71 – Bewitched

"But one of the deadliest traits of the Greater Doppelganger is its ability to fully subsume the memories and skills of any person, after consuming their brain. Just imagine how dangerous such a creature could make itself if that brain happened to belong to a powerful mage." – Gaurdront Elmithar, Gaurdront's Guide to Monstrous Beasts

"Alright boys," Winthrop snarled. "We've got 'em where we want 'em. Now make every bolt count!"

By the time Ashura made a placating gesture towards her companions Xan had already called up an arrowshield spell, surrounding himself with violet light, Viconia had crouched down and hissed out a prayer to Shar, creating a second skin of dancing shadows over her leather armor, and Garrick had dropped to the floor, drawn his crossbow, and slapped a bolt in.

Imoen ignored all of that and bounded forward, full speed, leaping 'round the tabletop to collide with her dad in an embrace that nearly knocked him over. "Awwww! Puffguts!" she exclaimed. "You do come up with the best pretend-ambuscades!"

"Only the best fer my little girl," Winthrop replied, patting her shoulder. "I'd heard that you were out hunting bounties and livin' the life, but I didn't realize yer company would be that twitchy." He surveyed them all with a good-natured smile, then snickered. "Now I've a mind to write one of them mage-dueling manuals. 'Hire someone to go up to yer enemy and shout about the pretend ambush that's coming,' I'll write. 'They'll blow their load o' defensive spells right-quick!'"

Straightening, Viconia smoothed her cloak out. "This is…some friend of yours?" she asked as she glared at the innkeep.

"Her foster father," Ashura answered. "It's where she gets most of it from."

"Explains a lot," Xan observed.

"Well, he did get you!" Imoen teased with a waggle of her finger.

"And when I die later this evening from an actual volley of arrows I am sure everyone will laugh at the irony." Xan glanced around, choosing not to dismiss the protective spell.

The common area of Winthrop's inn was more like a comfortable sitting room than a true tavern. There were cushioned chairs arrayed in front of the hearth, the other side of the room boasted a long dining table lined with benches, and that was about it. Crowded too, with men in drab clothing bent over their bowls of stew and filling nearly all the seats. Strangers, and by Ashura's guess they were probably servants of the Iron Throne.

Well, mostly strangers. As she looked around Ashura's eyes alighted on a familiar face at the far end of the table: a dusky woman with a haughty, upturned nose and a knowing look in her eyes. The Rashemi witch was dressed the same as before too; in that sturdy purple of dress of hers, speckled with heavy bronze and golden jewelry. As their eyes met Dynaheir gave Ashura a familiar, bemused nod.

The witch's bodyguard sat next to her, obliviously hunched over his bowl of steaming stew, though as Ashura pondered whether to start towards them the big man suddenly perked up, glancing first at his shoulder and then over towards her. There was a large smile on his gravy-smeared face. "Minsc remembers you!" the barbarian proclaimed as Ashura approached. "A fine gnoll-slayer you were! Almost as great as Minsc himself. And a rescuer of fair Dynaheir!"

If the witch had any doubts about that she hid them well, nodding serenely. "Yes. A fine slayer she was."

"I keep hearing that." Ashura carefully replied. "You're still in Candlekeep huh?"

Minsc clapped. "Aye. The people in hoods and dresses are most pleased with Dynaheir's work. Some call her an 'honorary reader,' though they often get scolded for such words by the ones who wear more colorful dresses."

"As well they should," Dynaheir put in, her tone diplomatic, "since I've no wish to become one of the avowed. Twas shocking how, with all the tongues spoken in these halls, no monk present knew much of Rashemi, either in language or lore. We have been working to rectify that."

"And enjoying good Winthrop's hearty stews, of course!" Minsc added. "You should taste some yourself. Tis not unlike the fare served in the Ice Dragon Berserker lodge! Though it could perhaps be improved if good Winthrop would include beets."

"I've had his stew, yeah," Ashura said.

"Of course," Dynaheir replied with a nod. "Thou wert brought up in this place, no? Raised by a sage, whilst the innkeep cared for thy friend."

Ashura gave the woman a hard look. Had they ever actually told her that? She seemed to recall cutting Imoen off when she came close to spilling all of their secrets to the pair of Rashemi.

