Disclaimer: I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. 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

For Anonymous, who made me smile.

Return to The Gate

The catacombs were hardly in focus before they were racing through the dim and dusty passages, following Imoen and trusting her sense of direction to keep their heading right. The way seemed filled with ancient traps and wards, all, more than likely, designed to prevent invasion rather than escape and they had to retrace their steps more than once, some promising path ending in a plain wall or empty room. But the thief kept them on course, and at last, the tunnel began to slope upwards and they were out, the cold damp air such a shock that Fritha found the first breath burnt her throat.

She stared about them, the beginnings of a shower speckling her face as she got her bearings; the great black ocean stretching westwards while, behind her, the walls of the Keep rose up fathomlessly into the darkness. She touched the cold stone. Had it truly been mere hours ago she'd sat in the kitchens surrounded by friends? Now she was outside, cut off from them again, exiled from her home. Someone was talking, but she couldn't make out the words.
What did it matter? What did any of it matter? Gorion was gone, Candlekeep may well as be for all she could reach of it and… and she was a child of Bhaal… a child of Murder…

'Fritha!'

She glanced up. Jaheira was staring at her, frowning, but she could see the concern it was trying to hide.

'We need to get moving. It will not be long before our- Fritha?'

She felt herself begin to sway, shadows lurching round her as she pitched forward, catching the wall for balance as she felt her body retch. Someone was holding her, helping her to sit, their voices echoing above her.

'Is she okay?'

'Deep breaths, child, that is it.'

'Don't crowd her, girl.'

'P-perhaps we should find somewhere to camp.'

'No!' a voice cried out and she was surprised to realise it had been her own. 'No,' she continued more calmly, using the wall at her back to help her stand, 'Jaheira's right, we must keep moving. We should return to the Gate, find Sarevok. If we hurry we can reach there before news of our escape does.'

xxx

Imoen frowned, trying in vain to concentration on the trill of birdsong as they walked, rather than the hoarse wheezing of the girl before her. They had left Candlekeep two days ago, travelling long into the night on that first evening, in spite of the weather, to finally make camp a few hours before dawn. The group had rested until the following noon, Fritha waking tired and feverish, though it did not stop her driving them northward once more, and at a pace that left even the tallest of them behind.

But what had started off as a slight chill quickly grew worse, her friend's weakened state offering up little resistance to the disease. Everyone was concerned and Jaheira soon started making suggestions about moving east back to the roads to find an inn, only to be rebuffed by the girl each time, the last refused with such venom that Jaheira did not offer again. Though, Imoen noticed, her friend was never woken to take a watch, but whether or not that was the druid's doing, she could not tell. She understood the woman's frustration though; Imoen found herself able to give little comfort to her friend. The girl was beyond conversation, needing all of what meagre breath she could draw for the breakneck pace she had set for them, and there was nothing Imoen could do other than walk with her in silent company during the days, and lie next to her in the nights, watching her shake and mutter in her sleep.

Imoen shook her head, glancing through the trees to watch her friend forging ahead of them, a cloak drawn about her in spite of the day's heat. At this pace, they would easily reach the Gate within another two days. She winced as Fritha tripped slightly, her breath catching to reduce her to yet another coughing fit. That was, if they reached the place at all…

xxx

Fritha sighed, a hand absently brushing along the ears of wheat at her side as she followed the others along the edge of the field, the crops a pale gold under the dawning sun. Since they had fled Candlekeep, the last few days had just seemed to blend into one, tramping through forest after forest, avoiding the roads as they made their way northwards once more. Though, considering the state she had been in, Fritha felt thankful she had been able to travel at all. As much as she had ignored the others, especially Jaheira, Fritha realised she had been very ill; the sharp stabbing pains that ran through her lungs each time she drew breath and the tang of blood and phlegm that never quite left her mouth serving as constant reminders.

But it had hardly mattered, all things considered, and she had taken an almost savage pleasure in the weakness of her body, wallowing in the pain of yet another fit of coughing, the rasp of her breathing, the ache of her head. She had felt a stranger to herself ever since finding that letter in the warm and dusty room that had once been her own, and the feeling that even her body was rebelling against her seemed strangely comforting.

But these feelings of revulsion had eventually passed along with her illness, and that morning's dawn found the group cutting swiftly through the farmlands just south of the Gate with her as whole in both body and spirit as she had been in days. And it was as the sun was rising over distant hills that their path intersected with the old coast road and they walked the last few hours to the city, only this time, they were not alone…

The sun was barely over the horizon and already the road was full. Whole families travelling both ways along the track, each looking as though they had brought all they could manage with them; the luckier ones with carts and mounts, some just laden with all they could carry. And the way only got busier the closer to the city they drew, high sun finding them joining a queue of people that started well before the bridge to slowly make their way to a group of guards by the gate who were taking note of origins, drawing someone off every now and then for further questions.

Fritha watched the soldier nearest to them as he patrolled the head of the queue, an older man with greying temples who looked as though he had been there long before the dawn.

