Theodur – I'm definitely planning some views of Tethyr through Jaheira's eyes, but we've got a few chapters to go to get there. And I couldn't imagine anyone in the Harpers being popular with this group, fighting for twenty-plus years with no help from outside.

Idal – At least Zharent and his people aren't the arrogant jerks that Elhan was; they definitely have reason for their caution.

Thanks for reviewing!

OOO

"There had long been rumors," Zharent said, "that the Boraun line had an infernal taint. It was said that the brother of Fenaulf's grandsire had tiny buds of horns that the family took great pains to keep hidden beneath his hair until the lad died at the age of twelve." He smiled thinly. "A fall from a horse, according to the official story."

"I take it not everyone believed the official story?" Jess asked, taking a sip of cool water.

"They did not," Zharent replied with a shake of his head, "but there were few tears shed. The boy was unusually tall and strong for his age, and hot-tempered, as well. There were rumors of servants and serfs slain in the year before his death…of young women despoiled and beaten."

"By him?" Imoen looked startled. "He would have been just a boy!"

"I have read accounts from that period, my lady," Haedrak told her in his quiet voice, "and by the age of ten, there was nothing boyish about him. Had he survived, I suspect that the tales of his deeds would have become the stuff of nightmares. The Boraun family has always had a reputation for ruthlessness, but in this case, I am inclined to believe that they made the correct choice, cruel as it may seem."

"You're saying that you believe that they killed him?" At Haedrak's nod, Jess considered the matter briefly, then shrugged it off in favor of more pressing concerns. "So, what did they do between then and the time that the crown was overthrown?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary that I have been able to find," the young man replied with a rueful expression. "Indeed, at first, it seemed that they had no part at all in the uprising; they had no known dealings with the General who incited Prince Cassir to murder his father, but once the fighting had started, Fenaulf was in the thick of it, urging the commoners to free themselves from the tyranny of the nobility." His lips curled in a sneer of contempt. "He portrayed himself as a renegade noble, defying his peers for the greater good of the people, but he was interested in the the good of none but himself, thinking to advance his fortunes in the aftermath of the death of the royal family."

"He was only distantly related to the King," Zharent put in, "which helped his charade for a time. Once his true nature began to emerge, many of his followers deserted him, though enough were swayed by his promises of power…or cowed by his threats…that he remained a force to be reckoned with."

"What about Rastagir?" Jessime wanted to know. "Elminster indicated that he was involved in the uprisings, that he took the children of the nobility then."

Zharent's expression tightened. "He had been an advisor to the Boraun family for many years prior to the rebellion; he was known for tastes that were…unsavory," the Duke's lip curled in distaste beneath his beard, "but he never crossed any lines that would have resulted in censure, which is to say that he confined his preference for young boys to the child whores of the city slums…a preference that, I am ashamed to say, he shared with a handful of other prominent nobles, including at least one of King Datheron's closest advisors."

"Which might have put him in a position to both gain information and to cause trouble," Imoen suggested.

Haedrak nodded. "Very possible, but if that was the case, he was subtle. No one had any notion at the time of the uprising that he had any involvement whatsoever."

"Except for Elminster, it would seem," Zharent said, a bitter undercurrent underscoring his words.

"Aye," the younger man agreed, his expression troubled as he stared down at the table.

"You called Elminster his mentor earlier," Jess said to Zharent. "What did you mean?"

"I grew up in Shadowdale," Haedrak explained as the older man looked to him for the answer to Jess' question. "My mother had taken me there to visit relatives; we were there when the overthrow occurred. My father was killed, as were my two older brothers…or so I believed at the time." His voice was matter-of-fact, but his eyes were shadowed as he spoke, and it was plain that he was aware of how close he had come to sharing their unknown fate.

"We remained with my mother's family; fortunately, my father had holdings in other lands, so we were far from destitute. I received the martial training expected in one of my rank, but my mother insisted that I receive a more formal schooling, as well, and I did well enough in those endeavors that I was selected by Elminster as a scribe."

"Convenient," Jess murmured, exchanging a glance with Imoen.

Haedrak chuckled softly. "Yes, I suspect now that it was more than a coincidence, particularly when it was he who sent me back here five years ago. Until that point, I had no real idea of what was happening in my homeland."

