Author's Note: A warning that there's a sex scene at about the midpoint of this chapter. Definitely rated M.

69 – The Road Home

"There's a saying that crowded inns make for strange bedfellows, but I would say that the inns in this piece (and there is quite an overreliance on inn-related scenes, let me tell you!) more often make for predictable bedfellows. The play is simply littered with unbelievable contrivances that the author conjures up to force opposing characters together." –Sensate Jeena Ealy, from her (scathing) review of A Comedy of Terrors

Night had fallen over Candlekeep long ago, and as Edwin stepped out into the darkness and rubbed the back of his stiff, stiff neck he found himself wondering what bell it was. In the artificial light of the great library it was so easy to lose track of time. Not unlike the halls of the Academy at Thaymount, though of course the flickering of the light here was an annoying eyestrain. Why this citadel, which had no shortage of mages (minor though they were) had never invested in permanently enchanted glowlamps was beyond him. Tradition or some such nonsense, that they stockpile candlewax rather than pay a competent enchanter.

Hopefully the hour was not so late that an evening meal was out of the question. Being upright and moving about had suddenly awakened Edwin's appetite, and thinking back it seemed that the light morningfeast he had enjoyed shortly after dawn had been the only meal of the day. In fact he felt so famished that the gruel of the Western Heartlands almost seemed appealing. At the very least the heavy tubers and mutton these barbarians favored for every meal would be filling, though he would kill for some saffron.

He stepped down the marble stairs at the front of the library and made his way towards the shriveled gardens of the keep, the fountains up ahead singing their perpetual tinking song. It would almost have been a pleasant stroll, if not for the looming shadow that followed him. Edwin cringed when the thing spoke up.

"Boo said that you were nodding off in your nest of books," the big oaf rumbled just behind him, "and Minsc would need only to tuck you in, then be done with his duties. But it seems you have shaken yourself awake. Good to be outside at least. Too stuffy in there." The big bald ape tilted his head back and breathed in deep, for emphasis.

"There is absolutely no need to 'tuck' me in," Edwin grumbled as he set a brisk pace across the grounds. "I am a grown adult (unlike certain lumbering man-children) and quite capable of making my own bed and blowing out my own candles."

"Grown, yes," Minsc replied. "But you grew into a slippery snake that needs constant watching. For your own good, as well as mine and Dynaheir's."

"Bah! The witch may have told you such, but I assure you-"

"Boo told me such!"

"Yes. Well, whichever of your guardians instructed you to follow me about like a hound, I can assure you…uh…ugh." Edwin's voice trailed off and he simply sighed. It was likely pointless to debate with this walking, talking brick, and he was far too hungry and tired besides. "Follow if you must, then. So long as you promise not to split me in two with that clunky sword of yours."

"You will remain in one piece, little man," the barbarian said. Then he paused, almost appearing thoughtful. "So long as you don't do anything particularly evil."

Edwin huffed. "Be assured that I have no diabolical plans for this evening." Hmm. He took another tack. "So it was your rodent who suggested that you watch over me? For my 'own good?'"

The great baboon nodded enthusiastically.

"So you are protecting me? (That a Rashemi berserker came rushing to my rescue is still something I have a hard time believing, all these months later.)"

More nodding. "Minsc and Boo have vowed to protect all from evil. By smashing it!"

"But you have, in the past, referred to me as an evil wizard, have you not?" This was perhaps a dangerous line to go down, but the possibility of making the ape's head explode with a logical paradox was too tempting to pass up.

To Edwin's delight the imbecile's brow did furrow with confusion. Briefly.

There was a faint squeaking sound from somewhere near Minsc's chest, beneath the lacquered armor, and then an irritating, child-like smile bloomed on the big man's face. "Quite right you are, Boo!" the giant boomed. "Evil will often try to trick and confuse." He halted suddenly and turned on his heel, fulling facing Edwin. "But the solution is always clear and simple. Laugh in Evil's face!" With that he leaned in –forcing Edwin to involuntarily flinch and take a step back– and let out a great, bellowing "Ha!"

Another swivel, and Minsc started down the garden path once again.

