Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Chapter 43
The making of a monster
Elene squared her shoulders, not changing her pace or expression. Behind her, she could hear the others keep in step with her, none of them hesitating as they approached a man and a woman chatting quietly near the stairwell. Without the iron decor and paintings, the foyer was barren compared to the last time she'd been there, more utilitarian than before. Sarevok remaking the place in his image, she thought. She would have expected more people loitering about the ground floor of the Iron Throne building, yet the place seemed almost deserted.
Coming closer, she noticed that the two people present were not guards. They looked like clerks based on their attire, and the nervous glances they cast on the armed group heading towards them.
"May we help you?" the woman asked.
Elene gave her a curt nod, confident in the magical guise concealing her true features. "Our employer is owed money. We're here to deliver a writ of claim. To whom may we speak on this?"
The lie rolled off her tongue with ease. Husam and Coran's combined efforts had unearthed that the Iron Throne had begun to fall into arrears, missing a few key payments to suppliers in the past weeks. This finding was further validated when the two Throne employees exchanged resigned looks at her declaration.
"You can head upstairs. Lady Cythandria will take it off your hands," the woman replied.
"Mind you don't wave those weapons about, or she'll take off your hands instead. Just because the guards aren't around, doesn't mean we here can't defend ourselves," the man added in a dry tone.
"Where are the guards?" Xan asked, curious.
"Disappeared when the coffers started to dry up," scoffed the man. "You looking to get money out of the Throne, best be ready to get in line."
Her surprise didn't need to be faked. "What's going on? Don't you have a new leader now?"
"Sarevok doesn't care about us, he's only interested in iron," spat the woman.
Before they could enquire further, the man waved a dismissive hand. "Go about your business. And don't cause trouble."
Nodding, Elene moved past them to ascend the stairs. The second floor was equally devoid of souls, and only a few nobles scurried about on the third floor, doing their best to avoid the group. They bumped into a Sembian delegate on the fourth floor. The woman had started off her greeting haughty and imperious, however, she demurred at the mention of debt. In fact, Elene had never seen someone excuse themselves so quickly at the mention of money owed.
Finally, they reached the top floor. One thing Elene noticed straight away was that the paintings and decorative mirrors adorning the hallways were gone. Had Sarevok been in the middle of redecorating his offices? Or had such frivolities been done away with to finance debt, or even fund the war effort? The building certainly looked a pale imitation of the grand, daunting fortress it had been before. Like a contraption that had been stripped of parts and left for scrap.
Elene paused at the start of the hallway by the stairs. Unpleasant memories resurfaced at the sight of the familiar carpets and wooden accents. Gritting her teeth, she pushed the feelings down. She was here for a reason, and she was not leaving until she got what she wanted. No more sneaking around or clandestine meetings. Now they go for the jugular.
It was just before seventh bell. Quite late in the day to be visiting for business, yet not late enough to be suspicious. As such, the group didn't bother with stealth. The doors to Thaldorn and Brunos' offices were closed as they walked past. She wondered if they had been repurposed, or simply stripped to the bone for coin. Rieltar's office, however, had its door open. A woman could be heard speaking to someone within.
"…and I'm supposed to bother myself with this?"
"You daft woman, of course you're supposed to! This whole place will be repossessed if we don't settle this payment in three days. Unless you want to operate out of a whorehouse, I suggest you get Sarevok to sign these papers at once!"
A sharp gasp. "You dare speak to me like that?"
"Try me, wench. I've been serving the Throne for longer than you've been on your knees serving that whelp."
"Why you…!"
Peering into the familiar office, Elene saw that other than the large desk at the end of the office, the space looked nothing like how she remembered. A bizarre mix of scrolls and weapons lined the walls and shelves in a haphazard pattern, the workspace of a chaotic mind. Within the room, a man and a woman faced each other in threatening postures, the woman looking ready to unleash a spell while the man clearly wanted nothing more than to strike her across the face. The woman wasn't recognisable, but the man must be Thaldorn, one of the Iron Throne leaders. He looked just like the portrait that hung in the other office.
