Merry Christmas!

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It was late by the time Yoshimo and Arowan returned to the Copper Coronet. The sun was slipping behind Athkatla's walls and sparrows twittered their evensong from the rooftops. All of their non-essential kit had been traded for the opinion of every cleric, merchant and wizard that the pair of them could find. All came back with the same answer. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the Charisma Ring. Dorn's gift was exactly what it appeared to be.

"I still don't trust it," Arowan snapped. Yoshimo shook his head despairingly.

Stubborn as a mule and resilient beyond all reason. She had led a life that would have seen most people screaming at the walls of their padded cell. It had, at worst, unhinged her slightly. He had to admire her for it. Even her compassion remained undented from when they had first met, though now it was tainted with a healthy dose of cynicism. When it came to this ring, however, he found her suspicion excessive.

"Let it go, crazy lady. We have nothing left to trade except the ring itself," he said. "And we really ought to find Jaheira. The longer we leave her worrying about you, the angrier she is going to be."

"Then let's sell the wretched thing," she replied defiantly. "We can give it to that patronizing arsewipe who runs the Adventurer's Mart. If he's wrong, and it is cursed, then it's on him. Seeing as he's the 'expert' and all."

"He wasn't patronizing you, my obstinate friend, you are being bull-headed!" Yoshimo replied bluntly. "You'd be mad to sell it. You won't get a tenth of what it's worth. Even if you only wear it to go shopping, it will pay for itself in a week!"

"You wear the blasted thing then!" she retorted, throwing it at him. He caught it deftly, kissed it, and handed it back to her.

"Not a chance!" Yoshimo laughed. "From what I have heard about your friend Dorn, if he sees a gift meant for you sitting on my finger, that finger is coming off."

"He's not my friend."

Arowan scowled as she tucked the offending item into her pocket, but the thief was right, she ought to look for Jaheira. As for the Charisma Ring, she would have to think long and hard about what to do with it. All the experts agreed that it was not cursed, nor did it possess any hidden properties. Aerie had known its previous owner, and at no point had Dorn been left unsupervised with the item. He and his master had not had any opportunity to tamper with it.

But (and it was a big but) Dorn wanted her to have it. Which meant Ur-Gothoz also wanted her charisma to rise. That alone was reason enough to reject the trinket, though she couldn't help but want it deep down.

'Freya had charisma even higher than this ring would give me,' Arowan told herself sternly, 'And a fat lot of good it did her in the end.'

They passed under the archways of the promenade toward the gates to the slum district. This was a dumping ground for the poor and unwanted of Athkatla. Out of sight and out of mind. High walls surrounded it so that the wealthy need not see or hear them, nor be troubled by their existence. It was like stepping into a different city. Here the content of chamber pots was flung indiscriminately from the upper windows, the walls were unpainted and the tiled rooftops sported gaping holes.

Yet many of the run down, tiny houses had pristine windows and immaculately swept front steps. Lines of laundry were strung above their heads from window to window. Stainless white shirts flapped defiantly like flags, declaring that at least some of the residents were proud of their home.

"Tell me, did you want to get into adventuring?" Yoshimo asked suddenly. "It is a dangerous business as you well know. Any one of us could die without even a moment's notice."

"I did not so much get into adventuring as it was forced on me," she replied grimly. "When Sarevok killed Gorion I ran for it like all his other wards. It's more by luck than judgement that I'm the last one left alive."

"Could you tell me more about Sarevok?" he asked. The thief's mood seemed to have taken a sudden dip. He wasn't looking at her, instead his eyes were fixed on the grimy cobblestones at their feet.

"Why do you want to know?" Arowan frowned.

"He was Tamoko's lover. She died for him," Yoshimo replied. Then he frowned and added angrily, "I heard rumours in Baldur's Gate that he had a whole harem of women and that he sent Tamoko out there to face Freya alone, knowing that she wouldn't stand a chance. Rumours and whispers. I want the truth, Arowan, is that too much to ask?"

"I'm sorry Yoshimo," Arowan replied, taken aback at this sudden burst of feeling. "But I can't give it to you. I know next to nothing about him, other than that he killed Gorion and then Freya killed him."

"She never spoke about him at all?" he asked.

