Chapter 136: Sources

Athkatla, the City of Coin, was not one of the many cities which tended to rise with the sun. This was because, more than anything else, the city didn't go to sleep in the first place. Just before dawn, the streets would be filling up with merchants setting out their wares, and businessmen flitting off to their centres of employment, ready for the day's work. They themselves would be taking over from the nightshift of activity presided over by the courtesans and the thieves – of whom there were many in such a centre of iniquity. Different people ruled the day and the night, but Athkatla was never left to its own devices. Everyone had their time.

Adventurers, in particular, tended to be limited to the daytime, as they were not known for being early risers when in the city. Innkeepers were accustomed to encountering them coming downstairs as the sun hung high in the sky, bleary-eyed and hung-over after one of many after a night of general revelry. If they did get up early it was to leave town, and then they would be a jovial, laughing and active lot heading for the city gates.

Seven grim-faced warriors with arms and armour that would put a king's soldiers to shame were not a common sight to be seen marching down the main street in the pre-dawn darkness.

The chill of the night had not yet been chased off by the sun, and so Harrian still had his thick cloak wrapped tightly around his shoulders. For once both scabbards were strapped to his back, the Equaliser and the Daystar hidden from view but very much at hand if needed.

Next to him strode Reynald de Chatillon, wearing the gleaming Pride of the Legion armour – a gift to the party from the Order for dealing with the Fallen Paladins and, in Harrian's eyes, the most fitting possible armour to equip Reynald with. Today would be a test for their new party member as much as anything else, and from the way the former knight carried himself and the assured way he gripped the Sword of Chaos made Harrian's hopes for Reynald quite high.

On the swashbuckler's other side walked Imoen and Jaheira, the latter in her brilliant chainmail and holding herself with all the assurance Harrian had ever associated her with; the former's suit of Elven Chainmail clinking lightly as she moved. That in itself was telling – Imoen would normally be silent in all actions; that she was shifting around needlessly spoke of how nervous she – quite rightfully – felt.

Behind them, three-abreast, strode Anomen, lamplight glinting dangerously off the Flail of Ages; Minsc, giant Warblade already in his hand, ready to cut down the undead; and Aerie, who gripped her quarterstaff with a stoic determination none of the others had yet seen her exuding.

They had marched down to the Underdark before, on a journey of high risk and length. This was the first time they had travelled, exclusively, into battle. This was to be a fight to the death, and none of them intended it to be their death.

Sunlight had not yet penetrated the high buildings of the city yet, and the graveyard was still shrouded in darkness as they approached it. There was still time to wait for the Paladins and the Shadow Thieves, then to commence the attack once the sun rose. But all they would do now was wait.

They came to a halt just in the entrance, Harrian sweeping his cloak back so it wouldn't get in his way when the combat started. There was a grim, oppressive silence that had settled, the tension of the situation getting to them all as they stood around awkwardly, shifting a little.

"Did you hear the one about the gold dwarf, the goblin, and the halfling innkeeper?" Imoen asked at last, her quiet voice nevertheless jerking them out of their reveries as effectively as if she had shouted.

They all turned to stare at her. "What?" Anomen asked, a little numbly.

"It's a joke," said Imoen. Despite this fact, Harrian still thought she looked as if she was going to be sick. He wasn't sure he could blame her.

Reynald blinked, tearing his eyes away from the ornate entrance to the graveyard he had been examining analytically. "Very well…"

"Right." Imoen pasted a sickly smile on her face. "So this dwarf walks into a tavern –"

"Telling jokes?" a cool, cold, and decidedly dangerous voice interrupted Imoen's attempt to lighten the mood. "I can't say it's exactly how I expected to find the conquering heroes of light arrive in an attempt to destroy me."

The Daystar was in Harrian's hand in an instant, and he whirled around to point it threateningly at Bodhi, hearing the others similarly launch into action. The vampire was lounged casually against one of the tombstones by the entrance, looking for all the world as if a team of adventurers come to destroy her and her cult was merely a minor inconvenience.

"Downfalls come from the most unexpected of places," Harrian told her coldly, his sword unwavering from where it was pointed at her throat.

