Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter 6

The lesson applied

Kivan paused. He tilted his head, listening. After a while, he shook his head.

"You're breathing too loud."

"Aww codswallop!"

Imoen materialised from the shadows of a nearby tree, looking quite put out at being discovered so quickly. For someone who favoured bright magenta clothing, she was surprisingly decent at stealth – she was all but invisible once she'd pulled the shadows to conceal herself.

"You're cheating with those elf ears of yours, aren't ya?" she pouted at him.

"I'd never do anything of the sort," he answered, but his almost-smile contradicted his statement. "Now let's find your friend."

Imoen grinned as she clapped her hands together. "This'll be fun."

The four days to Nashkel were the most enjoyable days for Imoen and Elene since they left Candlekeep. Minor skirmishes with an ogrillon, some gibberlings and hobgoblins aside, there wasn't that much of action along the way. As a result, they managed to get to know their traveling companions better, learned some useful new skills and most important of all, no one got hurt.

Well, Khalid's lessons did hurt once he started making Elene do practical sessions, namely sparring with sticks. They went over drills and tactics for hours in the night, resting only when Jaheira called time to retire for the night. Sometimes Kivan even gave pointers as he watched from his perch at the edge of the camp. She learned some universal sword tactics which could be repurposed to suit her, improvising moves which relied more on dexterity than strength. Imoen found the whole thing boring but it heartened her that Elene was really throwing herself into learning how to fight – seems she had finally come to terms with their new life.

Jaheira taught them foraging, pointing out herbs and plants which can be useful to both help and hinder, depending on the need. For the first time, Elene got to actually see the reagents she used to read in the alchemy books Parda used to make her read. If she could get her hands on an alchemy kit, she could likely brew up some useful things with what they could forage from the wild.

Along the way as they walked, Kivan gave the girls practical tips for stealth, in spite of his reticent nature. He was even sporting enough to 'seek' them as they tried out their new skills, grunting short pointers on where they went wrong or how they could improve. Elene also sought out rudimentary teaching on trap-setting using rope and wires. No doubt the skills would come in handy especially when they headed into the mines.

Elene didn't think too deeply about what she had signed up for at the Friendly Arm. She'd needed sanctuary, and Khalid and Jaheira had offered both their protection and guidance freely. The closer they were to Nashkel, however, the more she wondered about what they would be facing.

Imoen had no such reservations. She was brimming with good cheer the whole way, feeling like the group dynamic had settled into a good rhythm over the days: the druid from Tethyr, the warrior from Calimshan, the ranger from Shilmista and the two rookies from Candlekeep.

On a warm Mirtul evening, the party crested a hill which overlooked the Amnian border town of Nashkel. Nashkel was small – more village than town, that much was clear the moment the place came into proper view. Small homesteads dotted the landscape, a grand Temple of Helm in the middle of everything. The Unseeing Eye carved atop the temple could be seen from almost a mile away. It seemed like a pleasant place to retire to.

"It's nearly sunset – best we try to catch Berrun at his house rather than his office," advised Jaheira.

They arrived in town just behind a platoon of soldiers clad in deep red brigandines made of hard leather and helmets with plumes of red. The livery was that of Amn, Elene remembered from her lessons. Amn was all about reds and golds and other obvious trappings of wealth, as befitting the populace of the mercantile region. Despite Nashkel being a border town, it did not make much sense for there to be so many Amnian soldiers garrisoned here. That sense of unease was magnified when a soldier halted them upon crossing the bridge leading into the centre of town.

"Identify yourselves," the man said, a rough undertone in his voice.

"I am Jaheira," the druid nodded curtly at the man. "We hear that this is a troubled region of late. Our aim is to meet with Berrun Ghastkill to put ourselves at his disposal during our stay here."

The man gave the group an impassive once-over. Elene was glad that he didn't look too closely at her. "Mercenaries, huh. As long as you're here to solve problems and not cause them, you're welcome. Tensions run high right now. On your way."

With that, he nodded and went on his way. The group glanced at each other before heading to the home of Berrun Ghastkill. It was quite a walk from the centre of town, past the Temple and the garrison, beyond a cluster of small homesteads dotting the town. Eventually Jaheira led them to a quaint wooden house surrounded by an idyllic garden. A grey-haired half-elven man was seated at the veranda of the house, keen eyes appraising the newcomers.

"I recognize Jaheira in your group, so you must be the adventurers I was expecting." The half-elf stood up and stepped closer. "I am Berrun Ghastkill, mayor of Nashkel, and I am happy to welcome you." He clasped Jaheira on the forearm and gave her a grim look. "I am sorry we have to meet under these circumstances."

Jaheira introduced the group quickly but got straight down to business. "Tell me Berrun. What exactly is the problem here?"

