Next morning, Rasaad awoke to excruciating pain. He had been starting to roll over in his sleep and, finding herself at risk of being crushed, rat-Viconia nipped his nipple.

In his agony he found a stream of bad language spilling from his mouth. Words which had not passed his lips since his days as an orphan in Calimport. At first it surprised Viconia that the innocent moon boy even thought such curses, but then his life had not always been one of monastic serenity. His earliest memories had involved loitering around fighting pits and then, after his father died, the alleys.

As Rasaad struggled to wrap his half-asleep brain around what had just happened, the rat glared at him accusingly and scampered onto his pillow. There she washed her face with her fussy little paws, making squeaking noises.

"Good morning," said Rasaad stiffly. "Would you like some breakfast?"

"Squeak," replied Viconia, with a curt nod.

"Then you should not have bitten me," he said. The rat's tiny red eyes bulged with fury at his defiance. "And if you attempt to retaliate by biting me again," the monk went on, "I shan't carry you anymore and you will have to get Arowan to give you a lift."

The rat bristled. All the silver fur along her back lifted into little spikes like the spine of a lizard, and they quivered with fury. Yet it was obvious that he meant what he said, so she allowed him to scoop her up and carry her outside to meditate. She curled up sulkily on his knee, hungry and cross. Every so often she looked at him and her tail twitched.

Arowan and Yoshimo had already taken down their own tents and were helping Anomen, whose arrow wound had grown more uncomfortable in the night. Jaheira peeled away the binding so that she could poke at it and make tutting sounds.

"I think it best if we split up temporarily," she said. "Anomen needs healing properly and I cannot do it in the wild forest. We will make our way to the Umar Hills and wait for you there. Do not dawdle."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you didn't like this forest much," Arowan replied shrewdly. "I'd say you were looking for an excuse to leave."

"I do not and I am," the druid admitted. "Nature has been warped and twisted. It is a travesty against the trees and animals who made this place their home. Though I acknowledge that it is not your fault, wild mage."

"No offence taken," Neera replied cheerfully. "Well… some offence taken. I mean we have to be somewhere, and wherever we are these things happen. It's just a bit more concentrated in this wood because there are so many of us."

"Perhaps we could stop at Trademeet. I am curious to see how those statues are coming on," suggested Anomen. Then, prompted by the Charisma Ring he added, "And to check on how those druids are faring, of course."

"Yes... Anomen? A word before you go?" Arowan said sharply.

She drew the cleric away from the others, watched by curious eyes. Yoshimo, however, was not concerned. He guessed correctly what it was she wanted from Anomen. The Charisma Ring back.

"You have my word of honour that I will return your ring, but I wouldst tarry a while," Anomen said in a low voice. "We shall stop at the tavern in Trademeet and no doubt there will be an inn when we reach the Umar Hills. Might I keep it a little longer?"

Arowan's eyes narrowed suspiciously. She glared at him, chewing his request over.

"One condition Anomen."

"Anything!" he cried eagerly.

"I want your solemn oath, sworn on the Holy Book of Helm, that you will not use the Charisma Ring to make a pass at my mother."

The cleric allowed himself a wry smile. Under the ring's influence he was beginning to see the flaws in his women seducing strategy. The main one being approaching women strategically in the first place as opposed to just being himself. Only he'd never much liked himself, so why should anyone else?

"I am not sure the ring even works on me," he admitted. "I didn't see any difference in my reflection when I put it on."

"I don't think that's how it works," Arowan said, tipping her head to one side thoughtfully. "Do you already like how you look?"

How he looked was about the only thing Anomen did like about himself. Tall, toned from years of intense training with thick hair and a neatly cropped beard. Anomen was a handsome man and he knew it, but he didn't think he had much else going for him.

"Freya's charisma was magically enhanced, more so even than this ring can do," Arowan recalled. "But her brand of charisma was very different from, say, Caelar Argent's. Caelar's was different again from Keldorn's. There are different ways to be charismatic. I think the ring does different things for different people."

