Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Chapter 32
The anchor
"Bring him here," the priest of Ilmater beckoned.
Khalid followed, Xan still clinging to him like dead weight. The dank, narrow hallway beyond the foyer seemed to extend impossibly onward despite the seemingly small structure of the temple. Behind him, he could hear the footsteps of his companions as they were led to one of the private rooms in the local Temple of Ilmater. It wasn't much, but Ilmatari were unlikely to turn away random strangers seeking help in the night. They helped anyone in need, regardless of social status or creed.
The room he brought them to was sparse, with only a bed and a wash basin. The space was filled with the smell of herbs and disinfectants. Further down the corridor, it seemed like there were many other rooms like it in the temple, where patrons can be treated with privacy.
Grunting, Khalid deposited his friend onto one of the beds, earning him a wince from the elf.
"Sorry," he murmured.
Xan shook his head wordlessly, turning paler by the minute. Despite the healing he'd received, he was still clearly in great pain. It was only his stoic nature keeping him from showing any other indication of his injuries, or so Khalid suspected.
The priest perched on the bed, giving Xan a clinical once-over. "What happened to you, brother?"
"A short sword thrust to the chest," Jaheira replied in his stead, coming over to stand on Xan's other side. Xan looked to worn to try to countermand her. "I have healed it, yet blood continues to seep, and he still moves stiffly."
"Have you tried curing it of poison?" the priest asked with a frown.
"I have," confirmed Jaheira. "It hasn't helped much."
"Let me have a look." The priest began to roll up his sleeves, his calm expression turning serious. "I've seen my fair share of poisons."
Khalid backed away from the bed to give Jaheira and the priest room to work. As he did, he glanced to the doorway, where Elene, Imoen and Kivan crowded. His brows furrowed. The dim glow of torches brought into contrast shadows under Elene's eyes as she cradled her left arm to her chest, as if in a daze. Of the six of them, she was the second worst off after Xan. He shot a glance at Kivan, a quiet message passing between the two men. The elf nodded in response.
Kivan approached Elene and tried to pull her aside. Elene flinched at the contact.
"You're hurt," Kivan observed.
Elene's lips thinned as she looked ready to hold her ground.
Taking a deep breath, Kivan seemed to gather himself before leaning in close and whispering to her with sharp hand gestures. Khalid couldn't catch what he said, but after a few long moments, she seemed to sigh, shoulders slumping. Not long after, they disappeared into the hallway with Imoen in tow.
Khalid yanked off his vambrace with a hiss. His left forearm was beginning to swell from a vicious blow he'd taken earlier. That ought to teach him to block an axe blow without proper positioning. At least his wounds were relatively minor, easily fixed with healing potions and a good nights' rest. Glancing over at Xan, he wished that the same could be said of his companion. Bluish veins had begun to surface around the stab wound, reinforcing Jaheira's suspicion of poison being used. He still wasn't out of the woods yet.
In truth, they had been lucky to escape the Iron Throne building in one piece. Despite their preparation work, they had almost been defeated. It had been a mistake to let Elene go on her own. They would have been able to manoeuvre the fight better with her, finished it quickly and then move on to the search for documents. Splitting up put all of them at a disadvantage.
They must avoid doing so again.
"Khalid." Jaheira's voice jolted him from his thoughts. She was glancing at him over her shoulder as the priest began to chant softly over Xan. "You should take the others back once they're looked at. This may take a while."
"What if you need us to get something for you? Herbs, reagents?" he asked.
She paused, considering. "Kivan can stay. We will return after sunrise when the streets are safer."
With that, she returned to her patient. Khalid quaffed a healing potion as he gathered his thoughts. He was being trusted to hold the fort, then. No matter how apprehensive he felt about their situation, Jaheira was counting on him. Throwing one last glance at Xan, Khalid tied his discarded vambrace to one of his armour straps and headed out. So much to do, so little time in which to do it.
He nearly bumped into Kivan as he ducked out into the corridor. The elf stood near the entryway of another small room, thoughtfully fingering an empty potion bottle. Already he looked better, the burn marks on his neck receding into pinkish skin. Even for the most alert member of their group, the adrenaline had worn off to a point where the only thing left was introspection, and perhaps a tinge of regret.
"Scar won't be happy with what happened," Kivan said in the silence.
Khalid diplomatically opted not to point out that he'd shot first. "Yes, well. Let's hope the documents we have are enough to have him look the other way." He paused. "Is Elene being looked at?"
Kivan nodded.
