Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter 17

The eye of the storm

Elene scrambled frantically to her feet, a dozen choice expletives blazing through her mind. Half stumbling, half crawling, she managed to drag herself to the side of an abandoned wagon nearby, squeezing her slight frame between the wagon and several barrels of supplies nestled beside it. Her heart was in her throat, but she kept the presence of mind to pull the shadows around herself as she folded her body to be as small as possible.

That…could have gone better. Note to self, give yourself bigger clearance next time.

By some miracle, no one had seen her. She swallowed, taking a moment to calm her racing heartbeat as screams resonated from the burning tents. Her eyes traced the red corona illuminating the whole camp. Well, that's a big fire, she admitted with a hint of irony. Sprinkling grease close to nearby tents before igniting the kegs of moonshine worked far better than she and Xan expected. The blast radius from the ensuing follow-up explosions had certainly caught her off guard.

Someone abruptly skidded into a halt in her line of sight, a tall man in dark armour. "Beshaba's tits!" he yelled, a hand grasping at his flaxen hair. "Get water, you louts! Before all our food supplies burn up!"

"Aye, Teven!" replied another man out of sight.

"How in the hells did this happen?"

The man, Teven, began inspecting the area around him with some suspicion. Elene shrank deeper into her hiding place as his eyes skimmed over the wagon she was pressed against. This was the other Talon commander Raiken mentioned, she realised. A mean-looking fellow, armed with a large two-hander.

Fortunately, his human eyes could not discern much in the gloom. He missed her completely, then after pausing in thought, turned to move away. "Time to put that good-for-nothing mage to work. If he can't even summon water, Khosann will have his head."

She waited for Teven's footsteps to fade away before daring to draw a deep breath. As Xan feared, they had a mage on their side. She would need to re-join Jaheira's group quickly to warn them. She rubbed at her face, feeling the faint tingle of magic lingering there. Hopefully, the illusory guise would create enough confusion for her to cross the camp in one piece. There was a very small margin of error from this point onward, a point Xan drove into her multiple times earlier in the day.

Men were running toward the fire to help douse their burning comrades while others were making their move towards the pond to fetch more water. Khalid and Imoen's group will begin their assault soon, she knew.

Her mind flashed to the horror she saw the day before, of Aoln and the indignities the Talons inflicted upon him before they put him out of his misery. Kivan had tried to shield the sight from her, but she saw. She remembered the old hunter as a benign prattling sort, always warning them of the dangers of the wilderness, repeatedly telling the same story about an ogre mage who killed the rest of his adventuring group a long time ago. He did not deserve to be snuffed out that way. It felt almost unfair that these men would face quick deaths when Aoln was not given the same mercy.

Some men are no better than beasts.

She felt a strange measure of satisfaction when the first cries of pain and surprise were heard beyond the camp.

"We're under attack!"

The shouts in the camp took on a different urgency then, as the unprepared began to shuck on armours and go for their weapons. After waiting a few more minutes, Elene drew a long knife from her belt, and then another, as she leaned forward to emerge from her little refuge. She'd need to cut through opponents quickly in the confusion. The sword would only slow her down.

As she'd hoped, Sorrel had commanded the melee charge, the sound of metal boots music to her ears as they crossed the distance from the pond toward the camp. The bandit forces moved forth to engage his group, still unaware that another group was approaching from the east.

So far so good. It was now or never.

She slipped away from the wagon then broke into a brisk walk, aiming for the large pavilion located a safe distance from the raging fire. Up ahead, about five men were running towards her and the upcoming battle, some unarmed, some already with bows drawn.

By rights she should feel some trepidation. Instead, her gaze settled coolly on those men. She thought of Kivan. The scars lacing his hands, the cruel lashings on his exposed back when he changed his shirt, the cold fury that fuelled him in all the fights with these men and those like them. She remembered the ruined caravans they found on the roads, surrounded by rotting corpses of men and women who sought better lives with their journey but found brutal deaths instead. All because of men like the ones right in front of her.

They don't deserve to live.

"Oy, ya going the wrong way, mate!" the lead man pointed toward the approaching Fist front line.

To their eyes, they saw an unassuming man in splint mail, garbed in deepest black to match the banner of the Talons. It was no wonder that the first man didn't even react when she approached as if to tell the man something but ended up thrusting her knife through his exposed neck instead. The second man fell when she swivelled with her off-hand knife at a perfect arc to slash through his throat. Using momentum, she kicked off her back foot and killed the third man with a stab through the heart before the last two men even realised they were in danger. One man raised his bow in futility only for her to slash through his wrist with one blade and across his throat with the other.

