Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Chapter 36
The long shadow
Tethtoril needed a new couch.
Despite all the weighty thoughts swirling in her head, that single sentiment stuck out the loudest. The offensive burgundy upholstery looked particularly worn to her eyes yet the backrest was as hard and unyielding as tree bark, despite years of wear. Bad enough she still had bruises from her spar with Kivan. She shifted in her seat, earning her a knowing smirk from Imoen. Likely she was thinking along the same lines. The last time they'd both sat in this room was when they'd nearly burned down Candlekeep Inn with a moonshine experiment. They'd lamented on the visual and physical cruelty of the couch then, too.
Thinking of the past invariable drew her mind to Bendalis. She wondered if she should have felt something at seeing the first man she'd ever held romantic notions for. Fondness, for certain. Pride that he'd managed to achieve what they had both worked so hard for. Relief at knowing he hadn't been replaced by a malicious shapeshifter. Beyond that, it was no different from seeing an old friend, one that she had perhaps outgrown through the course of her travails.
While her whole world had changed in months, some things seemed destined to remain the same.
Her ears caught the distinct tread of a person in heavy robes. She shot up from her seat in anticipation. Sure enough, Tethtoril entered the room a few moments later, dressed in the red robes of a First Reader. Though he had been the second-highest ranking Avowed for as long as Elene remembered, his smile always radiated warmth and kindness underneath his bushy grey beard.
"Tethtoril," Elene breathed.
"Elene, Imoen. I am pleased to see both of you," said Tethtoril, clasping his hands together. "Though I must admit, I wasn't expecting a courtesy visit today."
"We apologise for the abruptness, First Reader," Elene ducked her head in a contrite gesture, "But we've just arrived this afternoon and found something troubling. We think the people of Candlekeep are in danger and it's important that you know of it."
Tethtoril gestured toward his office. "Very well, let us discuss this within."
They relocated to his office, a large rectangular room lined wall-to-wall with book shelves. The only gap in the shelves was where the fireplace was, and Tethtoril sparked the flames with a simple cantrip to brighten up the room. Elene looked around, feeling somewhat nervous. As a rule, she avoided ending up here, because that usually meant discussing damage control for something she or Imoen did to upset Ulraunt. She should have outgrown the feeling but being there again brought back so many memories, it was hard not to feel a bit sheepish somehow.
"Unfortunately, I do not have many chairs in here. Not often do I have so many guests, after all," said Tethtoril as he sat at his desk. "Why don't you introduce your friends first, Elene? I would like to know how you've fared since you departed our gates."
Dutifully, Elene introduced her four companions. At the mention of Khalid and Jaheira's names, she noticed Tethtoril's gaze seem to sharpen with interest. Yet he remained silent, and her two companions displayed no recognition. Once introductions were done, she took one of the chairs before Tethtoril's desk while Imoen sat in the other.
"By now, you know what happened to Gorion. We were ambushed just hours outside of Candlekeep and he tried to hold off our attackers while I escaped." Elene shook her head. "I don't know who they were, only that they were led by an armoured figure with glowing eyes."
"We found Gorion. Many here believed the worst when we found no trace of either of you," Tethtoril replied.
Elene began to wring her hands. "Did…did you inter him here? I…we didn't manage to dig deep enough. The ground was too hard. I wish I could have done more for him. But I, I was afraid they would return to finish the job and…"
He leaned forward and patted her hand. "Don't be too hard on yourself, you did what you could. I made the arrangements of his burial myself. He has taken his place here in the catacombs, with the other great sages of yore."
"I…I'm glad. Thank you for taking care of him, First Reader." She swallowed, fighting the burning sensation in her eyes. It was time to change the subject. "After…well, after, Imoen found me, and we found our friends here along the journey. We've done our part in resolving the iron crisis in Nashkel and against the bandit groups. Now here we are investigating a conspiracy masterminded by the Iron Throne."
Tethtoril watched her for a long time before replying. "These men from the Iron Throne. Are they the ones you deem a danger to Candlekeep?"
"Yes." She leaned forward. "In Baldur's Gate, these men sent doppelgangers to infiltrate rival merchant guilds, to sabotage them from the inside out. After we met Winthrop at the inn, we bumped into Shistal. He was a good friend of many years. Yet when I saw him just now, he acted as if he'd never seen me in his life. And the things he said were completely out of character. Then he attacked when challenged, showing his true form as a doppelganger."
"How do you know for sure?"
