Chapter 131: Chaos and Flame
"I am impressed," Anarg declared, with a slight note of surprise as Anomen placed the cup, taken away from the Fallen Paladin upon his ejection from the Order, on the table with a slight clink. "I had not thought it could be done so easily. How, by all the Gods, did you acquire it so easily?" He looked up at Anomen with a slightly surprised expression.
The Helmite shrugged, smirking a little as he exchanged a secretive glance with Imoen. "We have our ways," he replied cryptically. Quite obviously, he thought it would not be a particularly good idea to say that Ryan Trawl had been happy to loan it to them, as long as they could return it afterwards. The party was well-endowed with thieving skills; Anarg could assume what he wanted.
Provided, of course, he did not know the truth. The plan Anomen had laid down depended very much on timing and distractions at the right places, not to mention everyone doing the right thing at the right time. This was why there was only himself and Imoen who had gone to the ship and now stood in Anarg's quarters to deliver the cup. Others had their duties. Anomen himself had to be present for the gesture to be convincing, and Imoen was probably the most lethal member of the party when unarmed, so he had brought her along – in some ways, for his own protection. He wore only simple clothing, thus was unarmed and unarmoured. His training and strength did not render him completely useless in battle, but it was much better to bring a trained mage and rogue along with him for the ride.
"Evidently." Anarg stood up and shook Anomen's hand firmly, his eyes lit up with a glee and certain amount of greed. "You have certainly proven yourself, Lord Delryn – not that I doubted your intentions in the first place." He smiled brightly at them both.
"I'm almost insulted that you thought to do so at all," Anomen replied dryly, the corner of his mouth twisting upwards slightly in a smirk.
"And I'm insulted that you thought me so stupid," Anarg said. The fact that his tone remained calm and his expression didn't flicker at all meant that it took a few seconds for his words to sink in, and for the full meaning to hit the two adventurers.
Before they could react, however, the door flew open and in strode two of the Fallen Paladins, blades in hand, ready to grab Anomen and Imoen and slam them into the walls, pinning them without a chance of wriggling free.
Anarg stepped forward to face them, his eyes flickering from one to the other as they struggled, and a sadistic smile crossed his face. "You fools. You think that I did not know why you came here? You think I have no ears within the Order?" He stepped forwards, his face drawing closer to Anomen's as he sneered at him. "You think I did not know of the mission Trawl gave you? I'm not the fool you take me for, Delryn."
He walked back a few paces and gestured to the cup. "This has very little value to me in itself. It was merely a test. One would only be able to take something like this from the Order if they had been allowed to – not even the Shadow Thieves can penetrate the Halls. That you were able to acquire it so quickly…"
Anomen blinked, the past few seconds having gone by so quickly that his mind was still reeling. "I don't know what you're talking about," he snapped, shaking his head. "Our leader is a rogue who can make the Shadow Thieves quail and do his bidding as he tells them. You think a cup is a challenge?" he demanded. It wasn't that he was lying there, after all. Well, not much. So the Shadow Thieves didn't quail, but they had done Harrian's bidding… and even though their agreeing to help the party had nothing to do with Harrian's thieving skills, little things like that could be glossed over.
This was not good.
Anarg laughed and shook his head. "Silence, Delryn. I think it's about time to give you what you deserved, for not surprising or disappointing me. I do so hate being wrong about things." He paused, scratching his chin. "Now, maybe you could spend some time down in the hold with those slaves you're probably so desperate to free… yes, you're in good physical shape, good for labour." His eyes flickered over to Imoen, who had stopped struggling and looked as if she was thinking at a rate of knots. "And you… yes, I'm sure you'd fetch a nice price," Anarg continued, looking her up and down. Anomen made a futile noise of frustration.
The leader of the Fallen Paladins chuckled loudly. "What ails you, Delryn? Finding it hard to understand that I am being so… mercenary about all of this? It's what I am." He paused, and clasped his hands together, taking a deep breath. "We shall be sailing tonight, and your comrades will be unable to chase you. But it seems as if…"
Whatever things seemed to be, Anarg didn't get a chance to explain as a loud boom noise was heard, and the ship shook mightily. The two Fallen Knights clasping their prisoners managed to keep their footing and their hold, but Anarg staggered for a few moments, clutching at the table in his quarters to steady himself.
"What in Bane's name…?" His voice trailed off, and he hurried to the window, sticking his head out to peer around the side of the boat and try to work out just what was going on out there. "Fire!" he screeched at last as yelling and the sound of combat could be heard, along with, indeed, the crackling of flames.
He whirled around to quickly backhand Anomen, his face alight with fury. "This is all your doing! I'll see you hang for this, you cur!" Anarg spat, grimacing. "This is all that fool Reynald's fault, I'm sure of it."
