Hi again! Well, the second chapter pretty much wrote itself. Thought
I'd add a little bit of plot intrigue – call it corny if you must, but it's
something I always wondered about – I mean, what would any low level Red
Wizard in his right mind be doing that far west of Thay in any case? Also,
because of the Mage Battle, I feel I should up the rating of this fic to
PG. Thoughts on said Mage Battle would be appreciated: I tried to steer
clear of the 'He cast this so I cast that' formula, but in the end that's
all Mage Battles come down to. As for questions about the return of game
characters, and just what exactly happened to Aerie and little Quayle, all
shall become clear as the tale progresses :-) I must say that I don't
intend the PC to appear in the story – partly because I want it to be
generic in a way, and heck, he's had two amazing games devoted to him, so
this tale is all about the guys he left behind to pick up the pieces. But
he was a Swashbuckler Mage – level 11 Swashbuckler, and currently L25 Mage,
but I'm playing through again so I can max him out for the release of
Neverwinter Nights.
Anyway, just to remind you, I don't own anything Baldur's Gate (or Neverwinter Nights) related aside from the games (but not Neverwinter Nights, 'cos it's not out yet). It's copyrighted by those lovely people at Wizards, Bioware and Interplay. And now, on with the show!!
The only sounds Imoen could hear were the crackling of the campfire and the occasional scurries of small animals. Minsc had chosen where they made camp; just on the edge of Neverwinter Forest that they might rest now, sheltered from the elements, and travel by daylight. The clouds had come quickly; what had been a pleasant sunset had turned into a harsh torrent. Imoen had suspected that it was more than a benign act of Nature, but passed that off as paranoia.
She was sat, cross-legged on her bedroll, reading her brother's journal. She probably should have gotten some sleep as she needed rest before memorising her spells, but she also needed to know something. And she had just found what she was looking for. She read aloud to herself, "I insisted we take it. Jaheira wanted to leave it where he fell – she seems to think the poor man deserves his fate. Aerie, however, sided with me and put it in her pack. It is an eerie object, and no mistake, for it does not seem to wither or rot; there is something poetic that it should behave so much like cold stone."
Imoen sighed and put the book down, picking up another; another journal, dated some weeks later. She opened it and swiftly scanned through to the point she had book-marked. "Unfortunately our time is short. I know not how much longer my poor sister has before she fades. Damn Bohdi and Jon Irenicus! Damn them both to the Abyss! We shall have to move swiftly if we are to save Imoen. This means we shall have to postpone the errand of mercy I had been so insistent we complete but a month ago. Still, a few more days should make little difference. Aerie has agreed to carry it a little longer. And now to Linvail's headquarters; I only hope he will be forthcoming with aid, to preserve his guild if for no other reason." Imoen slammed the book shut.
"They never... They carried it all that way and did nothing. And now Aerie has it; I thought as much. Oh my dear, what should I do now?" She leaned forward and petted the little pseudodragon before her, stroking down the length of its back.
"My Lady, you know what you must do. You must speak to Aerie; show his letter and she will be reasonable, I am sure." The young familiar's voice was soothing to Imoen. She had named him Swiftwing but tended to shorten it to Swift.
"But she hates me, Swift. And she hurt poor Minsc so much when she banished him from her sight that I feared he might take his own life."
"And that is why you allowed him to take you as his Witch; the third that the strong Rashemen has called thus." Swiftwing nestled himself into Imoen's lap, tucking into the folds of her robe for warmth.
"That's not true; I did not request his service out of pity, Swift. I need him, though I don't believe he realises how much. I'm not strong, Swift. I try to be – gods above KNOW I try – but I am no warrior. I never was."
"He protects you as you protect him. Unless you are trying to subtly profess your love of him as something deeper than fraternal, I fail to see how there could be any confusion." Swiftwing grinned. Imoen playfully cuffed his ear.
"You know I don't mean that. Minsc isn't, how can I put this, my type. Not that I don't feel he'll make some very lucky woman a good husband one day." She added, slightly louder, remembering that were Minsc awake he could hear the entire conversation. "I just don't like him in that way. No – what I mean is that Minsc could continue his journeys without me. He would still be the Rashemen Hero of Baldur's Gate. I, without him, doubt I could face the many evils I know await me."
She glanced down at the letter Swift had referred to. Caspenar had given it to her when he delivered her brother's mortal possessions. It contained a few requests. The first, she had failed in, and spent three years trying to atone. The second, she had already completed. The body of Jaheira, who had fallen in the final battle with Melissan, had been raised from the dead long before Caspenar's arrival. The third she was doing, and would continue to do all her life: honour the memory of the foster-father they had shared. The fourth was just a strange attempt at humour on his part, Imoen believed. It had read, "Take thirty minutes each day, and thank Mystra that you aren't stuck here, with me, in the presence of the three stuffiest gods in any Torilian Pantheon". The fifth had been to set his affairs in order and act as executor of his last will and testament, given he no longer had use for riches where he was. His possessions were divided, according to his will, between several of those he had travelled with. Imoen herself had been given more than her fair share: enchanted Elven mail, magical cloaks, wands, staves, rings and more.
Minsc had been given her brother's Cloak of Spell-Turning; magic had always been the one weakness of the great warrior, but shielded by this magnificent garment it rarely troubled him nowadays.
Jaheira had been left some small monies and trinkets with which to further the cause of nature, since he knew it had been her intention to return to Trademeet and take over the Grove in that region.
Mazzy had been left several magical swords, armour from the hides of no less than three different kinds of dragon, ensorcelled helms and shield, and some monies, and, of course, the Big Metal Unit which served to make her almost the size of an Adamantite Golem. All of these were to aid her in her quest to found an order of paladins dedicated to serving the Halfling goddess, Arvoreen.
Sir Keldorn Firecam, the eternal soldier, had been left the great two- handed broadsword of Carsomyr, along with the bastard sword Purifier some jewellery for his daughters and good lady wife. He had also been given a large amount of money to donate to his Order, with whom her brother had always felt an affinity.
Jan, the gnomish inventor, had been left the Big Metal Rod and its ammunition, so that he might use them to 'liberate oppressed turnips everywhere'. He had also been left some summoning devices that he could examine and disassemble to his heart's content. Jan had left their company once they recovered Imoen, but evidently her brother still felt he owed him some duty.
Monies were put aside to erect statues to Gorion and Khalid, two great adventurers who had passed from the prime material to whatever awaited them. Imoen had overseen their construction in Candlekeep; when they were finished, stood brave and tall as they were, Imoen could do little but cry – a true homage to her foster father, and to her friend.
Lastly, all that remained was left to Aerie. In terms of property and wealth, it came to well over 350,000 gold pieces – an immense fortune in anyone's book. Enough, he intended, so that she may purchase a grand estate in Suldenessallar and raise their son among the Elven peoples in a manner befitting the child of a God. Neither of which she had done.
The sixth and final request he made of his sister was the one that concerned her most at present. It was this request that had her poring over his old journals to find scraps of information. Imoen understood why he would ask her; he felt he owed the man a duty, and her brother always repaid 'duty'. And though the book of Paelios had not contained information enough to bring back young Quayle, it had given her enough insight to finally complete the last of her tasks.
She folded up the letter and placed it in one of the many pockets of her burgundy robe. Likewise she closed the journals and dropped them into her Bag of Holding which swelled a little, then contracted to the size of a small pouch. She tucked it into another pocket of her robe, and sighed, stroking her little familiar.
"I suppose I should get some sleep..."
As if in response, her little dragon let out a quiet snore. Imoen smiled, softly, and adjusted the folds of her robe to tuck the creature in, before sliding out of it and into her bedroll. After she was snug, the turned to the fire and with a few quiet words and slight gestures she caused the flames to flicker and die.
