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This was actually the first chapter I wrote for this story - let me know what you think. :)
Chapter 2: The Lingering Struggle and Mae'Var's Contact
Twenty-three days later
10th Eleasias, 1369 – Year of the Gauntlet
Throw…and catch. Throw…and catch. Juggling the knives helped Elatharia to keep the world still, real and in the present during the evenings when waking tended to blend with the past. It helped to push aside the dread of sleeping, or dreaming; where the past did become reality and the gold light came creeping in full of more nightmares than the deepest darkness. Since the promise of that could not be pushed aside merely by the endless clamour and bustle of the Copper Coronet, drink and now a recurring game of dagger throwing with Yoshimo had become a necessary distraction.
At first, it was true that the tavern had rather daunted her with its vast hall, high and tiered almost like a theatre, full of rowdy and colourfully garbed patrons from all over the city. Tonight, adventurers from as far out as Sembia, Neverwinter – even a pair from the Moonshaes – sat at tables dotted around the broad main floor. Noblemen who had escaped their wealthy homes for the night seeking the excitement of rebellion – in a place not too far removed from the comforts of those homes – had gathered around the balconies, tormenting serving girls or flirting with glitteringly clothed women who they had paid to bear their company. Others vanished through the curtain-shrouded doorways up above and did not return for…prolonged periods of time.
One broad-shouldered young man, much like the others in bearing and dress, young and fussily-bearded with carefully coifed brown hair with a tall, was unusually without company and standing close at hand, watching the knife throwing competition amongst the other, drunker patrons. Elatharia might have given him no mind, had he not been watching her before the competition had begun, when she had been sitting at the bar between Yoshimo and a heavily disguised Viconia. The man could not have mistaken her for a serving girl, enthusiastic drinking patron that she clearly was, nor a prostitute for she was clad in a simple grey tunic and dark leggings. Her boots were still dusty from the walk to the Umar Hills with Jaheira and the others. Her mask hid her cheekbones but was simple black and not at all suggestive.
Furthermore, though she was not dressed for battle visibly, the wands and daggers at her belt should have made her profession clear, not to mention her company. Yoshimo was clad in enough leather armour for both of them, the black and silver markings showing him to be a ward of the Shadow Thieves…and he was armed to the teeth, with a composite bow humming with magical enchantment over his shoulder, his katana at his hip even while he drank by her side. Viconia's long yellow cloak disguised her own mithral tunic and the enchanted mace at her hip, but with her elvish glamour the drow looked to be a beautiful – if rather haughty – moon elf with a cascade of ebon hair and large long-lashed eyes so green they could have made emeralds look bland.
Yet it was not Viconia who had caught this man's attentions…but Elatharia. After everything she had done to make herself look unremarkable, too! It had angered her to see that man watching her so closely, and in her current state of pre-sleep agitation, anger was a very bad idea. So Elatharia had challenged Yoshimo to a knife throwing contest, a habit they had been wont to act on of late in the less busy hours whilst waiting for word from their new taskmaster Mae'Var. The damnable Thieves' Guild representative had been less than forthcoming even after Elatharia had promised to stop Aerie following them and sent her off with Jaheira. The avariel had raged at the wrongness of her actions, and Elatharia had tried her very best to keep her memories at bay. They needed every penny they could get. For Imoen. To save Imoen.
The last knife cut through the air, quivering in the bull's eye on the board to the cheers of the gathered crowd. Victorious, the Kara-Turan bounty hunter gave a sweeping, courtly bow to their little crowd, declining offers of drinks from enthusiastic patrons.
"Well done, Yoshimo! You gave quite the show tonight," the barman called.
"Ha! I can dance on the head of a pin as well!" he chuckled, clapping Elatharia on the shoulder companionably before turning to go and pull free the knives as the crowd dispersed back to their central tables, exchanging coins as they went.
For her part Elatharia slid back onto a stool by the bar, absently watching Yoshimo before noticing look of cool curiosity upon Viconia's chiselled features from where she stood leaning nonchalantly at the bar. Elatharia began to turn to follow the drow's emerald gaze, only for her vision to be blocked by the same broad young man. Dressed in fine russet velvet, the pin at his throat suggesting some noble lineage - and he was smiling at her crookedly from behind a fussily sculpted beard.
"Good evening, my lady," he grinned at her, displaying a row of perfect white teeth as he smoothed otherwise well-ordered copper-brown hair from his brow, "You showed some fine skill back there."
"It wasn't me who won," Elatharia dismissed, indicating Yoshimo with a nod.
Picking up her half-finished glass of wine, the Transmuter eyed the ruby contents thoughtfully for a moment. It had really been too long untended to be safe now – life was hard as a Child of Bhaal. She met Viconia's eye and shrugged, drinking anyway. Maybe it would spare her the nobleman, at least. The drow snorted in understanding and came to her side, eyeing the man over her shoulder.
"He still hasn't left, khal'abbil," the priestess of Shar sighed dramatically.