"Evil this and evil that," Edwin grumbled as he composed himself and began to walk as well. "The natterings of a simple mind, unable to deal with a complex world."

"You tried to murder fair Dynaheir," Minsc retorted. "Evil. Plain and simple."

"Ah. But don't you see. I never cared a wit for your witch, one way or another. I was ordered by the leader of my enclave to hunt her. A mission I was meant to complete on pain of death. I had no choice, and in a certain sense my actions could even be considered self-defense. Perhaps in a way I am even a victim of-"

Another swivel, and another "Ha!" The great baboon's laugh was so close and so strong that Edwin could even smell his breath (which carried the scent of orange peels, oddly. One would expect something fouler.) "See!" Minsc bellowed. "A simple solution, when Evil attempts to act smug and tricksy."

Edwin raised a finger, drawing in a breath as if to speak, but Minsc reared back and puffed himself up. If I say anything I'll just get more berserker breath for my efforts won't I? Bah!

Scowling and not bothering with another word, Edwin turned and marched on, passing beneath a gate and entering the citadel's outer yard. The tall, blocky building that served as the local inn and general store stood before them now, and though it was late there seemed to be an unusual amount of commotion just outside the door.

Horses, dusty travelers, and men dressed in the heavy armor of the fortress-guard all stood or scrambled about on the path before the inn, bathed in light from its windows and open doors, and obviously trying to sort themselves out. One of the guards was awkwardly holding the reins of a skittish white palfrey, shifting about like he really wanted to hand the horse over to someone else, and next to him some servant-looking fellow was struggling to unpack a massive bundle of luggage from the animal's back. A second servant was shouldering his way through the doorway, arms so full of gear that he swayed from side to side, and more horses shifted nearby, a pair of grooms from the citadel's stables just now rushing over to sooth them.

Some gruff, armored, man-at-arms type seemed to be directing the unpacking, and beside him stood a dark-skinned man of middle years, who was chatting in a low voice with the fellow who ran the inn. The stranger (Turmish? Edwin guessed he was Trumish) towered a good head-and-neck above the round little man, and he was the one who particularly drew Edwin's eye. His traveling clothes were dusty, but a cut or two above the rest around him: a fleece-lined longcoat, elegant and emerald in shade, over a vest that was lined with what Edwin guessed were rows and rows of pockets.

Carefully disguised pockets no less. Most interesting.

The Turmishman also wore a smart round cap and stood stiff-backed, with an air of easy command. A mage. Of that Edwin had no doubt. Those pockets hid spell components, and likely wands and scrolls as well. It was a bit more difficult to spot a spellcaster here than it would have been in Thay, especially with the odd fondness both the men and many of the women had for wearing pants, but Edwin had learned the signs well enough.

The fat innkeeper seemed to be laughing at something that only he found amusing, and when he reached out to pat the Turmishman on the shoulder the man recoiled reflexively. The Turmishman's armored subordinate stepped forward, hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Well it is!" the innkeeper exclaimed, ignoring the threat and pulling back to turn his attempt at a friendly gesture into a shrug. "As an elven arse. Can vouch fer the bunkhouse as well. Swept and scrubbed down near daily by the monks."

"I'm sure it will do," the Turmish mage stated, flat and indifferent. "And what about eveningfeast? We've had a long ride."

Again the innkeep laughed, patting his ample stomach. "Shouldn't be too late for a meal. Don't you worry. Likely there's still stew on, and we can grill you up some sandwiches anytime." (Edwin was pleased to hear that.) "Just make yer way in and talk to Lyda at the counter. She'll get you set up, and I'll make sure yer horses here are put to bed nice and cozy."

With that the Turmishman simply nodded and stepped past, making his way towards the yawning light of the tavern. The remaining servant and the armored man lingered, unpacking the last load from the horses.

As Edwin approached the inn the voice of his annoying shadow boomed from somewhere over his shoulder, making him cringe. "Still food you say, good Winthrop?"

The fat man nodded. "A bit. If ya hurry."

"Good! Minsc could eat a horse. And the red wizard's stomach has been rumbling as well."

Bah!

