then on to Coris, cross the river at Myratma, and head straight for the Stormantles.' She glanced to him, dislodging a shower of droplets from her curls, 'Do you still think the Watchers will help us?'
He shifted his feet, but made no other outward sign of discomfort at the question. 'I am a brother of the faith – they have no reason to deny us access to the libraries. You are having second thoughts?'
'I don't know…' she sighed, unable to quell that squirming doubt. 'Coming all this way on a hope.'
'We stormed two Bhaalspawn Strongholds with little more,' he reminded with a snort.
'Yes, but I was sure then.'
Anomen shrugged. 'Or perhaps the Blood was merely happier with your path.'
'Perhaps so.'
'I believe there would be little we could do to aid the others in raising their army,' he pressed gently, when his previous reasoning failed to rouse her, 'and we will be returned in time for any battle. Come, before we take root.' And without waiting for her reply he took that first step from the tree line. Fritha replaced her hat, sucked her feet from the boggy ground and made to follow.
'I hope we reach an inn before nightfall,' Fritha offered with no real expectation of an answer. Neither of them had been allowed much sleep, both forced to spend half each night on watch and their rations had dwindled quickly. The idea that they would be forced to do the same that night, and in wet clothes, too, was something she didn't want to consider. 'Oh, before I forget, what names are we travelling under?'
'I usually go by Iorwerth.'
'Ah, I forget you're an old hand at this. I can't be Freya anymore, that name could be as infamous as my own by now. I'll be… Malal.'
Anomen glanced to her. 'The Alzhedo for pearl.'
'My mother would call me that.'
A half smile, but one that touched his eyes. 'It suits you.'
Though, the storm was far to the north now, the rain persisted, and without the cover of the trees, the pair of them were soaked through in mere moments. They squelched along for another two hours, the wall of trunks on either side finally thinning and falling away, and they were out on the plains once more. The veil of rain was fine enough to be a mist and it wreathed the rolling grasslands like a fog, blending the land into the clouded sky until Fritha could not tell where one ended and the other began. What she could see of the road that stretched off before them was not promising.
'I can't see an inn.'
Anomen did not bother to sigh, but she could hear the gesture in his tone. 'If we don't reach one in an hour or so we may have to do without.' A pause, a dark shape rising from the murky horizon as they walked. 'What is that?'
It was not an inn, or any sort of building for that matter. Fritha peered through the fine spray of droplets that hammered her hat's brim. The irregular outline was clearing at their approach to a man, a mule and a covered cart. The trio were not on the main road, but had been travelling along a rough dirt track that met it, the rains and recent travellers having churned the once packed surface into a mire. It looked as though his cart had been the last, the large wheels almost sunk to the hubs in mud. The man glanced up as they drew level. He was in his later years, though likely looked older than he was, the ends of his greying hair escaping from the hood of the oilskin cloak he wore. He smiled to them, something wary the expression as he noted their weapons, through whatever risk he thought they might pose was clearly worth chancing.
'Hail there! Might I stop you for a moment?'
'You having trouble there?' Fritha called back, 'I don't think we'll be able to do much, if your mule can't pull it clear.'
He laughed good naturedly, seemingly glad to find they were friendly. 'Oh, no, I've given up on that. I'll send some lads down tomorrow to dig it out. It's what it's carrying that's the trouble. The mule can't carry it all and I can't leave it here for the night – I'll come back in the morning to find it gone. You two look to be travellers. There are no inns now until you reach Ambril – they've all closed after the last one was robbed.'
'Robbed?' repeated Anomen, 'By who?'
The man shrugged. 'Mercs, bandits, I ain't sure, but war's coming and this whole land's going to the Abyss. Listen, you help me get these goods back to the farm and you can stay at mine tonight.'
Fritha glanced to Anomen to see him nod once and her back gave a miserable twinge as she gestured to the wagon.
'All right, then, let's see what you've got.'
…
They arrived back to Alhali just as they had left it, the low sun throwing long shadows from the desolate huddle of buildings. A walk along the main street and the lack of any fresh tracks confirmed the town was still deserted. Solaufein found little comfort in it, watching black windows pass with guarded scrutiny. They had made good time, clearing the forest in three days, though he was hardly surprised. Ever since the groups had split, it was as though no one wanted to do anything but walk, the hours passed in a silence that stretched on into the evenings at camp.