Finishing her wine, Elatharia gave a pointedly frustrated sigh.
"Cyric's blood!" she hissed under her breath, turning back to face him, "Who are you and what do you want? Don't think I didn't see you watching me all evening."
The man hardly seemed put off, though his expression faltered a little when Yoshimo stalked past, and he did incline his head in apology.
"Forgive me my rudeness, and for my forwardness. I am Anomen Delryn of the Order of the Radiant Heart," he proclaimed, as if that were supposed to make her feel better, "I saw your druid friend earlier this afternoon and she told me that you need help raising money for a charitable cause. I came upon your other companion, the lovely Aerie, not long ago and she confirmed the story."
"'Friend' is a loose term really," Elatharia grimaced, leaning her elbows back against the counter, but finding it hard to look him in the eye when he searched her masked face with such curiosity. "And I'm surprised you've seen Jaheira. She and Minsc have been abroad in the wilds for a tenday." The thought of the druid returning filled her with fear that rivalled her dread of dreaming.
"I suspect our methods are not for your kind, Anomen Delryn," Yoshimo pointed out, his slightly accented voice as soft and calm as ever…but firm, "You may have heard from Jaheira of their exploits in the Umar Hills of late but…here in this city, you would hardly be willing to do as our leader wishes."
Anomen frowned in confusion, standing a little straighter.
"Good sir, I am – as I said – of the Order of the Radiant Heart. I have practiced the art of melee fighting with flail and shield since I was eight years old. I have experience leading warrior contingents into battle and am an accomplished caster of divine spells!"
"He has convinced me," Viconia whispered in Elatharia's ear, "Of his uselessness." Elatharia sniggered in return, but turned now to face the young man who was so eager to help.
"You do look like a noble, though," she pretended to muse, "But…unless you can donate twenty thousand gold to help me get back my sister, then I really don't see how you can help me. Short of trawling the streets with Aerie trying to find us some mercenary work…"
"Then that is what I shall do!" Anomen cried, to her dismay, "By all that is good in this world you shall have your sister back, my lady!" With this he gave a bow, seemed to consider kissing her hand, and strode away to wherever amongst the throng of people he had been speaking to Aerie earlier.
"He has not just been watching you all night, khal'abbil," Viconia warned while Elatharia finished the drow's wine for her, "He has been watching you every evening. It is not really help that he wishes to give you." The underlying message of her words was underscored by her husky, suggestive tone.
"Then he would give me nothing at all…but regrets," Elatharia shrugged, and Viconia chuckled, raising a brow.
"Your Harpy would not think so," Yoshimo pointed out mildly at the Transmuter's other side, ignoring her dark glare, his own eyes innocently looking back at her, "He seems a noble, honest sort – if a little foolish." He flashed her his best disarming grin, but she pushed at his shoulder all the same with a half-serious snarl.
"So…Minsc then?" Viconia suggested with a wicked grin, leaning forward around Elatharia to meet Yoshimo's comically widened brown almond eyes before looking sidelong back at the Transmuter, "How much harm could it do you? Have you even really looked at a man since…? And he did not even have the courtesy to sleep with you before he left!" the drow raised her transmuted black brows when Elatharia stiffened at those words. Gods! She had not thought of him in…since…
"Is it settled then?" Yoshimo was laughing, oblivious, "You intend to promote that cleric's needs? You surprise me, Viconia. Did you not see the symbol of Helm on his shoulder?"
"Ugh! A Helmite?" Viconia fairly spat, reeling back into her seat properly, nudging Elatharia when the Transmuter continued to stare blankly at the wines behind the counter, "Terrible lovers. All duty, no thought for the woman. I take back my suggestion," the drow paused, that smile sliding back onto her face, her tone lowering, "…You'll just have to settle for the ranger!"
While Viconia and Yoshimo cackled at her sides, Elatharia spared a few moments to collect her thoughts and drag them from those strangely distant memories of days before Athkatla and Irenicus's dungeon. Once this was done, she began to consider the best ways to get her friends back for such merciless teasing, and was still contemplating which of them most deserved her revenge when a most familiar and unwelcome voice rang out behind her. Hard and commanding as ever, cutting through the tavern din.
"Your 'Harpy' would have a word with you, Elatharia," Jaheira demanded from close behind her.
When the Transmuter turned around on her stool to look at the hard-faced druid, it was to see the Harper still dressed in her travelling leathers, quarterstaff strapped to her back and her pale brown hair still braided tightly to her scalp. She had her hands on her hips and was looking at Elatharia with expectant grey eyes.
"Well?" the wizard asked, spreading her hands as if waiting to grasp any answer, "Are you waiting for me to apologise for calling you a Harpy? Well, it was the others who said it just now but I won't deny that it was my idea. It is what you get when you cross a Harper with a vindictive, judgemental bitch."
