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Chapter 4: The Duties of Sibling
Elatharia awoke abruptly with a shriek, sitting up in the dark room drenched in sweat and breathing hard. Had she just killed…? Before her eyes Irenicus had murdered a whole family and, overcome by the power in her soul, she had stepped up at his urging and done the same…to her friends. And to Imoen. It had been so real; the smell of blood and filth, the sounds of screams and pleas.
She was alone in the room, the curtains drawn shut against the daylight and the fire cold in the hearth. Slowly her jumbled thoughts reorganised themselves and she remembered Edwin leading her out of the Guild House, around the building and back in through the main entrance. Viconia had been alarmed to see her so weakened and Yoshimo had questioned them for the sheer inferno they had created in the cellar below. It appeared that the building had been largely emptied of personnel except for a few servants cowering in the kitchen.
Viconia had quickly and expertly urged those servants into action; unsympathetically ordering a few of the maids to clean up after the mess the fighting had made. In the meantime Elatharia had asked to sleep, sagging dramatically against Edwin's side – though he had sighed as if long-suffering, his grip around her waist had been firm, hidden beneath her cloak. She had been all but asleep on her feet when he brought her to this room and left her on the bed.
Groaning and pushing tangled hair from her eyes, Elatharia pushed the thin sheet from her body, relieved to see that she still wore her Robe of Vecna though her cloak hung over the back of a nearby chair. Someone had left her boots at the end of the bed and her feet were bare, aching as she padded across the bare floorboards to push open the curtains. The light that spilled into the room held the dusky quality of evening, the sun glinting low on the horizon beyond and across the endless expanse of blue sea. It was hard to see the sails of the ships at the functioning docks in the north, to her left where the coast curved tightly. Seagulls were calling in the distance and somewhere far off a bell was ringing.
Blinking against the sun's light, Elatharia turned away, rubbing at fuzzy eyes and peering into the dim room. It was not particularly large, the bed she had slept in a little too big for one person and a little too small for two, the plain sheets tangled and bunched up from her awakening. A wardrobe stood closed by the simple wooden door and the long table against the far wall was strewn with scrolls, various inkpots and a tub of quills. Books had been lined up along the wall neatly. Several candles were arrayed along shelves above that table and a candelabra stood on the bedside table.
Still disorientated, but gradually realising what had happened, Elatharia moved to the wardrobe and slowly opened its doors to avoid anyone outside the room hearing her actions. Ah, there they were. Hung up in the middle of the clothing bar were two very familiar items of clothing; the vibrant red of the Red Wizard robe; a crimson Houppelande with a broad black sash and long matching cloak, lined and edged in gold cloth. Behind it hung the elaborate black Archmagi robe, a long cut-away jacket, with buttons only to the waist like a doublet. She ran her fingertips over both outfits without thinking, remembering buying one and first witnessing the other. They still smelled of incense and other conjuring ingredients. And that reminded her painfully of the past and all that had been lost.
Before the memories could crawl back into her consciousness and the tears could burn in her eyes, she closed the wardrobe and fumbled with the handle of the room's exit. The area beyond was familiar: the sitting room with the broad central table on the top floor of the Guild House. Edwin was sitting there again, leaning over the same book with another cup of herbal tea cradled in his hands. The fire was crackling merrily across the room and several candles flickered in clusters against the walls, maintaining a brightness which hurt her eyes.
"Finally she awakens. I had begun to wonder if I would be getting any sleep tonight," Edwin remarked absently, not looking up from his book as Elatharia approached and slid into the opposite chair. His spellbook was open at his elbow; she recognised his small but impressively calligraphic handwriting – and he had changed his tunic. This one was of a similar loose cut and thin style though black rather than red.
"Why your room?" her voice sounded raw. Edwin's eyes flickered up to meet hers for just a second before returning to the book, his eyebrows raising.
"We may have won this Guild House but we do not appear to have inherited any of the guild members just yet. And since you were determined to fall unconscious I had no choice but to take you to the one room in this place for which I had a key," he eyed her suspiciously, but seemed to think better of whatever he had been about to say.
Elatharia knew that could not have been the whole explanation and for several long moments the silence stretched.
"Are we alone?"
"Yes. Unless your Kara-Turan snake is lingering just out of sight at the top of the stairs (and I would not put it past such as him). Renal Bloodscalp's men have chased every one of those fools who dwelt here under Mae'Var's service from the building. Aside from me…that includes everyone who may have needed to venture up to these lofty heights. The drow is whipping the servants into shape. (Possibly figuratively.) I doubt there is any reason for her to join us."
