Chapter 3: Mine Enemy Is Myself
They had arrived outside the temple, looking up at the looming abandoned towers staring down at them from their seats in the sky. Huge jutting spears from the temple, cascading down blackness from their stone stature.
Gorian felt a tug in his stomach; a wrench that meant that she was close by. It was a warning signal, a sign of things to come. Somehow, just somehow, he knew that if he survived tonight, if he managed to get free from the clutches of the dead Lord of Murder, he would be a changed man. Maybe for the better, maybe not. He couldn't decide.
Khelben ran in front, his black cloak swirling around him like a mist, a fog that covered his body from the world outside. His staff in his hand guarded closely by the figurine, which sat on top, watching out into the distance for a sign of an enemy, one more to kill.
"This way!" he yelled back, pointing up ahead, the stone steps and up to the large wooden door. He sprinted on ahead, Elminster and Gorian climbed the stone steps with ease, stopping once in a while to watch the evening birds flutter from their nests inside the towers, the flapping of their wings making a noise on the win as they flew away, leaving the desecrated church, leaving the massacre that was to follow.
Gorian closed his eyes as they reached the top. The familiar tugging in the small of his stomach, the likeness of a dagger being pushed through his willing flesh. He felt the sharp pain and opened his eyes, clutching a hand at his stomach and finding nothing but his own clothes, no dagger, no pain.
"Come," Elminster said with comfort echoing in his voice, comfort that perhaps was intended not to be heard by any other. He held his hand out to Gorian, showing him that, like Gorian, he was anticipating the foreboding dangers though not with excitement.
"I don't think that knocking is going to help," Khelben joked as they reached the doors. He pushed it with his hands, but they were locked. "I don't think they know…how much…this doesn't help us."
Elminster gave a gruff laugh, "They must do, Blackstaff. Is there another way inside?"
"I'm not up to climbing the towers so…" Khelben replied, taking a step back and looking around for another entrance.
Gorian tapped the door with the end of his staff, hearing the knock that resounded. With a creak, the door pushed open slightly, revealing the inner stones on the floor. The tiles of Helm lying on the floor, paving the entrance in an un-welcoming way.
"I never would have thought of that," Khelben said, taking up the front and going inside first.
Elminster stepped inside; holding his hat steadily on his head as he stepped over the large wooden block that stood in the doorway. Gorian followed, bringing in his and Elminster's staves handed the latter to its master as he entered the building.
Gorian stood for a moment in the entrance hall, admiring the tiles and the architecture of the building, feeling the good feelings that flowed from the Helm statues, the bad feelings that emanated from the great hall and the sheer depth of the devotion that was once found in the halls.
Elminster however, clenched his hand into a fist and closed his eyes. His energy was drawing in on himself, a ball of energy that could rip a hole in the Earth's surface, a power so terrible and terrifying that Khelben and Gorian seemed to cower before it's might, backing up slightly before the man.
Then somebody said, "They have already started."
The chamber felt flooded with magic, from the stones to the very brim of the cavern, tipped with a strange glow to the whole feel. Alianna tried to reach out to the screaming child but her hands were pushed away each time she tried. She tried to call out to the screaming baby but nothing left her mouth, no voice within to scream.
Alianna felt her hands become tied behind her, the ripping pain, which seeped through her loins, was drowning out the pain of the ropes cutting and binding her hands. There was no speech or sound, just the distant rumble of magic coming ever closer. The torrent of darkness coming closer with each spell cast, with each enchantment called upon…there was no hope for them to survive.
Cyrinol's voice rang out into the Hall, drowning out all other sound. The spell was beginning, she could hear the words read aloud in a deep voice, vocalising each decibel and syllable, sweeping through each sentence with ease.
No rush of wind, but light flooded into the Hall. The screams of the other children could be heard, some calling out for their parents, others for their Gods. Tears were heard but Alianna could do nothing but watch as Cyrinol brought the knife down once upon the book that he read from and blood curdled from the book as if it were alive itself.
It seemed less likely each beat of the hooves that Jaheira and Khalid were going to make it on time. They tried to stay side by side and take the short paths that cut deep into the Forrest floor to stay away from the roads, making the journey safer. If some of Bhaal's men would see them on the road, all would be lost. Gorian had explained it all in his note.
Jaheira tried to think about it all. She couldn't understand why the Harpers hadn't decided to inform the others about it, they would all be together on it and face the foe, as they should, as a band like the olden days. Elminster was for preserving the balance but sometimes his view of balance was rather off the leader's views. Gorian and Khelben would follow Elminster to the ends of Faerun if he asked them too, and gave them sound reason.
But this involved Alianna.