Elatharia did not know what she had expected to see on the druid's face; she had not been consciously aiming for anything. She had not expected to see Jaheira look so sympathetic…so gods-be-damned pitying! In that moment the Transmuter shrank back from the druid as one who regretted an overly harsh jibe. Beside her Yoshimo looked just as calm and fairly amused as ever, and Viconia was watching the interaction with a look of faint curiosity.
"Maybe once I would have expected a greeting or even a smile," the druid muttered all but under her breath, taking the wizard's elbow and pulling her firmly but aggressively to her feet.
"What are you doing?" Elatharia hissed, sending a frustrated glance back to her friends at the bar when she tried and failed to break free from Jaheira's grip. Instead she found herself inexorably led to the exit, past drunken patrons and struggling, harried serving girls.
With a few more sputtered protests and a determined pull through the press of the doors, Elatharia stumbled out onto the quiet night-time streets of the Slums with Jaheira. The Copper Coronet was a vast, sprawling building making up a whole side of this long paved street, its colourful banners swaying idly in the cool breeze, its many open doorways helping light the otherwise dark road. Opposite stood a terrace of night-darkened shops, all sturdy stone bastions of Amn's power – even here in the Slums District – showing Baldur's Gate for the poorer contender that it was.
Under the awning of one of these shops, a little away from the golden light spilling from the Copper Coronet, stood the hulking figure of Minsc, listening intently to something the small, hunched form of Aerie was saying to an equally attentive Anomen. The men sent a little wave and a crooked grin respectively to Elatharia. She ignored them.
Yoshimo and Viconia were just catching up with them as Jaheira guided Elatharia to the others across the street. The wizard avoided their eyes. There was something about the outdoors that reminded her of all she had suffered below ground, a kind of contrary fear of the open sky that set her in mind of a small cage in a dark chamber full of knives far beneath the earth. Of locked doors, and a harsh voice, of restraints on her limbs and the bite of sharp steel for her skin, bores for her bones, burning spells for her mind, the endless cold explanation for her ears and the heavy, spiked body of a demon, twisted skin covered in spines sharp as nails. That had been to teach her humility. She had thought she would never heal…not even physically.
Heya! It's me, Imoen! The cheerful words, just an echo of reality sounded to her right, of lost times which had even then already been poisoned by murder, and Elatharia whirled with a blaze of golden light flashing behind her eyes, a scratching beneath her skin. Anger. Hatred. Imoen – I will save you.
"Elatharia!" someone was shaking her arm.
Dazed, the wizard turned to see Jaheira at her side and the others clustered around her. Muttering assurances, she waved them away – and they did step back, although six sets of concerned eyes watched her as she looked to Jaheira. Praying to every god she knew, Elatharia hardened her look and quickly turned away from the druid's searching stare. It would not do for the half-elf to bring up old wounds. Now was not the time.
"How much have you made?" the druid asked instead, a little more softly than she might have done a few moments before.
"We have two thousand more from Thieves' Guild errands and mercenary jobs." Anomen's grunt of surprised disappointment only improved her rapidly darkening mood, so Elatharia ploughed on, though the sum they had gathered was only a quarter of what they needed and they were unlikely to find anything so lucrative and so brief again, "And for delivering this 'fair city' from the Cult of the Eyeless."
At the memory of that most recent endeavour she could not help but pour mockery into her words, shuddering at the thought of the endless swarms of beholders, of bleeding eye sockets and manic followers of a long-dead god. At least Korgan and Jan had been non-judgemental additions to the good working relationships she shared with Yoshimo and Viconia. The same could not be said for the near-disastrous venture she had endured with Jaheira, Minsc and Aerie to the Umar Hills, where only Viconia had stopped her from going mad with rage at their foolish sympathies and time-wasting empathy.
"Oh…" she held up a hand before Jaheira could start speaking again, already grinning in anticipation of what the druid would think and how horrified Anomen would be, "Jan promised me almost all the proceeds from his turnip-and-explosives business. He sells the turnips to this city's thriving gnome population, and explosives to those who want…a little extra for their money. If business gets tight I'll just active the Slow wards on them all and alert the authorities. Then the city will owe us a pretty sum, too."
An incredulous silence hung in the still, humid air of the Slums for several moments before Jaheira managed to grit a few more words out.
"How much?"
"He will have handed it over to Gaelan by now," Elatharia shrugged, affecting a lack of concern and ignoring the crawling nervousness in her stomach, "Plus we have a job in hand tomorrow. Mae'Var's contact finally sent us a messenger – we are to meet him tomorrow at the base."
A swift glance at Anomen's bemused expression showed that most of these references to her nefarious activities had passed over his head, and he was busy making excuses for those little bits of information that he had actually understood. It was just as well. She would not want to put off meeting Mae'Var's contact…although she was already itching for an excuse to murder the Helmite.
"And you?" the Transmuter added into the silence, seeing Jaheira's already thin lips pressing together even more.