The silence stretched as his attention returned to the book and for a moment more she watched him. Though his black hair was bleached paler in places by the sun, longer and featuring that one beaded braid of the Amnish style, he was much the same. A little leaner maybe. The firelight cast shadows beneath his broad, high cheekbones, and highlighted the reddish-brown of his eyes as he read. He was frowning down at the book, one hand moving up to rub at his carefully kempt beard, lips pursing in thought. Or maybe…it looked like he was struggling to concentrate in truth. She almost felt guilty.
Standing, Elatharia moved around the table until she could look over his shoulder. He tilted his head at her approached but did not speak or look up. He was perusing a detailed map, the kind which covered both faces of the open book, tiny writing scrawled upon its thin, crisp pages. Leaning closer to look, she was – to her shame – distracted momentarily by the black lines tapering to their conclusions at the curve between his neck and shoulder…and the slightest touch of his back against her body when he took a breath in. But she forced herself to concentrate, reminded herself that he had left her in the Friendly Arm, and focused her gaze upon the writing.
"It's the Graveyard District," she realised at last, "What could you possibly be perusing a map of that place for, oh most moral of moral wizards?" she surprised herself with her suddenly teasing tone, leaning closer to make out the writing, "The entrance to the older tombs…"
Elatharia paused when his hand closed around her wrist and he turned his head to look at her at last. His breath tickled her neck and her skin burned with the phantom of expected touch. She felt very foolish for getting herself into this position, not daring to turn to see his face lest she inadvertently initiate something that she might regret.
"Child of Bhaal," his voice, so familiar for its resonance and its heavy accent, seemed altogether too good at saying that phrase.
Abruptly she wanted to get away from him. Ah, the child of Bhaal has awoken…
When she straightened and tried to pull back, he kept a firm hold on her wrist, turning to keep her in his sights and forcing her a little roughly to slump into the chair beside him. He was probably not strong enough to force her to stay there without an impressive amount of effort, but she was tired and those words made her afraid.
"The show you put on for me today in the cellar would not have been possible for you a year ago," the Red Wizard continued as if he had not just steered her into that chair and his hand was not still tight around her wrist, "It is no coincidence that between then and now you have discovered your true nature and been tormented by this…Irenicus. Now you wake from a bad dream, screaming for your sister. Forgive me if I am a little suspicious."
"I didn't choose it," Elatharia told him angrily, trying and failing to pull her arm free, flinching when his other hand moved to her hair line, pushing back a few strands as his thumb traced the skin there.
"You think I did not notice this?" he asked almost softly, "That you have dyed this?"
"No one else has."
He levelled her with a doubtful look, rubbing the dyed strands between his fingers and showing her the dark colour that came away on his skin.
"You have never been very subtle, Elatharia," he reminded her, "You may be used to the smell of the dye, but any fool who you move too close to can make it out. Your friends are either too lacking in curiosity or too suspicious of you to ask. But I am asking," he leaned forward, his voice lowering though he had claimed they were alone, "Your captor, Jon Irenicus," he said the strange name with an appropriate amount of emphasised difficulty, "He awoke something in you. Something that has made you stronger and changed you. It has made your hair change and your soul darker."
"I didn't choose it – the power," Elatharia denied again, her heart pounding with something almost like a rush of relief, eyes fixed on his. At last! Someone else had seen through her lies and masks.
"It is glorious," he told her fervently, so low and heartfelt that her eyes flickered to his lips, the way they formed the word. But then his expression hardened, his grip on her wrist tightening again, "But you struggle to control it. You lost control today. You let the power seduce you."
She felt her cheeks flush at his words and his tone, remembering how she had behaved and how he had responded at first. It seemed the power had seduced more than one of them in that moment, but she chose not to speak. She was too busy trying to will the redness from her skin.
"It is difficult to master," she admitted softly, staring at his hand upon her wrist rather than meet his eyes now, "But I believe it is possible to take control. With practice and time. But there is no time – I must find Imoen before Irenicus…"
"You must do both. Seeking out Irenicus for yourself will most likely bring you the answers you need. Even if your precious sister were safely cloistered back in Candlekeep you would have to hunt for this man. He is the only person in this place who has any true understanding of who and what you are."
"He tortured me," Elatharia snapped, wrenching her arm free at last, "And he tormented my sister. He…there are things…there was…I will hunt him down and tear him apart…I will…"
Under the emotionless stare of the Red Wizard the rage left her abruptly. There it was, the essence within her clawing its way to the surface once more. Half a sob escaped her before she looked away and Edwin just folded his arms, watching her silently.
"Jaheira would say it is my true self. That my madness is all that is real of me…"
"Enough self-pity," the Red Wizard snapped, "It has never become you – nor anyone else for that matter. The druid is selfish and illogical. She enjoys blaming you for her own faults and so on. Forget her. Use her. Discard her. Destroy her, if necessary," his eyes were blazing with his intensity now, "But above all else, learn to control the power you have. It is a boon, and one you can use against the man who captured you."
