The wizard was not difficult to find. Not only was his house opposite Umar Inn, but he himself was standing outside gesticulating wildly in the middle of some sort of domestic row. A glum bard and an angry apprentice were each clinging on to the arm of a mud golem. It was still drying and quite small as golems went. Nothing like the metal monstrosities the party had seen in Firkraag's lair. This one was just slightly taller than a man and made of dirt.
"Please father, don't do this!" the apprentice mage wailed, as the old man slapped a handful of wet soil into the golem's chest.
"Colette, you are barely two months study away from qualifying to join the Cowled Wizards!" the wizard snapped. When he opened his mouth to speak, his teeth were a horrible brownish-black. "I'll not have you running off with this foolish boy to become a meek little housewife!"
"But good Sir, isn't that her choice?" the bard implored. He had slick black hair and snake-like eyes. From a distance he'd seemed handsome, but as she got closer, Arowan noticed a certain oily quality to him. "There is no higher calling for a woman than to be wife and mother. Colette understands this! Come, Jermien, let us make a deal. We'll hand over our firstborn son to be your apprentice. You can teach him proper magic, not just baking enchanted cookies and housework spells. Leave the women to do what they do best, and in return you'll get the chance to train a proper wizard."
"Not if my hypothetical 'grandson' inherits your brains I won't," muttered the old man. "You are aware that intelligence is the key requirement for a mage?"
"Listen to Daar, father, he's a good man!" Colette pleaded.
"A good man? He's a liar is what he is!" Jermien thundered, beard bristling with rage. "He hasn't even told you his real name. He's not called Daar, he's Eldoth Kron!" At this the bard looked rather sulky. The wizard glared at him from under grizzled grey eyebrows. "What did you think, bard, that I wouldn't do some basic scrying on the man who wanted to steal my daughter from me?"
For a moment the woman looked rather shocked, but her beau's arm snaked about her narrow hips and he smirked.
"I had to change my name, angel," he simpered. "I'm a hunted man, through no fault of my own. There's a werewolf in Baldur's Gate who'd send assassins after me if she knew where I was. Savage beast she is. She saw me with another woman, and it sent her mad with jealousy. Truth be told, I wasn't even that interested in the girl, but it drove that rabid mutt crazy. She was going to kill me. That's why I fled south in the first place."
"A werewolf sending assassins?" scoffed the old man. "I've never heard of such a thing. Any wolf worth her salt could destroy you with one swipe of her paw. And since when did the Flaming Fist let lycanthropes live in cities threatening the populace? Ridiculous! More lies!"
"The girl's name is Skie Silvershield and the werewolf is the Hero of Baldur's Gate," Eldoth sneered triumphantly. He had the air of a man pulling an ace from his sleeve. "Perhaps you have heard of them? Go ahead, do your scrying! Ask around! It's easy enough to confirm it. Anyway, why would a talented artist like myself settle for this dreary life of farming drudgery if my story weren't true?"
"Please listen to him father!" pleaded the girl.
"I am listening to him," Jermien muttered. "That's the problem."
The wizard's teeth were really bothering Arowan. They were not a natural dirty hue. Even amongst the beggars of Baldur's Gate she had never seen teeth quite like it. The sewer kobolds had better dental hygiene.
Ignoring his daughter's protests, Jermien barged past Arowan, scooped a handful of dirt from the ground and moistened it in the fountain water. As he did so, the trees above the mysterious shrine rattled their leaves. It was probably only the breeze, yet the ranger shivered. Something about the shrine made her uneasy. Not as uneasy as the teeth though.
Meanwhile the argument between father and daughter raged on. It seemed as though he was building the golem to watch her while he went on a trip out of town. The young woman was past the age of needing watching, but Arowan suspected the wizard's anger involved the young bard by her side. She was not very keen on interrupting them but there was little option.
"Erm, excuse me?" she ventured. The wizard spun around, seeming as furious with her as with the guilty looking couple stood before him.
"What do you want?" he snapped shrewishly.
"Could I hire your services please?" Arowan asked wearily. "Our party cleric has been polymorphed. We need to turn her back."
