Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter 45

The ill-fitting crown

The sky was blue, the sun was shining, the birds were singing. Men and women of the bluest blood and the finest thread milled about gossiping and nibbling at the dainty finger food on offer by the numerous servants. Banners of red graced the main hall of the Ducal Palace, heralding a grand, historic occasion on this glorious day.

The coronation of Sarevok Anchev as Grand Duke of Baldur's Gate.

Imoen tapped the banister for what felt like the twentieth time that morning, taking in the sights from above. Ridiculous. How could all these people think someone as unhinged as Sarevok could lead this city? Sarevok looked the part, said all the right things in public perhaps. But if any of these men and women had bothered to tug at the frayed threads of his projected image, they would know the truth quickly enough.

"Do you think the others can intervene in time?"

A frown tugged at her brow as Imoen glanced at Elene's worried expression. Her friend looked nothing like her usual self, the combination of paint, dye and the tiniest sprinkle of magic making her appear as a half-elven highborn lady bedecked in lush silks and twinkling gems. Among Slythe and Kristin's possessions was an invitation to the coronation, which they've made full use of. The performance for the day was led by Elene and Xan playing the main roles, with Jaheira and Khalid as their staunch bodyguards, Kivan as the carriage driver and Imoen as the doting maidservant.

Even Gorion wouldn't be able to recognise them as they were. With the official invites in hand, they'd gotten in without a hitch. Hats off to Husam and Coran for being able to turn things around almost overnight. She took it back, working in a thieves' guild was a lot more complex than just stealing from unsuspecting noblewomen, as she initially thought.

"We'll be fine. Now stop making that sour face or it'll stick like that fer good," Imoen nudged her.

Elene nudged back. "All part of the plan. Just look at some of the ladies here, this is their default face."

Before Imoen could reply, Xan leaned forward from Elene's other side. "They're moving the crowds."

"Come on. We gotta get front row seats for this," said Imoen.

The three companions glided down the grand staircase, Xan making an artform of walking briskly yet not looking the least rushed. Must be a noble thing. She and Elene just focused on not tripping over their skirts, their weapons strapped within their clothes somewhere. Unfortunately, a bow wasn't something she could conceal in a bodice, so she'd need Kivan to make his appearance later to pass her the weapon. Glancing at the throng of people making their way towards the main hall, she felt exposed without it.

After all, any face could hide a doppelganger.

Chatter abounded as they cut through the crowd. The two or three doubtful voices were drowned out by the exultation of Sarevok's loud supporters. With a firm hand, she cleared the way for Elene and Xan, uncaring of the annoyed reaction of the nobles in her way.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but snooty looks will never hurt me.

The grand hall was…impressive, she supposed. High ceiling, bright décor, lush tapestries. A red carpet ran down the middle, separating two aisles of standing space for spectators. Imoen parked them right near the front, beaming innocently at the couple she'd jostled to get into position with Elene. Xan resolutely refused to glance in their direction, not caring to apologise for her behaviour. That was fine. She wasn't planning to apologise for it, either.

Next to her, Elene scanned the room, her fingers twitching with nervous energy. Imoen stood on her tiptoes to glance around as well. No sign of Khalid, Jaheira or Kivan. Guards and drivers weren't allowed into the main venue, after all. In the time it took for them to get in, it would be up to them to hold the fort.

"Announcing the arrival of the Grand Dukes, Lord Belt and Lady Liia Jannath!"

A murmur passed through the crowd as heads turned toward the door. A cadre of Fists entered, ringfencing a man and a woman in the middle. Grand Duke Belt was a dark-haired, olive-skinned man clad in unassuming chainmail; his measured steps unencumbered by the armour. His companion, Grand Duke Liia Jannath wore resplendent blue robes accentuating her pale, Northern features and tawny hair. As she strode past, Imoen could sense the strong tingle of magic in the woman. Either her effects were magic, or she was a spellcaster herself. Good then. At least the Dukes didn't seem like pushovers.

Imoen tuned out the next part of the proceedings. Just the master of ceremony rattling off protocol and opening remarks from both Grand Dukes. Judging from Elene's disbelieving expression, she doubted she was missing much. What was more interesting, though, was the shouted questions from the floor, of men and women asking of Eltan's wellbeing, and the recent developments with Amn. One man was practically frothing at the mouth demanding that Baldur's Gate mobilise for war just as Amn was purportedly doing.