A smile found its way to Elatharia's face then and she nodded, fists clenching against the lone tear that stole down her cheek. How could no one else have understood this? She was about to say more, to ask him why he was looking at that map, but the door crashed open suddenly and both wizards twisted about to see who had intruded upon their conversation.
"How dare you…"Jaheira's distinctive accent immediately followed the crash of the door against the wall, only to tail off with a choked gasp.
Elatharia winced in realisation of what was about to happen, seeing Edwin's amused smirk as he observed the druid's entrance before actually risking looking around herself. Sure enough the druid was standing frozen in the doorway, a blank look of shock fast being overcome by a twisted mask of rage. Her eyes were fixed upon the Red Wizard, her hands balling into shaking fists at her sides.
"You," the druid snarled, "How is that you have found us in this place?"
"An unfortunate coincidence, Harper," Edwin drawled, "(Certainly when forced to look upon you)."
"As if I can believe that when I see you two sitting together as if Dynaheir never lived!" Jaheira's voice lowered with her rage and at last her eyes settled upon Elatharia, only for the druid to blanch, paling a little as if in disgust.
With a sickening jolt to her stomach, Elatharia realised that she had not been wearing her mask – Jaheira had looked upon her with horror for the druid had seen her true face. The Transmuter had not thought about it, since Edwin had never once given her such a look. An uncomfortable glance towards him showed that the Red Wizard was looking from Elatharia to Jaheira, one dark eyebrow raised thoughtfully.
"I had no part in Dynaheir's death," Edwin reminded at last, and Elatharia looked back around at the table with the druid distracted once more, wishing she had some means of covering her face. Alas, neither book nor teapot would do her much good, and the Thayvian was currently digging a hole for both of them, "I would offer my condolences (if I cared at all)."
"Wretched, evil, monstrous…"Jaheira spat, "You would have done it had you had the chance! You are just as bad as Jon Irenicus and our 'leader' is too selfish and cowardly to see it! Perhaps she is learning how to be just like…"
"I'd stop there if I were you, Harpy," Elatharia suggested, a blankness coming upon her at the mention of the torturer, accompanied by a special kind of cold rage which she had last felt only for Irenicus. There was no hint of the golden wrath, not even of its exhilarating tingle of power. She looked around again to see Jaheira still standing in the doorway, red-faced now, "Because if you keep talking like that I'm going to have to make you stop."
The druid scoffed, eyes hard, but said no more. The stiffness in her shoulders suggested that she might actually have felt a little guilty for her words…or she was ready to defend them with a fight. But not even the Harper in a rage thought that she could win against Edwin and Elatharia both when she was dressed only in leather, utterly without magical protections.
"Did you come here for a reason? Other than to try to weaken our chances some more?" Elatharia demanded, sucking in a breath to try to push away the phantom ringing of metal in her ears before she had to admit to both her companions that sometimes, when she truly felt that special anger, she had to endure the memory of Irenicus's knives as if they were real once more.
"I came here to strengthen our cause," the druid denied fiercely, "Though it was no easy feat to force where you might be from Gaelan Bayle. I have spent my day finding for us some local work whilst you have been napping," her eyes drifted over the two wizards disgustedly, lingering on Elatharia's markings.
"We had conquered this Guild House to pay us fealty for your cause all before noon, Harper," Edwin sneered.
"What did you find?" Elatharia sighed before Jaheira could respond to that, rubbing wearily at her face, "With any luck this Guild House and one or two more well-paying jobs will get us what we need."
"Aerie and Anomen have heard from the Sigil Troupe at the Five Flagons Inn in the Bridge District. Apparently one of their number has been abducted along with a magical artefact. They have promised to pay well for the return of both and believe that their companion, Haer'Dalis, has been taken along with the item by an old enemy of theirs – a powerful mage – into his lair in the sewer…"
"Alright, we'll do it," Elatharia stood abruptly, gesturing impatiently for Jaheira to go, "Tell anyone we know who you can find in time that we'll be heading that way in an hour. I assume these people gave you some information regarding whereabouts inside the sewer the wizard lives?"
"They did," Jaheira agreed curtly, nodding in disdainful acceptance before casting one more hateful glance towards Edwin and stalking out of the room.
"Feel like coming with us to the sewers?" Elatharia asked, rubbing her face angrily one more time before turning towards the room she had awoken in, opening the door and peering inside. There was her cloak…and there, upon the bedside table, was her mask. She jumped in surprise when Edwin responded from directly beside her.
"No," he admitted sourly, pushing past her to enter the room – his room, "Though the promise of a powerful wizard's lair is more tempting," he added, something almost like humour flickering across his face as he opened the wardrobe and reached inside.
