Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter 42

The unforeseen ally

This was a terrible plan.

Kivan glared from under his hood, wondering why he'd even gone along with it. They knew security would be tight in the city with talk of intrigue and war bandied about every corner. And yet, the group had elected to send him to feel out the west district, not far from the grand bazaar. Risky, perhaps, but they needed a more solid lead to act on the information Tamoko had given. In his view, this was a waste of time. They should have just gone straight for the Iron Throne lead, make them bleed the information they needed. Alas, he had been voted down by Jaheira, Xan, Khalid and Imoen, with Elene oddly on the fence regarding the matter.

Despite their running debates, they all agreed that they needed a way into the Flaming Fist Compound without being clapped in irons. Even after an entire day of listening and enquiring in seedy bars, he hadn't found a way in yet. However, he did catch some interesting chatter. A tale from a local bard, about a Flaming Fist Commander and an ill-fated chase in the rain. It didn't end well for the commander. His corpse was discovered face down with cruel slash marks across his scarred face.

He didn't know the man personally, but Scar didn't deserve to go out like that.

The slam of a door made him glance up from his tankard of ale. Just his luck, a squad of off-duty Fists had decided to spend their evening at this tavern. Kivan repressed a grunt of annoyance. Maybe Xan had a point. Maybe they were cursed.

Forcing himself to remain nonchalant, Kivan took slow sips of his ale even as he watched the group over the rim of the tankard. Although they had come in for a nightcap before retiring for the night, the Fist soldiers looked oddly subdued. They huddled closely together at a table close to the bar, speaking in terse, hushed tones. A patrol, from the look of it. Perhaps the attack on Scar had rattled the ranks.

He finished his drink and stood, taking great care not to jostle his hood. Fortunate that his sketch on their bounty notice was the least accurate among the group, especially without the distinctive ink on his face. He doubted anyone could make him just with a quick look, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Mimicking a slightly tipsy walk, he moved past the table of Fist soldiers. None of them looked up as he passed.

Outside, it had begun to drizzle. Looking both ways, he shoved his hands into his pocket and moved to head east towards the docks. Too late did he notice the clank of heavy armour heading toward him. The Fist ahead of him was clad in standard issue plate mail, the red fist emblazoned on the right breast and a captain's insignia on his right arm. In a split-second decision, he decided to keep moving. Changing direction at the last moment would be far too suspicious. As he was about to pass the Fist, however, the man reached out and grabbed him by the arm.

He started to jerk away. As he looked up, though, he found himself staring at a familiar face.

"You!" Kivan exclaimed in surprise.

Sorrel's cold grey eyes glittered under his hood. "Fancy meeting you here, elf. Where have you been?"

"Out of the city," Kivan replied, then inwardly cursed his stupid answer.

"Well, keep your head down, fool. The whole city's looking for you," Sorrel hissed, pulling him along.

"Are you arresting me?" Kivan tensed, getting ready to bolt.

"For offing the Throne scums?" Sorrel barked a short laugh. "They probably had it coming. Right now, I just want to know what in the Hells is going on!"

Despite his reservations, Kivan allowed himself to be manhandled, Sorrel dragging him to another hole in the wall further east. There was ample space and time for him to make a run for it as they crossed into the slums, but his intuition told him that Sorrel was not after their bounty. Throughout their expedition in the Wood of Sharp Teeth, the Fist had struck him a soldier who only followed orders when it suited him.

They picked a corner booth at a tavern where the ale was likely more water than alcohol. As Sorrel pulled his hood back, Kivan saw that the wound he'd received at the camp had left an impressive scar on his temple. His hair and stubble, though, were near immaculate — standard military issue, just like Scar's had been. Harder for him to find an excuse to avoid upkeep at headquarters than in the wilderness, Kivan suspected.

After their mugs of bitter ale arrived, Kivan shot his companion a suspicious look. "What are you doing here? Aren't you stationed in Beregost?"

