12 – Dealing with Devils

"Everyone knows that Thay and Rashemen have fought many wars, but the absolute inability that the red mages and masked witches have to ever get along is something one must witness firsthand to truly appreciate. If a Thayan and a Hathran were placed together on a sinking boat you would find them washed up days later, hands around each other's throats." –Zou the Wanderer, Tales from the Golden Way

Through wide tunnels that wormed their way deeper and deeper into the earth she walked, each step echoing. The path was vaguely familiar: dug out mining shafts at first that soon gave way to the black walls of magma chutes. Here and there the reptilian corpses of kobolds lay along the path like mile markers. Their slitted eyes were wide and vacant, jaws lolling open, thin forked tongues hanging limp and still.

The narrow magma channels opened into wider caves carved by the drip of water, eon after eon. She passed through a maze of pillars, by rows of stalagmites that jutted from the floor like jagged teeth, then under fragile stalactites that threatened to fall like spears. More kobold bodies lined the long natural bridge over the narrow tributary, and beyond that she was drawn towards the great chamber where the underground river roared.

The bridge of smoothly carved stone that crossed the river was smeared here and there with blood where her companions had turned on each other, and though it wasn't exactly where they had fallen in the waking world their bodies lay at even points upon the path. The first body she came upon was Jaheira's, her armor battered and torn and her eyes wide and empty. Old dried blood had pooled from the wound in her back so that she appeared to lie on a bed of rust.

Farther along the bridge the remains of Montaran lay in two halves. The stone beneath and between his torso and pelvis were smeared with black and red, and ropey intestines reaching between the halves like laces meant to tie something secure, now unraveled and abandoned. Beyond Montaron Khalid was splayed out on his back in rusting armor. His hands were bone-thin, fingers bent as if they had been clawing at something, and his face was shriveled where Xzar's spell had ripped the life from him. Instead of the bronzed, weathered tone she remembered his complexion was now a bruised purple with spots of blue, tongue thrust unnaturally out from his open lips. Had he drowned? Died from Xzar's magic? Some combination of the two? Khalid's bastard sword sat at his side, stained with dark blood where he had impaled Xzar upon it, but of the necromancer there was no sign.

Each of their eyes were wide and vacant, but as Ashura looked away and faced the cavern ahead she felt as if each corpse was watching her. The mouth of the cave at the center of the river loomed wide and swallowed her up. She stepped through darkness for a time then into blinding light as she entered Mulahey's old chamber.

The stone hall was wider and more grandly decorated than she remembered. In the place of piled Calishite pillows lay row upon row of bright, ornate carpets spun in dazzling spirals and pictographs. Translucent drapes hung from the high vaulted ceiling; violet, pink, ruby red and honey yellow. The dais and seat at the end of the chamber loomed like the throne of some giant king, armrests cushioned with stuffed silk. Jagged spikes fanned out from the backrest.

And there at the foot of the throne stood Mulahey.

He bore the same markings his corpse had when last she saw it: a gaping wound at the stomach where broken chainmail hung and a wider gap just above and between his eyes where her sword had stabbed into his forehead and through his skull. And yet beneath the hole where bits of dried blood and black matter leaked there was life and consciousness in his eyes. Life and consciousness and spite, the narrow pinpricks glaring at her.

Somehow Ashura knew that despite the accusing looks Mulahey was no threat. This thing before her was a lingering shade awaiting its journey to the realms of the dead. All it could do was glare accusingly and await its fate.

Across the carpets she was drawn to him in slow, deliberate steps. As she neared the throne there was a ripping sound between them and an object burst from the floor, tearing free from the fine silk. Ashura remembered the skeletons that had burst from the floor and leapt back with a start, but the object simply hovered there between her and the shade. It was suspended at chest level: a dagger formed from sharpened bone. The handle was padded by cured flesh and wrapped tight with gut-string. Somehow she knew that the bone was human, as well as the leather. She even felt a kinship with the object that sent a chill down her spine. Was this knife fashioned from the flesh and bone of an ancestor? Such a strange thought.

A hum emanated from the dagger and she found her hand drifting towards the hilt. It demanded to be grasped. To be used. Take me.

She pulled her hand back and forced herself to remain still.

Take me. Take me and strike the shade down. I will give your enemy a death beyond death, and his essence shall make you strong.

Taking a step back she let her hands drop to her sides and glared at the dagger. Whatever the source of that voice was it was trying to compel her, and she was so very tired of being compelled.

