Chapter 10
Random Killing
The four-year association with Bregan D'aerthe proved to be fraught with surprise, excitement, tedium, danger and strangest of all – friendship. As Winter, in her male guise, inexorably danced up the 'social' ladder of the nearly all-male band, what Rai'gy once said four years ago came to mind – most often do not see Jarlaxle. Indeed, the two of you only saw him at sporadic intervals and at a distance away, a shape every bit as flamboyant and colorful as in descriptions, but Winter seemed untroubled. None of you even managed to see Crenshinibon, which seemed to be keeping a low profile.
You once worried that you would grow too used to your new body, and you were – if Winter changed you back, you probably would have to learn how to walk all over again. But that soon ceased to bother you as well.
Winter played her character for all it was worth – Velve, an arrogant noamuth velg'larn, reluctantly accepted the rules and regulations of Bregan D'aerthe, won many friends with his confidence, his sense of humor (if a bit morbid) and sardonic personality, and grew fiercely loyal to the mercenary band. He still worked alone with his nigouar friend, and lived outside headquarters...
Sithag'er died in the third year, his skills not enough to save him from a explosion of some sort of new powder from skullport, right in front of him. Winter took over his place as the velkyn velve*, the unseen blade, but grieved, as did you – you liked the odd, sensitive drow who chose controlled madness as a mask against the outside.
This role did bring about certain...
Winter crept quietly through the corridor, you padded behind her, whining softly under your breath. What if there were traps? What if the two of you were caught?
You thought wildly of crackling lightning and exploding fireballs, then forced yourself to relax.
The mosaic under your paws, wrapped in some sort of insulating material, was beautiful, but you did not pay it the slightest attention. Your paws and mouth smelled and tasted of blood – you had stopped being fastidious about using your body to kill a long time ago.
Winter looked unconcerned, even when, at times, passing a door, one could hear loud explosions, or muffled curses, or suddenly see light streaking out from underneath the door. This was, after all, Sorcere, and apparently this sort of thing was common...
You winced at a snarl from the room next to you, and hurried on after Winter, who was peering at the numbers and nameplates on the doors and counting softly.
"Szith, szithus, szithdra*..."
Some things hadn't changed – Winter still had her satchel, even if it was now battered, slightly singed around the edges, and mended erratically with thread of the wrong color. Her armor was scarred and weatherbeaten but in good condition, cloak also tattered but lovingly mended. Boots with insulated soles so as not to leave infrared traces. A silver bracelet with tiny little gems embedded in it on one arm, just above her white gauntlet-gloves, and a wand, a red stick of crystal, under her belt.
"Szithlyn, szithael, szithal*...ah."
Winter peered at the doorknob, then nodded at you – you sniffed at it. Strangely, it was not a magic lock – Winter grinned as she retrieved your message, then carefully took out a velvet wrapped bundle from her satchel, unwrapping it slowly such that metal would not clink on metal, showing a set of picklocks.
She picked the lock easily, and quickly opened the door, shook her head in resignation, then began to murmur in a soothing voice. You shifted your weight nervously and patted the ground with one paw, then abruptly symbols traced in red showed up on the room floor, ceiling and walls – wards. Winter nodded happily, then murmured something else – the symbols, slowly, faded from red to pink to purple, then to a reassuring blue.
She slipped in, and closed the door after you.
The only occupant of the scrupulously neat room was asleep and snoring in the single bed...blissfully unaware.
Winter confidentally stepped forward, onto the first symbol – nothing happened. Without bothering to check if the other wards had been deactivated, she wandered over to the bed, softly, then clamped a piece of thick cloth onto the figure's face, dragged him onto the ground as he woke and attempted to struggle, then cut his throat efficiently with a dagger. She proceeded to slice and hack at the corpse, not haphazardly, but in a way which would make it look as though the victim had been savaged by some huge animal.
You watched impassively, ready to help if something untoward happened, but Winter checked if he was still alive by the means of holding a small mirror over his mouth, seemed satisfied that he was dead, then stood up, cleaing the dagger and concealing it again.
Here was the more difficult part – she got a piece of chalk from the satchel, and cleared enough of a space on the ground to draw a a circle, with symbols at the side, referring now and then to a book she had brought along, then put the chalk back into the satchel and placed the book, open at the page with the symbols on it, carefully in reaching distance of the corpse's right hand.
She set another spell before the two of you left – a 'forget' spell in which all 'spiritual' traces of the two of you in the room would be erased. With a wand at her belt she then singed the ground on the circle and near the body, then the two of you quietly left the room and closed the door.