"Yup!" Imoen piped up. "Grew up on old Puffguts' stews and sausages and roasted tatters. And best of all: his cream-and-berry pies!" For emphasis she bent her back and patted her paunch. "Good stuff. And when I wasn't gobbling it down I was toting it around. A regular tavern-wench-in-training I was, before I set off for the life of adventure."

'Old Puffguts' had followed along too, standing now beside his adopted daughter. A short fellow, he only stood a few inches taller than her. "Aye," he agreed. "She would have been a master bartender in no time too. A fine occupation." He gave Imoen a pointed look, some of his humor evaporating. "And a much safer one. You gave us such a scare lass, running away like that."

Imoen squirmed a little. "I had told you I'd be leaving. Then it just happened a little early and unexpected-like. And anyways, I'm gonna' make every minute of this visit here count. Okay?"

"Okay," Winthrop agreed, smiling again. He surveyed the table and the people arrayed around it. "And you're already acquainted with these exotic folks I take it? Guess it really is a small world."

"Oh yeah," Imoen said. "We've made all sorts of interesting friends (and enemies) out in the big wide world!" Something caught her eye and she turned towards the stairs. "Whoa! Speak of the devil!" She pointed at the tall figure who had started down the steps. He was dressed in a gaudy shade of red. "He's here too!?"

Edwin started, his head bobbing a bit when he felt the eyes of half the room upon him. But his posture swiftly stiffened, shoulders square and nose going high as he puffed himself up.

Ashura could almost laugh. He always puffs himself up.

They all grew reacquainted over steaming bowls of stew and several rounds of drinks, hastened along by Minsc's insistent toasts to the dead after he learned the fate of his war-priestess. (Edwin vaguely recalled the woman: blockish and obnoxiously jolly, with a prominent mole on her face. Useful with a hammer too, though he supposed it was no big loss.)

Gradually even Edwin grew…Hrm. 'Relaxed' was not quite the right word. 'Resigned' was more appropriate. Resigned to the odd company the crowded library-fortress had forced upon him. And even slightly amused by the twists and turns that had led him to this table, and the way that the big oaf now seemed to regard him with something like comradery. It showed what a fool he truly was, that he could disregard or even forget being thrown off a cliff. The red-haired girl appeared wiser: she watched the antics of the big fool with perpetual disbelief.

In contrast the warrior-girl had only given them one incredulous look, then went back to being her usual disaffected self. As their supper progressed she ignored most of the conversation, her red-rimmed eyes distant and downcast. There was some story there, Edwin supposed. Perhaps there had been a recent spat with that young man of hers? (The boy looked quite bewildered and uncomfortable at the moment.) Maybe there was an opportunity here…

"Indeed, the evil wizard has been behaving," Minsc was saying. "As well as evil can."

(Bah!)

"I find that hard to believe," the red-haired girl replied.

"It is much like when the Hemner Clan and the Coven of the White Hand were feuding, but put aside their differences to fight a greater evil. So too has the evil wizard and good Dynaheir made a truce to conquer books together! That is how Boo explains it at least. And they have conquered many a book!"

"On what subject?" the elf dressed in violet asked mildly. The elven investigator as Edwin recalled, stiffening in his chair. Best not to-

"He has a keen interest in tracking down a relic of one of the creator races," Dynaheir casually explained. "An ever-changing scroll that holds innumerable arcane secrets. Thou hast perhaps heard of such?"

The elf looked shocked. "I have," he managed.

The audacity! Was she…was she about to tell this meddler –and mage!– everything he had uncovered?!

"It is-" Dynaheir began.

But Edwin swiftly cut her off. "And she has been delving into the prophesies of Alaundo the Wise. A popular subject in these parts." There was a clink as the warrior-girl's spoon dropped into her bowl, her full attention suddenly upon him. Curious. "Most notably Volume IX of the seer's works, which concerns itself with many recent events. The fall of the gods and the great turmoil in the pantheon that marks our age. That sort of thing." He gave the witch as probing a look as he could, but –blast her– that sphinx's smile never left her face.

