Standard disclaimers apply. The PC and her Teacher are products of the author's 16-hour commute + workday-weary mind.
An AU BG1 story, inspired by the old samurai films of my childhood.
Gentle Reader,
Thank you for alighting upon this humble tale. As Common isn't my native tongue- comments, feedback, and rotten tomatoes would be helpful and appreciated. ^^
THE HIDDEN SWORD : A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE
Book One : From the Earth | Chapter 1 : Crossroads
It was perfect. The Plan.
The elven girl couldn't have arranged and executed a better scheme than this. She had waited for a trading caravan to arrive at the village below the monastery, waited for nightfall when everyone was asleep, and waited for each guard on duty to be where he should be- a pattern memorized from her years of observing and dodging their predictable nightly patrols. The escape nearly foiled by another resident who had caught her, but the girl bought the silence she needed with only a promise – a pinky promise that she would return one day. After that, it had been no great effort to pass undetected through a secret door by the Keep's walls, followed by a quick run through the woods and down to the village.
The elf had climbed into one of the wagons while it stood unattended, pleasantly surprised to find it filled, not with vegetables or hay or smelly animals, but with bolts of fine silk and cloth. Clearly it belonged to well-moneyed merchants. She settled herself contentedly upon a pile of cloth and rearranged the loose fabric to better hide herself. A self-satisfied smirk over a job well done and then she was fast asleep.
The wagon came to a lurching halt, jolting her from sleep. Hours must have passed since they left the village, and likely that they've reached another town. Hopefully, some place where she could quietly slip away, make clearer plans and transit to a destination which might lead her to the answers she sought.
Ears pricked at noises coming from outside. One of the traders had alighted and seemed to be discussing with the other men, perhaps confirming directions or whether they should stop to rest the horses. No matter. Her present spot proved comfortable enough to hide her for a while longer.
Until she was betrayed by an empty stomach.
Her belly growled a long mournful croaking tune, over and over. A gasp and a woman's surprised cry followed by the sound of someone climbing in, a man's sharp response and words exchanged between them. Heart pounded against her chest with worry as she realized she couldn't understand a word of their conversation.
She peeked through the rolls of cloth, startled at seeing the occupants. Elves like her! Of all the wagons in the caravan, she had stowed away in one owned by elves! And were they speaking in elvish?
Her stomach rumbled again. The elven woman put a finger to her lips and pointed at her hiding place. The girl held back a frightened gasp as the elven man drew out a sword, his eyes trained on her hiding spot like a hawk about to dive upon its prey. He slowly advanced towards her, his steps light and quiet upon the wagon's wooden floor.
Not waiting to be skewered, she scrambled out of the pile and stumbled in front of them. At the sight of the young elf, the man halted and both he and the woman immediately launched into what one would suppose were a million questions.
However, it all sounded to her like rapid-fire gibberish.
She sat upon the floor, not comprehending a single word, blinking in dismay, until she spoke.
"I- I'm sorry. I don't understand you." Her eyes darted around before looking at them again. "Am I in the wrong wagon?" she asked awkwardly.
Her words caught them by surprise. They looked at each other and then at her.
"Who are you, Child?" the elven man finally asked in the Common tongue.
The young elf grinned sheepishly and scratched the back of her neck in embarrassment.
"I'm Irsellian. Though people back in Candlekeep just call me Irse for short."
Against a clear sky the moon shone unhindered by clouds. A cool breeze stirred through the trees and gently rustled the tall grass. Small campfires dotted the side of the road by the caravans and the air was filled with lively chatter frequently punctuated by hearty laughter among the men. A fine night for a walk outside a wagon.
Irse strolled around a bit, glad for the chance to stretch her legs after hours of sitting through a bumpy ride. It had only been a couple of days since the trading caravan left Candlekeep and the girl was still getting used to life on the road. However, she cautiously refrained from voicing any of her discomforts lest she offend Ilphas and Tannyl, the elven couple who were generous enough to take in a stowaway like her instead of returning her to the monastery.
Tannyl sat inside, most likely poring over her ledgers and accounting for the results of last week's trade. Ilphas sang as he tended to the horses, his silvery voice floating through the air with the lilting melody.