Now it would look as though the drow wizard had tried to summon some demon, got some of his symbols wrong, and then paid the general price for getting it wrong – savage death. Hardly any of Sorcere would bother to deduce any more from the obvious – and even if they did try to cast a 'remember' spell they would not see Winter or yourself.
Outside, Winter completed the soft incantation that would reactivate the wards, then the two of you crept back down the corridor. She closed the door, heavily insulated gloves would leave no traces, infrared or otherwise, on the knob.
Fluttering and a cold knot in your stomach, senses all on full alert, eyes straining to see in all directions, you concentrated on Winter's back and keeping the exact distance, stopping when she stopped, moving when she moved. Trusting in her.
Finally the two of you were out of Sorcere without any mishap, and sneaked to one of the lesser-used ways out. The two guardian spiders, deactivated, did not move as the two of you passed through them – only when the two of you were a safe distance away into the Underdark did Winter dispel the enchantment.
She let out a deep breath as the two of you began to circle back to the city. "That was not too hard..."
Except for the incident of the student wizard while trying to get in.
"As I said, not too hard – besides, you did very well...students are hardly missed." Winter said dismissively. "Trei'den Maerret is now safely dead, and Ky'Alur can continue. I doubt we would be missed for a while, but in any case..."
She touched the bracelet, delicate fingers applying just the right amount of pressure on certain gems, then grinned at you – Bregan D'aerthe had been informed of Trei'den's untimely demise and could proceed to play along with House Maerret...politics which did not concern the both of you anymore.
"Free to walk slowly back." Winter voiced your thoughts, then began to wipe off the blood from her armor and clothes the best she could, before burning it up and kicking the ash away.
You wondered if the two of you should go and join in the attack on House Maerret.
"If we wander there and it is still on, why not?" Winter shrugged. "It is not as if we have many assignments today, and Sorcere was boring."
Boring?
"Compared to the last time."
You did not want to think about the last time, and kept silent. Winter chuckled, a rich sound that echoed down the empty, uniform grey-black of stone.
Silence shield?
Winter was quiet for a while, then nodded. "Enabled. What did you want to do?"
Was there any point to this? Four years in Bregan D'aerthe, following Bregan D'aerthe...
"Of course there is a point to this," Winter shrugged.
But you have not even spoken to Jarlaxle, or seen the shard...
"Jal wun bwael draeval*."
Easy to say...
"Getting bored, Shebali?"
No...
"There you are."
Winter was actually having a good time?
"Of course. If I was bored with this I would not be bothered to stay here for so long. There were no parameters to the project." Winter began to whistle again, a melody that was popular in Menzoberranzan, and you subsided and returned to your thoughts – the whistling meant that the shield had been dispelled.
At least Rai'gy now seemed reconciled to Winter not being Winter, though he still seemed nervous when Winter came within a certain radius of Jarlaxle. This Winter found amusing if annoying, but did not encourage or try to stop it.
Winter liked Kimmuriel the psionist, though was wary around him – even if the drow male could not read her mind and yours, he was intelligent and may be able to deduce something that would give the two of you away.
Tantras'nen was always polite, Berg'inyon was hardly ever around, and Rand'eran was solemn. The two of you did not see them often, in any case...Bregan D'aerthe was busy extending its influence. Whatever the crystal shard may have been doing, it could be lending power – many if not all soldiers of Bregan D'aerthe could now tap 'magical energy' from some other source for spells of medium difficulty. Winter declined this, of course, saying she had her own resources. Some of the soldiers which did not trust magic also took this option out, so nothing seemed untoward about her decision.
It all seemed so...pointless.
Four years ago Winter seemed eager to finish everything and return to wherever she had come from...
The two of you re-entered Menzoberranzan, and wandered through the streets, presumably heading for House Maerret.
**
The tall gates of House Maerret were missing, replaced by gently steaming lumps of metal in the large walled gap. Winter smiled happily and stepped over them, into the compound.
"They started without us..."
House Maerret was not a large house, but the compound seemed to be a near-uniform dull green in the infrared – cooling blood and worse. The coppery scent filled your nose, and seemed to permeate your special vision – all the sharply angular textures. The two of you fastidiously picked your way through the area, into the main buildling where, from the sound of it, the fighting was still continuing. Several soldiers, the only other living things in the compound, nodded amiably at Winter, absently petted you, then went on their business of being 'look-outs'.