Some time later, when he was certain Imoen was asleep and not listening, Minsc said a brief prayer. Not to Lurue, to whom he tended give prayer in thanks for the gift of Boo, but to the only god he had ever known in person.
"Watch over your sister, oh god of Righteous Butt-Kicking – Minsc and Boo's witch needs you now more than ever. Guide her and comfort her, or know that when Minsc and Boo eventually go to the Halls of the Dead, we shall make a detour to wherever you are and mop the floor with your own buttocks!" Minsc whispered, and then added, as an afterthought, "Amen."
And then there was silence.
******
Some ten hours later, Imoen closed the last of her spellbooks with a satisfying thud. It gave her no small amount of satisfaction to know she had been forced to add so many pages to her Travelling Spells book it now weighed in at almost as much as she did herself. She had brought her Travelling, her Battle and one or two of her specialist books with her on this journey. Minsc did not ask why, though he knew from it that she expected banditry, magic combat and who knew what else before they returned to the Forest of Neverwinter.
"All done." She stated, chirpily, "We can be on our way now."
She hefted the tomes back into her Bag of Holding and tucked it away about her person. She glanced around to make sure naught had been forgotten. Minsc had packed up their bedrolls and filled their wineskins with water from Neverwinter River earlier that morning, when Imoen had first begun memorising her spells. It was the curse of all magi that each morn they had to spend hours poring over books to rekindle the memory of each spell they knew. Sorcerers, dabblers, could cast spells at will until simple exhaustion took them, although they knew far fewer spells than their more learned counterparts.
"Boo says we have enough food to see us to the Spellweaver Tavern, but Minsc will have to conjure water tomorrow as our skins will only see us through today." Minsc brimmed with pride at the word 'conjure'. Lurue had decided to confer some small divine spell-casting ability upon Minsc, probably due to his prowess as a Ranger, although it was probable that no small amount of pity was involved.
Imoen nodded and removed her robe, revealing the Elven chain of Aslyerferund and walking hose. "It is just too hot to wear that thing." She folded it and placed it in her pack, which she swung over her shoulders. Quickly, she ran through a personal checklist. Equaliser, her long-sword, was in its sheath at her side. The short-bow of Gesen hung over her shoulder, yet another trophy of her adventures. Her staff of glass, glass that was as hard as steel and lighter than balsa, had been constructed by her with the aid of several enchantments and she carried it in her hand as a walking aid when needed. Her lucky rabbit's foot hung on a chain about her neck, along with an Amulet of Power. Pouches of spell components hung from her customisable belt, along with a few carefully chosen wands.
Minsc was wearing the same garb he had worn the day previous, with the exception that the Helm of Balduran was now strapped in place on his head, and he wore his Cloak of Spell-Turning which gave the air around him a pale, barely noticeable blue shimmer. At his right side hung the Crom Faeyr, the dwarven hammer of legend that imbued its wielder with godlike strength. At his left, the Runehammer, made all the more powerful by the rune Caspenar had added to it just before their final battle with Melissan.
"Minsc and Boo stand ready."
Imoen smiled and led the way eastwards. They were in no great rush, at least not yet, and could afford to set a leisurely speed. They faced about half a day of travel over hills, then another half day over plains to reach the road. After that, they would bear north for a few hours before arriving at the township of Longsaddle.
"We should get there by lunchtime tomorrow if we make a halfway decent pace." The young mage smiled, once again upon the road.
******
Lunch that day had been marvellous. Minsc was, though he blushed whenever it was said, an excellent cook. He had made a rabbit stew for himself and Imoen, and a miniature salad for Boo, followed by a fruit salad for all. Imoen had dabbed the edge of her handkerchief against her mouth at the end of the meal, and taken a sip of water.
"Minsc, you have surpassed yourself", she said.
He had just murmured some thanks and flushed red to the top of his bald head.
That had been an hour ago, though, and now they were back on the trail, tracking over the hilly regions of Neverwinter in the blazing Flamerule sun. They only had a couple of hours more of this to go before they reached plains, and then the walk would become much easier. As it was, they were walking a dusty track through the middle of a valley, which fell away from view some hundred yards ahead of them where it began descending to lower hills.
Imoen sensed the presence of the approaching mage before she could see him. She paused and held up a warning hand to Minsc, who instantly began subtly glancing around for whatever danger his witch had discovered. There had been no travellers on the road, barring themselves, all morning. Now, however, that seemed to change. Walking, somewhat indignantly, up the steep path in front of them, a man appeared. His features were indistinguishable at this distance, save for his bright red robes and the possibility of a red beard, though it may have been a scarf.
Not that any man in his right mind would be wearing a scarf in this weather, thought Imoen, though her thoughts were interrupted by a low growl from her companion. It was at this point that she put two and two together to make four.
"Edwin Odessarion..." Minsc's voice bore a deeper hatred than she had ever heard him express, save to Jonoleth Irenicus himself.
Imoen and Minsc did not move until they could see the mage clearly. It was indeed Edwin the Red, or as Imoen preferred to call him, Redwin the Thayvian. He was a member of the Red Wizards, a magocracy which controlled the population of Thay through fear and oppression, though their extreme magical powers. The very idea of that kind of oppression made Imoen sick to her stomach, as it did to all who truly knew the power of magic. The Red Mages had the nerve to approach her to join their number as soon as they realised the scope of her powers. What they meant was they wanted her to bear a son to one of their more powerful mages, who would then divorce or more likely just kill her. They appreciated a good bloodline, she knew, but not a good wizard.
Minsc had deeper, more personal reasons for hating Odessarion. Edwin had wished to kill the ranger's first Witch, the Rashemen mage Dynaheir. Upon hearing of her death, he proceeded to mock the ranger cruelly and it was only due to his timely expulsion from the party by her brother that the mage and Minsc did not come to blows; a fact that, for some reason, Imoen was beginning to now regret.
The mage stopped his advance a few yards from the companions and eased his hood back just enough to look upon them unhindered by it. When he spoke it was in his thick Thayvian rasp and he had not lost the irritating habit of his to voice his thoughts at the end of each sentence, seemingly in brackets.
"Ranger, I see you know protect a Witch who is worthy of my attention (Though just barely)." He addressed Minsc, sneering.
Minsc did not respond, seeing Imoen indicate him to be silent. He knew that one day he would take revenge on this man, but he would not have his revenge endanger the plans of his current witch.
"I assure you, Redwin, that I am not worthy of your attention. In fact, I am so unworthy of it that I advise you to keep on walking lest I discommode your vast intellect from its reigning seat within your cerebrum simply through my presence within your ocular vision and the entropy that such a low intellect as mine own is capable of causing, and replace it with more the more primal and carnal concerns of those less intelligent than your very educated self." Imoen silently congratulated herself on managing to at the same time insult him, compliment herself, and for once utter a sentence that caused the caustically over-confident mage to pause for a second so he could mentally translate.
"My attention towards you is not of that kind, Imoen Bhaalspawn (But were the offer made, I doubt I would refuse)." He responded, mildly put out by the young woman's increased intelligence.
"Then why? Surely it cannot be my prowess in the Art." Imoen said, sarcasm dripping from each syllable.
"It is exactly that prowess; that, and the fact that you are creating a Mage Guild without first consulting the premier Mage Guild on Toril."
"It is a Thieves' Guild – we merely intend to accept applications for membership that come from certain exceptional mages, and we may teach some facets of the Art to thieves who show an intellectual bent." She countered.
"Be that as it may, the Red Mages want your assurance that their representatives, both official and unofficial, will go untouched by this Guild of yours. I have been sent here to collect written statement of that kind, signed by you and bound with a Geas (Why must the lower orders consistently attempt to outwit greater intellects than their own?)."
