Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter 30

The fog of war

Scar massaged his temple, a righteous headache likely building in his skull as he leaned over his desk, glaring at the hefty report resting on it. The room was silent that morning, but for the rhythmic tapping of Imoen's fingers on her chair's armrest. Since they'd entered minutes earlier, Scar hadn't responded to their presence other than to send a frown at Jaheira.

Kivan crossed his arms where he stood, the only one who elected to remain standing among his group. His gaze skittered over Xan, who as ever, showed no indication of what he was thinking or feeling. Remarkable, given that the mage had returned to their room after dawn in a pensive, almost dazed state, clearly not having gotten much rest. It made him wonder where he'd been the night before, but he doubted he would get a straight answer out of his kin.

"Let me get this straight," Scar began, raising his head. "The Seven Suns has been infiltrated by a coven of doppelgangers who kept Jhasso imprisoned for a month, after replacing him and Maireen. And these were the creatures running the coster into the ground this whole time."

"Sounds about right," Elene replied, fatigue lacing her voice.

"Jhasso is alive?" Jaheira leaned forward in her seat.

Scar nodded. "My men found him in a hidden storeroom, down in the basement. He's in bad shape but will survive. He's going to spend the next week or so in a safehouse while he recovers." He raised a hand. "And yes, we've asked who sent the mirror-kin after him, and he hasn't the slightest clue. The creatures kept the identity of their masters close to the chest."

"What about the Merchant League?" asked Xan.

"I've sent officers and battlemages in, with Aldeth's blessing. They will root out every last one of the creatures before the days is out," pledged Scar decisively. "And I have you to thank for that. Never would I have thought to investigate the League if this hadn't come to light." A weary sigh escaped him as he finally took his seat. "Aldeth is hopeful that we could still find Zorl and Irlentree alive, but I'm not holding my breath."

"We're just happy Aldeth made it out," said Imoen.

"Yes, you have done me a great favour in that as well," said Scar. "I will see to your payment and increase it by another 1,000 gold for uncovering the extent of the problem. You've done the city a great service."

Kivan raised an eyebrow. The Flaming Fists seem to be made of coin.

"What about the Iron Throne?" Elene wanted to know.

"At the moment, they are above suspicion, given they've lost one of their own during the party. Nortuary was a member of high standing in their organisation. They look as much as victims as the Seven Sun and the Merchant League." Scar's expression darkened. "In fact, Reiltar has already sent an irate note to Duke Eltan saying I haven't done enough to ensure the safety of our citizens, to allow a group of important merchants to be butchered in the night."

"Good pre-emptive move on his part," remarked Xan, his tone bland.

"Isn't it?" Scar smirked, the expression made somewhat crooked by the scar tissue on the left side of his face. "But I read your report on his associate leaving the dinner just before the bloodletting. That, and the troubling letters you've provided, is enough basis for us to look into their operations in a bit more detail." He nodded. "I would like you to investigate their base near the Docks. Find out if they really are the source of the troubles in this region. I've gotten a bit of reading material for you, if you were inclined to do some homework."

With that, he nonchalantly pushed a thick dossier across the table towards them, his face betraying nothing.

Jaheira levelled a cool look at him. "And if we get caught 'investigating'?"

"Then we've never spoken in an official capacity," Scar replied simply.

"Duly noted," Jaheira replied, her smile wry as she collected the dossier.

"I would wish you luck, but that has a tendency of running out. I will wish you the best of skill, instead," Scar said as he dismissed them.

The walk back to the Elfsong was a quiet one, each party member preoccupied with how they were going to break into a well-guarded merchant headquarter in the city. Kivan couldn't appreciate the layers of intrigue involved in their current situation, so he left the scheming and planning to Xan and Jaheira. Since entering the city, his role was mostly to check the watering holes and listen out for rumours and notices unseen. That, he could do. Very few people paid attention to a quiet man minding his own business in the corner.

Just as he liked it.

"I think," Jaheira began, once they were in their designated meeting room in the Elfsong, "We can split the work. Xan, perhaps you and I can comb through this material we've been given." Then she looked to Elene and Imoen. "You two have a meeting with your contacts tonight, I believe."

Elene and Imoen exchanged a glance, then the former spoke, "Husam. A former employee of the Iron Throne, if Narlen is to be believed."