With him inside that room it suddenly seemed strange to follow and take up her cloak and mask. He had left her to sleep in his bed. His bed. And now he was rifling through his clothes in the wardrobe in silence as if nothing had ever happened, leaving her to eye the tangle she had made out of his sheets…
"I believe you have left some things," the Red Wizard cut in acerbically now, "Are you going to take them or did you intend to permanently leave your clutter in my way?"
"Well when you put it like that," the Transmuter muttered mutinously, moving straight for her mask and fastening it on tightly, not caring for the mess she made of her hair in the process. Sighing in relief, knowing no more people would look upon her with disgust that night, she pulled on her boots, picked up her cloak and turned to face Edwin.
The Red Wizard was watching her in the gloom as he buttoned up that Archmagi jacket, golden buttons glinting against the dark fabric as he turned. He was frowning, a look which only worsened when she adjusted her mask a little. Shivering under his gaze, she pulled on her cloak and wrapped it around herself, more self-conscious now than she had been when facing Jaheira. It occurred to her that she ought to buy some better dye for her hair…and that she should have lit the candles with a cantrip because she could only half-see his expression from that shadowy end of the room in which he stood. The way his eyes raked over her made her heart pound, her mouth go dry…and then her memories turned back to the dark dungeons and the demon's serrated skin.
"Must you insist upon wearing that mask still?" Edwin groused, adjusting his high collar and stepping to the door was a dramatic sigh. It occurred to her that he had spirited his spellbook away somehow without her noticing.
"You should have told me I wasn't wearing it," Elatharia shot back, pulling her cloak more tightly around herself and slipping past him back into the sitting room, "Jaheira already has enough reasons to hate me as it is."
"Then she should not feel the need to do so over something that you cannot control. She has always sought to muzzle you, and to control your strength of self as if by covering yourself you are improving upon the truth," he said every word as if they tasted sour, locking his bedroom door behind himself and striding past her for his cloak. When he saw her staring at him uncertainly his eyes flashed and he stopped in front of her, gesturing expansively, "What?" he demanded.
"It is an improvement," Elatharia denied.
"Trust me, it is not," the Red Wizard told her fiercely, "Fear is as potent a tool as true power at times. If cowards and the likes of the druid cower then…"
The Transmuter was just recoiling backwards in surprise at his tone when Viconia appeared in the doorway to the stairs, her armour freshly cleaned and her hammer gleaming at her hip. The drow arched an eyebrow at the sight of the two wizards; one white-faced and gaping, the other hot-eyed and glaring.
"I believe it is time to meet the others at Gaelan Bayle's house," the Sharan priestess sounded amused, "And we are all desperate to go to help some poor fool in the sewers. I take it you are coming with us to this most healthy and reputable of places?" Her mocking tone, so full of suggestion, just drew a haughty nod from Edwin who moved passed her for his cloak and headed away down the stairs.
"Viconia," Elatharia warned a little desperately when the drow's smile spread wide upon the Red Wizard's exit.
"What happened in the basement, khal'abbil?" Viconia asked a little too knowingly, "And why do I get the sense that you are squandering this most fortuitous of reunions? He treats you just as he did before he left."
"He is a Thayvian, Viconia. It is the closest thing we have to drow up here on the surface. He treats me like that because he thinks he can gain something," the Transmuter snapped, which only made the priestess laugh as Elatharia made as quick an exit as she could.
Something had changed. The anti-magic wards had stopped humming and no one had brought her first meal of the day. There had been a distant commotion the night before but she had thought nothing of it. Such things were not uncommon in this place of madmen. But that had never stopped her food being brought to her, mostly untouched though she always left it, and certainly the wards would never have been permitted to go out.
He had taken action at last. She knew it. And here she sat in her little cell, with just a bedroll for company on the cold stone floor and every day scored into the walls, waiting dutifully for her meal. Now she knew for certain that really all she had been waiting for was for him to show the wizards what a mistake they had made, and how they should have run when they had the chance.
Running footsteps along the corridor outside her door had her scrambling to her feet, but no one came barging in. She recognised the insane gnome's voice screaming something about maintaining his dominion over the kitchen now that it was free for them all.
"They'll starve us out," Imoen whispered to herself as she crept upon cloth-slippers to the door, her pulse fluttering and her lungs tight. There was a gentle fizzing growing in her hands, a nauseous twist in her stomach, "Now he's killed all the Cowls they'll lock us down and starve us all."
It would be a mercy.
The door groaned open with little effort, unlocked and unwarded. She heard more running footsteps further off, in the direction of the dining hall and the kitchen beyond. Others going to join the crazed gnome and eat them all to their deaths. But she had to know; she had to see, though it felt as if it might be wiser to go with the others and seek her last meal. Though she could not remember the last time she had willingly eaten anything. Starvation.
It would be a mercy.