Imoen shrugged. "Then I am afraid you shall return to your superiors unsuccessful. I shall give no such assurance to any organisation, least of all one that represents such great evil as your own."
This response fazed Edwin slightly; he was not used to such defiance. But he had a response prepared for this eventuality.
"I shall not necessarily be unsuccessful. I am required to return with either that contract or your head (Though it would be a shame to waste the brain inside.)."
Minsc clutched the handle of the Crom Faeyr. As he did so, its sorceries flowed through him. His muscles, already impressive, bulged beyond reason. His eyes flared. Now was his chance for revenge...
"Minsc? Leave us." Imoen said, coldly.
Minsc almost dropped the Crom Faeyr. He turned to Imoen for some kind of explanation, "Boo is most befuddled! Shall we not righteously apply our feet to this evil butt?!"
"He," Imoen whispered, a darkness creeping into her voice "Is mine."
Minsc thought to respond, but his feet began walking back along the path they had come, of their own volition. Swiftwing, who had been flying alongside them, seemed to be under a similar enchantment, following the ranger. Minsc made a note to reprimand his witch; she was casting spells upon he, her own protector! And robbing him of righteous vengeance!
But all thoughts of that vanished once he realised what she was doing. She was going to have a mage's duel with a Red Thayvian. The ultimate test of her prowess as an Archmage – the only greater challenge would be Simbul herself... Minsc suddenly feared for his witch and wished to fight this battle not for vengeance, but to protect her. Swiftwing floated to the ground and curled up into a ball, crying.
"Boo wants to know if you are okay, little dragon."
"My Lady feels she must fight this battle on her own. She needs to prove to herself that she can protect herself. And it's my fault."
"No, it is not. What you said was true." Minsc lowered his head.
"You were listening?" The little dragon's head peeped up.
Minsc only nodded, then fell into silence. He could not fight this battle for his witch, and neither could her little dragon, or indeed Boo, because even if they won it for her, she would still lose.
With Minsc gone, Imoen turned back to face Edwin.
"Candlekeep rules or Thayvian?" She asked, absently checking her pouches.
Edwin looked at her, incredulously. "You mean to duel with me?"
"Of course!" She looked at him in mild disgust, "You cannot threaten an Archmage of Candlekeep without facing the consequences, Red Wizard. We fight using Candlekeep rules, since you will not make the decision. Now – ready yourself! Espirita Maysas Korolius!" A chain contingency began. Imoen felt her skin toughen to protect her from physical attacks. At the same time, a blue shimmer filled the air around her – Spell Turning. A Globe of Invulnerability and Protection from Magical Weapons finished the ensemble.
Instantly, Edwin cast his contingencies, virtually mirroring hers with the exception of a Mirror Imaging spell. It was a common combination, but that did not mean it was ineffective. After that, showing great alacrity, he cast breach at the younger mage, dispelling her combat protections.
Imoen knew exactly which image of Edwin was the real one; one did not survive long as a thief without knowing how to spot the small tell-tale differences that indicated illusions. She ignored the fakes and cast Khelben's Warding Whip on the 'real article'.
"Witch!" Edwin screamed as his spell protections began to fail around him. "You shall suffer! Klirios Mostol Condros!"
Imoen knew the spell he was casting and felt her stomach clench. She turned around, looking everywhere to see where it w-.
"Argh!" She squealed as the Nishruu dove at her. The creature failed in its attack the first few times, but soon its tendrils plunged into her head, dicing with her mind, tearing up her carefully memorised spells like tissue paper. She looked up to see Odessarion readying another spell. Ripping herself free of the Nishruu, she swung her glass staff at Edwin with every ounce of strength she could muster.
He caught it with ease in his left hand, his right casting an improved Pierce Magic spell that dropped all of her defences against magic. He grinned at her, "Out of magic already, great Archmage?" The last two words dripped with sarcasm. But he noticed that she, Imoen, was also grinning. He followed her stare to the rabbit's foot that her free hand was rubbing up the length of the staff. Immediately he knew what she intended and tried to get away, but it was too late.
"Liros." Imoen said, quietly, and a bolt of lightning ran along the staff and into Edwin's exposed flank. He flew backwards screaming in agony, blue electricity crackling all around his body. He landed some ten yards away, giving Imoen the chance to un-summon his Nishruu with a Death Spell.
The Red Mage scrabbled to his feet and turned back to face her. His robe was scorched by the lightning, and his teeth seemed to be crackling with it. "Zz-you are very powerful; zz-a tribute to your lineage, my zz-sister."
Imoen dropped her staff, with which she had been readying another Lightning Bolt, to finish Edwin off. "What do you mean 'sister'?" She had lost her concentration – exactly what Edwin wanted. His hand swiftly drew a sulphur packet from his robe and he hurled it into the air.
"Riliorus Pyros!" As he yelled the triggering phrase, the sulphur erupted into an immense Fireball that exploded against Imoen's chest, blowing her against the hillside and burning her pouches. She yelled in pain as her armour began to seethe, cooking her within it. Dextrously, she pulled her scorched satchel and baking chain mail over her head, but not before Edwin could begin his next spell. She eased herself up; only to drop to the ground again as a searing pain erupted in her left thigh, from which one of Melf's Acid Arrows was protruding.
She could feel herself about to pass out from the pain. Her vision was blurring, those spells that had not been ripped from her memory by the Nishruu had been rendered useless when her component pouches were burned to cinders. She began to realise that she had lost...
At this point, something inside her kicked in. The bit of Imoen that had always been there for others when times were rough and it seemed like there was no way out was finally there for her. She yanked a scorched parchment from her satchel lain beside her. The scroll was a Stoneshape spell, with no required components.
"Toril Morsis Turius!" She screamed, at the top of her voice. The earth beneath Edwin began to open, a gaping chasm forming where he stood. He leapt forwards and managed to grab onto the edge of the hole. But Edwin was a heavy man, and he did little exercise that was not mental. He pulled himself up, though the effort required him to pause and get his breath back.
The Red Mage looked over the edge as he gathered himself, seeing that the bottom of the chasm was covered with sharp outcroppings of rock that would have skewered him had he fell. He whipped around to where Imoen had lain, readying another spell as he did so, only to see her upright. Blood was pouring down her leg and the arrow lay beside her – she had ripped it out so that the second dose of acid could not affect her concentration. She had a spell readied also, one that most mages could cast without the need for components and foci. And hers triggered faster than his.
"Pristos!" She called the final word of the incantation and a small magic missile sprang forth from all the digits on her right hand. The first smacked into Edwin, causing him little pain but forcing him to step backwards; and again, and again. The next one caused him to topple backwards into the chasm.
Instantly he began calling the triggering phrase of a Levitation spell.
"Travius Melsirio-"
The fifth and final magic missile struck him, ruining his concentration and causing the casting to fail. In that instant, upon the realisation of his defeat, he screamed. "NO! Not like this! I won't be killed by Magic Miss-!" There was a noise like a man landing face down on a bed of craggy rocks after falling from about fifty feet. And then silence. And then, a combination of the pain from her wounds, loss of blood, and sheer exhaustion, caused Imoen to slump forward onto the grass, unconscious.
******
The next thing Imoen saw was a blurred pink object which, once her focus returned, transmogrified into a little pink nose. A little pink nose attached to a little yellow hamster.
"Look, Boo! Your sniffling has awakened our witch! Hamsters and Rangers and Little Dragons rejoice!" Minsc yelled so loudly that Imoen winced. Slowly and in what she hoped was a dignified fashion, she sat up. She still felt light-headed, and her leg still ached, but the burns had gone. Swiftwing swooped down from Minsc's shoulder to his Lady's lap.
