Thank you again to those who are following this story, and those who have reviewed. It is, as ever, much appreciated. :)
This chapter title, like the last one, is also a quote from a Tennyson poem. More fully, it goes:
...And he, shall he,
...
Who loved, who suffered countless ills,
Who battled for the True, the Just,
Be blown about the desert dust,
Or seal'd within the iron hills?
No more? A monster then, a dream,
A discord. Dragons of the prime,
That tare each other in their slime,
Were mellow music match'd with him.
- from LV and LVI, In Memoriam AHH by Alfred Lord Tennyson, 1850.
Chapter 8: A Monster Then, a Dream, a Discord
The familiar sandstone walls of Candlekeep rose up around her, the old mote filled with endless darkness and stars instead of water, the sky above also an endless scene of open space. The wind was cold and eerily still…and when Elatharia looked forward towards the lowered drawbridge again Imoen was standing before her, a little too close. Only this was not quite Imoen as she knew her. The young woman's silver-blue eyes were bright and full of miserable reproach. Her hair was dishevelled and purest white, just like her skin – nothing like reality – and her cheeks were sunken from malnourishment, streaked with tears that continued to flow from her impossibly brilliant eyes though she did not appear to be crying otherwise. Her collarbone stood out painfully at her neckline. She wore a pink slip and her feet were bare.
"Do you remember this place?" she asked softly, her voice so familiar that Elatharia wanted to drag her into a hug even though this Imoen was not really her Imoen…was it? "I…I don't think I do."
Her sister turned away for a moment, looking up at the keep, then nodded.
"Wait – this is Candlekeep. It is…it was home. Tell me we can go home?" her voice was not as befittingly pleading as her expression became.
Elatharia found she could only stand there and watch, held fast in the lethargy of sleep. Imoen seemed unbothered, taking her hand and guiding her to turn around. Before them stood three familiar figures upon the beginnings of the lawn they had played upon as children…only this lawn crumbled away after a few paces and beyond it yawned pure, ominous darkness. There was Tethtoril in his hooded Houppelande robe with its widely flaring sleeves and thick gold sash, his lined face kind as ever. The symbols of Oghma, Mystra and Deneir were bleeding thick black blood over his heart. Next to him was Gorion, his weathered face and thick grey hair so very, painfully familiar. They made her think of long nights discussing spells and earlier times, or a gift of a painted rocking horse. His grey robes were stained with his blood and torn as they had been at his moment of death. And with him was Elminster, tall and straight-backed but ancient all the same, his robes a shade lighter red than Tethtoril's and his matching hat rising high over his head. He even held his walking stick, frozen mid-word. In fact all of them were in a state of impossible stillness, as if graven images rather than living people.
"Do you remember them? I don't…I don't. I can't," Imoen sounded calm, though tears continued to flow from her cheeks. She paused and then a too-wide smile spread over her unnaturally pale face, "Wait. They were the guidance. To set us on the path to great and noble things. And now they are gone; they are so far away. And the guidance is gone."
Before the sisters' eyes the three men dissolved into dust, as if made of dry sand and drifting away in a breeze they could not feel. The wrenching guilt, the misery, the loss that Elatharia felt did not seem to be matched by Imoen. She just tugged on her sister's hand and led her slowly, too slowly, over the draw bridge and up the steps. As the large gates of the keep came closer, fogged at any distance by the imprecise nature of dreams, a figure took shape. Sarevok, huge and broad in his spiked black plate, the Sword of Chaos in his hands. He was unmoving, like Gorion and the others, frozen mid-swing, golden eyes gleaming like torches and fixed upon Elatharia. His expression was impossible to see beyond the teeth of his helm.
"Do you remember him? Does he make you feel…afraid? Or is it the memory of his death that you think of?" Imoen sounded curious…reverent almost, "Because…I feel nothing. He is gone, and he feeds the taint. For every Bhaalspawn you kill, the greater the taint. And on and on…until…" she drew out the word, as if preparing to impart some greater, wondrous secret, and then her hand was gripping Elatharia's too tightly, so tightly she could make out every bone beneath the skin, her face twisting into a grotesquely exaggerated look of fear and pain, "Don't let me remember! I want to…to forget it all! Save me. Why won't you come and save me?"
A great wind surged up around them, scattering Sarevok to the void and tearing Imoen's grip from Elatharia's. The Transmuter cried out and reached for her, in spite of her dreamlike stillness, but it was too late and Imoen was sucked whole in to the void, screaming. As soon as she was gone, silence reigned. For a time.
"She does not know what it is that must be found…and taken from her. It is a little thing really, on the scale of a greater whole, and she will learn. It may take days or months, but in the end she will learn."