"When he took a swing at me, his hands turned into talons right before my eyes, almost like blades coming out of his fingers." She vaguely mimicked claws coming out of her own hands. "I've fought doppelgangers before, and there is no doubt in my mind that it is the same type of creature."
He frowned. "Did you kill it?"
"No, it escaped us." Elene spread her hands diplomatically. "You don't have to take our word for it, First Reader. I only ask that Shistal be brought in for questioning. Before the creature can claim another face, another person."
"This is…most disturbing news." Tethtoril rubbed at his temple. "I suppose there is no harm in verifying your claim. I'll just need to inform the Gatewarden that he will need to approach Shistal with caution, if he is indeed as dangerous as you make him out to be."
Elene leaned back, relieved. "I only hope we aren't too late."
"Fret not, we will get to the bottom of this. Now what's this you say about a conspiracy?"
"The Throne are trying to incite more tension between Baldur's Gate and Amn. From the letters and information we recovered, it looks like they want to drive up demand for iron. It just so happens that because of the iron crisis, they are the most reliable supplier of iron this side of the continent," Jaheira explained.
"They're here to meet some fellas called the Knights of the Shield. Plotting how to pull it off, we reckon," added Imoen.
"Do you know anything about the other group of merchants that came in yesterday, after Rieltar's entourage?" Elene asked.
Sighing, Tethtoril's expression became drawn. "You know our ways, child. We don't look too closely at who enters our gates for as long as they provide the required tribute and agree to our bylaws. Beyond what you already know, I have nothing else to add, I'm afraid."
"Have they tried to meet you? Or Ulraunt for that matter?" she prodded further.
"No, nothing as such. From the sound of it, I believe they are here to have a private meeting with those gentlemen, nothing more." He raised a hand. "I must caution you, however, regardless of your suspicions, you are not to incite aggression within these walls. Ulraunt does not take kindly to such things, and neither do I."
"We do not intend to, I promise," Elene told him. "All we need is information. Bloodless, reliable information."
"Glad to hear it. I don't know how you intend to obtain that information, but I would suggest making your move before tomorrow evening. They will be gone the following day, if I am not mistaken."
"We'll do our best, First Reader," said Imoen.
In that moment, Elene was struck by a tremendous burst of gratitude for her father's old friend. "Thank you again. For agreeing to see us, and for helping us. You don't have to, and yet…" she trailed off, her throat closing on her next words.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Imoen fidget. Jaw clenching, she forced herself to tamp down on the surge of emotions. It wouldn't do to lose composure like this. Not in front of everyone. Not now, when lives are at stake.
"Ah, Elene." Melancholy shadowed Tethtoril's features as his voice softened. "You are not merely Gorion's child to me, you know. I would have been the happiest person to see you grow here as an Avowed, see what you can do with the trove of knowledge that we have. But it was not meant to be. Now we can only do our best with what the Fates have set out before us."
Elene nodded, wiping at her eyes as she thought of what could have been. "Yes. Of course."
Imoen squeezed her shoulder before getting to her feet. Forcing aside her feelings, Elene followed. It was high time they started on what they needed to do in Candlekeep, after all. The longer they remained idle, the more time the Throne had to set whatever schemes they had into motion.
"If the rest of you don't mind, I would like a quick word with Elene," said Tethtoril.
Questioning looks were exchanged among the party. Elene waved them off. "I'll join you outside."
Once the rest of her group had filed out, Tethtoril got to his feet. "The possessions in your room and Gorion's have been redistributed, as Gorion requested before departing. You'll be pleased to know, however, that I've made sure that both of your works will forever more be preserved in the archives."
He then strode to a chest of drawers behind his desk. Elene peered over the desk to see him withdraw a bundle carefully wrapped with grey cloth from within before turning around to face her. The look he gave her was pensive as he handed it to her. Even through the cloth, Elene knew from touch that it was undoubtedly a book. A thick one, bound in hard cover.
"Gorion wanted you to have this, though. In the event that something terrible befell him," he said, his tone solemn.
She glanced at the bundle, a thousand questions running through her mind. "He…left this with you?"
"There were many conversations he wanted to have with you," the First Reader said, his features crinkling with regret. "Alas, Fate always has other things planned, so he prepared for the worst." He grasped her arms and gazed at her intently. "No matter what you find, I want you to remember this. Gorion loved you as his own. Ever since you came into his life, everything he did was for you. You must never question that."
It was difficult, yet she managed to work her voice through the lump in her throat. "Why would I ever question that? He died for me. I'm just…doing everything I can with my life to make his sacrifice worth it."