She realised that she was in a tent, on her bedroll. "Where are we?" She asked, a little unsteadily.
"Where we were; Swiftwing thought you would not wish us to move off without first dealing with the body of the vile mage. And, of course, Boo says you still have to close up that big hole in the ground; it may claim some innocent hamster or hedgehog who is not watching where they go."
Imoen laughed, quietly. She had won, been victorious over a great Thayvian Mage, avenged Dynaheir and doubtless a thousand other wrongs the man had committed in his time. But she had also, now, made an enemy of the Red Wizards. She had expected them to make some sort of stand on the matter, but not as soon. They could cause a problem, but at least she knew of their intentions.
Then her smile faded as she remembered Edwin's words. "My sister..." She murmured to herself.
"My witch has no sisters, does she?" Minsc was confused.
Imoen, realising she had been thinking aloud, smiled. "No, no. She doesn't. At least, not that I know of..."
The implications of what the Thayvian had said... Could he be Bhaalspawn? No – all of them were killed save for Imoen and her brother, weren't they? Imoen knew from experience that the essence could be 'surrendered', but had Edwin had such an essence he would never have surrendered it – he was too power greedy for that. Besides, none of the Bhaalspawn save for her brother and the Five – And me, she added to the list with pride – could have defeated Edwin. And the Five would not have let him live, even if he had given them his 'taint'. Would they?
These questions required answering... Or did they? No. She KNEW she was the last Bhaalspawn – the Solar had said as much. 'Only one other spawn of the dead god remains – she sibling who fought at your side'. So what could he have meant?
Suddenly, like the hammer of Cromwell the Dwarf, a horrific thought struck her... She had never known her mother, and though her brother had discovered that his had been a Priestess of Bhaal, Imoen knew that many of the others had not been. One had been a giant and, from one encounter during her travels with her brother, she learned that one had been a rabbit. Was it then so unlikely that one could have been a Thayvian mage? The Red Wizards crossed spells with the Harpers frequently, so it was entirely possible Gorion could have found her in the aftermath of a set-to. It would go some way to explaining why her prowess in magery was, if anything, increased by the Taint of Bhaal leaving her... And had Edwin meant true sister, or merely a 'sister', meaning a fellow Thayvian mage. Or had it been merely a ruse to lower her guard? Had she killed her brother...?
She shook such thoughts from her head and posthumously congratulated Edwin for causing her such consternation, even in death. She could not resurrect the mage; not without losing the friendship and trust of Minsc. And were two carefully chosen words in a battle with a known liar worth that? She reasoned not, though she made note to investigate the matter at a later date, probably starting at the Harpers and working from there.
"Boo thinks you may have taken a knock to the head, yes?"
Imoen smiled at her friend's concern. "No, I'm fine. I was just thinking... I mean, I was just thinking that we should move as soon as possible." She tried to stand, but her left leg gave way underneath her and Minsc had to catch her. He handed her the glass staff to lean upon, knowing that she hated him to pamper her and thus not carrying her himself, and led her out of the tent.
A simple Stoneshape spell sealed the hole in the ground, and provided a fitting burial for such a man as Edwin Odessarion; swallowed, whole, by Nature herself. He had carried little of value, though a few of the gems in his wallet would fetch a good price when they reached town. The amulet he wore to enhance his casting abilities had, it seemed, crumbled to dust upon his death; not that Imoen would have worn it, as Thayvian magical artefacts tended to 'know their own', and do unpleasant things to good wizards attempting to don them. He had carried a few scrolls, though nothing she did not already have in her own collection. His robe was burned and tattered and bloody, and not particularly well enchanted, and so it had been left. The only other items of interest were a letter containing Edwin's orders, and a highly enchanted throwing-dagger that Imoen Identified as not only increasing the caster's own accuracy, but also possessing the ability to paralyse a target pierced by its blade and returning to the caster's hand as soon as it had done so.
The letter read:
My dearest Edwin,
It is time for us to end this blight on our good name. The other zulkirs persist in ridiculing me for the continued threat posed by Imoen Bhaalspawn. I require you to find her; our spies indicate she is often in the Neverwinter area – any base Diviner may tell you more specific locations. Once you have found her, kill her. I would suggest using the old 'I need your signature on this Geas' ruse, where the Geas requires her to hold her breath forever or spend an eternity fighting in the Blood War.
If you can possibly avoid it, do not fight her openly. She is stronger than even she knows and I cannot afford to lose any more allies, let alone siblings. Be well, my brother; return victorious or do not return at all.
Your sister,
Zulkir Lallara
Imoen tried not to think too deeply on the subject, but found her thoughts drifting toward it for the remainder of their journey. His 'sister' mentioned a 'blight' on their good name; Imoen herself? What could she be to them? Was she truly Edwin's sister, and if so, the sister of this Zulkir – the highest rank of Red Wizard? When they first met, Edwin had shown no sign of it, but from all accounts he knew much more of her brother's lineage by their next meeting, in Athkatla. What if he had known after all? What if, back when they had first left Candlekeep, Edwin was 'sizing her up'?
It kept her mind occupied, running through scenario after scenario, until after an otherwise uneventful journey, they arrived on the outskirts of Longsaddle; at a seemingly rough inn with a sign above the door, hanging by one of its two chains, which read: "The Spellweaver Tavern (Tradespersons use rear entrance)".
"Are we Tradespersons, Imoen?" Minsc asked, quizzically.
Imoen just smiled, shook her head, and entered. Her thief's instincts as sharp as ever, she ducked just in time to avoid being knocked unconscious by a flying tankard. Instead, it hit Minsc's broad chest and 'bonged' off his Gorgon Hide plate armour.
There was a brawl going on which looked like it was going to be expensive in terms of replacement furniture. About half of the tavern patrons were mages and thus there were several pock-marks from magic missiles, scorch-marks on the wall where Burning Hands spells had been miscast, and the remains of what looked like it had once been a cheese plant before someone had Shocking Grasp'd it. Imoen grinned, widely; Minsc, in stark contrast, was horrified.
"These are wizards! Some of them are," he added, in shock, "Women! Women-spellcasters! Drunk and brawling?!"
Imoen chuckled. "Now you know why most of the sage's in Candlekeep foreswore alcohol."
During Minsc's brief visit to Imoen's 'home', he had commented on the lack of variety in the public house. Imoen had just chuckled and shook her head, like she was doing now. Finally, Minsc understood why. He noted, in the one quiet corner of the Spellweaver Tavern, that some mages were just sat, slowly drinking their drinks and ignoring the brawl behind them.
"Boo is wondering who those wizards are at the back that they can see such a fight and not feel the urge to join in the butt-kickingness of the situation."
Imoen gestured toward the table he referred to. "They're Evokers, specialists in Evocation magicks – y'know, things like Fireball and Lightning Bolt. We other mages normally call 'em the 'Crowd Pleasers', because they do the spells that the kids remember and wow about. Admittedly, though, they're probably the only mages on Toril who can take their drink reasonably well."
Imoen wandered towards the bar and glanced over the top. As she had expected, the tavern owner was hiding, clutching onto several anti-magic protective rings, amulets and circlets. She smiled and reached down, dragging the man up by his ear. This was somebody she knew so very well indeed. He was fat and bald, and there was little else one could say about him save for the fact that his broad smile was that of a man who had seen the entire world, only to realise that the best place in it was where he started.
He clenched a fist and looked to swing at whoever had pulled him from his safe hiding place, only to turn around, pause, then break down crying and clasp Imoen in a nigh-on back-breaking bear hug.
"My little Immy!" The man's booming voice caused the brawl in the middle of his tavern to cease immediately.