"Course all these new mouths might eat me out of business soon enough," the innkeep grumbled, his humor finally fading. "And it would be nice to close up before it's too far after the eleventh bell. Oh. And though there's stew enough, I've some bad news for you two." And now his demeanor grew downright grave. "Afraid bedspace is now in short supply."

"I secured my room days ago," Edwin bristled. "These newcomers have no right-"

"You'll get a refund," the innkeep interrupted. "But I'm afraid you just don't swing near the weight in these parts that Rieltar Anchev does. Right high-up-noble gent. Owns a whole merchant coaster and then some. There was space in the bunkhouse for 'is servants at least, but I had to juggle some rooms around. 'specially with that Kestor merchant-fellow and his entourage already here."

"You…you cannot do this!" Edwin growled. "Not to the heir to the tharch of Surthay! (Granted there are roughly twenty people ahead of me by rite of succession, and tharchion is not technically an inherited position, but still…) Need I remind you that I am payed up for the next tenday? And with the minted gold of House Odesseiron, no less! If I had known there would be such an invasion I would have simply rented every room in your pathetic little inn for the next month!"

"A tempting offer," the fat fool answered, "but house Odor-what's-it don't compare to House Anchev around here. Afraid the best I can do for ya, if you don't want to rough it in the stables, is consolidate things." He turned to Minsc. "You and the lady are set up in a room with two beds. Plenty o' room for a stray redcoat wizard, I say."

Edwin's jaw fell, and for a breath or two he was actually speechless. "What?! Unacceptable! The…the very..." He glanced over at the oblivious Rashemi, then back to the inkneep. "Oh! I see now. The witch put you up to this didn't she? Her way of keeping me watched and under her thumb. Likely she does not want me to get a moment's rest either, sitting up in bed waiting for her knife to find my throat! Not to mention the thunderous snores from this barbarian could doubtless wake the dead-"

"Minsc does not snore," the Rashemi interrupted. "You know this, little wizard. We shared a tent. Now Dynaheir will sometimes snore a-"

"I'm sure the two of you can come up with more than enough annoying noises to drive me mad," Edwin protested. He raised a finger, took a deep breath, and prepared to rant and rave some more, but was cut off by a loud guffaw from the innkeep. Soon the fat little man had his head back, fists on his hips as more and more laughter erupted from his corpulent gut.

"Har har ha!" The buffoon reached out and startled Edwin with a smack on the shoulder, hard enough that the red wizard was a bit surprised when his protective contingency spells did not flare up.

"I was just kidding, lad," the rotund ball of annoyance eventually managed. "Thought that'd rile you up, but hoo-boy! You should'a seen your face!"

"K-kidding?" Edwin's puzzled look swiftly shifted into a murderous glare. If we were in Thay, little man!

"Yup. Your room's still locked up tight. We're not quite overflowing yet. It's getting a might bit crowded though."

Edwin's glare turned to the big, tattooed imbecile, who was just smiling along affably. Yes. Crowded indeed. Grumbling under his breath about fire elementals, ice devils, and sneaking explosive runes into a certain innkeep's logbook, the red wizard pushed past them both and headed for the door.

Perhaps they should have been racing down the coast, horses lathered and worked near collapse, riding day and night. They were on an important mission for one of the grand dukes of Baldur's Gate after all. A personal mission as well: the man who seemed to be behind Ashura's troubles awaited her at the end of this road.

Yet Ashura set the pace, and she found herself guiding her stallion along at a brisk trot most of the time. The first night of the journey they had made camp –a proper one, with tents erected and a hearty meal warmed up over the fire– beneath the trees of the Sharp Teeth, still many miles north of the Friendly Arm. As they were packing up the next morning she found herself wondering at her hesitation – at the nameless dread that seemed to come with the thought of going home.

It didn't matter overmuch, she figured. They'd meet Rieltar eventually, whether they dithered or went at a gallop. Likely he'd be staying at Candlekeep for some time anyway.

Of course if Shar-Teel were here she would no doubt be insisting that they put the spur to the horses and get the bloody work done with. And if they went with a blistering pace like that Garrick and Imoen would –no doubt– start complaining about exhaustion and saddle-sore asses. As it was the others seemed content with the speed at which they traveled, the countryside rolling by and the usual songs (from Imoen and Garrick) and chatter that accompanied the long days on the road passing between them as they went. Imoen was especially fond of pointing out random, inane things beside the trail.

