Chapter 12

The ones left behind

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"How did you find us?"

Kivan peered out into the streets, marking two guffawing men as they passed under their window. Loud, but of no threat. "I found you. You've been going to the Docks regularly."

A huff. "So has Elene."

"She's quiet. Creeps in. You, unfortunately, draw the eye."

Indeed, the cutpurses he'd hired for the job had been quite vocal on what they thought of Jaheira. Elven women were something of a rarity in Athkatla. Especially those as striking in appearance as the druid, with her strong features and clad as she was in heavy armour besides. After more than a tenday of searching, his luck finally turned his contacts picked up Jaheira's trail outside a warehouse, then he'd followed them down the artery road heading away from the Docks thanks to their directions. Money well spent indeed.

Turning back to his companion, he saw the troubled slant to Jaheira's expression as she contemplated his observation from the lone chair in the room. Elene lay with her eyes closed in the narrow bed next to her, lulled asleep by the recounting of their harrowing journey from the Coast Way to the Copper Coronet. The poison's after-effects will take a few hours to fully shake off. Those slavers hadn't been pulling their punches. And he hadn't missed how she'd clutched at him like a lifeline when he'd half supported, half dragged her back to the Coronet.

"That's how you found us here. How did you even know we were in Athkatla?" Jaheira asked again.

A visceral memory appeared in his mind. Elene, beaten and in chains. Pleading for help. The burning in his chest, where she'd once poured healing magic into a near-fatal wound.

"A feeling," he replied instead.

"That's a very…precise feeling." The glare he received from Jaheira told him what she thought of his evasiveness.

He shook his head. "It's not important. What matters now is getting Imoen back."

Jaheira narrowed her eyes, a new fire in them. "And avenging Khalid."

Khalid. His thoughts turned to the kind warrior. The nurturing half of the couple. Elene would have felt his loss keenly, the man becoming a father figure to her in the months they'd been on the road. Always on hand with a helpful sword fighting tip, or a kind word. Khalid was one of the rare souls who knew how to wield both with great effectiveness. And now he was gone, leaving the shadow of his angry, purposeful widow behind. His heart clenched at his own loss, his beautiful Deheriana. What was it with the Gods and taking away the better half of relationships?

Studying Jaheira's strained features, he doubted platitudes were what she wanted to hear from him.

"We will have our revenge," Kivan affirmed.

His answer seemed to galvanise her. "We have much to do. I've been searching for the Harpers at the Docks while Elene works for the Shadow Thieves. Recent developments are going to make it challenging for her to keep performing tasks for them."

"What do you mean?"

"You remember the drow friend you made in the Wood of Sharp Teeth? Well, she's somehow wormed her way into the ranks of the thieves in this city." Jaheira shot him a wry look. "And is currently Elene's ranking superior."

He stared at her. "What?"

"Oh, and it gets better. She remembers you quite vividly."

Kivan cursed. Fate continued to laugh at them. "She can't keep working for that creature. Shevarash knows what vileness she'd be forced into for the drow's amusement."

Jaheira scoffed. "You think I don't know that? I'm trying to find an out."

"The Harpers?"

"Yes. So far, they're proving receptive. Even if it did take weeks to find them." Her gaze dropped to her hands as she spoke. Her tone was measured. Careful. Taken together, it put Kivan immediately on guard.

He frowned. "What do they want?"

"What makes you think they want something?" she fired back.

"They weren't very helpful back at the Gate."

"This is a different cell. I know them. They just want to understand our situation," she ground out. As she pivoted into offense, he could tell she was holding something back. Secrets upon secrets with this one.

With crossed arms, he matched her cool stare one for one. "Do they know about Elene?"

"Some of them do."

"Is that going to be a problem?"

"What is this, an interrogation?" she hissed.

Elene stirred in her sleep. Then turned over so that her back was to them. They both watched her, Kivan taking the moment to cool his blood. Blasted, stubborn Jaheira, always so set in her ways. It would be just like her to go back to her precious Harpers in blind loyalty. They probably shouldn't be carrying on with this conversation here. But he had to make his point now before things got out of control.