Every corridor in this place looked the same, winding into each other to stop any of the sane magic 'abusers' from being able to keep their bearings when blindfolded and taken for tests and interrogations. All grey stone and evenly spaced white-warded wooden doors. Behind some; sleep. Behind others; endless questions and tests. The first time they had taken her there, to those men hidden deep inside their grey cowls, she had laughed in their faces. She had laughed so hard that she wept. Because nothing they ever did would ever compare and while the days trickled by in these plain grey rooms she could persuade herself that there was nothing and never would be anything else.
Without a blindfold it became clear quickly that what had felt like an elaborate maze of corridors was in fact quite a simple series of passageways. It was not hard to make her way to the Grand Chamber, that place with which they had threatened all of the prisoners. The place where the worst of them were taken and locked in cages to await their deaths.
It would have been a mercy.
She was so intent upon the door at the end of the next hall that she did not notice the obstacle in her way until she tripped over it. With a shriek Imoen stumbled, only to slip on the blood of the corpse in her way and crash down onto her hands and knees. Whimpering, feeling the cold, sticky liquid seeping through her thin cloth trousers, she twisted about and looked upon the death-white face of the Cowled Wizard staring past her towards the door at the end of the hall.
At the sight of the blood, her skin crawled and her heart began to race. The liquid was smooth for now as it slid over her palms, between her fingers, cool against her lower legs, but it would become sticky and eventually dry. And though that part of herself which she knew and named Imoen rebelled and she gagged, tears stinging her eyes…that part of her which made her skin creep, twisting inside her as if trying to escape, that part rejoiced and she watched the shining crimson blood trickle from her fingertips and drip to the floor in fascination. Her mouth was dry. And now she was shaking again.
Gasping, Imoen dragged herself to her feet, kicking off her soaked slippers before stumbling to the side, her bloodied hands struggling to find purchase on the wall as she leant there, catching her breath. The door ahead opened only once her eyes were squeezed tightly shut against the dancing golden lights impeding her sight. She looked up sharply, seeing the dark room ahead. There was no point running; he would always find her. There was no use crying, no use saying anything or pulling away for a moment once he reached her. He would always find her.
And there would never be any mercy.
He waited beyond, a tall lean silhouette dressed in cloth trousers and with a leather vest over his shirt. The high black walls were lined with the warded cages she remembered and within each one cowered grey-robed men. Her captors, their guards. There was only one other door in this place, a metal vault door, and he stood in front of it, his slender hands clasping the lever in the floor before him, sleeves rolled up and showing arms so scarred that whatever remained could hardly be 'skin'. When she stepped through the entrance he looked up and gestured sharply. The door slammed shut and his pale eyes alighted upon her. His stitched face curled into a slow smile, forcing the dim light to cast deep shadows below his brow.
"Child," he greeted almost gently, "I knew you would find me. And you have arrived just in time."
She recoiled when he approached, turning and rushing for the door purely on instinct. When she pulled on the handle nothing happened, and then his hands closed around her elbows, warm and strong and she screamed in misery and rage for all that had passed. He dragged her back across the room, looming unyieldingly behind her as he forced her fingers around the lever with his own. Tears were falling fast down her cheeks when she felt his cool breath against her ear.
"See what you could reap, Child of Bhaal," he whispered, and forced her to pull the lever.
When the screams of the men died down in their cages she was dizzy with the horror and blinded by the golden light, swaying like a drunkard between the man who had so tormented her and the lever which had done the deed. She did not hear anyone else approach, nor did she see the unknown speaker. A woman, her voice a little rough, well-spoken, haughty.
"This is the one you intend to be my salvation, Brother?"
"Indeed, Sister," Irenicus's voice was loud behind Imoen – he still held her immobile against him, "It should not be long now. I have had little to think of but our plan whilst locked in this place playing my part. As I hope you have played yours."
"As ever," the woman responded disdainfully, as if whatever chores she had to do pained her, "The thieves are already afraid of us and we swell our ranks with their own," she sounded amused, and a little louder. Abruptly two icy fingers closed tightly around Imoen's chin and she gasped impotently, two black dots cutting through the golden light; eyes, somebody's eyes, "And I will lead your sister to this place, child. Now be good for my brother."
Released, Imoen swayed on her feet, still blind and dizzy, wishing she would never wake for whatever it was that was to come.
"Perhaps we should just bring him as he is," Viconia suggested softly, "So willing, so pliant."
"I doubt his companions would be very happy about that," Elatharia reminded the drow, trying not to smile while Aerie made a little sound of disbelief and Jaheira snarled openly.
"That wizard be coolin' nicely by now," Korgan noted from the arm of a chair nearby where he leaned, wiping blood from his axe. He was largely to blame for that state of affairs after Edwin had destroyed that wizard's protections, Elatharia had paralysed him and Viconia had preordained his doom with Shar's blessing.