Her neck hurt from craning her head this way and that, until she spotted a flurry of activity at the main door again. Quickly, she nudged Elene.

"Hey, look."

Elene turned just as the master of ceremony announced the arrival of Sarevok Anchev. The doors swung open with an unholy creak, revealing the man himself fully armoured in dark, spiked plates. A sharp intake of breath from Elene made Imoen glance at her friend even as clapping and cheers erupted around them.

"That's the armour he wore…that night," Elene whispered.

Frowning, Imoen glanced back at Sarevok. She wanted to wipe that smug expression off his face so badly it hurt. As Sarevok took his place next to the Grand Dukes, the master of ceremony launched into another speech on the voting process, more protocol, before finally, he got to the part where Sarevok would be appointed Grand Duke. More raucous clapping and cheering greeted this pronouncement, with some noblemen clamouring for a few words from the new Duke.

"Speech!" shouted one particularly nasal-sounding chap.

"Any speeches will take place after…" the master of ceremony began.

Sarevok cut him off by smoothly stepping to the middle of the dais, centring everyone's attention to him. "I am honored to be here before such a respected assemblage of noblemen. I accept my new position with full awareness of my new responsibilities, and I will have many of them."

"I would first like to address the elephant in the room. The rumours of about Amn's mobilisation for war are entirely true, as is the involvement of their Zhentarim and Shadow Thief cohorts. But do not worry, we are not bereft of defence. With the western branch of the Iron Throne, we still hold a great deal of stockpiled iron, enough for all our needs. I will give this to the city to do with as you will." Slowly, Sarevok began to make a dramatic circle about the dais, like a bard delivering the performance of his life. "Unfortunately, our greatest military commander lies on his deathbed, a grievous blow to this city. To ensure that the Flaming Fist is well-led, I will be assuming control of the mercenary regiment with permission from its current steward, Angelo."

Imoen exchanged a shocked look with Elene. He was mad. And yet, all his moves had been lined up precisely for this moment.

"Wait one moment. That is not in your power to decide!" interjected Belt.

"Shut up! Let Sarevok speak!" another nobleman shouted him down.

"Instead of waiting for the war to come to us, we will take it to them. With the Flaming Fist, we should be able to easily take the town of Nashkel then quickly fortify the mountain pass through the Cloud Peaks."

The din from his announcement was immediate, though this one less uniform than the one preceding his entrance. Imoen could tell that while there was some sporadic cheering from the sections close to her, the nobles at the back were also murmuring and hesitating, unsure. To say nothing of the shocked faces of both the Grand Dukes.

Evidently that part hadn't been discussed during the dry run.

Then Elene glanced sharply to their right, causing Imoen to look, too. A nobleman began to push through the line, his face eerily blank despite the indignant protests of the men and women in his way. He wasn't the only one. A quick look around showed there were at least three others like him moving through the throng toward the main dais. Elene touched the pendant on her chest, whispering the words to activate its protection.

"You won't be threatening Amn, Sarevok!" one of the men barked.

"What? Who dares interrupt?" demanded Sarevok.

Looking back, she could pinpoint the moment all hell broke loose, as the lead man unsheathed his hidden knife and began hacking through the man in front of him to advance. The Fist guards drew their weapons and began to step toward the aisle while panicking nobles pushed at each other trying to get out of the path of about a dozen armed men who until a few moments ago, looked and sounded exactly like them.

Instead of wasting her breath, Elene pointed toward the middle of the ballroom aisle, and hissed a familiar incantation. A grotesque beast materialised in a puff of smoke, one with the head of a monkey, the body of a man, and terrifying tentacles extending from what should have been its arms. Elene raised her hand and the beast roared, sending illusionary spittle flying, and men and women bolting towards the exit screaming for their lives.

That's one way to clear the room.

"Let's move!" Elene barked.

Imoen didn't need to be told twice. She whipped out a wand from her pocket and pointed it towards the madman closest to them, summoning a pack of wolves from the ether. They howled and went after the man as instructed, more than enough to keep him busy while Elene and Xan moved to head off the next man, both elves already shimmering with a faint blue glow as their magical armour winked to life. Imoen fumbled out her other wand and blasted another rampaging noble with a bolt of fire, desperately missing her bow.