"Narlen left a note saying he got a good lead on how to get into the place," Imoen added.

Jaheira nodded. "Find out what you can from them but do not incriminate yourselves. Imoen, you shouldn't go alone, Khalid will follow. Kivan, perhaps you can accompany Elene."

Somehow, he managed to keep from bristling at her words. In his mind, if Elene could face down a group of doppelgangers the night before, she could handle a harmless drunk on her own. For some reason Jaheira still expected him to loom behind her like a menacing bodyguard.

He suspected the real reason was that she didn't want him reading the Iron Throne dossier.

That was fine. He would acquire the information from Elene sooner or later.

Later that night, Kivan walked with Elene through the southern quarter of the city, grateful for the breezy gust that greeted him as they neared the docks. The smell of the sea was the only redeeming feature he could find in the city so far. They had been in the Gate for barely a tenday, and he sorely missed the swaying leaves and gentle song of the forests.

Their rendezvous with Husam was at Jopalin's Tavern close to the harbour. An acceptable meeting place, not respectable but not a dive either, sufficiently private if you chose the right corner. Narlen had set up the whole thing, oddly helpful for one who plied his trade on the other side of the law. He wondered at the man's intention, but Elene thought he was harmless and in it for repeat business. After all, she had paid him well for the information he offered.

She paused at the door of the tavern to adjust her hood, eyeing the signage. A strappy, tattooed man holding a tankard. Then she turned to study his face. "Have you ever considered not wearing that ink in the city? It does make you stand out so."

His reply was a cool stare and, "No."

Raising her hands in mock surrender, she pivoted back to push the door. "Just asking."

The inn was smoky, dim. From the way the common room was arranged, the main eating area was open and welcoming with an alcove for the taproon arranged to be an intimate setting for close conversations. At that time of night, the bard of the establishment had already wound down and was only playing the flute. Songs would be wasted on the hardcore drinkers remaining in the taproom, anyway. In the corner, they spotted a wisp of a man, so slim that Kivan suspected he may have a trickle elven heritage despite his perfectly human ears. The man's reddish hair was tied into a haphazard ponytail, and he glanced at them with large, dark eyes as they approached him at the bar.

He looks like an unwashed version of Khalid.

"Hail, I…" the rest of his sentence ended with a violent hiccup, and he coughed for a second before taking another sip from his tankard. "Ooh, that was a rough one."

"Husam?" Elene tried. "Narlen said we should have a chat."

The man perked up at that. "You're Narlen's mate? Helene, was it? That's great, really great news! He said you'd pay for all this." He gestured at the empty tankards around him then paused, squinting at her. "You…are gonna cover my tab, right?"

Elene gave him a thin-lipped smile, not bothering to correct him on her name. "Depends on what you have to offer."

"Don't you worry about that, Husam's got the goods. Come, come and join me."

Kivan and Elene settled into the stools to Husam's left and made their requests to the barkeep. In the lull while waiting for their drinks, Kivan saw that Husam was armed, a short sword on his belt. Not quite the harmless lout Narlen had portrayed. Husam chattered inanely about the weather and quality of alcohol in that inn until Kivan's ale and Elene's wine were set in front of them.

"So," Elene began, glancing about in hesitation, "You know something about the Iron Throne?"

"Plenty. I used to work for those manure piles, don't you know?" He made a rude gesture, almost toppling his drink. "Fat load of good that did me. They took my store, my money and my wife. Now all I've got is this damn horse piss. You can ask me anything about them, I'll tell you everything."

Before Elene could say anything, he said, "Have you heard of the name Tazok?"

Husam blinked uncomprehendingly for a few moments. "Nope. Doesn't ring a bell. Is he one of the coster heads?"

"Do they keep half-ogres as coster heads?"

Again, an uncomprehending stare was all he received from their contact. Anger flashed through him at the confirmation that he likely would not find Tazok out in the open. As liberal as the Gate is, having a half-ogre on display may still be seen as a step too brazen for an organisation so obsessed with appearances as the Iron Throne.

"Never mind," Kivan bit out.

Elene cleared her throat before asking, "Husam, who are the Iron Throne leaders?"