"Can you dispel whatever it is that has him so…charmed?" Jaheira demanded, addressing both Aerie and Elatharia.
The latter turned the enchanted stone over in her hands, watching their conjured lights dancing on its sparkling burgundy surface for a thoughtful moment before looking up at the swaying tiefling smiling blankly at the four gathered around him. He was uncommonly handsome, with well-defined – if slightly sharp – regular features, his skin decorated with dark, tapering markings oddly similarly to Edwin's tattoos which rose up from his shoulders and curved around his cheeks. His long hair was a peculiar blue shade which put her in mind of Imoen – though this seemed strange since Jaheira and Viconia had both been adamant that this man was a tiefling. Dressed simply in a thin white shirt tucked into brown trousers, it was obvious that he was lithely muscular – and even swaying there under thrall he moved with uncommon grace.
"I can't – it requires skill with Abjuration. But Aerie can," Elatharia said, the avariel nodding at her side, "The stone has the command phrase to dispel the charm."
"This must be the man who was kidnapped from his home with the Sigil Troupe," Anomen agreed, clanking up to their side in his full, shining plate mail, his mace and shield strapped to his back, "Although, if he is a tiefling as you say then perhaps it would be wrong to unleash him back upon Athkatla."
Edwin sneered and barked an unamused laugh from where he had been leaning on the mantelpiece across the large circular room, reading one of the books from the full bookshelves lining the walls. He had conjured a fire within the hearth and had ignored their attempts to ascertain what to do with the captive man until Korgan had brought them the magical stone in an act of surprising altruism.
"If you think to judge all the world by your creed, then you will die a mass murderer," the Conjurer pointed out, eyeing Anomen with distaste, "Something which you would claim to think…wrong. And besides, every member of the Sigil Troupe is a tiefling, in case you failed to notice."
"I never meant that we should leave him here," Anomen growled in an expected show of frustration, now looking to Elatharia more pleadingly, "And when Aerie and I spoke with them earlier they seemed very…"
"Persuasive?" Edwin did sound amused now, in that way which meant he had caught a fool in his trap and was about to thoroughly enjoy embarrassing them, "They would. Their leader's grandmother was a succubus, I believe."
"I…" Anomen straightened in surprise, blushing violently.
"T-tieflings are not…not like their demonic kin," Aerie explained gently, putting a hand on the cleric's arm until he looked down at her large blue eyes, "They are f-far less likely to be evil than the demon from whom they spring and if…if this one travels with the Sigil Troupe then I d-doubt he is evil."
Elatharia watched the others in silence, feeling their conversation pulling her thoughts back, their words reminding her of something…something she must not...but there it was. The chamber, and the demon with its serrated skin. How it had cut her, flayed her as it…and how Irenicus had watched dispassionately, arms folded and foot tapping. To teach you humility, Child of Bhaal. He had told her coolly when she had caught him unaware with an Aganazzar's Scorcher spell, cutting through his magical protections and leaving him with a minor burn the size of a small coin on the back of his hand.
"Wise words," Jaheira was muttering to whatever Aerie had just said, gesturing impatiently at the tiefling, "We should dispel this and leave quickly."
"Especially when we'll be gettin' plenty rewards for this! From the Troupe and the city both – I never thought t' see the day!" Korgan sounded amused.
"Elatharia? The spell," Jaheira repeated from behind her.
Edwin slammed the book in his hands shut with a great burst of dust and Elatharia jolted back to reality with a gasp. She realised she had been staring at the flames crackling in the hearth, having turned about when Anomen and the Red Wizard disagreed. Edwin just raised an eyebrow at her when she glanced at him before turning around, the stone in her hands.
"Hurry. You are wasting time," Jaheira added now, earning a glare but little else from the Transmuter before the latter handed the stone over to Aerie, who began to utter the necessary command phrase.
"Why? Did you have somewhere to be, Harper?" Edwin enquired dismissively as he approached, sharing a long, serious look with Viconia.
Korgan came to join the group from his place at the armchair once Aerie's magic began to rise up around the tiefling. Everyone's hands were on their weapons, unsure of what was to come. The wizard they had killed in this lair had claimed the tiefling was a thief and the stone belonged to him, the lair's owner. Although how he had come to know of this wizard's stone without previously possessing it was something their eventual attacker had failed to explain. Now he lay dead in the next room, having failed also to offer enough proof (and gold) to stop them taking this 'Haer'Dalis' from his custody before Jaheira, Anomen and Aerie could join them in determining what had happened to the tiefling in this library.
Once Aerie had completed the phrase, a gentle blue glow passed momentarily over the tiefling before them and once it had gone he took in a sharp breath, shaking his head from side to side as if to clear it. Taking a more controlled posture than the one he had been in, he looked at them – and the stone held clearly in Aerie's hands – before bursting out laughing.