'Go on, keep moving. No, there's no tax, madam. Keep in line there…'

Fritha glanced to the friends next to her, all harried and road-weary and blending in surprisingly well with the others who stood about them, all jostling for position in a queue almost as wide as the bridge itself, only just enough room left for those leaving the Gate to get by. Fritha shrugged to herself, none the wiser as she turned back to him and called out.

'Hey! What's going on?'

The guard walked over to her, frowning slightly, and she gestured to the mass of people all about her, hoping to indicate she was not just complaining about their slow progress.

'Well, it the war innit,' he shrugged with a quick glance behind to check the queue in his absence before turning back to her. 'People here think they'll be safer away from the city that's bound to be a target, and people out in the villages want some big strong walls about them. Can't say I blame either side, neither.'

'War? Baldur's Gate's at war? With who?' came Imoen's voice behind her, though she suspected her friend knew his answer as well as she did.

'With who?' he exclaimed, staring from her to Fritha, his jaw slack, 'Which layer o' hell have you been in for the last tenday? With who…' he repeated, shaking his head with disbelief, 'with that nest of vipers, Amn, that's who! It all came out a few days ago. They were behind the iron shortage all along. Trying to soften us up, they were, make us weak before they struck,' He smacked his fist and palm together with a sharp snap as though to emphasise the point. 'But they didn't bank on the Iron Throne…'

'The Iron Throne…' breathed Fritha, but it wasn't a question this time.

'Aye, you've heard of them, then? I'm not much for trusting merchants, but good sorts, they are. They've been supplying the city with weapons and at cost too. Given a lot of help to the Fist here in the Gate and have even sent supplies down to garrison Beregost.'

'Beregost has been garrisoned?'

'Aye, about half a tenday ago. Here, where have you been?' he questioned, his eyes suddenly narrowed and sweeping over the group behind her, 'even on the roads you still should of run into messengers; the Coast Way should have been crawling with them…'

But Fritha was hardly listening, her mind swimming with the idea that the small town she'd visited only a month ago was going to be the first in the line of attack if Amn invaded. She thought of the bright little girl who'd delivered her message to her. Would she still be there? Maybe even enjoying all the noise and bustle as the town was fortified. But, perhaps her family had moved away, somewhere safe…

'Fritha?'

She looked up again sharply, finding the older guard joined by a younger colleague, a dark bound ledger resting in the crook of his arm, long fingers stained black with ink.

'Miss? I asked you a question, now please state your point of origin.'

Fritha shook herself. 'Forgive me, we have been on the road for sometime now and we do not get much news of the Gate up in Daggerford.'

A silent looked passed between the two, the younger opening his mouth to speak again when another cut him off.

'Here, is this bloody line going to move, or what?'

He frowned, nodding to a couple of the more heavily armed soldiers that were stood by the tower behind him, all three bustling off to find this troublemaker before a riot began, and with a heavy sigh the older guard waved them past and they joined the other refugees as they filtered into the city.

Once inside the gates they moved quickly through the press, heading straight for the Elfsong. The streets were even more crowded than when they'd left, people drifting about in wary herds. Some of those arriving had nowhere else to go and were just settling in the streets, the guards fighting a losing battle as they moved on group after group. Fritha pushed open the door to the inn expecting a similar scene, and though the bar was certainly the busiest she'd ever seen it, it was not at capacity and there were rooms still available; the refugees that had flooded the city clearly unable to afford lodgings at one of the Gate's nicer taverns. They took three rooms as before and if the landlord recognised them, he did not say so, dispatching a maid to take them upstairs without comment. A moment just to dump her bag and lock her door and she and Imoen met the others in the room Khalid and Jaheira were to share, the city's new circumstances clearly needing some discussion.

'So we are all agreed,' confirmed Jaheira, slipping off her boots to pull her feet beneath her as she sat, her husband at her side on one of the two beds that had been crammed into the small room, 'it is most likely Sarevok who has taken over the Iron Throne.'

Imoen nodded, already curled up on the opposite bed with Dynaheir and Fritha, Minsc sat on the floor at their feet, his broad back resting against the door.

'Who else is there left? With Rieltar and Brunos dead, I'm betting Thaldorn didn't last much longer.'

'But to murder thine own father, just for control of a guild,' Dynaheir sighed, looking weary, 'it doth not make sense.'

'Minsc has seen men do most terrible things for power; it corrupts!'

Much nodding followed this but Fritha held off; they were missing something here, something greater than mere guild politics.

'No, she's right, it doesn't make sense…' she began slowly, unsure of where she was really heading, 'He killed his father for power over the guild, over the Gate, fine. But you heard the guard, he's selling the weapons at cost… why?'

'Perhaps he d-does not wish to see the Gate invaded.'

Fritha shook her head with a frown. 'Baldur's Gate is the richest city in the Western Heartlands, they could afford double the current market price for iron… He's gone to all this trouble to take over a guild and now he's not interested in making money. What's more, he's practically giving away the substance that has given his guild the power they sought.'

Jaheira snorted, a frown furrowing her brow.

'I would say he is trying to put right the sins of his father, except we all saw his true colours back at Candlekeep.'

'Maybe he just wants to play the hero,' offered Imoen with a casual shrug, 'the iron crisis couldn't last forever anyway; he sells it off at cost now and when the war and the shortage are over he looks like the city's saviour; that can't be bad for business, whatever you deal in.'

