Bhaal landed on the floor of the temple with a soft thump, Jaheira's coffin clasped between his teeth and the two men gripping his back. Coran had ridden Freya in wolf-form from time to time, whenever they'd needed to get somewhere quickly. Back then there had been soft golden fur to hang on to. Now the only grip he could get was by wrapping his fingers around individual muscles.
"Are you sure that doesn't hurt?" he asked, feeling a bit sick.
NAH, AVATARS ARE JUST A… WHAT'S THE WORD? PERSONIFICATION.
"Stop talking Bhaal! You're crushing Jaheira!" Anomen snapped.
The giant dog crossed his eyes to look at the box in his muzzle. It was, indeed, splintering with every word. Within the Shadow Dragon's ruined lair was an abundance of gold and gems, far more than Coran could easily carry. Anomen turned his nose up a little but, as the elf pointed out, they would need to reequip Jaheira once she was revived. Not to mention pay to have their dragon scales forged into useful armour.
Inside the temple was pitch black, but Bhaal concentrated and his paws burst into flames, lighting their path with sparkling hellfire. As they approached the statue, he found himself having to squeeze flatter and lower through ever-narrower spaces until they reached a trap floor guarding the way to it.
"We worked this out before, you have to step on the letters to spell Amaunator," said Anomen.
Bhaal led the way, not getting three steps before the floor erupted into flames.
"I just told you how to do it!" howled Anomen.
YEAH, BUT NOT HOW TO SPELL IT! AH, BUGGER THIS.
Bhaal padded across the floor, ignoring the raging trap-fire and deposited Jaheira on the other side.
The floor exploded into a solid wall of fire, tongues of flame dancing over the cavern roof. As the angry flames settled down, to Anomen's relief the coffin was leaning on the opposite wall, unhurt. Bhaal was too large to squeeze through the final archway to the statue and settled himself down to watch while the men hopped from letter to letter.
"Here goes nothing," muttered Coran. He unlocked the chains holding the coffin closed and Anomen hauled Jaheira's stiff body out. Since it was the middle of the day she was rigidly unresponsive.
The blue marble statue stood with its eyes blazing with light just as they had last seen it. Carefully, he placed Jaheira into its waiting arms. She seemed peculiarly frail like this, her legs dangling and her head drooping back. With the indignant fury that normally propelled her gone, it was almost as though the druid had shrunk.
They waited.
"N- nothing is happening," Anomen gasped in stunned disbelief. "She was meant to come back…"
"The heart!" Coran prompted, "It needs Bodhi's heart."
"Where is it?" asked Anomen urgently.
"I thought you had it!"
Thief and knight stared at each other in agony. Neither man had remembered to bring Bodhi's rotten heart with them to reverse Jaheira's vampirism. Now they faced the stark choice of hauling Jaheira in her coffin all the way to Athkatla and back, or risking leaving her here. Unless…
"Bhaal?" Coran asked weakly.
AWW COME ON. SERIOUSLY? YOU KNOW HOW MUCH POWER THAT'S GOING TO DRAIN? THAT SHADOW DRAGON SACRIFICE COULD HAVE KEPT ME GOING FOR DAYS!
"Can you do it or not, abomination?" Anomen asked between gritted teeth. He loathed the notion of asking the Lord of Murder for anything but…
NOT IF YOU ASK LIKE THAT.
"Fine. Please," replied Anomen as sweetly as he could manage.
NO, I MEAN YOU NEED TO PHRASE IT AS A PRAYER. SORRY. THAT'S JUST HOW IT WORKS.
"You cannot be serious!" Anomen yelped. "I'm not praying to Bhaal, Helm will send me to the hells! Coran, you do it!"
"Yes, because the Seldarine will like it so much better," Coran replied sarcastically, but there really wasn't much choice. He flicked his hair out of his eyes on the side it grew long. As he did so he made up his mind that it was time to cut it. It was getting on his nerves.
He knelt down awkwardly, casting an apologetic glance at the runes to the Sun Lord whose temple he was about to defile.