"Ooo! Is that a winterberry bush? Hey Xan, yer a gardener! Is that winterberry?"

"My family kept a garden in Evereska. I never really…erm…but yes. It is winterberry."

"What's the elven word for winterberry?"

And on and on.

If they had ridden hard and nonstop they could have made the fortress inn within a day and a night, but it ended up taking nearly three, the stone walls and towers of the Friendly Arm rising up before them one midafternoon. And if they had really wanted to make a chase of it they would have kept riding, with plenty of daylight ahead of them.

But sod that. This could well be the last opportunity to wash the dust off, fill their bellies up, and sleep on soft beds before…whatever sort of confrontation lay ahead. Ashura was not going to pass that up. Rieltar Anchev could wait. Besides: arriving at the Arm this long before sunset meant an chance at an extended soak in the steambaths, before the autumn chill set in for the night. A fine diversion.

Passing beneath the portcullis and entering the fortress yard, Ashura found something reassuring about the familiar stone walls that now surrounded them. The chickens that always seemed to be wandering about near the front sheds clucked and scurried by the horse's hoofs, and two gnomish stable hands whose faces were vaguely familiar sat against the hitching posts further in, enjoying a pipe. Captain Joia was walking by on the gravel path ahead, armored and gruff as ever, and when she noticed the travelers she gave them all a wary look. You people. Again.

Funny, for Ashura to find something reassuring and familiar about a place where people had tried to kill her. Twice. But of course someone had tried to kill her pretty much everywhere she went.

"Candlekeep! I can't believe it!"

Garrick seemed his usual, enthusiastic-puppy self as he set his belongings down by the end table of the bedroom they had rented. It was a slow night at the Friendly Arm, and he and Ashura had actually managed to secure a place to themselves. A fine one at that: it was a bit more spacious than the rooms on the floor below, lined with ornate furniture and softened by flush, warm carpets.

"You'll have to excuse me," he went on, "if I bury myself in a big pile of books while we're there. I've gotta at least see the collection of ballads and epic poems." He grinned over at her. "And there's a whole section of the library devoted to folktales, right?"

Ashura nodded. "Go for it." An easy shrug shed the last of her chainmail. Frustrating to have to strap it on again after her trip to the bathhouse, but she had learned her lesson the last time.

"That is, of course, when you don't need my help. To umm…assassinate the leader of the Iron Throne and such."

He put it so glibly that Ashura had to chuckle. It was easy to forget –the way Garrick looked and acted– that the boy had a bit of a mercenary streak to him. She shook her head. "We won't be doing that."

Garrick actually looked a bit confused. "We won't?"

"There are strict rules against aggression in the Keep. Probably why the meeting's being held there in the first place. No violence permitted, unless you're attacked, and there are special wards set up all over the place. Wards to keep certain spells from working. Wards to divine who the aggressor was if there's a fight. All sorts of things. They say it's powered by the spirit of some dead dragon in the crypts."

"Just kind of odd for you of all people to shy away from violence…"

Ashura chuckled, stretching her arms above her head and digging her toes into the rug, boots and socks discarded. She was now dressed in her padded shirt and woolen tights alone. Much better. "Yeah. Well, the Gatewarden's a good man. Was always really nice to me." Even when I probably didn't deserve it. "I'm not disappointing the old man now."

Thinking on it, perhaps that was the source of her apprehension about going home. They had been sent on a mission to seek out an enemy, swords and spells at the ready, in a place that she still considered sacred. "Maybe we can set an ambush up when Rieltar leaves, like Eltan suggested. But until then we're going to be cautious."

Plopping down on the edge of the bed, Garrick kicked his own boots off. "Cautious. That'll be a change of pace." He breathed in deep, leaning back and smiling up at her, and when Ashura placed a hand on her hip and cocked her head he just gave her a curious look. A silent moment passed.

She cleared her throat. Then, when he still didn't get the message, she spoke up. "Sooo. We finally have a room to ourselves…"

"Oh!" the bard exclaimed, eyes widening briefly before he hopped off the bed, stood up straight and glided towards her. "We do indeed, sir."

