61 – A Surprise Party

"Now you see me, now you don't!" –Imoen

The headquarters of the Seven Suns merchant Coster seemed innocuous enough; big and square, with gilded windows and a clean redbrick façade. An entire city block was taken up by the great house and the many outbuildings that abutted it: stables, workhouses, sheds and storage buildings. None, however, showed much sign of activity.

Not nearly as intimidating as a wizard's warded tower, Imoen had been quick to point out. And likely much easier to infiltrate. "Bet I could climb that big ol' apple tree right there and get to that windowsill," she mused as she chewed. "And there don't seem to be any guards or servants about. Could do it without anyone noticing, once it's dark."

Xan grimaced at the suggestion of immediate and open burglary. "Disguise spells should suffice," he suggested instead.

They were sitting at the foot of a fountain in the great square before the merchant complex, pretending to picnic and enjoy the last glimmers of sunset. (Well, Xan was pretending. Imoen seemed to be enjoying her herbed and peppered cheese on soft bread.) "We can pose as visiting merchants and ask to tour their facilities," he went on. "Then while we are there we can ask about their business practices, and at the same time search for anything out of place."

"Out of place huh?"

"Yes. Clues. The sort one might find in one of those mystery stories you are so fond of. Papers, if we are lucky. And if Kent is correct there may be some sort of enchantment clouding the minds of the merchants. I should be able to discreetly detect it."

"I'm sure ya can." Imoen peered at the building a moment longer. "Though maybe we can get some help from the others? The two of us could play merchants, and Shura and Ess-Tee could maybe play bodyguards?"

Xan chewed his lip. "That could work. Hmm. But I fear that the more of us there are, the more conspicuous we may be." A moment's thought and he nodded to himself. "Shar-Teel can be very conspicuous."

"True."

A deep voice cut through their musings, giving them both a start. "You! Elf! Lost hope that I'd ever see you!"

The man approaching the fountain wore a sword at his belt, but he hardly seemed hostile, with his arms flung wide in a gesture of greeting and a smile on his wrinkled face. He looked to be well into his sixth decade, though still sturdy and able. There was a sharp grey beard upon his face, and he wore crisp black wool beneath a coat of cured brown leather, his trousers tucked into gleaming, silver-buckled boots.

When Xan just looked slightly confused the old man added: "Of course perhaps you're just passing through, and you've forgotten all about our deal, eh?"

The beard did seem somewhat familiar. Xan squinted a moment before it came to him. "Ah. The distressed hunter from the Cloakwood forest." He struggled to remember the name. Nobles, in his experience, tended to be especially pleased when you remember their family name, and could grow offended if you failed to.

"Aldeth Sashenstar," the man offered, thankfully not looking hurt. "And I promised I'd repay you for saving my life." He rubbed his hands together. "Fortuitous that I would bump into you here and now. I was just on my way to a banquet my partners are putting on. So in addition to the gold I promised, I can offer you the full hospitality of the Merchant's League!"

Xan glanced over at the Seven Suns building, then down to his hands and the napkin that he had been fidgeting with. "We just recently dine-"

"Aw, but that was just a snack!" Imoen insisted. "And ya can't turn down a feast from a merchant coster's kitchens! That would be rude." She enthusiastically shot to her feet, adjusting the shortbow slung over her shoulder. Xan followed with a slight sigh, a little dubious about this sudden excursion.

"Excellent then!" Aldeth proclaimed cheerfully, extending a hand. "And you are..?"

"Imoen."

He bent forward to gave her wrist a little peck. "Pleased to meet you, madam Imoen." Righting himself, Aldeth pointed over his shoulder. "The League's headquarters is just down that street." He beckoned, and once Xan and Imoen had stepped down from the fountain he added: "Might I inquire about your other companions? The young warrior who was eager to assist me? And the other two? I should hope to repay them as well if…" His voice trailed off when he caught the look Xan gave. "Hm. Bad news I take it?"

Xan winced. "When we met we were on our way to…a battle. Deep in the Cloakwood. The woman survived, and is out and about somewhere in the city, but the other two…"

"Ah. My condolences then."

Xan silently prayed that the man wouldn't inquire too much further, recalling that the enchanted sword Aldeth had given them was likely buried deep in the flooded mines.

"I was there too," Imoen put in. "We won the battle, but yeah. Poor Kivan sacrificed himself ta win it. A real hero."

"We shall drink to him then," Aldeth suggested. "At the banquet."

As they began to walk Imoen leaned in close to Xan and whispered. "These League guys are the big rivals to the Seven Suns, right? They might have all sorts'a juicy details to tell us 'bout what's going on. Ya know, before we even set foot in that big, scary building."