He turned his dark eyes to her, almost pleading. She had no idea what had caused his mood to shift from sunny to pained. Nor why, after six months of barely mentioning Sarevok, he'd suddenly decided that he wanted to discuss him now. Perhaps talking so much about home that day had brought it all back.

"She rarely brought him up," Arowan replied carefully. "I got the impression that Freya felt the same way about Sarevok as you did about her. As far as his relationship with Tamoko went," she paused and took a deep breath. He gestured for her to go on, so she did, though she knew her answer would not satisfy him. "Freya never mentioned Tamoko at all. I'm really sorry, Yoshimo, but I don't think she even knew who she was. The Bitch of Baldur's Gate slew hundreds of Sarevok's followers. To her your sister was just another anonymous guard standing between her and her prey."

Yoshimo's face contorted and he turned away angrily. She sighed. Freya had not been evil, exactly, but she'd certainly fallen far short of good. As far as the werewolf was concerned, there was no moral quandary about killing someone who wanted to kill her or her friends. It never even occurred to her that there could be.

In some ways Arowan envied her dead sister. When she was fighting, even against slavers and those who unquestionably deserved death, she found herself thinking of their parents and children who would lose a loved one. Did they deserve it too? Freya had never been troubled by such questions. Empathy requires the ability to put yourself in someone else's shoes, and the dumb mutt had simply lacked the imagination to do so.

Worse than having killed slavers were the deaths of Caelar Argent's crusaders, who had genuinely believed that they were doing the right thing. Arowan had personally dispatched many of them. When it transpired that they would have thrown open the gates to hell, it had helped to ease her guilt. Numbing potions had also given her conscience some respite. Yet now that she was almost weaned from them, their faces were starting to creep back into her head. She pushed them to the back of her mind.

"And Sarevok himself?" Yoshimo pressed.

"He liked to monologue, apparently," Arowan shrugged, "But I only spoke to him a couple of times."

"I thought you said the two of you never met?" he frowned.

"We didn't in real life," she replied. "But Irenicus summoned his spirit back from the Abyss in our dreams. Mostly he and Freya exchanged insults and then she killed him again… but at one point I was alone with Sarevok. He told me that I wasn't on a par with him or my sister and that he'd killed dozens like me, barely lifting a finger. Then he said that he'd answered Irenicus's summons for something to do. He complained that the Abyss was boring."

"Did he now?" asked Yoshimo. For some reason his eyes lit up at this, and there was an eagerness in his tone that she struggled to explain. "What else did he say?"

"Nothing, because at that point he decapitated me and I woke up." Arowan winced at the memory. It had only been in a dream but it had felt very real. She even rubbed her neck subconsciously, just from thinking about it.

Their conversation had brought them to the door of the Copper Coronet and there, mercifully, it ended. As soon as the door creaked open on its rusty hinges, Arowan was seized by Anomen and subjected to a thorough inspection by Jaheira. The druid was, predictably, livid. They soon established that she was not on numbing potions, though the examination involved more jabbing and sharper prodding than was probably necessary.

Arowan and Yoshimo fed her their practised lie; that she had given the gold to her contact, who had stolen it without supplying any numbing potions. The druid was too relieved to stay angry for long, but the same could not be said for the rest of her party.

"I assume she gets no share of the party's treasure until she has paid us back?" Anomen huffed, dropping Arowan like a sack of flour. "I didn't trek through that rancid druid swamp carrying a severed head just to donate our reward money to crooks!"

"Sorry," she replied, though she did not look it. Beside her Yoshimo squirmed with guilt that Arowan was getting the blame for this.

"Frail minded rivvil, your weakness comes as no surprise to me," Viconia smirked. "I knew that you would prove too feeble to beat this addiction."

The ranger's fingers clenched, as though aching to wind them about the drow's pretty throat. She was not about to apologise to her, especially for something she didn't do. Yoshimo's hand clamped on her arm as she took a step forward, but before she and Viconia could engage in yet another spat, Rasaad moved forward to say his piece.

Arowan's eyes widened in shock, which quickly turned to venomous fury.

"WHAT IS HE DOING HERE?" she thundered at Jaheira, so loudly that the raucous inn fell silent.