"Listen to me, woman," he began tersely, keeping his voice low. "We're in a deep mess. The last thing we need is a Harper plot on top of everything else. If it's more trouble than it's worth, you find other means."

"You don't get to show up out of nowhere and start telling me how to do things," she replied coolly.

His hand slashed downward in an annoyed gesture. "That's not my intent. Everyone seems to want something from Elene. I just want her out of this in one piece."

Jaheira leaned back in her seat. "Point taken."

A truce. He recognised one when he saw it. While he seldom saw eye to eye with Jaheira, Elene's survival had always been their shared goal, for their own reasons. And what a challenging goal it has been. They'd pulled Elene out of the fire enough times to know that danger would always nip at her ankles wherever she walked. Ironic, given that the young woman in question wanted nothing more than to retire in a library for the rest of her days, pottering about bookshelves entertaining her latest academic fancy.

The wooden floorboards groaned as Jaheira got to her feet. Once again, he was struck by the shadows under her eyes, the tired slump of her shoulders. The Jaheira he'd stood with in the Sword Coast would never allow her weariness to be so obvious unless she was almost at her rope's end.

"I need to speak to a priest about antitoxins. I have the only bottle in the group, and it's not enough," she told him. "You can keep watch while I'm gone."

He watched as she bustled about the room collecting her coin pouch and other potions likely for bartering. Weapon in hand, she strode to the door without another word. Always with an eye on the next objective, a stark contrast from her compassionate, accommodating husband, lost too soon. For a long moment, he fought with himself, wondering if his piece needed to be said. Then he decided that she should be prepared for the dark path ahead of her. The path of grief that all who remain must walk alone.

"Jaheira."

She halted with a hand on the doorknob, turning slightly to give him a questioning look.

"It doesn't get better." He paused. "Not for a long time."

The look he gave her had meaning enough that he didn't need to clarify. Jaheira dropped her gaze, her mouth set in a shaky line, as though struggling to get a reply out. Then just as quickly, he was left alone in the room with Elene, the door clicking shut behind her with an air of finality. He breathed deeply as he settled into the vacated chair. Taking a leaf from Jaheira's page, he began to consider logistics. He'd need to move his belongings from the Crooked Crane to here, relocate his base of operations. Secure a room. Pay off the cutpurses working for him for a successful find. Maybe threaten them bodily harm if they lead anyone else his way.

After that…well, the path forward was anybody's guess. He had no idea how they were going to quickly accumulate 20,000 gold short of taking on the bloodiest, dirtiest jobs the city had to offer. From the sound of it, Elene had already resigned herself to that. A shocking discovery given how much handwringing she used to undertake on moral shortcuts.

But then again, this was for Imoen. There was nothing Elene wouldn't do for her.

Had he known how important gold was to the group, he may not have been so free with his share of the reward money from the Gate. After paying Thalantyr and the street hoodlums to find his old companions, he was just shy of 3,000 gold. His gaze flickered to Elene's sleeping form. And most of that would be funnelled into better equipment for her. He ran a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath. How could she hope to defeat that slaver ambush with nothing but cheap leathers and a basic sword? Worse, she couldn't even rely on magic while within Athkatla's boundary. She'd be dead before by the end of the month at this rate.

Long minutes ticked by in silence, the hour deepening into the night. Jaheira should return soon. The relief he felt when he'd found them alive was slowly eroded by new concerns. He raised his head when Elene shifted to lie on her back.

Studying her form under the flimsy blanket pulled up to her chest, he shook his head. So thin. Painfully thin. The bruising under her eyes were obvious, sleep a luxury for her in recent weeks. Beyond that, he couldn't see any other wounds or scarring. Even the burns he'd seen in the dream were completely gone. While she'd recovered from the physical wounds, her eyes when she met his gaze still spoke of the horrors she'd experienced in that cage. The suffering, the crippling sense of helplessness. That wound, he knew, will never truly heal.

He sighed in agitation. "What did that mage want from you?"

Then his gaze snagged on her throat. Frowning, he leaned forward, putting a hand on the bed to steady himself. No, his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. The prominent scar tissue that lined her throat from left to right was almost gone. An old memento from a bounty hunter that the temple healers said will never fade. And yet…

The chair creaked as he settled heavily back into it.

