Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter 41

The turncoat

Xan sat back, shaking his head slightly at the unfolding scene. Kivan struggled as he was hauled back by two men, cursing Coran and all his ancestors in both Common and elvish. Imoen stood anxiously to one side, throwing nervous glances back and forth between the two elves, not knowing what to do with her hands. In contrast, Coran dropped himself into a chair, rubbing gingerly at his cheek. It was probably going to swell up quite magnificently after the punch Kivan threw.

Pity he didn't lose any teeth.

"Are we quite done?" one of the hooded men asked, impatience in every line of his posture.

"Yes, yes, a bit of theatrics." Coran waved him off, still rubbing at the sore spot. "Just let me do the explaining, alright." Then he gestured to Imoen. "Flower, sit down. I'll tell you everything. It really isn't what you think."

Imoen relented, picking a nearby crate to sit on, joining the rest of her companions scattered across the storage room. Coran and his shadowy friends had brought them to a warehouse at the docks, not far from the Low Lantern Tavern. As they made their way to this safehouse, Xan would have liked to throw a spell and try to give the rest a chance to make a run for it, but one of the thugs walked the entire way draped over Elene, a knife pressed against her side. He didn't dare risk it.

Shifting his attention back to Coran's face, he saw weariness that hadn't been there before. The rogue was still dressed in the finest leather, with gold lining his ears and even fingers now, yet he seemed like a different man.

"First off," Coran began, "I'm not working with the Fists. I'd jump into the sea before that happened. So, you lot don't have to worry about being sent to the brig."

"Then tell us, what do we need to worry about?" Jaheira asked, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

Coran raised a hand. "Hang on, I'm getting there. When we met in Cloakwood, I was under the employ of Aldeth. What I didn't tell you was, I had my own reasons to make sure he made it out alive." He sighed. "You see, I'd fallen into debt with the thieves' guild. Narlen and his bunch. They took care of a…problem I had with this bastard of a wizard, and I had no means to pay them other than in service."

"Why did they care what happened to Aldeth?" asked Elene.

"He's important for the city's trade, a counterweight to the other merchant houses. With the rumblings in the Seven Suns, the guild wanted to make sure Aldeth remained a constant. The guild isn't just about burglars and cutpurses in this city, you know." His statement was punctuated with an enigmatic smile. "I did my part, paid off the debt and thanks to your help, I'm a free man."

"Good for you," Xan muttered.

Coran ignored him. "Then you sent that note asking for help into the city. Put me in a right bind, let me tell you. Bad things have been happening since you lot left. Dukes and commanders being murdered, talk of war in every tavern. You're right, something has to be done. So I…called in for help. Narlen wasn't having any of it, so I got his…associate instead."

Xan's eyes flicked over to assess the hooded men in the room, all eight of them. "What is their price?"

Coran looked to the man on his right. "Maybe I'll let you explain this part."

Nodding, the man turned to face Elene. Then he dropped his hood and pulled away the face covering concealing the bottom half of his face. Elene jerked back in surprise as she took in the man's reddish hair and tanned skin, and out of the corner of Xan's eye, he saw Kivan react the same.

"Husam?" she asked in bewilderment.

"Greetings, Helene. Or rather, Elene," smiled the man called Husam as he bowed his head slightly. "Were that we could meet each other again in better circumstances."

Elene sized him up, still looking like the wind got knocked out of her. "You sound…different."

"I would imagine so." He cocked his head at her. "I'm no longer playing the part of a drunken degenerate. I apologise for the charade, but we weren't sure of your true motives. We just wanted to make sure the right information got to you in time."

"Who do you really work for?" she asked.

Husam smirked. "And there you finally ask the right question. You've heard of the assassination of Duke Silvershield, I trust?"

Elene nodded, some understanding beginning to seep into her features.

"The hit was deliberately obvious, unnecessarily bloody." Husam shook his head. "I can assure you the Shadow Thieves had nothing to do with it. The Zhentarim may have taken the smear against their name in stride, but my employers will not. We want the true perpetrators found and subjected to our justice."

"This is the type of justice that involves pulled fingernails, I take it?" Xan asked.

Husam's lips quirked. "Something like that."

He resisted the urge to curl his own lips in disgust. As a rule, he found such methods distasteful, yet clearly others glorified in it. Elene looked over to where Kivan was being restrained. The two of them appeared shaken by this new development. Their 'friendly drunk' contact was a Shadow Thief of Amn all along.