"Do not take that tone with me after what you have just done!" the druid retorted indignantly. Her arms folded across her chest and she drew herself to her full height. "I voted against bringing him, as did Anomen…"

"Actually, I abstained," interjected Anomen, with a nervous glance at the drow.

"Viconia, however, threatened to leave the party if we didn't take Rasaad. I am perfectly willing to let her do so," Jaheira went on, "But I assume that you are not?"

She waited expectantly, as the ranger's jaw spasmed. It was clear to them all what was going on in her head. Viconia was the Servant of all Faiths, the only one with the power to prevent Ur-Gothoz's terrible plans from coming true. Plans which involved herself and Anomen. The best chance of thwarting him still seemed to be to keep them all together. Finally she came to a decision.

"Don't speak to me," she said to Rasaad, in a voice like poison. "Walk at the back where I don't have to look at you, and keep out of my way."

She strode away to where Minsc's party were sitting, watching on with mild curiosity. Now that it was clear that there was not going to be a fight, the other patrons lost interest, and the chatter in the bar resumed.

Rasaad, however, felt that Arowan was in no position to be dictating terms. Ignoring Jaheira's warning him not to, he followed her. He caught her by the arm to stop her. The unwelcome touch of his hand on her incensed the ranger beyond reason. It was only his years of martial arts training that spared his wrist from the point of her hunting dagger. He let go immediately, raising his palms in a placating gesture, and she returned her knife to its sheath. Judging by her expression, she would rather have plunged it into his chest.

"This is awkward for me too," he said in a low whisper. "But I am part of this group now. If you're not prepared to split the party, then you'll just have to live with it."

"Don't count on it," she threatened. "I could always poison your food."

"That… is a joke, right?" Rasaad asked uncertainly.

There was a pause, and the monk actually looked nervous. He had always had a problem with taking things too literally. Arowan scowled at him.

"That stopped being cute a long time ago."

Firelight reflected from the top of his shaven head. The flickering, like everything else about him, was grating on her nerves. The monk was glaring at her intensely from under those ridiculous facial tattoos. Had she really once found him attractive? Now his face looked to her like a toddler had drawn ink doodles all over a hard-boiled egg.

"It would be foolish to assume that poison is an empty threat," Rasaad said accusingly. "Coming from a numbing potion addict."

Like a cat stalking a shrew, she took a delicate step toward him. Her next words were intentionally quiet, for angry though she was, she wanted to spare Minsc the details of exactly what had happened to his friend.

"I'm no coward Rasaad," she hissed. "I've survived assassination attempts, fought a war and faced the prospect of the gallows. I'd have run into hell after you if Dorn and Khalid hadn't stopped me. But have you ever seen anything skinned alive, Rasaad? Because I have. Would you like me to describe it to you?"

"I would not."

"I saw what Irenicus did to Freya, and it didn't kill her. He'd have kept her alive in that state for weeks, maybe months, if Dad hadn't intervened. That's who I had to hand myself over to, that's what I was facing. I didn't think it mattered if I took numbing potions, because I was expecting to die." When she ended her explanation, Rasaad's eyes still burned with betrayal. She scoffed. "I don't have to explain myself to you of all people."

"I do not know what I have done to earn such animosity," he began, in a voice of forced calm.

"You abandoned me in a Flaming Fist jail," Arowan hissed. "They were talking about hanging me, and you calmly walked away!"

To Rasaad this was laughably unfair. Forgetting that they had an audience, he slammed his broad hand down on the table beside him, upsetting several tankards. Their owners briefly considered retaliating, but the size of the monk persuaded them to reconsider.

"THEY MADE ME LEAVE!" Rasaad hollered.

"They couldn't have made me!" she cried.

A purple vein was pulsing on his neck. His face was turning red, as though he were being throttled by his own rage. It seemed to have rendered him temporarily incapable of speech, for he began rummaging deep in his pack for something.

"Tell me, what were you planning to do if they had decided to execute me?" Arowan went on, "Would you have stood in the mob watching my body jerk on the end of a rope, or were you too busy with Alorgoth to bother showing up?"