She remembered her father, with his ancient, weary eyes. From as early as she could recall he would heap books on her and patiently guide her through calligraphy strokes and grammar lessons while she fidgeted and fumbled. As she grew older her blood would boil during those tedious exercises and her mind would turn to running and climbing, preferably as far from the walls of the fortress-prison as she could get.

Father had wanted her to follow the ways of Oghma and become a scribe and sage like he was, but she simply never had the temperament. Instead she had taken to beating on practice dummies and any boy who would spar with her in the yards when she was supposed to be studying. She had even taken the Stormlord as her patron deity, partly out of petty teenage rebellion, but also because the god of destruction fit well with the storms that kept welling up inside. She could never hate her father; the kindly old man with perfect diction who showed his wild daughter far more patience than even she thought she deserved at times, but she always despised the gilded cage he had placed her in.

She remembered Xzar's honeyed words and trustworthy smile and the way he had sent her out into lines of goblins and bandits and kobolds while he stood back with his arms crossed. She remembered the Harper couple and their doomed mission that she had followed along with out of respect for her father and a lack of any other direction. And most of all she remembered Nimbul and his immense, shimmering eyes as they held her in place as sure as a basilisk's gaze. Up until the rage –the storm- had welled up inside and freed her.

Take me, the whispering voice of the dagger repeated. Strike the shade down. Give him a death beyond death and-

No! she shot back. I don't simply obey hissing voices in the dark. My will is my own.

Your will may be your own, the voice retorted, but I do not give you a choice, child. You can seize the power that is bred in your bones –in these bones- or we can stand here in the dark between life and death forever. I can wait.

After that all was silent save the low hum that resonated from the dagger. Mulahey simply continued to glare. Ashura glared right back and they stood at an impasse for untold time. Was it seconds or days before she clenched her fists and began to stride forward?

She marched right past the dagger, straight towards the shade with her empty hands out.

What are you doing? the voice from the bone hissed.

I don't need you. I don't want your power. She locked her fingers around the thick muscles of Mulahey's neck. The skin was cold as stone but when she squeezed she found the flesh surprisingly weak and yielding. It was just a shade, after all.

You cannot!

Seems I can. Ashura's hands clenched like a vice around the barely substantial throat as she tried to throttle whatever life was left from it. The shade's hands shot up and tried to grip her wrists and fight, but all he could do was hang on, his grip as weak as gossamer. His eyes bulged and his mouth hung open. In moments the orc was on his knees. Seems there is power enough in my own hands. I don't need you. I don't want your power. Or its price.

The face of the orc swam before her and he became the blonde man in rags who had come at her with a knife in the bunkhouse. It wavered again and she was strangling the elf she had slain moments after the first assassin. Next the face contorted into Tarnesh's, the grey haired mage gagging and writhing in her iron grip. The face became that of a bandit woman next, then one of the bandit men, then the huntress of Malar who had sought to make sport of Ashura. For a moment the body on its knees before her shrunk down and became a blue-skinned goblin, its feet kicking above the carpets. The goblin became a kobold, its lizard tail lashing franticly while stubby legs pinwheeled. Next the body grew and grew until she was holding onto a massive ogrillon, but the flesh beneath her palms remained soft and pliable. All she had to do was keep squeezing.

The ogre-like creature shrunk and became a hobgoblin, first with a smooth face and then with scarifications swelling across his nose and cheeks. For a time she was looking into the red-rimmed eyes of a priestess of Beshaba; first the one she had sent flying to her death from the cliff and then the second priestess who she had killed in a desperate hand-to-hand struggle. Finally she found herself staring at Nimbul's once arrogant face. His tongue was lolling out the corner of his mouth and the light was almost gone from his eyes. There were no struggles now; just reflexive twitching.

The body went still and the shade lost its face as it melted into a ghostly light that soon faded to nothing. Or almost nothing. There was a faint glow that lingered on Ashura's hands. As she stood straight once more the voice of the dagger rumbled: Your defiance cannot change what you are. What I made you.

She turned towards the dagger as the voice made the entire cavern shake. You will learn!

With that the dagger flew towards her chest with dazzling speed. When the blade struck her eyes snapped open and she found herself sitting up in her bedroll, gasping in shock and clasping a hand to her chest. There was no wound; just the padding of the doublet she had slept in, a sharp chill and a racing heart.