"Twould seem I got my just desserts," he chuckled in an unexpectedly deep voice, "I take it the chant reached you of my disappearance and my flock offered you a princely sum for my return?" he grinned when Elatharia nodded uncertainly, winking at her conspiratorially, "Truth be told that my Swan would settle for the stone, but you have done this humble Sparrow a great service and I am in your debt. Or at least…my Troupe is. Pray tell – what befell my taskmaster?"
"We killed 'im," Korgan offered bluntly, and the tiefling just nodded in understanding.
"Such comes to us all in time," he agreed merrily, "Now – to whom do I speak? My name is Haer'Dalis, Doomguard and bard…at your service. Tis quite a flock that stands before me," he appraised them all, his eyes lingering over Aerie and then Viconia thoughtfully.
He nodded through the introductions, seeming rather unsurprised by any of it though he stood before a drow, an avariel, a Red Wizard and a self-proclaimed Bhaalspawn.
"Your honesty is refreshing, my Raven," Haer'Dalis admitted softly once Elatharia had finished, "Though perhaps caution against telling the wrong berks may be warranted. The chant in these parts is of fear regarding ones such as yourself though such are only rumours."
"Hmm," Edwin sniffed derisively, "(Does he name everything alive after birds? And to speak in such uncivilised Sigil slang!)"
"I prefer to offer my own enlightenment upon those who make an impression, my Sparrowhawk. Though to hold only to birds can be a little limiting," Haer'Dalis hardly seemed offended, looking back to Elatharia with that same winning smile, "Now, shall I show you where the loot is hid to add to your purses – and in truth to regain my own possessions? Then perhaps we may be away."
Returning Haer'Dalis to his group had been fairly simple, though negotiating the wretched sewers had been rather hard going. However, leaving the Sigil Troupe had proven much harder once the magical stone they returned had been shown to be a portal key. Sucked into the fighting which ensued between the group which was tracking the actors had left Elatharia's group and Haer'Dalis's companions victorious but had also resulted in injuries – and the decision of the Troupe to leave. When Haer'Dalis offered his services it had been rather difficult to refuse after he had shown himself so capable with his twin enchanted blades and so he had stayed. He had also proven himself at least proficient in a few arcane incantations, though his spells were more limited than most of the other spellcasters.
"I need a drink after that," Korgan grunted when at last he, Anomen and Jaheira had been returned to their previous states of health thanks to a combined use of their healing spells – and Aerie's.
"I second your plan, my War Dog!" Haer'Dalis agreed enthusiastically, approaching across the stage to where the dwarf was pulling himself up from his knees, blood still staining his chain armour. Korgan sent him a strange look for the phrasing but shrugged and stomped off.
"Anyone who's with me, we'll be up at the tavern swiggin' the best dwarven ale!" he cried over his shoulder as he and the tiefling made their way down through the rows of seating and up through the door which led to the main hall of the inn.
"I think the theatre agrees with him," Viconia noted dryly, earning a laugh from Elatharia and a giggle from Aerie, who looked at the drow almost bashfully for agreeing with the humour.
"I think we should join them," the avariel added after a moment.
"We have done well today," Anomen agreed, coming to her side. She blushed a little when he smiled down at her, looking away quickly and heading off for the bar before he noticed. He followed, regardless.
"You should return to Gaelan Bayle's house with the wealth we have gained tonight," Jaheira informed, watching Aerie and Anomen go with shrewd eyes before turning to where Elatharia was sitting on the edge of the stage rifling through the bag of holding in question, "I for one am going to return to that place and check on Minsc before bed," she came to stand in front of the edge of the stage where the Transmuter sat, looking up with reproachful eyes, "He was inconsolable when he heard that you had taken in the Thayvian again. Did you not know that Irenicus took Edwin's shape when he…when Dynaheir…"
"I wasn't there," Elatharia answered absently, staring down at the gold and gems arrayed in the bag rather than look up at the druid. She had felt a little dazed ever since Anomen's distrust of tieflings brought up the topic of demons, "I wonder how he knew about Edwin's mission to kill her, though."
"And here I was thinking Divination was a pointless school," Edwin noted from somewhere behind her on the stage. The wizard-based joke made her laugh momentarily, to Jaheira's horror, and then all of a sudden her throat tightened and she bit back tears. She had definitely had enough of this endless nostalgia for the past.
"You…both of you…" Jaheira looked genuinely taken aback, looking between the two wizards before throwing up her hands in disbelief, "How can you joke of such things?" she spared a moment to look towards Viconia who was perusing the scene of distant mountains painted across the back of the stage, before turning back to Elatharia with a sigh, "Sometimes I utterly despair of you, Elatharia. You should think of Gorion more often and remember his lessons of kindness and humility."