She chuckled and shook her head as his arms slipped beneath hers and he nuzzled close. That absurd little pet-name. But somehow he managed to use it with genuine affection, and she had given up on dissuading him. Might as well give up on trying to turn Garrick into a take-charge, assertive sort of man anyway. He just didn't have it in him.

So she turned her head and kissed him full and fierce on the mouth, leaning in and in. And if I have to wear the pants…

An internal little laugh came with that thought, since those pants were already starting to slip off, peeled down by playful fingers, bit by bit. His eager grip had her up on her toes, pressed together close as they could, and as he craned in and she leaned up she gave his lower lip a playful bite. He only stood a bit taller than her, and they had always fit together well enough like this.

Moments passed, clothes rustled, and flushed cheeks brushed each other. Lips tilted and met and then parted briefly as shirts slid up and then fluttered to the floor. For some time still they stood like that, pressed together and each gentle movement answering the next, giddy breaths and the soft smack of their lips the only sound in the room. That, and then the rustle of her foot against the carpet as she kicked her pesky leggings away.

Eventually Ashura found herself spun around, tilting until her bare backside rested against the foot of the bed. One of her hands pushed at his shoulder and one of her feet left the floor, and Garrick took that for encouragement, dropping to his knees on the carpet.

Her eyes widened and she found herself chuckling once again, draping a leg over his shoulder and tilting her hips as he eagerly pressed his face between her thighs; no teasing or coyness or caution to it, just the full attention of his mouth and tongue against her sex. Joyful laughter escaped her lips and she reached down, mussing his hair with a gentle fist, petting and clinging and bending her knee more and more across his shoulder, laughing until there were tears at the edges of her eyes.

Those laughs were joined by giddy cries –by little shudders, and then by the rustling of the sheets as she eventually fell back across the bed and he pursued, lips and tongue working round and forward and side to side at the junction between her thighs. Then gentle fingers eventually joining in the game. His lapping tongue, his beckoning fingers, his rhythmic breath upon her; it all had her gasping in time with his motions, head bent back and scraping the bed as she climbed to a peak.

And –Sune bless him– he didn't relent even after she reached it.

Sometime later, when he seemed to have tired and she lay sprawled out and breathless on her back, Garrick slid and climbed a bit until he pressed against her. She twined strands of his hair through her fingers, gently petting, and moments later she found that he wasn't through being playful with his lips and fingers, now against her chest.

"Would be nice to just rent this room for the next month," Ashura found herself whispering to the silence and the lamplight. "Or two."

"Aww." A protest, but in a playful tone. "We have an adventure to be on. It might nearly be finished too. The dastardly leader of the conspiracy is in sight, and such." His lips went back to her breast.

Half a chuckle and half a gasp escaped her lips. Some time went by in silence, but when he tilted his head and nuzzled at a different spot she spoke again. "You crossed the bridge. The one the seer told you about."

"Well yeah. That was terrifying. Luckily nothing happened."

"Seemed like he had a pretty specific prophesy. You can't-"

"You know about prophesies huh? I could tell you some tales-"

"I do. Had men chanting them outside my window every morning, much as I tried to tune it out. Even helped a traveling scribe decipher one of them once."

"Ashura the scholar."

"He called me that too, and just as sarcastically." She snorted. "Unusual guy." Her fingers had slipped out of his hair, and now she traced the outline of his cheek, his head resting against her chest, one eye visible and bright and gleaming up at her. "You can't go back to Baldur's Gate," she told him, voice soft.

"Okay, then let's not go back. When we finish this mission you can send uh…a carrier pigeon to Eltan and…"

"You're going to have to leave."

She thought maybe there would be pouting. Or perhaps an 'After what I just did?' But his head just dipped forward, almost imperceptibly: a little nod against her. "Yeah. Would be a shame to go just before I finish the story though. A big anticlimax. But you're probably right…"

"Figured that's what you were doing, with that journal you always have your nose in. How about I write you and tell you how the story ends? While you're safe behind the walls of Berdusk."

