Chapter Twenty-five

(*)

Sephiria blinked. "Well…. I mean, I know how you feel…"

Acherai shook his head. "Oh, I highly doubt that. You're a paladin, you signed your free will away years ago. I, on the other hand, refuse to give my life as some god's puppet, or… or worse, his magical power source. Used up and thrown away? Oh, no, no no. Not me, not ever. So we're going to stop Sarevok. I'll even follow your lead, since I think that if possible we'd be better off talking him down, at least until we learn everything he knows about Bhaal and his cults. And then… we find some way to destroy even the memory of that thing inside us. I enjoy the power, but losing it would be an acceptable price for making sure that 'Father' never darkens my doorstep ever again. Acceptable?"

The young paladin sighed, rubbing her temples. "I don't know what epiphany I was hoping you would have from learning all this, but I think I wanted it to be less… incredibly selfish."

"I prefer 'pragmatic,' thank you. And is. It. Acceptable?"

She sighed again, but kneeled beside him and held out a glowing hand. "Hold still. Hopefully I can get you well enough to move."

"Awww, see, you can have self-preservation instincts sometimes. Why, we're like real siblings already."

"You're going to be insufferable for every single second we work together for the rest of our lives, aren't you?"

"You may find yourself wishing you'd killed me when you had the chance, yes."

"Sweet Torm, give me strength," she muttered, going to work.

"I don't think he'd like you healing a known thief, actually. Might strip you of your powers. Do you know if there's a way for a fallen paladin to recover from that? I bet it's incredibly difficult."

"Sweet Torm, please, I shall need a little more strength than what you've already given."

(*)

Sarevok slid the helmet on, and felt alive again for the first time in entirely too long.

"Your wounds have healed nicely, sir. You didn't even have your armor, just the Sword of Chaos, and yet the clerics say they barely had to use any magic at all. I think we can say with some authority that your powers have grown beyond anything I ever predicted," Winski said calmly, sitting in the corner of the tent as he watched the young master don his second skin.

"They are Cyricists, correct? Mercenaries?" Sarevok asked, his tone dreamlike, almost gentle.

"Yes, sir. A priest and his acolyte, who signed on with the Black Talons. They also handled resurrecting Tazok for you, after…"

"Have them sent in later. Tell them they're being rewarded with a bonus for their service."

"… You plan to kill them, then?"

"Priests of Cyric the Usurper? Obviously, they must die. Their fragmented church of maniacs has been useful up to now, but I don't want their god to turn too much of his gaze in my direction. Best to cut out as many of his eyes as I can, from now on," Sarevok said, his tone that of a man discussing the weather.

"Of course, sir," Winski said, vaguely aware he was lucky to be alive and taking a few steps back, as if that mattered. "I will inform them to meet with you after your next meal, I know you appreciate a diversion after you eat. Semaj has also managed to scry Tazok's location, and against all odds he appears to have managed to survive once again and is hiding in the city's sewers. I will…"

"I don't care. He's failed me twice, now. If he has the poor judgment to show his face again, I'll tear it off with my bare hands," Sarevok said.

"…Sir, we can acquire him quickly enough, and save a few soldiers who were guarding the excavation of the temple, only Semaj and I remain to serve you."

"Your point?"

"I only wish to specify that while Tazok is, of course, deserving nothing of death for his failures… we are rather low on manpower. Perhaps you should allow him to serve one final purpose, before you punish him?" Winski suggested. "If nothing else, it would allow you to kill him yourself when you feel the need to vent some frustration."

The horned helmet turned toward the old mage, the single glowing golden eye behind it casting odd, irregular shadows over the face barely visible through the visor, and for a long few seconds, Sarevok stared at Winski Perorate. Just stared. He did not speak, did not move toward the old man, did not even appear to be breathing. For a brief, terrible moment, Winski wondered if he had pushed just that little bit too far and he was going to be joining the two priests of Cyric on the chopping block. Do I have a spell that will let me escape before he can reach me? Does such a spell exist? He's so fast, and this tent seems suddenly so very, very small…

"… Heh. You have some spine still, old man. Very well! I suppose after Angelo betrayed me and Tamoko abandoned me, I should begin to value loyalty over competence at this point," the armored giant said, chuckling almost pleasantly as he turned his gaze, and Winski let out a breath he hadn't even realized he had been holding. "Tazok is an animal doomed to die regardless, so he might as well shed his last drops in my name, instead of huddling on some mountain with a mouthful of carrion and some adventurer's arrow in his throat. Bring him here, but hurry. My brother and sister will have begun hunting me again by now. I want to provide them as warm a welcome as I can."