"Mighty Bhaal, Lord of Murder, please grant us Bodhi's heart at your earliest convenience," he said quickly as though trying to spit a sour taste from his mouth. Bhaal waited expectantly, his flat pink tongue lolling in and out. Coran groaned. "Amen."
Bhaal concentrated. He was trying to close his eyes to do so, which was disconcerting because without eyelids this was physically impossible. All he was doing was squeezing them with his cheek muscles making them pop like a pair of grapes about to burst.
Something appeared, black and full of tubes before his eyes. He held out his open palms and it settled into his hands. He had never been so delighted to behold something so grotesque.
"I've got it!" he cried excitedly. "I've got the heart!"
"Yes!" exclaimed Anomen, seizing it from him and rushing to place it on the altar beside Jaheira.
YOU'RE WELCOME!
Bhaal groaned sarcastically, collapsing sideways with exhaustion. This caused him to land on the trap floor again which erupted in violent flames. For once the god popped out of existence without a word of protest.
"Don't worry, dying just sends him back to the Abyss," Coran panted, joining Anomen at the altar. "I'll be able to summon him back later."
"I wasn't worried," replied the knight truthfully, placing the heart into Jaheira's hands.
The statue began to glow and they took a step back. Within moments her body was engulfed in a blinding white light, so intense that they had to shield their eyes from it. Jaheira took a sudden breath and screamed, a long piercing cry.
Her wail went on and on, while her body tensed and arched. Anomen began to doubt what he had done, but finally both her cries and the light faded and she toppled from the statue's arms, landing face down on the floor.
"Jaheira?" he asked uncertainly, kneeling down to help her up.
Her eyes blinked tiredly back at him, but they were her own eyes once more. Her skin colour had returned and there was no sign of the pointy little fangs when she opened her mouth to speak.
"Anomen? You… you have saved me. I am in your debt."
"You are not," he said, and immediately told her what had happened to Arowan and his own role in it. Jaheira listened in silence throughout his story, saying nothing. By the time he had finished, her jaw was set and resolute.
"I cannot judge," she replied. "Not after what I myself have been for months- an unnatural wraith in the service of Bodhi. Nevertheless, Arowan cannot be allowed to commit genocide. She must be destroyed. It is the only way." She took a shuddering breath and forced back the tears that were starting to trickle down her face. "It is the only way," she repeated.
She began to force her aching body reluctantly to its feet. Every movement seemed to cause her pain and her words were heavy with grief.
"Could we not try to cure her?" Coran protested. He had been sure that in Jaheira, if no one else, he would have an ally in this. "She was weaned from numbing potions once before, we could do it again."
But Jaheira shook her head.
"I could imagine nothing crueller," she replied decisively. "You knew Arowan as well as anyone Coran. Do you truly suppose that she could learn to live with what she has already done, never mind what she might do by the time we stop her?"
Coran's face darkened and he fell silent for a while. Yet there was no denying that Jaheira was right. There was no future for Arrow. Not now.
They found themselves limping to the bottom of the dragon hole and gazing up, but with a druid in their party this no longer posed an insurmountable obstacle. At her summoning, roots forced their way through the walls of the cavern providing footholds, and the party were able to struggle their way to the surface.
"Forgive me, my lady," sighed Anomen when they finally reached daylight.
"I do," replied Jaheira formally. "I am glad that you risked so much to come for me."
"I could do no other. Your loss would have been unbearable to me Jaheira," he replied earnestly, leaning forward a little.
She raised an eyebrow and a hint of amusement glimmered through her pain.
"This does not mean that I have changed my mind about romancing you, Anomen," she told him archly.
"Never mind Anomen, plenty of fish in the sea!" Coran chipped in brightly. "And if I may say so Jaheira, you are looking exceptionally well following your brush with death. If you would like someone to remind you of the delights of being alive…"
"Only if the delight you are offering me is food," Jaheira said firmly.
There was a grim silence.
"Er… no," confessed Coran. "We didn't bring any food."
"Or bedding," added Anomen. "And the dragons burned the horses. We're going to have to walk back to the village tonight."