This was too much for Rasaad. He could not risk her ruining his plans to infiltrate the Twofold Trust by broadcasting his obsession with the Dark Moon Cult to a crowded tavern. The monk made toward the back rooms, and when she refused to follow him, he seized her pack and dragged it. The ranger had the option of letting go of it, but it was still a forceful gesture on his part, and by the time they found an empty room her expression was homicidal.

In the small back room of the Copper Coronet, Rasaad dropped her pack. They were alone now, though this private chat had come at the price of infuriating her still further.

He was determined to say his piece, however. If they were going to be forced to travel together then at some point what happened in Baldur's Gate would have to surface. Better now than in the heat of a life and death battle.

"What would you rather? That I had started a civil war in your name?" he yelled, exasperatedly. "And left hundreds, maybe thousands of people dead? For you?"

"NO!" she screamed. Tears gripped her at the memory of watching him so easily walk away and leave her to her fate. This was exactly what she had been determined to avoid. It was easier to be angry than to be sad. Anger was strength and sadness weakness, as Viconia might have put it. Arowan turned away, humiliated. "But... yes."

"I don't understand," said Rasaad painfully.

"I would sooner be strung up than have a war started because of me," the ranger said truthfully. She had always been willing (albeit not keen) to lay down her life for her principles. But that wasn't the point.

"I know you would, that is why-"

"But if our places had been switched there is nothing I would not have done to get you out," she interrupted him. "You gave up so easily, you were fine and... and in a way I was relieved, obviously... That you weren't in danger and you weren't going to put the Blue Beards in harm's way for me. But I knew then that you didn't love me. At least not the way I loved you."

Rasaad was stunned.

"I thought maybe being with you would be different the second time around," she said, very calm and matter of fact. It felt oddly relieving to say it out loud, as though putting down a heavy burden that she hadn't even noticed she'd been carrying. "I'd changed, you'd changed. It seemed like you were sure of what you wanted. So I let myself fall for you all over again, after you'd let me down so many times before."

"You think that I didn't love you?"

"I'm sure you believed you did at the time," she sighed, rolling her eyes.

Anger flared in Rasaad's chest once more. He pulled out the item he had been looking for in his pack and slammed a yellowing scroll onto the table in front of her. He folded his arms and glared at her expectantly.

Arowan picked it up and unrolled it cautiously. It was a long list of signatures in different handwriting. At the very top was the name Rasaad yn Bashir.

"What am I looking at?" she asked slowly.

"These were the nobles and warriors ready to take up arms against the Grand Dukes," he said defiantly. "Selune forgive me, but if they had tried to hurt you I would have burned that accursed city and everyone in it!"

"I..."

"But I thought," he went on angrily, "That before drowning the people of Baldur's Gate in a sea of their own blood, maybe, just maybe, it might be sensible to wait. In case they decided to free you of their own accord. Which they did!"

"They didn't. Coran freed me," she said shakily. A muscle in Rasaad's jaw started to twitch.

"Of course he did," the monk muttered, knotting his broad arms. "Of course he did. Spare me the details of what happened after that. Knowing you two I can hazard a guess."

The colour drained from Arowan's face, as she stared at the list in horror.

"I don't understand…" she said faintly. "You acted like you'd accepted my arrest!"

"What else was I supposed to do, while Freya was in the cell next to yours?" he snapped. "If she hadn't gone chasing after Irenicus, she'd have been running the city again in a week. The commoners and the Flaming Fist all wanted her released and put back in charge. With Skie out of the picture I could have persuaded her to let you leave. Provided I did not do anything really stupid. Like, I don't know… threatening to raise a rebellion right in front of her!"

"I was locked in there for a long time after Freya left. You could have come to see me then!"

Rasaad screwed his eyes shut and shook his head. He could not believe that they had come to where they were. There was certainly no way back for either of them, but it hadn't needed to be like this.

"I couldn't," he replied. "They only let me visit the first time because I told them I was there to see my party leader, Freya. You have no idea how much the Flaming Fist loved her, they weren't about to block her visitors. Whereas you were nobody to them."

The ranger could think of nothing to say. This did not make her regret their relationship ending. None of this changed the fact that they had always made each other deeply unhappy. She no longer loved him, and love had been the only thing that their romance had going for it.