Winter began to whistle again as she wandered down into the first level of House Maerret, stepping over corpses in which rigor mortis had not even begun to set in. You tried to ignore the expressions of surprise and pain on their dead faces, and followed her the best you could.
The ground abruptly dipped into a stone ampitheatre with tiered seats. On one of the lower rows, Rand'eran was fighting with an unknown male drow, looking as unconcerned as ever even though he was clearly the less skilled of the two.
Winter watched quietly as the male drow, rather desperate, bloody, and furious, pried open another gap in Rand'eran's defense and slashed open his leg, then sighed and called down, "Rand'eran, do you want me to take over?"
Rand'eran leaped up a tier, injured leg and all, and shrugged. "If you like."
"Might as well." Winter drew her swords, then charged down the tiers precariously. The male blinked, then was very nearly pushed off his footing by the force of the clash.
"Who is this?" Winter inquired of Rand'eran, whom had taken a seat several tiers up and was inspecting his wounds. You padded sedately down to sit beside him.
Rand'eran scratched you behind the ears, then watched mildly as Winter parried and dodged while gauging the new drow's skills, and he did the same to her. "Him? Oh yes. Tilarjen Maerret. Weapon master. Jarlaxle does not want him killed..."
"Now you tell me," Winter said dryly. Tilarjen raised an eyebrow. "Does Jarlaxle mind if he is damaged?"
Rand'eran chuckled. "I doubt it."
"Good." Winter viciously drove open Tilarjen's apparently perfect defense, kicked him in the chest, then nearly cut open his cheek – Tilarjen somehow managed to block the attack. Winter sprang back, grinned wolfishly, then attacked again.
Metal on metal, a ringing chime...
"Careful, Velve – Tilarjen has a...ah, there we are." Tilarjen managed to back out of the fight, a feat when fighting Winter, found balance, then leaped high into the air, slashing down with both swords, too far out of range to counter, and too close, too fast to block...
Winter leaped backwards, so the sword edges only skittered on her armor, adamantite on adamantite, screeching, but otherwise not hurting her. Tilarjen did not even wait to see if his attack had succeeded, but lunged forward, swords low, before she could recover.
Winter cursed and leaped again, this time to the side, up a tier, then charged down from there, using speed and momentum to slash in passing at his unprotected shoulder, stopped a tier down, then turned and swiped at his legs with one sword, the other one angling up at his side.
Tilargen blocked both blows, but made the mistake of hesitating. Winter did not – Irr'liancrea used one of Tilarjen's swords as a guide, to slice open his hand. He snarled, "Ssussun pholor dos*!" and leaped back up a tier.
"Had enough fun?" Winter asked politely.
"Vith'dos!" Tilarjen growled, then repeated his earlier move – high leap and a slash down. This time, Winter rolled under him to the higher tier, barely making it, and when he turned for his second move, her sword was there – she slapped his face to the side with the flat of the blade, a blatant insult, then stepped back up another tier.
Tilarjen flushed in the infrared, bright red of embarrassment and frustration, but kept his cool enough to dodge Winter's charge – even retaliating by slashing at her back as she went past him.
Winter cursed, blocked the blow, then fell at an odd angle, then had to roll off the tier and land hard on the bottom one as Tilarjen stabbed at her, and immediately block again as Tilarjen attacked.
"Velve, are you going to take all of this Narbondel cycle?" Rand'eran called.
"Almost done," Winter replied cheerfully. She shoved the male drow's swords to her left, easily, as she was stronger than Tilarjen, then grabbed his arm above the elbow and tugged...
Tilarjen tumbled down to the lower pier, rolled to his feet quickly, then froze – Irr'liancrea's tip rested on his neck.
"As I said so, almost done." Winter's back was to you, but you were sure that she smiled. "Did you wish to say something to him?"
Rand'eran wandered down to where she was, and you bounded down after him. "Ah yes. It is Jarlaxle's wish that you, Tilarjen Maerret, join Bregan D'aerthe. Very generous. Or Velve here will cut your throat, and you can join the rest of your family in the Abyss."
"Including Trei'den," Winter said helpfully.
"Ah, successful?"
"What did you think?" Winter challenged, feigning anger.
"I had every faith in you, Velve. Now, Tilarjen, what is your choice?"
You knew that it was not truly a choice at all. Tilarjen's shoulders slumped, and he sheathed his weapons. Winter nodded absently, then sheathed hers as well.
"And was it so very hard?" Rand'eran asked, not unkindly.
Tilarjen sighed. "Without House Maerret I am no more than a rogue." Not an answer, but a statement.