Talk of these different theories and their plans took them late into the afternoon and on into the evening, the group eating the last of their supplies there together rather then risking a prolonged visit to the common room. It was late now; the real talk had filtered off hours ago, but none seemed willing to break company yet, even though Khalid was already asleep and Imoen was curled up with her head on Dynaheir's knee 'just resting her eyes.' Fritha was tired too, her raging thirst the only thing keeping her from joining Imoen. The room, small as it was, was stuffy and close with them all sat within and their water had dried up at dinner. So finally she dragged herself awake and, as much for her own sake as anyone else's, volunteered to go to the bar before they all retired for the night.

Downstairs was little better though, the crowd of people making the usually airy room close and humid, and she suspected that the majority of those still down there at that hour did not have a bed to get to. She moved across to the bar, unnoticed in the throng of waiting patrons, ordering her drinks and handing over a few water flasks for refilling, and was waiting patiently for the maid's return when a hand caught her sleeve in the press. She tensed, glancing up to see a half-elven youth of her own age stood next to her; his sharp profile softened by the brown curls that rippled in an untidy mop about his head, dark eyes trained on the bottles that covered the back of the bar.

'I would speak with you, lady,' he muttered, lips barely moving, 'will you come and listen?'

She stared ahead as well, wanting nothing more than to collect their drinks and fall into bed, but at last, she sighed and nodded once, leaning over the bar to shout to the maid, 'I'll just be a moment, miss, I've left my purse in my room.'

The girl nodded absently, her eyes never leaving the pint she was trying to coax from the sputtering tap and Fritha followed him through the press into the back alcove. She was surprised at first that he had managed to keep a table in his absence, until the heat hit her, the dying embers of the snug turning the smaller room into an oven and keeping all but the most hardy of patrons at bay. Only a few candles had been spared in there, lighting the air above to throw long shadows over the people that sat about them, hunched low over their drinks. She followed him to his table, allowing him to draw a chair out for her and sitting down as he took the bench next to her.

He smiled, seemingly satisfied with how things had progressed so far, his eyes dark and earnest.

'Good then. I am Delthyr. I represent those who Harp and I have been seeking you for days now.'

Fritha smiled wanly, dropping her eyes to the two pale hands that rested on the table before her, overly white in the gloom.

'You are one among many, and of a number set only to grow, I fear.'

'True, lady,' he continued, 'but I search for different reason. Much has changed in the city since your departure and I am charged to tell you of it.'

'You seem young; why have they entrusted such a task to you?'

'I am as old as you!' he exclaimed passionately and she smiled in spite of herself, his likeness to Imoen in that moment warming.

'Indeed, and I doubt any would trust me with what they have, had they any choice in the matter.'

She smiled gently, and he slowly returned it, looking slightly abashed as he continued.

'Such is the level of suspicion in the Gate now, most of the Harpers fear they may be watched. I am not known within this city, hailing from Waterdeep, as I do, and they leave this task to me. Will you listen, my lady?'

She nodded for him to continue and he leaned in slightly, a few stray curls falling forward across his brow.

'Scar, the second in command of the Flaming Fist has been assassinated.'

Fritha closed her eyes, her tiredness suddenly threatening to overwhelm her; if she ever got hold of Sarevok…

'You knew him?' came his voice again and she finally opened her eyes, shrugging loosely.

'We were acquainted. He seemed a good man.'

Delthyr looked pained a moment, pressing his lips together before venturing to speak again.

'I- I am sorry, lady, my news does not get any better. Grand Duke Eltan has come down with some mysterious aliment. No one knows how long he has to live. Also,' he continued slowly, glancing quickly to her face before dropping his gaze to the table, 'news has reached us here of your recent crimes in Candlekeep. Everyone believes you are agents from Amn and your persecution of the Iron Throne, stems therein. Sarevok, their new leader, has placed a price on your head and the Flaming Fist has a warrant for your arrest. Before I continued, tell me, lady, are you guilty?'

She shook her head, eyes downcast, feeling the weight of the world pressing heavily on her. 'No, I am not.'

He smiled warmly, all at once earnest again as he continued.

'I am relieved. You may know better than I what your own course of action should be in this matter, but I am here should you have any questions. But, pray lady, ask them now, for I leave with this night's tide.'

'Do they know who killed Scar?'

He shrugged slightly. 'From evidence found where he was murdered, it would seem the Shadow Thieves.'

'The Amnish influence again, how very convenient. How have things been in his absence?'

'His replacement, Captain Angelo, seems very… efficient. It is he who placed a checkpoint on the gate, and has increased the city patrols threefold. He…' Delthyr trailed off, something obviously bothering him, but as though he were unable to quite describe what it was and at last he sighed defeatedly. 'We have our suspicions, lady, but no more than that.'

'You do not trust him?'

'Some of the Harpers believe it is he who is trying to keep track of their movements, but, as I said, there is no proof.'

Fritha nodded absently to herself as she continued. 'And what of the sickness Eltan has come down with?'