The last man had his sword drawn by the time she came for him. A wild swing came at her head, but it was all too easy for her to duck under it. She thrust her knife upward, adrenaline giving her the strength to pierce his chain shirt and push the blade clean through to where she guessed his liver was. Judging from the choked sound he made, she surmised that she'd hit the right target. She pulled the knife to the left and out in one smooth motion to confirm the kill and continued her brisk stride to cross the camp, her expression as still as a tomb.

The entire encounter happened within a minute. Her pulse hummed gratifyingly in the chaos.

It didn't take her long to reach her objective. The fighting there had already begun, Jaheira's entangling vines ensnaring a few men who would be easy pickings for Kivan. Oddly, a few of the bandits were fighting their own brethren, sowing great confusion in the ranks. Elene smiled when she saw a magically armoured Xan standing far at the back, his hand raised like a macabre puppet master. Ajantis, Vai and two Fists were mowing through the scattered bandits and Talons who were caught completely blindsided by this second force.

She put away her knives and drew her sword, dispelling the Talon disguise as she did. It wouldn't do to get mistaken for a Talon and get an arrow in the eye from Kivan after all her efforts to get there. Taking a deep breath, she slipped into the shadows once more.

After, long after, when things had calmed down, Elene would admit that she could not recall much from the ensuing bloodbath. As she surprised a Talon archer furthest back in the line, the foremost inane thought in her mind was of Imoen's ruined dress. She remembered that balmy day after Nimbul's attack, they were packing up their things in Nashkel Inn when she caught sight of the pink dress Imoen wore to the town's celebration. Dry blood had stained the skirt of the dress all the way up to the knees.

She had glanced at Imoen in shock, thinking her friend had been hurt, and she had felt such fury at Nimbul, at Tazok, at the men who wanted to hurt her, that Imoen needed to calm her down and set her straight. In that moment, though, she realised that they were not going to stop once they got her. They would murder all her loved ones, too.

So she fought, and she fought hard. Once upon a time, she'd looked up to heroic bladesingers in books who fought with elaborate moves akin to dancing. They overwhelmed their opponents with sheer skill and talent. In living the Life, she was discovering that the best fighter was the one who made every movement count. Inefficient fighters were tired fighters and they do not last long on the battlefield. Thanks to Khalid's patient instruction, she was developing an uncanny ability to strike at the right points using the best motion economy.

She'd carved through the back line of the bandits before pausing to summon her Mage Armour for the main push. Once again, everything had happened in an exhilarating rush. She felt energised, fuelled by a strange buzzing energy. Jaheira ran towards her, the druid giving her an odd look as she came close. She must look quite a fright, she thought, glancing down at her crimson-soaked front. When did all that blood get on her?

"Are you…hurt?" asked Jaheira, studying her uncertainly.

"No, I'm fine. They have a mage somewhere, by the way. Best be on our guard." Elene's brows furrowed as she caught sight of Kivan heading towards the open flap of the main tent. "What's he doing?"

"The fool!" hissed the other woman.

The two women pelted towards their ranger to haul him back. As they did, Elene saw that Officer Vai and her cadre were unable to advance as their path was blocked by a mountain of a man wielding a massive hammer. One blow from that beast would end any of them, so the captain was understandably wary as she sized up her opponent. Ajantis somehow managed to skirt around that stand-off to join them, with Xan in tow.

"Kivan! Wait!" Elene called out.

Her words went unheeded. He had a shot lined up as he stepped up to the tent opening, managing to loose the arrow before abruptly throwing himself aside to avoid two countering arrows aimed for his chest. Whoever was in there, they were ready for a frontal assault.

"Change of plans," Xan remarked, nodding at Jaheira. "We make a new entrance."

Jaheira flicked a glance at her ward. "Elene, go with Kivan. Two-pronged attack."

The druid weaved a quick spell under her breath, evoking a scimitar in her right hand which burst into a bright column of flame. Elene hurried to join Kivan as Jaheira proceeded to carve the blade through the canvas of the tent. Frantic yelling erupted from within as their opponents began to scramble a defence for this new threat. Taking a deep breath, Elene gave a quick nod to Kivan, noting his intense expression with worry as she steeled herself for the next move, which was a daring leap through the main entrance. Mad tingling flared up at the back of her head as the magic from her boots guided her to dodge the two incoming arrows aimed for her.