Elene cleared her throat. "Is this a bad time?"
Both heads whipped towards her. Thaldorn eased himself into a more neutral stance, eyeing the group with suspicion. "And you are?"
"Here to deliver a writ of claim," she replied smoothly, brandishing a rolled-up parchment. Nothing was written within, but they didn't need to know that just yet. "Which of you should I grace with this honour?"
"Another one," sighed Thaldorn. He threw his hands up. "You handle it, Cythandria. I can't take much more of this."
As he stormed off, Elene could hear him mutter under his breath about spending his whole life working for the Throne just to see everything ruined. Her eyes never left Cythandria, though. The woman was beautiful, no doubt. Golden tresses cascading in artful curls down her back and over her shoulders, contrasting well with her rich red robes. Her beauty, however, was marred by the scowl wrinkling her features.
"What is it now?" she snapped. "You have some nerve to stomp in here so late in the day, making demands of me. Do you know who I am?"
"I don't," she replied as she approached the woman. "Though I would like to."
The woman sniffed in displeasure. "I am Cythandria, consort to Lord Sarevok. In his absence, I unfortunately must deal with rabble such as you, testing my patience. Tell me who sent you before I lose my temper."
Strong words for a lone woman facing six people.
Elene's eyes flicked about the room, searching for traps or a hidden bodyguard. There were none. This woman must think herself invincible under Sarevok's protection, she thought. Or she could be more powerful than she appeared to be.
She wasn't in the mood to guess. "I wish to see Sarevok, truth be told. We have a debt to settle, he and I."
"Why would such an important man bother with a band of debt collectors?" sneered Cythandria.
"Because it's not just any debt he owes me."
Hand on her sword, Elene dropped her illusory disguise. Cythandria's haughty expression gave way to surprise, until recognition flickered in her cold eyes. They'd never met, but the other woman must have seen the bounty notices posted up in what felt like every corner of the city.
"You…" Cythandria breathed. "I didn't expect you'd try to come back. Not after what Sarevok and the others prepared for you. Not that it matters. You're much too late to do anything to stop him."
"Where is he?" Elene asked, surprising herself with how calm she sounded.
"As if I would tell you." Cythandria cocked her head. "No, I think I will kill you instead."
A flash of green exploded from Cythandria's hands the same time Elene and her group drew their weapons. When the light cleared, two leering ogres stood in the room, one beside Cythandria and the other behind them, at the door. Elene gritted her teeth. Then the robes were not just for show, she really was a mage. A conjurer, to be precise.
Elene ducked away as the ogre in front took a swing at her with his morning star, roaring as he attacked. Khalid stepped up to engage, his armour better suited for a toe-to-toe with a brute force opponent. Behind them, she could hear Jaheira go after the other, the husband-and-wife team doing their best to ringfence Kivan, Imoen and Xan from their enemies. Elene's eyes narrowed as she studied Cythandria. The other woman had erected a shimmering magical shield around herself. Missile weapons would just bounce off her.
No matter.
With a surge of unnatural (divine) speed, Elene leaped onto the desk, the same desk she'd nearly been strangled on just weeks earlier. She watched Cythandria's eyes widen in shock at the audacious move. She savoured the woman's bewildered squawk when she dove for the mage with naught but a knife in her hand. She ignored Khalid's pained grunt as he fought to keep the nearby ogre from switching focus to her.
None of it mattered.
As expected, the magical barrier wasn't strong enough to fend off a close-contact blow. There wasn't enough time for Cythandria to react as Elene barrelled into her, sending them both careening to the carpeted floor with Elene on top. The mage could only scream as Elene punctured two quick, deliberate holes into her torso. Non-fatal, problematic only if the wounds were left unattended.
"Call off your pets or the next strike will be to the throat," Elene hissed, hovering the knife over her enemy threateningly, her other hand gripped the woman's shoulder in a vice grip.