All was dark and quiet in the tent. A storm had rolled in sometime during the night, judging by damp air and the steady dripping sound on the roof. For a time Ashura lay back, listening to the droplets fall and Imoen's soft breathing, but eventually it became clear that she would not get back to sleep. As quietly as she could manage she slithered out of her bedroll and sat up, wrapped her sword-belt and leather skirt around her hips, slipped into her boots and crawled out of the tent with helmet and clinking chainmail tunic in hand. Outside it was the darkest hour of the night, heavy with mist.

She found Branwen on watch duty, perched upon a rock at the edge of the clearing and surveying the darkness. The war-priestess protested at first when Ashura offered to relieve her. "I'm not going to be able to get back to sleep," Ashura explained, "I might as well." With a shrug Branwen relented and made her way to the tent.

Once she was alone Ashura turned towards the darkness and looked down at the palms of her hands. She recalled the contorted faces from her dream. A bit less than a month since she had left her home and she had really killed all those people and creatures personally? Not to mention all the other carnage she had witnessed. Her tutors had always taught her that the Realms outside of Candlekeep were dangerous places, and there was a bounty on her head. But still...

'We are both children of Death.'

With a little will her right hand began to glow with the blue-white ghostfire. With a little more focus an identical flame bloomed in her left. She stood there for a time, pondering this strange new power that she still did not understand. With a thought she doused the twin flames and clenched her fists.

As he was in the habit of doing most every morning, Edwin awakened well before dawn. Preparing ones spells long before most people were even awake had worked to his advantage many times, and in Thay you took every advantage you could. He was also a meticulous man, and he took a certain pride in laying out careful plans for each day while he memorized just the right spells to work them out. Before any of that though he whispered the words of a simple nightvision incantation so that he could find his way to his equipment in the pitch black tent.

While he slipped on his circlet and bracers Edwin gave the man who had been sleeping nearby a long, ponderous look. Never in his wildest imaginings could he have guessed that he would begin this or any other morning sharing a tent with a Rashemi berserker. This was actually his first up-close encounter with one of the legendary warriors, but he had always assumed a berserker's immediate reaction would be to scream and try to take his head off. Instead this big, bald bull of a man had tried to rescue him.

Thinking about it brought an embarrassed scowl to Edwin's face even now. A great Thayan mage on his way to claim a prize that would have made him the envy of the Sharp Teeth Enclave taken down by a hobgoblin he had never seen coming, tackled and gagged before he could bark out the simplest defensive spell. Then rescued (in a rescue attempt that nearly got him killed,) by a Rashemi halfwit. If Denak ever learned of this he'd be laughed right out of the enclave.

The berserker was sleeping deeply with his arms splayed out and his bedroll in disarray. This could be the best chance he could hope for to finish what the gnolls had failed at and be rid of the witch's bodyguard before he became a problem. But as vulnerable as the sleeping giant seemed now Edwin was not sure how to proceed. All of the destructive spells he had prepared at the moment would be loud and messy, and he was not entirely certain any would insure that the berserker died quickly. Burning the tent down, turning the rest of the group against him and waking the Rashemi up in a very bad mood did not seem like a winning move.

There was the dagger at his belt, but Edwin had never used it for anything beyond slicing food. Storybooks and braggarts talked casually about slitting throats, but he had no idea how to effectively do it. More than likely he'd just scratch the berserker's thick, muscular neck and get throttled for it.

And then there was the rodent. The darkvision spell made the interior of the tent clear but colorless, and between where Edwin sat and the Rashemi lay he could plainly see the fat little cheeks and large dark eyes of the hamster. Watching him. There did not seem to be anything overtly magical about the creature, but with the Rashemi looks could be deceiving. They were a people guided and protected by countless unseen spirits, and Minsc had even called the little rat his 'animal companion.'

'It was such a shame Boo had to feast on his eyes.'

Edwin shook his head, rolled over and crawled through the tent flap. He would have to deal with the big brute sometime soon, but he had more than fireballs and acid arrows in his quiver of potential spells, and time enough to sit down and think over which to arm himself with.

At the damp, blackened firepit he laid out a few pieces of dry wood and with a simple incantation set a new fire crackling. From his pack he retrieved a battered brass pot and tripod. It was his habit to set herbal tea brewing while he studied his spellbook, a blend that roused and sharpened the senses. Mindful not to wake the camp he took the pot off and poured into a tall tin cup just as steam began to coil up from the spout. It was a brew both bitter and sweet; the sweetness from fork-root and the bitterness born of camellia leaves.

