The Circus. Waukeen's Promenade.
"No!" squealed Kalah, dropping to his knees. His pale eyes flickered from Aerie to Quayle and finally to Dorn Il-Khan. The half-orc sneered at him pitilessly and the gnome moaned. "This is not what I was promised!"
Dorn wasn't about to let the others hear what Kalah had been promised. Before the circus gnome could utter another word, the half-orc's blade found his throat.
Their surroundings blurred and swam before them. Away melted the magnificent marble tower of this sad little illusionist's fantasy. In its place they found a worn circus tent. Some of the survivors ran away at once, others began picking their way through the bodies in search of friends.
"Ah, another job well done!" beamed Minsc. "Thanks to friend-Dorn for aiding us against this evil in need of a booting. Boo thinks that perhaps there is a shred of good in you after all!"
"Perhaps," Dorn said, in a voice that left Neera thoroughly unconvinced. At least she had managed to get through this battle without launching any random fireballs. Dorn hunkered down to rifle through the dead gnome's belongings. Aerie let out a frightened whimper and ducked behind Minsc.
"What… what a pitiful little man," she whispered, looking at Kalah with wide eyes. "People did laugh at him, but they didn't deserve to die. I… I just can't hate him, despite all he's done."
Dorn grunted, and tried to pull a ring from Kalah's still-warm finger. He seemed to know exactly what he was looking for. When it would not come off readily, the Blackguard took his blade and sawed the finger at the knuckle. Aerie gave a little sob. The noise Rancor made as it hacked off the digit sounded just like having her wings sliced off.
"Why do you suppose he did it?" she asked. "Where did he get that much power? And who promised him what?"
The Blackguard's eyes narrowed. This little witch was asking too many questions. He could feel his sword, Rancor, vibrating with Ur-Gothoz's rage. This whole operation had been clumsily handled.
Well what did his patron expect? Dorn was no schemer nor spy!
When Ur-Gothoz had learnt that Kalah possessed the Ring of Human Influence, he determined that Arowan must have it. Why, Dorn could not fathom. If he wished to use a Bhaalspawn with powers of persuasion, then he should have chosen Freya in the first place. On the march to Dragonspear he had wished with boiling frustration that Ur-Gothoz had ordered him into the other sister's party. Freya had been the sort of warrior who ran headlong at dragons, butchered her enemies without guilt and fought basilisks blindfolded. While he had been stuck tending the wounded with that feeble Little Lamb, Arowan.
The ranger did have some advantages over the werewolf. Arowan had never attempted to murder him for one thing. Moreover, Freya's canine nose had left her incapable of tolerating Dorn's lack of hygiene with good grace. She had brought it up every other sentence. The Blackguard had only just learnt of her gruesome death and, suffice it to say, he had not shed any tears.
Another thing the ranger had over her dead sister was that, unlike Freya, Arowan was not stupid. She did not trust Dorn an inch, and was wise not to.
Arowan would never accept the ring if Dorn handed it to her himself, so his conniving demon master had concocted a plan to deliver it to her. First they had lured Kalah with offers of power, into taking over the circus. Then they had bribed the Cowled Wizards not to intervene. The idea was that the Order of the Radiant Heart would be called in to rescue the unfortunate circus goers. They, in turn, would delegate the task to Jaheira's party, their favoured new errand runners. She and Arowan would defeat Kalah and 'find' the ring.
That had been the plan. Only, unfortunately, Jaheira's party were out of town and the buffoon Minsc had got to the circus first.
"This is my share of the loot," Dorn said, wiping the blood from the ring onto his sleeve. "I will go now before your sugariness makes me retch, but first I have need of a favour."
Minsc would have to give the ring to Arowan now. He would, of course, tell her where it came from and the Little Lamb would refuse to wear it.
What a ridiculous waste of everybody's time this circus escapade had been. Even the enemies he had been fighting were mere illusions. As he left the tent in a smouldering temper, a foolhardy salesman waved a stick of candyfloss under his nose.
"Only two copper pieces. Try some!" the scrawny man suggested brightly. Dorn shrugged and bit down hard, bypassing the candyfloss in favour of the seller's own hand. The poor man shrieked in pain and alarm. Dorn licked the blood from his teeth thoughtfully.
"Not bad, not bad," he conceded, smacking his lips. "Does two copper pieces buy me the hand or the entire arm? I'll give you four if you roast it for me."
The man dropped his candyfloss sticks with a terrified wail and fled. To his horror, Dorn suddenly found half-a-dozen street urchins crowded around his feet. The homeless children of Athkatla were seizing the abandoned candy sticks and scuttling delightedly into the alleys of Waukeen's promenade to feast.
Dorn fingered Rancor. He was in a bad enough mood to decapitate the little brats, but even he knew that this was a bad idea in broad daylight. His master's malevolent presence pulsed through the sword's hilt.
"I don't suppose you mean to tell me why it is so important that Arowan wear this ring?" he muttered. Ur-Gothoz's prim and proper voice replied in his head.
The fragment of Bhaal known as 'Arowan' lacks the charisma to persuade anyone to anything. This must change if we are to trick the elves into fighting for us.
"More schemes, more tricks," muttered Dorn resentfully.
It is the way of demons. Do not question me, Blackguard! The ends justify the means.
"I thought it was also the way of demons to prize unspoiled souls," Dorn grunted. "I have delivered you many of those. What use is the essence of men already corrupted?"
Pure souls, yes… we savour them… but there is also value in numbers. My 'schemes and tricks' will bring legions of souls to my domain who otherwise belonged to the gods. An army such as the hells have never seen, all united under my banner. And you, Dorn Il-Khan, will lead that army. An eternity of power awaits. All that is required is a little patience…
"What of the Servant of All Faiths?" Dorn demanded.
Do you fear her?
"I would be a fool not to," snarled Dorn quietly. "Nothing I could do would kill her. Umberlee sent her waves and Talos his lightening. Even Lolth whom she betrayed and Selune, the sworn enemy of her own goddess, came to her aid. To challenge Viconia is to challenge the gods themselves. I see no possible way to defeat her."
It matters not. Follow my plan and we cannot lose. With the slaying of the Demon Lord Belhifet, that fool Bhaal removed the last of my competition. Even if the Servant of all Faiths should eventually triumph, we will already have the souls of Urst-Natha to bolster our ranks and many more besides. I shall rule Avernus unchallenged!
"And if Viconia fails?"
Then our prize shall be all the greater. I will not only have Avernus, but the numbers needed to spread my domain into the realms beyond. All seven hells, the Abyss. Who knows, perhaps even the prime? And as a bonus, that arrogant pest Bhaal will die. Permanently.
There was not another word of sense to be gleaned from the demon. His cruel laughter sang to Dorn through Rancor. Leading the armies of hell in an eternal war was a reward worth waiting for, but patience was not a quality that the half-orc held in great reserve.
For over a year Ur-Gothoz had been wetting Dorn's appetite, showing enticing visions of him standing atop vast piles of the bodies of his enemies. Not only drow but humans, orcs, fire giants and even dragons. He could not wait. Yet whenever he asked when the cull would start, the answer was always 'soon.' Never 'now.'