Chapter Two

(*)

Sephiria ran, the rain stinging into her eyes almost as much as her tears.

"You know why I'm here. Hand over your ward and no-one will be hurt. Resist and it will be a waste of your life."

She ran, her boots slipping in the mud, her cloak soaked through and clinging to her armor, terror and sadness mingling in her eyes.

"You are a fool if you believe I would trust your benevolence. Step aside, and you and your lackeys shall be unhurt."

It was Gorion. He was supposed to be there, always. Her earliest memories were of his smile. She had seen his power a hundred times and never seen it fail.

"I'm sorry that you feel that way, old man."

Gorion had been amazing. Four against one, Sephiria frozen in terror. She had been sent running from the first attack, fleeing in response to a bolt of burning energy searing a hole in her armor and Gorion's own screams for her to run while he held them back.

She had looked back a dozen times as she fled, saw him hurling lightning and bolts of magic, arrows of flame and acid leaping from his fingers. He was every bit the hero she'd always known him to be. Two ogres, two, and neither had gotten near enough to even touch him before being reduced to ash and bloody meat. A powerful cleric, her own spells rolling over the battlefield, and he had rendered her helpless with a gesture.

She had been so certain he would triumph. It was just like every story she had ever read... the noble hero standing firm against the onslaught of evil. She had even stopped, briefly, to watch as he stood against the final attacker, waves light and flame rolling off his fingers like some kind of divine emissary facing a glowing-eyed demon from the Nine Hells.

And then the man in armor had stepped out of the inferno untouched, and cut him down with a single blow.

Sephiria ran. She ran and she didn't look back, sprinting madly into the darkness with no concern for where she would go or what she would do.

Her world was already over.

(*)

Sarevok screamed in fury, hacking away at the body of the fallen mage again and again. His initial blow had taken the man nearly in half, and now he shredded those halves further, desecrating the remains, hammering away until he could not recognize it as a person.

He wasn't angry at the dead mage. He was angry at himself. He had gotten caught up in the moment, in the electric thrill of battle. The scent of burning flesh in the air, the blood rushing in his ears, the lightning flashing in the sky as his foe's attacks washed off his divine strength like water off a rock. He had faced battle before, but nothing like this. The mage had slain two powerful beasts with a gesture, suppressed Tamoko's own powerful spells without visible effort. And yet, Sarevok had destroyed him like he was a helpless child. It had been glorious, everything he had ever dreamed, a worth sacrifice to his impending divinity.

It had also, he thought as the thrill of murder faded from his mind to be replaced by seething fury and the awareness that his true quarry was gone, been a waste of gods-damned time.

The girl was gone. Vanished into the night, and the storm only getting worse. Tamoko was magically contained in a shimmering sphere of light, and he had no way to free her, even his blade bouncing off harmlessly. Even if he knew which way the child had run, with the forest floor rapidly turning to mud he could hardly hope to catch her on foot in full plate.

He fought the urge to scream at his own foolishness, and instead turned to storm back to camp, leaving Tamoko behind, trapped inside the shimmering sphere. She could find her own way back...

And the way he was feeling now, if she tried to speak to him, he'd likely murder her on the spot.

(*)

"Seems a lotta trouble for some books, is all I'm sayin'," the dwarf said flatly.

"It's not for some books," the elf said with a touch of impatience in his voice. "It's for the books. All the books. Candlekeep has more tomes and records than anywhere else in Faerun. If anyone has data on the cult I'm seeking, it will be the monks there."

"And ye couldn't wait until the rain stopped, at the least?"

"Kagain, I just spent four hours out of my way looking for your damn caravan, only to have you give up and declare yourself a fugitive the second we found it. You agreed to escort me to Candlekeep in exchange. If a little rain is too much for you to keep up your end of the bargain, then you shouldn't have made the bargain to begin with."

