Chapter Twenty-one

(*)

Edwin had helped, and that was why everything was so much worse.

Now, Kagain could admit that things had not been ideal. The assassin had clearly been about to throw down a potion of some sort, clearly designed to make a big damn mess. The 'taking you with me' mentality that Kagain hated more than anything; what was the bloody point of taking someone with you? It meant you were going too. If Kagain was going to have an emergency potion for when things looked unsalvageable and he had to abandon the group (not that he did… that anyone knew of), it would be something for invisibility or wraithform. Something to get out alive. That's what mattered.

But then, before the man could drop his bottle and ruin everyone's day, the wave of Edwin's spell of Chaos rolled over the room, and it just ruined Kagain's day.

The dopplegangers took it worst; one of them just started screaming and ran toward the wall to start clawing at it like he was being pursued by a demon, while the most wounded of the two remaining suddenly whirled on one of his own allies and clamped down those wicked fangs on the other creature's shoulder. The creature being actively chewed on did not even react for several long seconds, just staring into space… before suddenly screaming, throwing off its attacker, and whirling to shoulder-tackle the weak spots in the wall where the first one had been tearing at it. In a burst of wood and plaster dust, it fell through, pursued by its own blood-drenched companions, all three foaming at the mouth in madness.

"What the Hells…?" Shar-teel asked in something akin to horror. "Did we-"

She was cut off, then, by Slythe, who also clearly had not reacted well to whatever magic flooded the room, sliding his blade between her third and fourth ribs.

In her defense, it wasn't like she had stopped paying attention to the situation. Kagain was between her and the assassin, that should have been enough. Nobody could get past a defending dwarf without losing a limb at the very least. And true to form, he had suffered a terribly broken arm as the dwarf slammed that brutal hammer home without hesitation. He just also clearly wasn't feeling any pain to speak of; his arm was bent backwards at the elbow and coated with electrical burns from the hammer's lightning enchantment, and yet the only thing in the assassin's eyes was a deep, haunting rage at something only he could see. Shar-teel suspected that the only reason she was still alive was that he didn't even know she was here; he was fighting something entirely unreal that just happened to be standing in roughly the same place she was.

The numbness flooding her body made it hard to appreciate this, as she felt each breath become agony with disturbing suddenness. Pierced a lung. Shit, she thought with rising panic. It wasn't the worst hit she'd ever taken (running with her last party, the Scarlet Furies, she'd actually died and had to be raised, not an experience she ever hoped to repeat) but there was only so much you could do with no air in your body. She snarled as best she could for what little intimidation it would bring, grabbing onto the man's hand to hold him still and trying to meet him stab for stab, but there was no power in the motions anymore. Her weapon skidded off his enchanted leathers without penetrating… and even if she had, the madness in his eyes told her he wouldn't have felt it.

He didn't even bother to take his sword back, just body-checked her into the wall and grabbed one of her own dropped blades, raising it high while staring at something slightly above her head. She heard her remaining sword fall from fingers too numb to notice its absence, and hissed in agony at the waves of pain rolling off the blade still dug into her body, the dwarf was lunging, but he was too slow, everything was too slow…

And a dagger erupted from the assassin's mouth as someone stabbed him in the back of the head.

Acherai, the invisibility spell cloaking him fading with the offensive motion, took hold of the suddenly limp man and slit his throat with practiced ease, something gold gleaming in his eyes as he smiled at the falling corpse. "You must be 'Slythey-baby.' Your lover says 'hello'," he said cheerfully, as the assassin twitched at his feet. "Don't worry, your employer is next. Now, Viconia darling, if you could patch up our new employer… and he will be paying us handsomely for this… and our dear friend here? In that order. Nothing personal, Shar-teel, but you're much more expendable than Sir Silvershield."

Shar-teel shuddered. Not from the closeness of death, she'd had worse brushes. And not from the kill itself, she'd seen worse. In honesty, she didn't know why she felt a sudden burst of instinctive revulsion. Something in the way he carried himself, the way the blood was dripping, something about his smile… it just set her on edge, and she couldn't explain why. In the end, she chalked it down to adrenaline, maybe some side-effect of that moron wizard's magic (and she was going to have his guts for garters, he could damn well be sure of that!).

In truth, though she wouldn't realize this for some time, it was more akin to the same primal predatory instinct that ensured a lone wolf would always back down when it finds a full-grown grizzly and realizes it is simply not in the same class.

(*)

Sephiria sighed as the group sat along the edges of the river encircling the city, after a trek through the sewers that was far, far too long for anyone's liking. Tamoko sat under a tree, further from the rest of the group as they washed away the grime; they had nothing to bind her hands, but Khalid had the woman's mace tied to his belt, Jaheira had her holy symbol in a pouch, and Scar held a captured dagger to the back of her neck, so she was as secure as she could be made. Nobody particularly wanted to talk to her.