Ilphas seemed to have noticed the young elf watching him, her expression appreciative but blank to the emotion of the song.
"Many an elf child would hum along to this familiar refrain," he remarked.
Irse shook her head, self-consciously. "I'm really sorry I can't speak elvish, but I wish I could."
"Indeed, that was clear from the start. A rather unfortunate situation but not surprising , given you were raised by N'Tel'Quess at Candlekeep. It is a citadel of learning and yet they did not teach you the language of your People?" The older elf 's voice carried a hint of frustration.
Tannyl called out from inside the wagon, "Oh, Ilphas! Leave the child be. It's not Irse's fault the humans were remiss in her education but I'm sure they meant well with her." The elven woman poked her head out and cast a kind smile at the girl. "Fret not. We will teach you ourselves and you will be speaking as one born with the tongue by the time we arrive at Waterdeep."
Irse beamed and nodded gratefully. "I would like that very much! I won't disappoint you!"
Ilphas had told her they were silk merchants based in Waterdeep. They had just come from Athkatla in the south and were planning to unload any unsold inventory at Baldur's Gate before returning to their home in the City of Splendors. They could have consigned their goods to a ship, but as Tannyl had said to her, moon elves like them were often driven to travel and see the world, hence their decision to undertake the trade route themselves.
She had been excited to learn from them that a sizable community of elves resided in Waterdeep. If the wisest of the wise in Candlekeep wouldn't give her the answers she needed about her parents and where she came from, then surely her People could. Or at the very least, welcome her.
It wasn't that her foster father- Gorion, and her friends didn't make Candlekeep a home for her. Rather, it was the nagging feeling that something was not as it should be.
For a moment, she imagined Gorion worried and deeply anxious over her disappearance. He would have already seen the note she left for him on the table in her room, telling him not to worry, that she can take care of herself, that she only need to search for the truth for herself and after that she would come back one day.
The young elf felt a twinge of guilt. But never mind that. Better to dwell instead on the possibilities, the places she would see, the answers she could finally have in their company!
She was about to climb in when an arrow struck the side of the wagon.
Caravan guards raised the alarm. "Bandits! We're under attack! To arms!" one of the guards shouted. Able-bodied men and women scrambled to grab weapons while caravan leaders barked orders at the drivers to secure the carriages. The sureness with which they readied themselves suggested that the ambush was not entirely unexpected.
Arrows started coming at them from the west, mostly from the trees and shrubbery flanking the highway road. Ilphas drew his sword. Tannyl likewise alighted, dagger in hand. She took Irse by the shoulders.
"Child, the bandits will be aiming for anyone standing out in the open. Hide yourself as best as you can but do not stay here. Ilphas and I will help in the defense and we will surely draw the enemy to us. Take to the trees and return to us when the fighting is done. Now go and hurry!" Tannyl instructed her.
Irse nodded. She would rather stay by their side but understood that she would only be in their way. "Please be careful," she told Tannyl who gave her a reassuring wink in return.
The young elf darted towards the other wagons, peeking around the corners before moving on. The air was now filled with the clang of swords and shields, cries of the wounded and fallen, the shrieks of women and children. Some of the wagons had been set on fire, the flames casting an angry glow against the black sky.
As Irse weaved her way through the wagons and stumbled over several corpses, she found some human children, a boy and two girls, shaking and huddled under an abandoned carriage. Irse knew their names and parents, having traveled with the caravan for days now. She bent down to try and coax them out of their hiding place. "Millie? Ara? Tom?" Irse whispered to the frightened faces. Hearing their names spoken, the children seemed to calm down a bit.
"It's not safe here. They might look under the wagons. Come with me quick and we'll hide in the woods," she told them. Mercifully, the children, though clearly terrified, nodded their heads and crawled out from under the wagon. Irse helped each child to stand up and herded them in her arms. Several men ran past their wagon, bandits with bloody swords in hands, laughing raucously at the easy haul. Irse pulled the children close to her and did her best to hide them in the shadows. By the mercy of the gods, they escaped notice.
"Stay quiet," she whispered. They tiptoed around the wagons and did their best to keep silent. Finally, only one wagon stood between them and the safe darkness of the forest.