"I was," scoffed Sorrel. "Then the Commander got killed and the new one called the heads of garrisons back to the Gate for new orders." His lips curled in disgust. "Turns out Angelo just wanted to flex his manhood for all and sundry. Show everyone who's boss now."

"Who's Angelo?"

"One of Scar's lieutenants." Sorrel knocked back a mouthful of ale before continuing. "There's trouble in the Fist, mate, big trouble. Duke Eltan's fallen sick and Scar was killed, supposedly in a simple robbery but I have my doubts...either way, Angelo took control of the Fist and, with Scar out of the way, there's nothing to stop him! I've seen him paying visits to the Iron Throne, too, and I don't like it one bit."

Kivan stared at him.

This is going to be harder than we thought.

At his aghast expression, Sorrel flashed him a cavalier smile. "There are some of us still loyal to Eltan, though. Lucky for you, I happen to be one of them."

Kivan leaned forward. "What happened to the Duke?"

"Damned if I know. They're keeping him in the middle of Fist headquarters...not even his family get to visit. His healer said it might be something infectious, so only him and a few others are allowed to see him." Sorrel glared. "I smell a rat, though. I just know Angelo is behind this somehow."

Frowning, Kivan recalled Tamoko's warning, that Eltan's inner circle were not who they claimed to be. If doppelgangers had infiltrated the Fist, they needed to get him out of there, and fast. Resting his gaze on Sorrel, he quietly thanked Shevarash for this stroke of luck. It seemed the solution to their problem had presented itself. Although, if they managed to extract Eltan, keeping a sick man like him holed up in a musty warehouse probably would not be a long-term solution.

"If someone were to rescue Eltan, is there a safe place for him to be hidden?" Kivan ventured.

Sorrel cocked his head in interest. "An odd thing to ask. I don't know the man personally, but I noticed he's awful good friends with the Harbourmaster. That old halfling shows up for every single Fist event Eltan throws, so long as there's booze." His shrewd eyes narrowed. "What are you thinking? You don't strike me as the 'rescuing' type."

"I might be. If I could get help," said Kivan, and he let the offer hang in the air between them.

Smirking, Sorrel eyed him in amusement over his tankard. "Oho, sneaky. Not sure if it's a good idea for me to be anywhere near this, though. That's treason. You know what they do to Fists who commit treason?"

"Can't be worse than what happens to Fists sent to war with Amn," Kivan replied.

Sorrel blinked. "How do you know about that?"

"The Iron Throne is behind everything," growled Kivan. "It was them all along. Nashkel, the bandits, the Cloakwood operation. This is what they've been working towards from the start."

"A war? That's crazy talk." Sorrel shook his head. "What good is all that gold from iron trade when you're dead?"

"I don't care if you don't believe me. But if we let this go on, that's what will happen."

Nervously, Sorrel began rubbing at his chin. "Right…look, say I believe you. Do you really think saving Eltan would put a stop to all this? All signs are pointing that way. It's going to be a tough tide to turn, let me tell you."

Kivan shrugged. "Better than doing nothing. Once he's safe, you and his other loyalists can figure out how to undo this damage together."

"That's a fair point, mate," Sorrel conceded at length. As he took a deep breath, a gleam appeared in his eye. The same manic gleam Kivan saw months ago in the Wood of Sharp Teeth just before they kicked off a mad hunt into the night. "What would you need from me?"

"A way in and out. Without bloodshed."

"How soon do you want to move?"

"Tomorrow."

That drew a chuckle out of the man. "Not like it's short notice or anything." Still smiling, he nodded. "Alright, I'll see what I can do. Come find me behind the General Store three lanes away from the compound. I'll see you next eve, around this time." Then he paused before pointing a finger warningly at the elf. "But this conversation never happened."

Kivan nodded. With the rendezvous point agreed, he saw no reason to linger. He stood, dropping a few silvers on the table for his tab. Then he strolled out and back to the safehouse, buoyed by a surge of hope. If anyone could figure out a hare-brained scheme to get into the compound, it would be Sorrel. He'd been a solid ally in their hunt for bandits, adaptable in planning and wily in battle. Clearly his promotion to captain hadn't dulled any of that predatory edge.

