Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them.
I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.
– Blackcross & Taylor
CloakwoodThe days had stayed warm and dry as they'd made their way west from the bandits' camp, leaving the Wood of Sharp Teeth for an even more foreboding locale: the Cloakwood.
One of the largest forests in the Western Heartlands, Jaheira had believed it would have been a trial without rival; the days of marching league upon league through the creature infested woodland, old and dark enough to hide worse than mere iron mines and bandits. But the way had been clear, and Minsc never seemed short of tracks to follow as they went deeper and deeper in their search for the Iron Throne's hidden mine. And, at last, that afternoon, they had found a solid lead; a group of druids met along their path telling them they knew of a mine situated but a few hours north of their position. And a couple of hours further along, they had finally stopped to make camp and prepare for the morrow, and whatever that would bring them.
Jaheira closed her eyes as the cool evening breeze stirred her hair, her worries unable to penetrate the peace than filled her as she sat beneath the trees, the soft whispers of the forest mingling with the distant giggling of Imoen. The druid smiled. The girls had grown on her lately, and in a way she would not have thought possible. Yes, they had been annoying at times, especially Imoen, who seemed to take to irritating her just out of sheer boredom. But it had been nowhere as bad as she had made out and it was nice to see them behaving as normal girls again, the sounds of their laughter and talk following her as they brought up the rear, punctuated with the occasional snatch of song when, Jaheira suspected, Fritha thought the rest of them were too far ahead to hear her.
Another peal of laughter rang out from the undergrowth behind her and the druid shook her head. Imoen had decided, after a few days travel, that her skills need diversifying, or that was the reason she had given, and had finally, with a little help from her friend, convinced the Wychlaran to take her as apprentice. One girl occupied, Khalid had taken an friendly interest in Fritha, especially since he found she, unlike her friend, had never been formally trained with a bow, and he spent hours each evening supervising her on his, delighting in the speed of her progress.
Jaheira smiled warmly as she watched them now, shooting at a sapling a score or so yards away, the quiet encouragements of her husband drifting back to her on the evening air.
'Now, don't drop your elbow as you draw back… that is it. Keep your body in balance, like a cross.'
Khalid glanced back to catch her watching, and threw her a warm smile, leaning in to tell Fritha to continue without him as he moved to join her. Jaheira watched the girl a moment longer, dwarfed by the long yew frame of his bow until she finally turned to her husband, smiling gently.
'And how does our favourite pupil?'
'F-Fine, fine,' he answered genially, the proud teacher, 'her aim is definitely improved. And at least this way she won't have to resort to ruining her lute the next time she looses her sword.'
Jaheira winced slightly, recalling one of her sharper moments with the girl.
'My Khalid, you are patience personified.'
'Oh, she is no trouble-'
Jaheira laughed slightly, shaking her head. 'I was not referring to her…'
Khalid laughed too, moving to slip an arm about her waist and kiss her lightly.
'You are a welcome torment.'
'Unlike some,' Jaheira sighed, turning as a shriek followed by some shrill Rashemi burst forth from the bushes behind them, shortly followed by the mage herself, Imoen at her heels.
'No, no more!' Dynaheir cried, storming into the camp before whirling back on the thief, 'those who cannot take instruction, do not deserve to be taught!'
'But, Dynaheir-'
'No! The discussion is over!'
'What's happened?' came a voice and Jaheira turned to see Fritha behind them, drawn back to camp by the noise, Khalid's bow still strung in her hand.
'Thy friend, against mine advisement and instruction, took it upon herself to memorize and attempt to cast a spell… with obvious results,' the Wychlaran explained, a slight smile pulling at her mouth as she showed them the large charred hole now burnt through her cloak.
'I didn't mean to!' whined Imoen, 'All we've been doing for days is theory. I just wanted to see if I actually could!'
'Imoen…' Fritha sighed, an air of the disappointed mother about her as she shook her head, before returning her gaze to the mage, 'I'm sure it wasn't intentional, was it Imoen?'
The thief vehemently shook her head, trying to look ashamed, but Dynaheir seemed ready for this.
'Oh, no Fritha,' she smiled, shaking her own head, 'thine honeyed tongue is what induced me to teach her in the first place.'