"Come inside and we'll have a look at her," he sniped, wiping the mud from his hands with a pocket handkerchief. "Colette, come with me and learn something. Eldoth, shoo!"
She followed the mage inside his home. There must not be much call for the Cowled Wizards' services in this remote region for this wizard was poor. He lived in more of a shack than a house. Two single beds occupied one side of the long room and a grill the other. It was lit and a small sausage supper was sizzling away over it, alongside a hissing iron kettle. Yet despite being impoverished, it was clearly a wizard's house. Great bunches of herbs hung from the ceiling, strange pickled things floated sadly in their cork bottles and a rack of wands took up an entire wall to itself.
"Jermien at your service," the old man said, his manner becoming noticeably friendlier the moment Eldoth was out of his line of sight. It was not an improvement, for he was smiling now, revealing all those blackened teeth. "This is my apprentice and daughter, Colette. Plonk your unfortunate friend on the table and we'll take a look."
Arowan drew Viconia from her pack, dropping her onto the table with such force that it knocked a squeak out of her. Jermien lifted the rat by her tail in one hand and prodded her with a long metal spatula. She squeaked and tried to bite him, but because she was hanging upside down, she could not reach his hand.
Still dangling her by the tail, he strode over to his bedside table and pulled out a large pair of spectacles. He peered carefully at Viconia, whose snapping teeth missed his nose by millimetres.
"How exactly did this happen?" Jermien puzzled, squinting at the silvery rat.
"Wild magic zone," replied Arowan, indifferently. "She tried to cast a spell. Our druid turned herself purple at the same time, but that curse wore off on its own. Whereas this seems permanent."
Jermien shuffled back to the table, swinging Viconia like a bag. By now the rat was in considerable pain from being carried by her tail. The tone of the squeaks had changed from angry to pleading. She wished Rasaad was there, for in Arowan she could not have a less sympathetic audience.
"Can you fix it?" the ranger asked after a while. Jermien popped the rat onto the table and pulled a pouch from his pocket. It was full of charcoal-black chewing tobacco. He cut himself a generous chunk and chewed it thoughtfully. Arowan thought of his revolting teeth and privately swore never to touch the filthy stuff herself.
The wizard swirled the tobacco around his mouth, then spat a glob of excess juice straight onto the cabin floor. Now that Arowan looked, there were dried dark circles spotted all over the floorboards. She could see why Colette was so desperate to get away. Though it struck her that eloping with Eldoth might be out of the frying pan and into the fire.
"Certainly I can fix her," Jermien nodded. "For the modest fee of one thousand gold pieces."
Arowan almost spat on the floor herself in astonishment.
"How much?" she wheezed. Jermien repeated his demand. She shrugged at Viconia helplessly. "I haven't got it."
"That's the price," Jermien replied stubbornly. "You want a cheap fix? Take your rat to Athkatla where wizards are two a penny. Out here there's just me and the Umar Witch."
"Is she cheaper?" Arowan asked optimistically. Jermien rolled his eyes.
"The Umar Witch is a myth," he snapped. "I was being facetious. There's me. Just me."
Arowan knelt down with her face at tabletop level, to look Viconia in her little red eyes. She took care to keep out of biting range, as she asked gently;
"Viconia? Have you considered the possibilities that staying a rat forever might have to offer you? Cheap food, free board in any tavern and you could make your nest in Rasaad's shirt!" As she predicted, the rat lunged at her but she pulled her head back, leaving the angry creature chittering at the edge of the table. "Just picture it. You and Rasaad could be the next Minsc and Boo!"
If Arowan were in any doubt that the following series of squeaks were supposed to indicate a death threat, Viconia also drew her paw across her throat to illustrate the point.
"I'm not sure what you want me to do Viconia," sighed Arowan. She and Yoshimo had been forced to steal most of the party's gold. Ever since then Jaheira, as party leader, had been keeping hold of their money. Unfortunately, the druid wasn't here.
