Jaheira was leading the remainder of the party up the road to Athkatla. This time everybody stuck to the path doggedly, for a thick soup-like fog had descended, and they could see no more than a few feet in front of them. Rasaad and Jaheira were leading the group through it. He because he always walked faster, Jaheira because she wanted to learn what had become of Arowan as soon as possible.

"I am deeply saddened by the loss of your husband," Rasaad told her solemnly. "Khalid was a brave and noble man. He will be missed."

The druid had no polite response to this. Though Khalid and the monk had never exactly been enemies, her husband had disapproved of Rasaad's treatment of Arowan. Whether Rasaad was aware of quite how much Khalid had disliked him, Jaheira was unsure. Unlike his wife, Khalid had always chosen to lace his words with tact. So much so that between diplomacy and his stammer, the meaning was often lost.

"Now that you are caught up with our news, tell us. Where have you been all this time?" There was a distinct note of accusation in Jaheira's voice, and the monk noticed it.

"You think I should have remained in Freya's party instead of seeking Alorgoth?" Rasaad asked stiffly. "You blame me for their deaths?"

Jaheira was spared having to answer this by Viconia. In truth, she doubted that Rasaad's presence would ultimately have made much of a difference against Irenicus. Only they'd never know for sure, because he'd chosen to abandon them all in favour of his quest for vengeance.

"Yes!" Viconia replied emphatically. She shot the monk a resentful red-eyed glare. "Do you want to know how Irenicus caught Freya in the end? He cast an illusion spell over a cage to make it look like a tavern. It was the first (and probably only) time that your ability to detect traps but not disarm them might have been useful. And you weren't there!"

"Forgive me," he replied, hanging his head. "It was not in my heart to leave. Yet sometimes one must put aside one's heart for the greater good. I walk a new path, one I am altogether uncomfortable with. I long for the clarity of purpose I once enjoyed."

"Turning aside from the Milk Maiden is a bold first step," Viconia reassured him, almost kindly. "Soon you will find a greater clarity than you ever dreamed possible in the service of Shar."

Rasaad flinched as though she had struck him, and he turned right around on the path to stare at her. She stood with a seductive smile playing on her lips. She was framed in mist, like a succubus emerging from the smoke of hell. Normally, he went out of his way to avoid looking at her. The Sharran had been tempting him from the path of light ever since their first meeting. And the truth was, he had never been as immune to it as he'd have liked.

When they'd confronted his brother, Gamaz, in his temple, Viconia had suggested that they join him and run it together. He could have been reunited with his brother, leading a monastery, with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his bed. Rasaad had been tempted. Were it not for Arowan, he was not wholly sure that he wouldn't have been swayed. It was a frightening thought.

"I would never turn to the shadows!" Rasaad replied, with more certainty than he felt. The others looked puzzled at this statement. It was hardly a vote of confidence.

"You were fighting other monks from the Sun Soul Order though," Viconia reminded him. "We saw you."

"I did not wish to fight my brethren," the monk replied tersely. "It was necessary."

"And fun?" Viconia suggested. There was a hopeful note in her voice.

Rasaad looked ahead of him into the grey cloud of fog. It was seeping into his clothes and leaving a damp, cold sheen where his skin was exposed. It felt sickly to walk through, but if he were to set out full speed, he could easily lose them in it. A tempting option, especially with a hostile Arowan waiting at the end of their journey. Yet he knew he lacked the power to take on Alorgoth alone, and who else would aid him now?

"Not at all!" he protested. Yet this was not entirely true. The Sun Soul Order expected unwavering honesty. He'd been forced to break this principle with such frequency of late, that lying was becoming a habit. There was no point fibbing again over something so trivial, so he added, "Except in Tannath's case. I regret battling my brothers, but I regret battling that self-involved dullard slightly less."

Jaheira's jaw spasmed. She was far too preoccupied with worrying about Arowan to waste her breath arguing with Rasaad. Still, she felt that for the monk to criticise anyone else for being 'self-absorbed' was, frankly, a bit rich.

"Then what is going on with you?" she snapped, "And what do you want? If you are angling to rejoin the party, I can tell you right now that my vote is going to be a solid 'no.'"

Viconia turned her ruby eyes on the half-elf and her lip curled a little. Even by the standards of other drow, she could hold onto a grudge for a very long time. Long ago, the party had voted on whether she should stay or be discarded. Jaheira had voted to cast her out, and the Sharran had not forgotten it.

That said, her memory could be extremely selective. Arowan had voted to let her stay, for which she had received no brownie points. Rasaad had voted her out, but his shunning of her was entirely forgivable, because he was attractive.

"A new cult has formed," Rasaad explained seriously. "An offshoot of the Dark Moon followers. They believe that my goddess, Selune, and your goddess, Shar, are but facets of a single deity. I seek to join this new cult."