Once safely in their quarters, Jaheira watched him in disbelief after he shared his fortuitous meeting with the group. Now, Kivan was not a petty man. Yet for some reason, him returning with such a fantastic lead when she had come up blank was disproportionately satisfying.

"Can he be trusted?" Jaheira prompted after a long pause.

"Seems that way." He glanced at Elene. "He doesn't think highly of the new commander."

Elene's brows furrowed in thought. "Angelo? The name doesn't ring a bell."

"If I were a Fist, I wouldn't put my name in any correspondence with the Throne," Xan remarked.

"Fair point." Elene returned to the involved task of polishing her many sharp implements. "Best be prepared for an extraction tomorrow then."

Kivan stepped away from his perch against the wall and moved off to the rafters. Time to slip a few hours of reverie in. His blood grew hot at the idea of snatching Eltan out from under the noses of Sarevok's men. Even if Tamoko was lying about Duke Eltan's condition, there was no downside to this plan, he realised. He was not well-versed in politics, but even he knew having a Grand Duke indebted to them would help turn the tide in their favour.

The following day was almost pleasant compared to the days preceding it. After all, it was the first time in ages that they'd had a solid lead to go on. Especially when Husam's clandestine poking about confirmed that the Harbourmaster was in fact a strong ally of the duke and could be relied on to keep him safe. The party whiled the hours discussing team composition, tactics, and spells. Stealth would be of essence, so it was a given that he would be part of the infiltration team along with Elene and Imoen. The three of them teaming up with Sorrel would have to be enough. The whole point was to get in and out without raising any alarms.

But they had to be prepared for the worst.

After dark, they split into two groups, leaving the safehouse at different times. Kivan found himself walking behind Elene and Imoen, both girls eschewing any magical disguise to conserve their spells for the night. Instead, they walked in the shadows as much as possible, mindful of prying eyes. Khalid, Jaheira and Xan would seek out the Harbourmaster to secure his assistance.

The journey turned out to be uneventful. Imoen made herself scarce to scout the vicinity before they approached the meeting place. Not a single Fist patrol in sight. It seemed Sorrel was good for his word. For the moment, at least.

Sorrel was in full regalia when they saw him, waiting at the designated spot as promised. He looked at ease, appearing to be watching the street with bored nonchalance. Looking a bit closer though, Kivan noticed his fingers were twitching in agitation. The Fist gave Elene and Imoen a casual once-over as they approached.

"Elene, Imoen." He smirked at Elene. "Try to keep the fireworks to a minimum this time. Don't want to burn the whole compound down."

Elene chuckled awkwardly at the reminder. "I'll try not to."

"There's a way in through the compound cellar. We need to get in through the grate there. I'll talk through the plan as we walk," Sorrel jerked his chin to a sewer entrance.

"Oh, joy," muttered Imoen.

"You want to rescue a duke or not?"

"We'll follow your lead," Elene stepped in smoothly.

Sorrel nodded. "This way then."

As they traversed the dank tunnels of the sewers, Sorrel outlined the plan. While he could lead them to where Eltan was being kept, stealth would be of essence. The sentry on guard that night would be conveniently absent, a bad case of the runs, Sorrel told them with a smirk. Any distraction he could stir up after to cover their exit would be brief, so they'd have to make every second count. He left it up to them how they were planning to get Eltan out. He apparently hadn't thought that far ahead, which drew a soft laugh from Elene.

"Don't worry, we can handle that," she assured him.

He glanced at her curiously. "When did you get all sage and wise?"

Her answering smile was enigmatic.