"Why is that?" Imoen asked in puzzlement. "Candlekeep has the best library in the Realms, but I never read anything about what you are telling us. All the histories talk about is the corrupt general and Prince Cassir, the assassination and the revolt."

"That's all that Jaheira told me, too," Jess put in, "and I'd bet both of my swords that that is all that she is aware of. Yarreth spoke of a dark trick?"

Zharent nodded grimly. "Aye. It's magic of some kind, though it seems to be cast upon the land, itself. Anyone who passes beyond the borders of Tethyr immediately forgets virtually everything that has gone on here, remembering only the vague details known by the outside world. The same magic seems to deflect the curiosity of those who might otherwise investigate." His lips twisted into a bitterly ironic smile. "Not that it matters, since any who enter Tethyr fall under the same spell once they leave."

"I've experienced its effects myself," the Duke continued. "Many years ago, I attempted to contact friends in Baldur's Gate, to request their aid." He shook his head slowly, disbelief still plain upon his face. "As soon as I left Tethyr, all traces of that purpose vanished from my mind. I knew that I was fighting a war, but there seemed no sense of urgency to that knowledge. I made my way to Baldur's Gate, bought a few wagonloads of supplies and returned without ever even thinking of my friends. As soon as I was back within Tethyr, I remembered everything. It was the same with everyone who made the attempt." He shrugged. "Eventually, we stopped trying."

"What about sending a letter?" Imoen asked, but Zharent was shaking his head before she finished speaking.

"We tried," he said simply. "The words vanish from the page as if they had never been written, nor do magical means of communication work. We have been cut off from the rest of Faerûn…from the rest of Toril, for that matter."

"That took some power," Imoen mused, nibbling thoughtfully on her lower lip. "The demon lord that you mentioned?"

"That is the logical assumption," Haedrak replied. "Rastagir is powerful, but an enchantment of this magnitude would be beyond even his abilities."

"Why would a demon lord concern itself with a conflict on the Prime Material Planes?" Jess mused, looking questioningly at her sister. Imoen had spent far more time among Candlekeep's tomes than she had.

"It shouldn't, unless it has been summoned, or stands to gain something from it," the mage replied with a frown. "Have you ever seen it?" she asked Zharent.

The Duke shook his head. "To the best of my knowledge, it has never been seen in these lands."

Imoen's frown deepened. "Then how do you –"

"Know?" Zharent finished for her. "We didn't until a few weeks ago. We knew that Fenaulf was utterly ruthless, and that Rastagir was almost unnaturally adept in arcane magics. They maintain their following through a careful manipulation of greed and fear; we have always assumed that the children who had been taken over the years were a part of that, and I suppose that they served in that capacity, as well." He dropped his head, his eyes haunted.

"Despite Rastagir's magic," Haedrak continued, adroitly stepping into the silence left by his commander, "when we fought Fenaulf's forces, it was sword against sword, man against man. Occasionally we would have to contend with spells or summoned creatures; Rastagir was not the only magic-user on Boraun's side, but we have more than a few of our own, and we always managed to counter their attempts. Neither side has ever quite managed to firmly gain the upper hand…until now."

"A month ago, we met Boraun's forces in battle outside the village of Criault." Jess exchanged a glance with Imoen; both recognized the name as the place that 'Kenick' had mentioned. Haedrak did not seem to notice as he continued, "It was there that we first encountered them. Some had horns, others hooves, tails, scaled skin, other deformities too outlandish to be easily described. Most of them were at least half again as large as our tallest warriors, and a few were even larger, and they fought…well, like demons." He gave them a shrug and a wan smile. "They comprised less than a quarter of his forces, but it was more than enough to defeat us soundly."

He grimaced. "We lost more men that day than we had in weeks of conflict previously, and it only became worse as the tieflings began to grow in number." He shook his head. "The term 'tiefling' probably isn't correct, as it refers to individuals whose fiendish ancestry is more distant. What we encountered were obviously half-blooded; young, unbelievably powerful and trained to fight to the death."