"Oh, well, I'm sorry I took away time from his lordship's questin'," Kagain sneered, his mail and axe clinking damply beneath his soaked cloak. "But seein' as we're half drowned out here to help with the little elfling's royal mission, I think I've a right to be a tad bitter."

Acherai sighed. "Gods above, we're not actually doing the 'elf vs. dwarf' thing? You live in a hole, I'm a tree-hugger, we're all quite horrible. Shut your mouth. I swear, I should have ditched you and come alone."

"You'd still have me!" said the third, equally soaked figure lagging behind the other two in the storm.

"You don't count as a person, Garrick. I consider you more like a pack mule that can sing."

"Well, that's a bit rude!"

"Rude," Kagain interjected, "Was you hirin' us to work for yer crazy witch woman, and her tryin' to kill us for asking too many questions."

"On the plus side, I did get this new walking stick," Acherai said cheerfully, admiring the enchanted quarterstaff he'd plucked off the woman's corpse. "Magic, too, which counters the iron poisoning going around. And we did get the money in the end."

"Bah, and I got what for it all?!"

"A third cut of the gold."

"... Right, well, guess that's okay, then," Kagain admitted. "Bard can live."

"You were planning to kill me?!" Garrick wailed.

"Only because we don't like you," Acherai said helpfully. "But if you'll both be so kind as to be silent? I think we're nearly th-"

Something large, and hard as metal, and smelling... oddly nice, considering, leaped out of the woods and slammed into the young elf. He had killed three people in his life, one less than a day ago, and as a result liked to think of himself as something of a veteran at such things, and so reacted in a perfectly rational and logical way.

"Bloody Hells what the blazes get it off kill it kill it..."

"Please no I'm sorry he's after me we have to run!" the horror said in response, which Acherai had to admit was not what he'd been expecting to hear. Disentangling himself, the elf looked at the 'attacker'.

Hell-o.

She was, frankly, gorgeous. Young... it was always hard to judge with humans, but he'd place her as younger than him. When you were from a species that was fully grown, physically, by the teenage years, yet not considered emotionally mature until your first century, it became a bit rough to pick up the nuances. Long red hair, soaked with rain but still rather vibrant, strong blue eyes, soft, pale skin, a bit tall for him but hardly a deal-breaker...

He put on his best smile and patted her on the shoulder, locking eyes with her. She was horrified. He could work with horrified. "Hold, miss. My apologies for stepping into your path, but please, who is pursuing you...?"

"Are you deaf? He could be right behind me!" the woman shrieked in a panic, trying to rise to her feet and slipping in the mud to crash down onto her chest, the sound revealing without seeing that there was some kind of metal armor under her cloak. "Oh Gods... oh sweet Torm, mercy..."

Ugh. One of those then. You almost never got an affectionate girl swearing to the god of loyalty and righteousness. Still, in a for a copper, in for a gold. "Miss, I'm afraid we can't do much to help if we know not the problem. Calm, and speak."

"Leave th' brat."

"Dwarf! Stop! Helping!" Acherai hissed. Putting a smile back on he stroked the girl's face, pushing the hair out of her eyes. "Please ignore my companions, they are idiots. Take a deep breath and try to stay calm while I get you out of the rain and get a fire going..."

"No fire," the girl said, gasping in several lungfuls of air. She was still shaking, but the wide-eyed terror was slowly beginning to give way to more reasoning fear and, he noticed, quite a lot of sadness. "Just... shelter. We can't give off any sign where we are. I'll explain everything when we get somewhere out of the storm."

(*)

Sephiria sat, sipping from a canteen and nibbling on a trail biscuit as she related her tale to the strange party in the midst of a small copse of trees that hid a tent and kept the rain and wind away. She shivered with cold and shock as she told of them of the ogres, the dark priest, and most of all, the man in the black armor and his inhuman power.

The reactions she got were not quite what she had expected.