"We have little gold," Jaheira admitted, glaring back when Elatharia's expression flashed, "But we have several offers for work. We met Valygar Corthala in the eastern hills. He says there are…great spoils in his ancestral home, the Planar Sphere," doing things for monetary gain obviously hurt the druid's sensibilities but she ploughed on, "Also Nalia De'Arnise requires aid and will pay well. Her family's keep is overrun, and not far outside of Athkatla."
"Things for the next few tendays perhaps but hardly timely yet," Elatharia dismissed, her eagerness to hurt the druid blazing like the promise of a drug inside her, "We need more things, more contracts inside Athkatla, since we don't yet know what Mae'Var's contact has planned for us. We'll put them in the log and see how much Jan paid Gaelan."
Turning away, Elatharia headed for Gaelan Bayle's house, just around the corner – but Anomen's voice stopped her. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and stopped in her tracks, not looking back while the others caught up with her.
"Forgive me, my lady but I have heard the Sigil Troupe in the Bridge District have lost an actor to kidnappers and the city is at a loss to find a certain murderer. Perhaps we could help Athkatla and gain gold for you sister's release with such ventures?"
"We'll add them to the log," Elatharia allowed coldly while most of the others offered parting nods and headed off down the street for their lodgings at Gaelan's house.
"Th-thank you, Anomen."
Aerie's high voice rang fragile and reed-like behind her, and Elatharia turned to see the other spellcaster staring up at Anomen with those large almond eye, blue as clear sky. Though her voice held a childish awe, her angular features showed only a sad honesty, golden in the distant firelight and framed by intricately braided flaxen hair. Anomen smiled down at the fallen avariel almost gratefully, if a little patronisingly, raising her hand to his lips. In return she gave him a little smile before hurrying back to Elatharia, who stood waiting for the slender elf.
"He…he only wishes to…to d-do good here," Aerie admonished as she reached the Transmuter's side and they watched the cleric striding away in the opposite direction, but Elatharia shook her head doubtfully.
Sometimes it was too easy to forget that the avariel – who looked so young and innocent and sounded so unsure – had endured the torture of captivity along with the amputation of her hopelessly withered wings. Of them all she had suffered something close to Elatharia. That was why the Transmuter let the smaller woman slip an arm through hers as they walked and why she preferred to bunk with her in Gaelan Bayle's house, in spite of their widely varying views on life. A surrogate…but Elatharia pushed that thought away.
They walked on in silence, not bothering to catch up with their friends as they rounded the corner and passed the tight cluster of homes along the short side alley which sent them alongside the Jansen's startlingly verdant, sprawling home before they came to the doors of Gaelan's house. Jan's home always reeked so strongly of turnips that several days ago, shortly after he had helped them escape the soldiers' wrath at the drow's escape, Elatharia and Viconia had gone to complain. Recognising them, he had begged for their help to save his former lover and her daughter and in return had offered them nearly all the proceeds of his business, as she had promised Jaheira. Xzar may have whined and told her she was being insufferably charitable but sometimes it paid (quite literally) to be helpful. And it was probably a good thing the Zhentish wizard had left them a year ago in Baldur's Gate before the abduction and the horror…
Elatharia sighed wearily as they reached the gates of Gaelan's tall house as they waited for someone to answer the door. As ever every window of the tall building was obscured by dark curtains to hide the truth that candles burned within at every hour of the night.
At last someone answered Yoshimo's call of the password and the group of six trooped inside. Disarmingly as ever, the warded front door led straight into a cosy living space furnished with rich carpets, a merrily crackling fireplace adorned with colourful keepsakes and walls lined with full bookcases and paintings. It looked like the living room of a wealthy and bookish middle-aged man. But the man waiting for them at his eerily tidy (but always used) desk was anything but what was expected.
Gaelan Bayle had lost none of his shifty ways since their first meeting, always dressed in fighting leathers and with something sharp at his belt. As the days had passed and he had become a more familiar acquaintance, Elatharia had become increasingly aware of the scars at his jaw and neck which broke up his otherwise seamless boyish façade. There was a coolness about his pale, narrow eyes though that showed the true, calculating creature behind the cheerfully messy hair, the strong and regular features. And those ticks of his had only grown more obvious, especially the peculiar exclamatory mannerism which Renal had claimed came from too much time at sea gambling with Moonshae pirates (whatever that meant). He displayed all of these mannerisms now at the sight of Jaheira and Minsc with the more typical city dwellers.
"Coo! Well Tymora bless me, ain't you a pretty party together!" A kick of his heels, a hard tug at a loose thread of his tunic with fingers ending in bitten nails, "Come back for the night already, eh?"
"We have," Jaheira agreed stiffly as Yoshimo nodded to the group and Gaelan before sauntering through the side door leading to the stairs.
"We would know how much our goodly efforts have earned!" Minsc cried, making Viconia cringe at the volume, let alone the content. Gaelan's eyes flickered doubtfully to Elatharia and the wizard just shrugged.