She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light of interior torches, noticing that the space was much bigger than it looked from outside. Adapting her stance, she caught sight of five opponents. Two men to her right, a gnoll and a man to her left and what looked like a humanoid figure lurking at the back of the tent, shielded by tarpaulins of goods stacked upon each other. The whole interior was filled to the brim with goods and junk of all sorts. Loot from the caravans, Elene realised. Her eyes then quickly sized up her enemies, zeroing in on a bearded man in green robes to her right, his hands already raised and casting.

"Oh no, you don't," she muttered through gritted teeth as she closed the distance.

The other man, a warrior in medium armour, took Kivan's arrow to the shoulder but remained on his feet. He threw his bow aside and stepped in between her and the mage, drawing his sword. She slowed, reconsidering her charge until she heard Xan's voice call out something from her left. The warrior stopped midway through drawing his sword, his face contorted in shock.

"What the…I can't see!"

She wanted to hug Xan in that moment. It was then a simple matter for her to sidestep the man's wild swing and continue towards her original target. Unfortunately, her hesitation had given the mage ample time to complete his spell. He coalesced the ball of energy in his hands into the shape of an arrow, which he then launched straight at her with a loud hiss. Try as she might, it was impossible to dodge at such close range. The arrow hit her right side with a green splash. She stumbled, crying out in pain as acid burned at the exposed skin on her neck and made an ominous hissing sound as it ate through her gambeson and sleeve to get at the flesh underneath.

Thank Oghma that didn't hit me in the face!

Baring her teeth in pain, she advanced, but her stumble again gave him time to fire off three identical mirror images of himself which flashed and weaved in the dim light. She slashed in frustration towards one of the images, causing it to wink out. Three wicked faces still leered at her as the mage raised his hands to cast another spell. She heard the tell-tale thunk of an arrow caving in a person's skull behind her, signalling the end of the unfortunate warrior. Heartened, she hacked at another of the images, leaving two more. One of them had to be the real thing.

Before she could go for another try, the ground beneath the mage burst upward in the shape of an earthen hand which attempted to grab him. Like her, the hand was unable to distinguish between the two images and ended up grappling the mirror image instead. That was fine for Elene. She lunged without hesitation, impaling the real mage with her Sharran sword before he got his spell off. In a sudden fit of pique, she twisted the blade, making the man gurgle as globs of blood trickled out from his lips and into his beard. She stood there unmoving as she watched the life leave his eyes.

The last time she'd felt this satisfied was when she'd ended the bounty hunter in Nashkel, blood and gore strewn all over the floor. It felt…glorious.

"Where is he?"

Kivan's angry bellow startled her from her dark thoughts as he breezed past her like a man possessed, trying to go around the mess of tarpaulins. Looking for Tazok, no doubt. But there was another enemy in the back which they hadn't accounted for yet. She kicked the mage off her sword and made to warn him. Before she could take another step, though, an arrow pierced Kivan in the arm. As he stumbled back with a grunt, a man emerged from a crouch behind the crates of goods and took a swing at the elf with a two-handed went down in a spray of blood. Realisation dawned on Elene that the man was Teven, the Talon commander she saw earlier.

Yet she felt no fear as she raised her sword to face him, mindful of the archer whom she could now see was a hobgoblin. All she could think of was finishing this fight quickly so she could get to Kivan. An idea formed in her head.

"You messed with the wrong people, girl," Teven growled, looming over her.

"I'd say the same of you," she replied venomously.

Her off-hand wove a quick pattern in the air as she pointed at him with her sword hand, snarling a command word and channelling all her anger into the spell. To the rest of the room, nothing happened. To Teven, however, the parts of his armour and clothing which were not metal combusted in a sudden burst of magic. He yelled in shock and pain, dropping his sword to bat at the tongues of fire slowly consuming him, the overpowering heat driving him to panic. As absorbed as he was in the task, he was in no position to defend himself when Elene launched a throwing knife into his eye from close range.

Once again, a tingling feeling warned her of an incoming arrow. She neatly sidestepped it even as Teven's lifeless body collapsed in a heap. Looking up, she glared at the hobgoblin who was backing away even further from her. The question of whether she should pursue or tend to Kivan was rendered moot, however, when Xan suddenly materialised behind the hobgoblin with his moonblade at the ready. Relief flooded through her. If anyone could finish the job, it was Xan.