As he set the steaming cup down to cool Edwin noticed movement at the edge of the clearing. The small fire made it hard to see anything beyond its light but his enhanced vision was enough for him to make out a lean figure standing in the darkness, watching him. Squinting, Edwin recognized the figure: plumed helmet, chainmail tunic, studded leather skirt. It was the dark haired girl with the icy eyes and twin swords. Odd.

Edwin stood up and approached her, his basilisk-hide sandals making no sound upon the dirt and grass. Steam rose from the cup of tea between his hands. "Weren't you on sentinel duty when I went to bed hours ago?" he asked in a low, soft voice.

"Yeah," Ashura gruffly whispered back. "Couldn't sleep. And it's near enough to dawn."

"I've brewed some herbal tea if you would like some," Edwin said.

Ashura just continued to watch him. Now that he was closer Edwin could see that her eyes were narrow with suspicion. How surprising, he thought sarcastically. Unperturbed, he stepped forward and offered his steaming cup. When she made no move to take it he rolled his eyes. "I suppose it is wise to always be suspicious," Edwin said. He took a sip of the tea and made a show of swallowing. "There, no poison, if that's what you were thinking."

She rolled her eyes a bit and took the cup after that. After a careful sip she gave him a little nod. "It's good," she said. "You'll have to excuse me if I'm not too trusting of a man with such a flimsy story."

Edwin chuckled slightly. "Indeed. Seeking out the witch to refund her for a faulty wand seemed like a good story to give passerbies at the fair, but it makes no sense when she has been captured by a pack of bloodthirsty beast-men and doubtlessly stripped of all her possessions. It is something a four-year-old child could easily conclude, but I applaud you for puzzling it out anyway."

Ashura glared at him and took another sip of tea before passing Edwin the cup. "In Thay," she noted, "most of the military is comprised of gnolls. They're the main muscle of the Thayan armies, used in your wars with Rashemen and Aglarond." She looked Edwin in the eyes, unblinking. "Those gnolls that we're tracking are Thayan aren't they? They were sent to capture Dynaheir."

"They are nothing compared to the shock troops you would find upon the plateau," Edwin responded, meeting her gaze evenly, "but yes, they do serve the local Thayan enclave. And yes, I sent them to capture the witch once I was sure of the road she would be taking from Nashkel. Your deduction impresses me. Just a little."

A bit of a grin crept across Ashura's face. "I'm a book-learned barbarian, remember?" There was a pause between them as Edwin took another sip of tea. "So we're at odds?" Ashura finally asked. A hand rested on the hilt of one of her swords and Edwin had the impression that she'd handed him back the tea to make sure that his own hands were occupied. He would have to throw the cup down to begin any complicated spell.

A smart girl, relatively speaking. Though not a wise one, to make threatening gestures at a red wizard of Thay. She reminded him a bit of Linka, the bodyguard of his eldest brother. Linka had been a former pitfighter, gruff and taciturn but not unpleasing to the eye. In Thay it was common for nobles to hire on former gladiators for protection, and especially popular to choose a warrior of the opposite sex who often doubled as a bedwarmer. As the youngest child of a relatively minor house Edwin had never been close to being able to afford such, and he had always been envious of his brother.

"No," Edwin said, "we need not be at odds."

"You said before that you thought I was a practical person," Ashura noted. "Betraying your friends is not practical."

Edwin's voice was very soft now. "No it is not. So I will not ask you to do such. But ask yourself: is that big hunk of everything except brain-matter really your friend? Or is he simply a man who demanded your assistance and dragged you into a struggle between agents of rival nations without even the mention of pay? I, on the other hand, can pay handsomely." The red wizard produced a silver ring from his pocket. It was inlaid with a green bead shaped and decorated like a small round shield.

"One of the rings I was carrying," Edwin explained. He tugged one of his own rings off and then slipped it onto the bare finger. There was a brief shimmer around his silhouette that faded from view almost instantly. "Its enchantment creates a barrier around the wearer that slows weapons down. Quite a useful protection for a warrior. It is a minor enchantment, to be honest, but quite a reward for doing absolutely nothing, which is all I ask of you."

"Nothing?"

"Yes. If a point comes at the end of our little quest when you are the only thing standing between the witch and I simply stand back, do nothing, and enjoy your reward."

"And what will you do with the witch?"

