Chapter Fourteen

(*)

Xan watched the building burn, and pondered.

On the one hand, there was nothing he could do that would make the slightest difference. All of his erstwhile allies were doomed, destined to suffer and die in this hideous blaze. And in reality, this was a blessing, for although it would be painful and terrifying for them, it would be merciful in comparison to the long, slow decay that was life.

On the other hand, it was a rare person who would accept that as an explanation, and ghosts were real. The last thing he needed was to be haunted by Imoen. Yes, he would have to try and save them, even though it was only prolonging their suffering.

He walked toward the door, hand on the blade at his hip. He had inherited the thing from uncle Xemnious when he had retired from adventuring some decades ago, and had come to rather consider it a burden; Moonblades were originally supposed to determine the royal family of Evermeet, the elven island of refuge, but they had already done that and so now mainly just kind of passed down family lines randomly killing anyone they deemed unworthy to wield them for no real reason.

Xan was not sure why he had been found worthy by the blade, truly. He had mainly accepted it on the notion that if it killed him, at least he would see death coming instead of being surprised by a more random doom. But he had drawn it and been accepted, and now the magical silver sword was an additional burden on his fragile soul.

But, he did have to admit, one that came in occasionally useful.

He strode through the flames, protected by his sword's magic, and glanced about. Rather surprisingly, nobody seemed to be trying to flee the building, even though much of the first floor had been consumed. Brushing aside some fire, he pushed open a burning door and shouted inside, "Well, I don't know if this matters, but a door outside is over this way! You'll probably still die, but maybe you want to struggle first!"

Xan had a unique notion of pep talks.

He continued walking into the building, hunched low under the smoke, and said, "Ms. Dynaheir? Are you and your giant man-bear in this direction? I have come to attempt a rescue!" He pushed open another door, and blinked. "Well, no, then."

The thing inside was about six feet tall, lanky and skeletal, without a single hair on its grey skin and no clothes to hide a lack of any visible gender. It walked hunched over like an ape, but quick study showed its skin was closer in texture to scales, and it narrowed snakelike eyes at him as he looked at it. Without warning, its fingers lengthened and hardened, becoming six inch talons.

"Oh dear. Dopplegangers, then? That does make things worrisome," Xan said, blinking.

"Oh look. Enough meat even for the rear guardssss to have a bite," the thing hissed, a cruel smile stretching its lips.

Xan sighed, rolled his free hand in an elaborate pattern, and spoke out five syllables that did not form any actual word but which made the room feel slightly colder.

"Hsssssssrrrrrrrrrarrrgh! My eyes, filthy meat! What has it done?!" The creature screamed, grasping at suddenly blind eyes. Xan stepped forward and, shuddering in disgust, held his sword about level with the thrashing creature's neck.

Black blood and some kind of thicker gray ooze began to flow from the doppleganger's slashed throat, and Xan sighed. "I knew it. I knew it would even more vile on the inside. Truly I have the worst of all possible existences."

The doppleganger made a noise somewhere between a scream and the gurgle of a drowning animal.

"Oh, stop that. This discussion really doesn't involve you."

(*)

So, Acherai thought, because it helped get past the fear to think something absurd, the mine overseer is not, in fact, a fat bureaucrat. Good to know.

Out loud, he said the far more practical, "Scatter!"

This mage was powerful. Summoning shadow monsters and the spells required to destroy that many people at once were both beyond Acherai's own ability, he knew that much, and therefore he also could not be certain what spells were coming next, and what defenses Davaeorn had in place.

So it was time to improvise.

Kagain and Shar-teel took to the front, the blurred shadows crashing against the defensive line they formed, side by side, as Coran nocked and released an arrow in a single smooth motion, the bolt digging deep into his target and sending the half-formed thing falling. Both Viconia and Edwin fell into spells, and the whole team was like a beautiful clockwork machine.

Except they had not, in fact, scattered as ordered, and Acherai was half-tempted to just let them all die when the mage sent his first spell against them and it hit every single one.

'Horror'. A simple enough spell, a favorite of bandit mages up and down the coast. All it did was create an aura of fear that coated a chosen area, causing anyone within it to be struck by blind, unreasoning terror. It was not a powerful spell, easy to learn, and...yet, depressingly often, it was also good enough.

