~*-{/=S=\}-*~
The closed door shut Sajantha in with a silence that only grew heavier, 'til 'twas all she could focus upon. Imoen had left the spellbook open. The symbols seemed to glow upon the page, dancing in the air before her eyes. Sajantha reached out and slammed the cover shut, heartbeat loud in her ears. As if the book had left a residue upon her fingers, they itched.
She could find them. She could do it. A terrific certainty solidified inside her, building til her heart raced. Locate person, the page murmured. She didn't need any components. Ti woari ekess ve.
The magic stirred inside her. She could—she could–
She pressed a pillow down upon the book. With an ache in her throat, Sajantha walked to the window, cooling her palms against the glass. Who would she cast it upon—whom did she most wish to find? No. No more magic. Behind her, the spellbook's presence filled the room til it pressed the walls; the room could not contain them both. She had to get out of there.
Bare minutes had passed before she found herself outside, head ducked down, and feet carrying her with a swiftness intent on outrunning the wind itself, with a purpose she did not stop to question.
In this part of town, the breeze carried a fresher hint of the sea, not the fishiness of the docks. Manicured gardens and lively colored flowers stood out beneath the streetlights. And, there it was. The Helm and Cloak: the most well-to-do inn in the city. A glaring contrast from the one she'd just left, it looked almost surreal.
Sajantha's hand rested flat against the polished wood for a long moment before she dared to push it open.
She stepped onto a plush carpet, greeted by deep burgundy wood, red tablecloths and glittering candlelight; its welcoming softness was such a change from the gray outside that she hovered a moment in the entry, simply soaking in the warmth.
The doorman ignored her, far longer than he would to simply snub her. The enchantment! She lowered the hood, and the man gave her a squint and a sniff. Now would begin the snubbing, for her dingy cloak could not stand up to such appraisal.
"Excuse me." She waved. "I'm quite sorry to trouble you, but I'm looking for someone. I hoped perhaps you'd seen him? A Red Wizard."
His eyebrows lifted.
"You'd not forget him, if you had."
"Do wait here a moment." He disappeared down the hall, clipped steps quickly taking him from sight, if not out of hearing; murmured voices raised 'round the corner.
Two sets of footsteps approached; her heart picked up a few extra beats til they appeared, but 'twas only a heavyset man accompanying him.
"Red Wizard?" the other man said. "Aye, there was one such a tenday back. Didn't last the eve, though, stirring up trouble. We're still cleaning the soot-stains out of the floor." He pointed to where a rug sat over the thick carpeting, slightly askew.
Sajantha rubbed her neck, reaching for a smile. "I'm sure it wasn't without cause."
"No doubt, but I wager he overreacted more than a bit."
"Did he... he didn't leave any messages, did he? For anyone?"
"Left nothing but the scorch marks." His eyes narrowed. "You a friend of his? He took off without paying damages."
"Friend? I... no. No, I don't suppose we are." She straightened. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry to have bothered you. Here—for the trouble." She left a handful of coins upon the counter, not stopping to count them out.
A woman stood before her—blocking the exit—arms folded below a chest her low-cut blouse did its best to show off.
Sajantha raised her eyebrows. "Did, ah, did you know him?"
The woman looked her up and down, lips curving. "Better than you, I bet."
Sajantha drew her chin up. "I doubt that." It took a moment for the woman's smirk to sink in, and her face heated.
"Might be he left a message," she drawled, "for any asking after him."
"He did, did he? And what is it he might have said?"
"Said payment upon delivery, he did." She held out her hand.
"How much."
Her tongue flicked out. "Three gold."
A lie, but who had the time for this? "Here."
The woman jingled the coins as she tucked them between her breasts; Sajantha looked away til she finished adjusting. "Tell me."
"The origin of the passcode should suffice."
"Excuse me?"
"That's the message, yeah? 'The origin of the passcode.' "
A clue. He'd left some manner of puzzle for her. But, what at the end of it?
"Didn't make no sense to me, either. Now, there's one who likes to hear himself talk."
Sajantha grabbed her arm. "What else did he say?"
Her eyes widened. "Something about the–" she swayed a bit, blinking, "the diviner."
Diviner? No better than cheating; he'd not have endorsed such a tactic! Nor would he have bothered disguising a message, in that case. Besides, with Haspur indisposed, she'd find no answers from that quarter. Sajantha released her.
The woman stared at her, hugging her arm to her chest.
"If you see him again, tell him..." So many words collided overlaid clamoring for attention—far too many to fit into phrases—never mind one short enough for this woman to relay. Sajantha cleared her throat. "Tell him he's a self-involved swellhead who would do well not to burn all his bridges when he's flinging fireballs about. And he really oughtn't leave billets with boldshakes."
"A... what?"
"Just," she sighed. "Just tell him he's an ass."