One of the girls seemed to be about Imoen's age. Eleven or twelve? Irse's thoughts momentarily lighted upon that human child who lived with the innkeeper – Winthrop, and his wife in Candlekeep Inn, the only guesthouse within the Keep's walls. For as long as the elf could remember, she and Imoen had been together, grown up together, played together, gotten into little troubles together. Irse wondered how Imoen was doing at that moment and if the girl was thinking of her. No matter. At least Imoen was still in Candlekeep – safe, warm, and will live through the night for certain unlike the children Irse held in her arms now.
But there's got to be hope. Maybe the bandits wouldn't see them at all. Just a few more steps and they can hide among the trees where with any luck, they can wait out the fighting.
"Mama!" one of the children, Tom, cried. He broke free from her arms and scurried off towards the corpse of a woman that lay several feet from them. The dead woman was on her back, eyes open to the night sky, blood soaking her dress. The boy knelt beside her and sobbed, shaking her arm as if it would wake one from death.
Irse gritted her teeth. "Gods! Get back here, kid!" she hissed. Tom wouldn't listen, and the elf turned to the other children, "Go, run to the trees, hide yourselves while I get him." The remaining children, the gods bless their sensibility for ones so young, nodded and scampered away from the wagon and into the shrubbery beyond.
She left the shadow of the wagon and made her way slowly towards the sobbing child, stopping a few paces from him. "Tom! She's gone now! Let's go!" Irse whispered sharply, but loud enough for the child to hear over the din.
"I can't! I can't leave Mama!" little Tom wailed.
A man stepped out from behind a nearby carriage. One of the bandits. There was no mistaking the cruel sneer on his face as he eyed the child while wiping his bloody shortsword on his dingy trousers. He walked swiftly towards Tom and grabbed the boy by the hair. The child screamed in terror.
Irse held out her hands and begged, "Wait! Let him go, please! He's just a kid!"
The bandit looked at her but didn't even acknowledge her plea as he raised his sword to strike at the boy.
Irse didn't have a weapon, nor a spell. If only she had paid more attention when Gorion attempted to teach her magic. Only one thing could be done now.
She shouted and lunged at the bandit with her bare fists. Surprised, the man let go of the child. But before he could swing his sword, Irse had already barreled into him, the weight of her entire body coupled with her momentum pushing him off his feet. Bandit and elf rolled in the grass, and the freed boy shrieked as he ran for the trees.
She found herself on her back and tried to get up as quickly as she could, but the bandit was faster. He straddled the elf, holding his shortsword with one hand like a dagger above her.
He brought his sword down on her head, but by a miracle, she caught the blade between her hands. She gripped it as tightly as she could despite the stinging pain. Blood was streamed from her palms and it seemed to grease the blade now inching towards her face.
With a grunt, the bandit pushed down at the sword with all of his might. The blade raked through her hands but she managed to bring her head to her right and out of the sword's path. But it was not enough. The sword found her left ear. The elf screamed.
The man laughed at the damage he had caused. "Not so pretty with one o' yer pointy ears gone, eh?" he taunted her.
Desperation urged her to keep jabbing at him in spite of the pain. However, he easily swatted at her attempts with his free hand. He raised his sword above her one more time.
This is it. So this is what it's like to die.
Irse blinked. There were no visions of her life flashing before her eyes, no visions of Gorion's kindly aged face nor of Imoen's bright smiles. Nothing, but the glint of the sword above her eyes, mesmerizing her into a sickening helplessness as she waited for her inevitable end.
A blade pierced through the bandit's chest. As the man jerked violently, the sword pulled back and another hand reached out to shove him off to the side.
Irse lay there with her eyes half-closed while trying to catch her breath. A shadow circled her, accompanied by the sound of a blade being whipped through the air. Perhaps another bandit so eager for another kill that he would slay his own comrade for the chance? She wouldn't be surprised and was too exhausted to care anymore.
"Just make it quick, please," she rasped.
The shadow chuckled and replied in an accented Common, "I chance upon a fox in another man's snare. I liberate the fox, but the fox begs for death? What manner of creatures are these elves?" There was the faint sound of a sword being sheathed into its scabbard.