Feeling slightly embarrassed, Imoen patted the old man on the back and said, gently, "It hasn't been that long."
The man pulled away. "It's been four years or more! And you never wrote!" His voice became admonishing in a way, while still maintaining all the joy it had borne beforehand. Minsc watched the display with interest, as did most of the mages in the tavern, though a few had the decency to begin intense study of their drinks rather than observe this evidently very emotional reunion.
"I'm sorry..." She hugged the man, almost breaking down into floods of tears herself. "I've missed you too, Winthrop..."
Anyway, just to remind you, I don't own anything Baldur's Gate (or Neverwinter Nights) related aside from the games (but not Neverwinter Nights, 'cos it's not out yet). It's copyrighted by those lovely people at Wizards, Bioware and Interplay. And now, on with the show!!
The only sounds Imoen could hear were the crackling of the campfire and the occasional scurries of small animals. Minsc had chosen where they made camp; just on the edge of Neverwinter Forest that they might rest now, sheltered from the elements, and travel by daylight. The clouds had come quickly; what had been a pleasant sunset had turned into a harsh torrent. Imoen had suspected that it was more than a benign act of Nature, but passed that off as paranoia.
She was sat, cross-legged on her bedroll, reading her brother's journal. She probably should have gotten some sleep as she needed rest before memorising her spells, but she also needed to know something. And she had just found what she was looking for. She read aloud to herself, "I insisted we take it. Jaheira wanted to leave it where he fell – she seems to think the poor man deserves his fate. Aerie, however, sided with me and put it in her pack. It is an eerie object, and no mistake, for it does not seem to wither or rot; there is something poetic that it should behave so much like cold stone."
Imoen sighed and put the book down, picking up another; another journal, dated some weeks later. She opened it and swiftly scanned through to the point she had book-marked. "Unfortunately our time is short. I know not how much longer my poor sister has before she fades. Damn Bohdi and Jon Irenicus! Damn them both to the Abyss! We shall have to move swiftly if we are to save Imoen. This means we shall have to postpone the errand of mercy I had been so insistent we complete but a month ago. Still, a few more days should make little difference. Aerie has agreed to carry it a little longer. And now to Linvail's headquarters; I only hope he will be forthcoming with aid, to preserve his guild if for no other reason." Imoen slammed the book shut.
"They never... They carried it all that way and did nothing. And now Aerie has it; I thought as much. Oh my dear, what should I do now?" She leaned forward and petted the little pseudodragon before her, stroking down the length of its back.
"My Lady, you know what you must do. You must speak to Aerie; show his letter and she will be reasonable, I am sure." The young familiar's voice was soothing to Imoen. She had named him Swiftwing but tended to shorten it to Swift.
"But she hates me, Swift. And she hurt poor Minsc so much when she banished him from her sight that I feared he might take his own life."
"And that is why you allowed him to take you as his Witch; the third that the strong Rashemen has called thus." Swiftwing nestled himself into Imoen's lap, tucking into the folds of her robe for warmth.
"That's not true; I did not request his service out of pity, Swift. I need him, though I don't believe he realises how much. I'm not strong, Swift. I try to be – gods above KNOW I try – but I am no warrior. I never was."
"He protects you as you protect him. Unless you are trying to subtly profess your love of him as something deeper than fraternal, I fail to see how there could be any confusion." Swiftwing grinned. Imoen playfully cuffed his ear.
"You know I don't mean that. Minsc isn't, how can I put this, my type. Not that I don't feel he'll make some very lucky woman a good husband one day." She added, slightly louder, remembering that were Minsc awake he could hear the entire conversation. "I just don't like him in that way. No – what I mean is that Minsc could continue his journeys without me. He would still be the Rashemen Hero of Baldur's Gate. I, without him, doubt I could face the many evils I know await me."
She glanced down at the letter Swift had referred to. Caspenar had given it to her when he delivered her brother's mortal possessions. It contained a few requests. The first, she had failed in, and spent three years trying to atone. The second, she had already completed. The body of Jaheira, who had fallen in the final battle with Melissan, had been raised from the dead long before Caspenar's arrival. The third she was doing, and would continue to do all her life: honour the memory of the foster-father they had shared. The fourth was just a strange attempt at humour on his part, Imoen believed. It had read, "Take thirty minutes each day, and thank Mystra that you aren't stuck here, with me, in the presence of the three stuffiest gods in any Torilian Pantheon". The fifth had been to set his affairs in order and act as executor of his last will and testament, given he no longer had use for riches where he was. His possessions were divided, according to his will, between several of those he had travelled with. Imoen herself had been given more than her fair share: enchanted Elven mail, magical cloaks, wands, staves, rings and more.
Minsc had been given her brother's Cloak of Spell-Turning; magic had always been the one weakness of the great warrior, but shielded by this magnificent garment it rarely troubled him nowadays.
Jaheira had been left some small monies and trinkets with which to further the cause of nature, since he knew it had been her intention to return to Trademeet and take over the Grove in that region.
Mazzy had been left several magical swords, armour from the hides of no less than three different kinds of dragon, ensorcelled helms and shield, and some monies, and, of course, the Big Metal Unit which served to make her almost the size of an Adamantite Golem. All of these were to aid her in her quest to found an order of paladins dedicated to serving the Halfling goddess, Arvoreen.
Sir Keldorn Firecam, the eternal soldier, had been left the great two- handed broadsword of Carsomyr, along with the bastard sword Purifier some jewellery for his daughters and good lady wife. He had also been given a large amount of money to donate to his Order, with whom her brother had always felt an affinity.
Jan, the gnomish inventor, had been left the Big Metal Rod and its ammunition, so that he might use them to 'liberate oppressed turnips everywhere'. He had also been left some summoning devices that he could examine and disassemble to his heart's content. Jan had left their company once they recovered Imoen, but evidently her brother still felt he owed him some duty.
Monies were put aside to erect statues to Gorion and Khalid, two great adventurers who had passed from the prime material to whatever awaited them. Imoen had overseen their construction in Candlekeep; when they were finished, stood brave and tall as they were, Imoen could do little but cry – a true homage to her foster father, and to her friend.
Lastly, all that remained was left to Aerie. In terms of property and wealth, it came to well over 350,000 gold pieces – an immense fortune in anyone's book. Enough, he intended, so that she may purchase a grand estate in Suldenessallar and raise their son among the Elven peoples in a manner befitting the child of a God. Neither of which she had done.
The sixth and final request he made of his sister was the one that concerned her most at present. It was this request that had her poring over his old journals to find scraps of information. Imoen understood why he would ask her; he felt he owed the man a duty, and her brother always repaid 'duty'. And though the book of Paelios had not contained information enough to bring back young Quayle, it had given her enough insight to finally complete the last of her tasks.
She folded up the letter and placed it in one of the many pockets of her burgundy robe. Likewise she closed the journals and dropped them into her Bag of Holding which swelled a little, then contracted to the size of a small pouch. She tucked it into another pocket of her robe, and sighed, stroking her little familiar.
"I suppose I should get some sleep..."
As if in response, her little dragon let out a quiet snore. Imoen smiled, softly, and adjusted the folds of her robe to tuck the creature in, before sliding out of it and into her bedroll. After she was snug, the turned to the fire and with a few quiet words and slight gestures she caused the flames to flicker and die.
Some time later, when he was certain Imoen was asleep and not listening, Minsc said a brief prayer. Not to Lurue, to whom he tended give prayer in thanks for the gift of Boo, but to the only god he had ever known in person.
"Watch over your sister, oh god of Righteous Butt-Kicking – Minsc and Boo's witch needs you now more than ever. Guide her and comfort her, or know that when Minsc and Boo eventually go to the Halls of the Dead, we shall make a detour to wherever you are and mop the floor with your own buttocks!" Minsc whispered, and then added, as an afterthought, "Amen."