Edwin decided to press on. If anyone is going to casually fling about secrets… "I believe that book, and this citadel itself, have been the chief subjects of the witch's study. She goes through every record she can get her hands on, and has interviewed most of the residents here." Yet still she looked impassive. Unprovoked. "Almost as if she were searching for something in this place. Something that relates to Volume IX of Alaundo's prophesies."

The others stared at him in silence, but Dynaheir just mildly inclined her head. "And what, o' great deductive one, is it that I hath been seeking?"

Edwin's mouth opened and he leaned in, ready to leap –but he paused instead. In truth he was not sure. There was quite a lot hinted at in that volume of prophesies, from the coming war between the Bhaalspawn to the elven Return, along with the 'rising shadows in Netheril-reborn' and Mephistopheles' great gambit.

Edwin's mouth snapped shut, for a moment, and when he opened it again his words were carefully measured. "Something I would think you would not wish discussed in a crowded room." A glance at Xan. "In front of an agent of Evereska. Really, what sort of Hathran are you, to be so cavalier with knowledge?"

She just chuckled, and the table was silent for a moment. "Who sayeth that I art Hathran? Not every wychlaran is so initiated."

"I sayeth. Or at least I hope you are," (After all the trouble you have been...) "since Hathrans are adept at keeping secrets." Perhaps she took the hint, since the conversation soon shifted, and there was never a mention of the Nether Scroll again.

Later that night, after the party of newcomers had retired to the stables (the inn and bunkhouse were truly and honestly filled to capacity now), Edwin found himself hovering over his wineglass, pondering the surface of the liquid and absently rubbing the stem of his clay cup. By all appearances he must have seemed lost in thought –and he certainly was pondering his next move– but he sensed the witch as she approached. She sought a perch on the bench beside him, turned the other way and casually leaning against the table.

"Again you disturb me," Edwin growled.

"Indeed," she replied, unruffled. "I wished a word, now that there are fewer ears to overhear."

Edwin spared the room a rudimentary glance. The common area had indeed emptied. Besides the witch and her bodyguard only the innkeeper and the short, red-haired sprite remained, both over in the far corner behind the bar, gleefully chattering away. Edwin turned his eyes back upon the witch. "Yes?"

"Thou appeared curious about mine research, earlier."

"Did I?"

"Whilst pretending to know every detail, of course." She smirked. "The way of Thayvian wizards. The words 'I do not know' are stricken from thine vocabularies at the very start of training." He just glared. "While among my sisters we begin with those very words, for admitting ignorance is the first step towards wisdom."

"You wish to tell me something?" Edwin asked, voice low and impatient.

"No. What I wish to do is strike a bargain. Mine research in this place has been into the nature of Bhaal's children, if thou must knowest: the creatures that the Lord of Murder spawned to hold portions of his divinity in anticipation of his demiste." Edwin fought to keep his eyebrows from raising at that. A useful bit of information given away already, before any terms were laid upon the table. Surprisingly foolish of her. "And I hath discovered some very interesting details, which I am willing to divulge to thee…"

He just gave her a fixed look and waited. "…in exchange for thy vow as a Thayvian mage to not interfere with my mission, or attempt to harm me."

Edwin sighed dramatically. "This again. I have explained several times that I-"

"Do not attempt to fool me or thyself," she spoke quickly, slipping forward and leaning in closer. "I know of thy mission. But I also know that information about the Bhaalspawn, who walk these very halls, will be of great value to Denak."

Edwin had been fighting to keep his face stony, but he had not been entirely successful, especially at the mention of that name. How much does she know about operations here? And how? "Bhaalspawn?" he asked.

"Aye. I shall tell thee, and I shall prove it. Between your artifact and the status thou might gain from this information, thou shalt profit greatly."

"After promising not to attack you, and to stay out of your way?"

She grinned and nodded, looming close. Bah! This was obviously some form of entrapment. At some point the witch would ensure that 'not interfering' put him at cross-purposes with the entire enclave.

Although…would that necessarily be a bad thing? Together he, the witch, and the berserker would be a match for Denak and his two boot-lickers. Burning them all had a certain appeal, provided word never got back…

It was much to ponder, and she was leaning a bit too close for his comfort. Without really thinking Edwin found himself slipping off the bench and rising to his feet, retreating a step. He worked to maintain his composure, standing up straight. "I will think on it," he simply stated. And I will think on what spells to prepare for tomorrow, while I'm at it.