Irse opened her eyes to regard her rescuer. She recognized his face - one of the men who traveled with the caravan. A blacksmith, an amiable yet quiet man, seemingly not even past his thirties, she recalled. But from his sharp features, narrow eyes, and coal-black hair, it was clear he wasn't from any of the cities of the Coast. Where was he from again? Irse tried to remember what she had heard about him. Kara-Tur, was it?
"Young elf, I saw what you did and I would have come to you sooner had I not been tarried by several more of these ruffians. It was brave of you to face him without a weapon. Brave, but foolish," he chided her as he bent down to grab her elbows and help her stand.
Irse still felt faint from the struggle and her hands continued to shake. She brought a hand to her left ear and gasped. All of it, a swollen wet mass. Blood trickled down her neck and the pain simply excruciating. But she was alive.
"Thank you for saving me, uh, Mister- Ohh-," Irse told the blacksmith, trying to recollect his name from what she had heard him being called by the other travelers.
"I am Munechika Okami. Or Okami for expediency, if you prefer," he replied with a deep bow. "You are Irse, am I correct? I have seen you with the elf merchants, though I confess I noticed only after our caravan left Candlekeep."
"Yes, I'm Irse. I travel with Ilphas and Tannyl," she answered, slightly matching his bow which she assumed was a custom among his people. Irse suddenly remembered the couple and wondered where they could be. She hoped they were all right and with less wounds than she has. Irse continued to press her injured ear with one hand and looked around her, noticing that the sounds of battle have died down.
"Is it over?" she asked.
The blacksmith turned his eyes to the night sky, still red from the fires. "Yes. It seems these cursed outlaws have already taken what they want." He looked down and shook his head. "Many of our number have fallen tonight. If you are able, come and let us gather them for their final sojourn to the gods."
The pair ambled towards the other survivors who had begun to assemble. As they passed by some of the burning carriages, Irse took advantage of the firelight to look at her hands, wincing at the throbbing pain and the blood covering them. The blade had cut deep. Okami stopped walking and took her palms in his hands.
"Ah, saved by your instinct. A technique employed at the right moment, but there is a way to do it without losing your hands," he remarked. He reached into his cloak and fished out some bandages and a small brown pouch. He placed them on Irse's fingers.
"Wash your ear and hands with water, put the herbs, the San Qi, on the wounds and wrap them with the bandages. I would attend to you myself, but there may be others in greater need."
Irse raised an eyebrow. "Are you also a healer? A priest?"
"No, but when you have walked in my sandals, you learn to make do without their gods' blessings," Okami replied.
"All right, I guess. Well, thanks again," Irse said. She shrugged her shoulders and set off to find the children who ran into the woods. Thankfully, they had not gone far and were promptly reunited with those who survived in their families. Except for poor Tom. The boy continued to cry as Irse left him in the care of the other humans who survived the attack.
She found a nearby stream and knelt down, plunging her hands into the water and wincing at the numbing iciness. Others made their way to the brook to clean their wounds or draw water to put out the fires. Others simply sat at the bank and stared in shock.
As she rubbed the blood from her hands, she remembered how back in Candlekeep, she would stay by the kitchens after supper and listen to the guards share stories about bandit attacks along the Sword Coast. Listening to their tales of the swiftness and suddenness of the ambush, the ransacking and the deaths were nothing compared to hearing for herself the crying and wailing of the grieving, the wounded, and the hopeless.
Before the attack, she would sit by the campfire every night to bask in the happy conversation and smiling faces looking forward to the next day's venture and perhaps to the loved ones waiting for them at home. But now, there was only grief in everyone's faces over the loss of companions and wretchedness over the uncertainty of facing tomorrow with nothing left.
With a shudder, the girl remembered the delight with which the bandits took in killing and looting that night. How anyone could simply go about and decide to harm another for no reason, even for money, was something she couldn't comprehend. Her blood boiled at the recollection of the glee and ease that the bandit had expressed earlier when he tried to kill her and the boy.
Irse pressed at her injured ear and clenched her fist in anger. She would not be helpless again.
