Chapter 38: Berrun Ghastkill
The men and women of my Guard march like they were preparing for war. If things keep up the way they have been…I suppose they'd be right to prepare.
It might sound paranoid, it might sound insane. But Amn is a stone's throw away, and from reports we've gotten from the Dukes in Baldur's Gate, peace talks haven't gone the way they should.
Those sharks smell our blood in the water.
Iron is one of those resources that shouldn't 'dwindle,' shouldn't 'degrade,' but, for some reason, we've had shipments full of it weakened, even before it could be smelted, processed, forged, sold, distributed. We've depended on iron for a long time, as one might imagine. Swords, armor, and so on.
But think about the other necessities in life. Table and flatware, horseshoes, even the metal bars, handles, hooks, and prongs that we use for tools, construction of buildings, things I wasn't even aware we used iron for until we didn't have enough of it.
And all I can do is stand in the middle of Gods-damned town and wait, wait for someone to come swooping in and solve all our problems. It's infuriating; twenty, thirty years ago I would've marched right into those mines and shot an arrow at the first thing that jumped out at me.
But decades change a man, force him to think of other responsibilities. Adventuring doesn't become someone past his prime…at least, that's what I keep telling myself, as I feel my hand reach reflexively behind my back, fingers brushing the yew that's kept me alive for so long.
But now my problems don't have fangs and claws and sharp teeth, don't make noises like the souls that get pulled into the Nine Hells. My problems are missing people, weakened ore, representatives of Athkatla's council making thinly-veiled threats. Somehow, I think I preferred the problems I could knock an arrow at.
A group of adventurers makes their way down the path towards me. There at the front…I can't hide my grin. Those two! And look at who's with them!
"Berrun!" Jaheira's eyes light up, and she and Khalid rush to me first.
"S-so good to see you!" Khalid shakes my hand, then I turn to Jaheira.
"You two are quite the sight for a pair of old Elven eyes."
"Old elven eyes? Where?" Jaheira looks around in mock confusion, and the three of us laugh. Oh, it feels good to do that. It's been so long since I've seen them.
But there's someone else that I find with these old Elven eyes.
"Bryce? That can't be you, can it?" He cocks his head, stepping out to the front of the group.
He squints, furrowing his brow. I don't blame him for not remembering.
"The last time I saw you, you came up to about here." I hold a level hand out near my left hip, grinning. Still grinning. Gods, what a day!
He nods. "You must have known Gorion."
I laugh. "Knew him? Ha, he's the reason I have my title!"
Bryce cups his chin. "Your title? Ghastkill, isn't it?"
"He must've told you the story." What a story it is! Takes me back to those good old days.
So, there we were, deep in the mausoleum. Must've been past the stroke of midnight. Gods it was dusty! Old and dusty! Even the stone was sick and tired of housing all of those corpses. But then, oh it happened so fast, you should've seen 'em, must've been thousands of ghouls, ghasts, and zombies, pouring out of every crypt –
"Berrun, please." Jaheira moves a hand to her mouth. "Thousands?" She chuckles.
"It's a great story!"
"I-i-it is a story we have he-heard plenty of times." Khalid looks sheepish. Listening to the wife, as always. Sometimes it must be hard to be so dutiful.
"Oh alright," I sigh.
"Sounds like you earned your title, one way or another." Corwin now takes her turn stepping out, holding…something in her hand…
"Brage?" I eye the token, emblazoned with Nashkel's symbol. Crossed swords over the entrance to the mine. No…Gods no, not Brage…
"He…" she hesitates. If something happened to him, just say it, Gods damn it!
"Tell me." I press.
Corwin looks to Khalid, Jaheira, Bryce, the rest of their companions.
An elf I don't recognize raises a hand as he steps forward. That green and brown he's wearing…Shilmistan. They call themselves freedom fighters, but their beliefs are radical. They threaten the sacred trust between Elves and other races. I'll have to be careful around him.
"Brage is dead." Is all he says, and the look on his face tells me he's serious.
"How?" I ask, because it's the only thing I can think to say. He just…he can't be dead. I knew him when he was so young, so ready to become Captain of the Guard…
For a time, there is no answer. It stretches on, the tension in my gut tighter than I ever pulled back my bow.
"How did he die?"
"He had taken his own life by the time we arrived." Jaheira looks left, right, and answers for the group. "The blade must have robbed him of what remaining sanity he had. Its curse was potent, after all."