"Anarg, you've been wrong about many things in the past, but this is one of the few times you are absolutely correct," a voice from the doorway declared in cool, measured tones. Before anyone could react there was the twang of a crossbow string, and the knight holding Anomen fell with a shriek, a bolt sticking through the slit in his helmet, blood gushing liberally from the hole.
Reynald pulled his longsword out of its sheath for his second dramatic arrival in as many days, and levelled it at the second knight, who let go of Imoen and lunged for the turncoat in their midst. Reynald easily blocked the blow, but before a more destructive piece of swordplay in limited quarters could take place, Imoen had leapt for the cup on Anarg's desk and clobbered the knight around the head with it.
With the protection of his helmet it wasn't enough to knock the man out, but it stunned him for a few seconds, and as he staggered, dizzy, Reynald easily ran him through, then turned to face Anarg.
The unarmed leader of the Fallen Paladins cursed quietly and spat on the floor as he backed off into one of the corners in his quarters. "Damn you, de Chatillon. I'll have your head for this, I swear it…"
"No, Anarg, I think the courts will have yours." Reynald stopped to consider this for a moment, then inclined his head slightly and shrugged. "And if the Gods will it, they may have mine. But you will not."
Anarg drew himself up straight and glowered at them all. "I will not come quietly – you will have to kill me before I will submit to you!" he growled, clenching his hands into fists. "You will kill more, Reynald? Won't that hurt your supposed redemption?"
"I have no 'supposed redemption'. I have only attempted atonement," Reynald said softly, sheathing his blade. He glanced over at Imoen. "My lady, if you could pass me that cup for a moment, please?" he asked lightly, then nodded his thanks as the pink-haired mage passed it over.
Anarg tensed up, suspicious and unknowing but ready to fight as Reynald drew closer, tossing the cup from hand to hand. His posture was so relaxed, so amiable, that Anarg was obviously taken by surprise when his former lieutenant curled his fist around the cup and smashed his former leader around the face with it.
Reynald tossed the cup to Anomen as Anarg sank like a sack of potatoes. "Trawl will doubtless want that back," he mused, shrugging, then glanced at the unconscious fallen paladin. "What are we to do with him?"
Anomen stared at Anarg's inert form for a long moment, thinking as rapidly as he could with the ringing of steel and the shouts of battle in his ears. "He is a rich nobleman. The courts will have no justice for him that he cannot buy his way out of."
Imoen raised an eyebrow. "I think we have plenty of witnesses who might be able to create a solid case against him."
"And for what? A year of imprisonment?" Anomen looked pained. "The Order will know what to do with him," he declared at last, resolution crossing his face as he nodded. "The boats are ready?" he asked Reynald briskly.
Reynald nodded firmly. "Aerie is loading the slaves onto the boats as we speak. Keldorn, Haer'Dalis and Minsc are making themselves responsible for the chaos you can hear out there," he explained wryly, then stepped forwards and yanked the flaming torch on the wall away from its fixtures. "We can get out in the confusion."
Anomen leant down and heaved Anarg to his feet, Reynald assisting him as best he could with a torch in his hand. Imoen moved to open the door, relieving one of the downed Fallen Paladins of his dagger as she did so.
Outside, up on deck, chaos was reigning. The furled sails were blazing merrily, and the forward mast had already fallen, setting alight the bow of the ship. The Fallen Paladins, most of them unarmoured and groggy as they ran around in the chaos, seemed to have little clue what was going on, and even less as those of their number who gathered their wits about them and made a move were felled by the shadowy shapes of Keldorn, Minsc and Haer'Dalis. In the discord some were even fighting each other, faces unseen and panic running high – and amongst all this, steadily, a flow of slaves, under the watchful eye of Aerie, were making their way to the boats moored alongside the Divine Thunder, where highly confused Athkatlan Guards waited to collect them. It was almost a miracle that Anomen had managed to enlist their help, but with the necessary proof and backing of the Order, the task had been made easier than it might have initially seemed.
A young, sallow-faced knight wearing little more than a tunic and his longsword hurtled up to them as they emerged from down below, looking exceptionally panicked and increasingly bewildered as he saw them drag Anarg up. "Sir Reynald!" he said, his voice a little high pitched. "What is going on here?"
Reynald didn't answer at once, merely stood up straighter, and before he could gather his thoughts the youth had put two and two together. "Sir Reynald!" he repeated, sounding a lot more indignant and angry this time, realisation striking. "Treachery!"
Anarg was dropped as the trio jumped away from the sword-waving youth, the unarmed Anomen backing away from the fight and casting his eye out for a weapon, Imoen moving back for a safer spot to cast a spell or two. Reynald, however, didn't bat an eyelid. Transferring his torch to his right hand, freeing up his sword arm, blade struck blade quickly enough as he found himself in his second fight of the evening.
Even as Anomen desperately searched the nearest body for a weapon he could use and Imoen raised her hands, ready to cast magic missile, Reynald blocked the blow from the youth and swung the torch at him. Flame touched cloth, and all thoughts of the battle or his turncoat superior evidently flew from the young fallen knight's mind as he found himself set alight.
