Chapter 139: Death's Lantern
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The heavy bag full of sand shook with every strike, shuddering under the blows and swinging on the thick rope that suspended it in the air. He hadn't paid it much attention before now; had just known it was one of Anomen's training toys and left it in the far corner of the expansive cellar of the Delryn estate. Now, however, it was a very tempting way to release all of his pent-up frustration.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The others hurried around busily upstairs, preparing for the final departure for Suldanessellar. There was no telling how long they'd be gone, which didn't particularly bother Harrian that much. He wanted to be gone from this wretched city, with its corruption and its coin and its politics, as soon as was physically possible. Once Irenicus was dead… well, who knew where his path would then take him? His destiny was still out there, ruling him. He just intended to be ruled far away from Amn. The country sickened him. Even the north was preferable to this. Once he was free – if, indeed, he ever was free – he planned to head for Waterdeep, Neverwinter, Luskan… wherever his skills would take him. He was still young, still only twenty-two, and already more powerful than some twice his age. A way of life would not be hard to find. He had never had a home. His home had always been whatever road he travelled at any given moment.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
He hadn't thought about any future with Jaheira. It had always been a dream to even consider it; something just beyond all reach, overshadowed by Irenicus and by his heritage. And a part of him had not dared to look that far ahead; had only live for the now. And the now was gone.
Thump. Thud. Clatter.
Harrian whirled around, lowering his sore and bruised firsts to see Aerie standing by a small rack of daggers that she'd knocked over. From the timid expression on her face, he realised she'd done it to get his attention. For a fleeting instant, he wondered how long she'd been there.
Harrian nodded solemnly and turned to resume his punching. "Are you leaving, then?" he asked curtly, not looking at her. Best she depart on her own life as soon as possible, instead of lingering with this tainted group of adventurers.
"There's a caravan to Waterdeep leaving this evening. I'm going with it," Aerie said falteringly. "Unless you need my services, now…?"
Harrian didn't stop in his pummelling. "Anomen's a good enough cleric for us. Imoen's a skilled mage. You should go."
"I just wonder that –"
"Go. You helped today. Now live your own life. Whatever kept you here – a debt, a bond, a sense of honour – consider it ended. You've repaid your debt, do not need to remain here to consider there to be a bond between us, and honour is not something to die for. Go." Harrian still didn't look around.
He heard Aerie pause, then tentatively head for the stairs. "I… I'm sorry," she said at last. "And… good luck, Harrian. May the Gods watch over you."
He didn't answer, and only paused in his beating when he heard her head up the stairs. They haven't been watching very much lately…
Thump. Thump. Thump.
He didn't know what time it was, didn't know how long he'd been there, didn't know when he would leave. That all seemed to be irrelevant.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
"You really should eat something."
Harrian paused to see Reynald, out of armour and looking freshly bathed, step up to the workbench on Harrian's right to set down a plate of bread and beef, and a tankard of something.
"Why? Eating's for the living," Harrian said, resuming his punching. Reynald didn't answer.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
"You're doing it all wrong, clenching your fist like that. You're just going to break a finger that way," Reynald told him at last, giving his fighting stance a critical glance.
"That'll heal."
"Not soon. Anomen's gone back with Imoen to the cemetery, and we still have to stock up on potions."
"Then I'll survive until either Anomen gets back or it sorts itself out."
Reynald grimaced a little. "What's possessed you to do this, anyway?" he asked at last. "You strike me as a man who relies on wits and skill rather than brute strength. I wouldn't have thought you to use a punching bag to hone your abilities."
Thump. Thump. Thump.
"It's something Khalid always used to get me to do when we first started out on the road," Harrian explained at last.
"Khalid?"
"Jaheira's husband." Reynald nodded, wearing an expression of realisation. It seemed that Khalid's existence was not news to him. "He taught me how to fight. Jaheira taught me how to think. Montaron taught me how to steal. Xzar taught me what not to do. Dynaheir taught me self-discipline – maybe a little badly."
