Chapter 69: Let it Rain

Depressingly, it was a dark and stormy night. Rain struck Athkatla in one of the first storms of the season. The unpaved streets of the city turned from dirt to mud; a thick, enveloping mud that consumed shoes and even a few small gnomes. Inns were overrun by anyone trying to seek shelter, and the temples opened their doors to those who could not afford to rent rooms – all but the temple of Talos, for followers of the Stormbringer revelled and cheered in the might and strength of their god.

The city gates were excessively busy as nearby farmers, their lands destroyed by quick floods, tried to come to Athkatla for shelter. Brusque, wet, and irritable guards usually turned them away, for it was past the closing hour and they did not want to attempt to drag the gates open through the mud.

It was at this hour the party of seven returned to the city. Whilst they had made good time in the morning, the atrocious weather that had broken mid-afternoon had slowed them down considerably. Nobody had dared suggest that they pause and find shelter.

All of them were bone weary, soaking wet, and miserable, but Harrian had not allowed them the luxury of a rest. He had been running off pure fury and adrenaline the whole morning, shaking with an inner rage and fear at the thought of what the Harpers might do to Jaheira. He held no illusions that they would hear her out.

The great doors of Athkatla were closed, and thus he marched directly up to them and hammered loudly on the wooden gates with the hilt of the Sword of Balduran. "Let us in, you bastards!" he bellowed over the racket of the rain and thunder.

There was no reply, so Anomen – particularly miserable in his armour – stepped forwards and swung his mace heavily against the wood. "In the name of the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart, open this door!"

Keldorn leant forwards in his saddle. Edumar was cold and wet and miserable, and the aged knight felt so numb he could barely sit up straight. Yet he still managed to speak. "Squire Anomen, we are not acting in the name of the Order. It is not quite right to invoke their name needlessly."

Anomen shrugged, the cold and wet sending him beyond caring about bringing down Keldorn's wrath. "If it gets us through the gates, then I will pay the price," he responded sharply, shaking his head and sending more rainwater flying over Harrian.

A hatch in the door opened, showing them the particularly unhappy face of an Amnish guard. "I don't care if you're bloody Tyr himself; it's after hours. I'm not opening this sodding door for you."

Keldorn dismounted creakily, and passed Edumar's reins to Imoen before stepping forward. "My good man, we have been travelling the whole day. We are tired and wet and have homes to return to. We were delayed by the rain."

The guard rolled his eyes. "Look, mate, no offence, but…"

His voice trailed off as an unidentifiable shout was heard from behind him, and he turned. It was clearly someone with authority who had arrived, for the guard's face became respectful, and it seemed as if he was losing whatever debate or argument was being held – they couldn't hear the distinct words above the rain.

Eventually, the guard turned back to face them, looking sulky. "It's your lucky day, sunshine," he said, pouting. "We got a tin can 'ere who says to let you in." The hatch then swung shut, and there was absolute silence for about a minute.

Harrian turned to look at the others. "If he's just trying to shut us out, I'm really not –"

He was interrupted by a horrific groaning noise, which sounded remarkably like a large wooden gate trying to be opened when it really didn't want to be. Then a loud bang, as the guards finally wrenched the gate from the mud that had settled around its bottom and dragged it across the slimy, wet ground just wide enough to let the group in.

Harrian drew his cloak around himself closely as he waited for the others to enter the city before him. His cloak hung heavily on his shoulders, weighted down by the water, and he kept his gaze on the floor to ensure he didn't slip over as he followed the rest of the party.

Which is why he didn't notice a tall, bulky figure swinging at him, and he fell like a rock to the floor as he was struck on the side of his head with what felt like the hilt of a sword. As stars exploded before his eyes, he barely managed to reason that it was better than being hit with the bladed end.

Anomen leapt at Harrian's attacker, and Keldorn pulled the Hallowed Redeemer out, taking an offensive stance towards a second, shadowed figure as Minsc readied his blade. Behind them, Yoshimo notched an arrow to his bow, Haer'Dalis unsheathed his short swords, and Imoen raised her hands, the beginnings of an incantation on her lips.