"You think it is having an effect then?" Anomen asked, glumly.

"Yes," she replied. "I think it turns us all into our own version of charismatic. Still essentially based on our real selves, but more how we'd like to be."

"Says a lot about me," he spat, his voice suddenly filled with self-loathing. "For you the ring just inflates your chest a bit and shuffles around a few freckles. But for me it's my whole personality that's wrong. What does that tell you?"

Arowan thought about this question. Actually the ring had changed her way of interacting with people too, but more subtly than it had for Anomen.

"It tells me that the kind of person you'd like to be isn't an arse," she said with a half-smile. "And maybe that's the first step on the path to really not being an arse. How about that?" He did not look entirely comforted so she added, "Hey, that's your fault for keeping the ring. If I were wearing it, I could have conjured up a much better answer."

"At least it was an honest answer," the cleric assured her. "Thank you for the loan of the ring. Jaheira and I shall meet you in the Umar Hills. Perhaps if we can fix whatever dreary nonsense the Order is sending us after, those pompous pigs might leave us in peace for a while." He paused. "By the way, I notice that Yoshimo was most protective of you when he thought I was trying to enter your tent. Are you two… ah…?"

"Yeah," said Arowan with a small smile. It made her feel fuzzy inside to think so. "Yeah we are."

It was only after Anomen and Jaheira had been gone for some time, that it dawned on the ranger that he'd never actually promised not to try again with her mother. Still, Jaheira was perfectly capable of looking after herself, so she put it out of her mind.

Cleric and druid left the wild forest, to the immense relief of both of them. Not least because it meant that Anomen could finally heal his wounds. The young man watched his skin knit itself around the arrow wound with a thoughtful expression. This spell came too late to prevent it from scarring, but the mark was small.

Not that he minded scars. When he had still been with the Order, he had practically competed with the other squires to obtain the largest battle marks. There was a slice across his right eye that he had intentionally skirted having healed in the hope that it might leave an impressive gash. He wished it gone now. It was not the mark of a warrior but the vanity of a fool.

These thoughts remained with him all the way to Trademeet. As they passed through the town to cheery welcomes from those who recognized him, his spirits barely lifted. Even the sight of his own statue, which was handsome and imposing enough to turn the most snobbish Order Knight green with envy, could not snap him out of his brooding.

"You seem in a melancholy humour," Jaheira observed sharply. "I trust that this is not a prelude to some knightly sighing and swooning?"

They crossed the threshold of the inn. His mind turned to the Charisma Ring, knowing that the place was bustling with potential love interests and that he wouldn't have the artefact for long. His eye was caught by a slim, dark-haired woman playing with her dagger at a corner table. She smiled at him and gave him what might have been a seductive wink. Yet still, he could muster no enthusiasm.

"Forgive me my lady Jaheira, I…" Anomen began, but he was immediately cut off.

"Surely you cannot blame the boy for a little sighing and swooning," crooned a familiar voice from behind her. "The gods themselves would swoon for… Do my eyes deceive me? Jaheira?! JAHEIRA IS THAT YOU?"

"Who… oh." Jaheira's insides turned to lead.

"I told you Safana! I told you! I told Safana those statues they're carving in the marketplace were supposed to be you and Arrow!" he grinned. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet like an excited puppy, but the druid had a feeling that she was about to spoil his mood. "We heard a rumour, but when you weren't here, my Saffy wanted to leave and keep looking, but then I saw those statues and I said we should wait!"

He said all of this very fast.

Though Jaheira had not known the elf well, his green mask and lopsided haircut were very distinctive. Anomen was looking at the pair of them quizzically, as Coran swept her into an excited hug. She screwed her eyes shut as the memory of Irenicus's dungeon and the painful loss she had endured there surged through her.

For Coran's excitement had nothing to do with her. The elf did not, could not, know what had become of his best friend. Yet surely he must have heard that she and Khalid had been part of the group who set out with Freya to retrieve Soultaker.

Sure enough, it was the first question he asked her.