Once the crowd cleared out, the assailants dropped their disguises and weapons, circling the Fists defending the Dukes. A dozen doppelgangers, already enhanced with magical speed. What need did they have for weapons when their claws were sharper than any knife?

"Imoen!"

Turning, she saw Jaheira and Khalid hurrying towards them, weapons at the ready. Never had she felt such an intense urge to hug them. Further behind, Kivan the humble driver had also slipped in through the door, her bow in hand. She waved at him, grinning like a maniac. The gang was back together again. And hey, she wasn't going to be useless in this fight!

Her mood turned quickly once she saw the doppelgangers in action against the guards. These weren't the same type as the ones they'd fought in the Seven Sun. Their speed and strength were more reminiscent of the creature that impersonated Shistal in Candlekeep. The creatures carved through the guards with worrying ease, despite their heavy armours. Three of her wolves, the only survivors from their first target, dove towards the fracas to help. However, by the time Kivan tossed her bow to her, two of the guards had already fallen, with Elene frantically stepping in to bolster the defence of the dukes.

Imoen's brows furrowed. It was careful work, trying to down the enemies with arrows without hitting the guards. Belt joined the fray with his sword while Liia began to whip magic at the doppelgangers from the dais, showing off her credentials as a solid mage. Despite being focused on her task, Imoen couldn't help the swell of intense admiration she felt for the Grand Duke, the ease and calm with which she used magic to turn the tide.

Oddly enough, while all this was going on, Sarevok stood back and just…watched. He made no move to engage whatsoever.

What could he be waiting for?

Wait just a danged moment, this was Candlekeep all over again. He was hiding the fact that he instigated all this. All he had to do was wait for almost everyone in the room to be killed except for their group. Then he could swoop in and kill the remaining witnesses and blame it on them!

With that realisation, anger fuelled her next shot, and the one after that. Just like any battle, the events of a few minutes felt like they took place over hours, with every move and countermove the difference between life and death. Her friends, especially Elene, fought ferociously, their very lives hinging on the outcome of this battle, their innocence on the line. Months of facing enemies together gelled them like nothing else would, each member of the group moving like they were parts of a whole, magic complementing might, strength combining with guile. The doppelgangers' assault fell apart in the end, leaving just two of the creatures alive while the dukes remained standing.

"Capture one alive!" shouted Belt. "I don't know what in the hells that is, but if it has a mouth, by Helm we're getting what we need out of it."

"They were sent to kill you!" Elene thrust a finger toward Sarevok. "It's all his doing!"

"Who are you to be throwing such accusations? You're not one of the landowners," Belt snapped back.

"We have proof. Pages of it." Elene smiled, an unfriendly expression. "And a strong witness."

"Well, where is it then? We don't have all day," Liia beckoned her to approach.

It was then that Sarevok stirred. Slowly, he unsheathed his sword and stepped forward.

"If you want something done right," he growled.

And he swung his blade at an arc towards Liia, who stood closest to him on the dais. By some miracle, she had somehow been prepared for the move, a magic shield winking into place between her and the blade. The blade bounced off the shield, allowing her the second she needed to dance out of the way of a swing which would have bisected her had it landed. The guards activated immediately, rushing the dais while Khalid executed the last remaining doppelganger. One jumped in front of Liia and was promptly cut down. At least he bought a chance for the Duke to teleport away and closer to Elene, to safety.

Sarevok in his element was a terror to behold. The remaining handful of guards stood no chance against him. An aura of death radiated from him as he cleaved his way through his opponents, seemingly with extraordinarily little effort. Imoen's hand trembled as she drew on her bowstring, awed by his display of power. Elene had said he was formidable, but Imoen only understood what she meant now that she'd seen it with her own eyes. Before them was a man who stood to become a god.

Shouting filtered through from behind them. Relief flooded through her when she realised that the guards must gotten the situation under control and were coming with reinforcements. Powerful as he was, one man could not plough through the entire battalion stationed at the palace, surely. Sarevok's ally clearly thought the same. An old man suddenly materialised at the corner of the room, his hand already raised in a spell. Sarevok roared as he caught sight of the man, even as he progressed ever closer to Belt to finish the job.

And then Sarevok and the old man were gone.