"Jan came in earlier," Gaelan agreed after a moment, turning to the log book on his desk, "Coo! Three thousand gold he added to your pot. That's nine thousand four hundred and thirty two so far! Any more to add now?" There was a strange gleam in his eyes, a nervous twitching of his lips as he watched Elatharia. He almost seemed to relax at the sight of her head shaking a negative.
Viconia rolled her eyes at Minsc's dejected slump and brushed past Elatharia for the stairs, dispelling her glamour as she went with the command word Elatharia had taught her. The wizard saw just a flash of white hair before the drow vanished through the dark doorway.
"Boo says this quest to save young Imoen is taking longer than planned," Minsc complained, petting the animal which had scurried into the palm of one large hand.
"Perhaps that's because you didn't think about how much twenty thousand gold really is, Minsc, hmm?" Elatharia sighed, waving the bag of holding at him which they reserved for storing any gold or valuables that they intended to add to the fund. It was small enough to hang at her hip.
After a moment of Aerie's soothing words, Jaheira started to herd the Rashemi off to bed. With a sigh and a nod to their host, Elatharia followed with the avariel in tow. The house was tall and perpetually quiet, though many Shadow Thieves prowled its corridors night and day. A single narrow staircase wound up one side of the building, connecting five separate floors to each other. The third floor was reserved for Elatharia and her friends; other than this level, along with the sitting room and kitchen on the ground floor they had seen nothing else of the building. Although this felt more than a little strange, there was nothing much they could do about it. They were guests and at the mercy of their hosts.
There was little homeliness in their quarters; though five rooms were available, each large enough for at least two people (and three furnished with two sets of bunk beds) the group had stayed quite nuclear. Minsc and Yoshimo had the room on the left closest to the stairs. Jaheira had deemed it wise to keep someone they knew and trusted with someone they did not know – though it seemed likely that, if tested, Yoshimo could probably outwit the ranger whilst sleepwalking and, failing that, could just walk out of the room while Minsc snored. Still, it had truly felt safer this way. If anyone had the group's safety on his mind and nothing else, then it was Minsc.
Jaheira had taken the room opposite the men's, and it just so happened that her bedroom was the only one featuring a double bed. It had been intended for Elatharia as 'leader' but the druid had been distraught after they left the dungeons and had needed space and peace. Elatharia, for her part, had preferred not to be alone and shared the room next door with Viconia and Aerie.
Seeing Jaheira pause at her door now, Elatharia grimaced at the memory of how terribly they had argued right there in the dungeon with Khalid's body barely cold. How nothing could right the things they had said to each other.
"I would speak with you, Elatharia," the druid murmured wearily as the wizard moved to go past her. There was something unreadable but intense in the chiselled face of the half-elven druid.
"Oh," Aerie paused, blinking between them, before touching each on the shoulder, "G-goodnight then." The avariel squeezed between them and to the next doorway along.
The druid's room was not much larger than the chamber Elatharia shared with Viconia and Aerie, but in the place of two parallel bunk beds there stood a broad double bed. The Transmuter wondered how this enforced solitude in a bed made for two could help Jaheira. Surely it would just remind her of Khalid? Perhaps that was really what she wanted.
The wizard waited in silence, lingering by the closed door while her oldest remaining companion lit the fire across the room. There was little to take in while she waited; bare boarded walls, creaking plain floorboards, an empty bedside table and a full backpack now discarded by a doubtlessly empty chest beneath the windowsill. The heavy black curtains were open, revealing the twinkling night sky and the dark sprawl of Athkatla below. The glow of the Copper Coronet's lights was still just visible beyond the next row of houses.
At last the fire flared into life and Jaheira stood with typical soundless ease, turning to face Elatharia. Her expression was hard again, large almond eyes narrowed and glinting in the reddish light which cast such deep shadows beneath her high cheekbones. Scars peaked out from the neckline of her heavy green tunic, old memories of Irenicus's lashes. A slightly older white line curved over her jaw, sustained in the fight before their kidnap that eternity ago. And for all that observation, the expression on her face was not just hard; it was hard to read. Jaheira had a way of hiding her pain behind anger and though Elatharia knew it well, that veil of rage made it very hard to do anything but rail against the half-elf.
"These dalliances with the Thieves' Guild have to stop," the druid stated coolly, and just her authoritarian tone lit a fuse in Elatharia. She could feel her rage beginning to swell inside her, a brutal thing formed in Irenicus's dungeon. But the Transmuter just sneered, hands clenching into fists.
"You have no right to order me about like that," she replied as steadily as she could manage, "They are the only ones who have offered to get Imoen out of Spellhold. So unless you want me to prostitute myself to her captors – who already turned me away on our first day of freedom, in case you had forgotten – and unless the Harpers feel like helping out, then the Shadow Thieves are all we have."