"He would be proud to see you as you are now." Tethtoril smiled. "Another man may have sired you, but you are Gorion's daughter. In every way that matters." He released her. "Good luck, Elene. I hope you find what you're looking for."
"Me too," she murmured as she departed his office.
Imoen's features had a worried cast over them when Elene stepped into the hallway. The sixth floor only housed two offices, Tethtoril's and Ulraunt's further down the hall. Not for the first time, Elene was glad he was nowhere in sight. She didn't think she could handle his disdainful condescension in her current state.
"What did he give ya?" Imoen asked, gesturing at the bundle tucked under her arm.
"Something Gorion left for me," she answered quietly. "I…I'd like to be alone to look this over for a bit. Won't be long, I'll find you at the infirmary as soon as I'm done."
"I'm not sure if splitting up is a good idea…" Xan began.
"It's alright, Xan." She touched his arm. "No one would be foolish enough to try to spill blood within the library, not even doppelgangers. I won't stray far from Tethtoril's office, if that helps," she continued in an appeasing tone.
"If you insist. Join us as soon as you are able to," said Jaheira.
While her group left to do more investigation on their quarry, Elene ventured to the fourth floor of the library. She'd always liked the reading area there, with its solid mahogany tables and cosy chairs that you could sit in for hours. At this hour, there weren't even many Readers lingering, as the hour crept closer to evening bell and dinner, the place tended to empty out. They would only return after dinner recharged and spend hours late into the night with their work.
It reminded her of simpler days, when she used to be one of them, tucked in one of the corners with Gorion. Helping with any ad-hoc research work he needed done. She made a beeline for that very table, feeling a swell of nostalgia as she drew close. Studying the grooves of the table, she smiled. There it was, the scratch she'd made in the wood while lost in her thoughts years ago. A layer of wood lacquer wasn't quite enough to conceal the mark, just as she'd suspected.
She set her prized bundle on the table. Instead of unwrapping the cloth, she merely stared at it. Was this a last will and testament? Despite living with him for over a decade, she realised there was so much she never knew about Gorion, beyond her knowledge that he was a Harper. Could he have had a family elsewhere? An estate that needed to be inherited in the event of his untimely demise? Although Tethtoril had been nothing but helpful to them, she noticed how tight-lipped he was about Gorion and the circumstances of their departure. Hopefully, whatever it was he'd given her could shed light on the mystery.
Taking a deep breath, her fingers closed around the knot holding the wrapping together. Then she paused.
Lost in her introspection, she'd only just noticed heavy footsteps approaching from behind and to her left, coming to a stop not far away. Tensing, she turned in her seat and looked up. Then was forced to trail her gaze even higher upward.
A man stood there, half concealed in the shadows of the bookshelves. Yet her elven eyes saw him clearly enough. Towering in height, easily as tall as Zhalimar had been if not taller, with the same tanned skin and bulging arms. He was dressed in the tailored attire of a noble, and as he stepped closer, moved with the smooth steps of a predator. Everything about him seemed unnervingly familiar although she could swear she had never met this person before.
"Greetings," the man said, his voice a powerful deep bass.
"Good afternoon, my lord," she replied carefully.
Her eyes followed him as he circled around to pull a chair and seat himself at one corner of her table, to her left. His head was bald, and in the glow of candlelight, his eyes were an intense shade of amber. Handsome, charming if he wished to apply himself to it, she suspected. By her estimation, she only needed to lean partly out of her chair to lash out and stab him. Despite what she'd said to her companions, she dropped her right hand from the table and flexed her fingers in readiness, just in case.
"Magnificent library. I last visited this place years ago, and it seems to have only grown in some sections," the man mused with a glint in his eyes.
That accent. Sembian. Oh, Gods above.
She swallowed. "The Readers spend a lot of gold and effort making sure our collection is complete. If they can't procure the original work of interest, they send someone to make a copy of it and bring back the scribed manuscript." Pausing, she tilted her head in a facsimile of politeness. "Can I help you with something?"
The man smiled at that. "Looking for a bit of company, truth be told."
"Odd place to look for it. This is a library."
"Indeed," he drawled as he idly adjusted the cuffs of his doublet. "Yet after a long, fruitless search, it appears the person I'm looking for is sitting right here."
Even as her hackles raised, she couldn't take her eyes off him. "You've been looking for me?"
His smile sharpened. "Of course, Elene. Just as you have been looking for me. I'm sure you can guess who I am by now."