She just nodded in agreement, again leaning back casually against the table. "I have patience." There was something almost languid in her voice.

He turned and walked away, and as he climbed the stairs (rapid as he could while still maintaining his dignity) he heard the big idiot speak up. "Dynaheir. Boo says that as of late you've been acting-" And then Edwin was above and out of earshot.

It was a bit past dawn when, still bleary-eyed and blinking, Ashura made her way from the little privy-house behind the stables and back towards the haylofts. She had awakened to find that a little cleaning was in order, her monthly time here at last, but now a new cloth was securely in place and all was well.

A relief really: recently her bleedings had become quite irregular, to the point where she had once missed a month entirely. Worried that she might be pregnant, she had consulted with Viconia, who laughed when she was told 'You're the closest thing to a midwife that we have.'

After a brief examination the priestess had concluded that it was no pregnancy, but simply a consequence of the life they now led. 'Your body suffers one massive trauma or another on a weekly basis,' Viconia had stated. 'Patched up by Shar's power again and again, I shall add. And you'd best be grateful. But with such an irregular life one can expect an irregular cycle as well. Tis commonplace where I am from.'

But now Ashura found herself uninjured, unarmored, walking on familiar ground, and once again dealing with that minor annoyance she had contended with many a time, here at home. If she closed her eyes she could almost pretend that this was just another day at the Citadel. That things could return to normal once again.

She chuckled at the thought, passing through the barn door. It would probably be wiser to don her armor.

Harpsong guided her up to the loft where the party had spent the night. Garrick was already up, his legs hanging over the edge as he plucked out a gentle tune. Viconia still slept, Xan was hunched over his spellbook, and Imoen had spent the night with her father and sisters, so once Ashura was equipped it was only the bard who followed her back down the ladder, a big beaming smile on his face.

"Is there anything I need to know in the library?" he asked as they walked.

She shrugged. "The rules are probably the same as in Berdusk. Keep your voice low, although there's often a little chatter in the Keep. Handle the books and scrolls carefully and put them back where you found them. The monks forbid visitors from writing anything down too. And don't steal anything."

"Of course. And hey, I've never been much of a thief! Some of the actors liked to pick the pockets of audience members when they got distracted, but I never did. Always wanted to prove that I could make it on my talents alone, even if Silke laughed at that sometimes and called me naive."

"You do well enough." When he gave her a bashful look she reached over and patted his arm. "You should play at the inn tonight. Bet they'd love it. Maybe Minsc'll teach you some Rashemi drinking songs."

Garrick made a face. "Sheesh. I couldn't. The most legendary bards in the world come through here and play at that inn."

"They do," she agreed. "And you'll fit right in." The best and worst bards all passed through at one point, in her experience, but she left that part out. She wasn't at all sure where Garrick fit on the scale, honestly, but she knew that she enjoyed his music. Especially the meandering, wistful melodies he often favored, slow and soothing, with hint of cheerful pluck. He had a lovely voice too. Definitely better than some of the minstrels whose performances she'd caught over the years at the Candlekeep Inn.

"As long as you think I can." He smiled at her. "Thanks. That means a lot."

"I love your music," she said, and meant it. "And Hells," she added, "you'll find a good audience here. The monks are always polite. The place never gets particularly rowdy. Uh. Unless Hull has the night off. But if he's there I'll make him behave."

The great library was as cavernous and quiet as ever. Perhaps they should have started the search for Rieltar then and there, but with Garrick gaping at the scale and marbled beauty of the place it put Ashura more in the mood to act like a tourist. So that's exactly what they did, meandering between the endless rows of books. They marveled at the section devoted entirely to bestiaries, then song, then folklore, Garrick leading the way more often than not, but peppering her with endless questions.

Sometime later they found themselves hunched over a great book of Rashemi tales that Ashura guessed was the very book Minsc and Dynaheir had brought, Garrick mumbling slightly as he read. They were interrupted by the sound of someone clearing his throat.

When she looked up Ashura's eyes widened at the sight of the ancient, bearded priest standing before them, his high-collared cloak a powder blue and his robes a soft shade of gold; long white hair just peaking out from beneath his hood. The man wore a gentle, patient half-smile as always, eyes looking upon everyone in the manner of a kindly grandfather.