Elene's always had unique healing abilities by virtue of her Godsblood. He'd been a beneficiary of it, his death would have been certain that night at the bandit camp had Elene not intervened, knitting his torn flesh together with nothing more than force of will. But she'd never been able to regenerate old wounds before.

What in the Realms is going on?

Elene remained asleep even when Jaheira swept into the room not long after to dump him out. He'd have to ask her about it another time, hopefully first thing in the morning. Whatever the mad mage wanted with Elene, nothing good would come out of it. The last thing they needed was an enemy within while they confronted faceless adversaries from all corners. He pushed the thought out of his mind as he used the remaining hours in the night efficiently, moving his meagre possessions into a room in the Copper Coronet by dawn.

After weeks of being on his own, it felt right somehow to be back in the fold.

By the time he arose from his short reverie, the bell had begun to toll the ninth bell. His hand closed around the pouch that contained his woad ink. A ritual paint, one he wore first thing in the morning when on the hunt, for his patron God Shevarash to lend him speed and the senses needed to track his quarry. He'd thought the hunt would be over when he found Elene, yet now his journey would not end until Imoen was safely returned to them. As he traced the ink over his forehead, he couldn't help but wonder. Would a day ever come when he will stop hunting something?

The common room was already deserted by the time he descended the steps for breakfast. Day labourers would have had their morning meal much earlier, and the drunks from last eve have long since cleared out. None left but the odd commoner not constrained to a schedule, and the long-suffering serving staff. To his surprise, though, Elene sat in one corner picking at her food, already dressed for battle. She looked up at his approach, a small smile tugging on her lips.

"Good morning. Up for a short walk?" she asked.

He paused. "Where to?"

"A temple of Oghma not far from here. Thought I'd give thanks in prayer this morning."

"Hmm. I doubt Oghma had much to do with it."

Her smile turned wry. "Then I'll thank Shevarash under my breath while I'm at it."

Jibes aside, he saw her offer for what it was. A chance for quiet conversation. Many things were left unsaid in the chaos of last night, as they beat a hasty retreat to the Coronet after the slaver ambush. While Elene and Jaheira were undeniably close, he knew that Elene kept certain matters for his ears alone. A privilege he recognised and would not squander. He grabbed a chunk of bread from the table, then jerked his chin toward the door.

"I'll eat on the way," he said.

The temple was indeed a short walk from the inn, a modest orange building with dark red roofing tiles. Chunks of plaster had fallen off the façade, revealing the brickwork underneath. An aged structure, most likely getting by on feeble donations. Amn evidently did not value knowledge as much as they did other things, like coin. He remembered the temple of Waukeen in the Promenade had been gleaming marble in comparison.

Fortunately, the interior was in better shape. Clean, brightly lit and surprisingly cooling given the scorching heat outside. As befitting the domain of Oghmanytes, every convenient wall surface was lined with shelves and cubby holes filled with books and scrolls. No wonder Elene liked it here.

"Good to see you again, sister," a clergyman greeted Elene with a smile when he saw her, his gentle eyes crinkling as though seeing a dear old friend. "The eastern alcove is empty this morning."

She pressed a few silver pieces into his palm. "Thank you, brother."

"You come here often?" Kivan asked with a frown as they headed further in.

"A few times. To clear my head."

Hopefully not enough times to become a habit, he thought. It would be far too easy to shadow her to the temple and attack her from the deserted alleyways. This deep in the slums, none would bat an eyelid at the sight of another body on the streets. As they settled into a pew in the eastern alcove, though, he decided to keep his concerns to himself. He watched as she bowed her head in prayer, hands clasped tightly in her lap. Perhaps she'd already been on the receiving end of the same lecture from Jaheira. If praying at this temple gave her peace of mind, then he supposed she was entitled to that refuge.

Kivan gazed at the stone statue erected in front of them, the thirty-inch centrepiece of a circular altar. It was that of a handsome human man, his lips quirked in a slight smile as he read from a long scroll. Such a marked difference from his own patron deity, the bitter and vengeful Shevarash, whom many referred to as the Black Archer. The only likeness he'd ever seen of his own God was that of a tall, hooded, and masked hunter wielding an enormous black bow.