Except that it had been a lot more comfortable believing that it was all his fault and that she was entirely blameless. Only now was she forced to face the fact that running off with Coran, without even giving him a chance to explain himself, wasn't fair, and Rasaad was not finished yet.

"So tell me, Arowan, was I right not to start a rebellion for you that would have killed hundreds? When as it turned out, you were about to be freed anyway?" he went on, his voice rising steadily until it ended in something close to a scream. "Because unlike you Arowan, I LOOK BEFORE I SHOOT!"

An angry silence crackled between them. Perhaps, this time, she had been in the wrong, but she was not about to let the miserable monk play the victim.

"You were right," she conceded finally, reluctantly. "This time. But if it weren't for you stringing me along and dumping me for so long, I'd have given you the benefit of the doubt. From my point of view, you were just doing exactly what you always do."

The monk was breathing heavily, but he knew that she too had a point.

"You slept with Coran," he muttered resentfully.

"You always had feelings for Viconia," she replied flatly. If they were going to air their grievances they might as well get it all out at once.

"I never touched her!"

"No, but you wanted to," Arowan said. Rasaad opened his mouth to protest but she snapped him down impatiently. "Yes you did, don't insult my intelligence. I've not forgotten about that little incident with the succubus in Durlag's Tower, and neither have you."

There was no denying this. He had tried not to think about that ever since it had happened. The memory of that encounter made him want to burrow into the ground, curl up like a grub and hide there forever. Sometimes he told himself that it had not looked as bad to everyone else as it felt to him. He'd remember it, wince, then reassure himself that everybody had long forgotten it except him. It stung to hear that this was not the case.

"That is not my fault," he said in a constricted voice. "You have no idea how disgusted I was with myself for having such urges toward a follower of Shar. I tried everything to suppress them."

"Including finding yourself a more palatable distraction?" Arowan asked in a sarcastically pleasant tone. "I mean, if you're going to break the rules and have sex, a nice, harmless Ilmatari has got to be the lesser of two evils, right?"

"Romantic relationships are rare in my Order but they are not technically forbidden," he began defensively, but she cut him off.

"Real monks do not have lovers," she said bluntly. Rasaad's convoluted attempts to find a way to both stay a monk and live a normal life had always irritated her. Until now she had held back her real opinion to spare his feelings, but there was no point sugar-coating anything now. "Not official ones anyway. That is the difference between a monk and a cleric."

Even he was not really sure where he stood on this one. If he could, he would both be a monk and married with a family of his own, but the two lifestyles were not compatible. Knowing he was on shaky ground, he changed the subject.

"You took numbing potions," he said with an air of finality.

On his side, that was the guillotine that severed any attachment to Arowan. The rest, perhaps, might have been fixable.

"We make each other miserable," she replied.

And that was the death-gong on her side. Even if their relationship had been saveable, it was better for everyone to let it die. Better to be alone than unhappy. They sat in silence for a long time, just staring out the window.

"Well," she said at length. "There it is."

Back in the bar, the others waited. Yoshimo and Viconia were both rather quiet, but it was a pleasant enough rest for young Anomen. The two parties had taken over the cleaner end of the tavern. He had an ale in his hand, was buoyed up on righteous indignation and surrounded by attractive women.

"My lady Jaheira, it fills me with no small wonder that you have not asked me of my journeys 'ere we met," Anomen began.

His muddy boots were crossed over the table and he was leaning his chair back on two legs. The obvious effort that it was taking him to balance like this was spoiling his devil-may-care act. Since failing the test for knighthood, Anomen had been adopting an increasingly roguish persona. It put the druid in mind of Freya, only the difference was that he lacked the charisma to pull it off.

Despite Jaheira's monosyllabic replies he launched into an epic tale of his glorious conquest of some ogre clan or other. She wished that he would turn his attention to Aerie instead. He was handsome and she was, in the druid's rapid judgement, sufficiently vapid to tolerate him. Or perhaps he could try his luck with Viconia. He was attractive enough that the drow might see fit to use him as a sex toy, though she would probably need to gag him first.

Jaheira was musing on this when his long and improbable story finally drew to a close. She almost sagged with relief, but then he asked her to recount some of her own exploits. Yoshimo was just chewing over whether or not to rescue her, when the druid rescued herself.

