Part 4.
Amkethran, approximately 2 am, one of those days
A man walked through the opened gate of Amkethran 's crypts. His steps were light and sure. He moved stealthily with one hand barely touching the wall and appeared to be trying to remain unseen.
A pair of mocking eyes watched his every movement. The owner of the eyes was a tall woman, who took particular care to dress darkly. She crawled slowly around a large sarcophagus raised a foot or so above someone's grave on six lion paws, trying to find a better viewpoint, as the man continued to explore the crypt. It was impossible to guess if he knew that he was being watched. Every time he turned toward her, the woman dipped her head, allowing the large hood to slide down or else she lifted gloved hands to her face, with her fingers crisscrossed to make an improvised mask. She realized too late just how pale her face was, and now she was concerned that it might be visible. Last time the woman was in this crypt, it was pitch-black. Now, the light penetrated the crypts, coming from somewhere, from some crack or disguised window, but she did not have enough time to find the source before Balthazar came. The hiding woman was sure that the light was somehow connected with the meeting between her and the monk. Maybe Balthazar knew something she did not. It was an unnerving thought.
When the monk was no more than five steps away, the assassin crouched and slid behind his back. Balthazar felt the motion and launched into a series of kicks and blows, but hit only shadows.
"I am impressed by your prowess, brother, but do not exert yourself so on my account. I am here to make truce...or at least offer it." The woman was very pleased, when the monk had to shift to see her. Even if he was wrong by no more than 10 degrees. She lit an oil lamp and set it down to the floor by her feet.
Balthazar frowned: "Who are you to presume to call me your brother?"
The woman smiled happily. "If you did not know, why did you come? Or do you oft attend secret rendez-vous with beautiful women in these crypts? Is it your secret love-nest, Balthazar?"
Balthazar was silent. When the woman understood that he was not going to reply, her eyes flashed with excitement. He was a wonderful adversary. "My name is Illasera ," she said evenly.
"Illasera died a month ago on a knife of another Bhaalspawn," he answered with matching calm.
It was her turn to pause then. "Whoever you are," Balthazar said finally, "you are a Bhaalspawn. I smell it on you. By that very reason, Illasera, or whatever your name is, I have only one thing to offer you. Death. We are of the same taint, but I am no brother to you. Over the years of training I learned to control Bhaal's spirit inside of me and I shall use it for only one purpose - to destroy us. I shall be the last one to die. And I will die by my own hand. This world has to be cleansed of Bhaal's seed."
The woman, who called herself Illasera, applauded. "Impressive again, brother. So noble, so proud. Did not they teach you that none fell as low as men in whom pride coupled itself with the wish to save the world? Do yourself a favor, listen to me, before we fight to the death, or whatever else you wish us to do so passionately."
"Are you another one of Amelissan's pawns? Your note suggested that you were," Balthazar wondered, almost smiling.
"For a self-proclaimed Bhaalspawn's bane, you know surprisingly little about the dead. Amelissan's traitorous spirit has been cooing over Cyric for two weeks now," the woman replied coldly. "Do not stare at me. Thank me for the good news."
Balthazar took his eyes away from her and massaged his temples. "You are not Illasera. She was nothing but a well-bred bloodhound, cruel to all but her master. Amelissan was Illasera's mistress, and she would not have bitten her hand. You are one of the girls whom Amelissan sold to Jon Irenicus for his labors. Thus, you brought me two pieces of news. My enemy is dead. And another whom I thought dead, still lives. What should I thank you for? "
"For knowledge. But, if you prefer to be ungrateful, then so be it." The woman sounded almost jovial. However in another instant, she grew serious and continued: "I am Rima. Rima Anchev, if you like longer names. Jon Irenicus has killed our sister, Imoen. He ripped her soul out and gave it to his sister, Bodhi," Rima tilted her head and sighed. "If you want to destroy Bhaalspwan, you are my enemy. Do not forget though, that there are others out there still. Sendai. Abazigal. All we suggest is for you to move against one of them before you move against us. We shall destroy the second of our common adversaries in the meantime. Then - well, then we shall meet again, and I fear on much less peaceful terms."
"Us." Balthazar mused. "Rima Anchev.Anchev was the man who started the madness, calling for the War of Sacrifice. He had matured before any of your murderous kin. But he is dead."
"You will have to update your Book of the Living, as well as your Book of the Dead, monk," a thick, callous voice replied from the darkness.
