A/N: Putting it up front, the fight gets a bit close and personal at one point, which was a bit unpleasant even for me to write. Please skip the middle portion if you're uncomfortable with that as it is a scene meant to highlight the cruel nature of the people that Elene is up against.

Chapter 31

The den of vipers

The locked back door of the Iron Throne building opened with a creak. Elene, shrouded as she was in the shadows, peeked in. As expected, the rotation of the guards left a brief window where the back entrance was unguarded, especially since the guard outside had already been put to sleep with a spell. He would not remember what happened, other than perhaps being overcome by a sudden, violent bout of fatigue.

Quietly, the party of six slipped into the small chamber adjacent to the kitchens and storeroom. At such a late hour, the area was dark and quiet, with nary a soul in sight. Looking around, Elene hoped no one decided they would like a late-night snack and disrupt their plans.

According to Narlen Darkwalk, Imoen's new best friend, the Iron Throne building consisted of five high-ceilinged floors with one main stairwell leading up to the fourth floor, while the fifth and top floor was only accessible via a smaller set of steps which required them to cross the fourth floor to reach. The building mostly emptied after dinner once the merchants and the bookkeepers went home for the day, but the lights only went dark a few hours after midnight. During that time window, Rieltar and the other leaders' offices would be on the top floor, ripe for the picking.

Elene snuck out to the main foyer on the ground floor, spotting a guard by one of the large pillars dotting the floor. Similar to the Seven Suns' headquarters, the flooring here was polished marble, the furnishings elegant and expensive, but a very distant and unwelcoming feel permeated the place despite its well-designed aesthetics.

Or maybe such places are just not my cup of tea. I much prefer libraries.

Sneaking up from behind, she whispered an incantation and cast a small handful of sand towards the unsuspecting guard. Like the first guard, this one also toppled over senseless after a second, down for the count.

From there it was a matter of herding the rest of her group up the stairs as quietly as possible. Not easy given how metal boots made such an echoing noise on marble. Yet somehow, despite Elene's nervous observation, they arrived at the second floor undetected. Once there, Kivan took upon himself to seek out the guard on that floor and knock him out with a well-timed blow to the back of the head. The second floor was sparse, consisting of meeting areas and couches where the Iron Throne members could meet their guests and chat in privacy and comfort.

They hit a snag, however, when they reached the third floor. A stubby human, so short he could almost be mistaken for a dwarf, strode by with a stack of papers in his arms just as they approached the landing. Seeing a group of armed people approach, the man froze in his tracks, his mouth an 'O' of surprise, before he dropped his papers in a flurry and tried to make a run for it.

Xan was faster. He raised his hand and fired a spell with a quick-burst incantation. The man stopped mid-flight, then turned to face them, a benign expression on his face. His eyes were also curiously vacant.

"Your name?" prompted Xan.

"Destus Gurn. Assistant Chief Accountant of the Iron Throne, Baldur's Gate branch," the man replied.

"Where are your leaders?" asked Xan.

"Why, Lord Rieltar and Lord Brunos left for Candlekeep just this morning, sir. Lord Thaldorn is left in charge, but he has gone for the night. Though I admit I find that quite odd, given that Emissary Tar is here for negotiations."

Xan frowned. "Then who is Emissary Tar negotiating with?"

"Master Diyab and the rest, of course. They are Lord Rieltar and his son's trusted men."

"Where are they?"

"I'd wager on the fifth floor, in one of the offices." Destus shrugged. "I certainly haven't been up there, would rather mind my own business. The discussion upstairs seemed to have gotten quite heated at one point."

Elene touched Xan on the arm. "Ask him why Rieltar is in Candlekeep."

Xan's eyes softened as he glanced at her, then he asked, "What is Rieltar doing in Candlekeep?"

"He's going to meet the Knights of the Shield. They've been having these meetings on and off for the past year, but for some reason Lord Rieltar really needed to see them urgently this time. It was all very last minute."

Elene spotted Jaheira sending a surreptitious look at Khalid. Her own gears were turning in her head.

Knights of the Shield? Aren't they information brokers? What are they doing with the Iron Throne?