"Jaheira may need your help to fetch healing supplies. I'll take the girls back," said Khalid.
The elf's lips quirked at that. "She really doesn't want me reading those letters."
"What? N-no, she, well we…" Khalid began, his stammer worsening as he flailed for a response.
Kivan waved him off. "You don't need to justify yourselves. I just need to know we're still on the right track."
"I…of course. We would never try to mislead you," Khalid replied.
"Make sure you don't."
Khalid could only blink in the corridor as the other man shouldered past him to join Jaheira in the room. Was that a threat, he wondered? Sometimes it was difficult to tell with Kivan. So quiet and unmoving in one moment, yet fierce and brutal in the next. With displays like that, he could understand better Jaheira's reluctance to keep him on board for long.
Volatile elements shouldn't be kept close to the chest, as a friend once said.
Shaking such unsettling thoughts from his mind, Khalid peeked into the other room. A matronly-looking priest sat with Elene on the bed, casting a healing spell on her left hand. Imoen, ever the staunch friend, stood in the corner watching. Giving Imoen what he hoped was a reassuring smile rather than a grimace, he opted to seat himself on a solitary chair by the wash basin for the wait.
"There we go," announced the priest as she gently placed Elene's hand on the bed. "I need to put a splint on for ya, so it doesn't heal all crooked. Now lessee about yer neck. I swear if ya hadn't come in dressed like an adventurer, I'd have thought ye just escaped a wife beater!"
Elene said nothing, merely tilted her head up so the priest could have a better look at her throat. True enough, the bruises forming there told a story. Someone had tried to strangle her.
Even in a life of daily violence and death, killing someone in that manner was deeply personal.
Again, Khalid couldn't help but wonder at the bad blood between the Iron Throne and his ward, and what lay beneath it. Or was it Gorion's legacy? Something he'd gotten up to in the years they weren't working together?
If only we managed to meet with him two years ago. Now we're left to chase shadows and what-ifs.
He closed his eyes to the sound of soft chanting, the priest's pleasant contralto tones a balm for his frayed nerves. Once the magic was spent, the woman moved to wrap Elene's hand in thick bandages meant to keep her fingers straight, humming as she did.
"Yer awful cheerful for what ya do, miss," observed Imoen when she was done.
The priest smiled at her, showing a row of yellowed teeth. "I do me God's work, caring for the suffering flock. Why wouldn't I be?" Then she settled back and gave Imoen a shrewd look. "Though I'll admit, I'd be a whole lot more happier if ye had coin on ya."
"We can pay for the healing, not to worry," Khalid reassured her.
"Thank you," Elene said in a weak whisper.
"Ah ahh, ye must not try to speak much in the coming day, lass," the priest tutted at her, wagging her finger. "Takes some time for that voice box of yers to get its song back. Ye've been through quite an ordeal, ye gotta give it time."
Ducking her head, Elene nodded and tried a smile instead.
"That's better, dearie. Now, off with ye, go get some rest."
Imoen counted out the coins needed. A small handful of gold was given to the priest, with a bit extra if Khalid were to guess. Despite her sticky fingers, Imoen was generous to a fault when it came to those worse off than her. He didn't mind. Sometimes paying more put them in others' good books, made them less inclined to snitch on a well-paying customer. The three of them filed out of the room, leaving the old woman to her counting.
"We're going to head back first. Jaheira and the rest will follow after…" Khalid paused before continuing, "When they're done."
Elene surreptitiously glanced into the room. "Is he going to be alright?"
"Not to worry. The priests here are good at what they do. Plus, Jaheira and Kivan are here to help. Xan will be back on his feet sooner than you think," said Khalid, squeezing her on the shoulder.
"Yeah, yer the one who needs to get into bed." Imoen shook her head. "Ye look like the bunkhouse latrine after High Harvestide."
Elene could only muster a glare as a response.
Chuckling, Khalid steered Elene down the corridor and kept his hand on her shoulder until they were out of the temple. The clouds had gathered, he noticed. Hopefully the rain would wash away any trace of their escape through the sewers. Cautious as they'd been, one could never be too sure. The return to the Elfsong was uneventful and he made sure to accompany them until they were safe inside their own room.
Before he retired to his own room, he beckoned to Imoen. "Can you hand me the scroll case?"
"Sure, I got most of the ones in the locked drawers. Kivan has some, too, but I think he got the boring stuff," Imoen told him with a half-shrug as she gave him the case.
"We'll discuss it in the morning," he said.