Immediately, Liia dropped to her knees with her hands on the ground, brows furrowed in concentration. Imoen watched with interest as a flare of magic began to emanate from her as she likely tried to trace their enemy's teleportation path. Tricky magic, from what she'd read before. This Duke must be well-versed in magic indeed.

Belt was still panting as he sized up the group. Despite his battle-ready regalia, it had clearly been a while since the man had last seen battle. "Alright. I'm listening."

"Sarevok was your man all along, my Lord," Elene bowed slightly, remembering her manners now that the threat had ended. "He was behind the iron crisis with the Iron Throne, but now he seeks war with Amn to advance his own goals. We have letters, ledgers to support our claims."

"Wait, you're the one accused of killing Rieltar and Brunos." Belt's eyes narrowed. "You leave a trail of corpses everywhere you go in the city. Why should we take the word of a common murderer?"

"My lord," Elene began, her tone pleading.

The doors to the hall opened with a bang as more guards poured in, clanking metal plates echoing in the now deserted grand hall. At the back of the line, a hunched over man tottered in, supported by a cane and a Fist Officer. Imoen grinned as they approached. The cavalry had arrived.

"Eltan," Belt stood straighter at the sight of his fellow Duke. "You're well."

"Thanks to our friends here," Eltan nodded to Jaheira. Sorrel by his side winked at Kivan, earning him a rare smile from the elf. "The Fists are back under my command. I trust they have told you about Sarevok's schemes?"

"Yes, but…is it all true? Was he behind Entar's assassination as well? How did we not see this?" Belt ran a trembling hand through his now mussed-up hair.

"Careful planning," Eltan answered simply. "His goal had been obvious from the beginning, had we known what to look for. I vouch for these adventurers; they were working for me all along. Their good deeds would have been buried in the conspiracy had Sarevok succeeded in poisoning me."

Belt glanced at them, the doubt falling away from his features. "I see. In that case, there is only one thing left to do. Apprehend Sarevok and bring him to trial for the murder and the attempted murders of the Grand Dukes." Belt's jaw clenched at the reminder of the attempt on his life. "I will try him myself."

"You're about to get your chance," Liia grunted. "I've found them."

All eyes in the room darted toward her, but Eltan asked first. "Where?"

A bead of sweat shone on Liia's forehead as she staggered back to her feet. "To the east, underground. I can send a small group over now. Perhaps eight people at the most. The others will have to pursue on foot."

"We will go," Elene said immediately.

Eltan gave her a quick once-over. "Not dressed like that, you're not."

With a start, Imoen glanced down and realised she and Elene were still in their dresses, looking very out of place amid all the Fists. "Er, right then. Where's our stuff?" she asked no one in particular.

"Back at the carriage. Let me get them," Kivan offered, already moving.

"Go help him," Eltan nodded to two Fists on his right.

When the rest of their equipment and weapons arrived, they shucked on as much as they could right there in the grand hall, Elene and Imoen just slipping the tops of their armour on, cutting off the skirts of the dresses as they did, revealing the tights strapped with weapons underneath. Belt shook his head as he caught sight, muttering under his breath about tighter security at events the next time around. Once they were ready, they stood in the middle of the hall with two chosen Fists.

"Bring him back alive if you can," Liia told them as she rolled back her sleeves.

"We shall see," Jaheira replied, non-committal.

The Grand Duke pursed her lips at that but accepted her reply. Imoen had a moment to look around the mess of corpses on the ground, shaking her head at the carnage. Then the casting began, and their surrounding warped from the bright, well-lit hall of the Ducal Palace into the interior of a cramped dark room filled with men in hoods and dark clothing. Knives and swords swiftly left their scabbards as the occupants of the place scrambled to defend themselves against the heavily armed newcomers appearing out of thin air.

"Blast, not another one, it's like the bloody carnival's come to town! Who is it this time?" shouted one of the men.

"Hold! We mean no harm," Xan put up a hand, though he was ready to throw a spell.

"We're chasing a big guy in spiky armour, seen any of 'em around?" Imoen shouted, her tone flippant despite the armed standoff.

One of the hooded men started at that. "Friends o' his?"

"Nah, we're tryin'a kill 'em. What does it look like?" she shot back drily.