"Oh my it sounds rather dreadful," the young human who didn't seem to have much of an idea of anything that was going on around him. "I wonder if I should be writing it down."

"Not our problem," said the dwarf flatly. "Send the brat away an' let's continue on our road."

The elf who had been looking at her like she was a piece of meat, however, suddenly became very quiet and serious. His eyes had been roaming over her face and body since they'd met, and she knew that stare... it usually ended as soon as they saw her lift something larger than herself, but she didn't much care for it either way. Now, though, he was more somber than the dwarf. "Girl," he murmured. "Describe, him, please. Particularly the armor he wore."

She shuddered. She had seen it only in flashes of lightning and explosions of magic, and yet each detail was burned into her mind. "He was tall. Taller than me by a head, at the least, though some of it was the horns on his helm. It was all black, and... vicious. Can't think of a better word. Spikes and blades all over it."

"Did he carry a broadsword? Was the helmet shaped like a skull?" he asked urgently. "Think."

"I... yes, and no. The helmet was shaped like... the mouth of some monster. The fangs hid his face," she said, her tone a bit irritated. As if she wasn't getting to that! "Though... there was a skull. A symbol. On his chest."

"A skull, and... anything else?" Acherai whispered.

"Something encircling it. I couldn't get a close look at them, but..."

"Drops of liquid?" he asked. "Tears, maybe, or blood."

"... I think so," she said, eyes widening. "How did you know that..."

Acherai smiled at her, a predatory grin. "Oh, yes. This is perfect. Just as I come for them, they're coming out of the woodwork...! Kagain and... um... you."

"Garrick!"

"I don't care! We have a new recruit," he said, his eyes locked on the young pseudo-paladin. "Girl. We're on our way to Candlekeep as we speak, but once we leave, you're coming with us. Do you have a problem with that?"

"... What are you talking about?" she asked.

"The man who killed your father is connected to something I've been meaning to look into for a long time. He's after you, and that means when he makes his second attempt, he'll find me," Acherai said, his eyes practically glowing. "But this time you'll be ready. We'll be ready. I have a book to get us into the Keep. If there's anything in there about this man and his organization, we'll find it. That symbol has to be important, and from there, who knows? Oh, we have so many opportunities!"

Sephiria started at him, her eyes narrowed. She hadn't entirely bought his act of kindness... no man who genuinely meant you well spent as much time focusing below your neck as he had. But now, there was something... wrong in his voice.

She shivered, and fought down a yawn. On the other hand, she might not have been in the best position to judge anyone. "We... can't go to Candlekeep..." she murmured, the fatigue starting to catch up with her finally. She smacked herself lightly on the cheeks, and continued, "Assassin. He attacked me in the keep itself. Fought like a fool, but... he proved this man has agents in Candlekeep. If someone starts researching him there, he'll find out. It's not safe."

Acherai turned to her, frustration burning in his eyes... but also triumph. "You said 'we'."

Sephiria sighed. "I'm alone. I've no supplies, no horse, no aid. You're... strange, but if you meant me harm you'd have an easy enough time inflicting it. For the moment, we might as well travel together... though I'm not sure where we'd go."

"Adventuring?" Acherai suggested.

She raised an eyebrow.

"I'm serious. This man who attacked you is strong, yes? So we need power, and quickly. There's few better ways," Acherai said. "We travel. And in so doing, we grow stronger from the conflict, and present ourselves as a target to our friend in the armor. And when he finds you again, well... you get your revenge. And I get what I want. Mutual benefit is the backbone of cooperation, is it not?"

Sephiria winced, looking from the elf's cool, hungry eyes to the dwarf's gruff, uncaring ones. The young man didn't seem so bad, but those two... put her on edge. Particularly the elf. He was a handsome one, slender and agile, with black hair nearly as long as hers and shining, dark eyes. And he had only been friendly to her, if in a bit of an odd way. But...

She couldn't shake it. Something was wrong about him. There was just no other word for it.