"There is one thing you could do," Jermien suggested hopefully. "I'm missing a crucial ingredient for the completion of my little project out there. The blood of a mimic. Once I have some, I can bring my golem to life to guard Colette, and thrash Eldoth if he pokes his greasy nose around her again!"
"The golem is to guard your daughter?" Arowan asked wincing. She felt sorry for Colette. Jermien with his tobacco stained teeth or Eldoth Kron. What a choice.
"Yes, yes," Jermien said. "Bring me some mimic blood and I'll turn back your cleric."
"What is a mimic?" Arowan sighed resignedly, "And where would I find one?"
"A mimic is a vicious little shape changer that likes to attract and kill adventurers by looking like a treasure chest or similar objects," Jermien explained. "They're generally found in dungeons, ruins or similar places. Though where you'd find one around here, I don't know. That's why I'll fix your friend for free if you bring me some."
"Fine," the ranger replied. "What about you fuzzy? You coming with me to find mimic blood? Or shall I take you back to the inn, so that you can mop Rasaad's fevered brow with a very small flannel?"
Viconia slunk back into the backpack, curling up in the bottom moodily. They did stop back briefly at the inn, to tell the others where they were going. Arowan had no idea where to begin looking for a mimic so there was no telling how long she might be. Rasaad was sleeping fitfully in a warm room, with Yoshimo keeping an eye on him. The smell lingering about him suggested a sick bucket not long emptied, though the monk was not in such a state as to give Arowan any alarm.
In fact the ranger could not bring herself to care at all. She wondered what she would feel if Rasaad actually died. Something, surely? It was surreal to be in the company of the man she had loved for so long, and watch him suffer with such indifference.
"This is futile," Yoshimo said. "Mimics live in dungeons and abandoned towers, not woods and farms. Where would you find one here?"
"I might as well try," shrugged Arowan. "We have to find Jaheira and Anomen, so I'll be scouting the area anyway. You never know, I might get lucky."
She bid them goodbye and went downstairs, asking around the tavern, until she found someone who could point her in the broad direction that her missing party members had gone. Through the trees, across the stream and past a pile of boulders, they had said. There was Merella's cabin, and that was where they were headed.
What a useless set of directions these turned out to be! The entire landscape was nothing but trees, mounds of rocks and crisscrossing waterways. Beautiful though the scenery was, the ranger was just beginning to grow frustrated when her eyes lighted on a large cabin perched atop a cliff. A precarious, narrow path wound up the ledges to it. As Arowan climbed she got the feeling that she was being watched and when she reached the cliff edge, this suspicion was proven correct.
A thick hand shot out and seized her neck from behind. She struggled but it was useless, the man was much stronger than she was. Unable even to see her assailant, she felt her arm twisted up painfully behind her back. She screamed, but her attacker forced her forward so that she was lying on her front, her face and arms dangling over the cliff edge. It was a long way down.
"The Cowled Wizards sent you!" he growled breathlessly in her ear. "I know they did, my friend in the village saw you leaving Jermien's house. Don't bother denying it!"
"He sent me on an errand, so what?" screamed Arowan, her voice echoing down the sheer cavern.
"It was a fool's errand to come after me!" the man said grimly. He grabbed her by the back of the tunic, hauled her to her feet, and forced her roughly toward the edge. The lunatic was about to throw her over! Arowan struggled hard, screaming at the top of her lungs, but there was nobody to hear her.
Nobody, that is, except Viconia. Under normal circumstances the drow would be happy to see Arowan tossed to a messy death on the rocks below. However, not only was the ranger her best chance of regaining human form, she was also her only protector for miles. Negotiating her way back to the village in rat-form past a wood full of foxes, owls and fast flowing streams wasn't worth the risk. She had to help her.
Rat-Viconia scampered out of Arowan's backpack, up the attacker's arm and plunged her teeth deep into his cheek. The man hollered in pain and surprise, dropping the ranger. She backed away hastily from the cliff edge, notched an arrow, and shot the man just below the ribs.
Viconia scurried back to her, while the man looked contemplatively at the arrow poking out of him. He barely grunted in response to the pain, and stared from it to her with a resigned expression.