"It is not right," Jaheira shook her head obstinately, "There are other ways to gain the money we need, at least. There is gold to be earned working outside of the city, as our venture in the Umar Hills proved. The gold that we brought back from there…"
"Was very useful," Elatharia agreed without a hint of warmth, "And it was wise of you to suggest that I buy the Robe of Vecna with what we had left over. But while we are in the city, the Shadow Thieves are a major source of income for us, considering the skills of those we know in this place…"
"You do not wear the Robe today," the druid interrupted as if Elatharia had never spoken that last sentence, raising her voice just enough to talk the Transmuter down, "Which means you have not been working for your…for Imoen's release today! Do you care nothing for her suffering? How it continues?" Jaheira's voice lowered, breaking just a little on the last word, "Have you no sympathy for what she endured before, in the dungeon and what h-he could do in Spellhold?"
The words hurt as badly as any blade. Elatharia stared at the druid disbelievingly, understanding at last. Blame. Jaheira blamed her for everything. And the druid continued her tirade while the Transmuter gaped.
"All you came out of there with was your anger and cruelty. You dally with the drow and the…bounty hunter who we barely know and play at being Shadow Thieves but you are just hiding. You do not care, and do not feel guilt," Jaheira took a step towards her, tears filling her grey eyes, her voice almost imploring, "You do not know what we suffered." And she truly seemed to believe it. Elatharia had never spoken of her time in the dungeons.
"I…am doing all I can," Elatharia denied, "We have almost half of the money and it has been less than three tendays! We will meet with…our contact tomorrow and from there we will rise in the Thieves' Guild. And though you avoid saying it, Imoen is my sister. And I am a wizard; no one can understand the horror of Spellhold better than a mage."
A blank look crossed Jaheira's face. You are nothing like her. She is not your sister. You are a child of Bhaal, her eyes seemed to say.
"No, you do not understand," the druid told her shakily, "You were not tortured – she was. And some of his evil spilled over to me, and to…K-Khalid. All you did was watch. You did not suffer."
But I did. I did! Left with the memory of torment and agony, but with none of the scars to show it. She would never persuade Jaheira of the truth, and the words would not come regardless. Seeing the other woman's denial and bitterness, Elatharia's rage warred with icy misery. Irenicus had been careful to ensure she would never be able to admit to the reality. Only Imoen would ever understand, and he had separated them. Jaheira might deny it but the truth gnawed at Elatharia: why both her and Imoen? What did they share that he would need them both?
Pushing her thoughts aside, she gritted her teeth and met Jaheira's tear filled glare.
"You are the one who understands nothing," Elatharia spat, backing up, "You refuse to see reality because you need someone to blame. I didn't kill Khalid! I wasn't there! Imoen was, and whatever Irenicus wanted, he wanted us equally for it. But you always blamed me, bitch that you are. Throwing insults, making demands," the druid blanched at these words, only for her glare to worsen, "You may care more about honour than my sister's life but I will do everything to get her back from Spellhold. I don't care how. I will kill every one of the Cowled Wizards if I have to," a beat passed, and then she let her next words pour out with vicious sneer, "And I would not stop there."
"She is nothing like you," Jaheira growled as Elatharia turned to open the door with shaking hands, "And I stay for her only, not for you, cursed that you are. Everything that has befallen is because of you. And you know it."
A slow smile spread across Elatharia's face at those words. It was something about the way that Jaheira's pain about Khalid's murder called to the golden power that curled at the back of her mind and made it glow.
"Then I shall endeavour to find my sister, the sooner to get rid of you," the Transmuter uttered, and stalked from the room.
When Elatharia reached her bunk in the plain, dark room she shared with the unlikely combination of a drow and an avariel, she had expected them both to be in Reverie. Seeing Aerie so snugly tucked under her blankets with her back turned to the drow's bunk, she was sincerely glad that Viconia had already been with the group when they had helped the circus. It had given enough room for the avariel to call an uneasy truce before a battle could start. Not to mention Elatharia's firmness on the topic of Viconia. They had travelled together while she went to Nashkel, the bandit camp, Cloakwood mines and dealt with matters in Baldur's Gate, along with everything in between. She would never have allowed the reunion with Viconia to be sundered by Aerie.
Minsc was snoring so loudly that the Transmuter could hear him from the washroom at the end of the corridor. A bowl of water had been left out for her in expectation of her habits; it only took a cantrip to heat it to wash herself before bed. Still, it was very late when she slipped into her bunk above Aerie's. All was silent but for the gentle breathing of the room's two other occupants. Her lowlight vision had shown to her that Aerie had not stirred, but as she settled under her own covers she saw Viconia turn over to face her, lying in the bunk parallel to hers.
The drow's eyes glowed a faint red in the darkness, for her kind were adapted to pitch black but Elatharia's own human night vision could show to her only that the Sharan cleric was now in her drow form, ebon skin contrasting with snow-white waves of hair. Knowing the Transmuter could see her, the drow gave a little smile. She still found it hard to keep to a surface sleeping pattern.