'So far, Eltan's healer has been unable to discover what has been ailing him. It must be magical in nature; from what I know, Eltan's healer, Rashad, is priest of no mean faith and power. It is unusual that he has been unable to affect a cure for the Grand Duke. So… do you have any other questions, lady?'

She shook her head, glancing back through to the bar where she could see a now full tray waiting for her.

'No… my thanks, you have given me much to think on.'

He nodded, rising as she did to swing a cloak about his shoulders and bow slightly, hesitating a moment before scooping up her hand to plant a light kiss upon the back.

'Tymora keep you, lady.'

A flash of a smile, a sweep of his cloak, and he was gone, leaving her to stare at her hand, the knuckles white in the gloom.

She took their order and this news to the rest of them with laden steps, and their talks commenced again in earnest -after a lengthy group-wide reprimand for going off alone with a stranger had been administered, of course. Fritha said little herself, waiting another hour or so to listen to them talk before crawling off to her own bed, Imoen joining her.

The girl had been like her shadow ever since they'd left Candlekeep, though whether the revelations there or her subsequent illness had brought about this change she could not tell. Fritha had been angry at first, resenting it as another thing she no longer felt she should be part of. But it did not last long and above all things, it had been the blossom of their friendship that had sustained her through those dark few days. Even now she was better, Imoen was no less attentive. Fritha had been sure their return to the city would have sparked anew her interest in the thieves' guild. But Niklos remained significant only in his absence and the girl did not even mention him when Fritha later described Delthyr to her, though she did do a healthy amount of teasing about how Fritha had apparently managed to catch herself Harper. And so, they finally settled down for sleep, the window closed against the rumble of the city; hot and restless under a clouded sky.

xxx

The morning found Fritha tired and uneasy; her dreams haunted by men with eyes darker than the void and voices that whispered just beyond her hearing of blood and destiny. But by the look of the others, she was not alone in this as they gathered again in the Harpers' room, the temple bells signalling mid-morning across the city. It had been agreed last night that they would return to the Iron Throne in daylight; the watch more like to stop any groups who moved about the city after dark and they could use the crowded streets as cover. Khalid threw a wan smile to his wife as she ushered the girls down the stairs before her and out into the sun-baked street. Who knew what would await them at the guild this time? Sarevok was clearly a youth of some power, that he could so easily conquer the greatest threat the Sword Coast had seen in years, and from the inside as well.

It was a worry though, that would prove to be premature…

'Right' shouted Jaheira over the noise of the people moving about them, 'everyone stay-'

'Stand where you're at and make not one move!'

Khalid whirled to the voice, a squad of guards suddenly appearing in the crowds to surround them, swords drawn, their blond captain approaching at a more leisurely pace, smiling broadly as people hurried to get out of his path.

'What's going on?' demanded Fritha, stepping up to meet him, all front and indignation, 'Why do you detain us?'

'Come now,' continued the captain with a genial chuckle that left Khalid cold, gesturing to the two nearest guards who immediately stepped in to seize her arms. 'Let's not bother with any pretence; I know who you are and I know what you've done.'

The girl's eyes narrowed. 'Who are you?'

'Captain Ellic Angelo, commander of the Flaming Fist, and you are Fritha; traitor, murderer and spy. I was informed some days ago of your escape from Candlekeep. I was told you would likely return here, though I must say I am surprised, considering it is where you were due to be hung anyway.'

A guard at his side grunted in agreement. 'Aye, but he's a nose for such things, that Sarev-'

'Silence!' Angelo snapped looking livid and Jaheira threw him a disdainful look.

'So you are in his pocket then? You'll forgive me for not being surprised.'

'Watch your tongue druid, or you'll loose it! You wouldn't be the first Harper I've seen on the wrong end of a blade today…'

That caught all their attention though Angelo focused only on Fritha, stepping up to meet the girl toe to toe, his voice smooth and measured.

'Yes…the boy, Delthyr,' he continued, smiling at the horror plain on her face, 'he put up quite a struggle when we caught him. And took his secret to the grave too. If it hadn't been for a couple of refugees who recognised you from Beregost, we may not have found you before it was too late.'

'Dead… he's dead…' Fritha whispered and her whole body seemed to slump in the guards' grasp, so suddenly pale that Khalid feared she would faint. 'You…' the girl breathed her voice catching and Angelo grinned, broad and slow. Suddenly, a guttural cry and she was upon him, the guards trying to pull her off as she punched and tore at anything within reach, screaming all the while.

'You! I'll see you hang, you bastard! Do you hear? I'll see you hang!'

Chaos erupted about them, her distraction allowing Minsc to throw off his guards, drawing his sword to scatter the rest. A crackle of magic tore through the air to floor the men at his back, Imoen's arrows peppering them as they tried to regroup and Khalid drew his own sword, killing an advancing solider with one blow before turning back to Fritha. The captain had finally thrown her off, but not before four bloody lines had been clawed across his face. The girl stood before him now, panting, slowly drawing her sword and Khalid had never seen her more intent on murder.

'Fritha!'

She did not hear him, or perhaps she did not care to, advancing on the captain with a slow and measured pace, eyes never leaving him as she brought her sword up into a hanging guard.