"Looks like you bastards finally got me," he said dully. "Fine. Make it quick."
"What in Ilmater's name are you talking about, you deranged old goat?" shrieked Arowan.
Yet he did not quite have the look of a mad hermit. Far from being unkempt and crazy, his hair was braided in meticulous cornrows and his beard trimmed and neat. His face seemed locked in a permanent scowl and his dark eyes burned with resentment and suspicion. She already had another arrow out, and this one was aimed between his eyes, but she recognized another ranger when she saw one. Despite having come close to being hurled over a cliff, she was hesitant to shoot.
"Who are you?" he asked slowly.
"Who are you?" retorted Arowan, "You said you had friends in the village. Do they know you're hurling random people to their deaths?"
"Not friends. A friend. Derrick. He came with me from Athkatla," the man replied. "I have to keep hidden, what with Jermien lurking in the village, but he can go there to get supplies for me."
"Jermien is hunting you?" she asked.
"No, but the Cowled Wizards are," he replied. "If he knew I was here, he'd turn me in. It's a long story, come inside and I'll tell you about it. You might be able to help me."
"Help you? You are joking, right?" Arowan said nonplussed. Her eyes darted to the fatal chasm near their feet, and then to her arrow which was protruding from his abdomen. Clearly it had not struck any vital organ but untreated it could still prove a fatal injury, given time.
Valygar tugged it out with a half-scream and took a healing potion from his pack. The wound mended but he was not out of danger, for his fellow ranger did not lower her bow.
"I fear we got off on the wrong foot," he understated dryly. "My name is Valygar Corthala. "A planar sphere appeared several weeks ago in the slums of Athkatla, that you may have seen."
"My name is Arowan and no, I haven't seen your sphere," she snapped. "And frankly, I'm not minded to help you look for it either, considering you just tried to murder me for no reason!"
Valygar let out a humourless laugh.
"You wouldn't need to look hard, it's huge," he told her. "It flattened half a street. My ancestor, the necromancer Lavok, built that sphere and disappeared with it over five centuries ago. It has not been seen since, until its recent reappearance. I have no desire to meet my ancestor, and even less to help the Cowled Wizards, who believe that my body is the only key to enter the sphere… alive or no."
Arowan was taking delicate steps backward. Away from this madman and his dratted cliff. Clearly she had the wrong cabin, but it did not sound as though Valygar was a serial killer despite first impressions.
"What a lot we have in common," she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Not only are we both rangers but, believe it or not, I'm not interested in meeting your ancestor either! Nor am I interested in helping the Cowled Wizards… except your pal Jermien I suppose."
"Helping him?" demanded Valygar. "How? Why?"
The wind blew Arowan's hair over her face, sending strands uncomfortably into her mouth. With both hands on the bow, there was nothing she could do about this except try to spit them out. The long brown hairs clung disobligingly to her tongue.
"The rat who just bit you is a polymorphed person," she groaned. "Jermien is the only one for miles around who can turn her back, but I can't afford his ridiculous fees. He says he'll cure her in exchange for some mimic blood, so I'm looking for one."
Valygar seemed amused. He cocked one dark eyebrow at her and folded his hands over his broad chest.
"You're just wandering the forest in the hopes of happening to stumble across a mimic?" he smirked.
"And looking for my friends, a druid and a cleric," Arowan said defensively.
"I haven't seen your friends," Valygar said, "But the mimic I can help you with. On the condition that you refrain from telling anyone of my whereabouts." She nodded curtly. "There's one in my cabin, disguised to look like a wardrobe."
She lowered her bow a fraction but was still glaring at him mistrustfully. The wind whistled loudly, shaking the leaves and branches above. She had to raise her voice to make her next words heard.
"That seems like an awfully convenient coincidence," she remarked. "You wouldn't be trying to lure me into your home so that you can attack me again would you?"
Valygar snorted and shook his head ruefully. Had he begun their conversation with more caution, or spotted the symbol of Ilmater that she wore about her neck, he might have got the help he needed to deal with the planar sphere. As it was, gaining her aid was evidently off the table.