"Scary is not…" Xan began, but Aldeth had turned back towards them now, an eyebrow raised.

"The Seven Suns?" he asked mildly, having obviously overhead. "You've an interest in them?"

"Yes," Xan admitted. Perhaps Imoen was right about this being a potential avenue to investigate. Truly, she made a good partner sometimes. "We are looking into the strange goings-on at the coster. You have heard of such things, I am sure?"

Aldeth's footsteps slowed. "Aye. More than just heard." He halted, shaking his head. "Watched the whole bizarre collapse myself. The damndest thing." He looked back at Xan. "What's your interest though?" He did not sound particularly hostile. Just curious.

"I have been tasked by my people with investigating the…recent slowdown in the iron trade," Xan stated, choosing to be honest. "And rectify it if possible."

Aldeth's eyes widened. "That's quite a monumental task for a lone elf."

"Quite," Xan agreed flatly, aware as always of the overwhelming size and shape of what was before him. At least he did not have to face it all alone. "But I am a Greycloak of Evereska," he added. "It is my duty. As for the Seven Suns..?"

"Well, I'm sure you've heard the tavern rumors," Aldeth mused. "All of the strange business dealings that has everyone scratching their heads. I wish I could tell you why they've gone and bankrupted themselves, but no one's really talking." He pursed his lips. "Well, besides the clerks and drovers who've fled the company, but they seem as confounded as the rest of us. I'll see if I can get you some of their names."

"Interviewing them might prove helpful," Xan agreed. "Thank you."

"As for the highups: I used to have a drink with old Jhasso regularly. Him and one of the main caravan runners; this big, friendly beast of a man named Canis Krais. We were good friends, I always thought, but the last time I saw Canis on the street he seemed a different man. Gave me a blank look when I hailed him, then walked on without saying a word. And as for Jhasso himself: I haven't seen hide nor hair of him ever since returning from that hunting trip." Aldeth shook his head. "Perhaps something has them…I don't know. Cowed and terrified?"

"Or there is an enchantment at work?" Xan suggested.

Aldeth's brow furrowed and he looked off. "An enchantment? Some magic that's got them…not acting like themselves?" It seemed that notion had not occurred to him. "That could very well explain…" He stopped himself, and gave yet another shake of his head, this one a bit more swift. "No."

"Explain what?" Imoen asked.

"It's nothing. And it would be rude to speak…well, it's nothing." He began down the street once again.

"Oh come on," Imoen persisted. "It's totally something! Someone else is acting weird? Like they've been mesmerized or something?"

"Shouldn't everyone be allowed to act a little strange from time to time?" Aldeth asked with forced levity. "These are strange days, after all."

In the pocket of his robe Xan fingered a coin, turning it over and over and giving the back of Aldeth's head a careful look. A copper coin; it was good for purchasing cheap food or as the reagent for a spell that would allow him to briefly listen in on people's thoughts. Perhaps this was the time to use it.

"You're in for quite a treat," the old merchant said, eager to change the subject. "I was told the feast will start at the seventh bell. In the meantime we can relax in the lounge. Perhaps share a smoke and a drink? If either of you partake in such things." He gestured ahead, towards a big square building with an inviting number of broad windows. Much of the surface was glass, in fact, glowing warmly with the light of early-evening lamps.

"Then hopefully we can enjoy some poached salmon and honey buttered tubers, if Waukeen is good and my partners remember my preferences. Come! The hospitality of the Merchant's League awaits!"

Beyond the great double doors the Merchant League's headquarters opened onto a spectacular chamber of marble and tile. It sprawled from one end of the building to the other; wide and high and vaulted, with little alcoves sectioned off by pillars and hip-high walls that served to break up the vastness. Each alcove was carpeted and lined with curtains, and there were polished tables and cushioned chairs that served as places for the clerks and merchants to meet and work.

Though daytime business had obvious wrapped up, a few clerks lingered: lone figures hunched over desks with their books, papers, quills, and inkpots spread out before them. As Imoen and Xan followed their host into the chamber they passed a pair of stone-faced figures in colorful gambesons, halberds resting on their shoulders, and though the guards kept still the heads of the clerks all turned. One particularly doughfaced scrivener stared at Imoen long and hard, even after the others had politely buried their noses back in their books.

Aldeth's hand swept before him dramatically. "This –of course– is our great hall. A place of many meetings. There are private offices on the floor above, along with the lounge and the library. The banquet hall is on the third story, though I'll show you to the lounge first. Nothing like some seawine on chipped ice after a long day."