'Fritha!' he shouted again as their duel began, Khalid knocking back another two soldiers, his wife appearing to engage a third. Dynaheir and Imoen had already retreated around the back of the Elfsong, heading for the city gates, Minsc not far behind them, the head start the chaos had bought them slowly ebbing away as the guards regrouped. Another few moments and they would be surrounded.

'Fritha!'

'By Silvanus, that gir- AH!'

Jaheira's scream seemed to go straight through him, so he did not so much hear as feel it and Khalid turned in time to block the blow meant to finish her, sweeping up his own blade into the mercenary's face. But the man's cry was not the only one to fill the air and he glanced back to see Fritha finally racing toward him, eyes trained on the woman in his arms, the fuss of soldiers around the bloody form of Angelo as they tried to help their captain to stand, buying them some time.

'Minsc!' she roared as soon as she was close enough, her back to them as she watched the guards with a drawn sword, the ranger appearing but a moment later.

'Take her,' Fritha ordered, Minsc stooping to gently scoop Jaheira's body in to his arms and they were off, tearing round the inn to join Imoen and the mage, all heading for the gates.

Fritha swore, pushing roughly through a group of travellers as she ran, the crowds hindering both hunters and pursued as she followed the others across the square and into an alley just before the gate, half hidden by a stack of waiting crates. The alley was dark and cool and in the gloom she could just make out the shape of Khalid and the mage stooped over Jaheira, the others gathered behind them, anxious.

'How is she?'

Dynaheir glanced back at her voice and shrugged delicately.

'We have stopped the bleeding and bandaged the wound, but she remains unconscious.'

'She has lost a lot of blood,' added Khalid, his voice quiet and Fritha felt her stomach clench, turning from him to look back out into the square as a cart pulled up at the mouth. For a moment, all she could was stare as the short balding man of middle years jumped down to pick up the nearest crate before she realised herself and began to back into the shadows. It was too late though and as he turned he noticed her, his eyes flicking to the blooded sword in her hand.

'What are you doing?'

Fritha said nothing, unable to suppress a flinch as a solider across the square shouted and she watched realisation dawn in his eyes as Imoen appeared at her shoulder.

'Hey… aren't you those mercs from Nashkel? You're the ones who they're looking for. Bloodied up their captain…'

Fritha swallowed, her grip tightening on her hilt as the compulsion to kill him before he could give them up welled inside her.

'Please, we haven't done anything wrong,' cried Imoen, sounding tearful in the escalating air of despair, 'Our friend is hurt…'

His eyes drifted from her to Imoen and to the body that lay silent in the alley, as guards gathered in the square behind them.

'I've a cousin in Nashkel,' he began slowly, as though thinking aloud, 'you lot really helped him out, saving the mine and all… and I don't suppose I care much for what you may have done in the meantime… Here, lay her in, ' he suddenly ordered, all urgency as he pulled back the canvas that covered the cart and heaved out a grain sack to make more room.

'Go on, in you get,' he repeated, to the stunned faces that surrounded him before everyone was suddenly moving at once, Khalid and Dynaheir climbing up to receive Jaheira's body from Minsc, Fritha and Imoen scrambling up after them as the driver collared the ranger, pushing an old cloak into his arms. 'You, put that on and sit up front with me, it does to have a bit of muscle in situations like this.'

The man threw the tarp back over them all, cramped and low amongst the sacks with the druid laid out between them. Fritha felt the cart jolt as Minsc and the driver climbed aboard as well, a gentle snap of the reins and they were off, rattling over the cobbles, the sound gaining an echo as they passed under the arch of the gate.

'Hold there, sir. State your destination.'

The cart stopped beneath them and Fritha felt her grip on her hilt tighten, fingers digging to the opposite palm as she watched the faces of those around her tense.

'Joining a caravan just north of here, then up to Waterdeep,' came the man's genial reply.

'And your friend here?'

Fritha felt her heart stop. Minsc.

'A merc I hired for the journey. Don't talk much common, but you can't be too careful on the roads nowadays, what with times being as they are.'

Silence followed and Fritha held her breath, sweat stinging her eyes, her grip on her sword almost painful, when the slightest of jolts and they were moving again the hollow rumble as they clattered over the bridge filling her ears.

'Right,' came the driver's voice at last, 'we should be more than clear now.'

The tarp was thrown back, everyone straightening as cool fresh air swept in and Fritha found them just west of the bridge, skirting the forest as they travelled north. At her feet, Jaheira sighed but did not awaken and Fritha watched as Khalid shifted to settle next to her, tenderly brushing a few stray hairs from her brow.

'Oh, Khalid, I am so sorry, if I hadn't-'

'Now, n-now, none of that,' he cut her off, smiling as warmly as he was able, 'if you hadn't s-started that fight we would be in the prisons by now and things would look much worse.' The man adding gently in the silence that followed this, 'Come now, J-Jaheira would agree with me.'

Fritha tried to reply, but the lump in her throat made it painful to speak and in the end she just nodded once, dropping her gaze to her hands, a tuff of blond hair still clinging to the dried blood where she'd attacked the captain and she felt suddenly sick. What was happening to her? She closed her eyes pulling her attention forcibly away from it all as she turned to call up to the driver.

'So where are you headed?'