Gorian would have left despite Elminster's letter; he would certainly have taken off after her as soon as her horse's hooves beat down on the path outside Baldur's Gate. He wasn't stupid and he wasn't naïve. He knew what had been going on, but he refused to believe it. Jaheira didn't want to believe what Alianna had tried to bring too pass; she didn't want to acknowledge that Gorian had been wrong, that they all had been wrong.
That the world was once again in mortal danger.
And it was the mortals who had to prevent it.
"To help and understand, but not to kill…the fear of death ever present within our hearts…speak to us, Grand Lord of Murder," Cyrinol chanted his rhythmic pattern over and over again, each time, swaying the blooded knife back and forth.
The energies in the room had spiked. There was a distant rumble of thunder, proceeding the chant again. She was frightened. The knife hadn't settled any of her fears, or even quelled the aching desire within her body to release herself from her bound prison and rush to the aid of her new-born son. She felt the room cascade around her, but she couldn't see the shadows play on the firewalls. The blindfold draped across her eyes and the foul stench of sulphur made her feel ill and she wretched onto the bier.
Cyrinol didn't stop when he saw Alianna on the bier; he didn't pause for breath or stop his chanting. He was determined to be on the right hand throne of Bhaal and by the Gods he would have if he could. His was a solid determination stronger than any of his fellows. Alianna knew that Cyrinol would stop at nothing to get her, to get the Throne of Bhaal and the kill the sons of the dead God.
The aids came to Alianna's side quickly as she heard footsteps echoing through the musty halls. Footsteps of boots sewn with iron, of metal armour laced with the finest silk and satin, the gold that was stitched around the wearer's necklace and the strong rapture.
At once, strong fingers sharpened with long nails grasped hold of her face and dug into her skin. Her cheek pressed into the palm of the hand.
"Such a pathetic creature," said the voice of a woman.
Alianna felt her face released from the grip, but the skin that had been pierced still stung as if by venom or poison. The boots clicked to Cyrinol's chants and walked to him, stopping his chants momentarily.
"Why keep her alive?" the voice said. "She is of no use, we have the child. Burn the wench on the bier."
Cyrinol tutted, Alianna could picture Cyrinol shaking his finger at the woman.
"Amelyssan, my dear," Cyrinol said, shaking his head. "There is a time for such things. This is not one of them. Either help me with the ritual or get out of my hall. There is no place for you here if you do not wish to help."
One stomp of the perfectly crafted boots, Alianna felt the floor rumble to the bier. Amelyssan whispered something that she could not hear from the bier but whatever it was Cyrinol had started to chant again and had begun to walk around the bier, swinging his cup of blood wine.
Khelben had run up front, his staff in his hand ready for combat at every turn. Elminster and Gorian had taken up the rear and were trying to open their minds and their ears to the sensations within the temple. All were new and mostly thrilling but some…some were frightening. Demons danced off the walls and through the solid pines of bookcases, shelves, doors and tapestries that lined the walls of the corridors.
Elminster walked along in silence, opening his ears to the slightest sound or moan of the old temple. Gorian tried to think through the noise within his mind, for although it was quiet on the outside, the noise was deafening within. He could barely think when he closed his eyes and saw the visions that played themselves out before him, taking him deeper and deeper into the mind of evil.
Gorian was shook on the shoulder by Elminster, shaking him awake.
"You must keep on top of this," he said, walking ahead again. "We can't afford to lose you."
But it didn't help. The voices got louder and louder until Gorian fell to the floor, gasping for breath, clutching onto his ears for not only his sanity, but dear life itself. Elminster stopped and rushed back to his friend but Khelben was too far ahead to call back. If he would be separated, if they all were separated, they wouldn't defeat the likes of Cyrinol and Amelyssan, needless to say Alianna if she was indeed turned by the birth.
"Come on, Gorian," Elminster whispered urgently, looking ahead to spot Khelben. "Fight them, boy! Don't let the darkness take you asunder!"
"I…I can't!" Gorian yelled, grasping onto Elminster for support but falling back down again when the voices increased.
"Go!"
A mysterious voice from the darkness and Elminster thrust out his staff, charged with thunder if any should come close.
He watched the shadows dissipate over two people, Jaheira and Khalid, stood in the darkness but coming towards them. Jaheira shouted and waved to them, to Elminster to go and hurry as fast as possible. Khalid rushed to Gorian's side, kneeling down on the floor and trying hard to lift him to his feet and steady his balance as firm as possible.
"Go!" Jaheira shouted to Elminster. "We will bring him, just go!"
Gorian tried to lift himself up off the ground and managed to sit up as Jaheira held her healing hands over him.
"I swear," she mumbled. Carefully she hit Gorian on his shoulder to make him roll over as Khalid held him in place.
"H-He looks fine, Jaheira," Khalid said.