Xan gave him a frown. "That won't be necessary."

All the while the fat clerk continued to stare at them, wide-eyed, despite Imoen giving him her best 'What-the-heck's-yer-problem?' glare right back.

"Ah, but I insist," Aldeth replied, a twinkle in his eye. "At least enjoy the fire and the stuffed chairs. I, myself, could really use a stiff drink." With that he gently herded his guests towards a broad staircase carved from great slabs of marble, and as Imoen followed she looked over her shoulder and made a face at the creepy clerk: puffing her cheeks out and pressing a finger to the tip of her nose to make it all porcine. Even that barely got a reaction.

The hall at the top of the stairs was decorated much like the main floor: spacious and vaulted and gleaming, with a few round tables on plush red rugs scattered about the chamber like islands in the sea of marble. A gray-haired man in polished scalemail met them near the top flight, giving Imoen and Xan a skeptical glance as he inclined his head towards Aldeth. "Ah, Master Sashenstar," he grunted. "And these are..?"

"Guests, of course," Aldeth said with a smile and a sweep of his hands. "And good to see you too Brandilar" he added with a hint of sarcasm. "This is master Xan, a Greycloak of Evereska. And his…uh..?"

"Apprentice Greycloak, Imoen" Imoen offered with a smile. "Investigator in training."

The armored man cocked his head. "Your ears look a bit round to me."

"A bit, but that won't stop me from Greycloaking. Nosir! Human or not, I can still seek out the enemies of The People and uncover their fiendish plots just fine, for Queen and Vale!" She turned to Xan. "(Evereska has a queen, right?)"

Xan cringed and shook his head. "(A council of elders, actually.)"

"(Oh. Yeah. Well that doesn't make for a good slogan at all.)"

Aldeth coughed. "Well, they are my honored guests in any case."

The guardsman shrugged slightly. "So long as you vouch for them, I suppose." His eyes lingered on Xan's ornate sword, despite his words.

"Is something amiss?" Aldeth asked.

Brandilar crinkled his lips. "Eh. Let's just say there's something prickly in the air tonight. One of those times I can feel the Watchful Eye looking over my shoulder. Then some armed strangers come traipsing into our hall…"

"Well, they're certainly no assassins," Aldeth assured him. "This elf helped save my life." He chuckled. "Was a little reluctant at the time, but a debt's a debt."

The guardsman held up an open hand. "Fair enough." He looked from side to side before stepping closer. "It's just that…" the rest was whispered into the old merchant's ear, and Aldeth seemed to stiffen slightly. A few more whispered words passed between the two, though all Imoen could catch were '…back…' and '…them…' Then the two men clasped hands and Aldeth straightened up, leading his guests away from the guard and further in.

The lounge was much cozier than the vast chamber of echoing marble, with walls of smoke-stained hardwood adorned with all manner of paintings that ranged from portraits of well-poised nobles to dramatic battles and pastoral backdrops. The ceiling hung lower here, crisscrossed with sturdy rafters, and the chairs certainly looked well-stuffed and comfy. Besides the man in plain servant's garb who stood behind the bar the place was pretty empty, a pair of women sitting at a corner table and playing some sort of game on a checkered board while a thin, weasel-faced man sat by the opposite wall, reading a book.

Aldeth made haste for the bar, and as they followed Imoen noticed that the scrawny man was watching them intently. "Evening Laresso," the old merchant greeted the barkeep.

"Master Sashenstar," the servant replied, his lips tight and his hands fidgeting with the white rag that he held between them. "You've returned from…Nashkel was it?"

"Aye, yestereve. Quaint little place, but the business is done. And the roads were quiet and peaceful enough enough. Still, my time away had me pining for a glass of your seawine." As he spoke Aldeth removed a pipe from his breast pocket, along with a tobacco pouch. "And I'm sure these two are parched. Why don't you tell them what we have available?"

The bartender shifted uncomfortably. "I am afraid we do not have any seawine in stock."

"Oh? Brandy then?"

Laresso shook his head.

As they talked Imoen glanced about the room once more, eyes alighting on a painting of some knights on horseback. They seemed to be charging through the mud towards a hoard of the walking dead. Very dramatic!

Then she noticed that Weasel Face was still staring at them, his eyes big and glassy and kinda blank.

Aldeth stopped stuffing his pipe. "Well, how about some Saerloonian topaz?"

"We're out of that as well."

Aldeth looked taken aback. "How? That's all that Irlentree ever drinks. He'd never let the stocks get low!"