"I suppose since we've gone this far I should be honest." Edwin glanced around at the silent, still camp before continuing in a whisper. "Believe it or not I really am a merchant, working for the Thayan enclave in this region. Our primary business is trading in magical items," (and spreading Thayan influence and finding good sources of slave labor to send back to the homeland, but I'd best not mention that to her,) "but when we encounter wychlaran agents we have orders which supersede that mission. Ideally we are to capture the witch -as the Bright Tooth gnolls seem to have succeeded in doing- and extract any information we can from them. If capture and interrogation is unfeasible then yes, we are under orders to kill the witch and take anything of value back to the enclave, especially journals and spellbooks.

"The idiot dog-men may be trying to interrogate the witch right now, but I've no faith that they will get anything useful. Breaking a person to the point where you truly get information is an art that requires time and patience. I know a little of that art but with you heroes coming through it will doubtlessly be prudent of me to kill the witch and leave quickly. A blast of magic, a spell of escape, and then I go off to collect the bounty from my superiors." He slipped the ring from his finger and held it out. "And all you need do is quietly stand aside and let me."

Ashura eyed the ring silently for a time, and then waved her hand towards the trinket. "I can't just take that and make guarantees." Her eyes lingered on the ring however, and she eventually added: "I'll think on it though. And I won't say anything."

With an understanding smile Edwin nodded. "Prudent I suppose. Just remember the offer." He turned slightly.

"And wizard."

"Yes?"

"I won't let any harm come to Imoen," she stated. "Not for all the gaudy jewelry in Thay."

"I see. Is she your lover?"

Ashura made a face. "What? No. Ew!"

Edwin chuckled a little. Nice to see her taken off guard.

"It's nothing like that," Ashura protested. "Imoen's like a sister to me. Hells, she basically is a sister. We grew up together."

"Duly noted. And worry not. No harm shall come to her. Or to your priestess friend. Just think on my offer, and we'll see where the dice fall. I plan to wait wait for the right opportunity to complete my mission safely (for all but the witch,) and the reward is yours if you promise not to get in my way." With that Edwin turned and silently strode back to the camp. The flames had died down to red embers but he had no reason to rebuild the fire. The darkvision would allow him to read the words of his spellbook, and Edwin now had a good idea of exactly what spells to prepare for the coming day.

A little over an hour after breaking camp they found the spot where the gnolls had apparently crossed the river: a narrow bridge of pine logs that spanned the water. The river flowed rapid here, white froth roiling in many places around broad, smooth stones, though it seemed relatively shallow and the logs rested upon moss-covered slabs in the water. It was perhaps a hundred feet from one end of the bridge to the other, and if pressed close they could probably walk the span of it two abreast, but with weapons out and no worry of tumbling over the edge it would best to go one by one. Beyond the bridge stubby fir and cedar trees hung silently over thick brambles.

"It's the perfect place for an ambush," Ashura noted glumly, still squatting in the cover of the forest. Someone was going to have to make the first crossing. Unless… "You know, if anyone has the spell or potion handy now would be the perfect time for some invisible scouting."

Imoen frowned and shook her head. "Inviso-power's a bit beyond me I'm afraid. I think we're going to have to rely on your dancing shoes."

"I forsook using illusion spells when I trained in the arts of conjuration," Edwin added.

"How convenient," Ashura muttered.

"It's the truth," Edwin said with a shrug. "No enchantments or illusions. My magic is focused on the more substantial."

Rising to her feet Ashura took a deep breath. "Well back me up with some substantial magic if things go south, okay?"

"Of course," Edwin said with a smile that was in no way reassuring, stretching and strumming his long fingers.

Drawing her swords and shaking her head, Ashura cautiously approached the bridge. Minsc and Branwen followed and Imoen knocked an arrow. All was silent save the rushing of the river when Ashura took the first step onto the bridge, then another and another, putting her trust into her 'dancing shoes.'

This was the perfect place for an ambush. So of course there was an ambush.

It started with a chill that ran up Ashura's spine and into her left shoulder, settling there; sharp and precise, just like the eye of a focused archer. She twisted that shoulder to the side as the first arrow flew by. The acute, chilling sensation moved to her left hip and she hopped backwards, near the edge of the bridge. Sure enough a second arrow sailed past her lower body and stuck in the wood with a thump. Two more arrows flew from the brush but missed entirely and struck the river with twin splashes. She had gotten a glimpse of the archers when they rose from the brambles and low branches to let fly: orange skin, flat faces and sharp ears. More hobgoblins.