He had refused to let his injuries slow them, and for once Jaheira had not been in a mind to lecture. Under the druid's ministrations, he was fully healed now; only a few pale scars remained as a reminder of past tortures and even they would fade in time. He hoped his psyche would recover similarly. He was not broken by the experience, indeed, he had been tortured too many times before now to leave any permanent mental damage. However, he could not deny the experience had been unpleasant, and it would have been easier with someone to share it with, even if all that meant was a smile in the long days of walking and someone to wake next to in the nights. Those about him offered neither – outside of Jaheira, no one had spoken to him since they'd set off, Imoen and Valygar out of blame, the slumped-shouldered Minsc from regret. He felt the isolation more than he'd thought he would have, but not more than he could bear.
They came to a halt on the other side of the main square, Valygar glancing back and forth along the long street that bisected it.
'No sign of any mercenaries.'
'Perhaps that is for the best,' offered Jaheira. 'Come, we can make camp over there.'
She had pointed to an open stall that had been built against a house just off the main street, a shelter for animals or feed. A half-collapsed fence provided their firewood, the last of their dried meat and water emptied into the cooking pot, and they settled about their small camp in the same silence they usually did. Unlike most evenings though, there was no rummaging in packs to produce a book or some item that needed repair to ease the uncomfortable silence. It was as though all knew they had to discuss their plans, but no one spoke. Imoen was poking at the glowing embers with a splintered stick of firewood, Minsc watching the stirred flames dance with dull eyes. The girl had been angry for days, clinging to it as though it was the only thing left to keep the fear at bay. Next to her, Valygar was his usual sullen self. He had not spoken to Solaufein since the argument, though after his betrayal over the news of Athic's demise, the drow was hardly surprised. Among them, Jaheira was the only one occupied, the woman stirring the thin soup with a tired frown and Solaufein wished suddenly that Fritha were there. She had a knack for always knowing what to say -even if merely vocalising a fervent wish to be drunk, she would have got them talking. But Fritha was absent and, as the one she left to bear her guilt, Solaufein squared his shoulders to the task.
'So, we have reached Alhali -what is to be our next step?'
'We need to raise an army,' offered Valygar bluntly.
'Easier said than done,' muttered Imoen.
'Perhaps, but we agreed to try.'
'And what are we going to pay them?' Imoen burst out with a frustration Solaufein suspected was long in the festering, the girl throwing the stick to the fire in a shower of sparks. 'How are we even going to feed them? This place has already been sacked! I can't believe she sent us back here!'
Solaufein felt his hackles rise. 'Fritha sent us nowhere.'
'Don't you dare defend her – not unless she's whispered to you about some secret way of raising a few thousand gold!'
Jaheira's sighed carried the weariness of a hundred lifetimes. 'Imoen-'
'No!' snapped the girl, unappeased, 'Fritha's buggered off with her knight for a jaunt up the coast to some library and oh,while we're gone, if you just raise a few hundred soldiers for us. It's impossible!'
'It is not impossible, Imoen,' countered Valygar tiredly.
'Oh yeah, and where should we start? Perhaps we could call on a few of our old allies: Simon, Bhaskar, Eruna –unless you want to tell me they're all dead, too?'
'Imoen, we have been over this-'
'Well, who else then? The Orders wouldn't even listen to us at Saradush, the Tethyran army is hunting the Bhaalspawn, and we've nothing to pay the mercs!'
Solaufein drew back with a cool snort. 'With this attitude you are already defeated.'
Imoen whirled upon him. 'Stuff your lecture! I've got nothing to say to you, liar! All this time you chased around after Fritha, keeping her damn secrets!'
'Yes, I did. And I saw each time she was presented with an impossibility, and watched as she fought her way past it, because she knew she had to – even for what success meant for her. And now you must do the same!'
'Ferhl,' came that quite rumble. Imoen whipped to Minsc.
'What?'
'It's a town two days north west of here,' provided Jaheira succinctly, 'Anomen told us before he left that it is where the main command of the Silver Chalice is camped.'
'How'd he know that?'
The ranger heaved a long slow breath, but did not raise his eyes from the licking flames. 'When in Indraviat, good Anomen spoke with a knight of the Chalice. He was told that all those who wish to help end this threat should seek out the Knight Commander, Lady Amaniti, in the town of Ferhl.'