And then there was silence.
******
Some ten hours later, Imoen closed the last of her spellbooks with a satisfying thud. It gave her no small amount of satisfaction to know she had been forced to add so many pages to her Travelling Spells book it now weighed in at almost as much as she did herself. She had brought her Travelling, her Battle and one or two of her specialist books with her on this journey. Minsc did not ask why, though he knew from it that she expected banditry, magic combat and who knew what else before they returned to the Forest of Neverwinter.
"All done." She stated, chirpily, "We can be on our way now."
She hefted the tomes back into her Bag of Holding and tucked it away about her person. She glanced around to make sure naught had been forgotten. Minsc had packed up their bedrolls and filled their wineskins with water from Neverwinter River earlier that morning, when Imoen had first begun memorising her spells. It was the curse of all magi that each morn they had to spend hours poring over books to rekindle the memory of each spell they knew. Sorcerers, dabblers, could cast spells at will until simple exhaustion took them, although they knew far fewer spells than their more learned counterparts.
"Boo says we have enough food to see us to the Spellweaver Tavern, but Minsc will have to conjure water tomorrow as our skins will only see us through today." Minsc brimmed with pride at the word 'conjure'. Lurue had decided to confer some small divine spell-casting ability upon Minsc, probably due to his prowess as a Ranger, although it was probable that no small amount of pity was involved.
Imoen nodded and removed her robe, revealing the Elven chain of Aslyerferund and walking hose. "It is just too hot to wear that thing." She folded it and placed it in her pack, which she swung over her shoulders. Quickly, she ran through a personal checklist. Equaliser, her long-sword, was in its sheath at her side. The short-bow of Gesen hung over her shoulder, yet another trophy of her adventures. Her staff of glass, glass that was as hard as steel and lighter than balsa, had been constructed by her with the aid of several enchantments and she carried it in her hand as a walking aid when needed. Her lucky rabbit's foot hung on a chain about her neck, along with an Amulet of Power. Pouches of spell components hung from her customisable belt, along with a few carefully chosen wands.
Minsc was wearing the same garb he had worn the day previous, with the exception that the Helm of Balduran was now strapped in place on his head, and he wore his Cloak of Spell-Turning which gave the air around him a pale, barely noticeable blue shimmer. At his right side hung the Crom Faeyr, the dwarven hammer of legend that imbued its wielder with godlike strength. At his left, the Runehammer, made all the more powerful by the rune Caspenar had added to it just before their final battle with Melissan.
"Minsc and Boo stand ready."
Imoen smiled and led the way eastwards. They were in no great rush, at least not yet, and could afford to set a leisurely speed. They faced about half a day of travel over hills, then another half day over plains to reach the road. After that, they would bear north for a few hours before arriving at the township of Longsaddle.
"We should get there by lunchtime tomorrow if we make a halfway decent pace." The young mage smiled, once again upon the road.
******
Lunch that day had been marvellous. Minsc was, though he blushed whenever it was said, an excellent cook. He had made a rabbit stew for himself and Imoen, and a miniature salad for Boo, followed by a fruit salad for all. Imoen had dabbed the edge of her handkerchief against her mouth at the end of the meal, and taken a sip of water.
"Minsc, you have surpassed yourself", she said.
He had just murmured some thanks and flushed red to the top of his bald head.
That had been an hour ago, though, and now they were back on the trail, tracking over the hilly regions of Neverwinter in the blazing Flamerule sun. They only had a couple of hours more of this to go before they reached plains, and then the walk would become much easier. As it was, they were walking a dusty track through the middle of a valley, which fell away from view some hundred yards ahead of them where it began descending to lower hills.
Imoen sensed the presence of the approaching mage before she could see him. She paused and held up a warning hand to Minsc, who instantly began subtly glancing around for whatever danger his witch had discovered. There had been no travellers on the road, barring themselves, all morning. Now, however, that seemed to change. Walking, somewhat indignantly, up the steep path in front of them, a man appeared. His features were indistinguishable at this distance, save for his bright red robes and the possibility of a red beard, though it may have been a scarf.
Not that any man in his right mind would be wearing a scarf in this weather, thought Imoen, though her thoughts were interrupted by a low growl from her companion. It was at this point that she put two and two together to make four.
"Edwin Odessarion..." Minsc's voice bore a deeper hatred than she had ever heard him express, save to Jonoleth Irenicus himself.
Imoen and Minsc did not move until they could see the mage clearly. It was indeed Edwin the Red, or as Imoen preferred to call him, Redwin the Thayvian. He was a member of the Red Wizards, a magocracy which controlled the population of Thay through fear and oppression, though their extreme magical powers. The very idea of that kind of oppression made Imoen sick to her stomach, as it did to all who truly knew the power of magic. The Red Mages had the nerve to approach her to join their number as soon as they realised the scope of her powers. What they meant was they wanted her to bear a son to one of their more powerful mages, who would then divorce or more likely just kill her. They appreciated a good bloodline, she knew, but not a good wizard.
Minsc had deeper, more personal reasons for hating Odessarion. Edwin had wished to kill the ranger's first Witch, the Rashemen mage Dynaheir. Upon hearing of her death, he proceeded to mock the ranger cruelly and it was only due to his timely expulsion from the party by her brother that the mage and Minsc did not come to blows; a fact that, for some reason, Imoen was beginning to now regret.
The mage stopped his advance a few yards from the companions and eased his hood back just enough to look upon them unhindered by it. When he spoke it was in his thick Thayvian rasp and he had not lost the irritating habit of his to voice his thoughts at the end of each sentence, seemingly in brackets.
"Ranger, I see you know protect a Witch who is worthy of my attention (Though just barely)." He addressed Minsc, sneering.
Minsc did not respond, seeing Imoen indicate him to be silent. He knew that one day he would take revenge on this man, but he would not have his revenge endanger the plans of his current witch.
"I assure you, Redwin, that I am not worthy of your attention. In fact, I am so unworthy of it that I advise you to keep on walking lest I discommode your vast intellect from its reigning seat within your cerebrum simply through my presence within your ocular vision and the entropy that such a low intellect as mine own is capable of causing, and replace it with more the more primal and carnal concerns of those less intelligent than your very educated self." Imoen silently congratulated herself on managing to at the same time insult him, compliment herself, and for once utter a sentence that caused the caustically over-confident mage to pause for a second so he could mentally translate.
"My attention towards you is not of that kind, Imoen Bhaalspawn (But were the offer made, I doubt I would refuse)." He responded, mildly put out by the young woman's increased intelligence.
"Then why? Surely it cannot be my prowess in the Art." Imoen said, sarcasm dripping from each syllable.
"It is exactly that prowess; that, and the fact that you are creating a Mage Guild without first consulting the premier Mage Guild on Toril."
"It is a Thieves' Guild – we merely intend to accept applications for membership that come from certain exceptional mages, and we may teach some facets of the Art to thieves who show an intellectual bent." She countered.
"Be that as it may, the Red Mages want your assurance that their representatives, both official and unofficial, will go untouched by this Guild of yours. I have been sent here to collect written statement of that kind, signed by you and bound with a Geas (Why must the lower orders consistently attempt to outwit greater intellects than their own?)."
Imoen shrugged. "Then I am afraid you shall return to your superiors unsuccessful. I shall give no such assurance to any organisation, least of all one that represents such great evil as your own."
This response fazed Edwin slightly; he was not used to such defiance. But he had a response prepared for this eventuality.
"I shall not necessarily be unsuccessful. I am required to return with either that contract or your head (Though it would be a shame to waste the brain inside.)."