Kagain shrugged it off, and brought his hammer down on the first shadowy figure that approached him. Viconia, with that legendary drow resistance to magic, continued her spellcasting without any obvious discomfort.

The rest of the team was a damn disaster.

Acherai would have enjoyed the sight of Edwin literally running down a tunnel screaming like a girl, but it was not, in fact, funny right at that moment, because it was accompanied by Shar-teel falling to her knees, murmuring something with wide, tear-filled eyes, and Coran just...vanishing. Even Acherai couldn't spot where in the shadows he had vanished.

And that meant half the team was just out. And Davaeorn had already started his next casting.

Cursing under his breath, Acherai fell into his own spell, casting from one of the precious and powerful scrolls he still had up his sleeve; not for him, but for Viconia. If there was one person they needed intact for this, it was the one person who could piece them back together after the bastard finished taking them apart. She found herself surrounded by a gleaming blue shield of light, even as her own spell surrounded Kagain and Shar-teel with their own aura of protection (if that was the right word for a Blessing of Shar...).

The spell protecting her worked perfectly. The spell protecting them...

Well, it probably kept them from dying, as Davaeorn laughed and his Fireball illuminated the cave, rolling over all four of the intruding adventurers.

(*)

Why, Sephiria thought, must everything come back to crazed monsters?

She stepped into the flame, ignoring the pain as she lashed down her blade, slashing the arm off an approaching monstrosity as she pushed down the hall. "Follow me! They are strong, but no more durable than men! We can best them!"

"New little friend speaks the LANGUAGE OF MINSC!" Minsc roared with glee, his own sword slamming straight out to impale the creature she had 'disarmed' directly through the head. Then he swung down, and...

It was messy, to say the least.

"Be happy Minsc is our ally," Dynaheir said dryly. "Alas, he is no tracker and the halls of this vile den art twisted indeed. Finding our path out is difficult, and these creatures seem here in force. Perhaps we could break a wall?"

Sephria shook her head no, and held out a hand to grab Minsc before he actually did it. "No. The structure is already compromised, I'll not risk it collapsing until I am sure Imoen is safely outside."

Dynaheir winced at the sight of smoke leaking from under the door ahead of them. "And yet, we may have no choice. My spells may have kept the worst of the flames from us, but the smoke..."

"We will survive. I refuse to let a simple fire stop me after I have come this far," Sephiria said flatly, pressing open the door. Backdraft rolled over her, heat and flame that pierced even the magical ward against fire Dynaheir had cast. Pain echoed through her; she could hardly see, barely breath.

She stepped forward anyway, and continued to the stairs up, hoping against hope to find someone there who wouldn't be yet another killer in disguise.

She found Khalid, coated from head to toe in grey-green blood, stepping rapidly in to slice her head off.

(*)

Oh gods.

Acherai leaned against a wall, his clothes mostly ash and the skin under them not much better. He felt very little pain, mostly just coldness, which was a terrible, terrible sign. He could barely see the others, so he didn't know if they fared better. He just knew that Davaeorn stepped out of the inferno untouched, smiling with a distressing amount of glee, and as far as he could tell only Viconia would be standing against him at this point.

That was...bad.

Kill him.

Of course I need to kill him. How? His powers are so far beyond mine he might as well be a god for all the hope I have of matching him. I can't even move. I can't feel my hands, I can't even open my mouth to speak. There's nothing but cold...

You know how. Murder is a part of what you are.

I can't move...

Can barely breathe...

But murder. Is a part.

Of who I am.

I'm going to survive. I always survive. And if I have to eat the world alive to do it, that is someone else's problem.

He raised his hand despite the fact he couldn't even feel himself doing it, and for the first time since killing Nimbul with it, he tapped the power Sephiria had awoken (or had it just felt her own power and woken up in sympathy?).

His body instantly erupted in pain, and it felt right. It was not the pain of dying, but the pain of dead flesh becoming alive enough to feel again...and it was matched by a snarl of shocked agony from Davaeorn as his life was stolen to accomplish this.

It's not enough. I'm still hurt. He's still alive.

He raised his hands, the spell he cast simple and quick; invisibility, among the most basic of illusions. But one that would disguise him well as he did the one thing no sane mage would ever do.

Each step agony, he sprinted at his target, his scarred face twisted into a wolfish grin.