Imoen snorted. 'And why would the Order help some Bhaalspawn?'
'Boo says, because you saved Saradush.'
Slowly, Jaheira began to nod. 'Yes, Anomen told us that was the rumour going about the Orders. Well remembered, Minsc.'
The man merely acknowledged her praise by rising from his place about the fire. 'I should go and set out the traps for the night.'
'That can wait a short while, Minsc, surely, the meal is almost-'
The druid stopped, seeing no point in continuing to the ranger's retreating form, and the silence Solaufein had been anticipating descended in his wake. Minsc did not return in time for the meal, though he hardly missed much in the thin broth Jaheira had managed to stew from the last of their dried meat – perhaps the houses about them would yield something more substantial for the coming days. Solaufein did not hand his bowl over for the dregs Jaheira was spooning out, instead rising as Minsc had to leave camp without a word.
There were a few places outside the village, narrow rabbit trails within the grasslands, where they had set traps on their last stay there. The drow walked between each old site across the golden plains, the blots of distant farms black against that swaying sea. Minsc was seated at the last of the trails, idly braiding the wire of the final snare as his hamster investigated a small pile of rabbit droppings nearby. The men shared a nod at his approach.
'You missed the meal.'
'I found I had no hunger, good Solaufein.'
The drow settled in the grass beside him, laying back to gaze up at the cherry blossom clouds that hung so serene in that fading field of lilac blue.
'How are our companions?' asked Minsc eventually.
'Quiet. Jaheira is not speaking to Valygar, Valygar is not speaking to anyone and no one should want to speak with Imoen, the mood she is in.'
Minsc snorted, pulling a face somewhere between a smile and a wince. 'Ah, a grave mistake I have made.'
Solaufein merely shrugged. 'The mistake was made long ago. I should have pressed Fritha to tell them, but she had her reasons -just as they have rights to their anger.'
'Young Imoen is afraid,' concluded Minsc dully.
'Yes, and I can understand why. At least Fritha was chosen, she could believe the Fates were with her, as much as they are with anyone –it is likely only an emotional advantage, but it is there still. Beside the obvious betrayal of these lies, I suppose Imoen feels very alone in the task she has been set.'
'Do you believe the Order will send aid to us?'
'I do not know… I cannot see why they would relinquish command of their own people to us, but as long as an army is raised to match Balthazar's, does it matter who leads it?'
A rustle in the grasses to their left, the soft thud of footfalls becoming audible as the woman came into view. Solaufein heaved himself up with a sigh to sit cross-legged as Minsc was. Jaheira looked older lately, like someone who had seen more than their years should have made possible, the slight breeze stirring through that cloud of tawny hair.
'Ah, here you both are.'
'You were looking for us?'
She slumped down beside them with a shrug. 'After a fashion. Imoen and Valygar clearly wished to talk privately – it was find you, or fetch more water for the morrow. I thought searching for you both would occupy me for longer, though a part of me was tempted not to bother –I am no company to anyone like this.' A world-weary chuckle. 'It seems strange to long for the days when we hunted Irenicus.'
'Rashemen did not seem so far away, and we tracked an enemy we could fight.'
'I thought you returned to your homelands here, Jaheira?' offered Solaufein. The woman snorted.
'It does not feel like it – perhaps the grove, but not here. What of you? Sendai's stronghold was the closest you have been to home for a while.'
'Well, the treatment was certainly familiar, but… She was right, I am not drow anymore. Not because I live upon the surface but, this life -the constant travelling and battle but for nothing tangible, a place or banner- it strips away all you once were. Perhaps that is why mercenaries seem to be a race all of their own.'
'You certainly share in their characteristics –then again I suppose we all do.'
'You are still angry with me, Jaheira?' asked Solaufein bluntly, though not without sympathy.
'No,' she sighed, somewhere between amused and exhausted, 'I am not even angry with Fritha. I can see why it would have been hard to tell us.' A glance to him, the broken weariness to those hazel eyes piercing right to his heart. 'That was what she meant, was it not, when she spoke of asking too much of you – it was lying to us.'
'Yes, I was not comfortable, but…'
The woman smiled faintly at something in the plains he could not see. 'You always were her second –I wish she had had the same faith in me, perhaps it would not hurt now as it does.'