Minsc clutched the handle of the Crom Faeyr. As he did so, its sorceries flowed through him. His muscles, already impressive, bulged beyond reason. His eyes flared. Now was his chance for revenge...
"Minsc? Leave us." Imoen said, coldly.
Minsc almost dropped the Crom Faeyr. He turned to Imoen for some kind of explanation, "Boo is most befuddled! Shall we not righteously apply our feet to this evil butt?!"
"He," Imoen whispered, a darkness creeping into her voice "Is mine."
Minsc thought to respond, but his feet began walking back along the path they had come, of their own volition. Swiftwing, who had been flying alongside them, seemed to be under a similar enchantment, following the ranger. Minsc made a note to reprimand his witch; she was casting spells upon he, her own protector! And robbing him of righteous vengeance!
But all thoughts of that vanished once he realised what she was doing. She was going to have a mage's duel with a Red Thayvian. The ultimate test of her prowess as an Archmage – the only greater challenge would be Simbul herself... Minsc suddenly feared for his witch and wished to fight this battle not for vengeance, but to protect her. Swiftwing floated to the ground and curled up into a ball, crying.
"Boo wants to know if you are okay, little dragon."
"My Lady feels she must fight this battle on her own. She needs to prove to herself that she can protect herself. And it's my fault."
"No, it is not. What you said was true." Minsc lowered his head.
"You were listening?" The little dragon's head peeped up.
Minsc only nodded, then fell into silence. He could not fight this battle for his witch, and neither could her little dragon, or indeed Boo, because even if they won it for her, she would still lose.
With Minsc gone, Imoen turned back to face Edwin.
"Candlekeep rules or Thayvian?" She asked, absently checking her pouches.
Edwin looked at her, incredulously. "You mean to duel with me?"
"Of course!" She looked at him in mild disgust, "You cannot threaten an Archmage of Candlekeep without facing the consequences, Red Wizard. We fight using Candlekeep rules, since you will not make the decision. Now – ready yourself! Espirita Maysas Korolius!" A chain contingency began. Imoen felt her skin toughen to protect her from physical attacks. At the same time, a blue shimmer filled the air around her – Spell Turning. A Globe of Invulnerability and Protection from Magical Weapons finished the ensemble.
Instantly, Edwin cast his contingencies, virtually mirroring hers with the exception of a Mirror Imaging spell. It was a common combination, but that did not mean it was ineffective. After that, showing great alacrity, he cast breach at the younger mage, dispelling her combat protections.
Imoen knew exactly which image of Edwin was the real one; one did not survive long as a thief without knowing how to spot the small tell-tale differences that indicated illusions. She ignored the fakes and cast Khelben's Warding Whip on the 'real article'.
"Witch!" Edwin screamed as his spell protections began to fail around him. "You shall suffer! Klirios Mostol Condros!"
Imoen knew the spell he was casting and felt her stomach clench. She turned around, looking everywhere to see where it w-.
"Argh!" She squealed as the Nishruu dove at her. The creature failed in its attack the first few times, but soon its tendrils plunged into her head, dicing with her mind, tearing up her carefully memorised spells like tissue paper. She looked up to see Odessarion readying another spell. Ripping herself free of the Nishruu, she swung her glass staff at Edwin with every ounce of strength she could muster.
He caught it with ease in his left hand, his right casting an improved Pierce Magic spell that dropped all of her defences against magic. He grinned at her, "Out of magic already, great Archmage?" The last two words dripped with sarcasm. But he noticed that she, Imoen, was also grinning. He followed her stare to the rabbit's foot that her free hand was rubbing up the length of the staff. Immediately he knew what she intended and tried to get away, but it was too late.
"Liros." Imoen said, quietly, and a bolt of lightning ran along the staff and into Edwin's exposed flank. He flew backwards screaming in agony, blue electricity crackling all around his body. He landed some ten yards away, giving Imoen the chance to un-summon his Nishruu with a Death Spell.
The Red Mage scrabbled to his feet and turned back to face her. His robe was scorched by the lightning, and his teeth seemed to be crackling with it. "Zz-you are very powerful; zz-a tribute to your lineage, my zz-sister."
Imoen dropped her staff, with which she had been readying another Lightning Bolt, to finish Edwin off. "What do you mean 'sister'?" She had lost her concentration – exactly what Edwin wanted. His hand swiftly drew a sulphur packet from his robe and he hurled it into the air.
"Riliorus Pyros!" As he yelled the triggering phrase, the sulphur erupted into an immense Fireball that exploded against Imoen's chest, blowing her against the hillside and burning her pouches. She yelled in pain as her armour began to seethe, cooking her within it. Dextrously, she pulled her scorched satchel and baking chain mail over her head, but not before Edwin could begin his next spell. She eased herself up; only to drop to the ground again as a searing pain erupted in her left thigh, from which one of Melf's Acid Arrows was protruding.
She could feel herself about to pass out from the pain. Her vision was blurring, those spells that had not been ripped from her memory by the Nishruu had been rendered useless when her component pouches were burned to cinders. She began to realise that she had lost...
At this point, something inside her kicked in. The bit of Imoen that had always been there for others when times were rough and it seemed like there was no way out was finally there for her. She yanked a scorched parchment from her satchel lain beside her. The scroll was a Stoneshape spell, with no required components.
"Toril Morsis Turius!" She screamed, at the top of her voice. The earth beneath Edwin began to open, a gaping chasm forming where he stood. He leapt forwards and managed to grab onto the edge of the hole. But Edwin was a heavy man, and he did little exercise that was not mental. He pulled himself up, though the effort required him to pause and get his breath back.
The Red Mage looked over the edge as he gathered himself, seeing that the bottom of the chasm was covered with sharp outcroppings of rock that would have skewered him had he fell. He whipped around to where Imoen had lain, readying another spell as he did so, only to see her upright. Blood was pouring down her leg and the arrow lay beside her – she had ripped it out so that the second dose of acid could not affect her concentration. She had a spell readied also, one that most mages could cast without the need for components and foci. And hers triggered faster than his.
"Pristos!" She called the final word of the incantation and a small magic missile sprang forth from all the digits on her right hand. The first smacked into Edwin, causing him little pain but forcing him to step backwards; and again, and again. The next one caused him to topple backwards into the chasm.
Instantly he began calling the triggering phrase of a Levitation spell.
"Travius Melsirio-"
The fifth and final magic missile struck him, ruining his concentration and causing the casting to fail. In that instant, upon the realisation of his defeat, he screamed. "NO! Not like this! I won't be killed by Magic Miss-!" There was a noise like a man landing face down on a bed of craggy rocks after falling from about fifty feet. And then silence. And then, a combination of the pain from her wounds, loss of blood, and sheer exhaustion, caused Imoen to slump forward onto the grass, unconscious.
******
The next thing Imoen saw was a blurred pink object which, once her focus returned, transmogrified into a little pink nose. A little pink nose attached to a little yellow hamster.
"Look, Boo! Your sniffling has awakened our witch! Hamsters and Rangers and Little Dragons rejoice!" Minsc yelled so loudly that Imoen winced. Slowly and in what she hoped was a dignified fashion, she sat up. She still felt light-headed, and her leg still ached, but the burns had gone. Swiftwing swooped down from Minsc's shoulder to his Lady's lap.
She realised that she was in a tent, on her bedroll. "Where are we?" She asked, a little unsteadily.
"Where we were; Swiftwing thought you would not wish us to move off without first dealing with the body of the vile mage. And, of course, Boo says you still have to close up that big hole in the ground; it may claim some innocent hamster or hedgehog who is not watching where they go."
