Chapter 124: We All Fall Down
"I hate this," Imoen mumbled sulkily as the group strode down the streets of Athkatla, heading for the Bridge District. Their current route from the cleaner, more high-class northern side to the slums of the southern side brought them alongside the river, and so the pink-haired mage managed to distract herself by balancing on and walking along the small wall at the side of the road, uneven cobblestones on one side, the blue – well, more brown, really – waters of the river on the other. Anomen had given her nervous glances at first, but hadn't dared to pass comment. Since the night before, neither of them had spoken about the kiss, and although it loomed on the horizon like a dark cloud, they were sitting and pretending that the horizons were clear. It seemed to be working well.
Keldorn sighed the long-suffering sigh of a father who knows all too well the various moods young girls can have. "Which 'this' in particular do you refer to?" he asked tentatively, and not without a touch of irritation. As they walked, every other step he would twitch slightly, the Doomplate rubbing a little in ways he was unused to. He had worn the Firecam plate for maybe twenty years and not known any other armour; to be expected to adapt 'at his age', as he had said, was a little unreasonable. His grip on the Sword of Chaos was only slightly more solid, for though it was not the Hallowed Redeemer, a blade was a blade was a blade, and if you could kill someone with one you could kill someone with all. Or so the paladin had said when they had geared up that morning; Minsc had been sharpening the Warblade and would probably have not listened anyway; Anomen had been his usual sociable and not even slightly thoughtful, introverted and troubled self, and Imoen had consigned herself to nodding and smiling until she got neck cramp.
"This 'this'!" she replied vaguely, as if it was obvious and he just wasn't paying attention. This elicited some confused glances from the other three, and with a sigh, Imoen tugged at the cloak she wore over her elven chainmail. "Harrian being too tight-fisted with the gold to buy a magic license. What with all the work we've done in the city, you'd have thought he'd have made such an… investment." She wrinkled her nose slightly.
"He doesn't want to attract the attention of the Cowled Wizards. Who knows what back doors they went through to get you from Spellhold. It might be best to just… stay away from them?" Anomen guessed, then threw her a pained sideways glance. "My lady… do you have to always place yourself in such precarious positions so needlessly?" he whimpered.
"Yes," Imoen answered, a little sulkily, sticking her tongue out at him. "Without a magic license, I can't be a mage anymore! I shall have to return to my roguish roots, like back north, and back at Candlekeep." A wistful expression crossed her face for a moment before she shook her head. "So if I'm going to be a thief, then I'm going to need to hone my body. I'm all out of practice. Physical perfection is always needed for the master thief," she added, smirking at the slight shade of pink the Helmite turned as she said that. She hadn't quite realised before how easy – or fun – it was to get him to react like that. He really was quite cute when he was embarrassed. Though perhaps… this was not the time to digest such nuggets of consideration? No… there was plenty of time to think about this. Yes…
She hopped down as they approached the large archway in the walls running through the various sections of the city to allow them into the Bridge District. According to the Order and the information Anomen had been given, Anarg and his Fallen Paladins were operating down near the river, engaging in distasteful activities such as slavery and other crimes under the name and claim of righteous knights, something which evidently left the Order very miffed. Why they were so intent on avoiding bloodshed, Imoen wasn't all too sure, considering what these former paladins had supposedly done. She didn't like it, she wished it didn't happen, but in her experience, lives would only be spared in the world if it were practical for most people, and she'd seen little to suggest that paladins were really any different.
She didn't really believe that the Order were misusing them – they were knights, after all, and despite what they'd done to Anomen and to Harrian, manipulation of this level didn't really seem to be their sort of thing. Anomen trusted them and Keldorn trusted them, so whatever was going on, if there was anything suspicious in this situation, she had a feeling it wasn't the Radiant Heart that were being the dodgy party.
"Down by the river, you say?" Anomen was asking Keldorn as they carried on discreetly past Lieutenant Aegisfield, whom they gave vague but polite nods. The guard had never guessed the role they had played in bringing down the Skinner murderer, but evidently wasn't complaining too loudly, with the commendations he had received after the deaths in the Bridge District had been reduced significantly as a result.
The aged paladin nodded firmly, his expression unseen behind the 'tin-can' helmet they'd shoved him in. "Sir… ah, Reynald de Chatillon owns a ship which I believe they have been launching their affairs from. The Shadow Thieves operate down at the Docks District, so a small boat can easily lurk in the Bridge District unseen," he commented darkly.
"Then that would be a good place to look," Anomen pointed out, evidently nervous as he led the party through the streets of the district. Though the bridge was not as seedy as the docks, there were still rogues and other low-lifes lurking in the area; and though it was not as mercantile as the promenade, there were still many merchants hawking their wares. The party knew the area well, passing by the Five Flagons, their old haunt before moving in to the Delryn estate, and so the path down towards the small piers off the bridge was a swift and smooth one.