"Not a coincidence," he sighed. "Derrick told me that Jermien has been asking people for mimic blood for some time. The wizard can't afford to order one from the city traders, but I can. It arrived in a cart a couple of days ago. I was going to give it to him as a bribe to leave me alone."
"What do you want in return for it?" Arowan asked flatly. "Some sort of protracted mission involving this sphere of yours? Or are you going to send me on a quest to procure some other random item? A nymph hair perhaps, plucked at midnight on a harvest moon? Or would you like a half gallon of unicorn piss?"
"Nothing. Consider it a gift," Valygar replied. "By way of apology for our… misunderstanding earlier."
He stepped into his cabin and, against her better judgement, Arowan followed him. For a cabin in the woods, this one was unusually well fitted out with shelves full of leather-bound books and slick oil paintings hanging from the walls. Valygar was well heeled, certainly.
"You're a nobleman?" Arowan asked. For unassuming though his taste in décor was, there were obvious signs. The expensive hunting bows and spears hanging from a rack near the door. The fur-lined hunting jacket. The real silver cutlery clogging up his sink.
Valygar's face grew grim. He was silent for a long time, as he poked the wardrobe with his spear, slew the mimic and bottled its blood in his empty healing potion bottle. Then he gave a brief explanation, trying to use as few words as possible. Yes, he was a nobleman. The last Corthala, once one of the wealthiest families in Amn. They had been cursed with magical ability. Every one who had used their talents had become obsessed with it and ultimately come to a grievous end.
"Wild surges?" hazarded Arowan, with a glance at Viconia.
"No, they weren't wild mages," Valygar replied grimly. "They all ended up lured by the dark magics. Or darker, I should say. All magic is dark. Some, like my mother, only hurt themselves and their immediate family. Others like Lavok caused a world of chaos and damage. Damnable wizards, they should all be locked up if you ask me."
"There are good mages," Arowan frowned.
"Most of them start out that way," he replied with derision. "But magic always corrupts in the end. My ancestor Lavok set out to defeat the demi-lich Kangaax. Broke his body into pieces and hid him all around Athkatla. Only Lavok and his party were altered in the attempt. They decided to become immortal guardians, to stand guard over the pieces and ensure that Kangaax never returned. They became liches themselves."
Arowan's ears pricked up. Kangaax was the creature that Bubbles had been searching for all this time. His ring was the artefact she needed to perform her ritual to retrieve a more powerful Bhaalspawn from the Abyss. Only so far she had been unable to find the last piece of Kangaax's skeleton. There was a risk, if it took too long, that Irenicus might lose patience and decide to use her instead.
"So, your ancestor guards a piece of Kangaax?" she asked tentatively.
"No," replied Valygar bitterly. "For all their flaws, his companions did, at least, fulfil the duty they had volunteered for. Whereas Lavok abandoned his post and built the sphere."
"So his piece lies unguarded?" Arowan asked.
"The skull just sits in a crypt near the docks. They built a pub over it," Valygar spat disgustedly. "Every so often some adventurer stumbles across it, and the spirit of Kangaax tricks them into trying to find the rest of him. Fortunately the remaining liches do their job and so far nobody has ever succeeded. Plenty died in the attempt, mind. Lavok has a lot to answer for."
"Yes…" Arowan replied slowly, licking her teeth thoughtfully. "Well, thank you for the mimic blood. I'd best be going. Are you going to be alright?"
"As alright as I ever am, I suppose," sighed Valygar glumly. Despite their being no physical similarity whatsoever, something about the man reminded Arowan sharply of Xan. "I doubt the Cowled Wizards will find me. They never come here unless they have to. They're too afraid of the Umar Witch."
"Are they though?" Arowan squinted. "Jermien said she was a myth."
"Jermien is a fool," Valygar said darkly. "The Umar Witch is as real as you or I. Take a closer look at the shrine in the middle of the village, but don't drink the fountain water. Believe me, there's dark magic lurking in these hills."