"I have little to tell, good knight," she smiled, "But Minsc here fought alongside non-other than the Hero of Baldur's Gate. Minsc! Tell Anomen about the time you and Boo 'placed the righteous boot of justice' upon Sarevok's butt."

Anomen looked a little disappointed, but Yoshimo's head jerked up immediately. He pulled up a chair near the berserker, eager for details. Though both Minsc and Imoen had been present at Tamoko's death, he knew that they were not to blame. According to Arowan, who had witnessed it from a distance, Freya had cut her down single-handed in a matter of seconds. He did, however, want to know more about Sarevok. He had been mulling over Arowan's prediction that Eric would not come willingly from the afterlife, and now he had the seeds of an idea.

"Ah, our victory over the dastardly Sarevok! Now there is a tale!" Minsc cried, and launched into it with great enthusiasm. Jaheira detached herself from the conversation with thief-like stealth, leaving Anomen caught in the trap. It was a full half-hour before the knight was able to get a further word in edgeways.

He was not aided by Yoshimo. The Kara-Turan hung on Minsc's every word, pressing him for details. By the time the Rashemen was done with his story, the thief reckoned he had the measure of the man. Sarevok had been power-hungry, egotistical, and thoroughly deserved whatever misfortune the fates might throw at him. It was exactly what Yoshimo had been hoping to hear.

They waited until Arowan and Rasaad returned to order food. Both ranger and monk looked rather drained, but neither were bleeding, and each seemed resigned to the other's presence. They took their seats at opposite ends of the group and did not speak another word to each other all evening.

Dinner took the form of hunks of gritty bread and bowlfuls of 'meat stew.' As with the sausages, the meat was not named, which was never a good sign. Hexxat slipped away to go hunting, while Neera attempted to improve her stew with magic. Her broth bubbled for a moment, then extended a watery tentacle. As the diners pushed back their chairs, the protrusion turned left and right as though peering around the bar. Then, quick as a flash, it leapt from the bowl, oozed under a door crack and made its getaway.

"Would you like some of mine?" Aerie offered.

"Thanks but it's probably safer if I just stick with the bread," Neera sighed, resignedly. "So, Jaheira, how busy are you guys at the moment? Because we could really use your help with something…"

This prompted a fierce debate about where the groups ought to go next. Neera wanted to show them a hidden refuge for wild mages. Yoshimo responded by producing the dryads' acorns and (backed up by a conscience-stricken Arowan) pleaded that they really ought to get them out of Irenicus's dungeon before they did anything else.

"I agree," said Jaheira, shuddering at the memory. "I would not leave my worst enemies in that place. Though the Order of the Radiant Heart will demand that we see to the Umar Hills next."

"They are at opposite ends of the region!" Anomen protested. "I say to hells with the Order! Arowan is almost weaned off the numbing potions and I can make them myself in a pinch, if we run out. We should free the dryads, and offer our aid to this very fair maiden's Hidden Refuge. Then, if there's time, we'll worry about what Keldorn and his poxy knights want from us."

Neera beamed at his suggestion, and the cleric turned his eye to her. Jaheira silently praised Sylvanus for small mercies.

"We are forgetting the Twofold Trust!" Rasaad reminded them sharply. He looked to Viconia for support, though the drow had only used that quest as a pretext to have him in the party.

"Do you have any idea where to begin looking for their temple, moon male?" the drow asked.

"Well.. no," he confessed awkwardly. He could not meet Viconia's eye. Not after what Arowan had said. If his attraction had been obvious even to the ranger, then the drow must certainly be aware.

"Then your heretics are as likely to be in the southern forests or the northern hills as anywhere else!" Neera said brightly.

So it was agreed.

"We should tell the Order of our plans," Arowan said, though she did not object to them. Forests always called to her, just as they did to Jaheira. "If the situation in Umar is truly urgent, they may wish to send somebody else."

"Don't look at me!" snapped Anomen, though nobody was. "I'm not telling the Order anything. You go!"

"Arowan and I will report to Keldorn in the morning," said Jaheira.

Arowan found this a most unwelcome suggestion. Golden pantaloons waggled and thrust suggestively in her mind's eye. After what she had caught his wife doing in the stable, she would rather pluck out her own gallbladder with an oyster fork than go and talk to Keldorn. She looked at Yoshimo in panic. Sympathy and amusement were plastered on his handsome face, but he made no move to save her.