"A secondhand account? I guessss it could work. Although…sometimes a drastic drop in quality towards the end of a story is even worse than no ending at all." A little wriggling had him propped up above her, and he made to scoot back. "Suppose I'll be on my way then."

With a roll of her eyes Ashura gripped Garrick's shoulder and shoved him over, climbing atop him and pinning him down. He offered no resistance –only a chuckle. "Silly. You're not going anywhere tonight."

"No?"

"No." Hands still gripping his shoulders, she slithered down. The faint trail of hair along his chest tickled her cheek as she kissed him there, and then against the taut surface of his abdomen. Her fingers raked down his body as well, tracing over ribs, and briefly her lips brushed above the pink and upraised skin of the scar across his stomach. The place where he had been opened up some months ago, right in front of her, and barely saved by healing magic. She passed over there quickly, lips slipping well beneath his navel.

"Hey now," he murmured. "You don't have to…" It was the most half-assed protest imaginable. A tiny and transparent pretense at chivalry.

Her fingers curled around him and she propped her chin up against the edge of his hip, grinning. "You said something like that the first time right? In the woods. And I said 'I don't, but I think you won't object.' Something like that." After Safana had teased the poor fellow and put the notion in Ashura's head. And on a whim she had showed him the real thing.

"Uh huh." He nodded.

Back then they had acted a bit like teenagers: no potions or lambskin sheaths around for the lowly prisoners of the bandits, so they had snuck off beneath the trees when they could and improvised with lips and fingers. Now there was a potent potion stowed away in Ashura's pack. It presented an interesting choice, with him here beneath her and well in hand. All mine.

Of course they had all night ahead, to try whatever they wished. It was only the ninth bell, or thereabouts.

Ashura and Garrick guided their horses through the yard the next morning, side by side, eyes bleary, and no further words spoken on their need to part ways. It seemed that could wait.

The world was grey, the air heavy with a damp chill, and it didn't take long for the five companions to mount up and amble, single file, towards the fortress gate, their cloaks moist and bundled close about their shoulders. Sometime later it was Imoen who broke the foggy morning silence, a few minutes after they had crossed the dry moat and the drawbridge. "We're going home!" she announced, breath visible as she puffed out the giddy words. "Can't wait ta tell Puffguts all 'bout our adventures!"

Ashura made a noncommittal noise.

"Parda too. He's gonna gasp like an old maid when we tell 'em 'bout all the death-defying! Hmm." For a moment Imoen looked thoughtful, then she straightened and turned to Ashura, a twinkle of mischief in her eye. "Ooo! I know! Now, you weren't technically there when it happened, sure, but just play along when I tell Parda 'bout how the sewer-oni almost ate me! Okay?"

She let go of Trotty's reins, so as to better pantomime her story. "The oni was holding me up, squeezed me all in one hand, see, and he was about to bite my head off! Worse still, I was under some sort of confusion spell at the time, so I was just sort of staring off and drooling, legs dangling like a ragdoll. But then…Oh! I know. You shouted something at the oni, and he shouted back, calling me a 'Tasty morsel.' And that all just made me extra confused. Suddenly I got thinking that the oni's fingers were big, juicy sausages, so I bit into one of 'em real hard, and the big galoot bellowed and dropped me."

Ashura just raised an incredulous eyebrow.

Once again Imoen paused to ponder, and naturally the story grew even more embellished from there. "Oh! And you have to tell Parda that before that happened you'd already seen the sewer-oni-monster bite some fair maiden's head clean off! It was this poor girl left there as a sacrifice. And I was going to be next! But then we slew the beast by…urm…by-"

"Do you want to give Parda a heart attack?" Ashura asked.

Imoen bit her lip. "Mayyybe not. Mayyyybe we'll tone the story down. A smidge."

"Or we could just tell him that we've been touring the coast and leave it at that."

"Pfft! That's no fun!"

Ashura shot her friend a smirk. "Just a fun little tour. Following Volo's Guide. We checked out all the recommended taverns and landmarks, and avoided all the monsters. Hm." Now it was her turn to pause and ponder. "We tried digging for treasure at Firewine Bridge but didn't find any. And we danced at the Jovial Juggler and fought over this cute bard we met there." Garrick looked away. "We also went for a sail on the Low Lantern when it went out for the night. Best not to mention the hole that got blown in the side of the ship though."