Jaheira and Khalid shared a look; that wasn't quite true. Both the girls had begged and flattered for days to no avail. It had been Fritha's ruthless cunning that had finally won out and the druid couldn't help but smile as she recalled the looks of horror on their faces when Fritha had threatened that if Dynaheir didn't teach her friend, she would. Jaheira pulled her attention back to the group, Fritha stood before them now, between the two antagonists and keeping up a steady stream of appeasement.
'Please, Dynaheir, you know how much this means to Imoen. And she is very sorry about your cloak. We'll mend it, won't we?'
Jaheira shook her head and smiled. Ever the peacemaker. Indeed; a few earnest promises and heartfelt apologies later, Dynaheir had softened enough to "consider it" and Jaheira was sure Imoen would be a source of magical trouble again before the tenday's end.
'Ho there,' came a voice behind her and Jaheira turned with the others to see Minsc finally return from his hunt, a brace of plump grey rabbits hanging from his bow.
'Good hunting, I see,' she commented as he joined them, the man sitting down at her side with a sigh.
'So it was. But we should set about to cooking them soon; Boo may have his seeds, but Minsc is very hungry.'
'Fair enough, I shall go and fetch some water,' Jaheira smiled, walking over to her pack to fetch her large iron cooking pot. 'Imoen, start stripping the rest of the wild garlic we gathered yesterday. And the rabbits will need cleaning.'
'I'll do it,' offered Fritha, passing Khalid's bow back to him with a smile and Jaheira nodded her agreement. The girl's skill with a knife was well known, skinning and cleaning their game with quick deft movements. The druid had been surprised by it at first, until Imoen had informed her that Fritha had spent most of her free time back at the Keep helping out in the kitchens.
'Ra-bbits, ra-bbits' the girl sang, taking the sleek limp bodies from Minsc and dancing them over to Imoen who squealed and tried to bat her away.
Jaheira rolled her eyes as she fought against a smile. 'Fritha! Stop playing with them and get on with it.'
The girl threw her a roguish grin, making one of the rabbits salute and Imoen snorted into her lapful of leaves as Fritha skipped over to the far edge of the camp and began her task.
An hour later and all were gathered about the fire, eating the stew with the way-bread that formed the staple of every meal since they had entered the forest; Imoen's complaints that it was the only thing they seemed to eat anymore, sparking off a discussion on what they missed most about their homes.
'My sisters in magic.'
'The beautiful snowfields, so full of danger!'
'The northern forests of Tethyr.'
'Oh, ah, the s-sunrise over Calimport harbour.'
'Fritha?' prompted Jaheira to the girl next in the circle, who shrugged shyly.
'I don't know really… just little things.'
'Come now,' chided Dynaheir with a smile, 'we all have many things we could miss about home, thou must decide upon one.'
'What do you miss then?' Fritha continued, turning to the girl sat next to her. Imoen smiled fondly.
'Having lunch in the refectory.'
Jaheira snorted. 'We should have guessed it would have something to do with food!'
'No, it wasn't like that. If you got there early, it was really nice. The refectory's all light and airy and I don't know, it was peaceful…' Imoen trailed off looking a touch embarrassed, turning her attention back to her friend, 'So have you decided yet?'
'Yes,' Fritha nodded, suddenly all-decisive, 'I miss the books.'
'The books?' repeated Imoen and Fritha smiled, her eyes shining as she gazed off into the distance, clearly revelling in some lost feeling.
'Yes, I miss being surrounded by all that knowledge, the sheer potential of it. To wake up every day and know by the end of it I could have learnt some more under-common or another tale from Kara-Tur or the Midsummer dance of Amaunator.'
'Thou learnt dances?' exclaimed the Wychlaran, giving a voice to most of their thoughts and Fritha nodded, pulling her attention back to them with a grin.
'Yes, though no one bar Imoen, Beth and Gorion knew. Whelan once caught me practising from a book in the archives, but I told him I was trying to get a spider out of my tunic.'
Imoen snorted into her hand, dissolving into giggles as Fritha finally straightened, hefting her bag on to her shoulder.
'Right, I'm going for a wash before it gets dark. Coming, Imoen?'
The girl just nodded, still regaining her composure as she gathered their dirty dishes and Jaheira fought back a frown with little success.
'Really, Fritha-' she began with a sigh before the thief cut her off.