"It's morning," Elene remarked, mulish for once.
"After you've had at least a few hours of sleep," Khalid amended, then closed the door behind him.
He got straight to work after that, barely spending minutes wiping off the blood and dirt from his skin with a wet cloth first. Elene and Imoen had been diligent indeed, securing many sheets of correspondences and from the look of it, even torn out pages from a trading ledger dated quite recently. Immediately three unique scripts stood out to him and he filed away that observation as he got to work reading every single sheet in front of him as quickly as he could.
They wouldn't be able to hold on to all this for very long, he knew.
The first set of papers painted a clear picture of Emissary Tar, the Chief Negotiator for the Grand Dukes of Baldur's Gate. While the Grand Dukes, Liia Jannath, Belt, Silvershield and Eltan, governed the city in their own realms of expertise, their negotiator focused on securing key supplies for the city to secure the best possible value. Not an easy thing to do when you're negotiating with the likes of unscrupulous merchant leagues and cutthroat nations like Sembia. Iron had become scarce, and the Emissary was obviously on the back foot in negotiations since the Merchant League and Seven Suns mysteriously pulled out from the latest contract tender at the last minute, leaving her no choice but to deal directly with the Throne.
Khalid sighed. Scar would probably want to know that his city's precious emissary lay dead on the carpeted floor of the Iron Throne building, to be supplanted by a doppelganger like the leaders of the Seven Suns.
Then there was regular correspondence from someone named Kalessia. From the language she used, it was obvious she was Rieltar's superior in the Iron Throne, someone influential based in Sembia. Nothing too incriminating there, mostly acknowledgment of progress reports and periodic accounts which show promising growth and profits, as well as a steady pipeline of good deals. In the final letter, though, Kalessia began to remark on tardy reports and queries on shortages in a recent shipment, and that she would be sending Nortuary over to gather an in-person update.
The same Nortuary who got his throat torn out by doppelgangers last week, Khalid realised.
Finally, the third unique script was from Rieltar's son, Sarevok. Now these were far more interesting, written in very cryptic language, almost like a code. The last ones were especially curt, like words wrung out onto paper because they needed to be sent. Khalid couldn't make head or tail of it but resolved to get Elene to have a look later in the day. The odd thing about his letters, though, was that it didn't read like something a son would write to his father. There was no familiarity or warmth in any of the writings, a strictly business relationship seemed to exist between the two, like a mere subordinate putting forth his case to a superior.
He made a mental note to find out more about Sarevok Anchev.
More hours were spent skimming through the other letters and documents. Trade reports, ledgers, complaints, oddly enough, even a scandalous love letter made its way into the pile. Yet nothing caught his eye until he came to a letter penned in crisp lines which arrived scant days earlier, from someone named Tuth.
"'If you, Brunos and Thaldorn were to meet with us in the safety of Candlekeep, my superiors would be much relieved. Please send a response as soon as possible'," Khalid murmured the written words aloud, then tapped the paper in triumph. "This must be it."
A quick rifle through the pile of papers yielded no other letter like it. Highly possible that Rieltar had simply forgotten to dispose of this particular letter in his rush to prepare for the trip to Candlekeep. Leaving such correspondences lying around was an amateur move for such a paranoid man, Khalid thought.
Or maybe…Rieltar is getting sloppy. His plans are beginning to unravel.
The sound of an overloaded carriage passing by beneath his window made him raise his head. He blinked. It was already past sunrise. When did that happen? All of a sudden, he began to notice the crick in his neck, the soreness in his back from being hunched over the desk for hours without rest. Leaning back into the chair, he wiped a hand down his face and decided to catch a quick nap. Perhaps a bit of rest could let the information settle in his brain better.
He'd barely slept two hours when a knock jarred him awake. It took almost divine effort to haul himself out of bed, but somehow, he managed it. Elene's hopeful green eyes peered up at him when he opened the door.
"Are they back yet?" she asked without preamble, her voice still a scraping rasp.
He shook his head blearily.
"Oh." She fidgeted with her necklace for a moment. "Would you like me to help with…to help?"
No time like the present, he supposed.
"Why don't you bring breakfast up?" He hesitated, thinking for a moment. "And coffee. Bring coffee."
Khalid freshened up and cleared his workspace in time for Elene to return with food, the strong smell of coffee wafting into the room the moment he opened the door for her again. Even with one hand bandaged, she managed to balance a tray with a plate full of food and two cups of coffee. She set the tray primly on his desk with practiced ease, in the end reaching for the letter at the top of his stack.
