Bevil had marched them through the night to the Weeping Willow Inn, requisitioned a horse and sent one of his soldiers on ahead to Fort Locke before Bishop was fed a paltry helping of rations. He slept under guard in the empty stable, despite still being bound and gagged. At dawn the following day, they set out again for the Fort, where they were met with horses in the mid-afternoon. Whispers and stares followed Bishop wherever he was led as they rested briefly before pressing on. Some familiar faces from his travels, some strangers, but all where wide eyed at the spectacle. Bevil slung Bishop over his horse's hindquarters and told him to 'try not to fall off' before riding North at a steady canter. It was a hard fifty or so mile ride up the High Road, bouncing uncomfortably with each stride of the mount, the bolt wound in his chest aching with every jolt. They camped late by the road and rose early, riding right through Highcliff in the early afternoon, urging the horses on for the last leg, to Crossroad Keep.
Gagged and surrounded by stoically silent soldiers, all Bishop had to keep him company on the journey were his anxious thoughts. How long had it been? Who had survived the fight with Garius? Who and what awaited him at the Keep?
He hoped, desperately, it was Linn.
It was not.
There was a small gathering waiting in the shade cast by the Keep's looming gate as Bevil hauled him off the horse on to unsteady feet. Up above, between the battlements, a short, bushy bearded figure glared down. Khelgar Ironfist. There were more familiar faces waiting at the gates for their arrival. Slimy Sand, flanked by Kana and Katriona, armed and armoured while old Aldanon and the resident priest, Ivarr brought up the rear. They all looked older, rougher around the edges but all were recognisable. Calling the moment tense would have been an understatement.
"Put him in the West wing and ward the door, I want a full report before we interrogate him."
Sand spoke crisply and those around him sprung to action. Bishop was dragged, unceremoniously, through the Keep's grounds for all its inhabitants to see. Sal was there, with Joy lurking behind him. Wolf, the urchin, looked like he had grown a foot taller, the first sprigs of facial hair blooming on his chin. Gripping Bishop's arms tight, Kana and Katriona led him up the slope to the Keep's door, through the cool main chamber where the empty throne sat and into the small room opposite the stairs to the cellar. Guyven's old room and Zhjaeve's cell before that. Still bound and gagged, he was dumped on the floor next to a cot and a bucket and left to ponder his circumstances.
Bishop's first few days back had been spent readjusting to how loud and bright everything was in the mortal realm. He had savoured the colours and textures of the world around him, quietly delighted to be alive. There hadn't been enough time to consider his fate. There hadn't been enough time at all. The sentence for his betrayal would no doubt be death and he wasn't going back to the Wall without a fight. Or at all, if he could help it.
A matter of time and faith is what Kelemvor had said. The time Bishop had was presently out of his control. But having met a god, twice, faith was his only form of agency. So he prayed to Kelemvor for more time. Or at least he thought he did, there was no way to know. There were no candles or altar, just the quiet and sincere thoughts of a man scared to lose what had been given back to him so soon.
As the light from the South facing window began to wane, when no divine intervention appeared to be forthcoming, the door slammed open. Sand led Kana and Katriona into the small room, blades drawn and Ivarr followed after, carrying a bundle of clothes. Bishop's bonds were cut with a sharp knife and his stiff fingers worked at the knot in the gag behind his head while he waited for someone to speak.
"Get dressed." Sand said and Ivarr shuffled forward to place and old shirt and trousers on the end of the cot.
"Always knew you wanted to get me naked." Bishop said with a wry grin directed at Katriona then Kana.
There was no mirth in the eyes of his captors as they watched him stand.
"Guess we're not back to joking…" Bishop grumbled as he stripped the moldy, ruined clothes from his aching body and pulled on the new leggings. Everything in his trousers was as it had been before the Wall - Bishop had checked the first time Bevil had let him stop to relieve himself. He was glad to have that part of himself back at least.
Ivarr stepped forward to examine the wound in Bishop's shoulder, squeezing pink fluid from the sore into a pestle before retreating from the room. Bishop winced, but let the priest go about his work.
"Tell us everything you remember." Sand ordered. He looked much the same as when they last met, in the Vale, but his long robe had been replaced by modest doublet from his days as a merchant of oddments and spells. Bishop did so, pulling the shirt over his head as we went, much as he had relayed the tale to Bevil in the Mere. When he finished, Sand exchanged glances with Kana and Katriona.
"What happens now?" Bishop hesitated.
"Burn those." The elf gestured to the pile of rotten fabric on the floor, not deigning to speak to the ranger. Katriona jumped to attention, taking the bundle off to be disposed of. With nothing more than a scowl, Sand turned on his heel and left. No more than ten minutes had passed before the door slammed closed again. The lock was bolted and the cracks in the wood resumed their arcane glow as the ward was cast on the other side, sealing him in.
Bishop's sleep on the road had been dreamless, but nights constrained by four walls had always been more restless for the ranger. When his exhausted eyes closed and he slipped uneasily away, he dreamed of the Wall's torment. When he awoke in the darkness, he was drenched in sweat, gasping for air. Twice he was subjected to interrupted slumber before he was granted peace of mind to rest.
When the door banged open again in the pale light of dawn, Bishop felt he had only just closed his eyes.
Sand was there again, carrying an old tome, flanked by Ivarr and Bevil, still unshaved.