"Well? Jaheira, where's Freya?" he cried, so loudly that the whole inn went quiet and stared at them. A flicker of doubt crossed his face but only for a moment. "Where is she?"

The druid found herself so blindsided and drunk on adrenaline, that the world around her took on a surreal clarity. Everything seemed so much sharper and brighter, from the grey rat in the corner to the jingle of Safana's coin purse as she hurried over to join them. Her abandoned knife swayed on its point on the table, before falling as if in slow motion. The metallic clatter as it hit the ground rang like a bell in her brain.

"Is she here? Is she with you?" Coran panted, releasing her from the hug and seizing her shoulders. There was a desperate note to the hope in his voice. It had been two seasons since anyone saw Freya alive. He must have heard the rumours. His green eyes drilled into hers. As her hesitation spoke the words she was struggling to get out, something behind them seemed to break. "Jaheira… please…"

"Is she dead?" demanded Safana in a very business-like way.

"Yes," replied Jaheira. She took a deep shuddering breath and got a grip on herself. "Freya is dead. Irenicus killed her."

Anomen knew nothing about the elf and little about Freya, but it was clear that they must have been close. For the force of Coran's distress reminded him sharply of his own reaction upon learning of Moira's murder.

"You're lying!" Coran hurled at Jaheira. "I don't believe you!"

"Coran-" the druid began patiently. He was behaving just as she had on learning of Khalid's death.

"Freya was one of the most powerful adventurers who ever lived! How could her party have escaped and not her?" he half-screamed. "That doesn't make any sense. Did you abandon her? Did you betray her to Irenicus? Is she still his prisoner? ANSWER ME!"

"Watch your words, thief. My husband died with Freya."

All the colour had faded from his face. His startling green eyes began blinking back tears as the truth sunk in. Coran doubled over, knuckles white from gripping a wooden bar stool. For a moment it looked as though he might be sick. It was hard to see another person in so much pain.

Hard for everyone except one onlooker. Safana slipped her hands over Coran's shoulders and stroked him soothingly. Her voice was sympathetic, her expression sombre and yet her eyes were dancing with joy.

"I'm so sorry," Safana drawled. "We'll all miss her deeply. Maybe we should have a service or something. Yes! That's a good idea. At least now we know and all that."

Coran had known Safana long enough to recognize her insincerity when he heard it, which was more or less constantly. She was the longest relationship he had ever had, and it was her cynical greed which made her so fascinating to him. Yet as far as Freya was concerned, it was unbearable. Safana had some valid reasons for her indifference to their former friend (among other offences, Freya had exiled them both from Baldur's Gate) and he could not blame her for it. Only right now he could not stay and listen to her either.

With nothing but the cloak on his back, he fled the pub and ran off into the night.

"Sorry about that. As you can see, he is deep in denial," Safana remarked.

"Should we go after him?" Anomen asked doubtfully. Jaheira shot him a sideways look, knowing what he was thinking. The last time the failed knight had left this particular inn in a state it had been with the intention of ending his life.

"He'll be fine. Let him go," Safana said dismissively. "So, the Bitch of Baldur's Gate is dead. Do you have any proof?"

Jaheira drew herself up indignantly.

"Do you think I would lie to you about this?" she thundered. "Did you not hear me say that Khalid died with her?"

"Yes, yes. So sorry for your loss," replied Safana. She was trying to feign sympathy but failed to hide the bite of impatience in her tone. "Of course I believe you. I knew that she'd been slain long before you told me. It has been two seasons past without a peep from her. That woman was a living beacon for attention and drama. Everyone saw her, and nobody ever forgot her. She couldn't take a piss unnoticed. How could it be that nobody has seen her in so long unless she's dead? The proof isn't for me."

"Coran knows deep down. Give it time to sink in."

"I don't need to prove it to Coran," Safana said, trying to hide her eagerness. She paused, then said delicately, "Coran is a romantic soul, not a pragmatist. His best friend is dead and right now he can only think about what he has lost. Not what he has gained."