Rima smiled and for a second Balthazar thought that her whole face lit up with the light. And that light did not come from the burning oil. He looked hard, trying to penetrate the shadows dancing on the woman's sharp features. Balthazar remembered something.something that he had read so many times and put aside, failing to comprehend.
They shall join their hands
The Murderer and the Murdered
For devoted - to be herded
For unbelievers to cower
Before one soul, one blood, one power
In all the screaming lands.
Rima nodded, and Balthazar realized that he must have spoken the words out loud. Or was she capable of reading his thoughts? His first impulse was to pretend to give in, and then take Rima unaware, to kill her, to destroy the abominable union, even if Sarevok's blade cut him apart afterwards. But he believed that a traitor cannot defeat a traitor. Balthazar bowed stiffly and announced formally: " I must decline your offer, Rima and Sarevok. I challenge you to a battle now."
Rima's black eyes glistened with amusement. "I almost forgot that you are a human. But you are, just like all of us. Or you were.at least once. You want a challenge? I have one for you. Look."
Rima extended her hand, and a bright spot of light flooded the far end of the crypt. Between the gravestones inscribed with epitaphs, stone statues of mourners and dried flowers stood an armored man. A slight boy of no more than ten, kneeled by his left side. The boy's thin dark braid was wrapped around Sarevok's wrist, like a leash. The boy jerked and squinted, blinded by the light.
Balthazar's face grew stern. He rushed towards the light and stopped in his tracks when he heard Rima's laughter. It sounded like a chiming silver bell.
"How can you be fooled by a mere projection spell, Balthazar?" Rima scolded. "They are not here. But I assure you that whatever Sarevok will do to your son will be very real." To illustrate her words, Sarevok gave the braid a sharp twist, and the boy squealed.
"You will not dare to harm my child!" Balthazar exhaled.
Rima raised her left brow. "Why? Because you will become our mortal enemy? You are my mortal enemy already. You have challenged me to fight to the death. Or because the little brat is your son? Tell me, Balthazar, have you ever given a thought to the sick and starving children in Amkethran as you amassed your army? Did you try to alleviate their suffering? Have you ever cared?"
Balthazar swallowed. "I thought you have not," Rima concluded. "You had a goal instead. A grand goal that made you think that you can come to terms with their suffering. Sarevok and I - we feel the same way about Anzo. And we have a goal." The assassin scowled.
"Sarevok is going to start breaking the boy's bones, Balthazar. All you need to do to stop it from happening is to say "yes" to our offer and to move your men tonight against Sendai. Or Abazigal." Balthazar stared at her, his eyes glowing.
"You are still unconvinced, my stubborn brother?" Rima sighed. "Sarevok?" in the circle of light Sarevok caught the boy's hand and it disappeared for a moment under his large metal gauntlets. It grew so quiet that Bhalthazar heard the snap, and then the boy cried out in pain.only for a moment. Anzo remembered quickly that the boys do not cry, and bit his lip as hard as he could. The little finger on the boy's hand was now twisted at an unnatural angle.
Balthazar knew that he lost. "Stop it," he demanded quietly. "I agree to what you have proposed."
Rima's expression became merry. "I am so glad that we have come to an understanding, brother."
"Yes, " Balthazar agreed, edging away from her. "Forgive me, son!" It took but a split second for a long sharp blade to leave its sheath at his belt and pierce her owner. Rima ran toward him just in time to see the blade to fall to the floor, and catch the dying monk in her arms.
"Coward!" she yelled. Balthazar's eyes did not see her any longer. "At least he met the end he himself wished for," Rima muttered, "That's better than nothing." She looked up at her brother. "You did tell me that he would do it. You know the ways of the honorable folk surprisingly well."
Sarevok chuckled in response, but there was nothing but bitterness in his voice. "We won, Rima," he said simply.
Rima shook her head. "We did not get his troops."
"Think, Rima," Sarevok urged. "What will happen in the monastery after they will find his body?"
Rima threw her hood back and mussed up her hair. "I suppose that whoever takes the command.his second in command.if he is strong and wise, he will frame some beggar for Balthazar's murder, dismiss part of the soldiers and busy himself with restoring the monastery and Amkethran. If he is neither strong, nor wise he will give in to the demands of revenge and will move Balthazar's army against Sendai or Abazigal. They are undeniably suspects.and that's where he can find glory and power.