The old mage smiled and bowed his head. "Actually, my lord, while Semaj has been running errands, I have been considering what else might be done to serve that purpose. Adventuring parties are troublesome, after all, and I am no warrior myself. I am, however, more than slightly gifted in necromancy, and the temple grounds have provided some interesting materials…"

The glowing-eyed gaze turned back to the mage, but this time there was a glimmer of genuine amusement behind it. "You kept this work a secret, old man. Were you perhaps planning to use it to bargain for your life when I grew bored of you?"

"Not at all, milord. I am fully aware that ifyou should ever choose to kill me, you will not be kind enough to provide me time to bargain first. This was merely something I was doing in my spare time, and by happy coincidence you have not yet ended my life, and so I can put it to good use in your name."

Sarevok chuckled. "Ah, old man, you've always been good at making me laugh. Now, go summon those priests. I stand on the cusp of godhood, and so long as I'm in a generous mood, I see no reason not to help my loyal employees have a religious experience."

(*)

Coran, wrapped in a plain traveling cloak like the type every refugee wore, stepped out of the Blade and Stars with a purpose in his step. It was true that he didn't particularly enjoy his time with Acherai's group; they were just a tiny bit evil, and the women were… well, Viconia was lovely for a drow and Shar-teel was lovely for a homicidal lunatic, but he had long ago decided neither woman was what you would call 'his type' (and considering how broad 'his type' was, that was a damn accomplishment). But still, he had to admit he enjoyed this part.

If there was one thing he was truly good at it, was hiding in plain sight. Most elves preferred the forest, and he had to admit there was an appeal (why would he have gone on a wyvern hunt, else?) but the city was where he truly thrived. To meld with the crowd and become one with the city, more an embodiment of it than a single being, unseen and untouched as he put his finger to the pulse of the world. He stepped out the door and Coran vanished, becoming just one more poor soul on the streets of the Gate, walking as if he had lived there his entire life and gratefully returned after a long absence, heading to a familiar home and a good rest. He could go into any tavern in the city, and with a few words and a few coins convince the prettiest woman in there that they had seen him on the street a dozen times, that he was well-off indeed, and that surely a few hours away from their husband… just talking, of course… wouldn't hurt. He was a ghost, a phantom of the city, sliding in and out of alleys like a cat. He stepped forth…

… and a hand smacked him upside the head as soon as he turned the corner.

"Wh-"

"Back to the inn, idiot, I need to avail myself of Viconia's services and confer with Entar, and then I need a bath. Getting this galumphing ox around the city without being seen has required going through far more sewers than I like to think about," Acherai snapped, limping past him in the opposite direction, a very tall, powerfully built young lady who stuck out like a sore thumb behind him.

"I apologize, sir elf. He is… awful. He's awful," Sephiria said.

"I'm awful? We were missing for at least two hours, and he's only just now leaving to look for me! Did you stop to bed a chambermaid before you started looking for us Coran? Be honest."

"Surely he wouldn't have! He is one of your allies, after all, and what true comrade would…"

Acherai waved her off and said, his tone cold and dead, "Coran, answer the question. I'll know if you're lying, you're not as good at it as you wish you were, 'ladies' man.'"

Coran coughed lightly. "Well… I mean, 'bed' is a loaded term, and…"

"Sweet Torm, Acherai, why does everyone you recruit turn out to be scum," Sephiria muttered, her conciliatory tone dissolving instantly as the two turned back to the inn, ignoring Coran completely. "The closest you've gotten to someone with any moral fiber was a gibbering idiot bard."

"Scum are my people, of course. They're easy to predict and easy to motivate. Scum, sister dear, make the world go 'round," Acherai said with a chuckle as they entered the door of the Blade and Stars. They did not hold it open for Coran.

"… Mission accomplished!" Coran said cheerfully, never one to dwell overlong on his personal issues.

(*)

"I found them! Don't let anyone tell you otherwise, it was a dangerous effort," Coran said, running into the room ahead of the two returning leaders, neither of whom looked particularly happy to be there.

"Where is Viconia? I need healing, and so will Shar-teel and Coran when I'm done with hurting them for leaving me behind," Acherai snapped. "Speaking of, Entar, your wounds?"

"Recovered, for the most part. We had only one medic until the lady druid arrived, and so I've been accepting some minor injury in exchange for saving your drow's magic in the event of an emergency."