"Thank you, Destus. Now if you don't mind, I think the hour is late. You should get home and forget this conversation ever happened. We're just lowly new recruits, not worthy of your attention," Xan told him, a meaningful look in his eyes.

"Of course, of course," Destus nodded.

The man ambled past them to head downstairs without a care in the world, leaving the papers he'd dropped strewn all over the floor. Without wasting time, the party moved up to the fourth floor, now mindful that they would have company.

They hadn't gotten far past the stairwell when they reached a large chamber with a bar on one side and discussion tables on the other. As they moved past the threshold of the chamber, suddenly they noticed a group of men in an adjacent room, a cosy discussion area lined with books. Five men garbed in the colours of the Iron Throne and a buxom, heavyset woman in blue and yellow silks were in a hushed discussion, until they noticed the arrival of the party. To a man, everyone froze. From where Elene stood looking into the room, she could see that they were standing over the bloodied body of a woman. Who was also clad in blue and yellow silks.

Exactly like the woman still standing and staring back at them in surprise.

Looks like Destus was wrong. They're on the fourth floor. And looks like they have a doppelganger.

For a fleeting moment, the sense of fight or flee felt almost tangible in the room, but it was Kivan who fired the first shot. His almost reflex-driven first arrow pierced a man in leather armour square in the chest, sparking mayhem as the others drew their weapons and began spilling out of the room, barking spells and commands.

Jaheira gripped Elene's shoulder and pushed, "Go!"

As Elene turned on her heel, her eyes caught Xan's and she could feel the same fear written on his face bubbling in her chest. Regardless, she ran for it. The tingling from her boots warned her to duck the bolt that flew overhead as she splintered away from her group to zip into another corridor. A man who tried to give chase was halted by the sudden appearance of a pack of dire wolves between them, courtesy of Imoen and her new wand.

For Elene, the objective was clear: get to the offices and pilfer what documents she could while her friends acted as distraction. She never thought that her ability to speed-read would come in handy in adventuring life, yet there she was.

The design of the floor was neat, intuitive, making her grateful that she and Kivan had crudely mapped out the interior of the building from the outside over the past few days. As expected at the late hour, the halls were empty. It was thus straightforward for her to seek out the small stairwell that led up to the offices, whereby she took the steps up two at a time. As she arrived at the top floor, she paused, senses alert for any sign of activity. Silence greeted her, so she treaded forward with quick steps, careful to remain silent as she navigated the floor. The plush carpets covering the floor helped her greatly in that regard.

Unlike the floors below which were mostly marble, glass and metal, the top floor was decorated in more natural dark wooden accents. Perhaps despite the nature of their business, the Iron Throne leaders preferred a less austere atmosphere for their own working space, she mused. The hallways were sparsely lit, only a handful of sconces left aflame. Her elven eyes adapted well enough to the gloom. Mindful of time, she made a beeline for rooms of interest as she explored.

One room in particular caught her eye, an elegantly decorated office adorned with tasteful paintings and glass sculptures on display. A portrait of a slightly effeminate gentleman hung against a boldly coloured feature wall which served as the background to the luxurious mahogany desk. Thaldorn, if she were to guess, based on Husam's description. Rifling through the locked drawer in the room netted her interesting correspondences relating to Emissary Tar, a representative of the Grand Dukes. Something about a renewed iron treaty, which the Iron Throne was in a singularly unique position to offer due to the troubles faced by the Seven Suns and the Merchant League.

She glanced at the portrait again. The Throne were after an iron monopoly, she realised. After weakening the ores from Nashkel and promoting banditry to pilfer supplies of iron from elsewhere, they could sell the iron from Cloakwood at a premium when the shortage hit. It was a neat little racket they had going.

These men have been busy, indeed.

Rolling the choice letters deftly into her almost limitless scroll container, she moved on to next room. She tried the door and found it unlocked. The door pushed inward soundlessly, and she took a tentative step past the doorway.

