Chapter 24
Acherai opened his eyes, and regretted it.
"Oh… oh that is unpleasant…" he muttered, seemingly every inch of his body reacting to the words with dizzying agony, his last memories before losing consciousness being of blood and fire.
And the only thing he could see was Sephiria's face hovering over him in the dim firelight, which was arguably worse.
"You and I," she said softly, "need to talk."
"The tower. Sarevok. What happened?" he whispered, every word an effort.
"He escaped… his reputation is destroyed, of course. Consorting with ogres and murdering guardsmen is more than a donation to the city can cover, and he doesn't precisely have a public relations department left to handle it for him. A bounty has been placed on his head, but… he's vanished. He's been warded against divinations, apparently, and where he might have fled is a mystery. Except to us," she said calmly. "And of course you did not ask, but I have not made contact with any of my party, or yours. The streets are crawling with guardsmen, and I am still a fugitive. I couldn't even get down the street to listen to the crier before I found a patrol. If we try to get back to the… ruins now, we'll be caught in a heartbeat."
Acherai chuckled. "Wouldn't go… even if I cared about Coran and Shar-teel. Not going… to fight that monster again any time soon. So… how did you get us out… if things are that bad?"
Sephiria winced.
Four hours earlier…
Acherai watched the ceiling falling, the support beams finally giving in to the loss of the basement and the fire ripping them apart. It made sense, he supposed; the building had originally been a fortress tower, but the Iron Throne had ripped out so much of the original structure to replace it with luxury materials that it could hardly be expected to stand up to what the battle had done to it.
He also supposed, vaguely, that he should be more upset by the sight, considering it likely meant he was about to die.
"I can't reach you!" Sephiria shouted, roaring to be heard over the crumbling masonry crashing down into the basement. "Can you stand?!"
He chuckled, unable to maintain the bloodlust he had been feeling so recently; possibly because he was running low on blood of his own, but honestly he just felt tired. Like some greater force had been lending power to his muscles, and now it had chosen to abandon him. He felt like he was trying to think through a layer of wool around his brain. Though… well. That might have been the gaping gut wound. Hehehehehe… I'm in a burning building and I'm going to die of blood loss? That's probably irony…
"Torm, protect your very stupid servant as she prepares to make a poor decision," Sephiria muttered, looking at elf as his eyes began to drift shut. He was losing consciousness, probably delirious and there was not a lot of floor left to reach him with. Unless she could make a twenty-foot leap from a standing start, she would have to leave him to die. And that was, for some reason, not acceptable in her mind, presumably because she was a gods-damned idiot, so…
Wait.
There was, after all, something below the basement, wasn't there? And the tower was collapsing anyway, and after all that weight had fallen it had to be ready to go, sooooo…
She leaped down into the flames, trusting that some combination of divine grace, enchanted armor, and blind luck would keep her alive long enough to do this, and slammed her blade into the fire-ravaged and cracked basement floor below Acherai's perch.
"W-what are yoUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAH…" he had time to scream before the floor gave way, sending the two adventurers crashing down among a cloud of sparks, dust, and rubble, into the sewers.
What they landed in did not bear mentioning, but it certainly did put the fire out.
The Present…
"It certainly wasn't undignified, if that's what you're asking," Sephiria said primly. "The key thing I got us to the docks, and found a warehouse that had been closed off. Do not ask how or why."
"Wh-"
"I am the one asking the questions here, thank you!" she said, cutting him off very deliberately. "As you see, I have ensure you've received enough healing to keep you alive… but not enough to be a threat. So you are going to answer me, if you want to be healed."
He grinned, despite the pain. "You'll heal me… eventually. You're not the sort… to let someone die in agony while you watch…"
"I've grown since we last met. In ways I do not truly appreciate," she said, softly. "Do you want to risk your life on that assessment?"
"… Heh. Maybe you… have grown," he whispered. "Fine. If you promise to… spare my life... I'll answer anything I can. I at least know you won't lie."
"How much do you know about Sarevok? Really?" she asked.
"Hm. He… was behind… all of this. Tried to have Entar Silvershield killed, was at least mostly behind… the plan to start the war with Amn. He was the one who wanted you dead… not sure why. But he has some connection… to the cult that I've been hunting. I don't know what it is, but he needs to die for it, clearly," he said. "… And he's not human. I don't know what he is. But that was… that was not a human."