"Got burnt out on it I guess?" Laresso offered, but he quickly shook his head, then he leaned over the bar as his voice went low. "Being honest, sir, Irlentree's been acting real strange of late. Zorl too. Our stocks have been low for weeks, and I've been filing requisition requests, but the bosses keep ignoring me. Even when I tried to talk to 'em direct."

Aldeth frowned down at his unlit pipe. "Ignoring?"

"Aye. Never see them in the lounge anymore, and most times they just walk past me in the halls."

"And if the stocks are low-"

"All tapped out's more like."

"All tapped out then. Then…how are they even going to put on the banquet tonight?"

"Banquet sir?"

"My partners invited me to a banquet. Zorl asked me in person, just this morning. He was acting a bit strange though…"

The barkeep's frown deepened. "First I've heard of it."

Something is very wrong here, Xan's voice echoed in Imoen's mind. It seemed he had just activated one of his mental-linky spells.

Yup, Imoen thought right back at him. Merchants acting all strange and 'not themselves.' Just like the Seven Suns. Maybe it's connected.

That would be a strong possibility.

Well aren't 'cha glad we came here then?

You use the word 'glad' under the most dubious of circumstances.

"Well if you're not catering the banquet," Aldeth was saying to the barkeep, "then what-"

"Oh, it's all taken care of," a new voice cut in. "I assure you."

A pair of finely dressed men had entered the lounge, side by side and approaching the bar at a leisurely gait. One was shorter and slightly younger, sporting bushy muttonchops and wearing elegant black silks. The other looked to be a harder, older fellow, bald beyond a little white crown, and dressed in the same sort of crisp leathers that Aldeth seemed to favor. It was the older man who had spoken first, and now he continued. "Forgive us Laresso, but we all know you're a bit of a gossip."

The second man spoke up then, his voice almost sing-song. "So we made all the arrangements for the feast ourselves. Wouldn't want to spoil the surprise, now would we?"

"A surprise hardly seems necessary," Aldeth objected. "Not like I haven't traveled on business countless times in the past. And it's hardly the anniversary of anything important."

"Aww," the man with the muttonchops exclaimed. "But there are so many things to celebrate. Our long and fruitful partnership? Or the collapse of the Seven Suns?"

"Yes," the older man agreed. "Indulge us. And it seems that you've brought guests? We definitely have to put on a good show…"

"…at least for them."

Aldeth had turned fully, placing his back against the bar and giving his partners a very dubious look.

"Speaking of which," the man with the muttonchops put in. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced."

Aldeth gave him a wary nod. "This charming gentleman is Zorl Myar." he stated, and the man with the muttonchops gave an exaggerated bow. "And his companion is Irlentree Drakon." He gestured at his guests. "Xan of Evereska, and Imoen…"

"Of Candlekeep," Imoen added. "Pleased ta meet ya." Not.

Irlentree, the older man, bowed. "And I am most pleased to make your acquaintance. How did you two come to know Aldeth, if I might ask?"

"We're old childhood friends," Imoen answered instantly.

Both men gave her –a girl about a third Aldeth's age– completely empty looks for a moment, and Aldeth chuckled awkwardly. "This elf helped save my life," he explained, still to completely blank faces. "You remember. That incident in the Cloakwood?"

Both men cocked their heads in unison. Then their eyes seemed to brighten. "Ah yes," Zorl said. "The Malarite druids were hunting you, right?"

"Because Elban had accidentally killed one of them," Irlentree finished.

"When the druid had taken the form of a wolf," Zorl added.

"Most tragic," Irlentree turned to Xan. "You must be quite the brave warrior, to defend a stranger like that."

Imoen couldn't help but snicker, and Xan glanced at his shoes. Weren't you and Shar-Teel ready to give him over to the druids? Imoen prodded through the mental link. That's what Ess-Tee told me. Said that Ajantis 'Just had to step in and paladin-it-up.'

Yes. Polite of Aldeth not to bring that up.

"Well," Zorl added, "any friend of Aldeth is more than welcome to join in the festivities upstairs. The seventh bell nears…"

"…and they should be preparing the first course as we speak," Irlentree finished. He turned and beckoned. "Do come join us. There's plenty of space at the head of the table."

It's nowhere near the seventh bell, is it? Imoen asked over the link. She glanced over at Weasel Face, who was still giving her the full-creepo-eye.

No it is not.

Aldeth watched his partners with narrow eyes, then took a cautious step. "Very well," he agreed, though his hand was close to the hilt of his sword. He began, quite slowly, to walk forward.