She was steering the pair of them toward the bar, where she ordered three wines. The most expensive reds on the menu. Jaheira swirled the ruby liquid about in her glass, thinking of blood, as Safana's golden coins rolled across to the barman. Blood and gold. She took a sip, and the oaky drink burned her throat on the way down. Normally she would never order something as strong as this.

"Forgive me, I am not acquainted with your situation," Anomen said gallantly. "Pray explain your meaning my lady?"

"Lady is it?" purred Safana. She ran a finger over his chest. "I'm no lady yet, but I am about to become one."

"I… I… I…" Anomen spluttered.

He had heard of this kind of thing, but only in the context of whispered jokes with the other squires. In real life he had never encountered an actual person in the process of becoming a lady. Safana was very beautiful, but he was not sure how he felt about it. It was not that this was necessarily a problem, more that he had never given the issue any thought before.

Jaheira guessed both their thoughts and corrected the misunderstanding.

"I believe what Safana means," she said tersely, "Is her and Coran's impending elevation to the aristocracy. Freya Silvershield was the wealthiest person in Baldur's Gate by a considerable margin. Some of her fortune was used up settling Duke Silvershield's debts and more to pay the Flaming Fist after the Dragonspear wars. Even so, she died a very substantial landowner."

"And Coran is her undisputed heir," Safana added smugly.

"Congratulations?" hazarded Anomen. For all his flaws, he was no money grubber. Such ambition reminded him of his father.

"Not yet," replied the thief. She led them to a corner table in the shadows and leaned in closer. It offered Anomen an advantageous view down her top, no doubt by design. For they were now talking serious business. "Her bankers have control of her estate and her money, and they're scared of her. They won't be releasing one single penny until they're absolutely certain she's dead! Just a rumour won't be enough. They certainly won't take our word for it."

"So you need concrete proof that she's gone," Jaheira sighed.

Safana nodded and waved her empty glass at the barmaid. The young woman hurried over looking flushed beneath her bonnet and placed the whole bottle down on the table.

"I'll leave that there for you ma'am," she curtseyed. "I'd best go check on poor, poor Coran. He looked so upset, the dear."

The thief rolled her eyes but said nothing, pouring out a generous glass first for herself and then topping up Anomen. As she moved to Jaheira's glass, the druid placed her palm over the top to stop her from filling it.

"I think that whore has ill-intent!" Anomen said in an urgent whisper. "Had you not best follow her?"

Safana laughed, a mirthless tinkling laugh.

"Oh, sweet boy, of course she does!" the thief smiled. "And no doubt Coran will bury his sorrow over Freya between her bony thighs. Don't look so shocked, Freya was just as shallow as he is. It's why they got on so well."

"And you don't mind?" Anomen asked, scandalized.

"I gave up minding a long time ago. He is what he is," she sighed. She eyed Anomen up and down thoughtfully. "It does have the not-inconsiderable advantage of leaving me free to do whatever I like."

Anomen swallowed.

"But, back to the matter at hand!" she declared, lacing her fingers together. "I need proof that Freya's dead so that we can claim the inheritance we're entitled to."

"Go to the devils!" snapped Jaheira. Safana's mercenary attempt to profit from the events that cost her Khalid was more than she could tolerate. She threw down a coin for her drink, and stormed off to book herself a room.

Anomen remained at the table with Safana. The thief smiled at him, her sultry eyes twinkling, and loosened her tunic a little. As she leaned forward to refill his glass again, he stared like a rabbit in the headlights, barely registering how much he was drinking.

"And what about you sweetheart?" she smiled. "Can you help me get what I need?"

"I…" Anomen panicked.

"It's hot in here isn't it?" Safana purred, slipping her hand over his. A combination of alcohol and inexperience were making his head spin. "You must be boiling in all that armour. Let's go to my private room, and we can continue our conversation. How does that sound?"

"Good?" replied Anomen, not quite able to believe what was happening. "Yes, my lady. I think that an excellent notion."