"Excellent! We have one," Acherai said, his tone injected with so much false cheer it almost fell from his mouth and smashed through the floor. "She's nearby, then?"

"I bought out the entire inn, since you seem to have brought a small army to my defense here. She'll be in one of the rooms, presumably praying," Entar said. "The lady druid and your mentally unstable wizard are in another, casting some spell. The rest have scattered to do whatever lunatics do. Why did you recruit any of these people? I own seventeen shops in the city alone and I wouldn't trust them to run the worst one."

"Well, no worries! Sarevok is alive, he's a monster, and he wants us all very dead, so they won't be in your hair much longer. We either find him and kill him, soon, or we wake up one night to him ripping the wall down with his bare hands."

"I should confer with Jaheira about what she needed a mentally unstable wizard for… I'm sorry, do you mean Xan, sir? I'm having difficulty keeping track of the new faces," Sephiria said, pushing Imoen (who could hug for days if you let her) off to the side.

"No, the red one. She specifically stated she preferred to use up the magic of the 'useless one' as opposed to the 'wizards she actually tolerated' when he protested. One of the times he protested, anyway. He talks quite a lot."

Sephiria winced. "Yes, that does sound like… wait, the red one? Acherai, I hate that you are the sort of person that makes me think I must ask this of you, but is he a wizard that wears red, or is he a Red Wizard?"

Acherai shrugged. "He says he is, but I'm fairly sure he lied in the job interview. It's difficult to think a real Thayan would still be alive with the attitude he displays."

The young paladin rubbed her temples. "Brother, I swear by all the gods, I…"

"WaitwaitwaitWAIT!" Imoen shrieked, leaping between them. "Brother? Who's a brother? I haven't got a brother, and so you don't have one! Especially not some creepy elf! Nothin' personal, you're just creepy."

Acherai chuckled. "Oh, she's a peach. Tell me, what role do you serve in the group, little one? Emergency food?"

"I'm gonna steal his pants when he's sleepin', Seffie. All the pants," Imoen said, her tone suggesting this was a terribly dark threat indeed.

Sephiria sighed, the long-suffering sigh of one who has returned home to find that their family is exactly how they remember them. "Imoen, this is Acherai. I traveled with his group for a time, remember? Well, he turned out to be rather connected to my… family issues. We'll talk it over later, okay?" she said, being careful not to look too directly at Entar Silvershield, who was not displaying any overt interest in the discussion before him, and yet she was fairly certain from the look in his eyes that he was absorbing every word that passed through the room. "For now, I want to talk to Jaheira, and Acherai admittedly isn't fully healed, so…"

"Gather everyone back here in, let's say two hours, once everyone is rested and at their best? Then we discuss what happens next," Acherai finished for her.

"Acceptable."

"I mean," Imoen said with a brilliant smile, "what harm can all of us cause in two hours?"

(*)

"I would just kill ya," Shar-teel said lightly, sitting across the table from Xan in the inn's common room with a full flagon and a smile that reminded him a little of a bear growling.

"… Excuse me?"

"I just been watchin' you, since our groups hooked up. The big guy, he's the kind of man I like. Stupid, muscled, takes orders easy. You could sell him for a lot. The half-elf, he's not impressive on the outside, but he moves like he's got training and he did a good job on that ogre. He'd fetch market rate, to the right buyer. But you…" she shrugged. "Scrawny. Pale. No good for manual labor, and mages are hard to keep contained anyway. Never know when they're gonna find some weed and throw a fireball, right? And, I mean, you're down here drinking some prissy elf wine and looking at it like it's not prissy enough for you, so I assume you're nothing special in bed. So if it came to a fight, I wouldn't try to take you alive. You're not worth it."

"… … … Why… are you telling me this?" Xan asked slowly.

"I'm bored, and you were down here. So I started thinking about it."

"… I… see. And do you… do you always note which of your allies you're planning to kill or… or sell?"

"Just the men."

"Oh."

"The throat, is where I would aim," she continued. "Mages, you need to talk to get your spells off, right? Now, you always wrap yourself in magic for defense, all the good ones do, but there ain't a man alive who won't flinch like a kicked bitch if you go for the throat. Even if he knows in his mind it won't kill him, in his gut he's still afraid. He feels like he'll die if you hit the right places, and then he can't focus."

"I do often feel like I will die, this is true."