With a shrug Imoen slipped off her stool and followed, along with Xan, and as they neared the doorway of the lounge she turned and made a rude, two-fingered gesture at Weasel Face. His expression didn't change.

This is, of course, a trap, Xan whispered into her mind, his tone as droll as ever.

Creepy-Guy-One and Creepy-Guy-Two certainly give that impression, Imoen agreed. Well, at least I've got ma bow this time. And if you notice any sign of trouble you use that shielding spell of yours. Ya hear me? Don't want my elf getting bruised!

Alright.

So, have you found the enchantment on them yet?

I was about to attempt a mind-probing spell. Unfortunately it requires that I intone a few words. Perhaps you can-

Create a distraction? Ooo! Can I ever!

A sigh passed through their mental link. Please do not go overboard.

Oh pish!

It was a shame they weren't walking past any upright suits of armor. That would have been the perfect thing to make a racket with. But you have to work with what you're given, so instead Imoen casually grazed a knee against one of the ceramic pots that lined the hall, sending it wobbling.

"Oh whoops!" she shouted, reaching out to steady the planter and by total accident giving it a shove instead of a tug. There was a frantic rustle from the fern within, then came an echoing crack as the pot struck the tiles, followed by brittle tinking and the rush of dirt spilling across the floor.

"Ack! Ack! Ack!" Imoen exclaimed. "So, so, soooo sorry! Mamma always said that the gods gave me three left feet, and backwards knees to boot. But I'll clean it up! I can-"

"Don't worry about it," Zorl interrupted, no care at all in his voice. "We've servants for that." He glanced past Imoen, and when she looked over her shoulder there did indeed seem to be a sour-faced man approaching, broom and dustpan somehow already in his hands. His clothes were loose and nondescript, but when he looked over at Imoen the stare he gave seemed oddly familiar: wide-eyed and unblinking.

Something about that gaze had her really wanting to find a way to vanish. Right. Now. Hmm.

The others were walking on now, and with a frown Imoen turned to follow. Hopefully she had given plenty of cover for Xan to perform his-

Seldarine have mercy! The voice practically screeched through her head, Xan's terror loud and clear over the link between them. She had to fight not to jump.

Fixed-cells continue to mind-touch. Mimic us.

Poor mimics though. Crude. They wind and wend and never leap!

And what's this? One of the fixed-cells hears us now!

Which? Primate or fay…ah yes! It's fay. Hello! Hello fay!

The moment Xan had finished his mind-reading spell he had been struck by a wave of these rapid-fire, alien thoughts, bouncing off each other as casually as one might breathe. In theory the spell made language irrelevant, but the speed and the strange tone –like some sort of ugly music–of their voices made it hard to follow, and the waves of emotion that accompanied them were overwhelming and hard to define all at once. Bubbling, insatiable curiosity perhaps? Or was it raw, stomach-clenching hunger? Or both?

And these gleeful, hungry things could sense his mind. And sense that he could sense them. And instead of anger or fear or surprise the two entities (where they possessing Zorl and Irlentree?) just seemed giddy.

I heard them think 'trap' a third voice casually offered. They all sounded identical to Xan, but this one seemed to have floated in from behind him. A glance back and he met the empty eyes of a servant, his hands mechanically sweeping up the dirt that Imoen had just spilled, but his eyes focused on them.

Yes another voice agreed, something dismissive in its tone. It seemed to be coming from the man named Zorl. The fey knows we are leading it into a 'trap.'

It keeps walking forward though.

Corellon! That had been a fourth voice, somewhere up ahead and above them. How many of these things were there?

A fifth mind chimed in, above and somewhat distant. It knows that we know. Sees that we see.

And if it makes a sudden move… That came from the man called Irlentree.

…so shall we, Zorl finished, looking ahead as they neared the stairs.

What in the world is it? a familiar –and very human– voice cut in. Imoen didn't look over at Xan, but her posture was rigid; ready to leap into action. What has you all freaked out?

They…they are telepathic, Xan stammered back. And there are at least five of them! They know exactly what we think, and they're all around us. We cannot…we're trapped! Imoen! We're trapped!

Oh pish-posh. I don't see no chains yet.

Imoen, you do not understand! They are listening to our very thoughts. If I start to cast a spell they will see it coming. If I draw my sword they will act. How can we possibly…

Bunch'a mindreaders huh? She still sounded unperturbed.

All around Xan a chorus of gleeful voices echoed.

Mindreaders. Yes.

What a fascinating phrase.

More 'mind hearers,' but the distinction is unimportant.

What matters is that we hear you, fey.

Tel-Quessir.