"Stand down!" shrieked Cythandria.
The ogres did as they were instructed, standing idle still with their weapons in hand. Instead of taking their action as a truce, though, Kivan put an arrow swiftly through the eye of the ogre closest to Elene. Cursing, Jaheira took his cue and cracked her staff as hard as she could against the head of the second ogre. They both vanished in a puff of smoke on death, in the way of all summoned creatures.
Elene returned her gaze to her vanquished foe. "Now we can talk."
"He's not here!" Cythandria said quickly. "He's gone to the sewers to meet those vile assassins of his. Slythe and Kristin. He's not coming back here until he's Grand Duke."
"Very confident of him," Xan remarked as he approached. Elene didn't miss the disapproving glance he shot at her.
"He's had it planned for months. The fools in this city want leadership, and they will have it."
"What is your role here?" Elene nudged her.
"I am his…confidante." She stammered. "I safeguard his personal effects, make sure his food isn't poisoned."
"Who else is in his inner circle?" asked Elene.
"The old man, Winski. Angelo of the Fist. Semaj…he was a Cyricist once. That oaf Tazok."
Elene flicked a gaze over at Kivan, whose eyes had darkened at the mention of his foe. "Then who is Tamoko?"
Cythandria tensed at that. "How do you know that name?" Her eyes narrowed. "She spoke to you, didn't she? She was the one who told you to find me. That thrice-damned whore! Sarevok will have her head for her treachery!"
"I don't think you're one to be bandying that title around, given your own position," Xan remarked mildly. "What do you know about Sarevok's plan?"
"He is to be Grand Duke, then he is to become divine. And he promised to reward those faithful to him."
Curious. While Elene could imagine the value of someone like Tamoko to Sarevok's operation, she wasn't sure what Sarevok was thinking, keeping someone like Cythandria within his inner circle. The woman was clearly in it for the power and the promise of riches. She was already showing signs of turning at the slightest pressure against her throat.
Could it be that chinks are already forming in his empire?
Xan frowned at their captive. "What personal effects were you entrusted with?"
Cythandria's gaze darted about the room. "They're all in here. Letters, memos, ledgers. And…" She bit her lip. "And his own writings."
"He keeps them?" Elene asked incredulous. "I wouldn't think him that much of a fool."
"He is making history!" Cythandria snapped at her. "His path to glory should be recorded."
"I don't think we will get much else from this one," Jaheira remarked.
Elene stared at her. "Indeed. What shall we do with her?"
"P-please." Cythandria focused her plaintive gaze on Elene. "I am but a follower. If you'll let me go, you can have everything here. You can take my gold! I'll disappear and not interfere in your affairs. Just let me live, please."
"She will warn him," Kivan growled in the ensuing silence.
Her mind briefly conjured up the face of Karan, her old tutor. A kindly old man whose biggest pleasure in life was to teach and enlighten. And yet Sarevok and his cronies butchered him unceremoniously in the dank crypts of Candlekeep, for no other reason than to get to her.
This woman has some value to Sarevok, doesn't she?
Why should she get to live when Gorion and Karan didn't?
Elene took a deep breath, blood pounding in her ears. "You're right."
That was all the warning Cythandria had before Elene slashed her blade over the woman's throat. Elene felt the spray of blood on her cheek as she turned away, unwilling to see the look in her enemy's eyes as she bled out. Trying to ignore the sound of the woman's last breaths, she got to her feet, blood still dripping from her knife.
"Elene…" Khalid stared at her. "She surrendered."
His statement and the shocked look from Imoen compounded the disgust she felt for what she did. But she stood her ground, wiping at her blood-spattered face. "Kivan's right. She can't be trusted. Come on, let's get what we need and get moving."