"Ha! Or the hole in the Hall of Wonders. After the tour."

"Yeah. Best not to tell him about that last part either."

"Try and stop me! I'm still plannin' to entertain Puffguts and terrify Parda with our tales of adventure! First chance I get. Hm. So. What are you gonna do when we get back home?"

Ashura didn't answer at first, looking ahead to the road as they trotted along. "Dunno," was all she eventually managed.

"Oh! I know! You should show Reevor how many pushups you can do now! You may not have noticed, but you've built up a little muscle since we left home. All that sword-swingin' and firewood choppin' and tryin' to impress Dorn, I guess."

Ashura just rolled her eyes. "First thing, I probably ought to tell them what happened to Gorion."

"Oh. Yeah." That sobered Imoen up. "You'd think they would know. Right?"

Ashura shrugged. "Hard to say. Didn't seem like news from the outside got into the fortress all that much when we were there. And it's not like the Watchers ever sent out patrols or anything. Candlekeep's a world all its own, really."

She frowned and fell silent again. Her father. A corpse left behind to rot in the woods, a few miles from his friends and his home, but likely forgotten. Damn. If she closed her eyes right now she could easily picture his face, bearded and weathered; balding and sad. He always seemed sad, in her memories. Always wearing a look of silent disappointment.

It was midmorn the next day when they came upon the obelisk at the crossroads, the Lion's Way to the west and the Coastway Road winding ever southward through the hills. Ashura tugged at her reins and pulled up near the foot of the monument, looking it up and down; perhaps waiting for some little blue goblins with oversized heads to come scampering out from behind the big rock. But all was silent.

"We stopping?" Imoen asked. "Pee break?"

"If you want." Ashura looked down and frowned at her fists. Clinched far too tight.

"Don't need to, but I guess I'll stretch my legs," Imoen announced, turning to hop down from her saddle. "Always a good time for that!"

Ashura wasn't really listening. Instead she sat her saddle and faced south. Could just keep riding that way. Winter was nearing, and she had never spent one in the warmer climes of Amn or Tethyr. Travelers from the south always mentioned the food from there, bragging of the spices and sauces and sweetened fruit, and complaining about the bland, mutton-eating north. She had always wanted to taste for herself.

They probably served that food with forks that weren't constantly breaking too, down in Amn and beyond. No iron crisis. No opaque mysteries. Probably no death warrant out on her, if she went far enough south.

A fancy of course. She turned and faced the west. The trees grew closer there, though she knew they would gradually thin. Knew that there was a clearing out there somewhere, where she'd left her father to rot amongst old barrow stones. 'Run child! I will hold them off.'

She glanced back to her companions, who all stood beside their horses now. Looking at her. Waiting.

There just never seemed to be a choice, did there? Gorion was gone, and though this road and the citadel ahead were painful reminders of that (and of how she'd never been the scholar that he wanted in a daughter, and of how she'd been no warrior either, when it came to it, the night they had fled), the thing he'd want the most from her was to press on now.

Gorion was dead. His Harper friends too. They had planned to investigate this tangled web, and Rieltar seemed to be behind it. Seeing things through was the least they could do to honor the dead.

Would you imagine that, dad? Seems we're acting like heroes. The old sage had always liked to feed her tales of heroism and adventure as a child. Stories of Dan Silvershield or Selia Fairsail saving the day. Perhaps he would be proud after all.

Though after this business was done, Ashura decided, a spending spree in the City of Coin would follow. The gold and gemstones they had collected over the past few months were begging to be spent, and Elthan's reward money would be a nice edition. Heroism and 'adventuring' could bugger off, once they had the funds and opportunity to retire and slip out of this life of constant danger.

"Chaos will be sown from their passage…"

An involuntary shiver ran down her spine, and with a scowl Ashura just pressed her heels against her horse's ribs and started him forward. Heading home. There never really was a choice, was there?

For some reason Koveras' words came bubbling up to her, unbidden. 'I suppose I won't ever escape what I am. Nor will you. Take comfort in the fact that, at the least, you seem to enjoy it.'

End of Part Five