A manic spark flickered in Husam's eyes. "Hah, you'd be looking for Rieltar Anchev, he's the big guy. Sent by the even bigger guys down in Sembia. This whole operation is his baby. He has two other guys, Brunos and Thaldorn. Brunos is a big dumb drunk half orc, damn half breed never could hold his liquor. Thaldorn's a pansy." He clapped her on the shoulder, wobbling his stool precariously as he did. "Oh ya, I nearly forgot, there's Sarevok, he's the son of Rieltar. He's a mean cuss."

Elene frowned at the mead splashed over her front as he did that. "What about Zhalimar Cloudwulfe?"

Husam shuddered. "Scary bastard, that one. Sarevok's sort of bodyguard, not one to be messed with. Been serving the Anchevs for years and years. Not one of the leaders, but he's never far away from the powers that be."

Nodding, Elene moved in for the kill. "What are they planning?"

"The Throne? Oh, they wanna make money, always money. There's no wrong way to make money for them. Whatever it takes to become the dominant force wherever they land. I've been out of that circle for a while, so I don't really know their scheme these days." Here, he leaned close until Kivan could smell the liquor on his stale breath, "But I know this. Rieltar and Brunos, they're going to Candlekeep. They're meeting some people on grander schemes for this region. Something big, something huge is gonna happen there."

Elene started at the mention of her home. Kivan quietly grasped her side to remind her to control her reaction. Sensing the contact, she schooled her features back into neutrality. It was a minute slip which hopefully Husam was too inebriated to notice.

"Have they gone? Do you know?" Elene prodded him.

Husam shrugged. "Maybe, I dunno. You could check their headquarter, is just round the corner. Big, ugly building. I heard something funny went on there a couple of months back."

"Funny how?" asked Kivan.

"Folks at the warehouse said they saw someone thrown off the top of the Iron Throne building in the night. Heard the man scream and everything. But when they rushed over to check, all they found was blood, dust and scraps of clothing. Not a person in sight," said Husam in a lowered voice, all conspiracy and scandal.

"That does sound odd. How do we get into the place?" Elene wanted to know.

"I don't recommend the front door," said Husam with a nervous chuckle. "They have enough guards on their payroll to make your life uncomfortable, let me tell you. But you could get a nice view of the place from the warehouse opposite. See what you can find out from there. Whatever it is you're up to, make sure to give 'em hell. They deserve that and more."

Husam rounded off his words with a loud belch. Not keen to prolong their interaction with the man, Elene set a bag of coins on the table.

"Thank you, Husam. Hope you'll be able to get back on your feet someday," she told him.

"Awful nice of you to say that, Helene. If you ever wanna talk to me again, hit Narlen up," he replied, already reaching for the coin.

The two elves left the taproom with their drinks barely touched. Although they had not been inside for long, the first breath he took outside felt cleansing, clearing out the remnants of smoke and stale alcohol which seemed to cling on his person. The year he'd spent in the wilderness was lonely, but he would rather go through all that again than spend a month chasing leads in dingy drinking holes.

Beside him, Elene wiped at a patch of mead on her gambeson. "I feel like I need a bath after that."

"What do you think?" Kivan asked.

Elene chewed on his question for a few breaths before she replied, "He seems to be the real deal. The names he mentioned matched those we saw in the letters, and he had a handle on how that organisation runs their business."

"What about the part about the leaders heading for Candlekeep?"

"It wouldn't be the first time some merchants chose to have clandestine meetings in the Great Library. I noticed a few of those as I was growing up. All closed doors and whispers and food being sent up to the meeting room." Elene sighed. "Good lead, but I think we shouldn't do anything until we get something more concrete."

"More running around," grunted Kivan.

Elene gave him an apologetic look. "At least we're getting somewhere."

If you consider moving an inch getting somewhere.

"We're not far from the harbour." She pulled at her sleeve. "Wouldn't hurt to canvas the place for a bit."

He cast his gaze about them, noting that the moon was nowhere in sight and there weren't many people on the streets to catch on to a pair of sneaks. They could be like ghosts in the night, seek out a suitable vantage point. Then he nodded.

It turned out that Husam was right. A large warehouse was situated opposite the Iron Throne building, with a wide, airy promenade between the two structures. Luck was on their side, as it appeared that there were construction or repair works being done to the warehouse façade. Criss-crossing scaffoldings made of wood had been erected from the base of the building all the way to the top floor, giving an excellent vantage point to observe their target.