And yet...

In comparing him to the thought of facing that... monster again, all alone...

She held out her hand, and he shook it firmly. "It is," she answered to his question. "Sephiria of Candlekeep. We've an accord?"

"Acherai Moonshadow, of nowhere worth mentioning. We've an accord indeed."

She wrinkled her nose. "The name sounds fake."

"The name is fake. Chose it when I was ten."

She giggled a little at that, even as the fading adrenaline left a weariness in her that was rapidly proving impossible to resist. "Yes it... it sounds like it... … hehehe. Imoen would like you..."

With that thought drifting into her head and a mostly dry blanket around her shoulders, she closed her eyes, thinking of Imoen and how she could possibly tell the girl all that had happened... and how grateful she'd be for the chance to try. She didn't know if she'd see the girl ever again, if she'd ever again be safe in Candlekeep, if her own new 'companions' would slit her throat while she slept.

Nothing was certain in the world, other than how cold it all was.

She slept as best she could, and she didn't dream. Thank the gods for small favors.

(*)

Imoen tried not to scream as she looked over the site.

It wasn't that she was misbehaving, per se. Oh, she knew Winthrop would have her pretty little head on one of his ugly trays if he knew she'd run off like this. But he had never technically told her not to abandon Candlekeep and go off after Sephiria and Gorion, so theoretically speaking she wasn't not allowed to do it. So if he punished her for it when next they crossed paths, well, that was just 'ol Puffguts Winthrop being unreasonable again.

But the way she saw it, she had a moral imperative. Seffy was family, right? Or at least, the closest thing to family that Imoen had. They'd grown up together, played together, chased each other around half the keep (Imoen won), wrestled over dessert (Seffy won, though Imoen lied and told people it was a draw. And that Seffy started it. And that there was a curse on Winthrop's inn that would kill them if they didn't pay an extra silver to the girl who did their turn-down service in the mornings... that last one didn't have much to do with Seffy, it was just a lie Imoen told a lot). Why, Imoen had once put a live weasel into Seffy's bed just to see what would happen when she found it. And the other girl hadn't beaten her to death for it!

That was more important than blood, in Imoen's mind. If a girl didn't kill you over a live weasel tearing up all her unmentionables, than she was family in all the ways that truly mattered.

And so she had dolled up the old bow Winthrop'd bought her for shooting rats (she was a better at keeping 'em out than any cat, and he put them in the stew for the people staying in the cheap rooms), and snuck out. She figured she could make it as an adventurer well enough... she was a good shot, she could pick a lock, she was devilishly beautiful. Gorion would hardly mind her tagging along. And so her first steps into the outside world in over ten years had begun with a song in her heart and a spring in her step.

This had lasted until she found Gorion.

The remains were... were bad. It was all bad. Imoen hadn't always lived in Candlekeep, and she'd seen some bad things in her life. But this wasn't death, this was... Mask's bloody knife, it was like someone had just ripped him...

She stepped in something. Looking down, she saw it was an ear. Not Gorion's thank the gods, unless he had secretly been green with ears the size of her hand, but... well, then.

She turned and ran into the bushes, losing her breakfast in the first one she found. Her heaving coughs rang out through the forest, and she had just enough presence of mind to hope there was nothing about with large fangs and claws to go about eating her at the moment. She could still see Candlekeep in the distance, for crying out loud. Ending her adventures in a wolf's belly before she even got out of sight of home would be a just... just very undignified.

After a few minutes of that, Imoen pulled her head together and started to think of things. Most people didn't spot it of her, given a general lack of common sense and fondness for sweets that sometimes overruled her judgment, but Imoen was a smart girl, with a thief's eye for detail. And she had seen several dead bodies in that clearing...

And not one of them a girl.

Gorion was gone. He was dead. She was sad, but there was nothing to be done about it and right now the important thing was finding Sephiria. The problem became where to look. She didn't know where the girl might have run off to. Assuming she hadn't just been taken by whoever had done... this to Gorion. Imoen had scouted the area a bit and found nothing much, so Sephiria may have moved on.