Viconia recoiled at the notion. She also felt extremely let down. After seeing his fight with the Sun Soul Order, she had been hoping that he was on his way to joining her as a fully-fledged Sharran. As it was, he seemed to be entwining himself in something even worse than his grovelling adoration of the Moon Maiden. Heresy.

"That must be an appealing notion to those accustomed to Selune's whimpering," she observed spitefully. "I take it the idea is that the followers of Selune and Shar put aside our differences and become friends? Perhaps we could paint each other's fingernails and you could weave flowers into my hair? Would that make you happy, apostate?"

"There can be no happiness for me," Rasaad said quietly. "Not since my brother Gamaz's death. All my friends have turned upon me. Not that I can blame them."

As though channelling Arowan's spirit across the miles, Jaheira rolled her eyes. His self-indulgent misery required a level of patience to tolerate that she simply did not possess.

"Some of those former friends would argue that it was you who turned on them," Jaheira pointed out sharply.

"Are we talking about my brothers and sisters in the Sun Soul Order?" Rasaad asked in a voice of forced calm. "Or about Arowan?"

"Either. Pick one."

Rasaad picked the monks. He could not bring himself to talk about Arowan. The very thought of her made him sick. Numbing potions! Of all the things she could take it into her head to do, how could she possibly drink numbing potions? When he had caught sight of her in Trademeet he had not been sure whether to expect a renewal of their friendship or the cold-shoulder. Of all the scenarios that had run through his head, nothing he had imagined had been so bad as this.

When he heard about the potions, his first instinct had been to walk away. Yet he badly needed help, and his desire to avenge Gamaz had overcome his pride as well as his morals.

"The Dark Moon heretics are led by a man calling himself Collus Darathon," he said. "I believe that Darathon is an alias of Alorgoth. His ideas spread like poison through the Sun Soul Order, but the location of their temple is a well-guarded secret."

"You mean to join the heretics in order to destroy them?" Viconia asked, suddenly interested again.

"Darathon must be stopped," Rasaad nodded. "I am convinced that he is Alorgoth, but even if he is not, his perversion of the faith cannot be allowed to continue unchallenged."

Viconia looked him up and down, her lips tight. Obviously in his obsessive pursuit of revenge, he had taken his training to a new level. He was even more muscle bound and impressive than he had been before. 'Segmented and lobster-like' is how their former-leader would have described him, but Freya would have been the first to admit that she was no expert on male attractiveness.

The journey to Dragonspear with Rasaad and Freya was the closest to happy that she could ever remember being. She'd had Baeloth to entertain her, and Edwin to torment. Arowan's presence had proven perpetually irritating, like a fly at a banquet, but now she and Rasaad were finished. Forever, it seemed. So maybe now there was a chance.

Of course, she'd have to think of a better reason than that to let him into the party.

"This Two-Fold cult is a perversion of the Dark Moon, and an insult to Shar!" Viconia declared. "For once we are agreed on something moon-calf. This blasphemy must be silenced, permanently."

"One yes and one no," sighed Rasaad. "Anomen, my noble friend?"

"I have no opinion either way," the cleric replied snobbishly. He knew that a 'yes' would alienate Jaheira and a 'no' would antagonize Viconia. So he wisely plumped for neutrality.

"Then Arowan and Yoshimo will cast the deciding votes!" Jaheira cried. "I can save you some time and embarrassment right now, monk, by telling you that she will give you your marching orders in stronger terms than I… and laid back though he is, I cannot envisage Yoshimo actively voting to bring her former lover along."

"Then I suggest we split the party," Viconia threatened. "Rasaad and I will hunt down this cult while Arowan and her new male follow whatever trivial pursuits take their fancy."

It was her trump card, and Jaheira knew it. Arowan was determined to prevent Ur-Gothoz's vision from coming true and that meant keeping the party intact. Jaheira wanted to transform into a bear and sit on Rasaad's pompous face for barging into their lives again. Yet Viconia had them over a barrel. If she could not win the vote to keep Rasaad in by numbers, then she would vote with her feet instead.

Rasaad's brow furrowed at the mention of Arowan's 'new male.' But only, Viconia noted, a very little.

Eight Months Previously, in Baldur's Gate:

The scritch scritching of a pen and a flickering candle were the only signs of life in the room. Otherwise, Rasaad might have mistaken Freya for dead. Heavy bags sat beneath her tired eyes. She had the look of an athlete suddenly forced into a sedentary lifestyle- and had gained a lot of weight in a very short space of time. She carried the padding rather regally. It lent her a dignified, statesman-like air. The fatigue was another matter, however. Though she had finally given up her excessive drinking, the monk had never seen her so unhealthy.

"Hullo Rasaad," the werewolf sighed wearily without looking up. She had been older than Arowan when Gorion had taken her in, but until now that had never been obvious. Commanding the Flaming Fist seemed to have visibly aged the Hero of Baldur's Gate in a matter of weeks. "I assume that you are here to enquire about the missing Selunites?"

"What have you heard?" he asked urgently.