"Hold, squire!" Corias's attacker called out, raising a shield to make Delryn's mace bounce harmlessly off it. "I am not presenting a threat to you. I merely wished to ensure the Bhaalspawn was contained."

Although it was dark, Anomen visibly paled. "Prelate Wessalen!" he murmured numbly, audibly quaking. "I… forgive me, I simply thought…" Behind him, the others slowly set down their weapons, Keldorn with a grimace of embarrassment.

"Do not trouble yourself, lad," the second figure intoned, stepping out of the shadows to reveal himself as Sir Ryan Trawl. "It was an easy enough mistake." The paladin leant down and grabbed the dazed Harrian by the shoulders, pulling him upright. "No sudden moves, Bhaalspawn, or I'll split you from head to toe."

Keldorn frowned. "Ryan… what is the meaning of this? Corias here is no more dangerous than you or I, as I have assured you all many times before. You have no need to fear his Bhaal blood."

Prelate Wessalen straightened up haughtily. "On the contrary, Sir Keldorn, we have every reason to fear his blood. I know you are not a student of the writings of Alaundo, but if you were… you would understand the panic that has struck the Order. Why many are bidding us to simply end his threat before he can come to full strength."

Anomen shifted uncomfortably, staring at the floor. "But… that's injustice," he muttered unhappily, clearly feeling a need to speak out but not wishing to anger his superiors. "You cannot condemn a man simply because he might perform an injustice."

Trawl nodded sternly. "Aye, lad," he agreed. "We are giving Corias every chance he needs. But he is not the direct reason we are here. Someday, we may have to come and ensure he does not present a threat to civilization, but as he has not, so far, been anything but a servant of righteousness, that day is not today."

Keldorn returned the Hallowed Redeemer to its sheath slung to his back. "Then why are you here, and why did you deem it necessary to knock out Corias?" the paladin asked. Though his tone was respectful, there was an edge in there showing he was quite unamused by the situation.

Wessalen shook his head, sighing. "Sir Keldorn Firecam, the matter of the Bhaalspawn Harrian Corias is no longer your problem." He turned to face the Inquisitor grimly. "Your participation in the quest is ended. This is not up for debate, though I would like to talk to you at length later."

Harrian blinked groggily, his vision still swimming before him as he saw Trawl grasping him by the shoulders. "Eh?" he mumbled, raising a hand to swipe at his eyes. "Huh? Whassat? Hmm?"

Ryan rolled his eyes, letting go of the thief. He would have slid to the floor had not Imoen and Anomen stepped forwards to support him. "Yet the real reason we are here concerns you, Squire Delryn."

The cleric's face turned ashen, and he would have dropped Harrian had Minsc not intervened to help hold the swashbuckler up. Anomen said nothing for a long moment; merely stared at his three superiors, eventually settling on Wessalen. "Prelate… What have I done?"

"You have done nothing yet," the far older man replied quietly, his voice confident and reassuring. "That is why I am here. To save you." Comprehension failed to fill Anomen's face. "From the Bhaalspawn, and how he could corrupt you. Come back to us, Anomen."

Delryn gaped for a moment, opening his mouth mutely. There was a long silence before he found his voice. "Prelate… Harrian is a righteous man – perhaps not the most lawful of individuals, but he fights for right… I can serve goodness at his side, I could –"

"You could be corrupted by him, serve as his right-hand man in bringing Faerûn to its knees under the tide of chaos the Bhaalspawn shall bring with them," Trawl intervened, his face grim. "It is not too late. Return to the Order, Anomen. We do not want to lose you." Ryan stepped solemnly towards his squire. "This is not a request."

Delryn's eyes flared, and Imoen saw for a moment the same rage and anger in his eyes that had been present at Saerk Farrahd's estate. "And what if I am to refuse?" he demanded defiantly, straightening up boldly.

Any trace of kindness or pity fled from Prelate Wessalen's face. "If you refuse; if you agree to carry on with this creature of darkness as he walks the narrow path between light and shadow – a path which shall deviate from righteousness soon, I guarantee you – then you shall not be welcome in the Order."