Sephiria sighed again. Well, since I seem to have been elected leader against my will, I suppose the darker duties fall to me then.

"All right. Tamoko. Tell us everything you know."

"Can we wash off n' find you some pants, first?" Imoen asked.

"Imoen, we…"

"Smell like someone chewed us up and swallowed us an' we came out the wrong end," Imoen said flatly. "And frankly, our supposed leader running around all naked isn't doing wonders for morale."

Sephiria blushed as red as her hair, shifting to move the half-shredded prison rags and bandages into something resembling modesty. "I'm not… naked. I just broke out of prison, these rags don't really fit, and the only people I've had time to see who might have had clothes to borrow were prostitutes."

"And it's not bad for morale at all," Scar said.

"Hey! Hey! Do not perv on my sister, you have been absolutely no use to anyone so far!" Imoen snapped, whirling on him. "You wanna stare at Seffie's butt, you gotta earn it like everyone else. There's villages around here, right? Go find her some real godsdamn clothes, and maybe even some armor so she doesn't die of getting scratched, while the real heroes get things done around here."

"'You gotta earn it'?" Sephiria growled as Scar sauntered off, laughing under his breath. "Imoen, that sounds suspiciously like you make people do you favors in exchange for getting to ogle me."

"… Well, in my defense, you never noticed, not once since you turned sixteen, that your bedchambers at Candlekeep had a hole in the south wall near the ceiling that let people look in from the next room over if they climb onto a chair. What was I supposed to do, not rent that out to visitors? They pay in cookies!"

"You little—"

"Girls. While I understand the desire to maim Imoen, we have more pressing matters to attend to," Jaheira said. "Everyone. We've not time for real bathing, but clean up as best you can while our local ally finds us a nearby place to hide and, well, dress our escaped convict in something less conspicuous. Then, yes, we talk to the woman we probably should have left dead in the sewers."

"After we defeat Sarevok, I am going to pummel you," Sephiria muttered to Imoen as she scooped up some water to wash the muck from her feet. "You will need to eat your ill-gotten cookies through the hole where your head used to be after I hit it so hard it explodes."

"Not if you can't catch me, ya galumphing moose," Imoen said cheerfully, sticking her tongue out.

Xan watched this with fascination, before turning to Dynaheir and saying, "I'm an only child. I don't usually get 'happy' about things, but right now, I think I might classify that as an actual blessing."

Dynaheir just sighed. "Honestly, after a year of traveling with Minsc, this all seems terribly normal to me."

"Gods above, you poor thing."

Far from them, Tamoko sat cross-legged with her eyes closed, and grinned slightly. This was not at all what she had expected, but she couldn't deny it gave her some hope.

(*)

The Silvershield estate had been decimated.

Oh, the word wasn't technically accurate, but Acherai liked the sound of it. 'Decimated.' It really just meant one-tenth had been destroyed, but it sounded so terrifically final, to the point that the actual meaning hardly mattered anymore. If you told someone their forces had been decimated, they would know they had been utterly, terribly crushed. A person whose holdings have been decimated knows his situation is desperate. He has to take any faint hope he can latch on to. Any alliance that presents itself, he must commit to, because he has no other choice. He is doomed without help. That wasn't what decimated meant in the dictionary, perhaps, but it's what it meant to people. And if there was one thing Acherai had always loved about people, it was that what they thought was always more important than the truth.

"Your estate, Lord Silvershield," Acherai said to Entar as he laid back in a bed in the Blade and Stars inn, his wounds only just barely closed and a grim, haunted look in his eyes, "was, unfortunately, completely decimated."

The party had gotten the room in secret and moved the Duke and his family in through the window under cover of night. It wasn't hard; there was nobody else to bring. The wife, the daughter, and a pair of servants who had been hiding in the wine cellars for a romantic rendezvous; there were no other survivors.

"Coran and I completed our scouting run while you sleeping off your injuries, and it was as complete a job as I can imagine. Your household guards were dead in their quarters, it seems someone in your kitchen staff poisoned their dinner. I assume he or she also let the assassins into the house and told them where to go to prevent you from escaping by carriage; we will never know for sure because the entire serving staff was killed save for those two," he continued, gesturing towards the young maid and the scullery boy, huddled and pale in the corner. They were too scarred by the night's events to even stare in terror at Viconia, which took some work considering she wasn't even bothering to put her hood up in the safety of the room.

The duke shuddered, looking much older than he had a few hours earlier. "All of them?"

"Matched the bodies to your employment records. Some of them were in… poor condition, but there were enough corpses to account for everyone, I'm afraid. Two exceptions, obviously. And I'm going to assume that if they were involved, they'd have been wearing pants when we found them."

"W-we really are planning to get married, sirs! Just money's been tight, sirs, and-" the girl squealed suddenly, the first words she'd spoken since they'd found her.

"Absolutely nobody cares… Marise, correct? From the cleaning staff?" Entar asked.