"HA! See, you're the kinda man I can appreciate. One who knows his place. Low. Weak. Small," she said with a grin, draining her tankard and motioning to the waitress for another. "Not like most of them. They think they're invincible, right up until you gut 'em. And don't get me wrong, I love the gutting part, but up until then it's just… infuriating to watch them walking around like they're better than me, when we both know damn well they're nothing."

"Oh, they are nothing."

"HA! See, I like you even more now. You know just… just men. A real man should know his place, like you. My dad, he…"

"Oh, not just men. All of us. Life is empty and pointless," Xan said with a shrug. "Most people tell themselves that they're strong, that they matter and will achieve something, but in the end none of us will make a difference. The gods are childish buffoons playacting at being in control, but the truth is that all of us from Corellon down are being digested by an amoral universe, and there can be no salvation. All of us will die, and when we do we will be forgotten."

"… … Damn, you're hardcore," Shar-teel said, her tone one of sudden appreciation. She reached out, took his glass from his hand, and threw it across the room to shatter against the stone hearth. "Here, get rid of this pansy elf wine. You need a real drink. Bartender! Ale, good ale, and keep it coming or I'll rip your guts out!"

"Oh dear."

"Did you know I can shatter a man's ribs with my thighs? I know because I've done it," Shar-teel said. And the fact that she apparently thought this was a good quality made Xan more genuinely afraid than he had ever been in his life. "Now, tell me more about how men are worthless and I might start to think you aren't. Keep me happy, and I might not even stab you after I have my way."

"… I am legitimately not certain if being stabbed is better or worse than your affection."

"HA!"

(*)

Dynaheir sighed. "Minsc, thy protectiveness is most often appreciated, but I fear that in this case it impedes my studies. Please do not…"

The door slammed for the third time in the last twenty minutes, and her sigh deepened as Minsc smiled proudly. "I have completed my patrol of the hall, fair Dynaheir! No danger shall approach you, so long as Minsc lives!"

"Minsc. While I appreciate the need for vigilance, I must note that you have 'patrolled' the hall no less than thirty times."

"I do not count, for all of Minsc's mighty brain is needed to scan the hall for foes. However, Boo knows that wise Dynaheir would never deceive us, and so her words must be true!"

"And you have, in these… many, many sweeps, found nothing."

"A sign! A sign that Minsc's vigil has been rewarded!"

"And each and… gods, each and every time, thou feelst the need to slam every door thy encounter."

"Many beasts of evil live in the darkness, fair Dynaheir! These creatures, Minsc fears, could not see his imposing form. Therefore, Minsc must strike fear into them in other ways! By the slamming of door and the stomping of boot, Minsc shows the forces of evil that he stands strong and large against their wickedness!"

Dynaheir blinked. "Well. I suppose that's… true…? Certainly Sarevok's support base has been damaged, but we still are fugitives, for the moment. And that… erm… bearded gentleman worries me."

Minsc's eyes widened. "Has he made unwelcome advances?! Challenged your wisdom as a wychlaran?! Said he dislikes hamsters?!"

She winced. "No, no… he had been watching me closely before Jaheira took him aside, and though he seems harmless and somewhat dim, I find something unnerving about him nonetheless? Perhaps it is simply the red robes. I know it is childish of me; Red Wizards do not go bearded as a matter of course, but there are far too many bad memories in…"

And then Minsc smashed down the door, and she realized she had perhaps said something wrong.

(*)

Acherai shivered slightly as the healing magic ran down his aching body, and sighed. "Mmmm. You don't realize how much you're in pain until it doesn't hurt anymore. Sarevok hurt me more than I gave him credit for… or Sephiria healed me less. Who knows."

"And why is she back, in any case?" Viconia muttered, running her glowing hand lightly down his bare chest, what had been an angry red scab already faded to a pale scar. "I seem to recall her being a child of Torm the Fool. Why, praytell, would you allow her back under your command? Your pragmatic attitude is one of the things that make you tolerable despite your soft, pale flesh, and paladins are incapable of such a thing."

"Sarevok is more dangerous than you're thinking. If our entire group managed to catch him by surprise and fight him six-on-one, I wouldn't be certain of victory," Acherai said flatly. "Since that won't be happening, I want every blade I can arrange to be aimed at him tonight. I even suggested to Entar he try to reach Iron Throne offices outside the city and tell them what he did to their Gate branch, just to get more assassins on his trail."

"You're afraid," the drow murmured, clear disgust in her tone.

"I think that's the sane response to this situation, thank you."