"Wait, I have a set for you to read. I think it's written in code," he said, handing her Sarevok's secretive letters instead.
Her brows furrowed slightly as she studied the first page. "Sarevok."
"What's the matter?" Khalid asked as he reached for the coffee. It wasn't like the rich ones served at the smoky lounges in the bazaars of Calimshan, yet still a far sight better than the black tar they used to force down his throat in the militia.
"Those men last night, they worked for him," she replied in a small voice.
He watched her over the rim of his cup. "The man you fought told you that?"
She nodded, not meeting his eyes. Slowly, deliberately, he set his cup down. His eyes swept over the purple marks around her throat, her reddish eyes, and finally the tense set of her shoulders. Like a prey animal about ready to bolt. A swell of sympathy filled him at the sight.
"Elene…what happened up there last night?" he asked, as gently as he could.
After a few breaths, she shrugged. "We…fought. I won. That's what matters."
Sighing, he stepped closer. He tucked her loose hair behind one ear then rested a hand on her shoulder. "I'm always here for you if you ever need an ear. It's…not been easy for you. Or Imoen for that matter. But I don't want either of you to feel like you're on your own."
She blinked in surprise at his gesture, then her eyes softened as she gazed up at him. "I'll be alright. Thank you, though."
He smiled, willing to let the matter go for the time being. "Shall we?"
They got to work in companiable silence, with Elene retiring to the divan to decode the material. Khalid chewed his meal slowly as he jotted down summaries of the key matters he'd read through, highlighting certain points of interest for Scar. With luck, he could send the report out just after Highsun. Whatever it was, it had to reach the Commander before any proper umbrage got started about the break-in at the Iron Throne.
Imoen ducked her head in after an hour or so, looking fresh and bright-eyed. "Hey! You were supposed to wake me, ya bufflehead."
"You looked like you needed the beauty sleep," Elene replied without looking up.
"Har har." The door clicked shut behind Imoen as she glanced around the room. "Do ya need help?"
Elene sighed, waving one of the letters at her. "Here, look. Can't figure out this one word, it's in code."
"Give it here," Imoen wiggled her fingers as she walked over to join her on the divan.
Out of the corner of his eye, Khalid observed the girls as they put their heads together to decipher the problem together. Imoen's rapid-fire exploration of ideas contrasted with Elene's measured method of evaluating every angle of the same aspect, like a meticulous jeweller. A small smile touched his lips. It was calming, hearing their chatter as the two bounced ideas with each other. He could easily imagine the bosom friends spending their days bickering over word puzzles in Candlekeep. If only things could have remained that way for both of them.
"Ya know this word makes me think of that pie Phlydia made? You remember the one?"
"Don't remind me. What makes you think of that anyway? There's no link."
"Pfft, you just lack imagination. If I tell ya to think of a white horse you'll think of a white horse."
"Of course I'll think of a white horse if you said that, anyone would."
Suddenly, Imoen shot up from her seat with a triumphant cry. "Wood of Sharp Teeth! That's what it means!"
Elene blinked at the paper in her hands. "Are you sure?"
"Dead sure for sure!" Imoen pointed at a paragraph in the middle. "See here, he repeats the same word when he talks about a shipment from this weird word, which we already know is code for Cloakwood. And another pattern here where he mentions this word which you said is Chessentan for ogre, probably referring to Tazok. Cloakwood, shipment carted about by Tazok, has to be Wood of Sharp Teeth."
"They shifted their stockpiles back there? That place should be crawling with Fists by now," Elene replied, sceptical.
"It's a big forest, Lene. They just needed a place to hide the stuff before moving them again."
"Then…that's the last piece."
His chair scraped against the wooden floor as he repositioned his seat to look at them. "So, what have you figured out?"
"This Sarevok wants them to make weapons out of the stockpiles now instead'a waiting for the Dukes to buy the iron and make it themselves. Thinks the Throne should take the first step in arming the Gate's soldiers, like a pre-emptive move."
"Pre-emptive move for what?"
Imoen glanced at Elene, who replied, "For war with Amn."
Khalid stared at them. "He wants war with Amn?"
"Not explicitly but…his writings seem to lean that way," Elene trailed off.
Unthinkable. It was one thing to disrupt rivals to create monopolies for profit. To instigate war between two large nations with almost equal military might would be slaughter to the scale of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands. Madness doesn't even begin to describe it.
"These men must be stopped," Khalid stated.