He glanced back at her voice to find her looking up at him and smiled.

'Going to stay with my sister in Ulgoth's Beard. Out of the way sort of place.' He grinned, turning back to the road ahead of him to give the reins a gentle flick, 'I think you lot'll fit right in.'

xxx

They had travelled through the night and dawn found the cart clattering gently through the hills far north of Baldur's Gate. The others were dozing fitfully about her, only Minsc, herself and the driver still awake to see the sky slowly colour from a pale oyster to a pink so deep and vivid it seemed unnatural, the moon still visible in the eastern sky, a company of fading stars about it. Fritha stared southwards, back the way they had come, the city just a glittering speck nestled like a jewel in the verdant plains. But she could take no joy in any of it; all the dawn held for her was a chill she could not shake.

She pulled her cloak about her more tightly. They had all taken her aside over these last few days to give her words of assurance, tell her that her newly discovered heritage meant nothing to them. But kind though the gestures had been, it was more what she thought of it that was causing her trouble at the moment. She felt as a stranger to herself; her temper, once so mild and even, now seemed to flare with a speed that was frightening. She had already seen the results of one such incident; her anger, so all-consuming, had blinded her to everything but her own bloodlust and had nearly cost them dearly.

Fritha glanced down to the woman laid out at her feet, her sleep restless and broken. If anything had happened to her…

She sank her head into her hands, the fear and futility of her situation making it suddenly hard to breathe. She was a child of Bhaal, yes, but what did that mean? Was she in effect Murder's hand, unable to help but work its will upon the earth?

Was that why everyone she met ended up…?

'No!' she felt her mind snap angrily. She had always been herself, but there had not always been deaths, at least not through any fault of hers. It was only since she'd gone out into the world that the killing had begun and in each time, she had been just as likely a victim as the slain. If anything, she was just lucky.

But then there was your mother…

Fritha tightened the grip on her cloak, ignoring the dull ache of her fingers. The idea that her mother had been a less than willing participant in her conception had been troubling her for sometime, but it was nothing when compared to the realisation that in giving birth to the by-product of her assault, the woman had died… that she had, in effect, caused her death…

Fritha forced her mind away from such thoughts, knowing they did nothing save frighten her and had returned her attention to the sky when a hand caught her shoulder and she turned to see Minsc smiling down at her.

'I think we are arrived, young Fritha.'

She looked past him, a ramshackle fence lining one side of the track as small grey buildings rose slowly from the horizon as though growing there.

Moments later and they were all awake and pulling up outside the inn, their driver pointing out the local temple, Imoen tearing off for a cleric as soon as her feet touched the ground. Fritha thanked the man sincerely, her offers to travel the last few miles with him and help him unload, genially refused as Minsc and Khalid carried Jaheira into the tavern. The others lingered in the bar, Khalid disappearing with the priest as soon as she arrived. But Fritha could not relax nor bear their company and paced outside alone in the morning chill; so worried for Jaheira but unwilling go to her bedside, to watch over her with her husband when it was her fault she was in need of a priest in the first place.

The moments ticked by, tortuously slow, and it seemed hours later when Imoen finally brought her news with her tea that Jaheira was fine and apparently sat up in bed and talking Khalid's ear off about where they had ended up without her 'guiding hand'. Fritha smiled at the news and though, in her shame, she wanted nothing more than to run away and never have to see the druid again, she went immediately to her. Once inside her room, crossing swiftly and kneeling beside the bed to so humbly beg her pardon that the woman seemed quite touched, gruffly telling her to 'get up and desist with her foolishness' while the man at her side beamed, his eyes unusually bright.

They stayed there until noon the next day, just relaxing and enjoying the each other's company. The tiny village seemed like another world, away from the trouble and disorder that infused the rest of the Sword Coast. Though small, there was an inn, temple and small docks, and it was in exploration of these that Fritha and Imoen met Mendas, a scholar from the Northern city of Waterdeep. He told them of the explorer, Balduran and the final voyage from which he did not return, explaining that he had discovered a wreck matching the old adventurer's description and was looking to hire a group as salvage crew. The round trip was estimated as just under a fortnight, with a day or so for salvaging and the girls took news of it to the others, who could only agree that it was a perfect way of avoiding any searches for them whilst earning some much-needed coin. Staying days in the city investigating the Iron Throne had not been cheap, and by noon of the second day, Fritha was stood in the stern of an old schooner, a brisk wind roaring in her ears as she watched the mainland fade on the horizon.

xxx

Fritha wiped a sleeve across her forehead, her tunic clinging to her unpleasantly as all about her, both companions and crew sprawled on the sun-baked deck, as languid and listless as their ship. The first few days had seen them sailing steadily northwest, the sails full and billowing before the wind. The blustery weather seemed to hearten her somehow and she felt as though a great weight had been lifted from her, the crew showing her and Imoen how to set sails and splice rope, happy to explain anything they showed an interest in.

The whole group seemed lighter too, even Dynaheir, who had started to feel ill before they'd even left the harbour and had spent the whole first day at sea being sick. But not even Jaheira could keep up her grudge in the face of such nausea, brewing a concoction to help calm her stomach and, though not entirely well, the Wychlaran made no further complaint and could be found both day and night, sat just beneath the main mast where a tarp had been slung above to lend her some shade, Minsc never far from her side.