Thump. Thump. Thump.
"Kivan taught me that revenge can be hollow. Shar-Teel taught me that hatred gives you strength. Viconia taught me that cynicism keeps you alive. Ajantis taught me that the dictates of honour can be more destructive than empowering."
Thump. Thump. Thump.
"These are fellows I met up north. Not all grand, upstanding members of society, but warriors with their own moral code – well, maybe not Montaron and Xzar – and with a role to play in life. They're all dead now." Harrian chuckled humourlessly. "I even killed Ajantis myself, at a time when I thought he was free of me forever."
Thump. Thump. Thump.
"It's ironic, really. All of these people, these people that taught me something before Irenicus, who helped me in the past, are dead. Or, in the case of Imoen and Minsc, are still bound to me by something. The only exception is Edwin, who's alive and well somewhere else… and didn't actually help or teach me anything in the first place." Again, the cold chuckle. "And they call me crazy when I get concerned about those around me dropping death. I'm a son of murder. Death is all people get from me."
Thump. Thud.
The sandbag had, after repeated beating on a thick but slightly rotting rope, finally given in and fell to the floor at Harrian's final punch, the bag splitting and depositing its faintly stinking contents across the cold stone floor.
Harrian ignored it, turning to Reynald, who was looking faintly concerned. "So do not think, Reynald de Chatillon, that this is a home of upright adventurers who will guide you on the right path to redemption and justice. This is a home of death. Any redemption along the way is… temporary."
"All things are temporary if we hold death as the ultimate ending," Reynald said coolly, his expression calming a little as he himself bit into the crust of bread he'd brought, seeing that Harrian was very uninterested. "I currently have nothing to live for, Lord Corias. So if in your company death is guaranteed and redemption a possibility along the way, there is no better place for me to be."
Harrian snorted and started to pace slowly. "If you accept that, then so be it. There are currently forces at work that are greater than we are, and we must but follow them. I still have a task to do. And I shall welcome that assistance. But… we are not fame and fortune seekers." He spat on the floor, shaking his head. "And don't call me Lord Corias. I'm no damned lord."
"I never considered this party to be of the frivolous ilk that frequent taverns, Harrian," Reynald replied without missing a beat. "But people change when they are in your company. And often for the better. And if they meet death at your side… well, we all meet death someday. Yes, you live a dangerous life, because of your heritage. But we choose to run that risk. You may not be able to accept it, Harrian Corias, but there is a light within you that causes people to stand by your side and face death over and over."
Harrian snorted again. "I know there is. It's called death's lantern."
Reynald paused, obviously a little stuck by this answer. "I doubt it is as simple as that. You cannot shoulder the blame for everyone who falls behind. At the very least, it's arrogant. None of these people are bound to you by anything except friendship. If they die, it is for friendship. Where is the darkness in that?" Harrian finally fell silent, and Reynald took advantage of the moment to pass him the plate of food. "It is not your fault that they have died. It is not your fault that she has died."
Harrian swallowed hard, then grimaced and took a large bite of the slice of beef. "She died for my cause."
"You might argue that she died for her own. I have spoken with Imoen and the others; I know of your history," Reynald said simply. "You could say she travelled so far with you because of her promise to your father. You could say she travelled so far with you because of her desire to avenge her husband. Or she travelled so far with you because of her love for you."
Harrian remained silent, chewing and staring at the wall.
"So, you see, there are many forces at work here. Mostly love, in its different forms. There is no more darkness in these deaths than there needs to be – and there is already plenty. But you shoulder responsibility where there is none." Reynald's expression hardened. "Responsibility comes when it is your fault. Responsibility comes when you could have changed things to stop death from happening. Responsibility comes when the death is at your own hands."
Harrian paused, and gave Reynald a contemplative look. "You know of this responsibility." It wasn't a question.