Whatever you wish to call yourself.

We call you meat.

Over it all Imoen's voice chimed in. Good thing I've got a slippery mind.

Xan turned towards her to object, but the girl was…gone. He tightened his lips, holding in a relieved sigh as they continued up the stairs. Good. At least she might escape this-

"So, I'm real eager to see what sorta' surprise you fellers have cooking up," Imoen said, cheerful as ever. Turning, Xan gave her a surprised look. She was suddenly walking along on his left side instead of his right.

They crested the top of the stairs as she talked, and the vast dining hall of the Merchant's League opened up before them: the ceiling nearly as high as a cathedral's, windows stretching from the bottom of the walls to the top and offering a breathtaking view of the bay. Most of the third story of the building must have been taken up by the opulent chamber; all polished green stone and marble pillars, with a little curtained space at the back that seemed to lead to the kitchens. Row upon row of tables and chairs stretched the length and breadth of the hall, almost all empty.

"Cooking up," Imoen repeated, giggling at her own little joke. Only one table in the great chamber was set: porcelain dishes and silverware lined up on the spotless white tablecloth, though there were no serving trays in sight. A pair of well-dressed figures were seated there, with two serving women hovering over them.

"See, it's funny," Imoen went on "'cause this is one of those dinners were we –the humans– are (in a shocking and totally unpredictable twist:)," she twirled her fingers and went "dun-dun-dun," before her dramatic finish: "going to be the main course!"

Aldeth frowned over at her, gripping the hilt of his sword as they approached the dining table. When his business partners made no response he glared at them. "Zorl! What exactly is going on?"

At the same time Imoen's voice echoed in Xan's mind. Now would be a really good time to throw up yer shielding spell! Strange. She seemed...distant.

With a serene look on his face the man with the muttonchops turned around, arms spread in a placating gesture. "Oh, worry not my old friend. It is-" and then his voice shifted to an inhuman pitch, his face and arms a blur. "-exactly as she says."

And then all was a blur; a sudden explosion of motion. The servant women advanced with blinding speed, their faces gone and their arms now stretching and skeletal-thin, hefting butcher's knives. At the same time Xan felt his arms wrenched back, the thing that had been Irlentree suddenly behind him. At the same time the thing that had been Zorl was gripping Aldeth's arms, the old man struggling to reach his sword.

Then the two servant-things were upon Imoen, knives slicing through the air, stabbing-

-right through her, to no effect. There was a waiver, and the grin on Imoen's broad face just grew and grew. "Think yer the only ones that can be tricky, huh?" Another flicker, and then the illusionary girl just puffed out of existence.

At the same time the twang of a bowstring echoed from somewhere above them all, an arrow whistling in. It struck one of the transformed servants squarely in the eye, the creature's head snapping back and a keening sound like nothing Xan had ever heard escaping the blank spot where its mouth would be: a scream and a deflation all at once.

The meaty primate!

It's up there! It's up there!

For half a heartbeat Xan felt the grip on his arms loosen, and with all his strength he yanked and squirmed his way free, turning with an outstretched hand and desperately snapping out an incantation. A blast of color fanned from his fingertips and blurred the air, striking the faceless thing that had held him full in the eyes. It let out a scream much like the creature that had just fallen to the arrow, stumbling backwards.

All was dizzying motion now; Aldeth had kicked his way free and yanked his sword from its sheath, cleaving his way out of the press of grey creatures, and Xan made to do the same, his moonblade pulsing with blue fire and the words of his protective spell on his lips. Just in time too, as one of the faceless things slithered in and loomed before him, a steak knife clutched in both hands.

A swipe of Xan's blade drew a narrow gash across the creature's forearm and knocked it back, and before it could recover a stray slash from Aldeth's broadsword sliced through its side, spraying lack ichor across the nearby tablecloth. While the creature was wobbling Xan lunged, ramming his moonblade through its chest before shoving it aside, desperately gulping in air all the while.

Xan whirled, raising his sword as his mind raced through his available spells, dismissing most of them swiftly. Confusion or other mind-effect magic would likely be useless on these telepathic, alien things. He would have to rely on his blade. And if he survived this night he vowed to focus more on transmutations and other magic that would make him a better swordsman. He was getting very tired of these annoying instances when enchantment proved useless.

Shar-Teel would be pleased.

Another wide swing drove one of the attackers back, and then as Xan turned and placed his backside against the table he found himself standing face-to-face with a grinning Imoen, one of her hands raised and open. "Ya wouldn't hurt me would'cha?"

He froze.

She lunged.