"We had long wondered," Zharent said, taking up the narrative, "why more boys were taken than girls. There was the matter of Rastagir's…preferences…of course, but the numbers seemed excessive, even for one so corrupted. We thought that it might have been their way of depriving us of new fighters, for it has accomplished that. We are able to replace perhaps one out of every three men who fall in battle; at our current rate of attrition, that will decimate our ranks within weeks. Meanwhile, these half-fiends become more numerous each time we meet them in battle; they can be killed, but it takes work, and usually three to four men, to accomplish it, and we can count on losing half of those in the process.

"We have been forced to retreat into the Wealdath; the power of the forest offers us protection, but Fenaulf's army now controls almost all of Tethyr beyond these trees, and nature's magic is reaching its limits. The Archdruid of the grove has vanished, and whether she was taken by Rastagir's magic, killed or left of her own volition, the effect on morale has been catastrophic.

"We finally captured one of the half-fiends alive little more than a week ago and interrogated him." Zharent stood suddenly and took several steps away from the table, his back to them. "We tortured him, to be blunt," he said tersely, "and as much as it shames me to admit it, I would do it again."

"The demon lord's name is Graal'thun," Haedrak said as Zharent remained silent, still unwilling to turn around. "The children who have been taken by Rastagir are raised and used as…breeding stock." He swallowed hard. "That…explains the preponderance of males that have been taken. One male can breed many females; in addition," he continued slowly, "a human or elven female would be…unlikely to survive a pregnancy with one of these creatures."

"But why?" Jess demanded, revulsion rising within her.

"A half-demon isn't subject to spells of banishment," Imoen said, her face pale. "It can't be forced to return to its own plane, because its human blood ties it here, as well. A half-demon may not be as deadly as a full blood, but it's still much stronger and faster than any warrior on the material plane." She looked at Haedrak, her brow creased in puzzlement. "I still don't understand what this Graal'thun has to gain from this alliance."

The scholarly warrior gave a helpless shrug. "That is something that we do not know, my lady. With the longstanding rumors of demonic blood in the Boraun line, there has been speculation that perhaps that blood is his, but –"

" – but demons don't give a damn about things like that," Imoen finished for him. She was silent for a long moment, lost in thought. "Are children still being taken?" she asked at last.

"Aye," Haedrak nodded. "Many in Tethyr have given up on childbearing altogether, but any family with children has seen at least one, and usually more, taken. It is that, plus the fear of losing still more, that keeps most of the populace too cowed to fight. The boys, as I said, seem to be used for breeding, while the girls," he looked away uneasily, "the girls are used as…rewards…for the fighters."

Jess felt her mouth go dry. "How old?" she managed to ask.

"These days, generally somewhere between ten and thirteen years, though older children vanish on occasion, as well," Haedrak replied, his voice flat, his grey eyes as hard as slate. "Most of the populace still remain unaware of the true fate of the children who are taken." His eyes suddenly softened with weariness, and he rubbed at them with one hand. "I confess that I do not know whether to let the truth be known or not; I always thought that the uncertainty must surely be the hardest thing to endure, but this…" He shook his head. "Such knowledge is likely to destroy the sanity of some."

"But it may move others to join with you, to fight against Boraun," Jess suggested, though she knew what the response would be even before Zharent turned back to them.

"Farmers, laborers, craftsmen…fighting against demons?" he shook his head. "If I thought that they stood any chance at all, I would not hesitate, but I'll not lead them to certain death."

"Shouldn't that be their choice to make?" she asked him.

"Would it truly be a choice?" he responded quietly. "A grief-crazed father, bent on revenge? Fenaulf Boraun would not hesitate to manipulate such emotions to his own ends, if he were able…which is why I must not do so."

Jess nodded slowly. "You're right," she said, casting about in her mind for some inkling of what it was that she was supposed to be doing here. A hint or two would have been nice, Elminster.

Imoen watched her, a faint smile quirking her lips, though her eyes remained serious. "Kinda makes you miss the good old days of Sarevok and the Iron Throne, doesn't it?" she quipped.

Zharent's eyes widened perceptibly. "The Iron Throne?" he echoed. "Jessime…Candlekeep…" he shook his head bemusedly. "I should have made that connection before now. You were the one who killed Sarevok Anchev and brought down the Iron Throne!"