Reynald paused for a long moment, and then stepped towards the weapons rack on the far side of the cellar – where their more expensive, valuable and dangerous weaponry was kept. The great rack with the swords was his target, and it was Carsomyr, the Holy Avenger, he headed to.
"That responsibility took away my light," Reynald said quietly, in a whisper that could only be heard because of the echoes in the cellar. He raised his hand tentatively, and slowly closed it around the hilt of Carsomyr.
When the others had tried to do that, they had been able to carry the sword a little – for transportation only – but it had been so heavy when held in an aggressive pose that to wield it effectively would have been impossible. That was to be expected for a sword that demanded that only a paladin wield it, and they had only ever seen it moved through a swing by Keldorn.
Never before had the hilt burned the hand of he who grasped it, but it did with Reynald as it sizzled and smoke rose. No pain seemed to cross his face for the few seconds he gripped the great sword, but when he finally withdrew his hand, it was red and sore.
"Have you ever done such that a sword which allows you to wield it based on your righteousness goes so far as to burn you, Harrian Corias?" Reynald asked coolly, calmly sticking his hand in the pail of water next to the rack which was collecting a leak dripping from the ceiling above.
"Well, it doesn't judge you on your righteousness, it judges you on whether or not you are a paladin… which you're not. And I'm not either," Harrian said hesitantly at last.
"No. In fact, I am so much not a paladin that not only does this sword not allow me to use it, it repels me. That is quite a feat of darkness." Reynald wrapped a cleaning cloth around his raw hand, and stepped towards the thief. "How many actions have you taken that are truly dark, Harrian?"
He shrugged uncomfortably. "I… don't know. I like to think that I'm a moral man. I try not to kill when it is unnecessary." Was Ployer unnecessary?
"Then do not pretend to be a creature of darkness when you stand next to a man who has killed unnecessarily; who has gone so far in his sins that his god has rejected him and cast him out of favour," Reynald said quietly, with more sadness than bitterness, as he leant against the worktable next to Harrian.
The thief considered this. "I have not yet asked you what you did to Fall."
"This is true," Reynald agreed. "And now might be a wise time." Harrian threw him a look, and he took a deep, almost painful-sounding breath. "I don't know if I was ever a righteous man. I think I was a good man, but I was more good because it was… what I did, rather than that I believed it. I followed the tenets of the Order, I did as they bid, and I lived as I supposed I should." He paused. "Did that make me a good man?"
"It didn't make you a bad one. Actions can be as much as intent," Harrian replied calmly.
"I suppose." Reynald waved his hand dismissively. "But, anyhow, I did all that was required of me, including going to the various balls and parties to which we knights were invited. One such party was at the house of the Count Duchinov – do you know him?"
Harrian squirmed a little. "We've had… dealings with him."
"A snake of a man, but he has influence so the Order humours him as long as he does not step out of line. Anyhow, I always found the balls to be dull and insipid. Until I met Celestine." Reynald gave a very pained version of the lover's sigh. "And she was… a breath of fresh air into my otherwise dull life. I knew little of her at first, but she seemed to see in me something that was worth pursuing, or so I thought. We danced, we talked, but when rumours filtered through the guests that Duchinov had been robbed, she seemed to disappear. I thought nothing of it at the time… though I suppose it was of her doing."
Harrian shifted uncomfortably.
"Anyhow, I then left promptly. I kept thinking about her, however – she plagued my thoughts, and had captured my heart in that night without me even realising it. So when, two days later, she appeared at the next ball, I was overjoyed." A sad smile crossed Reynald's face.
"We became, I suppose, a courting couple for some weeks, going to the various balls together, and for once I had something in life I could be, finally… passionate about. I was, possibly… even happy. But it did not last.
"She was a part of a small group of independent thieves, who did the dangerous business of operating under the Shadow Thieves' nose without their consent. And so, she visited the balls of the nobles of Athkatla, and when she was there she unlocked doors, opened windows, bribed guards… in various ways made it possible for her fellows to sneak in and steal what they could." Reynald covered his eyes. "And thus did I become a tool."