"A body was found dumped in the sewers under the Northern Quarter," Freya replied, dipping her pen into her inkpot and writing on. "It had been badly mauled by carrion crawlers, but the tattoos marked it as one of Selune's followers."

"A man, or a woman?" Rasaad asked, trying to determine who it might have been.

"Male," replied Freya. "You can try to identify the body. It's lying in the morgue under Headquarters. I told them not to bury him until you'd had chance to take a look, but I should warn you that there is little left of the face. His chest was branded by the circles of Shar."

Rasaad slammed his fist against the wall. Freya's grey eyes flickered up briefly. The light behind them had gone out, replaced by fatigued resignation. She was loved by the people. She was Baldur's Gate's most wealthy and powerful citizen. Yet she was miserable, drained and utterly trapped. Marriage to Skie was a life sentence without parole.

"I was right then!" Rasaad cried, his broad chest heaving. "These disappearances are the work of Shar's agents."

"That is the most likely explanation," Freya replied slowly.

Her fingers brushed the golden band on her head. An intelligence boosting mantle she had retrieved from Avernus. It hadn't exactly made her smart. There was probably no artefact in Faerun that could turn this woman into a genius, but it had made her significantly less stupid.

"There is another possibility," she said. "Not everyone is comfortable with a drow occupying the position that Viconia does in our court. She is a Sharran. It may be a deliberate attempt to turn public opinion against her. Which is why we will not be making this discovery public."

She put a rather sharp emphasis on the word 'we' and looked him directly in the eye as she said it. It was clear that this was not a request. Despite their friendship, Rasaad knew that it was more than his life was worth to disobey. Though the sword at her belt was ceremonial these days, the real ones were propped in easy reach. The Hero of Baldur's Gate had always had a ruthless streak, and Skie's influence was sharpening rather than dulling it.

"But-!" Rasaad protested.

"Do you want to see Viconia poisoned or strung up by a mob?" the werewolf asked bluntly.

Rasaad's gut twisted. She was a Sharran and the answer to that question ought to be 'yes.' He ought to be one of those protesting her newfound political power. Instead he was relieved that she had found somewhere safe and secure to take up residence. Technically they were enemies, but…

"And while we're on the subject of people being strung up," Freya's barking voice cut sharply into his thoughts, "Tell your girlfriend to stop fucking around with the Blue Beards. She's going to get herself and my good mate killed."

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

Freya slammed her fist onto the desk, causing the paperwork to jump as though in alarm. The candle flickered, making deep shadows leap like devils about her stony face.

"Don't piss me around. I know damn well Arowan has joined the rebels," Freya growled dangerously. "I've had her and Coran followed."

The colour drained from Rasaad's face. Caelar's crusade and the resulting famine and flood of refugees had created a crisis in Baldur's Gate. Long standing resentment against the privilege and wealth of the aristocracy had bubbled to the surface. There were a number of factions in the city which were teetering on the edge of rebellion (including, at one point, the Flaming Fist itself) but the Blue Beards were the most vocal about it. Freya and Captain Corwin had already hanged one of them, a blue-bearded gnome from whom the group had taken their name.

More personally, Arowan and Coran had a history. Rasaad could not believe that she would be running about the city with him behind his back.

"She would have told me," Rasaad said steadfastly.

"Like you told her about how we tried to murder Dorn Il-Khan?" Freya replied.

"That was not murder, it was self-defence!" Rasaad declared. "He meant to kill Viconia!"

Freya made a sceptical growling noise in the back of her throat. A deep rumble that no human could have produced. The pen had not left her hand this whole conversation and she continued to write, but her frown line was deepening.

"We lured him to a secluded location with the specific intention of ending his life, without trial," she replied sardonically. "There's a word for that, Rasaad, it's called: murder. It would have been a justified murder, and I still fully intend to take that rancid shitehawk out if he ever comes back, but we were going to murder Dorn."

"I had better take a look at the monk's body before it decomposes further," Rasaad replied, through gritted teeth. "Thank you for your time."

Freya nodded without looking up, and by the time he reached the door she was once more fully immersed in her never ending paperwork. In the safety of the hallway he slammed his fist into the wall, cracking it. Nobody would notice. A combination of Freya's residence and Duke Silvershield's suffering finances meant that the palace was in poor shape anyway these days.

Arowan had not only joined the Blue Beards, after he had begged her not to, but she had been lying to him about it. Worse, she was romping about the city with Coran. He resolved to say nothing, and give her a chance to explain things herself, but that evening she chattered happily over dinner without so much as a hint that she was deceiving or keeping anything from him.

A feeling of unease was growing inside Rasaad. That evening, when he was through making love, he got up to meditate as he always did. Only this time he turned back at the door to look at her, and to his alarm, her expression was not altogether contented.

It did not occur to him that she might not like his getting up directly afterward and padding outside to contemplate the Moon Maiden, leaving her to fall asleep alone. As far as he was concerned their routine was perfect. Indeed, his meditations had never been so calm and distraction free. At least until tonight.