She sighed. "So you don't know anything, then. I was afraid of that. Well… people kept me in the dark most of my life, and it never did any good, so I'll just say it. Sarevok is a demigod, a child of the dead god Bhaal, sired before he was killed in the Time of Troubles, and..."
"And… so am I. So are we," Acherai finished. "Heh… interesting."
"… Oh. Yes. Um… I wasn't expecting you to realize that part. Or take it well," Sephiria said, blinking in confusion.
"Well… after seeing him in person… yes, it makes sense. That does explain a great deal… where our powers came from, and what the cult was really doing with those children… hehehehe… yes, it all fits… some kind of ritual to revive Bhaal, that's what it was all along…" he said with a grin. "Half-god. I'm half-god. Oh, this is intriguing."
"Intriguing?" she asked, arced eyebrow. "Is that what you call being the child of the god of murder? Not even you could be happy with that heritage, oh pragmatic one."
"I… well, no. Not the god in particular. But… a god. Viconia was right. There's… potential here. We could learn to tap it."
"Like Sarevok?"
"Yes, like Sarevok!" he hissed. "You saw him. What he is. What he can do. He'll kill us both if we… we don't have an edge. We have to even that… playing field."
"You keep saying 'we.' Why do you assume I will help you?"
"Because you want to live, don't you? And Sarevok… your father. He's the one who killed… your father. He must be. You wouldn't… wouldn't care so much otherwise," Acherai said with pained grin that did not quite reach his eyes. "Think about it. With his power… even if we can access our divine strength. It would probably… probably take both of us to face him."
"I meant," she said, letting a hint of steel slip into her tone, "why do you think I would trust you to fight at my side after you tried to kill me?"
His smile vanished to be replaced by a look of absolute unbending dread at the realization he was alone and wounded in the dark with someone he had recently made an enemy of, and Sephiria had to admit that even she enjoyed the sight a little bit.
"Why is it that every time we do anything in this town, we end up as fugitives?" Imoen muttered, looking out the window of their little safehouse, which would not be safe if anyone discovered it had a tunnel to the Iron Throne tower in the basement, which Imoen did not understand because it connected to the second floor of the tower! Jaheira had said something about it going up a slope inside the city walls along a hollowed out blah blah blah, and Imoen had stopped paying attention.
"Why is it that every time you do anything in this town, you burn it down?!" Scar hissed. "In and out! Looking for intelligence! You were not. Supposed. To burn the tower down!"
"They burned down the Undercellars. And the Seven Suns," Tamoko said mildly, still sitting in a position of serene meditation. "I honestly think that entering a building is simply a death sentence for this group."
Scar wheeled on her, wrath flashing in his eyes. "You burned down the Undercellars. And a lot of innocent people died there, murderess, so…"
Shar-teel laughed. "Well, a lot of people, anyway. Not sure about innocent."
"And who is this, anyway?!" he snapped, gesturing at the two new strays that they'd apparently picked up.
"Ah, well. My name is Coran, and this is my frie… … … associate, Shar-teel. We were in the tower on… perfectly legal business, and… we seem to have lost our commander in the chaos just like you fine folks."
"They helped us fight an ogre!" Imoen chirped. "And I like the scary one's tattoo. I think I'd look good with a tattoo, y'know? Really show off my wild side. Seffie says I don't have one, but what would she know? Stick. In. The. Mud."
"Damn right, kid. Next time that bastard tells you that you can't do something, you cut his balls off and make him eat them," Shar-teel cheered.
"Seffie is actually a girl."
"… Eh. So grab a random man and do it to him, then. It's all good."
Imoen blinked. "I don't want a tattoo anymore."
"Coward."
"Oh, gods. Oh, merciful gods, I joined a group of maniacs. I might as well have signed up with the Zhents," Scar murmured, holding his head in his hands. "You lost Sephiria… again. You burned down one of the biggest buildings in the city. Tell me you at least accomplished something. Tell me this wasn't a complete waste of all our time."
Jaheira sighed, looking up from Khalid's wounds as she tried to bandage what her magic had been unable to fully heal this day. "Sarevok is exposed. A crowd of people saw a rampaging ogre emerge from the Iron Throne tower… which, of course, is now a gutted flaming ruin. It wasn't the battle we'd hoped to fight, but we can hardly say it did not produce results… assuming Sephiria has survived."