"Now remember, lad," Keldorn murmured to Anomen as they descended one of the rickety staircases to the lower levels, "the Fallen are well equipped, as well-trained as any of our brethren, and outnumber us vastly. Any group would be foolish to take them on in outright combat…"
"You mean, like the group that's currently fighting them?" Imoen, a step or two ahead, asked curtly, her head cocked slightly to one side as she listened to what the less attentive in the group – i.e., all of the others – had not noticed.
Keldorn and Anomen exchanged looks as Imoen hurried ahead without waiting for their replies, Minsc by her side, pulling the giant Warblade from where it was slung over his back – its permanent place of residence when not in use.
"We should perhaps move, lad," Keldorn sighed, shifting to step after them, almost dragging a stunned Anomen along behind him. "Or that fiery lass of yours is quite liable to get herself – and us, no doubt – into some serious trouble."
"She's not…" Anomen stopped as he realised this was not the time or place, and nodded as he pulled the Flail of Ages out and picked up the pace, breaking into a jog to catch up with Minsc and Imoen, who had only just reached the scene of the fight.
By now they were on the paths by the riverside right under the bridge, and so half of the fighting was concealed in shadow. But the occasional flash of light on metal and dim shapes moving through the darkness made what was going on quite clear to see – and the party was used to combat in the half-light from the Underdark, so it did not take them long to appraise the situation. Whatever the Fallen Paladins were doing, it had irritated somebody, who had reacted quite violently.
"This is our chance," Anomen hissed to Imoen, who nodded quickly. "Saving the day… has to be a good introduction." With that, and a quick gesture to Keldorn and Minsc, he lunged forwards into the fight, the Flail of Ages whirling dangerously, ready to pummel these dark-clothed rogues attacking the Fallen Paladins. Almost automatically he had left Imoen at the back, momentarily forgetting that she would not be fighting with magic as usual, and so left her at the sidelines, free to deal with the fight as she wished.
The rogues were evidently taken aback by this interference from unknown quarters, and the Fallen confused but inspired. Chaos quickly broke out amongst the dark-clothed attackers, causing a few of their number to fall in the confusion, but retreat was evidently not an option as a large, muscular fighter locked in combat with a man Anomen recognised as Sir – no, not sir! – Reynald barked orders at his rogues, and they redoubled their efforts. Even with the group's intervention, the Fallen were still outnumbered, and hard-pressed in the fight. Reynald in particular was having trouble with this broad-shouldered and dirty-fighting leader who had him fighting close up, which a warrior battling with a claymore would find quite difficult.
Even as Anomen moved quickly through the battle, splitting skulls with the Flail of Ages, Keldorn and Minsc at his back, it was evidently unlikely that they would reach Reynald before a dagger was slipped in between the plates of his armour. But where was Anarg?
As they watched and moved, however, the shadows behind the rogues' leader shifted somehow, and Imoen inexplicably emerged, short sword upraised and moving quickly to plunge it deeply, skilfully into the leader's unprotected back.
He fell with a gurgle, Reynald visibly trying not to jump at this second unexpected intervention. The rogues, who had been hard-pressed in the fight before, lost all confidence as they saw their leader fall, and as the Fallen pushed forwards with this new victory, it did not take long for them to withdraw and scatter into the darkness.
There were a few seconds of silence as the Fallen regarded their unexpected saviours whom, amongst themselves in a handful of moments, had managed to turn the tide of the battle. Reynald in particular was fixing Imoen with a long and surprised, if mildly appreciative look… until he caught sight of Anomen.
"Delryn! What in the Nine Hells are you doing here?" he asked with even more surprise, but a distinct amount of cheer taking over the trepidation on his face. "Last I heard, you'd disappeared off the face of Amn with that murdering thief of yours!"
Anomen frowned deeply as he strode over towards Reynald, shaking his head. "If, by 'thief of mine', you mean my friend Harrian, then that is slightly correct. But it matters not, as I have returned. It reached my ears that Anarg had finally walked away from the Order. I suppose I must commend him for his… suitable action."
Paladins, by their most stereotypical nature, are not the most adept at dealing with dishonest activity. Anomen, having been rather educated by paladins – or at least Helmites, who aren't necessarily all that much better – was really not all that different, and was about as convincing in his acting as Haer'Dalis was when he was trying to be 'nice' to the cleric. Fortunately, he was dealing with those who had undergone a similar training, and were currently lacking in their paladinic 'sensors', as it was, so this was not too much of a problem.
Imoen gave him a discreet glare at his wooden acting, then managed to laugh brightly and convincingly. "Suitable? They're a waste of time, these 'noble' paladins. Just spend their time running around Amn getting outraged at everything!"
Anomen smiled slightly, Imoen's light-hearted delivery and his own small misgivings about the Order making it a little easier to find the comment amusing. "An accurate description of those blowhards, my lady," he mused wryly, then glanced back at Reynald. "After my own departure from the Halls, I thought it not necessarily a bad idea to… re-establish contact?"