This room was grander than the other, much larger and decorated with various trophies and oddities on display, along with a large desk, some intricately designed chairs and a gaudy velvet divan. A showman's office, she thought, as she studied the portrait on the wall. One of a broad-shouldered man with long dark hair and a hooked nose. She racked her brain and realised that Husam never described Reiltar Anchev other than the fact he was a piece of work. For a brief moment, she thought of Yeslick and wondered if this was the man who betrayed his friendship and bastardised his family's legacy.

Unlike the other room, which was lit only by moonlight, a single enchanted flame was left burning by the desk to keep the place illuminated. The magic was similar to the one Ulraunt used to keep his offices lit in all hours. Frowning, she approached the desk even as the whole set-up made the hair stand up on the back of her neck.

That's odd. Why would they leave this lit?

The door shut with a click behind her. Her weapon was quickly in her hand as she turned, heart hammering in her ribcage. Hidden in the shadow of the suit of armour by the door was Zhalimar Cloudwulfe, clad in the same metal armour she'd met him in. He calmly stepped in front of the door, dashing any hope for an easy escape. A cursory glance indicated that he was unarmed but he was no less dangerous for it. With his height advantage and muscled bulk, she knew he could kill her with his bare hands.

"I knew you would come, Lady Maera. Or should I say, Elene," he drawled her name then gave her the same reverent nod as he did at dinner with the Seven Suns, his eyes as reptilian and piercing as she remembered.

Spreading her feet slightly apart into a defensive stance, she made a quick motion with her hand and whispered a command word. Her trusted magic Armour came to life, the shimmer of protection creating a bluish light. She didn't bother to reply, her mind too preoccupied trying to work out how to beat him in a straight fight.

Gods, he's a head taller than Kivan even. Knives are out of the question, if he grabs me, it's over.

"Sarevok warned us you might try to meddle. That meddling will stop here, however."

Zhalimar yanked a wicked looking polearm off its display by the door and advanced on her. The weapon was taller than he was, which she didn't think was even possible. Despite the slight chill in the room, she began to sweat. She'd faced down a number of bounty hunters, bandits and monsters since departing Candlekeep. And yet, never had she felt more dread facing an enemy as she did then. Something fuelled this man beyond his physical strength, she knew. It was there, lurking just under the surface, just like Davaeorn.

His first practice swing with the long weapon was expected and easily sidestepped. The second was more measured, more targeted, and even while dodging the blow, she realised that he was testing her. That was fine, she thought. While he had the muscle, she was faster than him. It was not too difficult to evade his reach.

"I've defeated those before you," she shot back with bravado even she didn't feel was convincing. "You should walk away while you still can."

"You may have crushed them, but those before us were fools. Those before us were weak. Those before us are dead, as you will be." He levelled his weapon at her, his eyes narrowing. "So it has been decreed, so it shall be done. So orders Sarevok!"

When he moved next, he was a man possessed. His motion was like that of a poisonous snake, lashing out with frightening speed and precision. It was all she could do to duck under the first strike, and she barely had the presence of mind to parry the follow-up jab. She realised her mistake a second too late as she watched him rotate the polearm such that the hooked protrusion of the weapon latched onto her sword's cross guard. Her weapon was yanked out of her hand and thrown aside before she could react.

She darted towards her weapon in panic. He advanced, repositioning his hands along the shaft of the polearm with incredible agility. In an unexpected move, he whipped the blunt end of the weapon towards her head. She jerked aside at the last second, but he still managed to land a glancing blow on the back of her head, which sent her sprawling.

Gritting her teeth against the ringing in her head from the blow, she scampered forward on all fours to reach her fallen sword. She could hear the ominous stomp of his heavy footsteps approaching, spurring her to move faster, like her life depended on it. Just as her left hand was about to close on her weapon, his booted foot came down hard upon it. She heard the crack of bones as he ground her hand into the floor, a visceral shriek tearing out of her throat, equal parts pain and horror.

Her Armour spell winked out.

Zhalimar chuckled as he lifted his boot off her hand. She could hear him toss his weapon behind them. Gasping, she brought her mangled hand to her face in shock and rolled over onto her side to catch her breath. Before she could even comprehend what had happened, he aimed a savage kick, and another, at her middle. Pain exploded through her midsection and before long, blood began to well in her mouth. She coughed it out, wheezing as her vision blurred along the edges.