She rushed over to Kivan, putting her sword down with a clatter and turning him over. A cry of dismay escaped her when she saw the extent of the damage. Teven's strike had cleaved clean through the ranger's leather armour, cutting a gaping red slash across his left torso. It was bleeding heavily even as Kivan laboured for each breath. She was no healer, but she knew a mortal wound when she saw one. A paltry healing potion wasn't going to cut it.

"Kivan," she whispered fearfully.

He cracked his eyelids open and focused on her, his amber eyes glazed with pain. Any hesitation on her part faded away in that instant.

I cannot let him die.

"I'm going to help you," she told him.

Without waiting for an answer, she leaned over him to put her hand on his ruined chest. She reached deep within herself for that spark of power, whatever it was, and sensed that it had swelled grotesquely in strength since the last time she searched for it. Her heart raced, all her senses sharpened into hyper-focus. Not caring what it meant in that moment, she drew upon the power, all of it, and gathered it into her hand, as if it was a tangible thing.

In between breaths, she thought of Gorion. She remembered finding his body on that chilly morning in Mirtul, recalled how similar it was to Kivan's current state. A diagonal slash from a two-handed sword had ended the man who was her father in all but name. And she was left there cradling his cold corpse, left reeling in the void he left behind. Her abilities could not have saved them from the monster who hunted her that night, but now she had the means to save those she cared about. And she would do everything in her power to make sure they would not be killed in her name as Gorion was.

Gritting her teeth, she poured the mysterious energy into Kivan's wound, far more than she'd ever attempted before with Imoen and even herself. She willed his body to repair itself, to undo the damage done by his foe. Above all, she willed for him to live. For a few frightening seconds, he didn't respond. Then, he let out a sharp gasp, his hand closing around her wrist in a vice grip. She winced in pain but kept flowing the energy through to her friend.

Once there was no further power left for her to tap, she rocked back on her heels, breathing hard. It had been mere seconds, but she felt like she had been running full tilt for hours. She felt…emptied. For the first time that night, she was completely aware of all the aches and pains she'd accumulated through the running battles, the sting of acid burns adorning her right side, the sticky wetness of blood on her face and clothing. She then noticed Kivan was still gripping her wrist hard enough to bruise. But he was alive. And he was staring at her with something akin to fear.

"What…what did you do?" he rasped.

She swallowed, shaken by the look in his eyes. "I…made it better."

"Better…" he trailed off, sucking in a shaky breath. After a few moments, he squeezed his eyes shut, bitter disappointment marring his features. His hand slid off her wrist. "He is not here."

"It doesn't look like it," she agreed with a sigh, looking around at the empty tent, noticing the silence for the first time. She shook her head, trying to dislodge a sudden bout of dizziness. Then her hand closed around his shoulder as the other pulled a potion from her belt. "Here, you should still take this. And we should get that arrow out."

As she helped prop him up to take the healing potion after she'd pulled the arrow out, she was aware of Xan coming up to stand beside her, silent but for the rustle of his robes. She tried to still her mind as she glanced up at him and wondered how much the enchanter had seen. As ever, though, his patrician features betrayed nothing even as he took in the battered sight of his companions.

"Jaheira?" Elene asked him.

"She is securing the perimeter, we're done here," he confirmed. "But the fighting continues outside. Some of us may have to go out there."

"I'm out of spells, but I can go," she replied with little enthusiasm.

"First, we need to secure information." Xan jerked his chin towards a set of chests close to a makeshift throne at one end of the area. "Looks like a good place to start."

She squeezed Kivan's shoulder. "You alright?"

He nodded, waving her off. She collected her discarded sword and sheathed it, heedless of the blood staining her scabbard. Moving on swiftly, she set off for the trove of chests Xan had pointed out, eyes peeled for illusions or traps with Xan close behind her. She was relieved to move on with other tasks, trying not to dwell on all that had just happened. Spotting nothing suspicious, they rifled through the first set of chests and found mostly valuables gleaming in silver or gold, which Elene tried to pocket as much of as she could. Oddly enough, the second set was a small trove of magic weapons and armour confiscated from the bandits' victims but kept there almost like someone's vanity collection. She left the items as they lay for Xan's inspection.