But on the fifth day the wind had lessened, and the sixth found nothing more than a fitful breeze to stir the canvas, the captain ordering them to drop anchor to prevent them drifting off course and they had not moved a yard since. No one seemed to mind at first, the sailors assuring them that the winds were a fickle mistress and would not stay at rest for long, taking the opportunity to make repairs and relax. In fact, the only trial Fritha found herself facing was that in the quiet, one of the crew had noticed the lute strapped to the back of her pack and she had been bombarded with requests to play ever since, their appeals only becoming more frequent when they realised how embarrassed it made her. It only stopped when Khalid stepped in, claiming the girl had left her master in the Gate and was not allowed to play without his supervision until she had achieved the rank of at least journeyman.

But as the days wore on and rations dwindled, tensions in the ship rose. It was as though someone had died. No one seemed to speak above a whisper and only then it was of dark elven magic and the curses of Umberlee.

Fritha sighed; something that seemed much louder than usual in the silence that hung about them, the occasional creak of timbers and the gentle lapping of the water the only other things to break the stillness. She glanced to Imoen who was sat with Khalid under the shade of a sail. Her friend had not been so careful to begin with, and her face and arms were still pink from where she'd caught the sun. Jaheira, on the other hand, was now the same colour as her hair, her skin easily darkening to a healthy tan. Fritha glanced down to the pale arm that rested in her lap. She had neither burnt nor browned; something she had thought nothing of, until one of the sailors commented on it and she had made a show of keeping to the shade from then on, unwilling to disturb the already wary crew.

She dropped her head again, the humidity making her tired and dull, watching absently as a stray curl was lifted by the warm breeze… A breeze?

'Ahoy, storm off the port!'

The sudden shout above her made Fritha jump, eyes flying first to the crow's nest and then out to the horizon where dark clouds were gathering. She sprang to her feet, reaching the rail in one stride and leaning over in an effort to get a better view, the ship beginning to roll beneath her as the first of the waves began. The wind was picking up now, great drops of rail beginning to spatter the deck, the crew whooping and shouting about her as they rushed to set the sails, the captain's gaze still on the storm.

'Set course, helmsman, three points off north by northwest; we'll try to skirt the edge.'

'Aye, sir. North by northwest.'

Fritha watched as the dark boiling mass grew closer, her dreams of endless oceans and struggling bodies suddenly at the fore of her mind. The ship had seemed so solid, so real, she had never actually thought about where they were. Miles from land, the water falling away beneath them, the bottom so deep not even light could reach it. Imagine being down there, things brushing against you in the darkness, unable to see or even cry out as you slowly ran out of air…

'Fritha!'

She started to find herself shaking, whirling to the voice. Jaheira was stood in the main hatch, a pale Dynaheir on her arm as she helped the mage climb below.

'Come on, girl. The captain wants us out of the way.'

It took all her will not to scream 'no', to tell her she would not see this boat as her coffin. The druid must have seen her hesitation though, her face softening and Fritha expected some trite assurance when the woman in her arms retched, a shriek and deep curse from beneath them signalling just who had been standing by to help. Jaheira turned to glare at her, as though it had been her fault and Fritha meekly crossed the deck to follow them below.

The hold was full, anyone of the crew who was not deemed essential being sent below decks. They found room as a group in amongst some crates, all laying down cloaks to make a bed for the Wychlaran; some, she noticed, more hesitantly than others. Hours passed. Fritha glanced about her watching the sailors for any sign, good or bad, as the ship rolled and groaned. It was amazing how such situations brought out the faith in people, not one among them without some pendant or holy mark, the mumble of prayers filling the air, incense mixing unpleasantly with the smell of vomit.

Fritha couldn't really see the point of it, as she watched the man closest to her, the rhythmic click of his prayer beads his only sound. Surely if the gods were that bothered about them, they wouldn't have found themselves here in the first place. Even those about her seemed to have succumbed; Imoen, her eyes closed and muttering quietly under her breath while Jaheira knelt, openly praying to Silvanus to deliver them from Nature's wrath. Fritha turned away, feeling helpless and empty, part of her wishing she had their faith. But the only temple she'd ever attended was Oghma's, and even then, very long ago and under much duress. The only holy ground she'd set foot on recently was Gond's and she thought it was more likely that Helm would turn up to rescue her personally, than she would get any assistance from the God of Makers. The idea of it seemed suddenly funny and she had to bite her lip to stop from laughing, hysterical giggles bubbling up inside her as the ship made a particularly violently lurch and the prayers about her became more fervent.

'All hands to the tops!' roared a voice somewhere above them and her laughter died that instant, the dark looks between the crew causing panic to take its place as the men rose to quickly file towards the steps, Fritha kneeling up to catch a sleeve as they passed.

'Please, what's happening?'

'We've been called to take the sails in, love. We've sailed too close and the storm has caught us.' The man turned away as the steps emptied before him, his voice almost lost in the roar of the gale as he ascended on to deck.

'A grave mistake and one we may pay dearly for.'