He boosted Elene up the first rung of the scaffolding and together, they clambered up the network of scaffoldings like a pair of mice. The moonless night gave them excellent cover such that even when they were near the top, they could sit back against the wall of the façade and shroud themselves in the shadows, away from view.

Once they made themselves comfortable, Elene whipped out a small silver spyglass and proceeded to scrutinise their target with it from under her hood.

"Where did you get that from?" he asked.

"A seedy little gnome at the Elfsong." She smiled even as she kept the little gadget over one eye. "Imoen nicked something for him a few nights ago and he gave this as a reward. Quite handy."

He sighed. "You should stop encouraging her."

"She's good at what she does," she twitched a shoulder in an almost shrug, utterly unrepentant.

Even without the spyglass, he could tell the Iron Throne building would be close to impregnable to a frontal assault. It was a grey monolith built vertically, with dark grey stones and iron wrought gates, fences and accents, a clear indicator of their primary trade. The windows were gigantic, filling entire walls, which curved into points at the top, making them look almost like gateways into another realm. Warm candlelight flickered within, and with only a smattering of people in the building at the late hour.

"Late night seems like a decent time to get in," he murmured.

"I'm not too sure about that. I count six guards, three outside and three inside just from this cursory look." Elene put down the spyglass, frowning. "I like the look of the roof, but how in Faerun can we get up there in the first place? The neighbouring buildings are nowhere near tall enough for us to just jump on."

"Magic?"

Elene huffed. "That's something a bit beyond me or Xan at the moment. Plus, that would get both of us in, how about the rest of you?"

"Keep looking."

So, there they sat, two friends scheming about breaking and entering. They explored and abandoned a few entry plans, one which included having distractions while another group ransacked the top floors after sneaking in. Something to be mulled over with the others. After observing for a while, they also noted there was a pattern to the guard rotation and there were in fact eight guards on duty for late night. In the event things went bad, they doubted these guards would cause enough of an issue but might cause some headache for Scar later if they were engaged in combat.

Before long, they were in the deepest hours of the night. The streets were quiet but for the catcalls of drunks and raucous laughter of the men at the harbour carried over on the wind. Meanwhile he saw the lights within the top floor of the Iron Throne began to dim further, signifying the people within had retired to rest.

"Can I ask you something?" Elene suddenly spoke up, her voice timid in the darkness.

He nodded without looking over.

"Tell me about Arvandor," she said.

Now he did glance at her, surprised at the request. "I'm not well-versed in the lore, Elene. You know I was never the religious sort."

"It doesn't matter. I just…wondered what you know of it."

"What has Xan been filling your head with…" Kivan muttered with a shake of the head.

"Kivan, could you just humour me, please?"

A deep breath later, he relented.

"Arvandor is…" he licked his lips, trying to recall what the clerics of Solonor Thelandira, the elven god of hunting, used to tell him when he was younger. "The promised Realm for elves, in Arborea. Where you and I and Xan are meant to go after we pass from this life. It's a vast wilderness with forests, mountains, lakes and oceans, a place of beauty and happiness. All you would ever need is provided for by the land. You will never know cold, nor go hungry or thirsty."

"Do you think I'll ever see it?" she asked.

He furrowed his brows. "Why wouldn't you?"

"I don't worship the Seldarine."

"Then you will travel to the realm of your patron God," was his matter-of-fact answer.

"I read that Oghma's House of Knowledge is much like Arborea. Just with huge, sprawling libraries," she smiled, a wistful tilt to the expression. "But then…I wouldn't be with other elves, would I? I'd spend the afterlife with Gorion and the monks I grew up with."

"Doesn't bear thinking about. It will be a long while before you see it and by then it wouldn't matter."

"I imagine it should matter. We all die one day," she said.

"Until then," he said slowly, "It doesn't bear thinking about."

After a long pause, Elene shifted so that she was partly facing him. "Do you fear it?"

He glanced at her. "What?"

"Death."

For a few breaths, he observed her. He didn't like the direction their conversation was headed. She had been in a strange mood all day and he wondered how much of it was to do with their proximity to the Iron Throne. It would be an understatement to say that what they were about to undertake was dangerous. The last time they struck a competent Iron Throne lackey in his own lair, they'd paid the price for it. And now, they would be mounting an assault at the heart of their operations.