Finally, furthest in the corner was a small, nondescript chest adorned with a simple lock. Elene unclipped her thieves' tools from her belt as she assessed the lock. Imoen was better at this than she was, but she thought the lock mechanism looked simple enough. Before she could take a crack at it, however, she was startled by an unfamiliar whisper.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Her knife was out in a flash, aimed at the direction of the whisper. No evil mage or towering half-ogre stood there to menace her, however. Instead, semi-hidden on the other side of the makeshift throne, she found herself staring at an elven-looking man so thin and bedraggled that he seemed almost a part of the rancid pile of blankets he lay in. A rope was tied around his neck, which connected to a post driven into the ground, leaving him tethered there like a dog. A tired, beaten dog.

"Who are you?" she demanded, reminded of Xan as she found him in the Mines.

"Someone with friendly advice." A ghost of a smile flickered on his lips. "That chest is trapped."

She glanced back at the chest. Deciding that he posed no threat to her, she peered more closely at the flooring under the chest. Sure enough, barely noticeable was the ends of a rune carved underneath. It was difficult to determine the precise shape of it, but she suspected it would trigger either a bolt of fire or lightning on an unsuspecting thief. Working quickly, she knelt and gently brushed the tip of the rune with her fingers, dissipating the magic transcribed in it. A faint hum murmured in the silence as the rune was deactivated. Then it became a simple task of picking the lock, which gave with a satisfying click when she was done.

"A prisoner," Xan observed as he studied the man who warned her. "I'm beginning to think these enemies we face have an unhealthy fixation on elves."

Elene popped the chest open, her eyes scanning the contents. "I think you may be onto something there." Jackpot. Inside was a mess of letters and even what seemed to be a journal. She grabbed at everything she could get her hands on, then foisted them to Xan. "Scroll case."

By the time Jaheira and Ajantis came to check on them, the two elves were almost done stashing all the correspondences into Xan's magic scroll container, which could keep far more than its slim design hinted at. The paladin's eyes narrowed when he saw the prisoner.

"We should release him," said Ajantis.

"Later, once the camp is cleared of enemies," was Jaheira's brusque reply.

"Kivan's hurt," Elene told her.

"So are you," the druid raised an eyebrow at her. "Come here and let me heal that."

It didn't hurt as much to move her right arm once the worst of the acid burns were healed, Elene noticed. Together, they decided that Elene, Jaheira and Ajantis would go back out to reinforce Sorrel's group while Xan and Kivan defended the main tent as their final rally point if things went pear-shaped as the fighting wore on.

Stepping out into the night once more, Elene could hear combat in full swing nearby. Unsheathing her sword, she surveyed the immediate carnage around her. Vai and her accompanying Fists lay on the ground, unmoving in pools of blood. The huge man who barred their way was also down for the count, but unlike them, he was still breathing. He did not have long to live, though, judging from the severity of his wounds. The Fists had done their job, small comfort as it was to the dead.

The man's head lolled as she approached, his dark, gimlet eyes peering up at her profile in the dancing light of the nearby torches. Recognition flickered in his eyes. "You're the girl Tazok wanted," he wheezed through bloodied lips.

"Why is he after me?" she glared at him.

He chuckled, but then trailed off into a wet cough. "Far be it for me to question my employer. The money was good while it lasted."

This man must be the leader of the Talons, she realised. Tenhammer Khosann, Kagain had called him. Her blood simmered at his nonchalance, his indifference at the suffering and carnage his men had inflicted on the people and families they'd descended on. All in the name of coin.

It made her angry.

"Where is Tazok?" she heard herself ask, a note of strain entering her voice.

"Do me a favour and sod off, poppet. I'm more afraid of what the ogre can do to me than anything your pretty little head can muster," he sighed, closing his eyes.

Elene cocked her head at him. "Fair enough."

With a quick twirl of her wrist, she brought her sword down on the man's tree trunk of a neck. His head detached from his shoulders, then rolled off to settle a few feet away. Behind her, she could feel the shocked stares of Xan, Jaheira and Ajantis burn into her back as she shook off blood from her blade. Calmly, she raised her eyes to gaze at the flickering shadows of men clashing further within the camp, then strode off to join the battle.

Author's Note:

Tricky chapter to write, to show her losing her grip without going completely off the rails. One more chapter to complete the Bandit Camp arc, then off we go into Chapter 4: Cloakwood.

Thank you for your continuing feedback, Nikoru Sanzo, I shall strive to keep the narrative coherent as we go on this journey. As for future plans, I hope to finish the story of the first game by Q3 this year, if schedule permits. I would be so happy to get constructive feedback along the way, it certainly would help me course correct if any key plot or character points start to veer off-course.

Hope you're still enjoying this!