Imoen's mind jumped back to the letter on Gorion's desk that she had accidentally read three times, the one that had started this whole silly mess. It hadn't been signed, but it had advised Gorion leave the keep, something about moving targets being harder to hit...

And Khalid and Jaheira, in the Friendly Arm Inn. Imoen wasn't a master of maps, but she knew where the inn was, she'd made supply runs there with Winthrop more than once when a caravan got delayed in bringing food and spices to Candlekeep. So all she had to do was head there! She could travel fast off the roads, keeping out of sight, and the Arm would be a safe place to wait. Even if she didn't find Seph there, she'd find Gorion's friends. Yeah, this was the perfect plan!

She slid off into the woods, smiling to herself over her own cleverness.

About three minutes later, four figures walked into the clearing.

"We are wastin' our time," Kagain snapped. "If we're really going through with this daft plan of running as adventurers, we need to be working on finding an employer. Sellswords need someone to buy 'em, and not gonna find one in the woods."

"Oh, Kagain. This is important too! Just think of the tale it will make!" Garrick said. "You can't have a hero who doesn't care about her own family."

"This is not a story, idiot."

"Well of course not, I haven't written it yet. But it's going to be a very good one! And much less, well, evil than Silke's."

Acherai sighed, even as Sephiria began to gather together stones. "I do apologize for them. Particularly the bard. Kagain is at least rather good with an axe, but Garrick is... well, mostly useful for carrying things I don't feel like carrying. I confess I was perhaps too quick to take on allies in Beregost. He had a crossbow, he seemed valid. Feel free to toss him aside as soon as someone more useful comes along."

"... how rude," Garrick whimpered.

Kagain narrowed his eyes. "And another thing. Why is she suddenly in command, elf? You were bad enough, but the whelp's not even bloodied."

"So that bit about her fighting off assassins in Candlekeep just went right over your head, then? Besides, she is in command because if we are trying to lure in someone seeking her," Acherai murmured softly enough for the girl to not hear him over her work, "then it makes rather a lot of sense to have our party act like her. Worry not, I'll have her ear the whole of the journey. You'll make a profit."

"I had best."

Sephiria ignored them, gathering up stones. It wasn't much. It was nothing. Gorion had given her a warm bed and meals for her whole life, taught her everything of true value she knew. She owed him her life, in a very real sense; not for saving it, but for teaching how to make it a life worth saving.

Acherai had called it revenge. Gorion wouldn't want that. But it was the only thing that made sense, and... it just...

Stop. Breathe. And think. And then do what feels right. Of all the lessons that her father had taught her, that was the most important one, the key to everything else. The question, then, was: what felt right?

She was a faithful servant of Torm. Er, well, she would be when she found a real priest to take her vows. She shouldn't take revenge.

More importantly, Gorion wouldn't want her to seek revenge. But what about justice? It wasn't the same thing, no matter how many people tended to call it that. This man, this... thing. He had murdered her father. Tried to kidnap her. Consorted with ogres, monsters known for killing, raping, and pillaging at will. So, then... as a paladin...

Wasn't stopping him the right thing to do?

She placed the last stone on the cairn she was building for Gorion, and looked down on it sadly. It didn't feel quite right. How could it? She had just buried her father's flayed corpse beneath a pile of stones, she suspected that nothing would feel right for a long, long time.

But it did feel like closure.

"Torm the true, lord of justice, light, and strength, guide this soul on its path," she said softly, kneeling over the cairn. "Guard him faithfully on his path to his eternal reward in the hands of whatever god may have him."

She stood, and turned to her companions. They were not the ideal... but she had work to do, and they were better than nothing.

"Let's move on," she said softly, adjusting her sword and shifting her cloak behind her. "We have work to do."