"You are supposed to be his challenger?" he sneered at her. "Laughable. I will crush you like the insect you are."

Bending over, he picked her up by the front of her gambeson like she weighed nothing. Handicapped as she was, all she could do was scrabble at his arm while she dangled helplessly in front of him. Eye-to-eye with him, her heart stuttered, overtaken by crippling fear.

He was enjoying this.

Show him who you truly are, great predator. Then the tables will turn.

Even in her pained daze, she recognised that voice. It spoke like her, sounded like her, but she knew damned well it wasn't her conscience suddenly coming to life. The voice beckoned within, to draw upon the weapon there. To fight. Surely, she did not come all this way just to be battered to death by some merchant's bodyguard?

He hauled her towards the large desk. Just as her back brushed against the wood, he struck her hard across the left cheek. She lurched sideways from the impact and ended up on the desk, her cheekbone stinging. As her eyes tried to refocus after the blow, they zeroed in on a silver gleam resting on the surface, almost within arm's reach, tantalisingly close.

A letter opener.

Rabid hope rose in her chest. Before she could lunge for the potential lifesaver, though, Zhalimar's large hand closed around her throat and forced her to look at him as he leaned over her.

"After I'm done with you, your friends are next," he intoned, menace dripping from every word.

Then his hand tightened like a vice, and her survival instinct screamed as she struggled, trying to buck him off. The logical side of her said it was futile to try. She had known from the start that he was too strong for her.

But she refused to give up. If this monster were to join the battle and surprise her friends, she couldn't bear to think of the outcome. She had to do something, even though she promised she would avoid dabbling in abilities that she didn't understand. As her lungs began to burn from lack of air, she instinctively focused inward, hunting for the same spark of power that kept her alive in Cloakwood. The same spark that would turn the tide.

That's it. You are above this, too good to be slaughtered like common prey.

As expected, the spark was right where she expected it to be, and she directed its power through her body with a soundless snarl, giving her a momentary surge in strength. As it burned through her veins, she felt as strong as three men. Zhalimar frowned, as if sensing the sudden swell of power. Even so, he did not expect her to lift her legs and push against him with such force that his hand loosened for the briefest of moments.

A moment was all she needed.

Quick as lightning (unnaturally so, when had she ever moved that fast?), her right hand lashed towards the letter opener, gripped its ornate handle, and jammed the desk ornament into the side of Zhalimar's neck, causing him to release her. Before he could do anything else, though, she pulled it out in a gush of blood, reached up and stabbed her makeshift weapon into his ear with all her might.

Zhalimar died with a look of surprise. He didn't even see it coming.

As his corpse toppled over sideways, she slid off the desk and onto the floor, half wheezing, half sobbing. She could taste the copper in her mouth, feel the pulsing agony of her shattered hand and ruined throat, the pain radiating across her torso from where he'd thrashed her. Above all, however, she felt relief so unadulterated, her eyes blurred from tears as she just lay there for a while, sucking in lungfuls of precious air.

I'm still alive.

Once she had recovered her stolen breath, she sat up, uncorking a healing potion with one hand and gulping down the contents as quickly as she could. A painful exercise, trying to work through the damage done to her throat, but she forced the potion down regardless. It was a close thing. No doubt she was seconds away from having her windpipe crushed. Despite her misgivings on her mystery abilities, she also reached for the spark within for healing, which eased the pain in her hand and neck. A familiar buzzing feeling thrummed just under her skin as she did. This time, though, her thought was on her friends, and the danger they were in. The lackeys stationed here in Rieltar's absence were no pushovers.

She forced herself back onto her feet, testing her left hand and hissing in pain as she did. Still broken, in several places if she had to guess. No time to lament that, however. Crossing the room, she collected her sword and glanced at the desk she'd nearly been killed on.

Despite her objective being right there within reach, she decided to come back for the documents. If the rest of the Throne goons were as strong as Zhalimar, she needed to be there with the others. While she wasn't sure how she was going to be of much use in the fight, given that the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other was a challenge, she got moving while the borrowed strength from her ability remained in her limbs.