Xan's head spun at the number of players in this game.

How do we keep track of them all? So many moves and countermoves.

"What do you want with us then?" Jaheira wanted to know.

"First, I want to know where you stand in this." Husam looked to Elene. "Are you an agent of Amn?"

"No," she answered immediately.

"What's your beef with Anchev?" he pressed further.

"He has beef with me," she corrected him mildly. "He needed a scapegoat to throw under the cart. I'm the convenient fool of the day, just like the Zhentarim." She ducked her head slightly. "And your employers, of course."

"So, you're back in the city to what? Clear your name?"

She shot him a cool look. "Something like that."

His smile then became a mixture of surprise and entertainment. "Interesting. Not to be cliché, but you know what they say about the enemy of my enemy."

"It would be a stretch to call your group and ours friends," Jaheira groused.

"Not yet, perhaps," shrugged Husam. "But friendships have been built on less. I would like to propose a collaboration if you would hear me out."

"And if we choose not to hear you out?" asked the druid.

He gave her a calculative smile. "Well then. I hear the Flaming Fist are quite keen to get a hold of you."

Crossing his arms, he let the implied threat hang in the air. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, Xan thought. Without Eltan and Scar there to support them, they'd be facing the noose for certain. He glared in the impasse between the two groups. He'd warned them of the folly of rushing back into the fray while the accusations were still hot, yet Elene and Kivan have long ventured past the auspices of reason. Dragging the rest of them into this mess.

"What are you proposing then?" asked Elene.

"See, the thing is, we have information. Drips of rumours keep trickling in every day, all sorts of news. But the network I have here is small, and we're stretched thin now that Ravenscar and his boys want nothing to do with us." Husam paused to give her a meaningful look. "What we really need right now is someone to do the legwork."

"A bit hard to do given we're all wanted fugitives," Jaheira pointed out.

"Never stopped you before," Husam nodded at Elene. "We can get you disguises, let you use this safehouse, find you hidden routes. You get to go after Anchev and his empire and do what you need to do. In return, we want you to help us find who took the hit on Silvershield. Then you'll help us send those bastards to the fugue plane."

Elene raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"

"That's it."

"What makes ya think Sarevok is linked to this assassination, though?" Imoen asked.

Husam's expression turned wry. "A leadership seat empties just as he makes his play for it? The people of the Gate may be fools, but rest assured we are not. The threads linking these events are there, we only need to find them."

Silence descended on the room. Xan wished they could have a chance to discuss this offer. Although they didn't have much of a choice, they needed to be careful about associating with Shadow Thieves. He'd heard enough about them to know that their help always came with strings. No matter what Coran claimed, he doubted that his kinsman had truly freed himself of their hold. He hadn't betrayed them in the strictest sense, but they may end up being bound to these unscrupulous men for the longer term if they weren't careful.

Especially Elene. This Husam seemed to take great interest in her.

"We agree to your terms," Elene said quietly.

Jaheira shot up from her seat, eyes flashing. "Elene, we need to talk about this."

"What's there to talk about?" She turned towards Jaheira. "If we don't agree, we end up with the Fists. Husam is offering support. It's a sight better than what others have been able to offer, don't you think?"

The last statement was made innocuously, but it must have hit Jaheira like a punch in the gut. Her righteous indignation seemed to deflate at the reminder of how her precious Harpers had refused their request for aid. It must gnaw at her so. Xan couldn't quite understand her reaction, as he'd expected their uncooperative response. He'd always operated under the assumption that the Greycloaks would hang him out to dry if the situation called for it. For them, no sacrifice was too big for Evereska.

"Very well," Jaheira replied, settling back down.

"Excellent." Husam clasped his hands together. "You can stay here then. The room over there has enough space to lay out your bedrolls and supplies. You're free to come and go as you please, but let's agree on the plan first."

As they huddled close to discuss strategy, Xan sniffed the air, resigned to the fact that they'd be stuck in this musty, cramped warehouse for the foreseeable future. He would need to keep a steady store of disguise and illusory spells in the coming days if they were to navigate the city unmolested. Hopefully they wouldn't need to venture out too much.

The next hour was an exercise of both planning and careful negotiation. While they were technically at the mercy of these thieves, Jaheira had no intention of letting their group get pushed around. Especially since Husam and his group didn't have much new light to shed beyond what Delthyr of the Harpers had already told them. In the end, a tenuous truce was formed. Husam would continue with intelligence gathering on Duke Eltan and his condition, while their party would focus on watching the Iron Throne base. Somehow, Xan suspected the two leads would converge one way or another. Eltan may be aged, but nothing about his bearing when they'd met indicated he was close to becoming an infirm as rumours suggested.