Her hand slid to his neck, turning his head to look her in the eyes. "But not the one you need. I knew something was special about you from the moment we met, and this has confirmed it! A demigod of murder, a contender for a divine throne! Can there be any doubt Shar guided me to you, to help you fulfill that destiny? Showing fear, even of your greatest rivals, is beneath you now. A god must carry the arrogance of a god. You are above the rest of us, act like it! Take what you want without fear or remorse!" she said, her voice falling into a low, insistent hiss as she leaned in closer with each word, until her lips were actually touching his ear as she finished, her tone almost animalistic, "No fear. Just take everything you want, here and now."

"… … … Heh. Hehehehehehe…. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

"… Excuse me?" Viconia said, her tone becoming very icy indeed as she pulled back, the elf falling over onto his side in a laughing fit so intense he couldn't even sit up straight.

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry, it's just… HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Acherai said, wiping tears from his eyes. "Oh, oh, my, that hurts. HAHAHAHAHA! I just… haha… ha…" he took several long, deep breaths, trying to silence the giggles that had overtaken him with slow, slow success. It took minutes.

"You know. I'm used to males reacting with joy when I offer sex, but not of this particular sort," Viconia said slowly, and the look on her face suggested she was wondering how many blows it would take her to shatter his skull with her bare fists.

"Oh, it's not… hahahah… it's not that, though you… you just ruined the mood," Acherai said, wiping the last tear of mirth from his face.

"… I ruined it."

"You did! I mean, not on purpose… it's just you've given me something of an epiphany. I just realized why the drow still live in caves worshipping a spider while the rest of us have moved on with our lives, mainly?" Acherai said, shaking his head with a disbelieving chuckle. "Honestly. A divine throne? You're so caught up in the supremacy of gods and the idea of power being the ultimate goal of all things, you can't even see it as the trap it is. Bhaal doesn't want a successor, he wants a return."

"So don't follow his plan! Take the power and resist his control! Take his throne for yourself, and rise to…"

"But even if it was possible to ascend the Throne of Bhaal without becoming the god's second coming, and I doubt it is," Acherai snapped, raising a hand to silence her, "I certainly don't want to be a god. Do you have any idea how much power I would have to give up to be a god?"

She tilted her head to one side. "So then. Now that you've apparently lost your mind, what do you intend to do?"

"My father," he said, rolling his eyes at the word, "foresaw his own death years in advance, and couldn't do anything about it save set up a series of elaborate murders that have already gone incredibly wrong. That's so… limited. Childish, almost. And then I started thinking about it, and… are any of them any better? You say Shar 'guided you' to me, but did she really? Did she say anything to you? Of course not. She can't. Telling people things is literally anathema to her. And your old god is a spider who lives underground. I shouldn't have to explain why that's silly."

"… I should, by rights, split your skull open for your insult to my goddess," Viconia said, but her voice held more curiosity than actual ire.

"Oh, I wasn't mocking you. I genuinely wasn't. You, I can respect. You made a contract in exchange for power, and you're keeping it. You can break the contract, you can alter the terms, and while you have the power you can do whatever you want with it," he grinned, and it was somehow both childish and incredibly distressing. "And that's what I want, Viconia. Not just power for the sake of it. Godhood is a prison. What use is power that I can't put to my own ends? What do I want to do, you ask? What I want to do, dear heart, is whatever I damn well please. I'm a thief at heart, and this world is a big shiny golden chest with bad locks. Money, women, power, influence, all of it is free for the taking if you have a little intellect, a talent for being unseen, and a way with words. Why would I ever want to give that up? To live up in the heavens and act as… manager of other people's deaths? If given a choice between being a god and being a king, I know which one seems far more fun to me. So, my first step from here is to destroy Bhaal. Rip the memory of him from the Realms, forever. And then?" he shrugged. "I really do take anything and everything that I want. And nobody on this plane or any other will get to tell me what that is."

Viconia tilted her head to one side, and blinked a few times. "I think you may possibly be insane."

He grinned. "But the very idea of taking a giant bloody bite out of the entire surface world and living like a queen on the backs of those weaker than yourself for the next few centuries has also very much turned you on."

"… Clothes off, you pale-skinned madman. I still have plenty of healing spells prepared for the wounds I'm about to give you."

His grin widened as he began removing his belt. "And people say the drow are no fun."

(*)

"I don't like him," Imoen muttered. "He smells like evil, and he's got hair longer than me, and I can tell when someone is sneaky. We can't trust him."