'Gods, Jaheira, you do this every time! Fritha says she's going for a wash, you complain, we go, everything's fine, the end.'
The druid smiled in spite of herself.
'Well, I just cannot understand why. The rest of us seem to be able to manage for a few days without washing.'
Imoen grinned. 'Yeah, well, the blood will out.'
'What?'
Fritha looked back sharply, reaching out to tug insistently at the girl's sleeve, looking highly uncomfortable.
'Come on, Imoen, let's go.'
'Fritha's mum,' Imoen continued proudly, batting away her hand, 'was a noblewomen.'
Khalid raised an interested eyebrow.
'I d-did not know you had any memories of your mother, Fritha.'
The girl sighed, shooting Imoen a dark look as she let the bag fall from her shoulder to rest on the ground at her feet, the strap slack in her hand.
'I don't. Gorion told me bits now and then. Usually whenever I asked though, it was the "wrong time for such a discussion". He said he'd tell me once I was older… bit late now, isn't it?' she added with a shrug, despondently kicking a stick back into the fire.
Jaheira felt a pang of empathy. She had been just a child when her castle fell as part of a bloody revolution that saw the end of many of the noble houses in Tethyr. She remembered little of her murdered family and the druids, into whose care she was placed, knew even less. Though their sermons on the cyclical nature of life and the Balance, had led her on to the path she walked now, they had been of little comfort at the time and though she knew it word for word, she would beg the arch-druid until hoarse for the story of how she'd come to them. Of the maid who had brought her and what she had said of her family; the old druid's words, only link to them she had.
'What do you know?' Jahiera asked, glancing up to the girl, her voice coming soft and unfamiliar to her. Fritha shrugged.
'Only that she was a lady of the Elven Court at Ashabenford; a half-elf, which means my father must have been one too. Gorion said she was a friend of his and died shortly after I was born.'
'That is all?' exclaimed Jaheira incredulously, 'No description of her appearance, her tastes, nothing?'
Fritha just shrugged again though, seeming more surprised at the concern she was showing. Jaheira shook her head, letting the subject drop and watched as Fritha grabbed her bag and disappeared into the forest with Imoen. She understood Gorion must have had his reasons, but to keep so much from her…
Khalid must have noticed her withdrawal, for he moved closer, putting an arm about her and Jaheira leaned into the embrace, taking comfort from the contact. It had taken her a long time when she was growing-up to exorcise her demons, she often wondered what sort of person she would have become, had the druids not taken her in as a child, had it not been necessary…
She sighed and shook herself, consigning such things to the past. The future, that was where her focus should lie. Finding out more about the Iron Throne… and keeping them all alive while they did so.
xxx
Imoen glanced to her friend as they walked the fifty yards or so to the stream, its gentle roar growing louder with each step. There seemed a strangeness to the air that evening, the previous talk of Candlekeep and their confessions awakening unfamiliar feelings in her.
'Fritha,' she began slowly, throwing an almost wary glance to the girl at her side, 'did you mean what you said about missing the books?'
Fritha shrugged slightly, holding a branch out of her path until she'd passed.
'Yes, why, don't you?'
'Not really, I always found the Keep a bit… constricting. Learning from Steen was the only good bit about it.' Imoen eyed her curiously. 'What else do you miss?'
'Just being there I suppose, watching the people go about their lives.'
'You were spying on people?' she exclaimed, suddenly impressed.
Fritha frowned slightly. 'No, not spying, just observing what they showed everyone else. You can learn a lot from just watching people.'
'Like what?'
'Whelan hates Archmage Jesseth. He always tried to avoid seeing him when he could and if they did meet, Whelan's lip would curl up slightly, like what he really thought of him was fighting to get out.'
'Ooo, what else?' said Imoen keenly, as they finally reach the water, but Fritha just shrugged, strangely quiet as she moved behind a bush to undress and Imoen changed the subject.
'So how many dances do you think you know now?' she asked, turning from her to sit in the long grass.
'Well, not including the ones everyone knows, about two dozen or so, but most of them are temple dances and pretty archaic ones at that.'
'Will you teach me?'
'Imoen,' Fritha cried, a head and bare shoulders suddenly reappearing, 'you've asked me this before and we tried. You don't have the patience for it.'
'That was ages ago. I'm better now…' she whined, watching as Fritha raised an eyebrow, a certain incident with a spell and Dynaheir's cloak perhaps indicating the contrary, though her friend said nothing.