'You feel she betrayed you?'
'No, but you have always known what is coming for her. For me… I knew her from her beginnings when she first found this life. I protected her, I wanted to keep her from those who would have harmed her, used her for the blood she held. After Irenicus, I watched her die inside, I did all I could to help her recover, and for what? So she could just die later on? The idea that she was doomed from beginning, it is hard to bear. Is this what Gorion entrusted her to me for, to sacrifice to some greater power later in an effort to spare Faerûn? If so, he asked too much. Ah, Minsc,' she sighed, sending a weary smile to the man at her side, 'come now, punish yourself no longer -of any here you, have done nothing wrong.'
'Not so, good Jaheira, I split this group in anger. And now young Fritha walks to death and there is none who can save her. This should not be so, but even Boo has no answer for me.'
The druid gave his back a rousing slap. 'Then we must continue in our task. I was discussing it with Valygar and Imoen; it has been agreed that three will make the journey to Ferhl and two will remain here salvaging what can be found from the homes and awaiting the arrival of any mercenaries who may or may not come. We thought it best if this task is left to you two.'
Solaufein drew a breath and nodded once.
'Fine. We will do our part. You leave on the morrow?'
…
'Yeah, you heard Jaheira,' retorted Imoen, no pause as she shoved things into her pack, 'we'll need to leave early -it will take two days to reach this place even then.'
'So you need to do that now?' pressed Valygar. She avoided his eye and carried on packing, their small camp aflame in orange firelight and black shadows as dusk deepened. She hated feeling that way, anger and guilt coiled in her chest, the one person who she would usually go to for comfort the cause of it all, and yet she still could not bear to let it go. Gently he made to ease the rolled tunic from her hand.
'Talk to me, Imoen.'
'About what, Vals?' she cried, too miserable to be angry and pulling away to shove the tunic into her pack. 'You lied to me.'
'As you did to me.'
'Yeah, about some sodding book – Athic is dead!'
'Imoen, a lie is a lie, however you justify it. Part of me wishes Solaufein had not stepped between you and Fritha – better let you fight and get all these secrets out in the open for once.'
Imoen said nothing, very aware of the shattering revelation from which Solaufein's intervention had spared her – she was no innocent in all this and she knew it. Valygar took her silence for anger.
'I am sorry,' he apologised, and not for the first time. 'Jaheira told me in confidence.'
'That didn't stop you chatting about it with Solaufein,' she muttered mulishly. A bitter sigh at her back.
'As I have said, Imoen, I was trying to get him to reveal what he knew of Fritha – I had a feeling she knew more of what was coming that she would confess. I was worried about what it could mean for you.'
'Well, nothing apparently, because I'm just some pathetic, Bhaal-sired peon who has to sit around and wait for our glorious Chosen One to save me.' She turned away, catching the few tears with the corner of her sleeve. 'I hate this…'
'At least you will be saved…' he offered, a hand resting upon her cold shoulder. 'If we succeed and Fritha ascends I wonder what will become of the other Children – perhaps the essence will be purged from you completely.'
Imoen snorted. 'You'd like that, wouldn't you? No more magic to come between us –but then, I'm not the only one with powers there, am I?'
She turned to him, tears still sparkling about that green-eyed glare. Valygar seemed to wrestle himself from taking a step back.
'Imoen, I don't want to-'
'No, you said you wanted to talk, let's talk about this. How long have you known you had the Art? Was in the cavern the first time or have you cast before?'
'Imoen-'
'Vals, I'll help you any way I can. We can study together, learn how to harness this, whatever you want.'
His body was stiff, though his voice held a waver she was not used to hearing in it. 'I want you to forget it ever happened.'
Imoen could have hit him in her fury. 'I don't believe you! This is a gift! You can barely hold a blade and suddenly you've the power of sorcery at your fingertips. Can't you see how this could help you?'
Valygar was shaking, too, now, their faces twisted into angry masks of black and orange.
'My skill at arms improves daily!'
'How can you still do this? How can you still fear magic even as it's a part of you? Before I thought it was just ignorance, but you know now, you can feel it, too, and you're still afraid!'
'I do not need this- this corruption!'
'Corruption? Is that how you see me?'