Sacking the office took longer this time around, Elene thought. While Rieltar was a stickler for order, Sarevok was more haphazard in organising the place. It certainly felt as though he'd barely had time to settle in as the head of the Iron Throne before he moved onto his next big plan. Perhaps now he was finding that in implementing his grand design, the devil really was in the details. The last piece they liberated was a magically locked leatherbound book in a hidden drawer within the desk. Elene deposited the book in her own satchel, having a good idea of what the contents may be.
Job done, they left the building the way they came in. No one tried to stand in their way, despite the commotion from the fight with Cythandria, which spoke volumes on the loyalty the Throne people had for Sarevok and his crew.
The trip back to the safehouse was made in silence, the group sticking to alleys and shadows, the hidden routes becoming so familiar to them that they could almost traverse it blind. Magic hid the blood spattered across Elene's front, but she could smell it. Searching within, though, she found that she felt nothing about murdering an enemy who had surrendered. Just as when they were hunting bandits in the wild like vermin. Perhaps this was how Sarevok had felt when he slaughtered Gorion. Just another obstacle in his way that needed to be removed.
She had to admit, though, they'd made tremendous progress since that dismal night after the escape from Candlekeep. Despite the Harpers' refusal to help, they'd found a way through Coran and his shady friends. And they'd kept pushing through. Kivan was right in that the only thing that should matter was how badly she wanted it. So now she burned with purpose, one which kept her hammering away at their goals even on days when she'd rather lie down and surrender.
Yet over the past few days, she'd begun to wonder. Despite his meticulous planning, Sarevok's plans were unravelling because of the allies he'd chosen to surround himself with. Tamoko's earnest face appeared in her mind's eye. Would any of her own friends turn on her like Tamoko had, if she strayed from the right path?
Surely they wouldn't…would they?
Once safely back at their base of operations, Elene absconded to the rafters without a word to the others. She had too much on her mind to discuss what had happened. Nothing she could say would allay the worries of Khalid and Imoen anyway. In all honesty, she did not know what came over her, other than the burning urge to hurt Sarevok the way he hurt her.
Kivan had arranged a set of boxes neatly by the slats which passed for the warehouse's windows. She peered disinterestedly outside even as her fingers worked on the seals protecting the book. Decent magic work, but no match for her in the end. She'd been taught enough about abjuration that she knew how to break magical protections as well as create them. It was a handy skill she never appreciated until she began adventuring. The faint thrum of magic surrounding the book faded quietly and she opened it with impatience.
Dates were written at the top, followed by neat, sloping writing. A diary, as she suspected. It reminded her much of her own. The thought did not comfort her. She and Sarevok, scrawling away in their journals at night while living different lives, like two peas in a pod.
She flipped through the pages, blazing through Sarevok's writings with manic interest. The date began from two years before, when Rieltar proposed the scheme to build a monopoly in the Sword Coast to the Iron Throne council and the proposal was well-received. Sarevok managed to convince his father that he deserved a key role in the racket, and was granted oversight to Tazok, and by extension, the leaders of the Black Talons and the Chill. Those early days were punctuated by much rage against Rieltar, with repeated mentions of Sarevok's mother. Rieltar had killed her, that much was clear, and made sure that Sarevok knew he was not above Rieltar's wrath. There was certainly no love lost between the two men.
While he was rendezvousing with the Talons and Chill along the Sword Coast, that was when he began making incognito visits to Candlekeep. He'd done his homework, spending what looked like days in the cloistered section where Alaundo's works were stored. His summary on his findings was succinct, but no less chilling for it.
The children born as a result bear the marks of chaos, have power with no direction, and shall feel the blood of a god within them. The deaths they bring shall awaken the father, and through them he will rise. It does not explicitly say, but obviously this means that death wrought by the children will cause them to ascend. Fitting, and since the father was the Lord of Murder, proving one's worth must involve an act in accordance with his portfolio. I begin to see what I must do. Death on a god-like scale.
That was where he met Gorion. Elene paused, considering. Someone trawling obsessively through the sections on Alaundo's last prophecy would have definitely caught the interest of the Readers. She wondered if Gorion had specifically asked to be informed when someone expressed such interest in the scriptures. It would be very much like him to do so.