"First Reader," Ashura whispered with a respectful nod of her head.

"Child," Tethtoril responded with a smile and a nod of his own. "I am pleased to see that you yet live. Such a sad business, with your father."

"Thanks. I'm sorry-"

"There is nothing to apologize for. I imagine you've had quite the time of it, out in the wider world." He looked her over. "Such a hurried departure. Am I to understand that Gorion was struck down that very night?"

"Yeah."

"Then I suppose that there is much he did not tell you."

She cringed, then nodded. "I've…pieced a few things together. That I suppose you all were keeping secret. And I guess Ulraunt filled in the rest."

"You are angry. Understandable. Where it up to me you would have been told of your past when you came of age, but ultimately it was your father's decision. And I am sure he had your best interests in mind."

Ashura shrugged. "Yeah, I think he meant well. And it's all in the past now."

The First Reader pondered a moment. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. There were some…personal effects left in your father's chambers, when he left. And before he did, he told me that he wished for you to have them, if you ever returned. One of the reasons I sought you out." He gestured. "Come."

Slowly turning his head, Edwin critically examined his reflection in the bedroom mirror, smoothing out his braided beard. He then turned to the other side, stroking his chin. Yes. All appeared properly trimmed, and everything seemed to be in place, though just to be sure he triple-checked.

The circlet that protected him from mental probing and attacks was firmly secured atop his brow, of course, and his enchanted bracelets hugged his wrists. His contingency spell was in place as well, which would conjure up a protective layer around his body should he be physically attacked, and the Ring of Spell Storing on one of his fingers was primed with a powerful spell-turning protection. On his other finger he wore a ring that quickened his thoughts, honing his arcane abilities to a razor's edge, and as always he wore the necklace that was his birthright; enchanted to further expand his spellcasting capacities as well as functioning as a signet and proof of his noble blood. His tattoos granted him protection from the elements, of course, and over that (and proper underclothes) his robes were woven through with sigils that granted a minor resistance to magic.

On top of all of that he was certain that he had prepared an impenetrable web of spells, specifically with the witch in mind, should she foolishly turn on him. His hood was in place over his head, his shoes were firmly laced, and he had dabbed a bit of his favorite scented oil onto all the proper spots. Breathing in, he inhaled the scent of sandalwood. Perfect.

Without further delay Edwin turned to the door and marched out, making his way down to the inn's common room. The scent of frying eggs greeted him as he descended the stairs, and predictably the big bald oaf was hard at work on his morning meal. The witch was by his side, reading a book over an untouched morningfeast, and her eyes instantly alighted on Edwin as he entered.

Without hesitation he strode towards the longtable and the woman, hands hidden by the sleeves of his robe. When she gave him a bemused look he leaned in slightly and spoke. "I have considered your offer."

She cocked her head.

"And found what you spoke of…adequate enough. If the information you give me is something that the enclave will use," (Ah, wording. Always be careful with the wording!) "then I will make no attempts on your life, nor shall I attempt to interfere with your mission here."

The witch nodded her head. "I am pleased then." Her eyes leveled with his, hooded and mysterious as always. Then silence stretched between them, and the big buffoon looked up with a hint of confusion, his fork held in midair.

Before things got out of hand, Edwin let out a dramatic sigh. "Get on with it then. Who are the Bhaalspawn you are tracking?"

Dynaheir gave her head a cautious shake. "Not here." She rose. "Too many ears." And with that she began towards the stairs, gesturing for Edwin to follow. There was a scuff and clink as Minsc shifted in his seat as well, but the witch shot him a pointed look and stated two words in Rashemi. "Bli ostavatsa."

Frowning, Minsc sat back down, and Edwin felt slightly insulted by the assumption that he would not recognize the words. 'You stay.' He knew Rashemi well enough; know your enemy and all of that. Still, he followed the witch towards the stairs, caution in his step and the command-words for his ring on his mind.

As they walked Edwin watched the witch closely. "Truly?" he asked. "You think me a young green fool, to be lured to a secluded spot with promises?"