Dread trickled down her spine, spreading across her veins like poison. Her fight or flee instinct triggered. It took all her willpower to hold his gaze and her position. This man was the reason she's pushed herself so hard to learn from her mistakes with Zhalimar. He was every bit as formidable as she imagined.
"You're Sarevok Anchev."
He clasped his hands together in mock delight. "Well done. You do have a modicum of intellect."
Despite her fear, she glared, bristling at his condescension. "So, you've found me. What are you planning to do about it?"
The chair creaked as he leaned back in his seat. "Nothing."
"Truly?" She searched his features for signs of trickery. "Then why are you here?"
"To talk. Surely that's not such an outlandish concept for a scholar such as you."
"What's there to discuss? You want me dead, and I want you imprisoned."
His bark of laughter made her flinch. "Ah, such fire in you. Gorion raised a fighter, after all."
Her eyes took in the genuine amusement in his face, his relaxed stance, his almost playful mood. Like this whole conversation was nothing but a game to him. If she had to draw a comparison, Sarevok was behaving like a cat playing with his food. The thought rankled her.
"Do not speak of my father," she snapped.
"But he isn't." Sarevok raised an eyebrow. "Your father, I mean. He may have fought for you to his dying breath but make no mistake. He is not your father." He shook his head in disapproval. "After all these years, you still believe the lies they've fed you?"
"What are you talking about? What lies?" she asked, then inwardly cursed her shaking voice.
He sneered at her as he took on a more malevolent tone. "What a fool you are. Far be it for me to burst your bubble of ignorance. You will find out in time, though far too late to do anything about it. Just like your precious Gorion."
"How do you claim to know so much about him?"
"Surely you're smart enough to know the answer by now," he tsked. "After all, I planned my move against that old fool for a long time. To think he almost slipped away with you at the last second."
And there it was. Elene's world suddenly zeroed in on Sarevok and his words, for all intents and purposes a proud admission of responsibility. Not guilt, certainly not that. He looked satisfied as a look of horrified realisation slowly dawned upon her face. The ambush, the bounty notices, the hunters, everything was tied together by one person's malice. And for the first time, she was face-to-face with the source of so much of her suffering.
"That night. It was you," her voice came out flat despite the turmoil she felt within.
Coldly, he nodded. "Now you begin to see. You may have gotten this far in one piece but I think your run of good luck has just about ended. I don't take kindly to your continued efforts to get in the way of what I have planned."
"And I don't take kindly to your continued efforts to get a lot of people killed," she shot back.
He let out a long-suffering sigh. "See, this is why I should have killed you years ago."
"Why are you even trying to kill me? If you had left me alone, I would have stayed within these walls, away from your intrigues for the rest of your life."
"I don't think so. You and I are more alike than you think." She twitched as he flicked a finger back and forth between them. "We are killers, you see. Born of chaos to reap more chaos. Yet there can only be one in the end. And I intend for it to be me."
"Born of chaos…what in the Nine Hells are you on about?" she demanded.
"You will understand in time. Or you won't. It matters not." He stood, towering over her once again. In the warm light of the library, his eyes seemed to almost flash yellow as he raked his gaze over her one last time. "You will not be able to stop me. Farewell, Elene."
She didn't dare move or even draw a full breath until he was completely out of sight, disappearing among the shelves of manuscripts. Even after he was gone, she was conscious of nothing beyond her own racing heartbeat and the bile raging in her stomach. Hand trembling, she began to take deep, bracing breaths. If she had eaten lunch, there was no doubt the meal would have ended up on the library's pristine marble floor by then. Everything felt wrong, out of place.
The chair scraped loudly against the floor as she jumped to her feet, clutching the bundled book to her chest. Then she fled as fast as she could.
She needed to get out.
The library, the courtyard, even the streets passed by in a blur. Her feet carried her straight to the infirmary, a sanctuary amid the day's madness. As she stumbled inside, she quickly took in the sights, sounds and smells. Still the same disinfectant-laden space, unchanged from since she'd scraped her knees as a child. A nearby priest of Oghma directed her to the back rooms where they would be staying in for the duration. Just as she recalled, spare rooms were kept ready there in case of full occupancy at the inn. That happened every year during Midsummer, when Oghmanytes from across the continent would congregate at Candlekeep to celebrate what was a holy day for their church.
Inside the room, eight beds were lined four to a wall. Curtains were installed such that they could be drawn to separate each bed to act as privacy screens. Good enough, Elene thought. She chose the bed furthest from the door and sat, her mind abuzz.