"Ah, secondboy, but if this had never happened, the most you could hope for was to hold your post as weapon master for two, three more centuries. In Bregan D'aerthe you can achieve." Rand'eran said ponderously. "Your new life awaits."
"Any other matters of importance?" Winter inquired politely, now that Tilarjen had capitulated.
"No...we have a free day. However, Jarlaxle has expressed a wish to see you when Narbondel reaches the brightest shade of green."
"Why?" Winter looked as calm as ever, but you knew that she was curious and more than a little excited.
Rand'eran shrugged. "I know not. Merely that you should see him in his office. The main one."
"With the grass?" Winter said in a mocking tone.
"Carpet," Rand'eran corrected severely.
Tilarjen stared blankly at the two of them as they laughed, a genuine laugh, the most un-drow like sound echoing down the amphitheatre, incongrous amongst the dead strewn on the ground.
**
Winter took her time in Olist El'lar cleaning up, then in the heavily shielded room wiping off her armor, then polishing it. Then she sat cross-legged on the bed, eyes closed, the epitome of serenity as she combed her hair, comfortable robes draping her form.
You curled up in your bed, trying to sleep but failing miserably. Why did Jarlaxle suddenly want to see Winter?
"Why?" Winter shrugged. "Who knows Jarlaxle. But it has been four years, and we have done much for Bregan D'aerthe. Probably just more questioning on the state of Vel'Xundussa Magthere. The alma mater is becoming more influential."
Rai'gy's warnings...
"Hmph. Just because he is three centuries my senior, Rai'gy thinks that he knows much better than me," Winter grinned. "I will see if Jarlaxle deserves his reputation. This may be a fine opportunity – after this I shall have to decide again whether it is worth it continuing under Bregan D'aerthe or simply reporting back to headquarters. Amusing as this venture has been, I would be better employed elsewhere."
You thought Winter was being overconfident, but held your peace and inspected the cloth of your bed instead.
Winter chuckled. "Would you rather I brought an army in to see him, or simply refused? That would be even more suspicious."
Well...
"I know what I am doing." Winter said firmly, and would hear no more protests. She began to dress – armor, clothing, boots, then pulled on her gloves firmly. She strapped on both swords, wore the satchel, then sighed as she began the spell to create the impression that the make up was natural.
You wondered if she had injured anything during the fight with Tilarjen.
"A few bruises," Winter agreed. "Nothing serious, but Tilarjen was good...he will be valuable." She tied off the spell with her fingers, then nodded to you – and the two of you left the place as carefully as before, even if Bregan D'aerthe was probably already aware, a long time ago, that the two of you stayed here. As usual, diplomacy stated that Bregan D'aerthe would pretend not to know, and Winter would pretend not to know that she knew that they knew...it was complex.
The neighborhood was more or less familiar by now – same smells, same sights. Winter strolled down the streets, aiming occasional glances at Narbondel, and reached Bregan D'aerthe exactly as the colors began to intrude on green.
She was familiar with many of the mercenaries now – exchanging greetings, idle speculation, and rather crude jokes. The two of you made your way to the higher levels of the buildling, then with what seemed to you too short a while ended up outside a pair of double adamantite doors, more ornate than the normal.
The guards greeted her and let the two of you in, closing the door behind you.
You could see what Winter meant by grass, and wondered how she had managed to lay her hands on that particular piece of information. Your paws sank into something soft that resembled 'grass' seen on a surface expedition two years ago, something that smelled of warmth and wool. The room was blurred at the corners – signs of an interposed dimension, making listening-in spells difficult if not impossible. Otherwise, the room was as flamboyant as its single owner – rare curiosities, several shelves of books, a couch at the side with the skin of some large carnivorous animal draped on it...everything in rather gaudy colors.
The famous Jarlaxle sat in a chair behind the large desk, writing on parchment by dim magelight, wide-brimmed hat with the diatryma feather covering his features, his cloak of shimmering colors neatly hung on a stand close by. His bracelets rattled and tinkled irritatingly on the table.
"Sir?" Winter said politely, in Velve's cultured-but-not-quite voice. "You wished to see me?"
Jarlaxle looked up lazily, and you saw he sported an eye patch over his right eye. "Al thalrus*, Velve. Or should I say, Winter?"
--
Language:
Velkyn velve: Unseen blade
Szith, szithus, szithdra: Ten, eleven, twelve
Szithlyn, szithael, szithal: Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen
Jal wun bwael draeval: All in good time
Ssussun pholor dos: Light take you (drow curse to drow)
Al thalrus: Well met