"Y-yes, milord! And my beau is Delmod from the stables, sir, and we really weren't shirkin' our duties, sir, on account of me being on a break and him bein' told to go home early fer the day with all the fuss about milord's daughter, and well… Amy cracked that wine bottle earlier while dustin' the cellars, so's I knew it wouldn't last, and I thought 'twould be fine if we should drink it as a bit of romance, sir, and…"

"Nobody. Cares. Have you any notions of whom might have let those killers into my home, girl? Either of you. Was anyone acting oddly? Nervous? Ill? Spending time in parts of the house they shouldn't have been?" Entar asked. "I have faced attempts on my life before. But none so determined, and none so very nearly successful. Their employers must be found and obliterated. Immediately."

"I was under the impression we already knew who it was, sir?" Acherai said. "Would it not be a simple matter to locate them? They are something of a public figure."

"This is not some back-alley knifing, boy! We must have evidence and it must be indisputable. If we move without proof, it's our heads that will roll," Entar snapped. "Talk, girl. You knew the other servants. Did. You see. Anything?"

"W-well…" she said slowly. "I mean, aside from that scatterfingers Amy crackin' another wine bottle, and one of your lordship's finest it was, I…"

"I, um… I may have, sir," Delmod said. "I, um, I can't say for certain, an' I don't want to… to imply any…"

"Speak faster, surface worm," Viconia hissed.

"The assistant chef, sir, he often went to play dice down on the docks with some disreputable fellows and you said the dinner was poisoned sir! He worked in the kitchen sir and he did not at all keep polite company sir and could have done the poisoning and I thought I saw him walking to the back entrance when I sneaking to the cellars to meet Marise, sir! Please don't let the drow steal my soul, sir!" Delmod the surface worm screeched.

"The assistant chef… he was a recent hire. Only a few months. Immigrant to the city, from…" he paused mid-thought, eyes widening. "Ah. Damn."

"Amn?" Acherai asked, though it wasn't really a question. The nobleman's utterly defeated tone said everything.

"Nashkel, specifically. Our nearest neighbor," Entar said bitterly. "I'm sure he was on their payroll from the start, long before we ever hired him. Meant to die in the attack and leave a convenient Amnish corpse to add weight to the false Shadow Thief calling cards they'd scatter about. But that's not what the people would see. Go around the streets, and suddenly every Amnish citizen is going to be painted as a crazed killer just waiting to let the assassins into your homes and businesses. That kind of outcry is not something most leaders can fight down. Sarevok would have his war before the month was out."

"So what we need, then, is proof linking this man to the Iron Throne's payroll. Some sign the money came from them, and not from the Shadow Thieves," Acherai said thoughtfully. "We have part one, the papers the assassins carried. Nothing concrete in any of them, but the man had an invitation to the coronation of Grand Duke Sarevok. Since that coronation has not been announced yet, we can assume it's His Future Majesty planning ahead. He can also claim it is a forgery if pressed and we won't have a leg to stand on, but it's enough to make people wonder. We just need , talk to the children here, and find out what room belonged to the mole in the estate staff. Go back to the manor before the Fist arrive and search his chambers thoroughly for any papers or coin that confirm our theory, or even that give it a slight push. Contrary to our lord's belief, we don't really need incontrovertible evidence, just enough to look suspicious. The law doesn't matter if you get enough of the people angry in the right direction."

Entar chuckled bitterly. "You think like Sarevok."

"No, I think better than Sarevok, because I haven't got one-tenth his resources but I'm still going to break him," Acherai said. "If there is one thing that people hate more than someone different from them, it is someone who has tricked them. The masses might have an instinctive loathing of everyone from every other country, but that pales in comparison to the white-hot hatred they feel for someone who thinks he is smarter than they are and doesn't do a good enough job hiding it. We make this city think he was playing them for saps, and they'll eat him alive."

Kagain snorted. "Or we could kill him. It would be quicker."

Acherai grinned, something flashing behind his eyes that nobody could be quite sure they saw. "It would also fail. He's strong among us right now. In blood and blades and metal, that's where he is at home. You don't kill a man like that with a frontal assault. When your target is stronger than you, you avoid his gaze. Wear him down from the shadows until the moment comes to slip up behind him and put the knife in his heart."

Viconia grinned like a contented cat. "I sense a plan."

"We will, of course, be going to his tower. But not right away. While Coran goes to the Silvershield estate, the rest of us need to find a Flaming Fist patrol," Acherai said, running a finger along her jawline and enjoying the fact the grand seductress shuddered slightly at the touch. Oh, manipulation was still most definitely her goal, but the attraction was also real, despite the instinctive revulsion between their races. Power, confidence, and determination truly were the best aphrodisiacs. "I don't know how they do it in Menzobarranzen, my dear, but in our world, tyrants are traditionally best laid low by poison. I have a wonderful one in mind."