A bit of the woman's smirk came back. "You sure you know him? I didn't have any complaints."
"No." Sajantha paused with her hand upon the door. "I thought he had better taste."
Passcode. What passcode? Sajantha traced back over their words together; she'd walked a handful of blocks before Imoen's fingers flashed through her mind. Spiders. To distinguish the three of them from possible doppelgangers.
Ah. No need for any trickery, then, 'twas just a simple message to ensure only its intended recipient would be able to make sense of it. Far more practical an encryption than a riddle anyone with cleverness enough could solve. Or, did he doubt her cleverness? She chewed on her lip.
The origin of 'spiders' must surely be the inn she'd stayed at, that first night, when her rope spell had gone awry and sent the creatures crawling along the walls. Across town, but the late hour would hide her as well as did the cloak, however the wind worked to tear it free of her.
What would be waiting there—the beginning of a scavenger hunt? Perhaps he would send her all over the city. Who had time for that! Edwin certainly didn't. Likely he'd left that clue because he couldn't be bothered to come up with a riddle. He'd left her something, though. A package, a message?
Her steps slowed as she looked up at the inn. Well-kept, but more on the cozy end than anything classy; he surely wouldn't be staying here, himself.
Sajantha's hand slipped over the well-worn wood as she pushed open the door. The noise of the common room clashed in her head, a chorus of sounds far too brash and loud after the quiet evening outside, after the calm Helm and Cloak.
Hood up. Just keep her hood up—make her way to the stairs, however hard it was to drag her tired legs–
On the third floor, her feet failed her; she collapsed onto the common room's small sofa, in perfect view of her old room. Now, what? 'Twould surely be locked. Perhaps even occupied. What was she thinking—what was she doing? This late... Imoen would be back, by now. Waiting. Worried.
Sajantha hadn't even left her friend a note, to reassure her! Too late for that, now, but—if Edwin had—where would he leave one? Sajantha took a breath, looked around. He wouldn't trust it in plain sight, of course—nor even simply hidden—he'd have disguised it with a spell. She closed her eyes, stretching out her senses, and the answer called, very near her feet.
Not dissimilar to the enchantment upon their cloaks, this spell obscured interest: the casual observer would notice nothing of their attention slipping away; only those purposely in search of it could pierce its illusion. He'd still concealed it beneath the table, though, wedged between panels; she had to crawl beneath it to pull it free. Doubtless he'd sent Raviwr to stow it so.
She rose to her feet, a thick, leather binder in her hands. What could be within it? Her fingers glided across the smooth surface. No time, now, to find out; it would have to keep til her return.
Outside, the wind kept clawing her hood free—enough times to render the enchantment useless—when two figures formed out of the shadows, ice stiffened her spine.
"Hey, there, girlie." Expressions dark and closed-off as the sleeping buildings around them, they moved closer. "What're you doing out, so late? Don't you know it's not safe to be wandering alone?" Fog curled at their feet, at the edges of her vision.
Sajantha shook her head, moved faster. "I haven't the time." Imoen—she had to get back to Imoen.
"Oh, don't worry, little girl; it's not your time we'll be taking." One stepped right into her path, gesturing with a dagger. "What've you got, there? Just hand that over, 'n all your coin."
Her heartbeat rose to her ears. "No!" She jerked the case out of reach, taking a step back. "That's mine. Don't touch it."
The other had moved nearer, too; their blades glimmered in the moonlight. "I don't think you understand how this works."
"Don't you know who I am?" The one time her reputation might come in handy! Preying on girls in alleys, they'd be the type to be more intimidated by a 'murderer' than interested in the bounty.
They shared a glance. "I know you're gonna be either a lot poorer or a lot deader, in a second."
"And you're going to be sorry you picked me to be your victim." She lifted her chin, drew back her cloak, but they appeared more amused than anything. A single look from Edwin would have scattered them.
"She's sure got a big mouth on her, don't she? What do you think we should–"
"Filg vreol." Her hands glowed as she lifted them from the man's arm; his skin mottled white beneath it, he fell to the ground.
His friend stumbled back. "What—what did you do to him?"
Ghoul touch. She flexed her fingers. "Would you like to find out?"
He glanced down at the frozen figure, then back at her. Then took off, running.
Sajantha glanced down, too. Not moving—lips blue—not breathing. Was he supposed to be breathing? Her own breath still came fast, let out little wisps of fog against the dark. Better—better just get out of here. Imoen was waiting.
~*-{/=I=\}-*~
"The whole town after us, and you're out doing hells-knows-what? Come on." Imoen's stomach was knotted tighter than a sailor's rope. "You didn't even take me along?"
"Sorry," Sajantha panted, cheeks flushed pink from the cold, "I'm sorry."