"With a little help," Imoen muttered, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly. "Why is it they always remember you?"

"A lot of help, actually," Jess told Zharent, unable to suppress a slight smile at her sister's jibe. "Including Jaheira." She'd better be all right, old man. They had all better be alive and well.

"She was involved in that?" A smile appeared on Zharent's face: faint, but nonetheless genuine. "It seems impossible; she was so young when I saw her last."

Jess nodded. "I couldn't have done it without her and the others…I just wish they were here now." She leaned back in her chair with a sigh. "I don't know what it is that I – that we," she corrected hastily at Imoen's glare," are supposed to do here," she admitted, "but we're obviously supposed to do something."

"The demon lord may be the key," Imoen said thoughtfully, her fingers tapping absently at the tabletop. "If we can find out why he has involved himself…any chance at all that he is being forced?"

Haedrak shook his head. "If they had a mage of sufficient power to command the obedience of a demon lord, we would have been awash in lesser fiends long before now. This cooperation seems to extend back at least two decades, when the taking of the children began to escalate wildly, and may even have played a role in the overthrow of the royal family."

"So he's in this willingly," Imoen mused, "but what is he getting out of it? Even if Boraun wins, he only wins Tethyr. Graal'thun couldn't go beyond the borders without putting himself at risk of Banishment; he wouldn't trade control over an entire Abyssal layer just for one kingdom on the Prime."

"Perhaps his ambitions stretch beyond Tethyr," Zharent suggested grimly.

"That's pretty much guaranteed," the mage replied, "but unless he's breeding half-bloods a lot faster than he seems to be, there's no way he can succeed. The Powers on this plane are moving to stop him, and he would have known that such an intervention was inevitable sooner or later." She scowled. "There has to be more to it."

The four of them sat in brooding silence around the table for several moments before Zharent spoke. "You still plan to aid us, then…or try to?"

"For what it's worth," Jess said, then gave him a wry grin. "Jaheira always says that I got more than my share of blind luck; let's hope that holds true here."

He nodded gravely without returning the smile. "Indeed; I fear that it will take Tymora herself to provide sufficient good fortune to turn this evil tide." He stood with a sigh. "My men will escort you back to Mosstone for the night. Your weapons will be returned to you, but I must ask that you permit yourselves to be blindfolded again. Our position here is tenuous, at best, and should you be captured, it would be best if you could say with honesty that you do not know our location."

Jess exchanged a glance with Imoen, who nodded. And he also doesn't fully trust us; of course, he'd be a fool if he did. "Agreed," she said. "And when we need to speak with you again?" Assuming we don't get captured or killed, that is.

"Simply contact Yarreth, and he will bring you back." Zharent's face became slightly apologetic. "I apologize for the apparent incivility of our precautions, but-"

Jess held up a hand. "I understand the need, Your Grace. There's no need to apologize."

The ride back was as silent as the ride out had been, and they reached Mosstone at dusk.

"What do you plan to do?" Yarreth asked as he removed their blindfolds.

"Eat and get some rest," Jess replied with a shrug. "Tomorrow, we'll start poking around. Do you have any idea where Boraun is at?"

"Aye," the ranger replied grimly. "He's ensconced himself at what remains of Castle Tethyr, surrounded by his abominations. It'd be suicide to try to reach him there."

"What about the children?" Imoen wanted to know. "Is there any clue as to where they've been taken?"

Yarreth shook his head. "None. Every mage that we have has tried scrying at one time or another, sometimes within minutes of a disappearance, with no luck."

"Which would make sense if they've been taken to the Abyss," Jess reasoned, but Imoen looked dubious.

"Traveling to the Outer Planes takes power," she said. "Unless they have an army of planewalkers doing the kidnappings, it's more likely that they are gathering a bunch of them together in one place, then opening a single portal."

"It's been magically shielded, then," Yarreth replied. "You can stay at the inn, leave your horses in the stable. I'll pass word that you're here as allies."

As he rode away, Jess looked at Imoen curiously. "Where did you learn so much about Planar lore?"

The younger woman grinned at her. "Candlekeep, where else? There was a time when I thought that being a planewalker would be fun, so I did a lot of reading on it."