After cleaning and bandaging her wounds, she made her way back to the elves' wagon. Along the way, she would stop and help someone turn over a corpse or guide someone wounded to where the caravan leaders were gathering the slain and injured.
She found Ilphas and Tannyl not far from their wagon. They lay together, side by side, having fallen to the bandits' arrows and blades. Ilphas was missing his beautiful sword, a silvery elven blade graced with rubies at the pommel. Likewise, Tannyl was missing her jeweled dagger as well as her necklace and earrings. The bandits have undoubtedly looted their corpses while they were still warm.
Irse sighed as she closed their eyes. Their faces showed peace even in their death. Where did the spirits of elves go when they die? Irse tried to recall from the books she had managed to sneak into her room in Candlekeep, for what felt like ages ago. Arvandor. She wondered. Would she go there too when it was her time?
She hooked her forearms under Tannyl's shoulders and dragged the body towards the pyre. She saw Okami approach Ilphas and hoist the dead elf on his shoulders. They both made their way to the fire with their grim burdens.
At last, the fire died down and the sun rose upon them. The survivors, having said their farewells to the departed, have now drifted away along with the pyre's ashes blown by the wind. Most of them retrieved whatever they could from their wagons to resume their journeys on foot. The bandits had been thorough and had also taken their horses.
Irse returned to the elves' wagon to gather her pack and salvage some of their valuables – some gold and a few jewels that she once spied Tannyl was stowing under a false plank in the wagon floor. These should last her for quite a while. Certainly, they would forgive her for taking from them. After all, where they have already gone to was a far better place than here. When she had finished packing, Irse walked over to the highway road. Okami was already standing there, carrying two sacks- one for his belongings and another for his tools.
"I am sorry for the loss of your parents," he said.
Irse shook her head. "They're not my parents. They were just kind enough to take me in."
"Ah."
They both stood in silence for a while.
The blacksmith pointed to the winding length of the road. "I shall continue to make my way through the Coast or further into the Heartlands, to any place where people dwell and perhaps may need my services as a smith and tinkerer. But as for you, where will your feet take you?" Okami asked her.
"I- don't know," Irse replied.
She was about to take a step, but to where? Waterdeep had been her expected destination, but it was with Ilphas and Tannyl who were now dead.
Her feet felt rooted to the dust of the road. She gingerly rubbed the bandage on her ear.
Okami must have sensed her hesitation. "Young elf, if you still wish to continue your own journey, know this – in your state, you are prey to the world. You cannot hope to survive as you did last night. Not on your own."
She turned her eyes to him. "You're right. I got lucky. Maybe… you could let me come with you? Just for a short while until I know what I need to… where I must…", her words broke off, hoping her appeal wouldn't be turned down so harshly.
The blacksmith interjected with a kind smile, "Why not? I will welcome your company." He crossed his arms and held up a finger. "But, you must earn your keep."
Her eyes widened in relief. She could scarcely believe her luck. "Really? You would? I can learn anything. I did chores around the monastery so I'm no stranger to hard work, you see. So- does that mean I'll have to call you Master from now on?" she asked with a grin.
It was Okami's turn to broaden his eyes in surprise. He pointed to himself. "A Master?" He coughed. "This one is not worthy of lofty titles. No."
"Then what shall I call you if I am to work for you?"
The blacksmith scratched the thin beard on his chin. "I have not had an apprentice for a while. Perhaps, Teacher will do," he proposed.
Irse considered his offer for a moment as she rubbed her tired eyes. Should she truly take it? Standing upon the middle of the road, Irse looked to the direction behind her.
The road behind her would lead back to Candlekeep. To Gorion. The only family she had ever known and doubtless he cared for her as if she was his own human child.
Her resolve wavered for a moment.
Maybe Gorion was right and the gods never meant for her to know the truth about her parents. Maybe she could still return there and live the rest of her days pretending that everything was right and settled.
But the road returning to Candlekeep would only lead back to questions that may never be answered and to doors that she feared will remain closed forever.
A soft breeze gently stirred her hair, and she closed her eyes. To her ears came Okami's footsteps upon the grit of the road, wordlessly walking away from her.
She then opened her eyes and steeled herself as she turned to the road ahead of her.
Irse took a step, the first in a thousand ones.