The words seemed to jolt them from their anger, Imoen turning from him, half bent as she brought a hand to her chest to find herself panting, her heart rattling as though she had just sprinted a league. She felt sick. And then that voice behind her, just as breathless.
'You're not corrupted, Imoen. I am sorry, you know I have never thought that.'
A hand on her shoulder and she turned into the embrace that was waiting for her, avoiding his eyes to press her face into his chest.
'No, I know.'
She let him hold her for as long as it took to gather the will to break away, her gaze back on her sagging pack as she stepped back from him.
'Look, maybe it would be best if you stayed here with Solaufein, and Minsc came with Jaheira and me. I love you, Vals, you make me feel happy and safe, but at the same time there are things I don't feel I can share with you, and I know you feel the same about me. We could use the space apart to, I don't know, work out who we are and where we want to be.'
He said nothing at first, the silence finally forcing her to look at him. He was staring into the low fire, though he glanced up as he heard her move, a tired smile pulling at his mouth.
'When did you become so wise?'
She shrugged, sending him a wry half grin though there was little humour behind it.
'I'm supposed to be the Saviour of Saradush; I suppose I'd better start acting the part.'
xxx
They had turned off the main road half an hour back, avoiding the churned dirt track to walk across the fields instead. Fritha's shoulders were screaming, two empty milk churns dangling from her bent arms to prevent them from dragging on the ground. Their would-be host, Melvart, was a milkman, trading his wares with the local villages in return for produce. Indeed, on the tarp that was being carried between the man and Anomen, a dozen apples, a few yards of wool and a basket of assorted vegetables were growing steadily wetter, the mule plodding along beside them under a sack of flour.
'There,' gasped Melvart, nodding to where a small red mountain was peeking up from the grassland before them, 'you can just see the roof of the barn. Once we get there, we put this lot in the shed to dry.'
They followed the man's lead in silence, Fritha had no energy for talk and he was more than making up for it with his constant merry chatter about the state of the roads and the day's weather and the repairs he needed to make about his farm before the winter set in. The goods safely installed in the small shed, it was only a short march across the muddy yard to the squat stone farmhouse.
'Here, we are, home at last.'
The heat hit Fritha in a suffocating wave that left her feeling sluggish and sticky in her wet clothes. Melvart had bustled into the room, her and Anomen lingering before the door as he fussed over his muddy boots. The room looked to serve as kitchen and dining room both, two curtained doorways set in the two corners opposite. A fire was dancing in the hearth, the only source of light when the storm outside had brought an early dusk. The flames licked about a smoke-blackened cauldron, the flickering light giving only hints at their surroundings: the sparkle of jarred preserves against the right wall, a long rack of cloaks and a bushel of firewood beneath to the left.
At the table before them two girls were standing, dark-haired and tanned, the younger shelling peas into a small bowl, while the elder was kneading dough next to her. They glanced up at their entrance, their father sending them a friendly smile.
'Ah, and here are my girls. This is Petoni, she is eight and her sister Kaila is fifteen. Where is your mother, girls?' he continued, throwing off his dripping cloak, 'Harra, I'm back!'
At last, the woman herself swept through the leftmost curtained doorway. Her hair was greying like her husband's, two neat buns almost covered by the green scarf she had tied over her head. She was halfway to the hearth before she stopped to take in her guests. Her lined face puckered at the mouth, dark eyes snapping to her husband. She wiped her hands upon her apron with the same brusque movements one might draw a sword.
'So I can see. And who are these with you?'
'The cart got stuck,' Melvart continued blithely; if he noticed her tone he was deftly ignoring it. 'They were passing by and helped me carry-'
'Fool man,' she cut in, 'can't you see they're mercs!'
Melvart threw a look back to them, as though trying to decide which side warranted more caution. 'But, Harra, I said they could stay the night.'
'Well, they can't! Go on,' the woman continued, sending a stern nod to them, 'the door's right behind you. We want none of your trouble here!'
Fritha considered that if the woman really believed they were mercenaries, she could stand to being a bit more polite. Melvart was still trying to press his case with his indomitable wife.
'Harra, I made a deal! I am the man of this house and-'
'Their kind only bring trouble! You heard about those poor fools who took in a band of travellers in over at Esanje village – come the morning, it was found they'd stolen a dozen goats and made free with their daughters!'