As she lurched past a mirror in the hallway, she ground to a halt at the sight of her own reflection. Even in the poor lighting, she looked a fright. Bloodshot eyes, bloodied teeth, bruised face and neck. Unbidden, Zhalimar's face flashed in her mind, the glee in his eyes as he slowly squeezed the life out of her. She pressed her eyes shut against the memory. Drawing a shuddering breath, she staggered resolutely onward, forcing herself to overcome the shock of her ordeal.

Later. Fight first, process later.

As expected, her friends were still in the thick of things when she returned to them. Shrouded in shadows, she hugged the wall as she approached. Although two of the Throne lackeys already lay dead, a wave of anxiety thrummed through her when she didn't see Xan at first glance. Focus, she told herself, even as another surge of aberrant rage flitted through her mind. She took hold of that rage. The enemy closest had his back to her, and she jerked into action as he raised his hands to weave a spell.

A throwing knife at the base of his skull put paid to whatever he had planned.

At his demise, Jaheira, who had been standing close by in a form of stupor, snapped to attention. She growled as she picked up her fallen weapon and pursued the rogue menacing Kivan. Elene's aim in the meantime, did not suffer despite her injuries. If anything, it had improved in tandem with the humming in her blood, a feeling that was becoming increasingly familiar the more she used her powers. She launched another throwing knife at a second caster, causing his last mirror image to wink out. Her sudden appearance seemed to galvanise her friends, who began focusing down the threats from the enemy rogue and caster, and the fight wound down quickly after that.

Once the last opponent had fallen with a bludgeoned skull, Jaheira rushed to tend to a fallen figure on the ground, partly concealed by the corpse of an armoured man. Elene frowned as she stepped closer, a yawning pit opening in her stomach when she saw that the prone figure was Xan. One of their enemies had taken a dagger or sword to him, his blood flowed freely from a deep wound on his chest. A mortal wound if they didn't have a skilled healer like Jaheira in their midst.

Cold anger pulsed through her veins, replacing the initial shock of alarm as she stared at Xan. His moonblade lay on the floor not far from him, the pommel blade seeming unusually dark. She wanted to go to him, but she remained grounded in place as an ominous thought whispered through her mind.

These men would take everything from you if they could. Will you let them?

No. No, I won't let them.

"Elene, what happened to you?"

Blinking, she glanced to her left. Imoen was staring at her in undisguised shock. Kivan likewise frowned at her as he joined them, burn marks adorning the right side of his torso. Khalid stood on the other side of the chamber, nursing a deep cut on his arm, his armour dented in some places. Yet no matter how bad the rest looked, she knew she looked far worse.

As she opened her mouth, she found that her vocal cords refused to cooperate when she tried to form a reply. Instead, Elene jabbed a finger upward in a sharp movement, gesturing for them to move up quickly. They needed to get out of this place before reinforcements arrived. Likely the whole building had cottoned on to the fact that there were intruders in their domain by now.

A familiar groan drew her attention back to Xan. Relief flooded through her as she saw his eyes open. Before long, Jaheira had him back on his feet, but he needed Khalid by his side to support him. Despite the healing, he looked unnaturally weak, reminiscent to how he was when they'd first rescued him in the Nashkel Mines, she thought.

Xan favoured her with a long, wordless stare when he finally caught sight of her. She opted not to smile at him to give reassurance. The blood in her mouth would probably upset him even more if she did.

The uninjured members of the party stripped what they could from the dead before they all hurried upstairs to finish what Elene had started. Jaheira went to survey the rest of the floor while Elene led Imoen and Kivan to assist in her abandoned quest. Rieltar's office was still lit by the eerie glow of the enchanted ball of fire when Elene guided them into the room.

Unlike her strategic approach to Thaldorn's office, Imoen and Kivan hit Rieltar's office like a hurricane. Imoen attacked the desk while Kivan went after the tall storage drawers against the walls. They stashed away just about every relevant piece of paper they could get their hands on. There was simply no time for finesse. Elene skimmed through a few papers Imoen deposited on the desk, but despite her task, her eyes kept straying back to Zhalimar's corpse.