Jaheira shook her head; "It's this place. He should be fine if we get moving, his wounds are healed."
"But he didn't have any," Khalid said confused.
"Not ones that are visible," Jaheira replied, picking Gorian up off the floor and giving him his fallen staff.
Amelyssan leant on the edge of the bier, surveying the woman who gave birth to the strongest of Bhaal's children. Was this the woman who was the prophesied one? She was barely an ounce of a woman with a trickle of spirit in her weak body. Why did Bhaal choose her?
There were many unanswered questions in the Hall. The children who were more than a day old were standing with their backs to the ritual, crying into the walls and yet one stood firm, his eyes glistening with tears but his face and demeanour not as fragile as the others. He looked upon the ritual with eyes of fire, watching the knife cut and slice into the book of blood, ripping through the pages. This one child liked the carnage.
Amelyssan had a thought in that fatal atmosphere. She had heard of the prophecy, she had read the prophecy of Alaundo and understood it. She knew that the prophecy spoke of two children who would come to battle on the Earth, who would destroy one another eventually, giving into the desires of their father's blood as it consumed them from inside.
Could this be one of the chosen two?
Standing, she walked to the small boy and stood towering above his frail form. His eyes darted to hers and they didn't look at her…they saw through her. Even though the child was barely a third of her height and stature, the child frightened her to say the least. She looked into the hollow depths of his eyes and cast her eyes over his taunt skin, darkened by the low light inside the hall. Amelyssan bent down on one knee to be eye to eye with the boy.
"Your name," she commanded to the boy.
The boy barely gave a shrug, but looked her dead in the eye with a confidence Amelyssan had never seen before. He took a deep breath and sighed his name; "Koveras."
"Koveras?" Amelyssan asked, committing the name to memory. "You do know that you are special, don't you, Koveras?"
Koveras nodded, casting his eyes back to the carnage and Alianna's screams as the knife cut into her skin, opening the flesh of her forearm and holding it over the bleeding book. The boy pointed to the baby lying on the bier, his eyes widening in happiness as Cyrinol slashed the blade over the baby's forefinger.
"Eh si ym rehtorb," Koveras stated, pointing at the boy.
Amelyssan smiled; a boy who spoke backwards. A trait that he must've learnt from the priests as they speak in code so as not to alarm the other children. This one must have learnt…good survival techniques from one so young.
"He is," Amelyssan replied.
"Tub ew era ton fo eht emas rehtom," he said, scratching the side of his leg.
"No," Amelyssan grinned maliciously, "But you have the same father, our Lord of Murder."
The child's eyes became wide with wonder as he turned his vision back to Amelyssan's. A sparkle in his bright eyes was all Amelyssan needed to know which of the two this child was. His need and lust for carnage didn't leave much room for option at this stage. This one was the starter; he was the initiator.
An ear-splitting scream echoed around the room and Amelyssan covered her ears as she turned her head. The screamer was Alianna, watching Cyrinol cut her baby and taking blood from the child. Alianna tried to reach for the baby but Amelyssan ran over, forgetting about Koveras and his power, dragging Alianna back to the bier and settling her into the shackles.
"Get her down!" Cyrinol shouted, holding the bloody knife in his hand, letting the blood freely drip onto the flagged floor.
"I'll kill the wench in a moment!" Amelyssan threatened, holding Alianna down as the priests tried to shackle her to the stone bier. She struggled though and Amelyssan found herself having to restrain arms and legs from flailing.
"You will do no such thing!" Cyrinol screamed, but Amelyssan's hands were already reaching for Alianna's throat.
Forgetting the ritual all together, Cyrinol dropped the dagger on the floor and wrestled Amelyssan's hands away from Alianna's neck. He jostled with the witch, scratching her hands to ribbons with his nails, burning her wrists with his magic. Amelyssan refused to let go and throttled Alianna, cutting her nails deep into the soft flesh. Alianna let out a cry and Cyrinol took the dagger from the floor.
Trying as he could, he couldn't get Alianna free of Amelyssan's death grip so he slashed Amelyssan across the chest with the blooded dagger. Not realising his fatal mistake, Amelyssan pressed her hand to the wound and gasped. She gasped for air as the blood seeped through her breastplate and onto the floor where she was knelt, watching the pool of blood surround her on the flagged floor.
"You fool!" Amelyssan shouted, standing up and wiping the blood from the corner of her mouth. "You idiotic human! Do you not understand the power of the baby's blood?"
Cyrinol looked down at the dagger and then again at the screaming baby. He watched the cuts on the child's arms and legs heal quickly and grow new skin. He looked back at Amelyssan who was standing tall, the blood drying quickly and the skin re-growing beneath her breastplate.
"Immortal juices," Cyrinol said to himself.