'So will you?' Imoen continued, turning her back again as Fritha moved from undergrowth.
'If I must.'
The sounds of gentle splashing filled the air and a sharp intake of breath signalled when it was safe to face her again, and sure enough Imoen turned to see her friend sat in the stream, the slow moving water swirling about her shoulders.
'How's the water?'
'Cold,' she grinned, tipping her head back to wet her hair before leaning over to the bank and emptying her bag gently.
'Gods, how many do you need?' cried Imoen incredulously, eyeing the myriad of bottles that now strewed the grass before her like jewels.
'I like to have a variety,' Fritha answered primly, selecting one of the larger tubs and scooping some of the paste on to her shoulder. 'Careful, that one's expensive.'
Imoen gingerly replaced the cap on a small bottle that smelt strongly of magnolias, laying it gently back in the grass and leaning over the bank to rinse out the dishes and Jaheira's large iron cooking pot.
'What's that then?' she questioned with a nod to the mixture Fritha was now rubbing briskly along her arms.
'A paste of powdered walnut shells and cinnamon.'
Imoen leant forwards with a laugh. 'Hey, so it is! You smell like biscuits!'
Fritha laughed too, making to splash her and grabbing another jar from the bank, opening it to drop a green misshapen lump of soap into her waiting hand, drawing it through her hair and across her scalp to build up a lather. Imoen watched as she leaned back again, rinsing the foam away before reaching out to collect another bottle from the bank and pouring a generous measure into her cup.
'Lemon juice. It makes it shiny,' she explained with a grin, filling the rest of the cup with water to pour the contents over her head. 'There, done.'
Imoen dropped her gaze to the grass as Fritha rose and slipped back behind the bush to struggle into her tunic and trousers before she threw herself down next to her, vigorously rubbing her hair in a towel, her voice muffled.
'Imoen could you get my comb out, please?'
Imoen smiled, pulling over her bag and pushing a hand in. But the first thing it fell upon was not a comb, but a long narrow box, the dark wood gleaming richly, the only mark upon the surface, the letters "E H" inlaid in brass upon the lid. Curiosity seized her and Imoen threw a last wary glance to Fritha before quickly upending the bag, emptying the contents onto the grass before them.
'Imoen!' cried Fritha, pushing the hair from her face to eye her crossly.
'I was just looking for your comb!' she replied, trying to look injured but feeling increasing uncomfortable under her friend's reproachful glare and Imoen dropped her gaze, unable to believe what she saw as her eyes fell on the grass and the treasures that now lay between them. Tiny bottles of every colour filled with oils, sticks of pigment, boxes in every size and shade of wood and, in the centre of it all, gleaming, a polished bronze hand mirror, two cast snakes coiling up from the handle to hold the disk in place. She gingerly opened the box she had seen first to reveal a set of rosewood combs, the spine of each carved as intricately as any lace.
'What is all this?' Imoen breathed, sliding open a long thin case to reveal a set of pressed-powder cones, the sudden aroma almost making her sneeze.
'They're incense cones,' Fritha answered slowly, taking the first from the box and rolling it gently between thumb and forefinger, 'Kara-Turan ladies use them to scent their clothes.' She dropped the cone back into the box, her eyes distant as she brought her fingers to her nose. 'Jasmine and orange blossom, I think.'
Imoen just shook her head, laying them gently back in the grass to unroll a pouch of shining silver instruments that could have easily been mistaken for a travel-sized torture kit. There was no way Fritha could have bought any of this; not on the money Jaheira allowed them both. And even if she had found them in some market somewhere, why not show her? Why be so secretive about it?
'Fritha, where d'you get all this.'
The girl looked uncomfortable, finally picking her comb from amongst the clutter and beginning to brush out her hair and Imoen could hardly believe how it looked it until,
'Beth gave them to me.'
'The cook?' exclaimed Imoen with amazement, thinking back to the stout middle-aged woman who ran the Keep's kitchen with a firm hand.
'She wasn't always a cook, you know,' said Fritha sharply, as though Imoen's exclamation had been an attack, 'she used to be a singer until her voice went; she collected these on her travels.'
'And she gave it all to you? Why?'