Her right hand began to tremble, but she clenched it tight.

Later. There will be time to fall apart later.

"Whew, whoever owns this office reminds me of Parda. Hoarding all this paper, and for what?" said Imoen as she flipped through a ledger liberated from one of the drawers. "Huh, looks like the Throne's been turning a tidy profit on Cloakwood iron."

"Focus on correspondences," chided Kivan.

"But this could be useful," Imoen protested as she tore out several pages from the ledger.

"Are we done?" Jaheira called out from the hallway. "I'm hearing noises from below."

"Yeah, we're good. Sec, lemme put this in…right, done!" Imoen replied, snapping shut the scroll case Elene had given her and securing it tightly to the straps on her armour. As Imoen moved past her to leave the room, Elene grabbed her arm and pushed a scroll into her hand. Imoen stared at the item, then at her in bewilderment. "You want me to do it?"

Elene pointed at her bruised throat. Then she flicked a glance at Xan, who was still as pale as sheet.

Imoen swallowed, suddenly nervous. "Alright, alright."

Leading the way, Imoen all but flew up the small stairwell which led to the roof. The lock on the exit door was trickier than normal, but she managed to shimmy the tumbler mechanism loose after some trial and error. A gust of ocean air greeted them as the door opened, and to their fortune, clouds had begun to gather, dimming the moonlight.

As a group, they gathered on the roof and looked down. The Iron Throne building was the tallest building in the district, with no hope for survival if anyone were to fall off unprepared. Fortunately, they came prepared. Imoen unrolled the scroll she'd been given and began weaving her hands to the motion of a Featherfall spell. After she finished reading out the necessary arcane words, Elene felt a tingle around her, signifying that the spell had begun to take effect.

Tucking the scroll back into her pocket, Imoen threw one last glance at Elene before taking a leap off the roof.

The neighbouring building belonged to a small-time trader who mainly exported dry goods via the sea route. Although it was a much smaller building, what attracted Imoen to it was that it had a solid roof made of sturdy clay shingles. That was where she aimed for when she leaped, her natural grace allowing her to get a clean landing, which was already softened by the spell. Once she had secured good footing, she turned around and beckoned for them to join her.

Kivan went next, his long legs giving him greater clearance than Imoen, and his landing was equally graceful. Somehow, Khalid and Xan managed to make the jump together, but they landed with a clatter of shingles and Kivan had to lunge forward to support them before they tipped over the side. The three men made their way across the roof, aiming for the sewer entrance on the other side of the building.

Then it was Elene's turn. Pain had begun to radiate from her injured hand and midsection again. The bolstering effect of her abilities had worn off, leaving her weakened and more than a little afraid of what she was about to do, even knowing that the Featherfall would cushion her.

Jaheira's hand settled on her back, reassuring.

"I will be right behind you, child."

Elene didn't know what it was. Jaheira's touch, her uncharacteristically soft voice or the sentiment within the loaded statement. Either way, she felt like a measure of strength had been lent to her just from that simple gesture.

Swallowing, then wincing from the pain of the inadvertent act, Elene took a deep breath before making the same leap. It was liberating, in a way, the wind whipping past her hair and a feeling of weightlessness taking hold as she sailed through the air from four floors above. She could sense the Featherfall kicking in as she was about to land, then cradled her left arm close to her chest to prepare for impact.

Her legs wobbled as she hit the roof, causing her to stumble. Hands flailing, she nearly pitched backward, until she was grabbed by the front of her gambeson in the nick of time. Imoen pulled her in close, her face earnest in concern.

"I gotcha, Lene. We're getting you outta here."

She leaned gratefully against her friend, focusing all her attention on putting one foot in front of the other as they trailed their companions. Another clatter behind her made her look over her shoulder, seeing Jaheira throw one final glance at the top of the Iron Throne building before following them. Still enjoying the effects of the spell, they jumped off once they reached the ledge furthest away from their origin, where Kivan was already standing by an open sewer grate waiting for them.

Like ghosts, they disappeared into the network of tunnels underneath the city before anyone could come close to pursuing them. The next morning, the city was rife with news that the Iron Throne compound had been robbed.