As discussions concluded for the night, Coran pulled Imoen aside. He took her beating gamely, then the two moved off to a corner to continue their hushed discussion. Despite his reluctance, Coran had agreed to help them. He would ensure that Aldeth knew of Sarevok's plans and try to influence more of the noble circles to not put Sarevok's name on their ballot.

Can he do that in a tenday, though? Time is running out.

As for him, he wondered again what he was doing there. Logically, he should have parted ways with Jaheira and her group right there outside Candlekeep. He'd gotten what he needed. He knew what he needed to report on.

And yet, there he was. Right in the thick of it.

He found himself wandering over to the high rafters in the warehouse in search of solace. The space was dusty from disuse. Due to the slats carved into the walls, though, it was a convenient vantage point to look outside without passers-by spotting them within. Lately, he'd spent his nights grasping the hilt of his moonblade, almost willing the sentient sword for answers. But as usual, the sword offered him no sign. The only sign he could take was that he was still breathing, so he wasn't doing anything wrong, at least. Whatever their differences, he knew that he travelled with a group of good men and women. They were all trying to do the right thing, in their own ways. He couldn't in good conscience abandon them to such injustice.

Small comfort.

Just as he mulled over their current predicament, the floorboards behind him began to creak. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Elene approaching, her expression thoughtful. She lingered by the slats and gazed down into the streets below.

He followed her gaze, then they settled into an awkward silence.

So many times, in recent days, he wanted nothing more than to reach over and pull her close. She was in pain, he knew. He could see it in the shadows under her eyes, the grim pull of her mouth. To find out the truth and have the ground fall out from under her in such a manner…all things considered, she was coping. What worried him was her method of coping was far too much like Kivan's. Decisions made on instinct often did not stand the test of time.

"Husam is going to get some spell components for us. Especially for the illusion spells," she said at last.

"Not at a mark-up, I hope," he remarked with a mild tone.

An annoyed huff was her response. "He'd better not."

Nodding, he remained silent, his features an impassive mask. She peered at him, as if expecting another response. In truth, he had something to say, and even more questions to ask. Yet he didn't know how to broach the subject without unravelling the nature of his own mission. That was a jar of worms he didn't want to open, in large part because he himself did not know how to deal with the matter. He refused to put that on her shoulder on top of everything else.

"I'll…see you in the morning," she said, disappointment colouring her voice. Then she was gone.

Pulling his cloak closer, he shifted to make himself more comfortable. Not that physical comfort would provide much of a bastion against his self-imposed misery. Although Husam had guaranteed that their temporary accommodation was safe, he was not going to take any chances. It was going to be a long night.

They remained closeted indoors until the next evening. Kivan had grown increasingly agitated as the day wore on, the man pacing up a storm at every vacant floorspace he could find, with Elene watching him go round and round like a caged panther in silence. Husam came through, at least, making sure that they had fresh food and water from the nearby taverns. Of course, he and Jaheira took turns to check for poison. No matter what the man said, they weren't quite so naïve to put full trust in a band of thieves.

Three bells after sunset, though, they slipped out of the warehouse in twos. Khalid and Jaheira in crafty disguises would venture toward the merchant quarter to meet with Coran, while the rest would focus on casing the Iron Throne base from two vantage points. Elene, Xan and Imoen moved under the cover of illusions, while Kivan merely kept his face clear of ink, which in itself was a marked change from his usual appearance.

Shevarash's followers wore symbolic ink on their bodies when they were on the hunt, Xan knew. They reapply the ink every morning with prayers, so that the elven God of vengeance may bless their hunt and bring them closer to their quarry. Only the most hardcore of His followers opted to ink their faces every day without fail, though. Another instance of tradition getting in the way of pragmatism. Something they simply did not have the time for in the current situation. It took the combined effort of Jaheira, Elene and himself to convince Kivan to start the day without his ink.

Imoen cocked her head at him as they walked. "Never realised ya had a cleft in yer chin."

Kivan sighed, the sound of one who has suffered long.

In twos, they split up past Jopalin's Tavern, where Elene pointed out they'd met Husam the first time. Kivan led him to another warehouse, this one with scaffolding erected on one face of the building overlooking the Iron Throne base. As he clambered up the wooden platforms, he was glad he'd left his robes behind, sticking to unassuming shirt and trousers. Combined with his magic, he looked like a youthful human miscreant out to sip some night air, nothing more.