Dynaheir turned back and let out an exaggerated huff. "Truly? We were alone countless times in the secluded corners of the library, and not once did I seek thy demise. And on my honor as a Hathran I shall not now."

"You say as much. But I am reminded here of the trials of Thaymount…"

"Oh? The schools where the most brilliant of thy culture are pressed against each other to compete in deadly trials?"

"It is not quite as dramatic as outsiders may think, but the weak are culled in the academies. And do not tell me that no wychlaran perish in the pursuit of their training. No matter the setting, the study of magic -where a wrong word or gesture can call up elemental chaos- is always dangerous."

"There is a hint of truth to thy words. For us witches there are always lives claimed by accidental fires, transformations, or dangerous spirits."

"And I will concede that my culture encourages competition to an extent that leads to more of those 'accidents' happening then is needed." They began up the stairs. "The best of the best are produced through competition. And some of those competitions involved students drawing others into secluded spots. With the lure of information or…other things."

"A place of many traps, I imagine."

"I learned of those traps very swiftly," Edwin pressed on as they mounted the stairs, his eyes constantly shifting (though of course they rested upon the witch's swishing backside on occasion –his blood ran as red as his robes, after all– but he continued to scan his surroundings too). "There was this one student in my year. Althena. She met an unfortunate accident on her way to her dormitory, as she was guiding me there. From a misfired ward that exploded at her feet."

"How unsubtle," Dynaheir stated calmly.

"My teachers told me that as well, and reprimanded me. But not bothering with subtleties when fiery explosions will do has served me well through many a Thayvian 'intrigue.'"

The witch just chuckled, turning and pushing the door to her bedroom aside. "I shall keep that in mind. Now follow me."

Confident that he had made his point, and (more importantly) had all the right spells ready, Edwin crossed the threshold.

"This is not right," Minsc muttered in the general direction his morningfeast.

"Squeak?"

"No Boo," he replied to the little fellow on the table before him, who was happily nibbling his morning oats. "I do not just mean the fact that Winthrop's food is blander than before. It seems he's run out of the spices and garnishments he once put in his omelets. But what I speak of is Dynaheir's odd behavior. The red wizard is not remotely her type, nor was she ever the sort to be so flirtatious. And on top of that she always had choice words about Thayvians. Do you think the evil wizard has her bewitched?"

"Squeak."

The big man frowned. "If you say. Minsc knows little of arcane matters and so-called 'prohibited schools,' but he shall take your word for it."

"Squeak."

Minsc gasped. "Truly?"

"Squeak."

"Well that is a most unsettling thought. But why did you not mention it before? And wouldn't you have smelled it?"

"Squeak."

Minsc gave his furry little friend a grim look, shaking his head slightly. "True enough." He rose to his feet, reaching down to carefully pluck the hamster from the tabletop. "We must investigate immediately then. Orders be damned!"

"Squeak."

He whirled and marched towards the stairs, the greatsword strapped to his back clinking against his armor. "Indeed, though I pray to the Three, and any other gods who may be listening, that you are wrong."

"There," Edwin stated, arms crossed before him. "We are free from prying eyes and such. Now what information do you have to divulge?"

The witch grinned and stepped forward. "Thou art a difficult one."

"That is another thing my tutors often told me. And I wore it as a badge of honor."

Slipping closer, Dynaheir placed a careful hand upon Edwin's elbow, her large brown eyes gleaming up at his in the filtered morning light.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Mayhaps sweetening our deal?" she replied playfully, rising on her toes and tilting her head. "Wouldst it not be far more enjoyable if I whispered my tale to you sometime later…" She clung to him, and suddenly he was keenly aware of her warm, soft body –of the scent of lavender. And of her lips nearing his. "…sometime…after…"

He opened his mouth to protest, but found no words before she closed the gap between them, her smirking lips now pressing to his. Madness! Madness!

His mind reeled. His body, on the other hand, responded in other ways, reflexive and instinctual. He leaned into her kiss, arms slipping around her. Soon his head was tilting in tandem with hers, his fingers were tracing along her arms, and he found himself enjoying her soft, exotic presence.

Madness. But mayhap it was the delightful kind. The wicked, dangerous, deliriously forbidden sort. And it had been so very long.