Alive, at least, not so much else mattered, and she looked as worn-out as Imoen felt; how to be mad at her? Imoen fell back against the bed, legs still shaky. "You at least find out anything new?"
Sajantha was holding something—a leather case, flat like the ones what held scrolls. "Mayhap." But she didn't put it down.
"Well, I've got this here spell all set up." The map of the city took up almost half the bed. "Just been waiting on you." If Sajantha had kept taking her sweet time, she would've been fixing to use up the spell components trying to find her!
Sajantha helped her sound out the words to the divination, and Imoen said the spell to charge the charm-thingy—hound hair 'n all—and waved it over the map.
"It keeps landing on the same spot; that's just got to be it!"
"That's—that's right here," Sajantha pointed. "That's this inn!"
A burst of warmth sent energy all through her as Imoen shot up. "Well, don't that just figure, that we never saw them!"
But, the innkeep hadn't, either.
"He's telling the truth," Sajantha said, as they headed back to their room. "They must not be here."
"You think they're in disguise, too? Or, maybe... maybe I messed up, somewhere, with the spell. Are bloodhounds supposed to be gray? Could be they gave me an ol' feller, one all out of juice."
"Could be."
"I'm sorry." Imoen brushed the map onto the floor as she flung herself back onto the bed. Bad idea, the damn thing was about as soft as a plank of wood. "I really thought that would work."
Sajantha sat down beside her. "Dynaheir must have the same sort of spells. They'll be able to find us, so long as we stay still. Tomorrow—once the non-detection spell wears off."
"But... what if they don't? What if something happened to them?" They hadn't been in the prison, though. The other kind of 'something' that could have happened to them...
"They know where we'll be tomorrow, right?" Sajantha's fingers brushed over that case of hers. Had she even put that thing down? "We'll find each other."
"Whyn't you just open that damn thing, already? What is it, anyway?"
"I don't know."
"So, open it!" All the more reason to.
"In the morning," she answered. "I like it, like this: it could be anything, right now." Her lips curved up as she looked down at it. "It could all be alright."
"That's real dumb." Just what the hells could be in there? "If it ain't? Wouldn't you rather know, for sure?"
"I will—just, not tonight. Tonight, maybe I'll have a good night's sleep."
Something about her smile was reassuring, like that kind of hope could be contagious, even if it didn't make a lick of sense.
~*-{/=S=\}-*~
"Chaos," a voice rumbled. "Power, without direction."
"Who is your father?" Koveras asked, and waking life caught her in its claws, tearing Sajantha away from the ringing sound of laughter. It echoed in her head, in the hollow of her chest. Koveras. Sarevok.
It took several minutes laying frozen in bed before her mind coalesced, crystallizing everything into sharp focus—the dingy room, the wrinkled map strewn across the packs on the floor—a focus so sharp, it bit into her eyes. Her gaze jumped to the nightstand—the case atop it–
Wouldn't you rather know, for sure?
But, with a single, irreversible motion, she could destroy every one of those possibilities keeping her afloat, could crush that little fluttering hope.
Coward.
She pulled herself upright, reaching out with a wavering hand. A note was attached to the inside of the lid. Her finger ran over the symbols—Mulhorandi—and the message came clear: "I trust you can determine how to put this to use, if you're not too out of practice."
"What is it?" Imoen asked through a yawn. "Just what are you smiling about?"
"They're spells." Sajantha lifted through the papers. For Sarevok, though—at the time—they'd not yet known the monster was he. "For lowering magic resistance." She hugged them to her chest. "I'll get to work translating them for you, but that means you'll have to start studying."
Beneath the scrolls, a single sheet of parchment rested, a signed note atop: "Your theory was not entirely unserviceable, even if your grasp of Draconic nearly is."
And, following that graceful scrawl: a series of symbols with scribbled annotations, arranged in an array she'd not ever have considered. As if the paper had grown heavy or her muscles weak, she could not keep it steady; her hand lowered to reveal Imoen's quizzical expression.
"For Miirym." Sajantha shook her head, open-mouthed. He'd been working on something for her, after all! "The way the elements are overlaid, so no energy is lost between the glyphs—it can keep cycling through, but there's enough variation to channel it into different pathways with each step—it's, it's brilliant." How much time had he spent on it? Even just a glimpse of it was enough to reveal its complexity, yet such an elegance to it!
"Huh. Looks like a mess, to me."
"It's beautiful." Sajantha hummed to herself. .
"That's it, then? You got your spell for Miirym, just like that?"
Sajantha looked up. "No, not at all. It's like having a key, to translate: it's a new way of looking at it; I just need to apply it." And, still, no one to cast it. But, such a step!
"Okay, well, you just hop down from your cloud, a minute, and help me with this, would ya? I ain't gonna figure out any of these scribbles, myself."
Sajantha tucked it back into the case, and a rod rolled free, displaced.