"You never told me," Jess accused her teasingly as she handed the reins of her mount to the stableboy.

"Nah," Imoen said dismissively. "Found out that you needed to be born with psionic talent, and as far as I knew, I didn't have any. It was interesting stuff, though, so I kept reading."

"I'm glad you did," Jess said, suddenly serious as she looked around at the slowly withering town, "because I wouldn't have the faintest idea where to begin otherwise."

Imoen's grin turned mischievous. "Aren't you glad that you didn't manage to sneak off without me now?"

"Do I have to answer that?" Jess replied with a weak smile that faded quickly. "I don't like any of this, Im," she said quietly. "Too many things could go wrong, too many chances for one or both of us to get killed."

"And this is different from any other point in the last three years?" Imoen cocked her head, her eyes gleaming a challenge. "C'mon, Jess, we've been living this way ever since Gorion died. This isn't all that different."

"No," the warrior conceded with a sigh, "but damn, I'm tired of it." She brushed her hair away from her eyes with an impatient hand. "Sorry to be such a stick in the mud, Im. Just need some food and sleep."

The night was uneventful, though not as restful as Jessime would have liked. Worry for the safety of the companions left behind alternated with worry for what lay ahead of them as the memory of Haedrak's description of the half-fiends ran through her mind. How could they hope to take on a demon lord?

IF YOU JOIN YOUR WILL WITH MINE, ALL THINGS WILL BE POSSIBLE.

She groaned silently. I was actually enjoying the peace and quiet, she informed the Slayer irritably. You haven't said a word all week, so why bother me now?

BECAUSE YOU MUST JOIN THIS FIGHT, it rumbled. WHAT IS HAPPENING HERE CANNOT BE PERMITTED, BUT IF YOU FIGHT ALONE, YOU WILL DIE. ONLY WITH MY AID CAN YOU HOPE TO SUCCEED.

I seem to recall hearing that before, so you'll pardon me for being a bit of a skeptic, she replied dryly, and why do you care about this, anyway? I'm having trouble believing that you've developed a sudden concern for the children of Tethyr.

YOU WILL UNDERSTAND IN TIME, was all that it would say before falling silent again, leaving Jess to ponder its uncharacteristic evasiveness. It was long after midnight before a restless sleep finally claimed her.

The next morning, the sisters took their breakfast from their travel rations in an unspoken but mutual agreement not to strain the already thin resources of the town. A brief canvass of the residents confirmed Haedrak's account: any family with children had seen one or more vanish, some decades earlier, others only days or weeks. Despite the fact that the children were kept under close watch by their elders, when one was taken, there never seemed to be any witnesses.

"We're not going to learn anything useful here," Jess sighed as they made their way toward the stables. The people of Mosstone seemed all but defeated, waiting for the final blow to fall. Only Yarreth and his men showed any hint of spirit, but even they looked impossibly weary.

"No," Imoen agreed, looking thoughtful. "Elminster got us here with a story about the missing children; I think that's where we're supposed to be helping."

"Makes sense," Jess said, saddling her mount and tightening the cinch before securing her pack on the rear, "but how?"

"If we can find out where they've been taken, maybe we can rescue some of them." She swung into her saddle and looked around. "These people have no hope, Jess. Not one child who has been taken has ever been seen again. If we can change that, maybe we can make Fenaulf Boraun seem less invincible."

"Given that he's allied himself with a demon lord and an army of half-fiends at his command, I don't think that the loss of a few children is going to hurt him much, Im." They rode south out of town, then left the road to ride close to the edge of the forest. Jess still had no idea of how to proceed, beyond presenting themselves as mercenaries at Castle Tethyr, hope to be accepted and try to find a weakness to exploit.

Imoen rolled her eyes. "There you go, being a stick in the mud again. Elminster said that there were others involved, as well. Maybe they're the ones that are supposed to deal with Graal'thun and his half-fiends. We just need to focus on the children."

"Maybe," Jess conceded, though the idea that Jaheira and the others might be the ones tasked with the demon lord was not one that she found reassuring, "but even if it is just the children that we're supposed to deal with, how do you propose to go about it? If you're right, and they are being taken to some kind of holding area before they go to the Abyss, it's obviously well shielded." And if Imoen's hunch was wrong, finding the children meant finding a way to the Outer Planes.