Humility. Do you know why I have summoned him to you, Child of Bhaal? It is to teach to you humility in the face of those who are stronger than you.
The words cut deeper than they should have, spoken by the druid in a surprisingly kind tone of voice, but the memory of Irenicus proved too much and Elatharia sneered lest she weep, tossing the bag of holding at the druid.
"You take it, Harpy," she suggested bitterly, "I intend to join the others."
Jaheira snatched the bag from the air and turned around sharply, leaving the theatre without another word or even an angry look over her shoulder. The Transmuter knew that the druid would have misunderstood the situation but there was no way she could solve it. Sighing, she pulled off her mask and rubbed her face, running her fingertips over the markings across her cheekbones as she thought of all that had happened that day. She was weary in spite of her nap from noon until evening. They had fought a great deal and she was utterly devoid of spells except for those few cantrips which were ingrained in her memory.
Not listening to the quiet conversation Edwin and Viconia were having nearby – from the Red Wizard's acerbic tone it must have been something fairly mundane – Elatharia reached into her personal bag of holding for her spellbook. Feeling the spine of a tome under her fingers she pulled out the object and opened it without thinking. Looking down, her heart jolted when she realised she had extracted her journal by mistake; the two books had been bound and gifted to her at the same time by Gorion and were consequently quite hard to tell apart by touch alone. She had been keeping up the habit and writing every day but had not once looked back for fear of what she would see. And now she saw Imoen's small, flowing script filling the pages before her. When had this happened? Imoen had been the one to bring both of their spellbooks and the journal, but she had assumed her sister had found them, not that she had somehow had the time to write in it and to know the date!
22nd Mirtul, 1369 DR – Year of the Gauntlet.
Hello, Elatharia. I've decided to start writing in here because I don't think I will ever be able to talk to you out loud about what's happening to us – but I think that I'll go mad if I don't tell someone. Sometimes I get a glimpse of his journal, and if the date he uses is real then we've been here for over three tendays now…
A hand settling upon her shoulder had Elatharia jumping sharply and she slammed the journal shut just as abruptly. Looking up, her thoughts spinning, she saw Viconia looking down at her with a measured look.
"Khal'abbil. We must speak of something that happened today."
"In the cellar? Viconia…"
"No, not of that," the drow denied quickly, offering a hand to help her back up to stand on the decking but Elatharia sighed, pushing herself off the edge and landing on her feet in front of the seating instead.
Edwin was standing a short distance away from the priestess, arms folded and frown deep while he watched their interaction with a look of distaste. When Elatharia moved off the decking, he gestured up at the ceiling and began to follow.
"I do not believe there is any conversation that we can have up there with some much needed wine that will get the attention of our simian companions while they drink and fornicate," he sounded surprisingly wistful.
"When was the last time you two agreed to have a conversation with me civilly – at the same time – about anything?" Elatharia asked suspiciously, narrowing her eyes at both of them as the drow descended the steps of the decking onto the walkway. Edwin gave her an impatient look, his hand closing around her elbow and guiding her up the step to join them, the smooth black fabric of his Archmagi robe brushing against her bare arm as she moved past him.
"More times than you might expect," Viconia shrugged, then leaned closer to add in a stage-whisper much like the Red Wizard's too-audible mutterings, "But do not tell the Red Wizard – I doubt he would wish to admit that he is capable of something so ordinary…or helpful."
A smile found its way to Elatharia's lips when she looked up to Edwin's face and saw his scandalised glower following the drow as she made her exit up the stairs to the tavern. When he sensed her watching he looked down slowly; only then did she realise how his hand still lingered lightly at her elbow. This close she could smell the incense and the lingering remnants of herbal tea – their sojourn through the sewers had been rebuffed by a few journeyman cantrips.
"Mae'Var defeated, the tiefling freed from a wizard's lair," she gestured at her personal bag of holding which now held a large number of the scrolls and used spellbooks taken from the mage they had slain, "And Planar travellers run from the city. Does this mean you're staying with us?" the real question was lingering between them unspoken – why have you not gone back to Thay?
"With Dynaheir dead at last and you now ruling over the Guild House do I have any way of escaping you?"
She did not point out that the death of Dynaheir actually had no bearing whatsoever on whether he stayed with her – unless he actively wanted to and all that had been stopping him was the Wychlaran. Instead she just watched him for a moment, how his eyes searched her face without even realising it, the tattoos curling at the base of his neck, twisting away beneath his golden necklace with its red jewel, down behind the collar of his black jacket and shirt. Only when his hand shifted slightly on her elbow did she realise what they had been doing, lingering so close to each other and staring. Had he missed her too, then?
"We should go to join Viconia," Elatharia muttered, pulling back when he did and refastening her mask as she turned away.