Sarevok smiled: "If I was him, I would move the army against Sendai's drow cohorts and send a small group of champions against the dragonspawn. Numbers oft spell disaster against dragons. A dragon can kill a lot of cannon fodder and the rest of the herd will break. Army against army - that makes sense."
"Then, if you want to beat the group of champions, we shall hurry to visit our dear oversized relatives," Rima turned away and started for the exit.
"Not so fast, Rima," Sarevok said. "What should we do with the boy? He is of the blood."
"Leave him here," Rima answered softly. "If the blood is strong with him, he shall survive and seek us out in time. If not." she let her voice to trail off as she walked out of the chamber.
Rima was glad to be outside of the crypts. The night was warm and full of fragrance. Only the slimmest sliver of the moon and a handful of far away stars broke the black monotony of the sky. Such nights were rarity and a rogue's delight. With the fresh death still lingering about the crypts, Rima was especially sensitive to the joy of being alive and soon to be immortal. She wonered what was holding up Sarevok, impatient in her desire to use this night to its fullest.
Sarevok finally exited the crypt and jammed his sword into the soft soil of Amkethran. Wiping the blood off. Rima thought furiously. "I told you to leave him there!"
Sarevok took her firmly by the shoulders. "Do not yell, Rima." The anger was pulsating in her throat. He felt it, and said: "Never underestimate someone who seems to be too weak to ever hurt you. Gorion underestimated me. I underestimated you. We are both dead. I will not allow you to make the same mistake."
"Anzo was only a child." Rima's voice sounded weak, even apologetic. She was sagging in his arms. Sarevok let go of her, but she did not fall down. He seemed to be pleased by it.
"Mercy," he said slowly. "You allowed yourself to be merciful. And you tried to lie your way into it. Never do that again. I am not Gorion. A murdered should not have a name, a face or an age in your eyes, Rima. Do you understand?"
"I do," Rima said. "I cannot pity anyone. Not orphans, not children.maybe. especially not children." Sarevok embraced her again and his hand slipped underneath her jacket in an accustomed gesture. "There are things you have to learn yet, Rima," he murmured, as his fingers caressed the soft belly of his lover.
Amkethran, approximately 2 am, one of those days
A man walked through the opened gate of Amkethran 's crypts. His steps were light and sure. He moved stealthily with one hand barely touching the wall and appeared to be trying to remain unseen.
A pair of mocking eyes watched his every movement. The owner of the eyes was a tall woman, who took particular care to dress darkly. She crawled slowly around a large sarcophagus raised a foot or so above someone's grave on six lion paws, trying to find a better viewpoint, as the man continued to explore the crypt. It was impossible to guess if he knew that he was being watched. Every time he turned toward her, the woman dipped her head, allowing the large hood to slide down or else she lifted gloved hands to her face, with her fingers crisscrossed to make an improvised mask. She realized too late just how pale her face was, and now she was concerned that it might be visible. Last time the woman was in this crypt, it was pitch-black. Now, the light penetrated the crypts, coming from somewhere, from some crack or disguised window, but she did not have enough time to find the source before Balthazar came. The hiding woman was sure that the light was somehow connected with the meeting between her and the monk. Maybe Balthazar knew something she did not. It was an unnerving thought.
When the monk was no more than five steps away, the assassin crouched and slid behind his back. Balthazar felt the motion and launched into a series of kicks and blows, but hit only shadows.
"I am impressed by your prowess, brother, but do not exert yourself so on my account. I am here to make truce...or at least offer it." The woman was very pleased, when the monk had to shift to see her. Even if he was wrong by no more than 10 degrees. She lit an oil lamp and set it down to the floor by her feet.
Balthazar frowned: "Who are you to presume to call me your brother?"
The woman smiled happily. "If you did not know, why did you come? Or do you oft attend secret rendez-vous with beautiful women in these crypts? Is it your secret love-nest, Balthazar?"
Balthazar was silent. When the woman understood that he was not going to reply, her eyes flashed with excitement. He was a wonderful adversary. "My name is Illasera ," she said evenly.
"Illasera died a month ago on a knife of another Bhaalspawn," he answered with matching calm.