Yet he recognised his God's touch on days the hunt turned in his favour, in fights when he snatched victory from the jaws of defeat. What was the point of elaborate statues and paintings when there was still work to be done?

"I take it Jaheira's told you about Viconia," she spoke up at last.

"It's a bad idea," he replied without missing a beat.

She breathed a laugh, simultaneously sounding both amused and despairing. He hated how much she sounded like their old companion, Xan. "Truer words have never been said. But I'm short on good ideas of late. I need you to promise that you'll let me handle it."

"And how do you plan to do that?"

"With careful planning, as always," she replied slowly.

"What if she finds out I've joined you?"

Her gaze was sharp as she turned to him. "Then she will take her pound of flesh from me, not you."

It was his turn to laugh. "You're mad if you think I'll allow it."

"Well, you're mad if you think you'll know about it." Before he could reach over and shake some sense into her, she grabbed him by the front of his leather armour. "I mean it, Kivan. I don't want you anywhere near Mae'var's jobs, it's hard enough to dance around these thieves without getting us all killed. So promise me that you'll trust me to handle it."

The steel in her voice stumped him. Was this the same little lamb he'd rescued in the Sword Coast? They'd argued and clashed in the past, but she'd never been one to be so forceful. She took his silence as acquiescence, for she released him after a long, tense impasse. Then she nudged him gently in the shoulder.

"What are you doing here anyway? Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to see you, I truly am. But…I was so sure you were going back to Shilmista when we said our farewells."

He frowned. "You don't remember?"

"There are a lot of things I don't remember," she replied, picking at her gauntlet as she did. "You'll have to be more specific."

"The dream, Elene. You called to me from behind bars. You brought me here."

She froze. Then she raised her fearful eyes to meet his. "What dream?"

Sighing, he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his head nestled in his hands in frustration. "You don't remember."

"What dream?"

Not exactly the resounding affirmation he'd been expecting from her. Hells, for weeks he'd wondered if he imagined the whole thing. But no, he remembered the sensation that remained even after he woke up. The ringing certainty that Elene was in danger, and that he would find her only if he headed south. So, he told her that. Described the cages, the dripping water, the bruises and scars adorning her when he spoke to her in the dream. At the end of it, she shot to her feet, pacing the small space in terse steps, chewing her lower lip as she did.

"I…how long ago was this?" she asked

"About a month ago."

"I don't…" she trailed off; her face screwed up in thought as she finally came to a stop in front of him. "I mean, there were dreams. I remember seeing Gorion more than a few times. Imoen, you, and the others. Even Xan. Did I reach out to everyone then? But they were fevered dreams, no way was any of it real." She chewed on a nail as she wracked her brain again. "Then again…there was no way of telling what was real in that place. I couldn't…the things he did…"

"Your scar's almost healed," he gestured at her throat. "That man's doing?"

She stilled. "You noticed. Jaheira hasn't yet. I've been…healing faster than normal."

"…dreams?"

"Vivid. Bloody." She scrubbed tiredly at her face. "Often of the dead."

Her vulnerability made him reach out, his fingers lightly grasping her forearm. "What did he do to you?"

She pulled away, averting her gaze. "I don't really want to talk about it."

Wisely, he dropped his hand. Judging from her face, she would take the memory of it to the grave. He could understand — he'd never spoken aloud the extent of the torture his captors had put him through years ago. A wretched plaything for a group of bloodthirsty bandits, both him and Deheriana. At least the worst they could do to him was to scour and cut his flesh. The only testament left of what happened were the horrific scars on his body, and his lingering, primeval hatred for those who harm others for entertainment.

"The wound you healed. It burned during the dream," he admitted.

The look she gave him was anxious. "The one from the bandit camp?"

He nodded.

For a long while, she said nothing. Then she eased back onto the bench next to him, as if the weight of the Realms rested on her shoulders. "I…I don't know what to say. If I hadn't done it then, you'd have…" She shook her head, as though imagining his blood staining the ground that night. "No, I wouldn't take it back."