Berrun breathed out a laugh. "I can't believe you haven't guessed. You've heard of the iron shortage? Well, Nashkel is in the thick of it. Our mine is all but shut down because the workers continually go missing, and what ore we get is tainted somehow. I would send in the town guards, but we need them to protect our citizens from the bandits that raid our caravans. We need someone to go and find out what is wrong in the mines southeast of town."

"We will do what we can," the druid assured him, glancing at Elene as she said so. "If you have need of us, we will be at the inn for tonight. Tomorrow morning, we shall head for the mines."

"Thank you. You will be the toast of the town if you can help." Berrun clapped Khalid on the shoulder, earning him a timid smile. "It is good to see both of you. Be safe."

With that, the group headed off in silence, back the way they came to the Nashkel Inn – appropriately named as it also happens to be the only inn in town. On their way, they kept seeing soldiers moving around in what seemed to be coordinated patrols. At least the conversation with Berrun had illuminated why the military was out in numbers. The bandit problem had evidently reached this far south.

The Nashkel Inn was as nondescript as one would expect, a wide single storey brick building with a tall chimney merrily blowing smoke into the air. Elene tied a scarf around her head, concealing the bottom half of her face, before slipping her hood back on. Bordering on paranoid, perhaps, but she was not going to take any risk this time around.

Foot traffic outside did not translate to inn occupancy. That was obvious the moment they entered the inn and saw only two patrons inside despite it being the expected hour for dinner. Both patrons, a man and a woman, glanced over as the group entered but proceeded to ignore the newcomers. So far so good. The innkeeper, a reedy sort of chap with thinning hair, nodded to them warily as they entered. He raised a hand, signalling for a barmaid to tend to them.

Three rooms secured and a quick meal later, the group sat in companionable silence with the sound of crackling fire in the background. The inn's customers hadn't increased in numbers since they'd entered, the two remaining patrons still sat at the bar and the innkeeper still sat in the corner minding his own affairs.

"Something is wrong here," Jaheira said in a low tone, nursing her cheap wine. "Granted, this is a border town, but the military presence here goes beyond protection from bandits. Why were these soldiers really not sent to deal with the mines?"

Khalid's brows furrowed. "I may be mistaken, but this almost looks like a military muster."

Elene stared at him. "Muster? Isn't that preparation for war?"

"Er, not necessarily. Many times, muster happens then you have tensions between two nations." Khalid looked at his hands as he spoke, as if recalling from experience. "You keep the vanguard in reserve at the borders."

"You wouldn't be sending vanguards into mines," Elene realised.

"Wait, but who are they mustering for?" Imoen wanted to know. "Who are they gonna fight?"

"I think," Jaheira glanced around, "A few of us should test the local flavours at this town's watering hole. Try to find out more about the situation." She gave Elene a look. "Some of us can sit this one out if they wish."

Elene almost sagged with relief. She was not looking forward to another tavern visit.

"Can I come? I wanna go with you," Imoen piped up excitedly. "Hey Lene, take my pack to the room with you. I'll bring ya something nice when I get back."

Jaheira and Khalid exchanged a look. Khalid was about to say something but Kivan intercepted him.

"I'll stay."

Jaheira nodded, satisfied with the arrangement. It seemed that traveling with the elf for some days has earned him a measure of trust with her. After a few more minutes of small talk and planning for the next morning, Jaheira, Khalid and Imoen set off for the Belching Dragon Tavern, leaving Elene and Kivan at the table to finish up their drinks.

"You really don't want to go with them?" Elene wondered.

"Chatting up drunks is not something I find enjoyable," he answered.

She tilted her head. "What do you find enjoyable?"

He paused at that, flicking his gaze up to fix an appraising look on her. If the question had come from Jaheira, he would have taken that as a dig at his dourness. Coming from Elene, however, he recognised the question for simple curiosity. He supposed that she really did not know much of anything about him – even though they have been traveling together for a week.

"I only look forward to one thing," he said, lowering his eyes to his drink. "Until then, joy is a luxury."

"And what is that?"

He breathed deeply. "Killing a half-ogre named Tazok."

She stopped swirling the wine in her glass. "Is this the person who killed your loved one?"

"Yes."

"If I may ask…what happened?"

The fire crackled in the background. Kivan studied the tankard in his hand as he contemplated how much he wished to share. It was a dark story to unburden on a young soul. Even so, she watched him patiently, nothing but sincerity in her features. He blamed the ale for loosening his lips.

"Two years ago, my wife and I left our home in Shilmista to travel the Realms," he began, "We headed north, then west, ventured as far as the Greenfields. There, we were captured in the night by brigands. They were led by Tazok."

With a practiced hand, he undid the clasp of his left gauntlet, scuffed on the inner side where his bow usually rested. He rested his ungloved hand on the table, palm up. No words were needed – the angry scars lacing his wrist and the slightly misshapen angles of his fingers said enough.