He pressed forward, and now the only sound in the room was their shuffling feet and the soft smacking of their lips. His mind raced, along with his pulse. This could work. A strange and unexpected alliance, and together they could burn the Denak and the rest to a crisp! He was not sure if that notion, or just the feeling of this soft, exotic and forbidden beauty pressing up against him thrilled him more. Probably some combination.

Soon their hands grew more bold and familiar. She toyed with his robes –gripped his shoulder, her other hand tracing a finger along the curve of his jaw. Then she caressed his brow. His hood had fallen away.

Then, gently yet swiftly, she lifted up his…

Eyes suddenly bulging wide, Edwin disengaged and backed up. As he pressed his back to the wall and watched the witch gently set his circlet upon the bureau a flash of memory came back to him: Althena sitting up on a blood-drenched marble floor, convulsing in shock and horror as she looked down at the mangled stumps where her legs had been. She was pale as flower and would bleed out in less than a minute.

From the doorway Demina, one of Althena's roommates, had poked her head out, her eyes painted with ice-white makeup 'Ah. Odesseiron,' she had said. 'If I had known she was bringing you back here I would have held off on laying that trap. You're such a fool. Surely you know what happened to Petre and Overin, right in this very room.'

He had learned his lesson then. Or so he thought. "What are you doing?" he snarled.

"Relieving thee of an item of clothing," Dynaheir said with a grin. "The first of many." She reached up to the straps of her dress. "Or shall we attend to our own?"

He just narrowed his eyes. Not buying it. His hands were out, fingers ready to weave the first spell.

The witch shook her head and drew in a deep breath. "Ah. You are going to make this difficult." Then, whipcord fast, her hand flicked forward and her arm stretched, crossing the distance between them in less than a blink.

The moment she moved Edwin shouted out the command-word to activate his ring. The spell-ward! That would be his opening mov-

But the word turned into a Mulhorandi curse when the magic did not flow and he looked down to find that the ring-finger of his left hand was bare.

Looking up, he saw the witch roll the ring between her fingers briefly before tossing it over her shoulder. When next she spoke her voice was not human. "You have made this surprisingly difficult, fleshling." Then the Rashemi accent was back as she launched into an arcane chant, fingers cutting the air.

Edwin gasped and raced through the words of a protective ward, but it was already too late. His muscles locked in place halfway through, the air shimmering around him. As he glared at her, still as a statue, the witch stepped forward, her face paling and smoothing –turning to putty. More words came, despite her seeming to have no mouth now. They were oddly toned and sexless, reverberating both in the air and in Edwin's mind. "You impressed me. More difficult to manipulate than most male fleshlings. It required both my dexterity and the witch's magic to finally catch you." Next she –no, it– reached out and gingerly slipped one bracer, and then the next, off of Edwin's wrists.

"But it's done now," the shapeshifter added, once again raising its hands. Spidery fingers stretched and stretched –tendrils more than digits– lengthening and curling towards Edwin's throat. "A good show, but your time is done primate."

Author's Note: If you've ever played the game Fallout: New Vegas you might remember that it's possible for a female player-character to seduce (and then murder) the guy who tried to kill her at the beginning of the game, complete with her saying a line a bit like: "Ladies love bad boys, and trying to kill me is about as bad as it gets." It's hilariously stupid, but also something I can kind of see Edwin, Mr. High-Inteligence-Low-Wisdom-High-Horndog, falling for under the right circumstances.

And alas, poor Dynaheir. She dies canonically, and doesn't fare much better in a lot of cannon-breaking fanfiction like this one. I actually really like Dynaheir, and she has a lot going for her. The Witches of Rashemen are just generally awesome, Dynaheir is one of the few black characters in a super-Eurocentric fantasy setting, and if I were writing a story with a good and/or magic-using protagonist Dynaheir would make a great mentor figure for them (Astrodeath's wonderful fanfic Dancing to Bhaal's Strings seems to be doing that, complete with Dynaheir and Edwin having a bit of an angel-and-devil-on-[charname's]-shoulder dynamic to them, which I think is great!)

On the other hand I will not miss trying to figure out how to write Dynaheir's Ye Olde English dialect! Yeesh!

Also: apologies to any Russian speakers reading this fic. I imagine I butchered that line.