(*)

The attack came with lightning speed and the accuracy of a veteran warrior. Khalid's sword would slide past her guard and open her throat in a single perfect move, and she would die in minutes, well before a healer arrived. It wasn't his fault, really; visibility was poor and he had clearly just left combat, he had every reason to attack the first thing he saw.

And yet, disturbingly enough, she wanted to kill him for it anyway. She wanted to, in her bones. She saw the counter in her mind; raise her shoulder, catch the blade on metal, muscle, and bone, while bringing her own sword up, a strike to the midsection... Not much force behind it from that angle, but it is a stroke to soft tissue. Just need to pierce the armor, and then nothing but organs and blood until you reach his spine...

Oh, get stuffed. I will not kill a good man for my own benefit, rather absurdly proud at her ability to even think that.

Of course, the general idea wasn't bad, as far as counters went, so...

Ignoring the screaming in her mind, she raised her shoulder and twisted her body, catching the blade on metal instead of flesh. It dug in, but rather than jerk away, she tensed her arm, trapping the weapon in her upper arm. And then she did strike out; not with the blade, but when she slammed the pommel of her own weapon into Khalid's solar plexus.

Hard.

The man fell to his knees, coughing violently for several seconds. After nearly hacking his lungs out, he managed to gasp. "A-ah. I a-apol...apologize. Dopplegangers, a-all over."

"Yes, we have met our share," Sephiria said, helping him up even as Imoen peeked her head out of the stairwell. "I am sorry I struck you."

"N-no, child. You saved y-your own life, I could hardly fault that," Khalid said, smiling...and wincing. "N-now I just hope you did not break a r-rib. Q-quite a sword arm you have."

"... Damn, Seffie. You like...adventured," Imoen said, apparently not sure how to process this development. She had always been vaguely aware that Sephiria could be dangerous if she tried, but the older girl was such a...well, not to be rude, but kind of a doof? And yet, here she was; on the receiving end of an attack from Khalid, and the one cradling a broken rib was him.

Huh.

A door down the hall fell off its hinges, and Xan stepped in with them, coughing smoke out of his lungs. He looked up at them, and oh my he looked so annoyed.

"The building is on fire, why are you all still here?!"

If a band of warriors fleeing death could look childishly embarrassed, this one did.

"I swear, I should have just found a ship home, but noooo. My better nature shall doom me, for certain," Xan said sadly. "Well, I do have a way out for you, so follow me. This building is a bit of a maze, and there is quite a lot of fire."

"... Thanks?" Imoen said.

"Oh, do shut up."

(*)

Viconia was not sure what she was seeing, precisely.

She was devoting all her power to trying to get the dwarf back on his feet; despite her sniping with the darthiir leader, she actually did see quite a bit of wisdom in keeping a thick shield between herself and the enemy. So she was deep in a prayer to Shar when said faerie launched his counterattack, and rather unprepared.

Because even she had to admit it was...beyond expectations.

She had seen spells to drain life before; many drow wizards used them as a pragmatic way to heal wounds without the aid of a cleric. All you needed to perform one, after all, was your hands, your mouth, and an unlucky slave. But Acherai...

There was no spell. It was more like he had reached out and dragged the life out of Davaeorn with an effort of will. Psionics, perhaps? But he'd shown no sign of such a power, and drow could always spot the signs. Between the mind flayers and House Oblodra, if you couldn't pick up a psionicist in Menzoberranzen, you were going to end up with your mind ripped open in short order.

This was something different. Darker. Shar's presence in her mind felt vaguely annoyed, even, which was odd. The Lady of Loss normally cared little for mortal powers.

Well, he is still acting as a guardian to me, so best to preserve him for now. Shar approved of selfishness, if her will was a bit inscrutable in other matters. She had watched the elf vanish from sight, and saw the human mage prepare a spell; probably another one intended to strike a wide area and flush him out.

He didn't think like a drow, and it was about to get him killed. Viconia smirked with delight at the simple and yet efficient plan as her healing spell brought the dwarf back to his feet. She chose to add to it, another prayer already on her lips.

Davaeorn finished his spell, a cloud of thick, nigh-unbreakable webs to snare and paralyze his invisible target.

They accomplished precisely nothing, and Viconia revealed why when her own spell, a Dispel to strip the wizard of his defenses, also revealed Acherai.

Directly behind him.