Sephiria sighed. "I do not trust him, Imoen. I think it's impossible to call him anything other than an awful person. But that isn't the same thing as calling him irredeemable. He… does not accept the darkness. For whatever reason, he doesn't. That's at least enough for me to say I can't simply abandon him to die at Sarevok's hands. And we do need the allies. I don't trust him, not fully…"

"Right! Because he's not your family, and he's definitely not our family. Blood ain't thicker than water, Seffie! Water is great. Everybody needs water!"

"… but he is an ally. At least for now. And hopefully… well, I can't imagine he'll ever be something I could truly call family. But maybe he could at least claim some form of redemption. If that's possible, it's something I have to try for."

"… You are such a schmuck."

"I am a paladin, Imoen."

"Same thing!"

"Do not mock my-"

"Both! Of! You! Be! Silent!" Edwin screamed, whirling on them, golden sparks dancing between his fingers. "Do you think this is easy, inbred barbarians?! This shrieking malevolent harpy has had me hurl a dozen sendings, and…"

"And she is still in the room, wizard, and not pleased so many of them have failed to reach their targets," Jaheira said, running a cloth lightly over her well-used staff. It looked very heavy, and harder than a human skull. Something about being in Jaheira's hands gave it that impression.

"You have been no help at all! (But how could she be, she is a Tethyrian and you know what people say about them.) I have told you, divination is not my chosen field, and your alleged 'friends' have rarely been in the places you described them as being! And you will not give me any of their real names, which does not help!"

"I do not trust you. Besides, the code phrases should be sufficient… which does tell me a great many people are not where they should be," Jaheira admitted. "But that in and of itself tells me much. Girls, I need to talk with Khalid. Would you watch this dolt, please? His accent is Thayan, even if his talent is not, and that tells me not to trust him."

"Racist. (As one would expect of her mongrel people.)"

Sephiria sighed, putting a hand on Edwin's shoulder and pushing him down into a chair in the corner. He did not fight back, which was probably not a bad idea because she could have crushed his collarbone without too much effort. "Jaheira, what are you up to? We deserve an explanation."

"It doesn't matter. The efforts so far have borne little fruit, and we've little time to engage in anything greater. I am… concerned. I have not had time to find much news from beyond the city, and I doubt there would be anything to find in the region save talk of Amn. But… something has clearly happened, be it Sarevok's machinations or something else, that has caused chaos in my normal network of contacts. I need to talk to Khalid, and then we need to move. Faster than I had originally thought. Sarevok must die this night?"

"Does this have something to do with that old guy that was flirting with me in an alley?" Imoen asked.

Sephiria's jaw dropped so hard it looked like it was going to "Wait, what?"

Imoen grinned. "It was before I found you, in Beregost! He was drawn in by my charms 'n such, and even slipped me some really neat gifts 'cause of how important I am. Jaheira seemed to know him, though… I don't think he would be drawn to her, though. I'm warm and invitin' like a field of summer flowers, and she's terrifying."

Jaheira sighed. "Unlike usual, Imoen is not entirely wrong. But contacting him would be of little use. Assuming he isn't dealing with something worse than our own issues, he still likely wouldn't offer much direct help. Those who talk to the gods too often tend to neglect smaller issues."

"… I'll want an explanation, Jaheira, because I suspect this has more to do with Gorion than you've let on in the time we've known each other," Sephiria said. "We're well past the point you should have told us everything, and you know it. If you still don't trust us after everything, after Gorion trusted you with our lives… it may be time to part ways."

The druid winced. "Stoking guilt does not become you, child, but you are not incorrect. I've grown used to secrecy over the years, and it is a difficult habit to break. When this is over, if you still wish it so, all will be explained. Be warned, though, that may find yourself face with even more difficult choices…"

"Jaheira. We're literally fighting for the fate of thousands. You aren't going to scare me off by reminding me how dramatic the situation is," Sephiria said. "I am fully aware that my world has become nothing if not dead serious."

And then the wall shattered, Minsc tearing through it, his sword gleaming in his hands and a hamster chittering with fury atop his bald head. "THAYAN! ENEMY OF THE FAIR DYNAHEIR, YOU SHALL FEEL MINSC'S MIGHTY BOOT!"

"…Help?" Edwin asked.

Less than a tenth of a second later, the door slammed in, kicked off its hinges, as Shar-teel stepped in, a wide grin on her extremely red face and Xan futilely struggling to get out of her grip. "Everyone, shut up and get out. I need a room to ravish this elf, 'cause nothing matters."