The older girl was giving Anomen slyly appraising look. Fritha stepped forward.
'Please, madam, we are not mercenaries, these arms are merely for our protection. Iorwerth, here, is a cleric of Helm; we are on our way to Watchers Keep.'
'That right, Helmite?' Harra snapped haughtily, 'And just who are you then, his servant?'
The storm outside had nothing on Anomen's expression. 'This is my wife, Malal.'
'Oh, well, I see.' Harra pursed her lips, but had decency enough to look a touch embarrassed as she turned back to the hearth. 'Well, I've only food enough for my family and we've no room to sleep you in here. But the barn is dry, and warm enough with the cattle stalled. Melvart can see you out there.'
A glance to Anomen's thunderous expression and Fritha dipped a quick half-bow to her back.
'We thank you for your hospitality.'
…
'The barn?' exploded Anomen, as soon as the Melvart drew the door shut behind them, and likely loudly enough that the man heard anyway. 'This is more of an insult that refusing us outright!'
'Come now,' Fritha sighed, 'it's better than camping out.'
Melvart had left them with many fervent assurances that the barn was dry and warm, even in the winter months, and he had been true to that, at least. The man had failed to mention the smell though. It was not unpleasant, but it was strong, a heavy, earthy smell marked here and there by the tang of cow dung. The farm's dozen pale dun milk cows were stalled in berths divided by low fences down both sides. A few lifted their moist noses from the mangers to watch them pass, Fritha leading the way to the opposite end where a ladder ascended into the waiting hay loft that covered half the roof. It was a dim, dusty space, the piled hay making a surreal landscape of light and shadow in the glow of her werelight.
'Here,' she sighed dumping her pack upon the bed of hay and immediately setting to stripping off her wet clothes, the girl hanging them over the bare beams that were now just above them, 'pass yours over too – gods willing, they'll dry overnight.'
She glanced back in time to see Anomen hesitate, seemingly ill at ease by the rate and candour with which she was throwing off her clothes. Fritha merely laughed.
'Why so shy, husband?'
The man snorted, turning his back to her to haul off his tunic. 'What was I supposed to tell the woman? That you are my servant?'
'Ha! I doubt any would believe that; I'd be a terrible servant – far too wilful.' They stripped to their relatively dry underwear, Anomen pulling his blanket about him like a cloak. His hair was rain-slick, clumped and curling about the woollen folds at his neck. It was getting long; perhaps she should offer to cut it for him. She watched as he leaned forward, one hand securing his blanket while the other attempted to comb out the worst of the water.
'I feel half drowned.'
'You look it,' she quipped, the girl hauling her own blanket and clean-ish pair of stockings from her pack –her feet were freezing- before she was back and rooting for what was left of their rations: a half round of cheese and some dried sausage. 'Here.' She broke what was left of the sausage in half, handing him the larger piece along with the cheese and a knife with a smile. Anomen received his share with a frown.
'You don't want any of the cheese?'
'No, I'm not hungry.'
'Fritha-'
'Just eat it will you,' she sighed, tersely biting the end off her meal and, at last, moving to wring out her hair, 'I couldn't sleep last night for your stomach gurgling.'
'Hunting in the forest was poor,' offered Anomen over a reluctant slice of cheese. Fritha shrugged, swallowing a squeak as icy hair was shaken down her bared back before her blanket was hurriedly wrapped about her to spare one from the other.
'It's my own fault; I should have gone with Minsc on more hunts. I was too lazy, it was too easy to sit by fire and wait for dinner to arrive.' She finished her sausage with a sigh, brushing the few crumbs from her blankets to settle back into the yielding hay. 'Ah, a fire and this place could be quite cosy. I suppose we should lay our bedding out before we get too comfortable.'
Anomen said nothing, slicing off a wedge of cheese to pass it to her. 'Go on,' he pressed when she hesitated. She tutted at him, but took it anyway, the strong cheese making her mouth water as she nibbled along the edge.
'I wonder what the others are doing.'
'Do you miss them?' he asked. She felt rather surprised by the question.
'I don't think miss is the right word, but I wish we hadn't had to part again. Not so close to, well… You?'
He shrugged. 'We are all friends after a fashion, but it is different from the friendships I shared with those in the Order.'