In the corner, Edwin muttered, "(Ah, wonderful, the hormonal teenagers are starting again. And now our fearless leader has randomly decided Sarevok does not employ a food taster. I swear, this group will be the death of-)"

The dagger slammed home into the wall just beside his ear, he very suddenly found Acherai an inch from his face, smiling in a very unsettling manner. "Edwin, my friend. There is more than one type of poison, and not all of them can be tasted.

"Trust me."

(*)

The tunic was a size too small and the trousers were clearly meant for a man, neither of which made Sephiria terribly happy, but at least she was properly covered up and if needed could chase Imoen and punch her in the face, over and over. And I will. Oh yes, I will. Torm is a just god and he will lend me the strength.

"What I tell you know will mark me for death in Sarevok's eyes, beyond anything else I have done. I will forevermore be seen as nothing but a traitor, an impediment in his path to glory, and what love he still feels for me will die as surely as a limb severed from a body," Tamoko said. "And yet I tell you, because it is the only possible way I can see to spare his life and save his soul. This should tell you the depths of my feelings for your brother. We have been lovers since we were teenagers, since I was a frightened exile who could barely hear the whispers of my gods. For my entire adult life, he has been the only man who has ever treated me as an equal. As valued. I would die for Sarevok."

"So why are you not by his side now?" Jaheira asked. "He seems to be on the rise of late. A Grand Duke's wife is rarely called on to sacrifice herself in any capacity, unless you count having to attend state dinners."

"I would die for Sarevok. Not the monster behind his eyes," she said flatly. "He has always been a hard man. A ruthless one, even. The Iron Throne is truly little more than a gang of thugs, and being raised in their number would taint any child's morals. But of late… his crimes always had a goal. His actions were certain, strong, and even the most heinous would be of benefit to him. He sought godhood with the dedicated passion of one who has the potential to successfully claim it. Now… he lashes out madly, like a wounded animal. Death for its own sake has become his first concern. He still believes himself Bhaal's chosen heir, but the more he draws on that power, the more wild and self-destructive he becomes. I am not a scholar of western gods, but I have made a study of Bhaal for obvious reasons. Nothing I have found of his history tells me he would ever wish for an heir. More likely…"

"He wishes a rebirth," Sephiria finished. "That makes sense. The voices… they push you to kill, to destroy everything in your path, yes, but special mention is made of your siblings. What a threat they are. How their similarity to you makes them the greatest danger of all. Whatever plans Bhaal had for his children, we are clearly meant to view each other as targets and destroy each other whenever we can. I was uncertain why, but it makes perfect sense if you look at it from that perspective. We are to burn as fuel for the god's eventual return."

"I do not want to see Sarevok destroyed," Tamoko said gently. "I do not want you to kill him. But the more I learned, the more I saw of his mind warping under that monster's influence, the more obvious it became that his plans to claim the godhood in his blood would destroy him more thoroughly than any blade. Sarevok would be gone forever, and in his place would stand Bhaal Reborn. I would not have that, and so I tell you plainly: Sarevok's ultimate goal is a greater version of his father's own. His goal is to kill the Grand Dukes, claim absolute power in this city, and guide them to war with Amn. Both sides will draw in allies, cities will burn, nations will rot as the chaos spreads without end. And, through magic or just the power of his blood, he believes he can use this endless murder as a source of strength. Thousands will die, nations will die, and he will be borne into the heavens on a wave of their blood."

"Gods above. Divine magic is not my forte, I fear… Could such a ploy actually succeed?" Dynaheir asked softly, stepping slightly closer to Minsc, who notably had nothing to say.

"Does it matter?" Jaheira asked. "The sad truth is that Sarevok's godhood or lack thereof is irrelevant. Whether he gets what he wants or not, the death toll will still be catastrophic. This plan must be stopped before it begins."

"Jaheira is correct," Sephiria said. "We know what he intends, so we must protect the remaining Dukes no matter the cost. He cannot be allowed to ascend his throne. Who remains?"

Tamoko sighed. "I do not know. You have thrown his timetable into madness, and he no longer has the patience to adjust. The original plan was to have Entar Silvershield be assassinated by his faux-Shadow Thieves, Slythe and Kristin. Duke Eltan was to be slowly poisoned by the doppleganger who replaced his personal healer, dying of a 'wasting illness' far from the public eye while Angelo took control of the Fist. Then, at Sarevok's coronation, 'soldiers loyal to Amn' would launch a surprise raid on the palace, killing Dukes Janath and Belt. But obviously, the plan has abandoned the script… he is lashing out madly, trying everything in his power to kill all involved before it can all fall apart. Eltan was obviously murdered, and his puppet Angelo has failed to maintain control of the Fist. Entar, who was meant to die first of all, may yet live," she said, locking eyes with Sephiria. "And there is you. You were never meant to get as far as you have. By attacking him directly in the tower, you've cast doubt on many things that were meant to be set in stone; he was attacked and wounded in the seat of his power, on the eve of what should have been a great triumph. People ask why a 'Shadow Thief' would strike so openly. They ask why a party known for heroism, who saved Nashkel's mines and slew the bandits plaguing the Coast Way, would murder an Iron Throne lord in broad daylight, in his own offices. And in asking these things, they occasionally look past the mask of sympathy and generosity he has cultivated, and are reminded what kind of reputation the Iron Throne truly has. He has come very far, but his position is far more precarious than he had wished it to be, and on some level he is afraid."