Her heart rate picked up when she leafed through a passage of interest. Sarevok had spotted her on his last day in Candlekeep, puttering about the section on Alaundo's writings, rearranging books on the shelves. He'd sensed immediately what she was, while she continued to go about her tasks ignorant of the threat at her back. He thought her a fool, spending her time playing librarian when he had devoted years to becoming worthy of his blood.
He's not entirely wrong there.
Shaking her head at the bitter thought, she read on. It was while Sarevok was cobbling together the bandit operation in the Sword Coast that he moved to deal with Gorion. As suspected, she was the target all along. Her fingers clenched as she read his crowing words on the page, his certainty that bounty hunters and assassins will deal with an untrained whelp left alone in the wilderness.
Again, not entirely wrong. If we hadn't met Kivan in the wild, we would have been dead meat.
What interested her after was the realisation that Rieltar was trying to scupper attempts to escalate hostilities between Amn and the Gate. That went against Sarevok's intention, for death on a god-like scale, so he needed to die. As simple as that. A chill ran through her as Sarevok detailed out how he planned to kill the man who raised him. Whoever Rieltar had been in life, he certainly hadn't been the father to Sarevok as Gorion had been to her. What was Sarevok other than a sword tempered by hardship and violence?
The diary ended there, three-quarters through the book. She scanned page after empty page after, making sure there were no leftover thoughts or message, but there was nothing left. Whatever his plans were, they were written in his mind and not put to paper.
Not so foolish, after all.
She put the book down, then slid a hand down her face. For a moment, she sat in the silence, lost in thought. Despite everything she knew about Sarevok, she felt almost…sad. It had been easier to see him as an irredeemable monster, someone she needed to kill or be killed by. Now…now she wasn't so sure anymore.
Sarevok was a person with hopes and dreams at the beginning, just like her. It was only later that he'd stumbled upon the hints of destiny, what he thought the Fates wanted of him. If he had not known what he was, could he have turned out different?
What really made a monster? Was it nature or nurture?
Could she walk Sarevok's path one day?
Behind her, someone cleared his throat. Her head whipped towards the source. She swallowed when she saw Xan approach, his robes rustling as he moved. Once upon a time, he would come to her with a smile, a secret smile she would like to imagine was just for her. But tonight, his face was unreadable, and she dreaded his presence.
"Good read?" he asked as he settled onto a box opposite her.
"Grim." She sighed, not meeting his eyes. "Insightful, but…doesn't offer much by way of ideas on how to beat him."
"Which part was insightful?" His tone was neutral. Carefully so.
"He knew his true nature. How, I don't know. But he'd spent time in Candlekeep researching. He even saw me, though I never noticed him." She shook her head. "He sensed what I was from the start, yet there I was, rearranging books without knowing they were written about me."
"Would it have changed anything?"
She looked up. "What?"
"Knowing."
"Maybe…" she hesitated. "It would have focused my studies. I'd read rows and rows of each section, but it's different when you're reading out of curiosity, and when you're trying to really understand something." She gestured vaguely. "You understand, don't you?"
He nodded. "And had you done all that research, what would you have done with the knowledge?"
She gave him a tired smile. "You don't ask the easy questions, do you?" Her eyes strayed back to Sarevok's diary. "He said that death on a god-like scale will fuel the Child's ascension. Had I known that…I would have worked to ensure it doesn't happen. Cyric is enough, the Realms don't need another mad god of murder." She paused. "Maybe that's why he felt that he needed to remove me. I would be a thorn in his side either way."
Xan's features turned contemplative. "Because you're nothing like him."
"I don't know, he was right about one thing. We're both killers."
"You once told me you kill because you have to."
She pulled at her sleeve in guilt even as she thought of Cythandria. "That's still true."
"Is it, though?" he asked slowly.
His words struck her like a bolt through the chest. "I don't take pleasure in what I must do."