"They were not gentle to prisoners," he scoffed. "I got off lucky compared to Deheriana. What they did to her…" he trailed off, shaking his head. Anguish, rage and self-loathing engulfed him in that moment. It has been two years, but the unseen wounds from what Tazok did continued to bleed and fester, even as the physical wounds healed. He would never be free for as long as the beast lived. "I have been hunting him since."

Elene stared at his hand in mute horror. Tentatively, she reached out to touch the scar tissue on his wrist. After a few moments, she withdrew her hand, collecting herself. "I'm sorry about what happened to you, Kivan." When she raised her eyes to meet his, a spark of conviction burned in them. "This half-ogre, he's still out there? With the bandits causing all the mess?"

"I tracked him to the Coast Way. From the bandits I interrogated, he seems to lead them."

"Was that what you were doing when we met you? Finding him?"

He smiled, a grim look. "Hunting."

She nodded slowly even as her eyes flicked back to his scarred hand, as if making her mind up about something. "If I can help you stop him, I will. We can't let them keep hurting people."

He leaned back, feeling strangely heartened by her words. "Then we will see it through. Until we do, my soul will ache for my lost Deheriana."

"I'm sorry for dredging up those memories," she murmured. "All those books in Candlekeep didn't prepare me for how cruel Fate can be." The image of Gorion being cut down in the dark continued to haunt her, in both her waking hours and her dreams. Even so, it could not possibly compare to what Kivan must have witnessed in the hands of his captors.

"Nothing can prepare you for it." He picked up his discarded gauntlet. "I wish to retire. You should as well."

Getting accustomed to abrupt ends to conversations with Kivan, Elene nodded and stood, drawing her hood as she did. Together, they walked past the bar, off to the rooms. Their rooms were situated two doors away from each other, with Khalid and Jaheira's room in between them, Kivan's right at the end of the hall. She bade him good night as she entered her room, locking the door behind her. Imoen would just have to knock when she came back.

With the lamp lit, Elene could see that a basin was already set up. She gratefully yanked off her boots and tossed her gauntlets onto the bedside table. The double bed creaked inauspiciously as she sat on the thin mattress.

Methodically, she took off her outer garments and laid them out on the bed. She thought back to the shapeless robes she wore as an acolyte and sighed wistfully. If only she had devoted the hours to become a proper mage as Gorion had suggested in her early years of study. She could be walking around in comfortable robes and slinging powerful magic right now, instead of being encased in leather and fumbling around with a sword and dagger.

"If wishes were horses, beggars would ride," she muttered to herself.

The water was cool as she washed her hands and face. Wiping her face, she looked up at the mirror above the basin and studied the reflection staring back at her. Gone was the smooth, porcelain doll complexion cultivated from living in a library. Her nose was pinkish while parts of her skin were peeling slightly from the sun. Phlydia would weep if she saw the current state of her hair, which somehow managed to appear both matted and frizzled out. She had never been a particularly vain person, but the sight saddened her. By the end of the year, a completely different person would be staring back at her.

She studied her right hand, calluses beginning to form on her fingers from daily swordplay. Tilting her hand slightly, she contrasted those with the raised skin on her index finger where she used to rest the quill while scribing. The scribe evolving into a fighter. She sighed for what felt like the umpteenth time that week - a weighty, troubled sound. Despite what she had said to Kivan, the thought of trading in violence to achieve her means was deeply unsettling.

Reminds me of that quote Parda always bandied about. He who fights monsters should see to it that he himself does not become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.

A knock sounded at the door, startling her from her brooding. She turned her head in surprise. Setting down her washcloth, she strode the few paces to reach the door, wondering why Imoen was back so soon.

Except when she pulled the door ajar upon unlocking it, a stranger stood there. A blonde woman in mail shirt and a nasty scar which pulled at her smile, making it look crooked. That was about all Elene could take note of when the woman shoved the door open and shouldered straight into her, forcing her way into the room. Once she was inside, she closed the door with quick footwork.

Elene moved, her entire being shocked into fight or flight mode. In this case, flight was no longer an option. She lunged for her sword belt, pulling her weapon free. Her eyes flicked to the dagger also clipped onto the belt and decided to keep the belt in hand as an improvised offhand. Suddenly all the sword drills she was made to run as a child came back to her – despite what she'd told Khalid, she had been taught swordplay for many years but she never took it up with any passion before Gorion died. She hoped that necessity would make up for the passion for fighting that she lacked before.

"Just fancy my luck seeing you stroll in here, bold as day," said the woman, her chuckle throaty as she unhooked the mace attached to her belt loop. "I expected a hunt and a chase from the description, but who am I to argue with easy coin? May the Lord of Shadows guide you swiftly to your Death."

Gathering resolve, Elene raised her sword and moved in for a messy close quarter fight.