The elf's hand glowed with magic, a pale, hungry light. And with a grin that brought to mind some of the Underdark's more hungry predators, he drove it into Davaeorn's back. The wizard screamed, his skin growing tight and wrinkled as the attack sucked the life from his bones, even as Acherai's burns grew more pale, fading from red to an almost healthy pink.

The elf laughed in exultation as the wizard fell forward to his hands and knees. "Oh. My. That is a rush, isn't it?!" He asked nobody in particular, his tone giddy and mildly unstable. "Well, not for you, but that's okay. I'm told the afterlife is pretty nice too, if you pick your gods right."

Davaeorn, snarling in fury, pulled a wand from his sleeve and leveled it. Acherai laughed and moved his hand in the gesture of a simple spell...

And an arrow flew from down the tunnel, striking the downed mage between the eyes, and sending him collapsing backwards, flopping pitifully as his nervous system tried to catch up with the fact he was dead.

Coran stepped back into the room, waving cheerfully. "Sorry about that. He had some magic against arrows, you know, had to wait for that to come down, so I took to the shadows, and..."

Acherai was across the room and in his face before he finished the sentence, and though Coran was taller than the other elf, he felt somehow lesser. Something about his eyes, and the subtle hints of a second voice beneath his normal tone as Acherai growled, "I. Wasn't. Done."

Coran blinked a few times, resisting the urge to take a step backwards. He had run into enough angry animals to know running just made them want to chase you. "Are you legitimately upset that I stopped him from using a wand, of unknown power, three feet from you?"

Acherai stood silently, clenching and unclenching his fists, and the look on his face shifted from anger to worry and back again several times before he said, "... No. Of course not. That was clearly the right call. Let's...finish here. Loot the body. Look for any paperwork, any letters. See if that dwarf off to the side is dead or not, he might know something. Just...just go. Everyone."

Viconia, watching intently, sighed a little. She had been hoping the newly-interesting darthiir would demonstrate a few more of his interesting little secrets before he was stopped, but there was always next time.

And she fervently hoped there was a next time. D her general disgust toward her surface kin, well... it really had been awhile since she'd enjoyed a male's company, and power was a hell of an aphrodisiac.

(*)

Scar sat behind his desk, rubbing his forehead. "So. I sent you to investigate the Seven Suns. Subtly."

"You did," Imoen agreed.

"And you burned it down."

"Not...intentionally," Sephiria said a bit weakly.

"Honestly, the building was an eyesore anyway. Plant a tree where it stood, and let a little green into this urban blight," Jaheira said with a shrug. "We saved your friend, and that is what matters."

Khalid winced. "D-dear, that is...a b-bit harsh..."

"Yes. It is. Particularly for the people still inside!" Scar snapped.

Minsc raised a hand. "Ah, friend Scar knows not that the people inside the blazing den of evil were fiends of the foulest sort! Much evil was crushed with blade and boot!"

Dynaheir winced, sharing a glance of shared pain with Khalid before she said, "And more to the point, they were not people. All we found in the building were dopplegangers, sir Scar. A large colony of them, at least twenty."

Scar's expression went with barely a flicker from anger to worry. "Gods. Dopplegangers are...always a threat in any major city. Drawn to people of influence like flies to carrion. But so many...?"

"And the behavior was unusual for them," Xan noted. "Why take over a merchant coster only to run it into the ground? I would assume they would prefer to have the wealth and such, for whatever good it does them."

Scar almost smiled, though it was more feral than reassuring. "Unless they were there under the orders of another. Someone intent on destroying the Seven Suns."

"Like us?" Imoen asked, before Sephiria elbowed her in the ribs. She fell to her knees, hacking violently as the wind was knocked out of her.

"... Right then. I think that we can say," Scar said, "that the Iron Throne are the primary suspects, as Jhasso's greatest competition and, well, having the reputation for it, to put things mildly. And I am willing to allow you to investigate them on my behalf. As long as..."

"... We avoid any and all fire?" Sephiria finished for him.

"Yes, that."

Dynaheir sniffed delicately. "Well, certainly no promises can be made. A lady must stand up for herself."

Scar sighed. "And you know, the sad thing is that I am so short on reliable manpower, that promise is actually good enough for me."

"... ... ... So would this be a bad time to say I kinda wanna learn magic?" Imoen asked. "Fireballs are pretty neat."

Scar sighed again. "Sad. And getting sadder all the time."