For weeks, he'd been plagued by questions, about the dream and how it tied back to what she did months ago. Her answers unsurprisingly did nothing to satisfy his need to know, though in truth, he didn't know what he'd been expecting.

"What did you do? That night," he added.

"I made it better." A pause. "And perhaps in doing so, I gave you a part of myself."

A chill ran through him. What did that even mean? That he would carry a fraction of a dead God's essence with him for the rest of his days? How does she live, knowing that herself? Once again, the answers would have to come from elsewhere. Elene was as in the dark on the matter than he was. And she'd been raised in Candlekeep, where they were obsessed with Alaundo and his morbid prophecies.

"I'm sorry, Kivan. For dragging you back into this," she sighed.

He huffed a short breath, almost a laugh. "I wouldn't take it back, either."

The small smile on her face disappeared so quickly, he'd thought he imagined it. Even so, he took a measure of comfort from it. That she was here, relatively safe, and seemingly on the mend. There was much yet to do.

"We are going to make that man for what he did to you. And Khalid," he vowed.

"And Imoen."

"He hurt her, too? Why?"

"I don't know. Maybe he just liked seeing us in pain," Elene replied, her tone hollow. At his darkening expression, she turned to face him, her features earnest. "Don't go chasing for revenge, not for me. Khalid and Imoen wouldn't want that, either."

"We've talked about this…"

"Yes. And I took my dues out of Sarevok's hide and…" she drew a shaky breath. "When he died by my hand, it didn't make anything better. I'm still me, and the world is still what it is. But the stain on my hands, the burden of mistakes, the regret of the things I'd have to give up along the way…it will never go away." For a long moment, she stared at her hands, as though studying something there that she alone could see. "And I don't know if it's worth it."

There she was, thinking too much again. He never liked this part of her, the one that overthinks and moralises everything when quick action is needed. Nevertheless, he kept his peace. Neither she nor Jaheira were in a place to be having such difficult conversations this soon after their ordeal. They both needed time.

"So, we just do the bidding of drow in the meantime?" he asked, failing to quell his annoyed undertone.

"I need to…" she swallowed. "Yoshimo and I will try to finish a job today. Maybe you can help Jaheira, she could do with another pair of eyes. With everything that happened…I get the sense she's just keeping things together for the rest of us."

He nodded slowly. He could see that. Rather than address the elephant in the room, he gestured to her armour. "You need better equipment."

A bark of laughter told him what she thought of the idea. "That costs money. Imoen needs the money."

"Imoen needs you alive," he told her simply. "Don't be stupid about this."

"Every day I set us back in gold is another day she spends behind bars."

From the mulish frown she was giving him, he must not have been the first person to give her this lecture. Much as he appreciated her quiet strength, sometimes he missed the days when she would take instruction with the meekness of an acolyte, like when they'd first met. He wondered if Jaheira felt the same.

"I know that. But my point stands, you're no use to her or anyone else dead." He patted the pouch at his belt. "If it makes you feel better, I still have gold. From the Dukes' reward."

"Good thing I made you take your share then," she replied wryly, bumping her shoulder against his.

"You knew you'd be getting it back, didn't you?" he groused.

She ducked her head, a genuine smile on her face this time as they sat in shared recollection. Bittersweet, like their farewell at the Gate. He didn't like the path they were confined to, nor the allies they were saddled with. Anomen and Yoshimo were unknown quantities which he planned to test. Yet seeing her smile even in the pit they're in felt like a small win. They were going to get Imoen back. And regardless of what Elene had asked of him, he would personally ensure the debt of pain is repaid in full when he gets his hands on that mage.

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Author's Note:

And the gang is back together again. Unfortunately, it won't be smooth sailing here on out even with Kivan's much needed presence.

The next few chapters will lead-up to the inevitable set piece with the Harpers and along the way, I'm going to focus a lot on developing the character arcs of the POV characters. Compared to The Woman of Letters, I'm finding out that I really enjoy writing dialogue now when I used to struggle badly with it. Do let me know if you feel the characters are getting a bit too chatty though, it can be a tricky balance to strike!

Hope you're still enjoying the story. :)