Bodhi's eyes narrowed at him in her first show of any emotion beyond cool indifference. "You are an annoying pest, and one I look forward to erasing. You have survived by luck so far, but now you have wandered right into my willing hands. Luck ends here."

"Really? It was luck that kept us all alive last time? Luck that sent you and your brethren fleeing away from the scourge of righteousness?" Anomen interjected, glaring and swinging the Flail of Ages slightly, clearly itching to use it.

"It was your heritage that kept you alive last time, Child of Bhaal." Although it was Anomen who had spoken, Bodhi's gaze did not waver from Harrian's. "The darkness within you transformed to a full physical manifestation." A cold smile crossed her face. "I heard about what happened the day after, where your old enemies caught up with you somewhat."

Harrian's expression only flickered a little. He remembered that day only too well. "Quint was irrelevant; nothing more than a mere interference from a fop who didn't know when business had moved on."

"Was your transformation that nearly killed half your party irrelevant? I think not." Bodhi sauntered forwards slowly, and although swords were raised more aggressively, nobody moved to attack. They were at an impasse, of sorts – the party not wanting to do anything that could trigger an all-out battle before their allies had arrived, Bodhi possibly not wanting to launch into a battle where she was outnumbered seven to one.

"You are a curiosity amongst your kind, Corias," the vampire continued, looking at him. "Most Children of Bhaal, like Sarevok, keep their distance from others; do not allow close anyone for any reasons other than merely using them. You… have your friends and comrades, and seem very attached to them." There was a pause as Bodhi's gaze flickered to Imoen. "But you are not unique, Corias, it seems."

Imoen met the vampire's gaze without shuddering, though Harrian knew, from the way she tilted her head and clenched her jaw, that she was fighting back any fear or apprehension – it was indeed there, just hidden below the surface. "By the time the sun's high in the sky, Bodhi, you'll be dead and I have my soul back."

Bodhi ignored her, focusing back on Harrian. "It is your weakness, Corias – these friends you keep, these comrades who are more than tools. You do not need them."

Harrian smiled humourlessly. "I have many weaknesses, vampire. But my friends are not one of them."

"No? You rely on them. They are your source of strength." Bodhi laughed a cold laugh. "But you do not need them to be. And they are weaker than you are. When you draw your strength from those weaker than you, it makes your strength tenuous. As your source could so easily be eradicated."

"We are stronger than you think, abomination of nature," Jaheira spoke up, her voice just as icy as Bodhi's. "And Harrian has his own strength; he does not need us as his source. With or without us, he will prevail, and you shall die this day."

Bodhi's expression lightened. "Ah yes, Jaheira… once the guardian, once the guide, and now the lover. I suppose you are the greatest support of all." She smiled disturbingly playfully. "You know how it is to lose that source of strength, don't you. Irenicus took away yours." The smile broadened as Jaheira's iron grip on her scimitar tightened even more. "And you had Harrian Corias here. You managed to push on strongly. I wonder, would he manage to continue so willingly without his source of strength?"

Looking back, Harrian wasn't entirely sure how it had happened so quickly – or indeed, how it had happened at all. When Bodhi launched forwards, Minsc let out a great bellow, Aerie screamed, Reynald spat the most ferocious curse he'd ever heard a knight utter, Imoen muttered the beginnings of a spell, and Anomen blinked and mumbled "Helm!"

Then a sudden, thick fog had surrounded them, even as Harrian launched himself forwards, knowing Bodhi's target without even realising it; going so far as to drop his sword, thinking that… if he got there, if he grabbed Jaheira, it would be…

He collided with the wall, hitting his shoulder against it painfully. But he ignored the ache, ignored the explosion of shock within the party, ignored the terse shouts of greetings from Sir Eric of the Radiant Heart and Arkanis of the Shadow Thieves as they finally arrived seconds too late. All he could hear was the clattering of a scimitar dropped on the floor, and all he could see was the air where Jaheira had once been but was no longer.

The sun peeked over the top of the nearest buildings, and a ray of sunlight shone over to reflect dazzlingly off the polished metal of Belm as it clattered against the stone paving. Jaheira was gone, and Bodhi had taken her.