'Well… she gave me those first,' Fritha began, pointing to the rolled pouch of vicious-looking instruments, 'and the rest just as and when she felt like it. To be honest, I didn't really have much use for them at the time; I suppose she overestimated my maturity. Then, one by one, I just started to use them, simple as that. I've still to touch the incense, or the pigments.'
'Yeah, but why?' Imoen pressed, Fritha's way of talking round the subject only making her curiosity fiercer. Fritha would not meet her gaze though and when she finally did answer, it was all in a rush, as though saying it faster would lessen the effect.
'She gave me them because Gorion had asked her to tell me something, and I think she thought I would be upset afterwards.'
Imoen paused; it was so unlike Fritha to keep anything from her, she was slightly apprehensive to question further.
'What did she tell you, Fritha?'
Her friend sighed, before straightening, squaring her shoulders to catch her with that near black gaze.
'She asked me a few questions and then told me there was a strong possibility I could never have children.'
For a split second, Imoen was sure her heart actually stopped. She stared at her friend, half expecting her to break into a stupid grin, to tell her it was a joke and that it served her right for being so nosey. But Fritha just watched her impassively; the comb still in her hand and Imoen felt her stomach groan.
'You mean…'
Fritha nodded curtly.
'Yes.'
'I- I'm sorry.'
'Please don't feel awkward, Imoen,' she finally relented, her previous distance gone as she laid a hand on her arm, 'it's fine.'
'It is?'
Fritha drew back with a shrug, staring blankly at the objects as she spoke.
'Well, I don't know how to feel, really. Beth seemed surprised at how well I took it too; I think it's one of those things I won't really understand the weight of until I'm older.' She sighed gently, taking one of the long silver implements and twirling between her fingers as she continued.
'But she gave me the set all the same and showed me what each piece was for. It was quite fun really, and I think she enjoyed it too. Every now and then, I'd go to practise and she'd be there with a new treasure for me. The mirror, the incense, the combs. We would play with them for a bit, just talking about life and things and then suddenly she would get quite solemn and say how pretty I was becoming or how my singing was improving, and then she would make a present of them to me.'
Fritha shook her head, smiling gently to herself. 'It was like she was passing on her legacy. She has no children of her own, you know.'
Finally, she looked to her again and Imoen found it hard to return her gaze. It was so strange; before they'd left Candlekeep, she would sworn that no-one knew her friend better that she did, but now…
'Oh, Fritha, I'm sorry,' she breathed again, feeling suddenly tearful.
'Don't be,' Fritha answered briskly, rising to gather up her belongings from the grass. 'I wouldn't have a child right now, would I, so it seems a bit silly to get upset about it. Besides, the way things are at the moment, I probably won't live long enough for it to become a problem. Pass me that bottle, will you.'
Imoen just nodded, Fritha's dismissive practicality making her feel, if possible, even worse. She tossed the last bottle into the bag Fritha was holding open and together the two made their way back to camp.
When they arrived, only Jaheira, Dynaheir and a loaded silence were about to greet them and Fritha wondered whether another argument had been enjoyed in their absence, though neither woman seemed particularly displeased. Fritha nodded a greeting, crossing the camp to sit opposite them, rooting in her pack to draw out the dented metal dish that usually served her as mirror and a fine pair of silver tweezers.
'Where are the men?' she heard Imoen ask as she began her task, eyes watering as she teased the first hair out from just beneath the arch of her brow.
'Walking the boundary to check for tracks,' Jaheira answered. 'I think our element of surprise may be somewhat reduced if bandits come wandering merrily through here as we sleep- what in the name of vanity are you doing now?' she added tersely, finally noticing her, but Fritha ignored the woman, focusing all attention on a particularly stubborn hair.
'Oh really, Jaheira,' Dynaheir laughed condescendingly, though whether in defence of her or just to annoy the druid, Fritha could not tell. 'The girl is just performing her duty to herself and making the best of what she has- and such a lot to work with too,' she added with a warm smile and Fritha watched her reflection flush, angling the mirror to hide it from the others. Somehow compliments from Dynaheir, "a proper girl" as Imoen had confirmed her, meant more than other peoples'.
'What are you doing?' asked Imoen peering around the curved edge of the plate, her friend's curiosity piqued by all this discussion.
'Plucking my eyebrows,' Fritha answered before giving another sharp flick of her wrist, finally catching the last stray hair and laying the dish back down in her lap.