It was her turn to pause then. "Whoever you are," Balthazar said finally, "you are a Bhaalspawn. I smell it on you. By that very reason, Illasera, or whatever your name is, I have only one thing to offer you. Death. We are of the same taint, but I am no brother to you. Over the years of training I learned to control Bhaal's spirit inside of me and I shall use it for only one purpose - to destroy us. I shall be the last one to die. And I will die by my own hand. This world has to be cleansed of Bhaal's seed."
The woman, who called herself Illasera, applauded. "Impressive again, brother. So noble, so proud. Did not they teach you that none fell as low as men in whom pride coupled itself with the wish to save the world? Do yourself a favor, listen to me, before we fight to the death, or whatever else you wish us to do so passionately."
"Are you another one of Amelissan's pawns? Your note suggested that you were," Balthazar wondered, almost smiling.
"For a self-proclaimed Bhaalspawn's bane, you know surprisingly little about the dead. Amelissan's traitorous spirit has been cooing over Cyric for two weeks now," the woman replied coldly. "Do not stare at me. Thank me for the good news."
Balthazar took his eyes away from her and massaged his temples. "You are not Illasera. She was nothing but a well-bred bloodhound, cruel to all but her master. Amelissan was Illasera's mistress, and she would not have bitten her hand. You are one of the girls whom Amelissan sold to Jon Irenicus for his labors. Thus, you brought me two pieces of news. My enemy is dead. And another whom I thought dead, still lives. What should I thank you for? "
"For knowledge. But, if you prefer to be ungrateful, then so be it." The woman sounded almost jovial. However in another instant, she grew serious and continued: "I am Rima. Rima Anchev, if you like longer names. Jon Irenicus has killed our sister, Imoen. He ripped her soul out and gave it to his sister, Bodhi," Rima tilted her head and sighed. "If you want to destroy Bhaalspwan, you are my enemy. Do not forget though, that there are others out there still. Sendai. Abazigal. All we suggest is for you to move against one of them before you move against us. We shall destroy the second of our common adversaries in the meantime. Then - well, then we shall meet again, and I fear on much less peaceful terms."
"Us." Balthazar mused. "Rima Anchev.Anchev was the man who started the madness, calling for the War of Sacrifice. He had matured before any of your murderous kin. But he is dead."
"You will have to update your Book of the Living, as well as your Book of the Dead, monk," a thick, callous voice replied from the darkness.
Rima smiled and for a second Balthazar thought that her whole face lit up with the light. And that light did not come from the burning oil. He looked hard, trying to penetrate the shadows dancing on the woman's sharp features. Balthazar remembered something.something that he had read so many times and put aside, failing to comprehend.
They shall join their hands
The Murderer and the Murdered
For devoted - to be herded
For unbelievers to cower
Before one soul, one blood, one power
In all the screaming lands.
Rima nodded, and Balthazar realized that he must have spoken the words out loud. Or was she capable of reading his thoughts? His first impulse was to pretend to give in, and then take Rima unaware, to kill her, to destroy the abominable union, even if Sarevok's blade cut him apart afterwards. But he believed that a traitor cannot defeat a traitor. Balthazar bowed stiffly and announced formally: " I must decline your offer, Rima and Sarevok. I challenge you to a battle now."
Rima's black eyes glistened with amusement. "I almost forgot that you are a human. But you are, just like all of us. Or you were.at least once. You want a challenge? I have one for you. Look."
Rima extended her hand, and a bright spot of light flooded the far end of the crypt. Between the gravestones inscribed with epitaphs, stone statues of mourners and dried flowers stood an armored man. A slight boy of no more than ten, kneeled by his left side. The boy's thin dark braid was wrapped around Sarevok's wrist, like a leash. The boy jerked and squinted, blinded by the light.
Balthazar's face grew stern. He rushed towards the light and stopped in his tracks when he heard Rima's laughter. It sounded like a chiming silver bell.
"How can you be fooled by a mere projection spell, Balthazar?" Rima scolded. "They are not here. But I assure you that whatever Sarevok will do to your son will be very real." To illustrate her words, Sarevok gave the braid a sharp twist, and the boy squealed.
"You will not dare to harm my child!" Balthazar exhaled.
Rima raised her left brow. "Why? Because you will become our mortal enemy? You are my mortal enemy already. You have challenged me to fight to the death. Or because the little brat is your son? Tell me, Balthazar, have you ever given a thought to the sick and starving children in Amkethran as you amassed your army? Did you try to alleviate their suffering? Have you ever cared?"