"That was quite a conversation you two were just having," the drow noted curiously, using the intricate gestures of Drow Sign Language to converse silently.
"Has she ever been anything but insufferable?" The Transmuter had to pause a moment to work out how to show the appropriate level of exasperation.
"Now you are talking like Edwin," Viconia noted, smirking when the Transmuter twitched in surprise, "A pity he went back to Thay, come to think of it. He was a deliciously bad influence on you, even if he never did know his true place as a male."
"Indeed," Elatharia agreed as enigmatically as she could. Really, when was the last time she had thought of him? Except for earlier in the Copper Coronet, thanks to Viconia of course… "Regardless, we need to meet the contact tomorrow. Hopefully we will find something to prove Mae'Var's fickleness. I hardly need a reason to cut that man's throat out but I'd rather do it with Bloodscalp's blessing and get some of our money paid for Imoen."
"Then we will be extra vigilant tomorrow. Study your spells, khal'abbil, and I shall pray to Shar that he suffers."
The Robe of Vecna was a showy thing, though in her heart Elatharia did agree with Jaheira; she really should wear it. Perhaps it was the only thing she and the druid would ever agree on. Still, it made her feel uncomfortable dressing in it to go to Mae'Var's hideout early the next morning. Though she wore it beneath a long black cloak, the elegant robe was not as well suited to the task ahead as Viconia's Shadow Dragon scale, acquired after battle with said dragon outside the Umar Hills.
So early in the day the drow did not need Elatharia's Transmutations, slipping the eerily dark shirt of smoothly overlapping scales over a tunic of mithral so finely woven that it felt like cool silver silk. Dressed thusly, with black gloves and boots along with grey leggings, the drow's deep blue eyes and striking yellow cloak were the only splashes of colour on her person – but she was still a beguiling sight. After all, the light-devouring dragon scales had been woven to her exact specifications, the fine mithral shirt glinting silver at the neckline. The black armour smoothed over her figure flatteringly and made no sound when she moved. Deceptively light and unobtrusive it bore its original owner's magic protections and could probably stop a thrown spear from three paces.
Yoshimo was even more appropriately dressed, with black Shadow Thief leathers and an equally dark cloak. His boots were enchanted for stealth and the little smile just visible on his face beneath his low cowl showed just how much he enjoyed these clandestine adventures as they slipped from Gaelan's house shortly before the sunrise.
Meanwhile, the Robe of Vecna, though enchanted powerfully against most forms of magic, was not a thief's possession. A gentle lavender shade with strips of pastel green suede at the neckline, waist and hem, its silken material had seemed to mould to Elatharia's figure the moment she donned it that first day. It wrapped around her, baring her right leg to mid-thigh, and fastened simply just above her right hip with three silver buttons. And it made her feel terribly out of place in the Thieves' Guild, even mostly hidden beneath her thin black cloak and with her mask concealing her disfigurements.
Still, there was little choice in the matter. She would not go to Mae'Var's hideout unprepared for battle. That was the way things had to be so long as she was working as a spy for Renal. It helped that she travelled with Viconia and Yoshimo. Though the Kara-Turan appeared to be on poor terms with the Shadow Thief spokesman, it still helped to have an accepted rogue with her – and a bounty hunter no less. And Viconia? A drow always helped one's ne'er do well credentials.
Though Amn had a much hotter climate than more northerly Baldur's Gate, it was still on the coast and privy to the buffeting winds of the Sea of Swords. In the Docks District this was particularly evident, bringing with it the reek of fish left out to dry and not at all sweetened by the horrors streaming down the gutters here where the sewers did not reach. The wind, especially icy this early in the morning even in hot Amn, was howling down through the tall cramped buildings arcing around each other down the sloped tiers of the docks when Elatharia, Yoshimo and Viconia arrived on their path to Mae'Var's hideout, down amongst the abandoned guild houses and warehouses by the older parts of the docks.
At this early hour the streets were all but deserted, just the echoing cries of seagulls circling overhead and the distant crash and clatter of dockhands setting up for the day. Beggars were curled up in alleys and street corners, taverns were quiet and even the backstreet brothels had closed their doors. There were few soldiers on patrol around here; the Shadow Thieves reigned true in this place, with their headquarters sprawled through a series of buildings and tunnels all the way along the north section of the 'abandoned' old harbour, leading down to a warren of rooms and passages deep beneath the Docks.
Elatharia gave a cursory glance to the darkly hooded figure slouched in the doorway which led to Renal Bloodscalp's terrace, the above-ground Thieves' Guild headquarters serving as the foil to Aran Linvail's subterranean Shadow Thief complex. Something about those leading men made her uncomfortable. They had an arrogant confidence, a dangerousness not to be underestimated. She could never trust them. And unlike Yoshimo (or indeed Imoen) she had never truly taken to the thieving arts. She felt like she could never belong – but she needed to gain their 'trust' and pay off their fee for saving Imoen, so here she was on the way to meet the contact at Mae'Var's hideout. Whoever he was, he was an early riser. Or a late sleeper.