Sephiria chuckled bitterly. "I am pleased some good came of that, then. For me, I fear that it did little but prove to me that I am no match for him in single combat."

"That's okay, though! You aren't single, so we just need to get 'em all like, nine on one," Imoen said brightly. "I got his eye, y'know. That was me. You were gettin' your arse kicked and Imoen the Great was all, 'BOOM! Eyeshot.' Next time I know we'll put that blighter six feet in the ground!"

Tamoko scowled.

"I meant metaphorically. After we save his soul and whatnot," Imoen said without missing a beat. "Righteous holy paladins, we are. Savin' souls is basically what we do. Look at Xan! His soul is awful, but I saved it with my good cheer!"

"I hate everything about my life."

"He's just having a bad day. Too much smoke in his lungs from that fire what you started. Elves are sissies," Imoen said wisely.

Jaheira scowled.

"Not you, Jahrrie. You're a half-elf! It's different, you got strong human blood like me an' we don't let anything break our spirits! … Ugh, I still got goo all on my pink pants, this is the worst day ever," Imoen said, kneeling to wipe at the spot.

Scar sighed, standing to his feet and drawing his sword. "Well, then, we know what the goal is, and we know that Dukes Jannath and Belt must be warned immediately. I have heard all I need to from you. Tamoko of Kara-tur, for the crimes of murder, treason, and conspiracy, I sentence you to death by the power vested in me as rightful commander of the Flaming Fist. May whatever gods you worship have mercy on your soul."

Sephiria leaped up to step between Scar and Tamoko, her arms outstretched. "Absolutely not! She is a prisoner, and…"

"Yes, she is a prisoner. Of me. Angelo is dead and I am the highest-ranking member of the Flaming Fist still alive, so her fate is legally mine to determine," Scar said firmly. "Her crimes are severe enough to warrant the death penalty ten times over, and she has confessed. No amount of aid she could give the city would be enough to earn even her life back after that, much less the life of her and the worst traitor the Gate has ever seen. Sarevok will be tried, found guilty, and executed. And when he gets to the Hells, his accomplice will be waiting for him."

Jaheira chuckled. "Well spoken, lawman. If there were more like you in Calimshan, my years hunting slavers would have been far more convenient."

"You cannot be serious!" Sephiria snapped.

"Quite so. What reason have we to keep our word to a murderous priest of dark gods?" Jaheira said with a shrug, holding up Tamoko's holy symbol, confiscated after the battle. "The Kara-turan gods are too numerous to know them all, but I recognize the marks of war. Of storms. Of gods bloody and violent. Your bond with Sarevok was not born of what a kind man he was in his youth, I think, and your insight into Bhaal not merely the results of study. You know something of darkness, priestess."

"I know enough," Tamoko said, "to back away from the worst of it when I have the chance. I have committed many crimes and I most certainly have earned my death. I chose my life. I will accept the consequences. But Sarevok was born with the darkness already worming into his soul. His childhood was murder and torture. He had no chance to be anything but what he is. I will accept my death if you swear to save him, if you can."

"And that," Sephiria said, "is exactly why I won't accept your death. You have a chance. There is something in you that can be saved. To think that of Sarevok but ignore it in others would be a betrayal of everything I believe. To kill a person for crimes that they genuinely seek to repent and atone for may be the law, Sir Scar, but it is not justice."

"Sentence has been declared. Do I have to go through you?" Scar asked quietly.

"I wouldn't try," Imoen said, very softly, and in the tenseness of the situation Sephiria realized she'd never even seen the younger girl slip out of Scar's reach and move to flank him until she had already nocked an arrow. "Seffie, I'm backing whatever wackiness you're up to. Dunno much about souls, but I trust you with mine so I guess I trust you with hers too."

She fought down a smile of pride. "Thank you, Imoen."

"Still gonna shoot Sarevok's other eye out if he hurts my sister. You okay with that, bitch?"

"… It is a fair reaction," Tamoko said.

Khalid chuckled. "W-well, it seems the passion of youth has s-s-spoken, love. I know you prefer a more… mundane… solution to such people, but… I think I c-choose to trust Gorion's daughters. I will stand with them here as w-w-well."

"Gorion was really more like an uncle to me, actually," Imoen offered.

"S-stop helping, Imoen."