"Hey! She might be big, and doofy, and when we find her again I'm pretty sure I'm gonna try to find a way to blame her for starting that fire because I was in the room when the creepy elf set it and I don't want to get blamed m'self, but she's hardier than a cockroach! If anyone could get out of that mess, it would be her," Imoen protested. "We just gotta find her, is all, and we've already done that once. Right, Minsc?"
"Fair Dynaheir has been wounded by the fangs of ogres while Minsc was left behind to watch small guardsmen and evil priestesses, when he should have been watching his witch… first the vile nasty gnolls, and now this… Minsc is a failure… when we return to Rasheman, Minsc shall fall upon his sword at the doors of the Ice Dragon Berserker Lodge in shame…" Minsc said, rocking back and forth in the corner.
"Spirits and gods, Minsc, I have but a few bruises. I have told you time and again you must not take these things so seriously," Dynaheir said with a sigh, holding Boo so he did not get tears of undying shame upon him.
"… Well then. I need to get out of here before I kill one of these mouthy idiots, I think, so it's time to part ways," Shar-teel said, standing up. "Elf! Go scout us out a way back to the inn past the guard patrols. We need to report back to the others, get our fee, and get out of this city."
"Not to argue with you, my dear, but first we should probably try to find Acherai, and we can assume if he lives he'll be with their Sephiria," Coran murmured, not sounding particularly enthused. "Duke Silvershield seemed to actually be fond of him, and if we don't get paid because he's not around, Kagain is going to kill someone. Probably me."
"I don't have a problem with that."
"Wait. Wait. Wait," Scar, who had been pondering the disaster that was his life, said slowly. "You… you two are working for a Grand Duke."
"Eh? Ah, yes, my good man! We are in fact-" Coran began.
"So we are sitting in a hovel less than a mile from the scene of the crime of the century, rather than coordinating with one of the city's leadersfor… what reason?" he snapped, raising an angry hand to cut the elf off.
"… … … Well, mostly I got hit in the head a few times by that ogre, and I confess I may not have thought all of this through."
"I hate my life and everyone in it," Scar muttered.
Jaheira, who could empathize with the sentiment after nearly eight weeks around Imoen, did not pat him on the back in solidarity. But only because she did not really like him.
Acherai tried to feel at his belt for a dagger, but to his dismay found his right hand would not move, and his left found only an empty sheathe. Dammit, dammit, dammit, she thought to disarm me. Do I even have any spells left for the day? Could I cast them with one hand if I did? Who am I kidding, I can barely lift the hand that does move! Oh gods, she's going to…
To…
… It's Sephiria.
"So what will the sermon be?" he murmured. "You're not the type… to murder someone in cold blood. We both know it."
"I wasn't, certainly, but these days, who knows? A great deal has changed, Acherai. 'Sephiria of Candlekeep' has become 'Sephiria, Child of Bhaal.' I can… hear it whispering in my mind. It tells me the power to be found in spilling your blood is beyond my imagination," she said, her tone soft and yet somehow cold. "And when I don't respond to that, it tells me of your crimes. Your murders. Destroying you is the right thing to do isn't it? You have taken lives that did not deserve it. It would be justice to cut you down here."
He did not quite roll his eyes. "So that's the argument. That it is an… inherently dangerous power that will… turn us against each other? Perhaps you missed it, but we… already don't get along. I am not… planning to stay in stabbing range after we kill Sarevok. You will go your way, and I mine, and I would be quite happy never seeing you again."
"Would it let you? Would Bhaal let you?" she asked, her tone mild.
He smiled. "I don't need to kill you. You're a human and I'm an elf. We might… look the same age. But I'll look exactly the same as I do now… long after you're dust. If I want you dead, I can… just wait. You can live out your life. Happy?"
"Then why did you try to kill me in the tower?" she asked softly. "Did you want to kill Sarevok? Or did you need to?"
"We both need to kill Sarevok. He's after our blood, remember? And he isn't going to stop. You saw him. He… hahaha, of course, that's it. He thinks killing us will make him a god. If he's the last… one standing, he gets to be the new Bhaal," he whispered. "You see? That should be… your worst nightmare. A new god of murder?"