Jaheira pulled a face that seemed to age her a hundred years. She rose wearily and set out clumping one foot in front of the other like they were made of lead. Anomen and Coran exchanged a glance. A flicker of rivalry passed between them and both men hastened forward to speak at once.
"You have been through a terrible ordeal, my lady. Pray, let me carry you on my back to Umar!" Anomen offered gallantly.
"But rest a moment before we go," offered Coran. "I have some skill as a forager and we have all eaten worse than barbequed horse. Let me see what I can rustle up for you."
Jaheira rolled her eyes, but she was far to drained to turn down their offers of assistance.
"Please, you must listen to me!" Rasaad implored the Bhaalspawn mage before him, but the little woman continued to slash wildly with her knife. He was dodging and weaving out of the way as best he could, but at some point he would have no choice but to land a blow.
Gromnir was already dead, along with most of his followers. He refused to listen or compromise, so convinced of Melissan's perfidy that he and his followers had nothing to lose by fighting to the bitter end.
"Stop this madness, you are doing Arowan's work for her!" the monk bleated, but in vain.
He recognized the approaching incantation as Imprisonment, a curse which the party had no means to dispel. Reluctantly he was forced to land a blow to her windpipe to cease her spell. He had hoped to simply wound her but Sarevok, having also seen her intent, hit her on the head with the flat of his sword at exactly the same moment and she exploded in golden dust.
"Arowan's and Melissan's!" Viconia groaned. "We have served both of their wretched purposes here today. At this rate they will succeed in gathering our father's essence. To use it or to bring him back… Though I suppose Bhaal's return would not be so bad."
"What are you saying?" gasped Rasaad.
"From our point of view at least," Viconia corrected reasonably. "Bhaal's revival presents no practical problems."
"No practical problems? Viconia, he is the god of murder!"
"Someone has to be."
Her silver hair was spilling down over her cross, angular face. Rasaad was glowering darkly from under his collage of tattoos. Normally Sarevok tried to stay out of the way when they were acting like this, but on this occasion he had a personal stake in the argument.
"Had you forgotten that I also have to die if Bhaal is to reform?" Sarevok narrowed his golden eyes. Viconia smiled at him sweetly.
"No. I hadn't."
Still there was no denying that they had done their enemies' dirty work for them that day. Out of all the Bhaalspawn following Gromnir Il-Khan, the party persuaded a grand total of three to lay down their weapons and disperse into the city.
Suddenly a door flew open and Melissan burst in, her red hair flying in all directions, her expression one of theatrical distress.
"Gromnir! Sarevok! Lay aside your weapons! We must work together to… NOOOOOO!"
She collapsed, weeping fat crocodile tears over the piles of glitter covering the floor. Sarevok rolled his eyes, but since they were solid gold it was impossible for Melissan to detect this.
"I see I am too late to stop the blood," she sighed tragically. "You have slain Gromnir and many other Bhaalspawn as well."
"I thought Gromnir's guards took you away," replied Sarevok dryly.
"I am not without my own resources Sarevok," said Melissan. "Gromnir's men left me in my cell when the battle started. I escaped as soon as I could, but I was too late. I… suppose this was inevitable."
Sarevok said nothing. He was weighing up whether or not to reveal to Melissan that he knew who she was and try to take her out here and now. While he was chewing over his options, Bhaal's priestess continued her atrocious acting.
"I knew the chance of Gromnir joining you was slim Sarevok, but I thought he might listen to reason. I was desperate to end this siege and I… I was wrong. I'm sorry." She shook her flaming head in faux-shame. "Now I fear that we are all doomed. There is no way out of Saradush. Between the army and the strange imprisoning magics, even our wizards are trapped here."
'Your magics,' Sarevok thought. He had not been aware of these spells but he was not particularly surprised. In any case, he wasn't minded to run and leave the city to its fate, though he struggled to put his finger on quite why.
He made up his mind and his grip tightened around his father's sword.
"I remember you, you know."
Melissan's gentle, friendly face turned instantly glacial.
"I have no idea what you mean," she replied frostily.