"Not gonna argue with you on that," Imoen agreed. "Lemme write down the juicy bits from these letters. Easier that way."
Working together hunched over Khalid's desk, it didn't take long for the dossier on their findings to be completed. Everything fit nicely into a leather folio including a choice sample of the original letters, which Khalid tucked under his arm as he got to his feet. Suddenly he felt nervous at the thought of carrying around detailed evidence of a sprawling conspiracy encompassing a war between nations. When did they get so in over their heads?
"I'm dropping this off with Scar. Both of you stay here and keep your heads down. We don't know if anyone managed to track us from last night," he cautioned them. "Jaheira will be back soon with the others, she may need help as well."
"We'll wait right here, don't worry," Imoen nodded at him.
Opting not to don armour, he slipped a cloak on to conceal the bundle of information. He slipped a separate note into his shirt as he turned to make for the door, making sure to keep the action hidden from the girls. What he opted not to tell them was that he would be making two stops that day.
As he stepped out of the inn, he pulled up the hood against the light drizzle of rain. Even with the rainy weather, the sun was still out, making it an uncomfortably muggy walk to the Flaming Fist Compound. It suited his mood quite well. The burden of his findings weighed on him heavily as he navigated the streets of the Gate, at times his mind imagining soldiers marching on the same cobbled streets, or barricades set up to bar passages if war really did come knocking. Having fought a war in his youth, he now would not wish it upon any soul.
As usual, he announced himself at the side entrance of the compound. He barely had time to take in the sights and sounds when a blonde man in Flaming Fist armour approached him with purposeful strides.
"Mister Khalid, I take it? Nice to meet you. The Commander is ah, tied up at the moment, so you get me instead. Sergeant Fergus at your service," the man gave him a curt nod lightened somewhat by a cheery smile.
Khalid studied the man. As warm and friendly as he looked, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of worry. "Greetings, Sergeant Fergus. I'm only here to pass a few documents. They really must go to Commander Scar directly."
Unphased, Fergus's eyes seemed to twinkle as he gave Khalid a knowing look. "Worried my eyes will turn to quicksilver when your back's turned, I take it? Oh, no need to look so surprised, I did the clean-up at the Seven Suns. A right mess that was." He shook his head. "I can't say anything to convince you I am who I am, I suppose, but I swear to you in Helm's name that I loyally serve Commander Scar. Whatever you surrender to me will be safely in his hands by the time you reach your inn."
"I…suppose that would suffice," stammered Khalid, as he sensed no deceit from the other man.
"Good thing you've come with something so quickly, too. You were to be summoned to see the Commander tomorrow. He wants you to meet Duke Eltan."
Khalid goggled at him. "What? Why?"
Fergus rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, you see, you left another mess last night for us to clean up. A lot of people are up in arms about it. A lot of big-name people."
Swallowing, Khalid unveiled the folio from under his cloak. Fergus eyed it guardedly as he held it out to him. "This should answer some of the questions. We did not go there looking for a fight, I promise. There wasn't supposed to be a band of armed men waiting for us."
"Were they tipped off; I wonder?" murmured Fergus. "Never mind, we'll study these. The Duke and the Commander will be briefed on this before your meeting tomorrow. Ninth bell, Mister Khalid. I'll be waiting for you."
"We will be here," Khalid assured him.
His head was spinning as he crossed the district, heading for the Hall of Wonders. A meeting with one of the Grand Dukes of Baldur's Gate? Far more scrutiny than what they had bargained for. Challenging enough to move incognito with a hunted woman in their midst, to be marked as agents of a Grand Duke would be adding another target on their backs. Even so, he suspected his Harper brethren would be pleased with this development. They've been working for years to try to get into the good graces of the standoffish Duke who controlled the Flaming Fists.
The usual hordes of visitors and merchants were absent that afternoon, only a smattering of individuals in sight. Not many wanted to brave the rain just to gawk at museums, he supposed. That suited Khalid just fine.
A small citrus fruit tree grew in the park outside the Hall of Wonders. It stood in a secluded area off the main walkway oft frequented by pedestrians, not too small, not too large, nondescript. Precisely why the Harpers prefer it as their dead drop location. He pulled a note out of his shirt pocket and folded the already square piece into a triangle. It was easy to slip the triangle into a small nook where the bark met one of the thicker branches.
His task done, he strolled back to the inn hoping for the best, knowing that he'd prepared for the worst.
Author's note:
Endless thanks to my beta Odivallus for saving me from crimes of spelling, grammar and overall clunky sentences.