'What?' Imoen cried, clearly horrified by just the thought of it, 'Why?'
Fritha shrugged slightly, not really sure she had an answer.
'Just keeps them tidy and gives the face definition.'
Imoen leaned in closer, peering at them critically. 'When did you start doing that?'
'About a year ago.' Fritha smiled, unconsciously running a finger over a delicately curved brow, 'Beth did it the first time, as it can be hard to know which hairs to take out without practice, and I've carried on ever since. I can do yours, if you like?' she offered, clicking the slender silver tweezers together playfully and patting her leg with her free hand.
Imoen considered the instrument warily, the battle between her fear and natural curiosity playing out on her face. At last she nodded, slowly approaching on her hands and knees like some sort of wild creature, before flipping over on to her back and laying with her head in Fritha's lap. Fritha laid her hands gently upon the girl's forehead, holding the skin of the brow taut between two fingers while in the other hand the tweezers were poised, ready. They flashed for a second in the firelight and,
'AH!'
'What?'
'What d'you mean "what"? It bloody hurt, that's what!' Imoen cried over the laughter of the two women, sitting up with such speed they nearly bumped heads.
'Oh, Imoen don't be such a cissy, you've had worse than this.'
'Not voluntarily, I haven't!' she snapped, batting the tweezers away, 'My eyebrows can just stay as they are, bushy and pain free.'
'The first sensible comment you've made all evening,' announced Jaheira with a sanctimonious nod.
'What?' gasped Fritha, grabbing Imoen's arm with theatrical shock, 'Did I just hear you and Jaheira agree on something?'
It was hard to tell who looked more perturbed, the druid or the thief.
'Now what's going on here?' came a voice and Khalid appeared opposite her, walking through the undergrowth to rejoin the group, Minsc at his heels, 'I heard Imoen cry out, is Dynaheir finally taking r-retribution for her cloak?'
The gathering laughed, Dynaheir answering with an easy smile. 'Imoen is just learning a vital life lesson; beauty is pain.'
'Ah, this is true, very true,' agreed Minsc, moving to sit next to Dynaheir, nodding wisely. 'The female berserkers of our clan cover their entire bodies in beautiful tattoos to show their glory and prowess in battle, and, as Minsc well knows, tattoos hold a pain that make even Boo cower,' he laughed, slapping his bald head and the vivid violet circle that adorned it.
'By Mask, Minsc!' exclaimed Imoen with a wince, and Fritha was with her. So used to seeing the man as a whole, it was easy to forget that he was not born the great ranger who travelled with them now. 'Right on your skull too, that must have been excruciating.'
'True, it was very painful- but it was a pain I relished!' he continued, slapping his hands together with a grin, 'This tattoo was given to me when I became a full warrior; the fledglings of our clan use something else, in your language it is known as woad, I think.'
'Woad?' repeated Imoen, and the Wychlaran smiled.
'It is a type of blue dye; made from a plant of the same name.'
'D'you have any tattoos, Dynaheir?'
Her smile broaden and she gave the thief an appraising look before beckoning her forward, turning her back on the group as she did so.
'Unlace my robes.'
Her friend moved tentatively to untie them, clearly finding it stiffer than first anticipated and after a moment of her struggling, Fritha rolled her eyes and moved forward to take over, parting the heavy indigo fabric and the cream of the chemise beneath to reveal the Wychlaran's long smooth back, a pattern of black vines creeping up her spine.
'That's beautiful,' Imoen breathed, sitting back on her haunches as Fritha re-laced her robes, 'I want one!'
'Imoen! A moment ago you were complaining about having your eyebrows plucked!'
Everyone laughed at that, even the girl in question, Fritha tapping Dynaheir's shoulder to let her know she'd finished, the girl moving back to her spot as Minsc continued.
'Boo says tattoos are for warriors and witches, not for little girls.'
'Yeah?' snapped Imoen; any mention of her age guaranteed to rile her, 'well you just tell Boo we're not so little.'
'Speak for yourself,' said Fritha airily, 'I'm very immature.'
Khalid smiled, laying a hand each on both their shoulders as he stood.
'Well, old or young, we have much to do on the m-morrow and I think it would be best if we bedded down for the night. I shall t-take first watch.'