And as she rushed in there something burst from the front of her neck, an explosion of silver and black. She paused, mid-lurch, though the look on her face seemed to be more one of mild annoyance than pain. Then that face swam and twisted, round cheeks and blue eyes flattening into a grey surface with black pools, her claw-like fingers reaching out to probe the arrowhead that was protruding from beneath her chin.

Xan shook himself, and as he did he glanced down, eyes widened in horror when he spotted the creature's other hand. It was gripping the hilt of a knife, pressed close against Xan's stomach. For a moment he thought he had been stabbed, but no: the blade must have snapped off when it struck his shielding spell.

Looking up from the knife, Xan suddenly had no problem raising his moonblade and slicing down as hard as he could, blue fire and steel easily cleaving through what seemed like a very soft (almost malleable?) skull. The whole creature just seemed to fold and crumble under the blow, ichor spraying everywhere.

Straitening and desperately struggling to breathe, Xan surveyed the scene. There were two more doppelgangers (That's what these creatures had to be!) on the other side of the table, grappling and clawing at Aldeth. One of the things was hugging the old man's sword arm and trying to reach his face with its sharp fingertips, while the other was holding on from behind, arms crossed tight. Aldeth's leathers were ragged and his face bloody and bruised, all three of them close to toppling and bringing the table down with them.

On the other side of the dining hall a lone doppelganger stalked about the base of a pillar, its head tilted up and its hands pressed against the marble. It seemed to be searching for some way to climb up to the rafters, where Imoen floated and aimed her bow, loosing an arrow down at the creature. The shot missed, however, striking the carpet a few strides from the doppelganger's feet. No doubt Imoen had used up the spell that gave her perfect aim.

Unsure of what else to do, Xan turned to the struggle right in front of him and flung a hand forward, calling up one of his most powerful enchantments. A wave of orange chaos erupted from his fingers and surged across the table, buffeting the minds of the creatures that were holding Aldeth and forcing them to…

…turn and give Xan the briefest of glances, their black eyes glistening with what he couldn't help but read as contempt. Then they went back to trying to break the old man's ribs and wrench his limbs from their sockets. At the same time one of Imoen's arrows came streaking by, missing the head of a doppelganger and by a wide span and skipping off the surface of the table.

A mocking voice hissed through Xan's mind: Useless.

Snarling and kicking, Aldeth struggled between his attackers, his sword arm still held out and his body nearly horizontal as they pulled him in opposite directions.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Xan hefted his glowing blade, straightened his posture, bent his knees slightly, and…

…and…

…and…

Oh do not stop to think on it! he ordered himself. Act! Act! Act!

Somehow he found himself scrambling over the dining table and performing his best imitation of a charge, though as he did so countless thoughts couldn't help but bubble up, his mind whirring and racing. Next time he did this (if he lived…if he lived...) he would be prepared! Next time he would race forward with a haste spell on his lips, strength and agility magically enhanced, and he would cover himself beforehand with a spell that would make his skin as sturdy as stone.

If he survived this.

If these mindreading, unnaturally strong and swift creatures did not casually slap him aside when he tried to swing this ridiculous blade –that had been forced into his hands despite him having absolutely no skill with it– at the-

Anticipating the path of the moonblade (really how could the creature not, with a storm of doubts and worries careening towards it like this?) Xan's target turned slightly, let go of Aldeth, and easily caught the descending sword with its hand. It blocked the blow well enough, but it let out a cry of pain after that, blue fire surging up from the blade.

Still, despite the slicing steel and the unexpected flames, the creature managed to hold on, black blood bubbling and hissing, and Xan held on too, adjusting as the creature tried to wrench the sword from his grasp.

Behind it Aldeth took full advantage of his freed sword arm: planting a foot on the floor, slashing forward, and then with a surprising burst of strength stabbing backwards over his shoulder. It was an awkward strike to be sure, but the tip of the blade bit into the shoulder of the doppelganger behind him and the creature loosened its grip.

The old man bucked, kicked, and shimmied, using every inch of space the creatures gave him. It was enough to land both boots on the floor, and then a pommel-blow cleared even more breathing room, sending the doppelganger stumbling back. Aldeth turned to face it fully, his breaths raspy and his sword thrust forward with both hands now, and Xan swung in behind him.

Briefly they stood back-to-back, but the damned thing that held Xan's blade yanked and surged at him, and he found himself stumbling around and bumping a table, desperate to hold on, avoid the hand that was reaching out to strangle him, and stay upright all at once. The creature was right in his face now, blank eyes wide as dinner plates and fingers filed to sharpened points.