"And what. About. Me?" she snapped, holding her bared arm above his head to show the bloody bandage wrapped around it. "The topic you keep glossing over. I came into a losing battle, on your side, and you attacked me without reason or hesitation. Can you still look me in the eye and claim you are in control, Acherai?"
He winced, turning away from the sight. "I… didn't have a choice. You were trying to run. I didn't want to… to let him regroup. I had to drag things out, try to keep him in… in the trap. And you…"
"NO!" she snapped, with more genuine anger than he had ever heard in her voice. "Look. Me in. The eye. And say it."
He turned his head. He looked her in the eye. And he thought: Of course I am in control. I didn't have a name for it, but I knew there was something. Some power. Some kind of presence inside me. And I took control. I'm not some frightened little knightling raised in a library. I know darkness. I walked in it all my life, you petulant, moralizing brat. I found the darkness within and I took control! I'm not like you, you child. I see the power of my blood and I don't surrender, I exploit it. And when you're dust in your grave, I will be walking among the gods, you little nothing.
He didn't say one word of it out loud.
Because even as he thought it, even as the concepts raced through his mind, he could feel how wrong they were.
I thought I hadn't surrendered. I thought I was in control. I thought I was on the verge of the greatest victory of my life.
And it ended with me trying to fanatically kill a man I don't even know, simply because I wanted to, while trapped in a burning building. I didn't even feel the flames.
"I wasn't in control. I had tamed nothing. I thought what Bhaal wanted me to think. Whatever would lead me to kill Sarevok or die trying," he said, his tone thoughtful and almost disturbingly soft, his face going even more pale than normal as it fell into a mask of dread. Very much the tone and expression of a man standing at the edge of a roof and realizing he has no real reason not to jump.
Sephiria smiled, but there was more sadness than anything in her eyes. "And now, I think we can finally have a real discussion. So tell me… who are you?"
Raising his good hand to his brow as if literally trying to hold his head together, and slowly closed his eyes. "Who, indeed…?"
"You lost him?!" Viconia snarled. "Oh my, that was foolish. You are already a male daarthir, and therefore the lowest form of life on this world, and now you have managed to misplace my most useful acquisition on the surface. If still served the Tyrant Poisoner, you would already be spider food."
"What the drow said," Entar said, less open emotion in his tone but somehow just as much threat behind the words as he sat up in his bed. "Though I confess I'm a bit fuzzier on which 'him' I mean, considering you somehow managed to have Sarevok in your sights and lost him too."
"We couldn't reach them, I fear, as a result of the ogre. The tower was a… bit of a snafu, sir," Coran said with a shrug. "On the plus side, we can safely say Sarevok's activities are exposed as a result of the same ogre. And the lovely and gifted young druidess …"
"Married, to a man who is quite gifted at swordplay," Jaheira snapped.
"I l-love you too, darling," Khalid said demurely.
"… and the pleasant lady with her pleasant husband quite effectively made sure everyone saw it. That was a most impressive bolt of lightning to come down out of a sunny sky in the middle of the morning. There's nobody in the city who hasn't heard about the Iron Throne's secret goblinoid army by now."
"At least something good came out of this disaster, then. But Sarevok is still alive, still has combat resources, and is therefore still a threat. And I've lost my new right hand for dealing with situations exactly like that. We'll need to move quickly and decisively before we end up dealing with more assassins in bedchambers," Entar murmured. "You there, the watchman. You were high in Duke Eltan's counsel, were you not?"
"I was his second-in-command, milord. We actually had the honor of meeting once, when I was providing security for last winter's ball on the occasion of Lord Belt's niece marrying," Scar said, bowing deeply.
"Suck-up," Imoen muttered.
"Well, congratulations on your promotion, young man. As Duke Eltan is no more, I am officially declaring you the new head of the Flaming Fist company, based solely on the fact there are no other candidates and nobody currently alive has the authority to tell me I can't. Skie, please prepare messages for delivery to Belt and Jannath, that should make it official enough."
"Daddyyyyyyy! Make the servants do i-"
"There are only two servants left, and they cannot read or write. And you are still in a lot of trouble for letting a con-artist into the house over some ridiculous romantic fantasy."