A third of the way across the bridge already and not wanting to get peppered by arrows in the back, Ashura bent low and sprinted for the far end. She had reached the halfway point when branches snapped and fell aside for a creature straight out nightmares, the sight of which stopped her in her tracks.

Well over nine feet tall and terrifyingly fast it burst out of the forest and stomped its way across the bridge, shaking the logs with each thunderous step. Broad and grotesquely muscled, the creature wore nothing save some strips of animal fur at its loins. Its proportions were almost human and definitely male but its ears were long and sharp at the tips, its tusks sharper still and its eyes were tiny white beads that gleamed with rage. With one hand it carried a massive club hewn from an oak tree.

A full ogre, Ashura realized with a gasp. Like the ones that attacked father. She could hear Edwin chanting something on the riverbank and one of Imoen's arrows sailed by and struck the ogre's broad chest before it reached her at the bridge's midpoint, but the wound didn't seem to even slow the creature. The ogre's great oak cudgel swept in from the left and Ashura managed to avoid the first blow by ducking very low. Hefting the club with both hands now the creature took aim as Ashura's swords shot up to attempt a desperate block. What else could she do? The ogre was so close, its stench near as overpowering as its battle-roar.

A burst of red light and an explosion of displaced water next to the bridge made both her and the ogre hesitate. Ashura took advantage of the distraction and backed away as something massive and slimy burst from the river and collided with her opponent. It was a serpent, she realized as it reeled up from the foam and coiled around the ogre's midsection; longer than the ogre was tall with scales as black as midnight and eyes that seemed to glow like golden coals. The ogre gripped at the thick coils, squeezing and pulling, but the snake didn't budge and soon it had constricted around him a second time. Then a third.

Something skimmed along the surface of the water nearby. One of Branwen's glowing hammers, Ashura realized as she backed even further from the lashing snake and struggling ogre. The ghost-hammer turned, picked up speed and slammed soundly into the ogre's stomach, knocking him even more off balance than the serpent could. A couple of wobbling steps and then the struggling creatures toppled and hit the river, sending up a splash that drenched both Ashura and Minsc behind her.

The monsters continued to struggle in the water, kicking up foam and mud, but the ogre couldn't right himself and the current quickly dragged them further and further downstream. The ogre was still desperately beating at the coils of the snake around him when they both drifted around a bend in the river and disappeared.

No arrows flew as Ashura and Minsc ran across the rest of the bridge and charged into the brush. The hobgoblins had melted away the moment their ogre went down. For a few tense minutes they gathered beside a broad fir at the other side of the bridge, back to back, waiting for the goblins to strike again or for the ogre to return. The forest remained eerily still and silent, however. Eventually the full party gathered, formed up two by two, and after a few words they began to follow a wide, clear path through the brambles and wood where Minsc claimed to see gnoll prints once again.

With luck the ogre had either been crushed or drowned and the hobgoblins were too cowed to regroup and attack again. Without luck…well, someone or something trying to kill you roughly every few hours was becoming normal to Ashura.

"Was that magic substantial enough for you?" Edwin asked, marching a pace behind her.

"Yeah," Ashura responded. She turned her head, gave him a slight smile, and then turned back. "Thanks." He's trying to ingratiate himself.

Of course if it hadn't been for the mage's quick thinking with that summoned serpent-creature Ashura would have probably ended up in the river desperately fighting the current instead of the ogre, maybe with a bleeding head-wound for good measure. Memories of the kobold traps and the underground river came back to her; of almost drowning as the weight of her armor and equipment dragged her down and her lungs felt like they would burst.

And that protective ring would have certainly come in handy if the ogre had managed to land a blow. She looked down at her gloved but unadorned fingers for a moment. She remembered her dream that morning, how she had rejected the bone dagger and its offer of power for an unspecified price that she sensed would be dear and terrible. It was easy enough to reject a deal with a devil in the dream world, where nothing had weight and thoughts and emotions were enough to carry you through.

Here in the waking world however a good magical item could mean the difference between life and death. The monsters of dreams were terrifying in their own way, but such shadows couldn't compare to a nine foot tall hulking brute that smelled of rotting fur and shit and sweat lifting an oaken club and aiming to dash out your brains with it.

Hm. Maybe if I have a moment alone with Edwin again…

Author's Note: The opening quote was inspired by Blue-Inked Frost's review a few chapters back noting that it was funny how Ashura and Imoen didn't realize there's be animosity between people from Thay and Rashemen. It's the best explanation I could come up with for that little inconsistency. I'm very grateful for all the reviews and feedback.