Fritha smiled; she could do nothing else when reminded of the lovely Simon.
'You will see them again –if I have any say in it.'
'You intend to descend, effulgent, from upon high and demand the Order take me back?' he offered sceptically. His expression alone made her laugh.
'Count on it.'
Anomen snorted, finishing the last of his meal to settle back into the hay as she had. 'As for the others, I imagine they are fine. The rains will have missed them, and all will be reconciled and seated together about a firepit while Solaufein plays for them the new composition he has learnt upon your lute.'
'Now I know this is fiction – he hasn't played a note since we left Amkethran,' Fritha laughed. But Anomen did not share it, faded blue eyes suddenly intent upon his scarred hands.
'He will now… Do you miss him?'
'Yes,' she confessed simply, trying to ignore the sudden swell of longing the admission had invoked. 'Solaufein… He makes me feel as though I am not alone in this. As much as he hated keeping the secret of it, he knew from the beginning and he was my ally in it. Ah, he was right, I did ask too much of him. Awful isn't it, that I took comfort from a thing that brought him only misery.'
Anomen could make no answer to that, awkward in himself as he shifted to the loft's edge and made to knock the mud from his drying boots.
'It is none of my business, and you do not have to answer, but what Imoen said before, about Solaufein and you. I-' He glanced back to her; perhaps her face betrayed some inner distress for he suddenly shook his head. 'No, I am sorry, Fritha, it really is none of my concern.'
'Ust Natha.' The words came quiet, almost a whisper and it took her a moment to realise she had spoken them. 'It happened in Ust Natha. I was… broken, and I wanted to prove it didn't matter, that nothing mattered. I do not regret it, but, well…'
'As I said, it is none of my business.'
He turned away, fussing over returning his boots to their place next to his pack, and she could not tell if it bothered him or not. A moment to lay out their bedding and the pair settled down once more, Fritha letting her werelight dim to leave them in murky darkness, listening to the rain and the snuffling cows beneath.
'This reminds me of home, the drum of rain upon tiles,' said Anomen at length. Fritha glanced to the body laid out a pace or two from her – she could just make out the profile of his face in the half-light, gazing up to the rafters. 'My sister and I would play under the covered walkways when the rain meant our nurse would not let us out into the garden.'
'Rain is much more pleasant when you don't have to travel in it,' Fritha offered practically. Anomen breathed an amused sigh.
'I remember you and Nalia dancing out in it in Imnesvale. You were good friends.'
And for an instant, she was back there, breathless with laughter, delighting in the tantalising sting of the cold on her wet cheeks and that warm swell in her stomach as she gazed at her friend. Fritha pushed it away with only a pang of regret.
'She is happy now, with a home and husband, happier than I ever could have made her. I'm glad she left. Haer'Dalis and Aerie, too, wherever the planes find them now. They got out just in time; if only the rest of you had been so sensible.'
'I thought you agreed you could not do this alone.'
'Not this, no, not fight against the Fates, but sometimes I half wish I was still her, the girl they would have raised in the temple. Everything would be so much simple now. I would be powerful, the priestesses would have seen to that, and I would be looking forward to the moment when I would give birth to my Lord. Melissan would have been thwarted as soon as she had emerged, her Five cast down like the heretics they were – for who could stand against the might of Bhaal's Chosen? Perhaps Gorion would have even raised another in my place, and I would have met you, travelling in the company of another Bhaalspawn, set to ruining my plans. In the midst of a battle we would have met, my sorcery against your faith –and you would have cracked my skull with your mace.'
'Not according to the prophesy, I would not,' he offered evenly. Fritha laughed.
'Ah, a prophesy is like a river: you dam it here, and it will find another route past there. It must always flow onward, it must reach course by whatever means. I am the one the prophecies spoke of, because I have undertaken that role. I have made it me. But if I die tomorrow, another would take my place and suddenly it would have been them all along. Prophesies are always so wonderfully vague, so we can all look back after its over and say, ah-ha! They're never specific, it's never and a girl will be born and the gods will name her Fritha, she will be a short and fretful child prone to melodrama with an overactive imagination which will never quite leave her.'
A fond chuckle in the darkness.
'I like your imagination. Goodnight, Malal.'
Fritha smiled. 'Goodnight, Iorwerth.'