But her sister gave her a smug grin…too smug. "Got that figured out," she announced. "One of the scrolls that Aerie picked up for me while you were traveling around was for the Wish spell."

Jess blinked. "You aren't able to cast that one yet, are you?"

"Nope," Imoen replied, pulling a cylindrical case from her pack with a flourish, "but I can cast it from the scroll."

Jess reined her gelding to a full stop, staring at Imoen in consternation. "Im, that is one of the most powerful spells in the Realms…and the most dangerous. It Summons a djinn, and they're not nice beings." Despite the reward of the Flameblades, her memory of the Dao Djinn clan that had blockaded Trademeet was of a harsh people with an occasionally cruel sense of humor. "They don't like being Summoned, and if you don't phrase your Wish just right, they'll find some way to turn it on you."

"I know that, Jess; I am the mage here, right?" Imoen demanded in exasperation. "But can you think of a better idea? Zharent's forces are running out of time; we can't just wander around and hope to stumble over something."

She was right, dammit. Jess cast about in her mind for any other viable option, with no success. "All right," she agreed reluctantly, sliding out of the saddle, "but let's be ready. If this spell transports us somewhere else, it may or may not bring the horses." Untying her pack, she lifted it from the chestnut's back, taking a firm grip on both it and the reins. Imoen followed suit, then pulled a single parchment scroll from the case before tucking it back into her pack. After a brief conference, they decided on the wording of the request.

"Ready?"

"As ready as I'm likely to ever be," Jess sighed. "Do it."

Unrolling the parchment, Imoen fixed her eyes in the writing there, writing that was nothing more than a blur to Jess' vision, and began to read, the syllables falling from her lips in a liquid lilt, as unintelligible to Jess as the writing on the scroll.

As the last words faded away, the scroll crumbled to dust in the mage's fingers, and the air before them began to shimmer, coalescing into the form of a tall, well muscled male with swarthy skin, dark hair and beard and eyes like twinkling obsidian. His chest was bare, his legs clad in bloused, silken pantaloons of deep crimson.

He regarded the two of them with a smirk. "What is this? A pair of godchildren have need of my humble services?"

Oh, hells. Jess could all but feel the need for mischief rolling off him. "Something like that," she muttered cautiously. The djinn at Trademeet had sensed the presence of the taint within her, too…a fact that she had forgotten.

The djinn bowed before them with a flourish. "For the benefactor of the Dao clan and the bearer of C'thayul's Flameblades, Sergiin Dubrai is only too happy to be of assistance. How may I aid you."

The fact that he seemed to know of the events in Trademeet did nothing to quiet Jess' unease, but Imoen faced him confidently.

"I wish for you to help us find where the missing children of Tethyr have been taken," she pronounced. The wording had seemed specific enough moments earlier, but the sudden gleam of delight in the djinn's eyes filled Jess with a sudden foreboding.

"Im, I don't think –"

"And done!" Sergiin proclaimed with a shout, clapping his hands together in a flash of light that made the horses shy nervously.

"No! Wait-"

Jess' armor suddenly doubled, then trebled in weight, swallowing her as it grew and forced her to her knees. She struggled out from under the burden of her upper body armor, kicking away the mail and plate on her legs, only to discover that the tunic and trousers beneath them had also grown.

No…they haven't grown, she realized as she pulled the baggy fabric back into place. Beside her, Imoen stood wide-eyed with surprise and dismay, her elven mail shirt hanging almost to the ground, looking much the same as she had when she was ten years old.

Ten years old.

"I think we missed something on that wish, Im," she growled, glaring down at her preadolescent body in disgust before lifting her head to regard the djinn with a flat, unfriendly gaze. "I hate you."

OOO

Author's musings – I'm admittedly playing fast and loose with FR canon, but I'm having fun. Zharent and Haedrak are canon characters in the Tethyr conflict, but I've kidnapped them to suit my own needs. The concept of an enchantment on the land causing a selective amnesia regarding events taking place there is strongly influenced by the Stephen King novel 'It'.

Anyone guessed the rest of the story yet? Full disclosure coming in the next chapter!