Imoen laughed, quietly. She had won, been victorious over a great Thayvian Mage, avenged Dynaheir and doubtless a thousand other wrongs the man had committed in his time. But she had also, now, made an enemy of the Red Wizards. She had expected them to make some sort of stand on the matter, but not as soon. They could cause a problem, but at least she knew of their intentions.
Then her smile faded as she remembered Edwin's words. "My sister..." She murmured to herself.
"My witch has no sisters, does she?" Minsc was confused.
Imoen, realising she had been thinking aloud, smiled. "No, no. She doesn't. At least, not that I know of..."
The implications of what the Thayvian had said... Could he be Bhaalspawn? No – all of them were killed save for Imoen and her brother, weren't they? Imoen knew from experience that the essence could be 'surrendered', but had Edwin had such an essence he would never have surrendered it – he was too power greedy for that. Besides, none of the Bhaalspawn save for her brother and the Five – And me, she added to the list with pride – could have defeated Edwin. And the Five would not have let him live, even if he had given them his 'taint'. Would they?
These questions required answering... Or did they? No. She KNEW she was the last Bhaalspawn – the Solar had said as much. 'Only one other spawn of the dead god remains – she sibling who fought at your side'. So what could he have meant?
Suddenly, like the hammer of Cromwell the Dwarf, a horrific thought struck her... She had never known her mother, and though her brother had discovered that his had been a Priestess of Bhaal, Imoen knew that many of the others had not been. One had been a giant and, from one encounter during her travels with her brother, she learned that one had been a rabbit. Was it then so unlikely that one could have been a Thayvian mage? The Red Wizards crossed spells with the Harpers frequently, so it was entirely possible Gorion could have found her in the aftermath of a set-to. It would go some way to explaining why her prowess in magery was, if anything, increased by the Taint of Bhaal leaving her... And had Edwin meant true sister, or merely a 'sister', meaning a fellow Thayvian mage. Or had it been merely a ruse to lower her guard? Had she killed her brother...?
She shook such thoughts from her head and posthumously congratulated Edwin for causing her such consternation, even in death. She could not resurrect the mage; not without losing the friendship and trust of Minsc. And were two carefully chosen words in a battle with a known liar worth that? She reasoned not, though she made note to investigate the matter at a later date, probably starting at the Harpers and working from there.
"Boo thinks you may have taken a knock to the head, yes?"
Imoen smiled at her friend's concern. "No, I'm fine. I was just thinking... I mean, I was just thinking that we should move as soon as possible." She tried to stand, but her left leg gave way underneath her and Minsc had to catch her. He handed her the glass staff to lean upon, knowing that she hated him to pamper her and thus not carrying her himself, and led her out of the tent.
A simple Stoneshape spell sealed the hole in the ground, and provided a fitting burial for such a man as Edwin Odessarion; swallowed, whole, by Nature herself. He had carried little of value, though a few of the gems in his wallet would fetch a good price when they reached town. The amulet he wore to enhance his casting abilities had, it seemed, crumbled to dust upon his death; not that Imoen would have worn it, as Thayvian magical artefacts tended to 'know their own', and do unpleasant things to good wizards attempting to don them. He had carried a few scrolls, though nothing she did not already have in her own collection. His robe was burned and tattered and bloody, and not particularly well enchanted, and so it had been left. The only other items of interest were a letter containing Edwin's orders, and a highly enchanted throwing-dagger that Imoen Identified as not only increasing the caster's own accuracy, but also possessing the ability to paralyse a target pierced by its blade and returning to the caster's hand as soon as it had done so.
The letter read:
My dearest Edwin,
It is time for us to end this blight on our good name. The other zulkirs persist in ridiculing me for the continued threat posed by Imoen Bhaalspawn. I require you to find her; our spies indicate she is often in the Neverwinter area – any base Diviner may tell you more specific locations. Once you have found her, kill her. I would suggest using the old 'I need your signature on this Geas' ruse, where the Geas requires her to hold her breath forever or spend an eternity fighting in the Blood War.
If you can possibly avoid it, do not fight her openly. She is stronger than even she knows and I cannot afford to lose any more allies, let alone siblings. Be well, my brother; return victorious or do not return at all.
Your sister,
Zulkir Lallara
Imoen tried not to think too deeply on the subject, but found her thoughts drifting toward it for the remainder of their journey. His 'sister' mentioned a 'blight' on their good name; Imoen herself? What could she be to them? Was she truly Edwin's sister, and if so, the sister of this Zulkir – the highest rank of Red Wizard? When they first met, Edwin had shown no sign of it, but from all accounts he knew much more of her brother's lineage by their next meeting, in Athkatla. What if he had known after all? What if, back when they had first left Candlekeep, Edwin was 'sizing her up'?
It kept her mind occupied, running through scenario after scenario, until after an otherwise uneventful journey, they arrived on the outskirts of Longsaddle; at a seemingly rough inn with a sign above the door, hanging by one of its two chains, which read: "The Spellweaver Tavern (Tradespersons use rear entrance)".
"Are we Tradespersons, Imoen?" Minsc asked, quizzically.
Imoen just smiled, shook her head, and entered. Her thief's instincts as sharp as ever, she ducked just in time to avoid being knocked unconscious by a flying tankard. Instead, it hit Minsc's broad chest and 'bonged' off his Gorgon Hide plate armour.
There was a brawl going on which looked like it was going to be expensive in terms of replacement furniture. About half of the tavern patrons were mages and thus there were several pock-marks from magic missiles, scorch-marks on the wall where Burning Hands spells had been miscast, and the remains of what looked like it had once been a cheese plant before someone had Shocking Grasp'd it. Imoen grinned, widely; Minsc, in stark contrast, was horrified.
"These are wizards! Some of them are," he added, in shock, "Women! Women-spellcasters! Drunk and brawling?!"
Imoen chuckled. "Now you know why most of the sage's in Candlekeep foreswore alcohol."
During Minsc's brief visit to Imoen's 'home', he had commented on the lack of variety in the public house. Imoen had just chuckled and shook her head, like she was doing now. Finally, Minsc understood why. He noted, in the one quiet corner of the Spellweaver Tavern, that some mages were just sat, slowly drinking their drinks and ignoring the brawl behind them.
"Boo is wondering who those wizards are at the back that they can see such a fight and not feel the urge to join in the butt-kickingness of the situation."
Imoen gestured toward the table he referred to. "They're Evokers, specialists in Evocation magicks – y'know, things like Fireball and Lightning Bolt. We other mages normally call 'em the 'Crowd Pleasers', because they do the spells that the kids remember and wow about. Admittedly, though, they're probably the only mages on Toril who can take their drink reasonably well."
Imoen wandered towards the bar and glanced over the top. As she had expected, the tavern owner was hiding, clutching onto several anti-magic protective rings, amulets and circlets. She smiled and reached down, dragging the man up by his ear. This was somebody she knew so very well indeed. He was fat and bald, and there was little else one could say about him save for the fact that his broad smile was that of a man who had seen the entire world, only to realise that the best place in it was where he started.
He clenched a fist and looked to swing at whoever had pulled him from his safe hiding place, only to turn around, pause, then break down crying and clasp Imoen in a nigh-on back-breaking bear hug.
"My little Immy!" The man's booming voice caused the brawl in the middle of his tavern to cease immediately.
Feeling slightly embarrassed, Imoen patted the old man on the back and said, gently, "It hasn't been that long."
The man pulled away. "It's been four years or more! And you never wrote!" His voice became admonishing in a way, while still maintaining all the joy it had borne beforehand. Minsc watched the display with interest, as did most of the mages in the tavern, though a few had the decency to begin intense study of their drinks rather than observe this evidently very emotional reunion.
"I'm sorry..." She hugged the man, almost breaking down into floods of tears herself. "I've missed you too, Winthrop..."