"Help!" Xan said.

"Shut up and accept it, man! We're all *hic* doomed, so mightash well have some fun, eh? I'm teach you 's like to be wif a real woman, not some skinny elf ladies, and then when I'm done maybe I break your neck. Y'know, fer fun. Everybody wins," she said.

"That doesn't sound like I win!" Xan protested.

"MORE WIZARDS IS JUST MORE TARGETS FOR MINSC'S MIGHTY BOOT!" Minsc declared, seeing red in the most literal sense possible.

"You tryin' to take my elf?" Shar-teel growled, somewhat shakily drawing her sword and holding Xan in front of herself like a shield.

"Why?!" Xan asked.

Behind Minsc, emerging from one of the hole he had made in the room two doors down, Viconia emerged, wearing nothing but her holy symbol and a look of unimaginable fury, black light dancing between her outstretched fingers.

Shar-teel grinned. "Heh. Toldja elf girls were skinny."

"I am going to kill you all."

"Feisty, though."

"Everyone!" Sephiria snapped, stepping forward, her arms raised in a conciliatory gesture. "We are allies, so please…"

"MIGHTYYYYYYYY! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!"

"SweetTormdefendyourfaithf-"

One hour later…

The Blade and Stars common room was empty, because it turned out nobody wanted to spend time in a building with Minsc and Edwin together if they could help it. This included their own teams, but for the moment that issue had been solved by the fact there literally weren't enough intact rooms on any one floor for everyone to sleep, and so Acherai's team had set up bedrolls in the cellar. Viconia and Edwin had not been amused, Shar-teel and Kagain were actually very enthusiastic about the idea because that was also where the kegs were, and Coran had snuck out to find a prostitute.

To be fair, nobody knew for sure that was where he had gone, but it was certainly what Acherai had told everyone had happened, before going up to the common room for some alone time.

"I want you to know," Acherai said to Sephiria, as he passed her one of the bottles of brandy that had not been shattered, which she pushed away without looking at it, "that this is mostly your team's fault."

"You recruited a Red Wizard of Thay!"

He shrugged and took a draw of the bottle, wincing as the liquor burned his throat. "I didn't think he was real. Would you? I thought he was a mercenary mage who wore red. And I certainly never considered we might run into a godsdamn Rashemi berserker. Where did you even find him? Thayans go everywhere, but I've only even heard of Rasheman in books."

"Imoen found him. She found all of them, honestly. I suppose I should worry more about that."

Acherai rolled his eyes. "You should. That girl has issues, and her pet berserker ruined my night, frankly. Have you ever tried to get a woman in the mood when a seven-foot man smashes through your bedroom wall?"

"Shockingly, I have not."

"Well, it doesn't work," he said with a sad sigh. "But she probably would have tried to bite my head off like a mantis when she was done, honestly, so I think this might have been for the best. I've been curious for ages, but it turns out drow foreplay is just unbelievably violent. Did you know she actually…"

"Do. Not. Share."

"I have six-inch gashes all down my back."

Sephiria growled under her breath like an angry dog, grabbing the bottle from him and throwing it across the room to impact against a shattered beam that was poking down from the top floor. "No more of that for you."

"Has anyone ever told you that you are the biggest stick in the mud that has ever lived?"

"… Yes. Imoen, again."

"HA! Well, maybe she isn't as strange as I thought."

"Oh, far stranger. She's upstairs dyeing a stolen rabbit's foot pink. Claims the pink makes it 'extra lucky,'" Sephiria said with a small grin… which faded, quickly. "It's tomorrow, you know. Jaheira and Khalid… their attempts to scry all failed, so we can't confirm, but they at least think they know somewhere he would be operating from. And we both know he'll be there."

Acherai nodded. "He wouldn't have gone somewhere we couldn't find him. He wants us there. It's important to him that this play out a certain way. He's… given up his old self. Completely. And it's made him… something else. He's stronger than us. And as long as he follows Bhaal's will, he might always be," Acherai said.

"I grew up without any blood family, you know. I had Gorion, and Imoen, but… every child wants the connection, I think. 'Father. Mother. Sister. Brother.' I never spoke up, of course. I knew it would make Gorion and Imoen sad. But I think every adopted child wonders if they have blood, somewhere out there in the world," Sephiria said softly. "I didn't think I would find anything. I thought even less that when I found it, it would…"

"Be the worst thing in the entire world?" Acherai offered brightly.