'I'll second,' volunteered another as Fritha moved to unpack her bedding, Imoen following her to do the same, neither girl due to take a turn on watch that night.
'Well, I don't care what they say; soon as I'm able, I'm getting one,' her friend whispered, giving her a grin as they made up their beds.
'What will you get?'
'I don't know, a pattern… or maybe an animal, like a phoenix or a dragon…'
Fritha grinned as she slipped between the blankets; she had a good feeling that they wouldn't get past one talon before Imoen lost her nerve. She glanced to her friend now, Imoen laid on her back staring wistfully at the dark sky, no doubt considering her choice, before she turned to catch her watching and smiled.
'What would you have?'
Fritha grinned. 'I'd get the fingering for F reduced on the back of my hand; I never can remember it.'
'Fritha!'
'You two- shush!' barked Jaheira from across the fire and Fritha smirked, nestling down under her blankets, the last thing she saw as she closed her eyes, Imoen's face smiling back at her.
xxx
Fritha closed her eyes, a shiver running through her, the girl unable to hear the others over the roar of water that still echoed in her ears. Another trek through dank, sunless tunnels behind them, another handful of tattered parchment to show for it.
Mines!
Never again would she wander the tunnels of those hand-hewn necropolises! Always layer upon layer of trouble and death; the twisting hells of Pandemonium knew more peace!
The roar in her ears seemed to grow louder, the deafening crash of water as she imagined the river filling the tunnels beneath them. How could they? How could she? How on Toril had they justified it to themselves? To confront someone, to challenge them, offer up a choice and then attack. That was one thing… but just to trick them, to kill without warning? She glanced round at them all; her friends mingling with the rescued miners, their faces so drawn and gaunt they looked like skulls.
It had seemed like such a simple plan down there, in that dark twisted place, the tunnels all winding in on themselves like the belly of some great monster. Free the miners, flood the mine.
And she had been so afraid, watching Minsc and Khalid break the river seal, willing them more speed as they tore along the tunnel to the waiting lift, water surging in behind them as they travelled up the shaft. It was only there, under the clear dusk sky, that she had calmed enough to think on the consequences and the horror of it all had seized her.
What if some of the miners had still been down there? Even Rill admitted he could not account for all of them. And what of the guards left, unaware of the danger… they may have surrendered, given a choice… She had always been afraid of drowning. Ever since she'd been swept out of her depth as a child in the bay below Candlekeep.
Fritha shivered again, knowing her cloak would do nothing but pulling it about her all the same, leaning into it almost as an embrace.
'Fritha, do you have-' began Imoen turning to her, the girl's face suddenly shaded with concern as she noticed her. 'Are you okay?'
'I'm fine, just cold.'
'Oh, all right. Jaheira wants to know if you have the scrolls we found in Davearon-'
'Davaeorn!' Fritha corrected angrily; they had killed him but an hour before, the least Imoen could do was remember his name! But the girl seemed not to notice, carrying on with a nonchalant shrug.
'Yeah, him. Well, do you-?'
'Here,' Fritha cut her off, pushing the tightly rolled letters into her hand and turning away, not caring what they would say.
She felt Imoen pause behind her, clearly confused before she heard the girl sigh and move off, taking the few paces back to the group and rustling through the papers as she went.
'Spell, map of the mines, ah, here we are.' She cleared her throat theatrically and began, 'Letter dated Alturiak 1367 from, Rieltar to Davaeorn. He's sending over some new slaves and they have taken residence in an ancient building in the west of Baldur's Gate.'
'1367…' Khalid murmured, half to himself before he glanced about at them all, 'this has been long in the planning…'
Fritha closed her eyes again. Long in the planning… but they, their group had not been planned on and now they were to be stopped, at any cost… but who had really paid so far?
'Also,' continued Imoen, 'he's to prepare for a visit. Sarevok is stopping in on his way to Nashkel to inspect his progress.' The girl paused, glancing over it one last time before passing it to Jaheira, 'That's all.'
'Sarevok, that name again.'
Fritha frowned, pulling her cloak even tighter as an unknown worry filled her. Yes, that name. The name among many that had forced her hand so far…
'Quite, b-but this time it seems there is only one place left to find him.'
Fritha turned, gazing northeast to where the sky was already darkening to rich indigo.
'Baldur's Gate'