Balthazar swallowed. "I thought you have not," Rima concluded. "You had a goal instead. A grand goal that made you think that you can come to terms with their suffering. Sarevok and I - we feel the same way about Anzo. And we have a goal." The assassin scowled.
"Sarevok is going to start breaking the boy's bones, Balthazar. All you need to do to stop it from happening is to say "yes" to our offer and to move your men tonight against Sendai. Or Abazigal." Balthazar stared at her, his eyes glowing.
"You are still unconvinced, my stubborn brother?" Rima sighed. "Sarevok?" in the circle of light Sarevok caught the boy's hand and it disappeared for a moment under his large metal gauntlets. It grew so quiet that Bhalthazar heard the snap, and then the boy cried out in pain.only for a moment. Anzo remembered quickly that the boys do not cry, and bit his lip as hard as he could. The little finger on the boy's hand was now twisted at an unnatural angle.
Balthazar knew that he lost. "Stop it," he demanded quietly. "I agree to what you have proposed."
Rima's expression became merry. "I am so glad that we have come to an understanding, brother."
"Yes, " Balthazar agreed, edging away from her. "Forgive me, son!" It took but a split second for a long sharp blade to leave its sheath at his belt and pierce her owner. Rima ran toward him just in time to see the blade to fall to the floor, and catch the dying monk in her arms.
"Coward!" she yelled. Balthazar's eyes did not see her any longer. "At least he met the end he himself wished for," Rima muttered, "That's better than nothing." She looked up at her brother. "You did tell me that he would do it. You know the ways of the honorable folk surprisingly well."
Sarevok chuckled in response, but there was nothing but bitterness in his voice. "We won, Rima," he said simply.
Rima shook her head. "We did not get his troops."
"Think, Rima," Sarevok urged. "What will happen in the monastery after they will find his body?"
Rima threw her hood back and mussed up her hair. "I suppose that whoever takes the command.his second in command.if he is strong and wise, he will frame some beggar for Balthazar's murder, dismiss part of the soldiers and busy himself with restoring the monastery and Amkethran. If he is neither strong, nor wise he will give in to the demands of revenge and will move Balthazar's army against Sendai or Abazigal. They are undeniably suspects.and that's where he can find glory and power.
Sarevok smiled: "If I was him, I would move the army against Sendai's drow cohorts and send a small group of champions against the dragonspawn. Numbers oft spell disaster against dragons. A dragon can kill a lot of cannon fodder and the rest of the herd will break. Army against army - that makes sense."
"Then, if you want to beat the group of champions, we shall hurry to visit our dear oversized relatives," Rima turned away and started for the exit.
"Not so fast, Rima," Sarevok said. "What should we do with the boy? He is of the blood."
"Leave him here," Rima answered softly. "If the blood is strong with him, he shall survive and seek us out in time. If not." she let her voice to trail off as she walked out of the chamber.
Rima was glad to be outside of the crypts. The night was warm and full of fragrance. Only the slimmest sliver of the moon and a handful of far away stars broke the black monotony of the sky. Such nights were rarity and a rogue's delight. With the fresh death still lingering about the crypts, Rima was especially sensitive to the joy of being alive and soon to be immortal. She wonered what was holding up Sarevok, impatient in her desire to use this night to its fullest.
Sarevok finally exited the crypt and jammed his sword into the soft soil of Amkethran. Wiping the blood off. Rima thought furiously. "I told you to leave him there!"
Sarevok took her firmly by the shoulders. "Do not yell, Rima." The anger was pulsating in her throat. He felt it, and said: "Never underestimate someone who seems to be too weak to ever hurt you. Gorion underestimated me. I underestimated you. We are both dead. I will not allow you to make the same mistake."
"Anzo was only a child." Rima's voice sounded weak, even apologetic. She was sagging in his arms. Sarevok let go of her, but she did not fall down. He seemed to be pleased by it.
"Mercy," he said slowly. "You allowed yourself to be merciful. And you tried to lie your way into it. Never do that again. I am not Gorion. A murdered should not have a name, a face or an age in your eyes, Rima. Do you understand?"
"I do," Rima said. "I cannot pity anyone. Not orphans, not children.maybe. especially not children." Sarevok embraced her again and his hand slipped underneath her jacket in an accustomed gesture. "There are things you have to learn yet, Rima," he murmured, as his fingers caressed the soft belly of his lover.