"She never does," Jaheira muttered. "Fine. Soft and childish it is, but I will allow it. Sir Scar, lower your blade and wait to pass judgment until all facts are in, please. Though it is a rare thing in my experience for anyone to change their ways in truth, this one might yet provide needed aid in cutting out the source of the disease on your city."

The officer sighed. "If I attack her, you'll all turn on me."

"Every one of us," Sephiria said firmly.

"I won't," Xan said. "I truly don't care one way or the other. We're all doomed regardless."

"… How have you worked with these people so long, Imoen?" Sephiria asked, after she had finished wincing.

"I got a great personality."

"I'm going to regret this, but. What is our plan?" Scar asked, sheathing his weapon.

"I think first of all, we need to get to the remaining Dukes. Is there any chance, any at all, that they would allow us a meeting?" Sephiria asked.

"None. Angelo might be dead, but he had enough toadies to run the Fist in his absence. They haven't got his charisma or his ruthless streak, and Sarevok is probably going to skin them all alive for being incompetent whoresons as soon as he realizes what a hash they're making of it, but for now we definitely can't trust anyone in the city guard."

"Then I think our best option would be to acquire access to an event we know they will be at. That will give us a crowd to use as cover, to reach them discretely. They have to be suspicious by now," Sephiria said. "Tamoko. Has Sarevok been officially invited to fill Duke Eltan's vacancy? Is there a coronation planned?"

The priestess smiled slightly. "The messenger arrived this morning to let Sarevok know it will be officially declared to the public in two days time, at a public forum to answer questions regarding the growing threat of Amn. Notably, Lords Belt and Janath wished to delay it until after Duke Eltan's state funeral, but while you were incarcerated Sarevok generously offered a donation of 5,000 platinum coins, directly from the Iron Throne's coffers into the Gate's. Purely to help the city cope with the burden of refugees and defense in these trying times of banditry and looming war, of course, and any riots demanding his inauguration this might have spawned among the peasantry are purely coincidence."

Scar laughed bitterly. "Well. Nice to know that no matter how powerful you are, you can still be bribed if someone offers a big enough purse."

Sephiria sighed. "Two days. We have two days to get evidence and reach one of the legitimate Dukes. That is not a generous timetable. And this assumes such evidence exists…"

"There may be a paper trail, but you will not like where we must go to find it," Tamoko said. "Sarevok is not popular among the Iron Throne leadership or employees. He cares nothing for the company and spends its coffers freely on his military and his 'election,' which has earned him many enemies with long memories and deep inkwells. It would not shock me to learn that incriminating evidence exists in the office of some accountant with a grudge, or even in Sarevok's own hand."

Jaheira arced an eyebrow. "You are suggesting he himself may have kept papers that paint him as guilty, and all we must do to find them is go to the very seat of his power. Really."

"I am aware this may appear to be a trap, but to you I offer a counterpoint: you do not understand your enemy as I do. He is very intelligent, to be certain, but he is a straightforward intellect. He cares nothing for the conspiracy and the plotting, and has no respect to speak of for anyone without great skill of arms or power of magic. Quill and ink, plot and scheme, these are weapons his father taught him to use, and he despised his father. He can use them, to be certain, but he detests the need and longs for the day when he can abandon them for simple conflict," she said calmly. "Sarevok would see no issue with keeping incriminating documents because he believes anyone strong enough to take them from him would simply try to take his life instead. He would never consider the machinations of some clerk to be a threat, because no dragon would ever consider a rat to be a danger to his domain. And Sephiria, a fellow spawn of the dead god… the thought she might not share his hunger for blood and battle is anathema to him. Taking him alive, through guile, is something he would never expect of her."

"What do you know, he's smarter than us," Scar muttered.

"Sir Scar," Sephiria snapped.

"Sorry."

"Well. Our path seems clear," the young paladin said. "First, we must obtain entry to the Iron Throne's tower and search it for something, anything we can bring to the Dukes. Second, we must actually get them to listen to us long enough to deliver it."

"Khalid and I can handle the latter. We'll need to call in more favors than you can imagine, but we will find the audience… if the evidence exists," Jaheira said.

"It will. I believe Tamoko's intentions are pure."

"You are also almost unbearably naïve. This woman is the lover of the man who killed your father."

Sephiria winced, and sighed deeply behind it. "I… yes. But we have no other options. And… nothing about her seems… wrong to me. She is not impure, if that makes sense. Her words and actions speak to one who is concerned for another over herself, and I cannot call such a person purely evil."

Jaheira held up Tamoko's holy symbol, twirling it idly along one finger. "Evil need not be pure, nor always selfish, to be still evil. Any priestess who answers to gods like hers is little better than the Cyricists and Malarites your code would call you to cut down, paladin."

"To your counterpoint, a counterpoint. What other plan have you?" Tamoko asked. "You are the city's most wanted criminals. You have escaped the Flaming Fist all this time only by living in the sewers like animals, and that option is clearly no longer available. If you had additional allies and resources to draw on, you would have done so by now."