The door to the compound cellar opened with a hideous creak, drawing a wince from Sorrel. Elene, Imoen and Kivan swallowed their invisibility potions, portioned out just enough for a short venture. Sorrel's heavy armour became a hidden blessing, as his loud steps and clanking pieces did more than enough to hide their own footsteps close behind. Kivan remained the furthest away, but he could hear the rustling of Elene's scabbard against her clothes in front of him. Good thing humans weren't built to be so sensitive to sound.

Sorrel saluted the smattering of Fists about as he saw them, looking very much like he belonged on that side of the compound. The Duke's quarters were above the barracks, a private floor restricted to only a few.

"Hail, Officer. Whatchu doing here this time o' night?" called out one of the guards.

"I'm stuck here in case you've forgotten. I'm open to suggestions," Sorrel shot back dryly, sidestepping the question.

Snickers followed him as he made a beeline to the barracks. Before he turned the corner, he flicked a glance towards the stairwell. Kivan moved as directed, noting that beyond the guards stationed at the hall, the area was deserted. Sorrel was right about the sentry being conveniently absent. Odd that they only saw fit to put one sentry on guard. Given what happened to Duke Silvershield, he would have expected tighter security around Eltan, especially in his vulnerable state. After some fumbling, he caught hold of an invisible shoulder. From the brush of hardened leather against his fingers, he identified Imoen.

"This way. Lene's in front," Imoen's disembodied whisper confirmed his guess.

The candelabras had been dimmed, he noticed, the space appearing unusually dark for a human dwelling. It reminded him of the Seven Suns building, and he recalled all too well what happened there. Imoen paused in front of him, and they stood unmoving for a few moments listening. Nothing. And then, coughing. A male cough, coming from further down the hallway. Imoen tapped his hand on her shoulder and began to advance toward the sound.

They reached a room at the end, with its door slightly ajar. Ten paces away from the door, Imoen stopped again. She placed her hand on his again, but this time kept it there. Hold. Kivan took a breath. That meant Elene had gone over to peer into the room. From here on, he would have to follow her cue. If there was no other obstacle, Elene could shrink Eltan to less than half his size and weight with a spell and carry him out herself if she needed to. A straightforward extraction if all went according to plan.

So, of course, there had to be a fly in the ointment.

A voice sounded from the room. A man. Kivan didn't quite catch what was said, but he clenched his jaw as the words trail off into a recognisable hiss. A doppelganger.

Rustling drew his attention to the empty space before him. After a moment, Imoen tapped his hand, and snuck forward. He unslung his bow from his shoulder in preparation. He had a good idea where this was headed. With luck, they could finish the creature off quickly, and that it was alone. Without luck, they'd be facing down another horde of doppelgangers.

He squeezed Imoen's shoulder, signalling a halt. Then he slinked over to the crack in the door. His shoulder bumped against an unseen obstacle as he approached. After a moment's hesitation, Elene moved over to give him space.

Peering in, he could see a balding man stand over Duke Eltan, who lay frail in bed. It was a spacious room meant to keep the occupant comfortable, yet no one had bothered to light the fireplace to warm the room. The duke himself seemed half-conscious, blinking weakly up at the man. The scene looked…predatory somehow, like a tormentor leering over his victim in the gloom.

Fingers scrabbled at his back, then Elene's hand moved to his shoulder and tugged slightly. He pulled back, letting her lead.

The door creaked as it eased open. Turning, the man, or most likely the doppelganger, frowned as he saw no one there. He stepped away from the bed to investigate. As quietly as possible, Kivan pulled an arrow from his quiver, his hand moving on pure muscle memory. He could almost feel the charge build in the air as the man approached, his eyes flicking this way and that, trying to figure out what caused the door to push in without anyone on the other side.

Without warning, the man shrieked, an inhuman sound, then doubled over in pain. Elene materialised behind him, one hand on his shoulder, the other likely twisting the knife in the creature's back. Despite his surprise, Kivan finished him off with an arrow through the throat.

He rushed into the room as the man fell over. After a breathless moment, the figure shortened in height, its skin receding into an unearthly grey as the doppelganger reverted into its true form in death. Kivan breathed a sigh in relief. He didn't expect Elene to knife him without warning – they'd had no idea if the man was truly a doppelganger. Fortunately, her instincts were correct.