"Well and good, 'cause he cut a bloody swath through this path. Me boys and girls didn't stand a chance. He barged straight into the warrens." The man spat, giving the two Fist escorts with them a suspicious look. "If ye ask me, reckon you should just sit back and wait for the jellies and skellies to make quick work of him."

Huh that doesn't sound too cheerful.

"What's in these warrens?" Elene wanted to know. "Does it lead anywhere?"

"Doesn't get you out of the city, if that's what you're thinking." The man frowned. "It's a place for the dead and forgotten, the undercity of the Gate abandoned in the last century. Some kinda curse on the place, if you believe the superstition. The undead roaming around down there are plenty real, though."

Behind her, Imoen heard a loud exhale from Kivan. She could tell what was on his mind and she shared his concern. If these undead were skeletons, it would be tough to breach them with arrows. Hopefully Sarevok managed to plough through the lot of them with that big sword of his and save them the trouble.

Elene frowned. "The undercity…does it have some kind of temple?"

"Dunno, mate. Why don't you go see for yerself?" the man shrugged.

With gritted teeth, Jaheira pushed past the man and grabbed a torch from its sconce before heading down the steps, leading the group into the darkness. Swallowing, Imoen thanked all the Gods once again for the ring of darkvision on her finger. Traveling in a group full of elves was fine and dandy until you had to go into the dark. Without darkvision, she'd just be extra baggage to be towed along, that was how useless she'd felt during their venture through Nashkel Mines. The claustrophobic, echoing tunnels brought of the warrens certainly brought back many fond memories of Nashkel.

Sarevok was in a mad hurry, though, that much was clear. After the slaughter of the thieves at the door, and there was no doubt in her mind that those people guarding the entrance to the warren were associates of Narlen somehow, their quarry ploughed through the tunnels with blood trailing behind him. Along the way they stumbled into nasty mustard jellies and grey oozes which were drawn to the bodies in his wake. Magical weapons made quick work of them, however, so the skirmishes barely slowed the group down in their pursuit.

At one point, though, the path began to branch into a few routes, and the way forward ceased to be so clear. Elene took point from there, her keen eyes spotting traps of both mechanical and magical variety strewn about halls, waiting for the unsuspecting traveller to make a wrong step. Imoen wondered how Sarevok had managed to get past without triggering any of them, unless he had other people with him besides the old man they saw at the Palace.

It was at one of these trapped chokepoints that Elene nearly had her face taken off by an undead creature lunging from the shadows. A reanimated skeleton at first glance, until they noticed that its innards and viscera were still intact, suspended in place by some foul magic. Even from a distance, Imoen could smell the putrid stench of decay emanating from it.

"Mohrg!" yelled Xan as he cast a spell which lent speed to their limbs, enabling Elene to outrun the creature.

Now, Imoen had no idea what that was, but she sure didn't like the look of the thing. Oghma knows what its claws would do their front line, not to mention that tongue, ugh. Pulling out the wand that was fast becoming her favourite tide-turner in battle, she summoned a group of gnolls between the creature and Elene.

The thing tore through the gnolls like paper. She almost felt sorry for the creatures as they died screaming. Cursing, she waited for the wand to reset, then summoned more help, this time three hobgoblins. She doubted they would last any longer than the gnolls did. It had to be enough, though. She didn't dare blow through all the charges when they hadn't even faced Sarevok and his crew yet. Scary as this thing was, Sarevok would be miles tougher.

A tight, cramped corridor meant that their numbers did not work in their favour. Khalid and one of the Fists moved up first to engage, while Elene stood back to launch a bolt of fire at the mohrg as it advanced. Imoen's hackles rose sharply at the sight of the creature laughing soundlessly as the bolt struck its ribcage and barely singed it.

Right. Magic wasn't going to work then.

The fight turned into an outright brawl after. Their heavily armoured fighters took the brunt of the blows from the creature, with Khalid manoeuvring such that another one from their group can join the melee, punching in from three sides in the tight quarters. Imoen stood back in frustration, fingering the wand in agitation. She wasn't tall enough to try to launch an arrow through the dervish of blades and claws for fear of hitting her allies. Kivan likewise stood back with an arrow strung, waiting for the right window to strike at the creature's head, preferably into the soft tissue of its mouth.