Sephiria winced. "She has a point, Jaheira. I know you and Khalid must have friends, but…"

"But not friends that can be reached quickly enough. Damn," Jaheira muttered. "Fine. We play this her way, but we must have every precaution in place."

"There is an emergency exit in the Iron Throne tower, for executives of the company to escape in the event of an attack… or an inspection. I will tell you where it opens in the city," Tamoko said. "Once you know that, my use to you ends. There is nothing I can do to stop you from killing me, if you wish to do so. Will this assuage your worries?"

Sephiria nodded. "Very well. We've manpower to spare; three of us will stay with Tamoko, and the rest will infiltrate through this tunnel. If we do not return within half an hour, assume she betrayed us."

"You should be one of the ones who stays. You're a big galumphing moose," Imoen said cheerfully. "You, Scar, an' Minsc stay. If I'm gonna be doing any sneaking about, then you're the ones I absolutely don't want around."

Sephiria gritted her teeth. "Perhaps we should send you in alone, then, if you're so certain I'll ruin the carefully laid plans of Imoen the Subtle. Who is wearing bright pink."

"An' who is so, so talented at her craft that she can vanish into the shadows regardless! Unlike certain flame-haired giantesses who got caught every time we tried to steal sweet rolls from Winthrop's special baking day. Every. Time," Imoen said, her grin never wavering.

"I never tried! You tried, and waited until I was walking by so you could make it look like I helped you!"

Jaheira sighed. My word. And here I thought Sarevok was her worst sibling.

(*)

It was all going so perfectly that Acherai felt almost like some divine providence had chosen him as its instrument of vengeance against the Iron Throne, and he was not about to complain.

With the morning had come the news spreading across the city like wildfire of the massacre at the Silvershield estate, and it had apparently not been the night's only disaster. Acherai had practically cheered out loud when the criers announced that the deadly murderer Sephiria of Candlekeep had escaped from the Fist's gaols at dusk the previous evening, and acting commander Angelo Dosan had not yet made a public statement.

Acherai hadn't had to meet Sarevok to work out that he was not a forgiving master. If this Angelo had been in charge of holding the girl, and the girl was no longer held, then he hadn't 'made a public statement' because he no longer had a tongue with which to do so. And whoever had replaced Angelo was clearly in a very big rush to leave a better impression on their leadership, because patrols in the city had redoubled; the noble district, the trade district, and (oddly enough) the area around the city's seedier taverns were under heavy watch. Something about a mysterious sewer fire causing the Blushing Mermaid's basement to collapse.

("Damn fools, going around burnin' perfectly good whores! If Sarevok didn't need ta die before, he most surely does now," Kagain had grumbled, and nobody had cared enough to ask. The details had probably been pretty vile anyway, if it involved Kagain and prostitutes.)

What mattered to Acherai, though, was that with this many patrols wandering the streets, finding a small, isolated one was not nearly so difficult as it would have been normally.

Killing them without getting too much blood on the armor was harder, but Shar-teel knew how to use a club and she was oddly enthusiastic about this task.

"I don't like this," Coran muttered, his stolen uniform slightly too small. Acherai envied him; his own was slightly too large, and he was supposed to be playing the commander. The only one who fit her damn outfit was Shar-damn-teel, one of the young guards she'd beaten to death being a woman almost exactly her size. And she still seemed furious, because she always seemed furious.

"None of us like wearing these," Acherai said as they marched down the middle of the street towards the Iron Throne tower, as bold as… well, as bold as city guards in the middle of a sunny morning, in fact. "They're bulky and they smell. Bear with it."

"Not that! You killed three watch officers! Doesn't that strike anyone else as problematic?!" he hissed.

"First of all, lower your tone. Second of all, no. You heard Entar; the old Commander of the Fist died and was replaced with a man who literally used to work for Sarevok's household? That isn't even subtle corruption. The organization is little more than an arm of the Iron Throne at this point."

"We can't say that with any certainty. And just because one leader is corrupt doesn't meant they all are."

"Angelo Dosan," Shar-teel growled. "Is a bastard. And calling him that is an insult to bastards everywhere. Trust me when I say anyone who'd work for him is either crooked enough he has it coming, or dumb enough he'd be dead soon anyway."

"See? And if she thinks someone is evil, that's as bad a sign as any I can imagine," Acherai said with a shrug.

"An' that's supposed to mean what, exactly?" Shar-teel grumbled.

"That you're a dangerous, amoral, murderer."

"… aye, that's fair."

Coran sighed. "As soon as we aren't being marked for death by some of the wealthiest men in the region, I'm leaving this group. I thought you should know."

"Nobody will miss you," Shar-teel said, not even stopping to glance at him. "There's the tower, boss."

"All right, people. Heads up, scowls on, and no killing anyone unless they start something. Just follow my lead and look like angry mercenaries."