"I am merely curious. It's not like you've become a different person since the revelation."
The sarcastic edge was there, buried under his trademark bland delivery. There it was, his feelings on the matter. She'd skirted around him for weeks for fear of his judgment, and he similarly made no effort to approach her. Perhaps her actions at the Iron Throne base had been far enough out of line for him to finally push for this dialogue.
"What would you have me do?" she asked, voice rising. "Run? Hide?"
He leaned forward, his features earnest. "I want you to remember who you are. Mercy, fairness, those were things you once held in high regard. Or was that simply a veneer? Have you simply been suppressing your true self?"
"What? No! I still care about those things."
"Then start acting like it." His eyes were like two chips of ice. "I know you're hurting but chasing after revenge like this makes you no better than Kivan. An eye for an eye and the whole world goes blind. With killing coming so easily for you, you're teetering along the edge of a slippery slope, more so knowing what we know now. We've talked about this before, or have you forgotten?"
The fight evaporated out of her at his harsh reminder. She hunched further into herself, wishing there was a shell she could duck into. It was one thing to do the necessary, it was another to live with the consequences of it. After her past proclamation on trying to do her best to balance the scales in the Realms, of course he wouldn't be impressed with such unnecessary killing. Cythandria could have walked, she knew, with the right incentives. Besides, it wasn't as if Sarevok did not expect she would come for him.
The fact of the matter was, she'd caved into the roaring of her blood and killed when she should have stayed her hand. And Xan knew it.
"I won't become Sarevok," she vowed.
His gaze hardened. "Make me believe it, Elene."
She flinched. That hurt…but maybe, she needed to hear it. "Is that why you're still here? To make sure it doesn't happen?"
The question caught him off-guard. Come to think of it, he never told her what his mission was, not really. For a moment, he seemed deep in thought, as if strategising the most diplomatic way of answering. Until she looked him straight in the eye, daring him to evade with a bland answer or niceties. They were well past that by now.
"You have it in your blood. I don't deny a part of me is afraid. Of you, and foryou," he began.
"You're afraid of me?" she asked, dismayed.
A small smile was his first response. "You haven't seen yourself in battle. Before, I could pass it off as some intense battle trance, some obscure skill you'd been taught. Now that I know better…" He shook his head slightly. "You could become a true Power in this Realm, for good or for ill. You only need to will it."
"But I only want to be left alone. I have no interest in power," she said, her tone almost pleading.
He hesitated, but in the end, he reached over and took her hand. "I know. Hence why I fear for you. With a heritage such as yours, the choice to live a quiet life may not be yours to make, if others know what you are. What would you do in that situation?"
She squeezed his hand, hard enough to almost hurt. But she was so grateful for his touch, she didn't want to let him go. "I only wish…"
What did she wish for? To have never found out? To have been told earlier? To have been born someone else? But that was childish. She was who she was. She'd chosen to fight back. The only thing choice before her now was how she decided to fight. That Sarevok was a monster was beyond question. Did she have to become a monster to defeat him?
Taking a deep breath, her hold on him loosened as the answer came to her. "I wish for the strength to make the right choices." She looked at their joined hands. "And to protect those I care for."
Then she raised her eyes. His expression turned pensive, yet he said nothing in response. Only the minute tightening of his fingers around hers gave an inkling of his own feelings. That, and the longing in his eyes as he returned her gaze. Despite the yawning chasm that had built up between them since the revelation, she knew then that he would have stayed if she asked it of him. Or at the least, he would fight to.
His fingers brushed over her knuckles, feather light. "Then I will stand with you. For as long as I can."
She clambered to her feet unsteadily. She saw his eyes widen slightly in surprise before she enveloped him in an awkward but fierce embrace. After a few breaths, he pulled her against him, settling her on his lap. The crate beneath him creaked from their combined weight. Neither of them took notice. As his arms tighten around her, she squeezed her eyes shut and focused only on his breathing, his warmth, and a singular disquieting realisation.
He is not going to stay forever.