"Quickly, someone would have heard that," Elene hissed, then moved to speak to the semi-conscious Duke. "My lord, it's me, Elene. Don't move, we're getting you out of here."

Kivan moved to the window as Elene started working her magic on Eltan. About three stories up, by his estimation. A long fall but one they were prepared for. Unfortunately, the window from this room faced the inner courtyard crawling with Fists. He slung his bow over his shoulder and went off to explore the other side of the floor, flicking a curious glance at Elene as she carried a child-sized Duke Eltan over one shoulder.

Luck truly was smiling down on them that night. The window on the other side faced the outer wall. Jumping from there would require some agility to adjust for the angle, thought the drop would put them in a position to land outside the compound. Kivan glanced below. The guard stationed at the bottom would surely see them. All the more reason why they had to move quickly.

"Here?" Elene asked.

He nodded.

She looked to Imoen. "Im?"

"Sure thing," Imoen chirped as she whipped out a scroll.

Kivan glanced towards the foyer as she cast the spell. Footsteps were fast approaching. He was almost disappointed that it had taken the Fists that long to respond to the doppelganger's death cry. Did Sorrel have something to do with it? Then there was no time to wonder further. Once the spell settled over them, he watched as Elene climbed onto the window ledge, carefully balancing Eltan on her shoulder. With a final nod toward him, she plunged over the side aiming for the slanted roof on the side of the compound.

Kivan peered down and saw her wobble for a moment before steadying herself. He paused for a breath, observing her as she cast another spell to quickly materialise on the rooftop of a store not far away, flashing out of the reach of any pursuers. Then he was off over the side, aiming for a spot away from where Elene had landed. Shouts rang out from below. He didn't hesitate, bolting towards a parapet before vaulting over the stone wall, trusting that Imoen would be able to follow. The spell cushioned his landing, and he only needed a second to recover before he was tearing through the streets, away from Elene to divert attention from her. Just in time, he could hear whistling coming from the compound, the signs of an alarm being raised.

Once he'd hit a dark alley, though, it was child's play to melt into the shadows and disappear. He tracked back to the sewer entrance in stealth, his breath slowly coming back to a baseline as he walked. Once safe in the bowels of the city, he slogged through the watery tunnels to their agreed meeting point.

Elene looked up as he approached, none the worse for wear, with the duke propped up against a dry section of the tunnel. He had to admit, the speed with which she'd made her escape was truly impressive. The Fists on guard had only noticed there were intruders when he had made the jump.

"Where's Imoen?" she asked.

"Right here!" Imoen materialised, huffing and puffing. "I tell ya, for such a big guy, you run fast!"

A small smile pulled at Kivan's lips, one he exchanged with Elene before they moved east through the sewer tunnels, keeping their pace slow to avoid jostling the duke too much. Kivan acted as the mule for the journey, having no trouble carrying the duke, who weighed about as much as a small child. Carrion crawlers lurked in some of the tunnels. Fortunately, Elene managed to root them out quickly as she scouted ahead with Imoen. Hours passed before the water level began to rise slightly, a sign that they were reaching the harbours where the water in the sewers eventually drained out to.

With an almighty push, Elene shifted the grate outward for their exit. The cool night air was a blessing, Kivan though, his nose already beginning to lose its sense of smell from being in filth for so long. It was worth it, though. They'd made it to their destination in one piece.

Khalid cut a welcome figure just outside the sewer exit, smiling as he saw Elene. His gaze zeroed in on the sick man in their midst.

"Come," he beckoned them over. "Just over here."

Elene stepped close to Kivan and wove an illusion around his passenger, making Eltan appear to be an unusually large parcel. A handy ability, one she was becoming more confident in using. Khalid led them to a warehouse not far from the sprawling Temple of Umberlee. This late at night, there was not a soul about. Hopefully the Fists were still busy chasing their shadows in the west.