Weak, fragile thing I feel your fear.

Somewhere above them a twang rang out, and an arrow appeared and imbedded itself in the creature's shoulder with a flutter of fletching. The doppelganger let out a surprised gasp and turned its head, and as it did Xan managed to slide his sword out from between its slick fingers, bumping into Aldeth's back as he stumbled and tried to regroup.

A shadow passed over them, and Xan couldn't help but glance up. Imoen was stretched out fully and levitating about fifteen feet above them all, just languidly floating by as she knocked another arrow. She tucked her knees in and rolled, righting herself and beginning to drift down, feet first, towards the table.

Xan focused again on the wounded shape-shifter in front of him, but it had started to back away. It seemed to be pondering full retreat, but a sudden commotion behind it was giving it pause: the sound of armor clanking and boots scuffing. Then in a burst of steel and color three soldiers topped the stairs at the far side of the hall, poleaxes bared and pointing towards the doppelganger that had been hunting after Imoen. The thing seemed to shout something in a human voice, but that quickly turned into one of those strangely-pitched, deflating screams.

A similar sound erupted behind Xan as Imoen and Aldeth finished off the other creature with blade and bow, but he made himself keep his eyes on the last doppelganger as it backed away. Its bald, oversized head had begun to fluctuate, lines appearing on its face and muttonchops sprouting from its cheeks. Raising a human hand that bled red instead of black, the thing made a decision, whirling around and racing towards the incoming guards.

"Thank the gods you're here Brandilar!" it shouted, voice mimicking human pain and desperation. "They're all doppelgangers! They've all- hragh!"

That last part did not sound human at all. Instead it let out the now-familiar, deflating scream these things always made when they used their true voices, its features shifting and its body crumpling under the guard captain's axe. Brandilar's eyes were wild and wide as he yanked his weapon free.

"I saw you transform, mirrorfiend," he snarled, stepping over the fallen creature and marching towards the gods-awful mess at the center of the hall. "Now, are any of you real?! What in all of the Abyss is going on here?!"

"All the…Abyss…" Aldeth grunted as he propped himself up on the edge of the table, a hand pressing to his blood-soaked side. "Sounds about…" he coughed, "about right." He had obviously been stabbed several times in the chaos.

The guard captain loomed over them all, halberd raised and steady. "Master Sashenstar?" he asked. "Is that really..?"

Imoen had slipped in beside the wounded merchant, offering him a blue bottle.

"Thank you…dear," Aldeth managed as he took the healing potion and cautiously sipped. Eventually his eyes fixed on the guards, who had not lowered their weapons. "Brandilar. You remember…the barghest? In the Wood of Sharp Teeth?"

The guard captain grunted. "Aye."

"'How much trouble can one dog be?' Heh. We were so arrogant."

Brandilar replied with a humorless chuckle. "Still are. How wrong Irlentree was though, eh?"

Aldeth took a deep sip from the potion-bottle. "Irlentree. Gods." He glanced around at the ichor-stained tablecloths and the splayed-out bodies: twig-thin things dressed in oversized clothes, their faces smooth, grey masks. "Him and Zorl. Along with...Quell and Nicha? They were all…replaced?"

"It would seem that way," Brandilar stated grimly. The other two guards were fanning out behind him, eyes everywhere. "Along with several servants. And Helm only knows how many more of those things might be hiding among us."

"This…" Aldeth still grimaced, clutching the wound at his side. "…this could mean the end of the League itself, if we don't get things under control. We need to get a letter to Dabron immediately. Call the lad back from whatever fool expedition he's on."

A shiver ran down Xan's back as all the implications snapped into place. Replaced by doppelgangers. Perhaps the originals were sitting in a cell somewhere, but he really doubted it. And if the situation with the Seven Suns was similar…

Seldarine! This was far worse than blackmail or enchantment spells. This was insidious, coldblooded murder. Imoen had been right. They would have to bring Ashura and Shar-Teel along if they might be facing another nest of these things.

They would need heavy hitters. To the Hells with being cautious.

Author's Note: It annoys me sometimes when I'm reading something and a chapter ends with a cliffhanger, then the next chapter (or multiple chapters) follows different characters. So apologies that this story did exactly that. Imoen and Xan's Detective Service just sort of took over this whole chapter and wouldn't let go, but the next chapter will belong to Ashura.

And no one tell Imoen that that isn't quite how the Dungeons and Dragons 3E ability slippery mind works. She did use levitation completely within the rules though! You can drift around a bit with a levitation spell, if you have something to push off of. It's a bit like being in zero gravity.