Sarevok murdered Gorion. It was him all along.
All this while, reading his name in letters and notes, and it never occurred to her that the son of Rieltar would dirty his own hands killing an old sage in the wilderness. Elene pulled a hand down her face in agitation. Yet looking at him, it made sense. The height, the bulk, the voice. There was no doubt that he was the man she ran from that awful night. Confronted with certainty of that knowledge, she felt conflicted. Does this change things? Does she now have an obligation to avenge her father?
Does she even want to?
And this doesn't even take into account the rest of his ravings. That he was driven by some preconceived notion that she was somehow like him and therefore a threat? That they were born of chaos? What did any of that even mean?
For a long time, she sat there tormenting herself with thorny questions with no answers in sight. She felt as lost as she did at the Friendly Arm Inn the day after Gorion died. Grasping at straws dangled by someone unseen. She was so absorbed in her thoughts that by the time she lifted her head, her companions were already stepping into the room.
"Lene?" Imoen asked, her posture uncertain. "What's wrong? Ya look like you've just seen a ghost."
She held each of their gazes in turn before breaking the news. "Sarevok Anchev was Gorion's killer."
"Of all the…" Jaheira cursed. A few quick strides later, she was already looming over Elene. "How do you know this? You spoke with him?"
Haltingly, Elene told them of her encounter with the enemy. Described Sarevok in detailed, precise language. Repeated what he told her just as she remembered. Questions were asked, though it frustrated her that she couldn't provide answers for most of them. By the end of her debrief, Imoen had started to look ill while Kivan was shaking his head. Jaheira, Khalid and Kivan merely stood in stony silence, all preoccupied with their own ruminations.
"This…complicates things," Xan admitted at length. "From the sound of it, he almost seemed to be waiting for you. And that he is prepared for us."
"We cannot let him escape. Gorion's death cannot go unavenged," Jaheira declared.
Elene's gaze flickered to Kivan and found him studying her intently. She had a good idea of what he was thinking.
Xan raised a hand to halt the murky turn of the discussion. "We must keep our heads in this. The enemy is aware of our presence. We need to get what we need and get it quickly before he can make his countermove."
Jaheira crossed her arms. "We will only have a small window to do so. The entourage will take lunch within the Inner Keep, with breakfast and dinner at the inn. Winthrop said meals are private affairs, not done in the common room. If we're to corner one of them, we must observe their behaviour, if any of them separate from the group within those time windows."
"We could strike at them within the rooms tonight," Kivan suggested.
"Risky," Imoen bit her lip. "From what we know so far, they're all fighters or spellcasters of some sort. That kinda noise is gonna rouse the whole stretch if we're found out."
"We're not here to cause trouble," Elene reminded them in a quiet voice.
"Then we watch them. We already know they don't leave their meeting from morning to evening, at least," said Xan. "Beyond that, let us observe their patterns, zero in on a target. If there is a window of opportunity tonight, we can improvise how best to tackle…'extraction'."
"Sound suggestion," Jaheira nodded.
"Best start preparing then," Khalid remarked as he went over to his own bed.
"Anyways, food's getting sent over soon, Puffguts said he's handled it." Imoen huffed a small laugh and looked around. "Whew this place brings back memories. Last time I was here, the priests thought I'd broken an ankle from trying to climb the granary."
"Why were you trying to climb the granary?" asked Khalid.
With that, the conversation faded into ambient chatter as Imoen, Khalid, Jaheira and Kivan set out unpacking supplies and making themselves more at home. For a long stretch, Xan stood before Elene hesitating, as if torn between two minds. Then finally, he gazed at her, and he must have seen something in her eyes, for he opted to pull the curtain to conceal them from the others. An enormous surge of affection spread through her as he settled down by her side. He always seemed to know when she needed him most.
"How are you faring?" he asked, concern wrinkling his brows.
"We shouldn't have come," she whispered. "I shouldn't be here."
He reached out and pulled her close. "We're here now. All we need is to keep vigilant and be prepared."
She leaned against him, grateful for the comfort he offered, but had nothing more to say on the matter. His arms tightened around her in understanding and they sat in silence for a long spell. Eventually, her eyes snagged on the discarded grey bundle on the floor, the last vestige of her father left to her. With the recent revelation, she had all but overlooked it. Turning his head slightly, Xan seemed to follow her gaze. He nodded towards the bundle.
"Did you find out what was in there?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Later."
The living needed tending to. The dead could wait.