"It was true love," Skie muttered under her breath, leaving the room to, for perhaps the first time that day, do something helpful.
"Now then, commander. Your first duty is to get your group in order. I suspect you'll be weeding out corruption for a good long while, so for the moment please see my wife about acquiring a letter of writ from my estate. Any funds you need to acquire additional personnel or bribe existing ones are yours for the asking. I want the Fist purified." Entar snarled. "And you, druid. Are you the one running this… group?"
Jaheira shrugged. "I feel more like a den mother to a child's daycare most days, but for the moment, yes. Our actual leader was lost with your Acherai. We know not what happened to either of them, or if they even still live."
"They're still alive," Imoen and Viconia said in perfect unison, before looking slightly annoyed they agreed with each other.
"Seffie is too hard-headed to die. And she would definitely drag out anyone else she found, even that creepy elf," Imoen clarified.
"Acherai is… special. I don't know the details, but there's more to him than meets the eye. He has a destiny, and I plan to steward it," Viconia said.
Tamoko, standing to the back of the room and very agreeably ignoring the fact Minsc had been appointed to crush her skull if she tried to flee, said, "You will find that an extremely dangerous hobby. His bloodline tends to attract women like you, but it also tends to kill them quite horribly."
"I don't know who you are or why you think you have permission to speak to me, but please don't insinuate I'm anything like you or any other 'woman.' Drow survive."
Tamoko smiled slightly. "I speak not a threat, but a warning, as someone who knew a young woman who thought much the same regarding Sarevok himself. I sometimes wonder if the fire left anything of her, but of course nobody could get down there to check…"
Jaheira coughed lightly. "Yes, well, before we all remember we hate each other, we as a… pair of loosely connected groups of violent idiots have two goals. Find our missing members to make certain they are safe, and find Sarevok to make certain he is not. If the high lord could be so kind as to remove us from the city's most-wanted lists, that we may proceed with both?"
Entar smirked. "I can't deny there's a certain joy to the idea of getting these people out of my rooms. The dwarf smells, the wizard smells worse, and if one of the maids sees the drow I shall have riot on my hands. However, getting you out of the Flaming Fist's wanted records will not be easy, because at the moment they have lost two commanders in as many weeks and we have no idea how many are corrupt. Until we manage to get them under the city's control again, even I can't risk meeting alone with any of the officers. I could end up with another dagger in my ribs before they even serve tea."
"… Very well. Sir Scar, you go do as you wish with your gang of hooligans! I want to be able to walk the damned city streets again, so I can walk to the gates, find a nice forest, and never return to this cesspit," Jaheira snapped.
"Yes, because I was waiting for your approval," Scar muttered.
"You, wizard! You have been doing nothing for what I can only assume is your entire life? I will require a few messages sent to associates, and quickly. You will aid me," she continued, pointing at Edwin, who had taken up a position just outside the room, staring intently at Dynaheir through the cracked-open door and muttering to himself. He apparently didn't think anyone had noticed. "I would ask our own mage to do it, but I actually respect her ability and would prefer she get some rest to study her spells properly. Besides, you seem the sort who needs a distracting task to keep him from doing something stupid."
"If I liked tall women, you would be a catch," Kagain said.
"Third, Imoen! Go downstairs and buy us another room? This one is damnably crowded with unsavory sorts."
"Yes, mom."
"No backtalk, child. And finally… elf. Kiran?"
"Close enough."
"You are a thief, no? And nobody will be looking for you if you change out of that ridiculous uniform. So get out on the streets and find them. Search close to the tower, places they could have reached without being caught. They were near the bottom floor, the center of the blaze, no? They may be wounded, take potions. I'll not lose Gorion's child again. This would be at least the third time, and it's beginning to get humiliating."
"I-i-it hasn't gone smoothly," Khalid admitted.
Entar blinked, looking back and forth between the two half-elves for a few seconds before saying, slowly, "And you two are married?"
"L-l-love is a mysterious th-thing."
My oldest memory is my mother being gutted while I watched. I woke up in an iron cage and saw my brothers and sisters murdered one by one, unable to do anything but wait for my turn. I was helpless. I think more than anything, that's what I hated about it. Not the death and pain all around me, not the fear, not even losing my mother. None of it impacted me so much as the feeling that there was nothing I could do. That my life had been completely taken over by the whims of another. I was too young to put it into words, maybe, but that was when I learned: There is nothing, nothing, in this world that feels worse than the idea that you have no say in your own future.