A chill ran through him looking at the imposing stone structure of their enemy's headquarters. The last time they'd been inside, both he and Elene had nearly gotten killed. He still felt the phantom pain of the poisoned stab wound on cold nights. Frowning, he wondered how they were going to approach this obstacle this time around. Surely Sarevok would have nasty surprises lying in wait.

"The upper floors look…deserted," Kivan spoke up.

Xan squinted. "It is late at night."

"It wasn't when we last watched this place. Those floors only empty out after twelfth bell."

Now that his companion pointed it out, the building did look darker and emptier from what he remembered. The lights were barely lit at the topmost floor, where the offices were. Granted, that may be because two of the three Throne leaders were no longer using the space after their demise, but one would have thought work would have already started on bringing in replacement or support to run the sprawling business in moving forward.

If that wasn't odd enough, there was only one guard on patrol outside. Surely after the recent break-in, they should be fortifying security, not relaxing it. Unless…Xan exhaled slowly. Unless it was an implied invitation for the culprits to try again.

They must be careful not to fall into another trap so readily.

Hours passed from there, with both men only speaking when necessary. As a ranger, Kivan's home was in the wilds, but his sharp senses and observant nature made him uniquely suited for reconnaissance work. His ability to read a situation seemed borne of experience, a stark contrast to Xan, who learned most stratagem from meticulous tutelage. The more time he spent with Kivan, the more he began to appreciate his approach. Perhaps Evereska could in fact learn from their kin in Shilmista. Brothers they may be, but the two elven kingdoms barely made contact with one another despite their proximity. Kivan was in fact the first Shilmistan Xan had ever met. He wondered if the rest of his brethren were similar to the dour ranger, or he was a special case.

After a while, Xan's gaze started drifting towards the streets, looking for signs of Elene and Imoen. He hoped they'd had more luck in their search. Otherwise, they didn't have much else to go on. How would Elene deal with this setback, he wondered.

"She's still the same person."

Xan looked up at Kivan in surprise. "I beg your pardon?"

"Elene," Kivan said slowly, as if speaking to an idiot. "She's still the person we know."

"That's fairly obvious," Xan replied in kind.

That earned him a suspicious glance. "You're not treating her the same, though."

"Not sure how that's any of your business." He winced at how defensive he sounded even to his own ears.

Kivan sighed. "I never figured you for a fool."

Xan glared at him. "You're telling me it doesn't affect you at all? Not even one bit?"

"It did at first." Then he shrugged. "After talking to her….it made me wonder why I should care about who her father was. It didn't shape who she is now."

"No? What about her killing instincts?"

"She's been getting that under control."

Unconvinced, Xan pressed on. "Her abilities?"

"She used them to heal. To survive. If she hadn't used them on me, I'd be dead." He scoffed. "I doubt she's going to change now just because she knows where those powers come from. Only her actions matter and should matter to us."

A novel approach, Xan thought. As much as Kivan stood away from him and the rest for the most part, the ranger was in fact the best judge of character precisely because he only relied on things he could see and hear. Sometimes relying on one's senses and instinct was enough.

He wished he could do the same.

"So you say. But what of this sudden drive for vengeance of hers?"

"What of it? She deserves penance for what was done to her. Judge her for what she does only when she faces her enemy." Kivan waved a hand. "She will always be a woman of reason."

And a woman who can inspire loyalty, it seems.

Xan peered at him curiously. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you're overthinking." He gave him a pointed look. "I can hear it from here."

"Unlike you, I don't have much of a reason to be involved in all this anymore," he pointed out.

"But you do." Kivan glanced over to the direction Elene and Imoen had ventured off to earlier. His meaning was clear.

Xan looked away, a coil of uncertainty stirring in his chest. He hated facing people skilled in the use of intuition. They had a wicked habit of putting a mirror in front of you when you least wanted to see the truth.

"Look." Kivan jutted his chin at two figures heading toward Jopalin's Tavern.

Xan peered at the street below, grateful for the interruption. "They don't appear to be followed."

Kivan eased back to his feet as a response. Grunting, Xan followed suit, shaking the stiffness in his limbs from sitting idle for hours. The climb down was quick, though a bit louder than he would have liked due to the creaking platforms. Briefly, he wondered if he was getting too old for all this sneaking and climbing. Like shadows the two men converged with Elene and Imoen returning from their investigation on the ground.