Fritha returned to her place, panic ebbing away to an almost numb resignation. Moments passed, the crew milling in and out, all soaked through and pale, not even the murmur of prayers breaking the stillness now, the hold deathly silent bar the howling of the storm as the ship heaved and lurched. She could not say later how long she had sat there; time itself had seemed to lose all meaning and if someone had later told her it was days, she would not have been surprised. Perhaps she even fell asleep, she could not be sure, only that the next thing she recalled was a jolt so strong it knocked her sideways, the scream of splintering wood and a voice somewhere bellow,

'All hands to the bilge!'

The hold emptied instantly, Fritha scrambling up with them, struggling to keep her balance on the listing decking, when a hand caught her and she whirled back to find Khalid holding her arm, quietly resolved.

'The captain told us to stay below,' he reminded gently, but a determination had filled her too and with a strength that surprised them both Fritha pulled it from his grasp, flying up the steps and out into the storm.

The deck was in darkness, waves crashing over the side and Fritha felt almost weightless as that first gust of wind caught her, feet slipping from under her on the soaking deck.

'Steady there, flower,' came a gruff voice at her ear, as two arms managed to catch her before she fell, setting her back on her feet and she turned to see one of the men who had once so ardently pestered her for a song, his shaved head shining in the gloom.

'Please, what's going on?' she cried, struggling to hear herself above the gale.

'We've hit a reef,' he answered, shaking his head as another wave swept over the listing deck, the icy water taking her breath away. 'The ship was in the trough of a wave when it caught our hull; cracked it like a nut. The captain's got men trying to mend the breach, everyone else is down there bailing. Don't worry,' he grinned at the fear that obviously lit her face, 'we'll get through this ye-'

His voice was lost as the ship lurched again, and for a moment the deck was almost vertical as another wave crashed over the side, the jolt as the ship smashed once more into the reef sending her sprawling. Somewhere below her men were screaming and she scrambled to her feet, whirling to find her friend in the chaos; he was gone.

'We're taking in water!' a voice below her screamed just as one above roared,

'Land, hoy!'

She turned to find lights bobbing along the horizon, blinking as the ship rolled beneath her. The waiting was over now; what she had been dreading had happened and for some reason her fear had gone. Fritha raced along the deck, feet slipping in her haste, to drop lightly down the cabin hatch, the steps rendered useless by the listing of the ship. Her friends looked up as she appeared.

'Fritha-'

'Get on deck!' she snapped, barely sparing them a glance as she grabbed her bag.

'Fritha, now what is-' continued Jaheira, the woman's composure in the ensuing panic causing her temper to flare.

'The ship is sinking! Get on deck!' Fritha shouted, hauling Imoen to her feet with an unfortunate handful of tunic and hair that made the girl shriek, before shoving her towards the listing steps, the rest of them already scrambling to get up.

Imoen's feet were disappearing through the hatch as Fritha reached the ladder, her friend stretching an arm back in to help her climb. The deck seemed deserted, water creeping slowly up it as the ship sank and together the girls leaned in to help Dynaheir out, the mage quickly followed by the others.

'There, do you see?' Fritha shouted, pointing out to the lights that hung in the darkness, 'We can swim for them.'

Jaheira nodded, turning to face the group.

'She is right. Get rid of anything heavy. Imoen try to find us some rope; it would be best if we weren't separated.'

Her friend nodded, disappearing into the gloom as sure of foot there as anywhere and Fritha turned back to find the men rooting their packs, throwing out armour and provisions, a reluctance to their haste, while Jaheira helped the Wychlaran to unlace her heavy robes. Fritha stooped over her own bag; the only thing she owned that weighed anything was her chainmail and she was in no hurry to keep that fetid hunk of metal, unceremoniously dumping it over the side without a regret.

'Hey, I've found some,' came a cry behind her and Fritha turned to see Imoen emerge from the gloom, a coil of rope over one arm. 'Here, take an end and tie-'

But the girl's orders were lost as another huge wave swept over the deck. Time seemed to slow, and she watched as Imoen turned to her, frightened, with arms outstretched. For a moment she thought Imoen was reaching out for help when Fritha felt the weight of water catch her and she almost laughed as it became clear just who was in danger. A voice screamed her name and then all was silent, the only sound the tattoo of a heartbeat in her eardrums. Fritha struggled, the world reduced to a shimmering darkness before she finally broke the surface to draw a great gulping breath.

'Imoen?' she cried, trying to see her friends the chaos of wood and cloth that floated about her. She reached out, managing to grab a piece of the broken mast as it floated past, entwining a hand in the rigging that drifted with it, almost unseen in the dark water.

'Jaheira?' she shouted again, another wave sweeping over her, engulfing her face. She choked, crying out, her arms burning with the effort of keeping her head above water as she clung to the spar.

The lights were still bobbing in the distance, but they seemed so much further away here than they had on the ship…

'Imoen?' she screamed, her fear and frustration mixing to leave her angry, 'Jaheira? Kha-?'

The cry was lost as water swamped her again, her arms screaming as the wood finally slipped from her grasp and she could feel herself smiling as the water enveloped her. All they had been through. All who had pursued them, and it would end like this.