Mae'Var's hideout stood in the lowest part of the Old Harbour, close to the scaffolds hanging over the lapping salt water, moored boats just visible bobbing across the bay at New Harbour. It was a ramshackle place; kept thus to keep the soldiers off their tail. Inside was a different matter.
The hooded figure at the door endured in much the same attitude as his counterpart back up the hill at Renal's place, but here he nodded and opened the door before the three guests could speak. Beyond lay the unmanned counter of a shopkeeper; the bolts of cloth on display were a ruse for trade in the black market of potions, scrolls, arms and armour but the shopkeeper was evidently still in bed.
The trio passed through the storeroom beyond and into a cosy sitting room, reminiscent of Gaelan's. A group of tired looking youths in the black and silver of Shadow Thieves were playing cards at one of the round tables between the stairs which led down into the basement (Mae'Var's favourite place, decorated with all manner of torture equipment) and the opposite stairs up. A young man caught Elatharia's eye as she entered the room and waved her up the stairs.
All remained rather subdued as they passed through; the doors to the practice chambers on the ground floor had been shut, and the man on the door of the first flood ignored them. Evidently Mae'Var was not receiving visitors in his quarters or his office. The next floor consisted of sleeping facilities for thieves under Mae'Var's pay; the top floor was much the same, but for a central sitting room and a stairway across the chamber leading to the roof. It was in this sitting room that Elatharia was supposed to be meeting Mae'Var's man at such an ungodly hour.
She, Viconia and Yoshimo stepped within to see the fire still bright in the large hearth, illuminating dark wooden flooring and long walls covered in (stolen) paintings and innumerable (stolen) trinkets and trophies. A central table was strewn with an unopened bottle of wine, a bowl of grapes and some savoury snack which looked like a peculiar type of breakfast. Some herbal tea sat in an ornate pot by the elbow of a lone man, seated with his back to them. He was perusing a large dog-eared tome, his food untouched.
It was the smell of herbal tea that caught Elatharia's attention and jolted her still with recognition. Viconia almost walked straight into the stricken Transmuter when she froze in the doorway, but the masked wizard was not paying any heed to her companions. Heart pounding like a drum in her ears, she focused her gaze with new purpose upon the man before her, just a few steps away across a dark rug, now sipping at his tea.
Something about the tilt of his head suggested that he knew he had company, but he was otherwise apparently oblivious. Hardly daring to believe her eyes, she took a moment to observe him. He was dressed in simple black breeches (a little worn at the knees) tucked into high, well-polished black boots, his deep red shirt loose and thin, rolled up to his elbows as he flicked through the book. Dark lines of intricate, calligraphic tattoos coiled around his forearms, and upon seeing those very familiar, symmetrical patterns there was no mistaking this man.
In spite of her surprise and confusion – and maybe just a little manic distress as well – a little smirk tugged at Elatharia's mouth and she squeezed Viconia's elbow to stop the drow from saying anything. She wanted to see how he would behave, and whether he knew his visitor was her. So for a few patient moments she just watched him, noting how his hair had grown out further, curling a little around his high collar – thick and black, it was now streaked with reddish brown, no doubt after days in the Amnish sun. When he raised his head, about to speak, she saw a lock at one side had been braided with some colourful beads in the fashion of the locals. It never did do to stand out in Amn if you were a wizard, much less if you were a Red Wizard of Thay!
"I presume you simpering fools are awaiting my greeting," he droned imperiously, still not turning around, and Elatharia stifled a snort, "(As if such simpletons would deserve my courtesy.) Well. My name is Edwin Odesseiron – if you simians require a less syllable intensive workout you may call me 'sir'. And you should know that my expectations for this group are exceedingly low."
Elatharia did snort at that, nudging Viconia when the drow looked significantly less impressed. A glance back at Yoshimo showed the Kara-Turan to be leaning against the door frame, arms folded nonchalantly, a confused look suffusing his face. When Elatharia looked back around, it was to see that Edwin's shoulders had gone rigid at the sound of her disbelief. She could sense his sneer as he slowly closed the book before him. He started talking as he turned around, accent haughty and over-pronounced. The will to laugh faded a little as reality caught up with her, the pit of her stomach dropping gradually.
"Such a display of ignorance and irreverence of your betters proves that Mae'Var has outdone himself, sending me naught but sniggering monkeys to do his work," Edwin gestured in vain at the empty room as he stood sharply, spinning around but not really seeing the trio before him, "Somebody get this jerk a banana!"
But no one was at hand to listen and then his deep brown eyes snagged on Viconia. Momentarily he blanched, seeing only the ebon skin of drow – in spite of her distinctive cloak – before recognising her.
"Hello, Edwin," Elatharia greeted as levelly as she could manage, one eyebrow arching enough that he could probably make it out above her velvet mask.