It took some effort to avoid blinking when he looked at his two companions. Imoen opted to look like a young blonde woman of light build while Elene was a half-elven woman with startling similarity to Coran. If he hadn't recognised their gait from afar, he would have walked right past them none the wiser.

"Let's head back," said Elene as she moved past, not slowing her pace.

As they left the warehouse, though, a figure waved at them from the alley a few dozen paces away. The group came to a jarring halt. A woman in dark tinted armour, her hair the deepest black, cocked her head in greeting toward Elene. She had exotic features; pale skinned with almond eyes – not commonly found in the Gate. Xan's hand strayed instinctively to his belt of spell components.

"Good evening," said the woman, her voice small and sweet despite the bulk of armour she carried.

"Good evening," Elene replied cautiously.

The woman smiled. "You do not look as I remember, but I know it is you, Elene."

No illusion could hide the tensing of Elene's shoulders, her body coiled as though preparing to strike. "Is this where the guards come to take me away?"

"No. That is not my intent." She put a hand to her chest. "My name is Tamoko. I come to you as a friend."

"Friends are in short supply these days," Elene commented.

"Indeed." Tamoko's smile didn't change. "Yet you only need one or two who truly matter. Will you listen to what I have to say?"

Elene looked to Xan. Noticing the lack of people in the vicinity nor any traces of magic in the air, he nodded with some reluctance. The four of them approached Tamoko, their hands not far from their weapons. If she noticed it, she passed no remark. She seemed utterly untroubled for someone meeting four strangers in a dark alley, which made Xan think that she could likely hold her own against them.

Tamoko raised a hand. "First, I must ask for a favour."

"Then ask," Kivan grunted.

"Sarevok has wronged you, but I ask that you get to know the man you pursue. And judge him fairly."

"He's been trying to kill me for months. What else is there to know?" Elene asked sharply.

"My information is contingent on this promise. I only ask for this one thing."

"Why?"

Tamoko stood silent and unmoving, her eyes glinting in the dark.

"You…" Elene stared at her in disbelief, then took a deep breath to steady herself. "…fine."

Xan didn't miss the exasperated look Kivan shot her at that.

"I thank you. Time is short, so I will tell you this." Tamoko glanced towards the Iron Throne building. "You seek a woman named Cythandria within. She holds Sarevok's trust, as well as his most sacred possessions. Find her and you will find your answers. I would also ask that you eliminate her for me, quickly, as you would draw poison from a wound."

"Who is she?" Elene wanted to know.

Tamoko raised a hand. "I cannot say more. You mentioned friends earlier. I know you count Duke Eltan as one of them." A frown marred her delicate features. "He is in grave danger. Those in his inner circle are not who they claim to be. He will not outlast the month if nothing is done."

Elene stared at her. "How do you know all this?"

"It matters not. What matters is what you do with this information, hmm?" she asked, again with the enigmatic smile. "I have given you what I can. Will you let me pass?"

For the longest time, Elene watched her without saying a word. And then, she asked, "I will, if you tell me how you knew it was me beneath this disguise."

Tamoko's smile turned sad. "You are like him, Elene. Your spark burns brighter than any star, for those who know what to look for. And yet, despite what you share, you are also nothing like him. Which is why I reach out to you now. Do you understand?"

"You want me to stop him," said Elene, her tone flat.

"He may yet be saved from his folly." Tamoko then tilted her head politely. "Will you let me pass?"

Wordlessly, Elene stepped aside to give the other woman a wide berth. Kivan wanted to protest, but Xan's grip on his arm halted him. Tamoko appeared harmless, yet they were too close to the Iron Throne building to be able to risk a confrontation. Any pursuit that could trace them back to the safehouse would endanger the entire operation. Whoever this woman was, she must have considered that in deciding to approach them there.

Once Tamoko was out of sight, the group stuck to shadowed alleys and small lanes, Imoen in particularly constantly checking above and over her shoulder for tails. Yet no one followed. In their paranoia, they split up and scattered for hours before returning to the safehouse one by one to be sure. Khalid and Jaheira were already waiting.

They didn't rest much that night, poring through the new information they'd gathered. With a stroke of luck, they'd netted two clear leads: rescue Duke Eltan and strike at Cythandria of the Iron Throne. Husam and Coran would help them validate what they could. By morning, Xan felt a glimmer of hope for once in many days.

After weeks on being on the defensive, they finally had a plan of attack.