She rolled her eyes. "We are angry mercenaries. These bastards tried to kill us last night, we've not slept, and the looting's been shit since we plundered those mines."

"Then you really should be better at this," Acherai whispered as they approached the doorman. "Good morning, sir! Please open the doors, here, I'm afraid we need to search the building. Watch business."

The man turned a gaze on them that was more considerate than he'd have expected on a door guard. Apparently the Iron Throne saved the good mercenaries for home. "You need to search here."

"Yes sir, that is indeed what I said. Do your civic duty and open the door for us, if you could."

"… You do know who you work for?"

"Angelo Dosan is currently chief of the Fist, pending a review," Acherai said promptly. "And he's ordered us to search this location for the fugitive Sephiria of Candlekeep or any evidence linking her to this institution or its leadership. Please open the door? I'd hate to have to come back with a warrant."

The doorman spent the next several seconds choking on nothing, and Acherai had to fight down a grin. "A… are you mad, you daft-"

"We can wait if you need to clear it with your leadership," Acherai said mildly. "Feel free to go ask Director Anchev."

The man paled. "I can't ask him. You can't come in here! He'll kill both of us if I let you-"

Acherai nodded. "A warrant it is, then. Commander Dosan didn't want to formally accuse Lord Anchev of complicity in the murder of his father until we'd had time to investigate…"

"What?!"

"Of course, no-one seriously suspects Lord Sarevok, but we do have to be certain. You have to realize how this looks, don't you? Your tower was attacked by Amnish mercenaries, in broad daylight, and yet only Lord Rieltar was killed. That seems to us less like an 'attack' and more like a targeted assassination, but out of respect for the Anchev family's role as pillars of the community, we allowed them time to mourn before conducting on-site investigation of the family. However, Commander Dosan feels with Sephiria's of Candlekeep's escape from custody, all available resources have to be redirected to this investigation immediately," Acherai said calmly. "And of course, with the highly suspicious passing of Duke Eltan and last evening's attack on Duke Silvershield…"

"Wh-"

"Ah, you hadn't heard of it yet. I suspect you've been on duty too long. Yes, an attack was made, several members of his household were killed, and extensive damage was done to the structure itself. Fortunately, the Duke himself is in a secure location, but he is understandably furious at this breach in security. We have, in response to pressure from Lord Silvershield, redoubled the search for Sephiria of Candlekeep… and her financier, for surely she possesses one to be making two such bold assaults. And, well, thus far there is only a single individual in the city with both the funding and the motive. Lord Rieltar's death and the loss of a Grand Duke both benefit Lord Sarevok directly, considering his inheritance and his Dukedom campaign. Of course nobody suspects him!" Acherai said again, in the infuriatingly reassuring tone of an officer who is not really trying to be reassuring, "but we naturally have to investigate. Commander's orders."

"Are. You. Insane?!" the doorman hissed. "Lord Sarevok will kill us all if I let you in here and you damn well know it! He already gutted the company pursuing his ducal campaign, there's talk of the main branch in Sembia sending agents to sanction him, and you want to accuse him of murder?! When the Dukes finally approved the emergency election?! Has Angelo lost his mind?!"

"I'm afraid I don't know anything about that, sir. Never taken much interest in politics," Acherai said, his voice laced with the same bland and idiotic devotion to duty that all guards used when they were trying to make someone's day worse for petty reasons. You didn't grow up a criminal without hearing that tone a few times in your life. "I'll just leave, and be back in a few hours with a warrant. Please let Lord Anchev know that Commander Dosan wishes to speak to him at the earliest opportunity, and he can expect another messenger shortly. Thank you, and have a nice day, sir."

Acherai spun on his heel to march away from the very, very pale door guard, finally allowing himself a tight grin. And right now you're thinking: 'Do I tell someone, and risk Sarevok killing me for being the bearer of bad news? Or do I try to keep it a secret when I know that anyone in the main lobby and anyone walking down the street definitely saw three guards walk up to us and ask search the building?' It doesn't matter. Sarevok will know we were here within the hour and he'll know what we asked ten minutes after that. And by then, half the city will be talking about the Flaming Fist suddenly turning their investigation on the noble young lord. People start to wonder if maybe they don't really understand why he's been so terribly generous, and what really did happen to his father, and isn't it odd how sudden his push for a dukedom has been. How convenient, wasn't it, that an opening just happened to exist right when the local hero's name is on everyone's lips…

And then, both his march and his good mood came to a sudden stop as someone inside the lobby of the tower screamed for the watch, and more than one pedestrian's face turned to stare directly at their little group with a mixture of panic and expectation.

Coran grinned at him. "No rest for the loyal watchmen, sir?"

"You know, Coran, I don't agree with Shar-teel often, but. I really won't miss you when you're gone," he growled, drawing the unfamiliar sword at his belt.