"I am going to cast a number of spells. Tell me if you feel anything." Sand instructed as Bishop watched on helplessly. Three spells were cast in succession, words read in an unknown language followed by harmless light shows of red and white surrounding Bishop. The third spell fizzled unimpressively and the tome snapped shut in Sand's hand with a disapproving scowl from the elf.
"Nothing?"
Bishop shook his head in reply.
With a glance and a nod, Sand directed Ivarr forward and the old priest of Tyr laid calloused hands on the bolt wound on the ranger's chest. Flesh knitted under his touch, pain receding then forgotten as Ivarr's divine magic sent goosebumps up Bishop's arms and neck. When the priest stepped back, Bishop felt as rested as if he had slept well all night, pain gone from every corner of his worn body.
Sand and Ivarr exchanged another pointed look before Sand nodded a silent acknowledgement. From beyond the door, a small chair was produced by Bevil, before he and Ivarr stepped from the room, leaving Sand alone to lower himself into the chair and meet Bishop at eye level, who sat on the cot.
"Well?" Bishop asked after a long silence.
"You are alive." Sand replied curtly.
"I could have told you that."
"What I mean to say is that you are not undead. Your living flesh is healed by the power of the gods. Your soul, such as it is, inhabits your body. Tell me, what is your name?"
"Bishop of Redfallows Watch." The ranger replied, echoing Kelemvor's words spoken in the crystal spire.
"Are you sure?" Sand asked.
"Yes, I'm sure." Bishop said incredulously through gritted teeth.
"Who is Knight-Commander of this Keep and from where to they hail?"
"Linn Farlong of West Harbour." Bishop replied.
"The Knight-Captain's companions, can you name them?"
"Is this necessary, Sand? It's me."
"Only if you can't name them." Sand replied, curtly.
Bishop listed the Knight-Captain's travelling companions. His companions, once. Khelgar, Neeshka, Elanee, Qara, Slimy Sand, Grobnar, Casavir, Ammon, Shandra and Zhjaeve.
"And the fate of Shandra Jerro?" Sand enquired, one carefully plucked eyebrow raised.
"Killed in her Uncle's his haven, as you well know. Do you believe me now?"
"I believe that you believe you, which is sufficient." Sand replied with a sigh before gazing up at the window in contemplation. Another long moment of silence passed before Bishop spoke again.
"What happened, Sand? How long has it been?"
The elf considered him a moment before replying. Up close, he looked older, his black hair shot with grey at the temples.
"The year is thirteen hundred and seventy-six by the Dalereckoning. It has been nearly two years since the events that have come to be known as the War of Shadows. Before he died, Black Garius was successful in summoning the King of Shadows to the Vale. The Knight-Captain, in turn, was successful in banishing him to the Nine Hells. We won, no thanks to you."
It was a petty, but not unexpected, response.
"You were not the only one to betray the Knight-Captain, in the end. Neeshka, driven by fear, stood with Garius, as did Qara."
Sand muttered under his breath after saying the sorcerer's name, glancing away briefly. To Bishop, this was not unexpected either. Garius had asked many questions about Linn's companions and had intended to test the bonds of their fellowship with the knowledge he obtained.
"And thanks to you providing the command words," the elf went on, regaining his composure "the Construct was bent to the Reaver's will too. It cut Grobnar in half, right down the middle. I watched it happen."
That explained the silence echoing in the halls of the Keep.
"Elanee, too, fell, when the King of Shadows was summoned. She gave her life to save Linn's."
And what happened to her for gods' sake?
Bishop bit back the blasphemous question, waiting for Sand to go on, sitting on the cot in humbled silence as Sand listed the toll of the ranger's cowardice.
"I did not see the Knight-Captain fall." The elf went on, as though he sensed Bishop's desperation.
"But she was not with us, when we escaped. The Vale is sealed completely now, but our scrying spells could not locate her or Ammon Jerro among the dead. If she is alive, she is far from where magic can find her."
Sand watched Bishop for a reaction, but his face could not be moved.
"We have had no word from Zhjaeve since, who left not long after we returned to the Keep, though she believed the kalach-cha had survived. I do not expect to ever see her again. Sir Nevalle named Khelgar acting Knight-Captain in Linn's absence, but he has the good sense to leave the day-to-day management of the Keep's affairs to me. Which is for the best, as he would hang you from the gate and be done with it. I, however, have a use for you."
The whirl of emotions inside Bishop suddenly turned to fear. Lost in learning the fate of his former companions, he had not considered his own.
"It was chaos when we arrived back at the Keep without the Knight-Captain. It took months before we sent a patrol back into the Mere to search the ruins and, alas, we were not the first to do so. Luskan publicly announced that a survivor had been pulled from the rubble, in fact. A brave paladin of Tyr survived the collapse, trapped under a stone."
Oh no.
"This hero of Neverwinter was charged with killing an esteemed and decorated Luskan agent and was found guilty of the murder in a Luskan court. Crippled and half-mad, he rots in a Luskan jail cell to remind Neverwinter of our fair city's hubris."
Please no.
"Now tell me, do you know the name of the Luskan agent this paladin was found guilty of murdering?" Sand asked, with a cruel smile on his lips.
"Bishop of Redfallows Watch." The ranger sighed.
Slimy Sand's smile widened to a grin.
"Indeed. So why would we simply hang you from the gates when we can hand you over to be tortured and killed by the Luskans, who you also betrayed, in exchange for the life of your falsely accused former companion and love rival?"
Anything but this.