"It is likely that Sarevok was spawned by the former Lord of Murder, Bhaal," said the scrap of paper attached. "(And, likely a waste of ink to tell you to be careful.)"
"Ha! He knows I was right, then. It was too a monster." Or, near enough. How had Edwin figured it out, though—and, just how long had he known?
"A wand, and... what's that one?" Imoen pointed.
Sajantha stared at the small feather carving a long moment before touching it. "It's..." For communication: it would instantly send a message to whomever the caster wished; its weight sat heavy in her hand. She swallowed. "I don't know.
Imoen settled back on her heels, scratching her head. "Why would he do that—any of this? Reckon he felt bad for walking out, or something? Doesn't seem much like him."
She closed the case. "No. I think it's just his way of settling the deal. Loose ends, and all."
"So," Imoen's smile was crooked. "Everything's gonna be alright, then?"
"Better." Sajantha smiled back. "It'll be better."
~*-{/=I=\}-*~
Sajantha must've finished all her translating while Imoen was at the enchanter's: a fresh pile of papers lay all scribed-up on the bed, and the pile of goodies Imoen had picked up at the magic shop last night was spread out all over the floor.
"A bag of holding!" Sajantha looked up from it, eyes all wide. "I've heard of those. They're rather hard to come by, aren't they?"
Imoen draped her bundle across the chair, careful not to wrinkle it. "Nothing is, if you've got enough coin. I got one of the small ones, though. To fit with our disguise, 'n all." She patted the dresses. "Wait til you see 'em!"
Sajantha peered at the bag. "Can I...?"
"Yeah, go ahead; you can stick anything in it."
"It doesn't look as though it would fit."
"I made sure it would! We just pile all our weapons and stuff in there, and no one's the wiser." Not like they could walk in all geared-up. The guards might be stupid enough to follow Sarevok, but weren't none of them that stupid.
"You're the only one with any weapons."
"Your harp, then." And Imoen's sword and her bow would stow right in there, sure. And armor, why not, if they got a chance to change. But, daggers? "Take a look at this." She held out the small strip of belt.
Sajantha squinted at it.
"You strap it around your leg, right? It's a holster, for your dagger; you hide it under your skirts." Easy to hide, even if a little hard to whip out. "I got one, too."
"Your skirts?" Sajantha repeated.
"Yeah." Imoen rolled her eyes. "I got me some skirts, too."
Sajantha let out a laugh. "Careful—not even Jaheira will recognize us."
"So long as the guards at the door don't."
"You know," Sajantha's smile faded, "what he was saying, about Sarevok being overconfident?"
"Who was saying?"
"Edwin. Mayhap we could take advantage of that. Maybe we don't even need all of this! In Candlekeep, Sarevok was so... smug. So self-assured. And, this is his grand celebration, the accumulation of everything he's been working towards!" Well, at least this first step of it. Gonna call up a river of blood, was he? "He's showy. I've made him mad enough, at this point, that he'd most like to humiliate me."
Maybe she had a point. He could've killed her pretty easy; now, it seemed like he wanted her around to play games. But, once he'd framed her, he didn't really need her around so much, did he?
"Edwin would be more cautious," Sajantha continued. "Suspicious. He's organized, careful; he'd have a plan for everything. But, I don't think Sarevok's like that, not at all. I think he's reveling in it. The chaos. I... I bet you anything, he wants us to be there, just so he can laugh in our face, knowing that there wasn't anything anyone could do, to stop him. He's going to gloat about it. And, that's no fun, if you haven't got people to admire you, to be impressed, to be scared. Since we know the whole story—all the work he's invested—our reaction means more to him than anyone else's could." She looked down. "Except his father. Maybe my father. No one else would understand."
Except for how he'd gone and killed those two blokes, already. Would gloating be enough, to hold him back? "I never met him." Imoen shrugged. "I sure don't know. But... Angelo was fixing to kill me. For all we know, he would have. Might be they'd let you in, yeah. But, me?"
Sajantha sat back. "Well, I'm sure he'll try to kill us both, regardless. But, not til after. He'll want to punish us, to make us look weak in front of everyone. He'll use his position and his influence." She straightened. "We'll take that away from him. You saw the Throne! Once he gets what he wants out of this office, he'll leave the Fist—the city—the same way. He's only pretending he cares. So, we strip him of his disguise: the noble, the businessman. And show them for what he is: a liar, and a murderer."
And, a crazy son-of-a-god. Imoen let out a sigh. "You make it sound so easy." Like walking alone into a party full of enemies wasn't no big deal.
A pressure on her wrist—Imoen looked up to see her friend's smile—Sajantha squeezed her arm. "You and me," she said.
Warmth filled her up so full it near choked her; Imoen cleared her throat. "Easy." And who the hells knew why it felt like it'd be exactly that when she gripped her friend's arm back.