The place was deserted when they arrived, a rickety wooden building with crates stacked to the heavens everywhere you looked. Everything smelled of shaved wood and dust, making Kivan's nose itch. His hackles rose at the unusual silence, but Khalid gave him a reassuring look. He and Jaheira must have inspected the place beforehand.

Jaheira and Xan were in discussion with a halfling man. An aged halfling, but a well-to-do one, judging from the gold clasp on his cloak and the flash of gold on his fingers. The halfling looked over when they arrived, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Where is he?" Jaheira asked immediately.

"Right here," Elene said, dispelling the illusion with a quick wave.

Once he caught sight of a pale, bundled up Eltan, the halfling let out a cry of dismay and reached for his friend. "Eltan! What happened to him?"

"Poisoned," Elene answered firmly. "His 'healer', Rashad, was a doppelganger. He's been slipping a nightshade compound into Eltan's drink for weeks. A slow acting poison that attacked the nerves. He needs an antidote, fast."

The halfling squinted at her. "He told you this?"

Elene glanced at the unconscious Eltan. "He mentioned it when he stirred just now, in not so many words. Also…I sensed it. The poison. It's like black ichor in his system."

Jaheira's eyes darted to her. She remained silent, but Kivan could see the concern in her eyes.

"Well, you brought him to the right place," the halfling nodded assertively. "I'll see to it he gets the best care possible. The best priest money can buy. But the point stands. Who could have done such a thing?"

"The same people who killed Duke Silvershield, I'd wager," Elene said quietly.

The halfling's features darkened. "Careful there, lass. You're implying someone attempted a coup."

"It wouldn't be an 'attempt' if it succeeds. And it may yet succeed," Xan remarked.

"By Tymora, you're serious, aren't you?" The halfling reeled. "All the more reason I need to get him out of here. Tomas, help me take him. We're keeping him somewhere safe."

A man stepped away from his perch on the crates. Kivan handed Eltan over, feeling relieved that their part of the task had gone according to plan, at least. Now they had to trust that this halfling, the city's Harbourmaster would stay true to his word and use his considerable resources to keep the man safe from their enemies.

"Thank you, friends. I will remember this. And once Eltan gets back on his feet, I'll make sure he does, too."

The halfling pumped Jaheira's hands vigorously in a grateful handshake before taking his leave with the still unconscious Eltan. They waited until he had exited the building entirely before converging towards Elene.

Jaheira started in first, with narrowed eyes. "How did you sense poison in his system?"

"I…tried to help. To neutralise the damage with my ability. It worked a little bit, but there's a lot of it in his blood." Elene shook her head. "He woke up after I healed him. Talked about Rashad, what he'd done, before losing strength. If we'd been just a few days later, he would have been beyond help."

Imoen bit her lip. "Do you think the Harbourmaster is gonna be able to patch him up? I dunno, he looked pretty rough."

"Time will tell," Jaheira replied. "What's important is we got him out in time."

"Now what?" Kivan prompted, impatience creeping into his tone.

"Now?" Elene turned to him. "We go after Sarevok proper."

Her eyes flashed as she spoke, certainty clear in her voice. Kivan almost smiled. Finally. No more quests, no more running about, no more cobbling together questionable allies. It was time to move in for the kill.

.

.

Author's Note:

Fun fact, Sorrel is a real NPC in the game: he's the friendly Flaming Fist who warns you of recent goings-on outside the Three Old Kegs in Chapter 7. I've always written him with this role in mind, though the fellow somehow developed a character voice of his own along the way.

Also, wanted to pipe up and mention that there's six more chapters left in this story – four main story chapters and two shorter chapters serving as the epilogue. For all intents and purposes, the writing is done, just a bit of touch-up maybe on Chapters 47 and 48, but I will maintain the weekly posting schedule as it's become something of a nice routine for me :)

Hope you're still enjoying the story, galloping swiftly on toward the endgame.

Many thanks to my beta Odivallus.