"You do. I know you do. You are one of Bhaal's priestesses. You mean for the Bhaalspawn to slaughter each other until we're all dead and our father can be reborn."
The cultist's eyes narrowed and she wet her lips delicately. A cruel, nasty little smile crept over her face which moments ago had been so round and open and friendly. She reached down, scooped up a palmful of golden dust and sprinkled it with satisfaction.
"Freya may have been stronger than you Sarevok, but you were always the brighter of the two of you," she said, her voice totally devoid of any warmth. "You never got on, even as little children in the temple, but I don't suppose you remember that."
"I vaguely remember that there were other children," Sarevok shrugged indifferently. "And flattery will not save you."
Behind him Rasaad dropped into a fighting stance and Viconia began to mutter protective spells to shield the group. Melissan did not even bother to cast any protective enchantments of her own. This was not a good sign.
"Flattery?" she scoffed. "Calling you brighter than Freya hardly constitutes flattery. I could say the same about some mushrooms."
"You will not dishonour the name of our dead comrade!" Rasaad bellowed, though neither he nor Viconia could really deny that Melissan had a point.
"So you know who I am," Melissan smirked. "As if that matters. Yaga-Shura will raise this city and you with it. It won't only be Bhaalspawn who find themselves in a pile of ashes by the time he is finished with Saradush! Unless… unless…"
A cunning gleam had snuck into her cold eyes. Viconia didn't like it, and her hand tightened over her mace.
"I do still need to get rid of Yaga-Shura himself and that is not a simple matter. He's a powerful fire giant to begin with but more than that, he seems to be invulnerable to harm," she mused, eyeing Sarevok like a hungry snake. He braced himself for her strike. "Arrows, blades- even the most powerful of our enchanted spells and weapons leave no permanent mark. He heals faster than my agents can wound him."
"You are saying Yaga-Shura is invincible?" Viconia blinked. For some inexplicable reason she looked rather hopeful.
"Yaga-Shura was not born with this immunity," said Melissan. "He developed it… learned it somehow… during his childhood spent in a secret glade in the Forest of Mir. I can release you from the city and show you where that glade is, but it is only speculation. The key to the giant's invulnerability may lie there or it may not. There may be nothing there at all. His followers also built a temple to him in the Marching Mountains. You may search for a way to destroy him there."
Rasaad gaped at Melissan in disbelief.
"Why would we ever help you, fiend?" he spluttered.
"Because if you refuse, Yaga-Shura will burn Saradush to the ground and everyone in it," replied Melissan, knowingly. "And you will have the blood of a thousand infants on your hands."
"We accept!" Viconia cut in immediately before either of the men could say anything.
Her red eyes were wide and glowing. Like Melissan, the drow also seemed too eager to take this deal, but the cultist did not seem to notice. She nodded and pulled a map from deep within her robes. On it she marked two locations with her fingernail.
There was a peel of light, a rushing of wind, and the three of them found themselves standing alone on a hilltop overlooking the siege of Saradush. It looked so much worse from the outside. The army surrounding them was larger than they had imagined. There were whole battalions which had been hidden from view. Parts of the city were burning.
"You have made a deal with a demon," Sarevok told Viconia harshly.
"Do not speak to her like that!" Rasaad cut across him. "Viconia, my love, you have come so far. When we first met you would not have cared for the fate of the citizens of Saradush but now…"
"I've won…" giggled Viconia.
Both bald men fell silent, as Viconia practically danced on the spot in glee.
"I've won! Don't you see? If Yaga-Shura really is invincible he will destroy Arowan! All I need do is sit it out and I will survive this!"
She threw back her lovely head and laughed wickedly at the sky, thanking Shar or whatever providence had led them to this convenient juncture. That she could defeat the Adversary by simply doing nothing!
Rasaad, monk of the Sun Soul Order and Sarevok, Hero of Saradush, exchanged a silent look.
Without a word, the pair of them unfolded Melissan's map and set off in the direction of Yaga-Shura's birthplace, determined to save the city no matter how much the drow shrieked in protest. And shriek she did. Ceaselessly, every step of the way.