"You were cast out of the Order and rejected by Torm for being manipulated by the cunning? They are harsh taskmasters," Harrian commented, frowning.
"It was not my manipulation that felled me!" Reynald snapped, and Harrian jumped a little at the sight of the first strong emotion from the former paladin. "It was my actions when I discovered it." He paused, taking a few more calming breaths. "Finally, I was invited to the house of Jysstev by the lord, who is a friend of my family's. He told me to bring that charming lady he had met so many times at balls, and so, like a fool I did.
"She managed to sneak away from the dinner party, and for once I actually noticed she was gone. She had professed to be a little under the weather that night, so, in concern, I followed her. In time to find her in the kitchens, with the back door open, surrounded by a group of rogues.
"I was stunned, too surprised to move, not knowing what to think, and so it was easy for one of the rogues to knock me out. When Lord Jysstev brought me back to consciousness, the rogues were gone, and so was Celestine – in my ignorance, I assumed that they had kidnapped her. It did not cross my mind that stealing riches from nobles is a very different form of law-breaking to kidnapping." He gave Harrian a small, benevolent smile, which the Bhaalspawn thief returned slightly.
"So I tried to hunt down these rogues. I was fortunately aided by Duchinov, whose 'handyman' was able to find me their location – a run-down building in the Slums. They were wealthy, but would not spend money in Athkatla for fear of alerting the Shadow Thieves. I believe they were planning to move on to somewhere else to spend their riches very shortly. But I knew where they were. And I went alone.
"I went with my sword and my armour and my rage… and nothing else. And when I opened the door, and saw the rogues seated around the table with no sign of my Celestine, I attacked them. Their weapons were not at hand, they were not warriors who would be a match for an armed, trained, and angry knight, and so I… cut them down instantly. Instantly. And when, seconds later, Celestine emerged from a side door dressed as they were, and plainly not being held against her will… I almost killed her too." Reynald lowered his head, covering his eyes as his shoulders shook a little. "I held my anger, however. I held it enough for her to stare, and scream, and run to her companions. And then I held it enough to let her leave."
Harrian waited, but it seemed Reynald had little more to say after this. "You killed them, thinking that they were… kidnappers and murderers," he said at last.
Reynald looked up. "But they were not. Does my ignorance pardon my behaviour? I could have, I suppose, sought forgiveness from Torm, but I did not. I promptly fell in with Anarg and his men, and then carried on to shun my god as he shunned me." He shook his head. "I did not do what a paladin should have done. A paladin should have alerted the guard, or at least the Order, and marched in with a clear head. A paladin should not have struck down in anger those unable to defend themselves. A paladin should not have passed judgement when the whole picture, or even that beyond a small corner of it, was available. I did all those things. I murdered six men whose only crime was the theft of small riches from those wealthy enough to not even notice they had been robbed. And you think I do not deserve to be a Fallen Paladin?"
Harrian sat down on the workbench and took a swig from the tankard. Black Ale. He passed it to Reynald. "You made a mistake. A big one, for sure."
"And one I shall atone for," Reynald said calmly, also sipping from the tankard. "So, you see, Harrian Corias, you are not responsible for those who fall. They fall because they fight with you, truly. But they have chosen to fight for you. Because they see the light within you. I see that light, and I know it is not death's lantern… because I know what death's lantern looks like."
Harrian stared at the floor for a few long moments before nodding. "I… very well, Reynald de Chatillon," he said at last, his voice thick.
The Fallen Paladin stood up and clapped him on the back. "And Celestine may not be actually dead… but she might as well be, to me, for she is lost forever and I am forced to see that my love was a mockery. You have lost your love as well… but revel in what you had, and know that it was true."
Harrian closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall slowly. "It was true, I know. And that is why it hurts so very much."