"I don't need to be there, surely?" she squeaked. "You can talk to Keldorn on your own!"

"Oh no!" Jaheira glared. "I'm not leaving you unsupervised! You might go questing for numbing potions again as soon as my back is turned."

"That's not why, I promise," whined Arowan. "Take someone else to the Radiant Heart! Anomen… no not Anomen. Rasaad or Viconia maybe?"

"Sir Keldorn has never met Rasaad, and he hates Viconia!" Jaheira reminded her. "What has gotten into you?"

"Take Yoshimo!" Arowan volunteered him treacherously. He was the only one left.

"Oh no! Not a chance!" the thief exclaimed, too forcefully. The druid eyed them shrewdly.

"What is going on?" she demanded. When neither spoke, she rapped her staff over Yoshimo's knuckles. He yelped and stood up, which was a mistake as it exposed his stomach for her to poke him in with her stick. "Answer me."

So they had to. The erotic exploits of Keldorn's wife with the golden pantaloon man provoked a mixed reaction. Rasaad looked grim, whereas Anomen grew unattractively consumed by glee. He at once changed his mind about not setting foot in the Order, and volunteered to accompany Jaheira himself, in the hopes of enjoying a gloat. Viconia's response was also rather smug. Keldorn had wanted to burn her alive so she (not entirely unreasonably) thought that he had it coming.

Minsc began to ponder what Sir William could have been searching for up Lady Firecam's skirts. A lost hamster perhaps? Arowan wondered whether it was possible for a man of Minsc's years who had seen so much of the world to truly be that innocent. Sometimes it seemed as though the Rashemen was having a long joke at the rest of the world's expense.

"So we're not going together?" Arowan asked, pleadingly.

"Of course not!" Jaheira exclaimed. Her daughter sagged with relief until the druid added; "I'm not touching this one with a six-foot quarterstaff. You're going without me!"

"Thanks a bunch Mum," muttered Arowan.

"Party leader's privilege," smirked Jaheira. "And take Yoshimo."

"Me?" yelped the thief. "What did I do?"

"Somebody has to supervise Arowan to make sure that she doesn't try to buy numbing potions again," Jaheira said. "It's too risky to send Viconia, given how the Order feel about drow and I don't trust Anomen not to start a fight. Alas, that leaves only you."

It also left Rasaad, but Jaheira was not about to encourage him and Arowan to spend time alone together. Their relationship had been bad for her daughter, and while she still didn't wholly trust Yoshimo, she considered him the lesser of two evils.

The next morning Arowan and Yoshimo dressed at a snail's pace, ate their breakfast slowly and set out for the Temple District, dragging their feet.

"Should we stop at Ilmater's temple and pray for the strength not to laugh?" he suggested.

"I fear we are beyond the aid even of gods now," she groaned.

They walked the rest of the way in silence. She was rehearsing in her head the most concise turns of phrase that they could use to communicate where they were going and get them out of Keldorn's office as rapidly as possible. The district walkways bridged over ornamental lakes and streams. Tinkling fountains and miniature waterfalls rang like merry laughter in their ears. It was not helpful.

"Arowan?"

"Yes Yoshimo?"

They arrived at the entrance hall to the Radiant Heart and waited in the accusing glare of Helms vigilant eye, while a squire went to inform Keldorn of their arrival.

"Can you talk to Eric?" he asked.

It was the last question that Arowan had expected.

"Pardon?"

"You have spoken to him before have you not?" Yoshimo asked her. "In dreams and visions. Could you do it again?"

"Irenicus made that connection, I don't know how to," she replied. "And even if I did, Yoshi, nothing I say is going to convince Eric to take my place. It's not that he's malicious, but he is a coward. He'd do worse than sacrifice me to save his own skin. He already has."

"There is no possible way for you to communicate with him? You are sure?" Yoshimo looked deeply disappointed.

"What's up with your sudden preoccupation with dead Bhaalspawn?" Arowan asked. "First Sarevok, now Eric."

"It doesn't matter," he said unhappily. "If you cannot speak to Eric, then it doesn't matter."