"… I was going to put it differently. Yes, Sarevok is a problem, but… you are… you're not… the worst person I've ever met."

"You've met Garrick, so that's technically true."

"And I… I don't want to kill Sarevok. I don't even want to fight him, really, but more than that I do not want him to die here. I hate him, but I still want to save him. I know he's killed people. H-he… he killed Gorion. My father. My real father, not some dead god that most probably forced itself on my mother," she said. "But I want to save him. I need it. Not for Tamoko, not even for Torm's ideals, for… for…"

"To prove you can. That you can't fall so far you can never come back. Because you hear it in your blood, and you want to be reassured that no matter how deep its claws sink in, you can drag yourself home," Acherai said.

"… I know it's selfish. I think I have a right to do what I want, just this once. Is that so wrong of me?"

"A week ago, I'd have called you a sentimental dolt. Today… I don't know. Maybe you have a point. Maybe I should be taking holy orders somewhere just as a precaution. Or maybe anything is okay as long as you're planting your heels and telling Father Dearest 'no' in the loudest voice you can. We have no idea what's going to happen, really, so do your own thing, and if it works for you, huzzah and all that," Acherai said. "And let's be honest, the sheer fact you can look me in the eye and ask me if it's all right that you don't want to kill someone is probably a sign that you're a decent sort."

She grinned. "Why, that almost sounded like a compliment."

"I'd tell you that you were the best sister ever if you hadn't ruined the last decent brandy in this rathole. As it is, the best you get is 'you're not the worst person I've ever met either.'"

"Heh… thank you, Acherai. I'm not sure if you meant it or not, but this has been helpful, in its way. Now, you should to get some sleep, or… reverie, isn't it called when elves do it? We march in four hours."

"If I could rest, I'd already be doing it. I assume you're in the same boat."

"… Not incorrect."

Acherai grinned, and closed his eyes. "Well. We could always pass the time telling stories of the old days. Remember that time you stopped to pray before fighting a serial killer priest of Cyric, and he crushed your ribs with a lightning hammer?"

"I take it back. You are the worst person I have ever met."

"I consider it my brotherly duty."

(*)

The skull sigil of Bhaal that adorned the center of the main chamber's floor pulsed with black light once. Twice. Three times. Like a beating heart, but just slightly too slow. A heart that was losing strength, on the verge of stopping altogether.

And as they had been doing at a steady pace for the last three hours of Winski's work, a figure in the ruined temple rose, the creaking of bone against metal and leather filling the silence, the shrieking of armor rusted by years of blood and neglect shrieking out across the temple grounds.

Sarevok smiled behind his helmet, idly toying with a spot of dried blood on his gauntlet from where he had ripped the throat from one of the mercenary priest the evening prior. "Well done, old man. You've earned your life another day."

"That is all I can ask, milord," Winski said, sitting heavily upon a larger piece of rubble and wiping the sweat from his brow. "The work is complete. I beg your forbearance to rest and prepare new spells for the morrow?"

"I wonder. Wherever Father is, do you suppose he can see this? Me taking his tools from his dead hands and turning them to my own purposes? That I am on the path to supplant him, to take everything he once was and make it eternally mine? If he has any mind left at all, I hope it is screaming," Sarevok murmured, and Winski did not answer, because he understood the master was not really talking to him. He stepped into the darkness, raising a gauntleted hand to run it along the armor of one of the silent figures, brushing away years of dust and cobwebs. "This is a good symbol. I think when I become Lord of Murder, I will use something very similar. The skull of Bhaal can remain, but impaled by my sword. To let the people remember him, just enough that they all know he was in every way my inferior."

"As my lord wills it."

"And the teardrops… I think I shall change the number. One for each of my siblings that I kill with my own hands, during my ascension. In fact…"

He dug one of his gauntlet spikes into the rusted metal, and slowly, deliberately scratched out every stylized teardrop surrounding the holy symbol, eventually leaving only three. One for the man he had thrown from the top of the Iron Throne's tower, a lifetime ago.

And two for the morning's work.

"Yes. I like it. A changing symbol, to show my progress along the path… and a memorial to the stepping stones I walk upon. A ruler should honor the little people who made his reign possible, don't you think?"

Winski grinned terribly, his face a skull in the shadows. "Generosity to the fallen, milord? I hadn't thought you capable of it."

Sarevok's smile behind his helmet was nothing that should have ever graced a human face. "Just this once."

I consider it my brotherly duty.