Not that it bothered him, for as long as he felt they were on the right track.

"No," he admitted. "I don't. It doesn't matter if I live or die."

Her expression turned incredulous. "Why?"

"Nothing is left for me in life. And there is nothing waiting for me in death, either."

"I thought we would be reunited with our families in Arvandor, with those we love. Would you not see Deheriana again? Did she not worship the Seldarine?"

His heart clenched at the thought of his long-dead wife, her face a perennial afterimage branded in his mind. Over time, he found it harder to recall her joyous face on the day of their joining, instead his memories keep straying back to the day she lay cold and broken in his arms.

"Elene…" he began, "It is not a sure thing that we depart to Arvandor when we die. If we were to perish in an especially violent death, away from the beacons of the Seldarine, we are cut off from the cycle life and death, forever lost."

She stared at him in stunned silence. "What do you mean lost?"

"No one truly knows what happens to such souls. But they will never reach Arvandor."

"Is that…is that what happened to your wife?" she asked, eyes wide.

He didn't answer. He couldn't. To voice his thoughts would only make it real. Despite everything he'd been told, everything he'd been taught, a small part of him held out hope that Deheriana was strong enough to find the path to Arvandor somehow.

Leather creaked as she leaned closer. "I'm sorry, Kivan. I…didn't meant to..."

"Don't."

She flinched at his rough response, then shifted away to give him space. That was why he valued her friendship even when they didn't see eye to eye on many things. No matter the situation, she always gave him space. To be angry, to be unreasonable.

To grieve.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Silence became their companion for a long time after that, both wrapped up in their own thoughts. He had spoken of loss with Xan once before, the other man also no stranger to death. Yet unlike him, Xan had a disturbingly clinical approach to the whole concept, whereby perhaps it was better to die than to suffer indefinitely or be a burden to others and cause more suffering. For him, though, he couldn't see it that way. If you could preserve the life of an innocent, someone with the potential for good, you should fight to do so.

At times, though, his view was clouded by his pursuit, that burning need to feel the blood of his foe on his hands. It had taken great effort and the near loss of a friend, but he had felt the bloodthirst recede since Cloakwood. He would try to do better, to honour the memory of Deheriana if nothing else.

He thought back to the day he'd found Elene and Imoen. And a sad smile tugged at his lips.

"When I found you that day, I wondered if it was a sign of some sort. An elf girl in danger of stumbling into a group of bandits," he admitted, surprising his companion. "I felt like Shevarash had given me a chance to save another from her cruel fate."

"And you did." She gave him a small smile. "Then you saved me from hunter after hunter."

He scoffed. "Only to nearly get you killed."

"You promised it wouldn't happen again, so I'll hold you to that. Although, with what I know now…I suppose I can understand a bit better. What Tazok really took from you." She gazed at the Iron Throne building, deep in thought. He noticed she had begun fiddling with a necklace he'd never seen her wear before, an elegant white pendant on a gold chain. "I can't imagine doing any different, were I in your shoes."

Curiously, her words felt as though there was something behind them. Something more substantial than the inane trivia she picked up from her books and studies. For a moment he watched her in the stillness of the night and wondered when she had become so worldly.

They remained for a while after, with little said between them. Once they gathered what information they could, they began their odious climb back to solid ground, before slipping away into the night. By the time Kivan returned to his shared room with Xan, his companion was already in reverie. Various papers were laid out on all the tables in the room in neat stacks as the enchanter did his research and documented his findings.

Kivan picked up some of the papers and began sheafing through them, digesting his companion's neat summaries. The Iron Throne were unscrupulous scums, from the look of the dealings they've been into. No surprises there, especially after their conversation with Husam and what they saw at the Seven Suns. There was no question that these men would stop at nothing to fortify their power base in the Western Heartlands, all the while blaming the Zhentarim for their own misdeeds. A clever strategy indeed. Tazok truly was a mere pawn in the grand scheme of things. It made him shake his head at the long-lasting harm his masters could inflict in the region.

Tomorrow, they would regroup with Imoen and Khalid, and together they would find a way to crack the Throne's stone vault open like an egg.

One inch of progress perhaps, but it was an inch closer to Tazok.

He rested well that night.