"So we'll never know what happened?" I feel my hands ball up and tighten, over and over. My nails dig into my palms. "Jaheira, that's not GOOD ENOUGH! What happened to him!?"
"B-b-berrun…" Khalid looks so concerned. But if all he can offer is concern, sympathy…Gods.
The Shilmistan looks to Jaheira, and back to me. "He was still alive, for a time."
"Kivan!" Jaheira turns to him.
"Berrun loved this man, clearly. He deserves to know the truth."
"Did you have to put him down?" My mouth twitches at the thought, jaw clenching.
"He told us what happened." Bryce offers. "The curse, that blade…it destroyed his life. By the time we found him, he might as well have been dead."
"He killed Elena, and Amelia…he murdered them!" I close my eyes, looking away. Gods, why? All for some sword? "And now, he gets to rot in the ground, and leave the rest of us to figure out what we're supposed to do."
"We're here to help you, Mr. Ghastkill." A young woman, hair streaked with arrows of pink and red, comes up to me. "This is gonna be tough for you,we know –"
"Do you?" I look back up at her, and she takes a step away. "I knew Brage for most of his life. I watched him change from boy, to man, to Captain of my Guard. I thought I'd get to watch him grow old with his wife, his child by his side…" I move to Corwin, grab his token, the badge he wore so proudly on his breastplate for almost a decade.
I throw it onto the ground. "And THIS is how his life ends!" I point at it "THIS is all that's left of Brage of Nashkel, one of…" I feel the tears start flowing. Gods…Brage…
"One of the greatest men I'll ever know. This is what we have left of him."
Silence.
I pick the badge back up, put it into a pocket. I pinch the bridge of my nose, sighing what I'd call the deepest sigh of my life.
"But you're not here to watch old men suffer and grovel, are you?" I try to hold back, but my voice cracks just a hair.
"Berrun, our business in the mines can wait." Jaheira offers a conciliatory hand to my shoulder, a soft smile.
"A go-good day's rest would be welcome. We have tra-traveled far to come here." Khalid offers a plan.
"Of course. Of course." I try to pat down the fire forming in my heart, remind myself that I am the mayor of Nashkel, that I can offer hospitality to travelers, if they wish it, no matter what news they bring.
As the group disperses, making their plans for where to go in town to rest and so on, a monk, who observed and listened with the rest of them, comes to me.
"Mr. Ghastkill –"
"Please, Berrun is fine. The title is a relic, like the man who owns it."
He nods. "Our encounter with Brage…would you like to hear more of it?"
"There's something I have to ask you." I turn to face the monk, and he places a fist into an enclosed hand, bowing slightly, prompting me to continue. One of those things you just get used to seeing monks do, I suppose.
"Before he died, the Shilmistan…"
"Kivan."
"Kivan." I acknowledge the man's name. "Kivan said that Brage was alive. But Bryce explained the curse had already taken its toll. Was he…still himself, at the end? Was he Captain Brage?"
The monk ponders the thought carefully, taking several seconds to compose the response in his mind. I waited, patiently as I could. Monks were the slow type, contemplating everything, wondering about everything. For some listening, I imagine frustration setting in more quickly than understanding. But Elves live a long time, understand those quirks.
"We freed him from the blade, yes. But, in the end, his crime was unpardonable, unforgivable. We were simply too late to change what had occurred."
"Gods, you're right about that. A lot of people in town will be happy to hear he died."
"Even after his many years of faithful service?" The monk inquires.
"That's all it takes sometimes, to change people's minds about you. One long night in a mausoleum, one stray arrow or swing of your sword. We're fickle creatures, humans, elves, dwarves, all of us."
"We do what we believe is right, and our beliefs give us the strength to carry on."
I lock eyes with him. This monk…he's wise beyond his years.
"Even when we don't feel like we can, is that what you're trying to say?"
"Even when we do not believe it possible, we must have faith that for every great darkness, there is a light to shine through, and for every ray of hope, there is darkness waiting to consume it."
"Selune, right? The dualities of life, light and dark, that sort of thing?"
He smiles, nodding.
"I've been alive for a long time, Mr.…?"
"Bashir. Rasaad yn Bashir."
"Mr. Bashir. And I'd say you're probably right. You can't have light without darkness, hope without fear. But right now…" my hand moves to the badge in my pocket.
"Right now I'd say there's a little more darkness than light. For me, Nashkel, the Sword Coast…a lot of people are still waiting for that light to shine through."
"It will." He sounds awfully sure about that.
"How do you know?"
"Because of what I believe."