I survived more by luck than anything else, and I ran. I ran for my life. It's a blur, really… I hid on caravans, stealing food and clinging to the bottom of wagons, not even caring where we were going. I just knew I needed to get as far away from that bloody pit as I could. I ended up in Scornubel, because all caravans do eventually. It was no place for a child, but I wasn't really a child anymore. I'd learned something important. An understanding that sets children apart from adults: There are really only two types of people in the world. There are the ones who are in control, who have power, and there are the victims. So I decided, early on, that I would not ever, ever, be the latter again.
It's not that hard to find power, really. It's everywhere, if you just have the drive. All you need to do is look at everyone around you as a stepping-stone on your path to it, and treat them accordingly. Enemies, obviously, you overcome them and grow stronger and wiser from the encounter, but that's really only scratching the surface. Most people don't like to admit it, but everyone you meet is only a part of your life so long as they benefit you. Shallow? Evil? Maybe on the surface, but stop to think about it a little more.
If a friend is no longer amusing to spend time with, you drift apart.
If a lover no longer satisfies you, you leave them and find another who better suits you.
If a teacher can no longer help you improve, you graduate and find one more skilled.
It's not some twisted viewpoint. It's a natural part of life that happens to everyone. All sentient beings instinctively surround ourselves with people who benefit us in some way. Emotionally, financially, sexually, it doesn't matter: we want people who give us something, and we shun those who have no value. Evil? Evil is just selfishness, and at the core selfishness is all we are. And once you can leave the moral high ground for a moment, look at your life with open eyes, and admit this simple truth to yourself… that's when you're free.
So I stole. And I lied. And I killed. And I betrayed. I pulled in close to those who could give me what I wanted, and I used them until they had no further value to me. And then I was just gone. Call me a monster if you like, but I did nothing that wasn't done by everyone around me. I just did it consciously, with purpose, instead of flailing through life half-blind. Show me someone who calls me evil for that, and I'll show you a hypocrite. I knew who I was, and I was always, always in control… I thought.
In the blood. Buried so deep in… in whatever the gods leave us where we're born that I never felt it for most of my idiot life. How much has it pushed me? How much of what I've done in my life has been my choice? I can't know for sure.
I've always done what would benefit me, first and foremost. I've always been the only one I can trust to look out for myself. And now I can't even trust that. Because some dead human god forced itself on my mother, I can never trust my own thoughts again? Never shed a drop of blood without wondering if it's pushing me closer to slavery or self-destruction?
And isn't that worth it? You may die, certainly. But isn't that a risk worth taking for the power offered? You've tasted the barest shred of it, and it let you face Sarevok on even footing. He is older than you, stronger, deeper in the favor of the Father. But you challenged him. You aren't ready yet, but you have potential, boy. Are you going to squander it because you fear the price? You could be the LAST. Slit the girl's throat in her sleep, feed on her, and you'll be stronger yet. With that power, you could kill Sarevok too, you see? You will be the greatest of your kin. The one to sit the Throne…
LIKE.
HELL.
… You're weak. Like her. Like the tiny, meaningless little specks that have no purpose to feed the fire of-
SILENCE.
Of course I want the power! It is intoxicating! The potential locked away in my blood is so phenomenal I can taste it on every breath! To reign over this world, to be a GOD, who wouldn't want such a thing? But I will never, never allow another to control me. My destiny is my own, my will is my own, and if Bhaal thinks he can choose either one for me, I will see the very idea of him wiped off the face of Toril! So. Be. SILENT. If I'm to stand in the heavens, it will be on my own terms, not as your pawn. I will die before I let any god, living or dead, dictate terms to me.
… Yes. You will.
Acherai opened his eyes for what felt like the first time in hours, though Sephiria knew it couldn't have been more than a few minutes. She thought, maybe, she had seen something gold flash behind his eyes, but when they fully opened she saw nothing in his gaze but a cold, unflinching hate so deep it was difficult to even meet his eyes.
"Who am I?" he whispered. "I'm a man who is in a very bad mood. That's what happens when you realize you need to find some way to kill a god who's already dead. So, sister dear, how do you want to get started on that?"