In the end, Kivan's arrow was indeed the strike that tipped the balance, skewering the monstrosity through its veined throat. It fell with a horrible gurgle that none of them would forget the sound of anytime soon. Imoen grimaced as she walked over the creature's body to hover over the dead body of the Fist that assisted them in the fight.

"We must burn his remains," Xan said, looking down at their fallen ally.

The surviving Fist whipped his head up at that, eyes flashing in the dark. "What? That's my friend!"

Xan gave him a pointed look. "Precisely why you want it done. If not, he will rise from the dead by the morrow, as do all those killed by such monstrosities."

Imoen glanced over and saw the Fist man pale at Xan's words just as she did. Then her eyes drifted to the fallen mohrg, realising that even that creature used to be a man once. This was a fate worse than death. But still, Xan could have been a bit more sensitive about how he said it, she thought.

"Let me," Jaheira said, and that was the end of the matter.

"If we survive this, you may want to get those looked at as well, at a temple," Xan gestured to the wounds sustained by Khalid and the other Fist.

With that cheerful thought, they proceeded deeper into the tunnels. Similar to the catacombs of Candlekeep, the path sloped downward and narrowed as they progressed. In the shadows, past the walls, they could hear odd, scraping motions. More undead. Elene flicked a worried look over her shoulder and picked up the pace at the front. They understood why Sarevok moved as he did, at least. To slow down in these tunnels would mean certain death, barring an army at their backs. Hopefully Eltan would send a sizeable force in behind them, because he was going to need it.

She saw Elene still as she peered through a corner. For a while, none dared to even breathe too loud as she stood unmoving, as though examining something. Finally, she glanced at them and beckoned for them to follow.

A doorway stood within twenty paces beyond the corner. Right in front of it was a man, lying on his back in a pool of blood. To their immense surprise as they drew close, the man was still alive.

Just about.

The man opened his eyes as they approached. He was old, judging from his weather-beaten complexion, wrinkles, and shock of white hair. His middle was sodden with blood where he had been run through with what might have been a large sword. This was the man who spirited Sarevok away from the Ducal Palace, Imoen realised with a start. For someone on his last legs, though, he seemed remarkably lucid.

Elene stood over him, her eyes accusing. "You helped him escape."

"But you are going to kill him anyway." The man's head lolled to the side as he watched her. "Fitting, I suppose."

"Speak. Who are you and why have you been cast aside?" demanded Jaheira.

"Winski. I was…his mentor. His guide. I told him the truth he sought all his life," the man wheezed. "He was supposed to be the one. Divinity…was to be his. All was in place. But alas, our plan fell apart so quickly. I was wrong. And I will pay with my life."

"Why did you help him?" asked Elene, incredulity written all over her features.

"To become a footnote in history." He smiled, his bloodstained teeth making a macabre mockery of the expression. "You wouldn't understand. A godchild, you are meant to make history. The rest of us…can only hope for scraps."

Xan shook his head. "You are a greedy monster. And you created another one in him."

"He is…what he is." Then he looked to Elene, his gaze dark and full of meaning. "Just as…you are."

In the flickering light of the torches, Elene's face twisted in disgust, but Imoen saw doubt there. Enough doubt to sink a ship, in fact, as her friend grappled with the accusation. Whoever this Winski was, she decided that she hated him for making her friend feel that way.

"She's nothing like him," Imoen hissed, even as one hand gripped Elene's arm hard enough to hurt.

Winski's eyes never left Elene. "Not yet."

"I've heard enough," Elene replied, already drawing on her sword.

Before she could even brandish it, Xan's blade flashed from its scabbard and slashed downward, toward the fallen man. Imoen blinked as the blue flame hissed on contact with Winski's prone form. The strike had been so quick, the man was killed without making a sound.

As one, the group turned to stare at Xan. He, however, kept his eyes fixed on Winski's body, his face expressionless. In that moment, he was no longer her patient magic tutor, and Imoen was reminded that he was a Greycloak trained not flinch from doing the necessary. Elene shifted from one foot to the other, her features uncertain. Whatever she'd thought of doing next, he'd taken the decision out of her hands. For better or for worse.

Then Xan snapped his gaze to the other end of the hall. "We need to go."

The sudden fear in his voice was enough to make Imoen glance in the same direction. And immediately wished she hadn't. Another mohrg had appeared, this one flanked by a pack of zombies. Without hesitation, the group pelted through the doorway.