Imoen's incantation did not go to waste, however, as the nearest other warrior who looked set to intervene found himself struck by several shining red orbs, and toppled backwards over the railings and into the sea. She flashed a grin at the still unarmed and increasingly frustrated Anomen, then glanced at the boats. "We should get out of here, before more of them gather their wits," she said.
"Agreed," Reynald intervened. "Now, if only –"
"If only what?"
They whirled around to see the formerly unconscious Anarg on his feet, clutching the sword the youth had been wielding seconds before, the light of battle in his eyes and a very angry expression on his face. His gaze fell on Reynald. "You'll die for your treachery, de Chatillon."
Reynald looked briefly frustrated, but raised his sword slowly in a salute to the other Fallen Paladin. "And you shall die for your evil, Anarg," he replied softly, then glanced at the two adventurers. "Get to the boats. I shall deal with him," he told them.
Anomen lingered for a moment, but an insistent tugging from Imoen made him turn and head for the side, where Aerie was herding the last of the slaves onto the boats and Keldorn and the others were falling back to. They exchanged wordless glances as they descended the rigging to get into the nearest of the small dinghies, all highly aware of how there was little time to waste as the Divine Thunder continued to blaze away.
"Tell the other boats to go!" Anomen yelled at their oarsmen as the six adventurers settled on their dinghy. "We have to wait for Reynald," he continued, against his own wishes sitting down so as not to rock the boat as the others also settled themselves.
Keldorn, looking worn and weary but with the light of battle in his eyes, leant over towards Anomen. "Lad, we should be going. This ship is burning as we speak, and it is not wise to linger for very long," he told him.
"We're not leaving without Reynald," Anomen replied staunchly, folding his arms across his chest and looking back at the flaming shape of the ship they were moored to. He paused for a moment. "What was that explosion we heard when you began your attack?" he asked at last, frowning.
Keldorn's expression was one of both amusement and bother as he answered. "A little surprise we were able to buy off a gnome peddling in the Government District," he replied vaguely, his face hard. "But… we loaded the ship up with it. Magical in nature, I don't know what it is… Jansen called it 'Flamepowder'. But, Anomen… we filled the ship with it. When the flames reach it, the ship will explode." Using this as enough of an explanation, he turned to the oarsmen and briskly told them to set off towards the shore.
Imoen frowned, chewing on her lower lip. "We're not leaving Reynald, are we?" she asked anxiously, her eyes flickering back towards the deck of the Thunder.
"I'd rather not have us all blown up to the realms of oblivion, my wildflower, in waiting for one man who can most likely take care of himself," Haer'Dalis, looking as tired as Keldorn, replied casually and not even slightly reassuringly.
As they drew further and further away from the ship, their eyes all still fixed on the deck of the Thunder, signs of the fight between Reynald and Anarg became noticeable. Two shapes moved quickly alongside the railings, their swords flashing in the firelight as they duelled. A swipe from Anarg knocked Reynald to the side, and as he staggered, his sword flew from his hand and over the side, splashing into the water.
Anarg moved forwards, blade upraised, but before he could strike the staggering Reynald, there was another loud boom, and the entire ship lurched with the explosion, rising out of the water and falling again with an enormous splash. Anarg was knocked to the floor, but Reynald, gripping to the railing fiercely, remained upright just long enough to throw himself overboard and into the murky waters of the ocean, even as the ship was racked with another explosion from this mysterious weapon Keldorn had acquired.
Anomen was on his feet in a moment, shock on his face. "He's fully armoured, the fool! He'll sink like a stone!" he yelled. Without hesitating or apparently even thinking, the Helmite shoved past Keldorn and Minsc, then dove into the water himself, evidently intent on rescuing the Fallen Paladin.
Imoen grabbed the arm of the Athkatlan guard directing the oarsmen. "Turn us about," she directed. "We have to pick them up."
"But –"
"Do it!" she snapped uncharacteristically grimly, her eyes fixed on the murky depths of the seas approximately at where Anomen ought to emerge if he reached Reynald.
As the boat drew closer, several oarsmen allowing the little ship to move quickly, Keldorn was frowning deeply. "That foolish boy… Reynald may have helped us, but to die for him is not…" His eyes flickered up to the Thunder, where the now separate parts of the ship were beginning to sink slowly.
Eventually, after several agonising seconds, the surface of the water broke, and Anomen emerged, clutching a spluttering Reynald to Chatillon. The boat drew near them, and an oarsman stuck out an oar for them to hang onto as they got their breath back before attempting to clamber back onto the boat.
Keldorn's eyes rose to the sinking ship far closer to them than he would have liked, and the ageing inquisitor folded his arms across his chest. "Well," he mused, frowning slightly but unable to smirk a little at the two sopping wet knights climbing out of the water. "I think the Order will be pleased."