Irenicus's voice cut through the stillness and Elatharia's skin crawled. She resisted turning to see her former captor, but she found that in the manner of all nightmares she could see his twisted, stitched face anyway.
"You have seen her not as she is entirely, nor as she could be entirely but…a little of both. After all, this is a dream and what you see is but a reflection of the future and the past. But soon these things will come together in the real world. And you will both learn."
Imoen's eyes flew open. She was too weary to sit up but her stomach roiled and her eyes struggled to focus upon the plain grey ceiling past the tears. She had seen Elatharia at the gates of Candlekeep, her hair and skin icy white, her usually green eyes a pure black to match her markings. Dressed in a tunic of smooth mithral she had spoken of blood and death, of all they had left behind, and as she spoke black blood had oozed from her lips. She had shown to Imoen Tethtoril, Gorion and Winthrop and had dragged her to stand before an image of Irenicus.
Elatharia had promised a world of death to those who would hurt her sister. But Imoen had known it was too late and had turned the blade Elatharia had handed her back onto her sister. At the thought of this in the waking world she wept, turning over on the bed and covering her face. When she looked across the dark cell again she saw him, real and of the waking world, standing in her doorway. As he came for her she knew that those things, those parts of her past life, were better left forgotten.
She would learn, Elatharia had said. But it would come too late. Far too late.
"You slept poorly last night," Aerie noted softly in the morning once Elatharia joined the group gathering in the sitting room. The avariel and Jaheira had been up early, though both had taken watches in the night – they had been out collecting fruits and the like for the group to breakfast on to avoid asking Valygar to share his stores with them.
Now Elatharia watched her warily, readjusting her mask self-consciously as if the avariel could see straight through it.
"A bad dream," she admitted eventually.
She watched absently as Korgan complained about his breakfast and the lack of ale…until Jan offered him a pickled turnip and he realised that things could be much, much worse. Jan could have been catering for them. Haer'Dalis looked as if he had slept in the chair by Viconia, who was now sitting up and fully conscious. She was assuring Anomen that she could cast some more healing spells upon herself after eating and would be healthy enough to travel by the appointed hour. Minsc was sitting on the door step pointing out trees to a politely 'interested' Mazzy. Edwin had been up even earlier than Aerie and Jaheira and was reading one of his endless supply of books in the far corner of the room upon the one free wicker chair.
"You were muttering in your sleep," Aerie persisted, putting a small hand on Elatharia's arm, her large blue eyes looking into Elatharia's with real concern.
"I'm sorry if I kept you awake," the Transmuter muttered in an uncomfortable monotone, trying to move away – but the avariel smiled at her.
"No, it's not like that! We were worried about you but you did not disturb me. I need very little true sleeping time at night – especially during travel," her expression darkened a little, her high voice lowering slightly and gaining a more tremulous tinge, "It was brought on by my time t-travelling in my c-cage. I will reverie as I walk," she added more brightly.
The avariel gave Elatharia's arm a friendly squeeze and she passed her an orange before beginning to move away…until the sun was revealed from behind a cloud and illuminated the room properly. Then her eyes widened in surprise and she reached for Elatharia's hair.
"Oh! Is this how your hair truly is?" she inquired without any of the horror the Transmuter had been expecting, "The rain must have washed the dye from it." She leaned closer conspiratorially, still smiling, "It is wise of you to dye it when you do not wish to be recognised. Though I much prefer it golden like this."
The avariel held up a lock of her own cascading waves of partially braided hair, one of the feathers woven into it tickling Elatharia's surprised cheek as Aerie compared the slightly differing shades of their hair. The part-time cleric giggled as she realised that her own hair was still a little lighter than the Transmuter's.
"Your mother must have been a sun elf, Elatharia!" she exclaimed, "I haven't seen gold like it!"
And with that she moved over to sit beside Anomen on the threadbare couch with a swish of the skirt of her long white tunic. She did not appear to have sustained so much as a cut in the night's fighting though she wore only a plain leather jerkin over her tunic. Her grey leggings were hardly protective, revealing thin legs behind the embroidered slits of her tunic. And now the Helmite was smiling at her in surprise as Aerie offered him an orange out of the several she still held in one arm. Though she was far more slender than was normal for a human, she was so cheerful this morning in spite of all that had happened that he managed to keep that smile for a little while longer. Regardless of those muddy boots and worn leggings, the avariel was probably a beautiful and exotic sight to him; her braided blonde hair and large blue eyes, not to mention the regularity of her delicate face and those unusual markings on her skin, probably all leant to the fascination she held for most of the males who crossed her path.
A brief conversation with Viconia proved that she was feeling much better. She seemed to be doing her best to ignore Haer'Dalis when Elatharia spoke to her – most likely the drow was not very used to being watched over like that. But all of the priestess's efforts were dashed when the bard cut into their conversation.
"My Raven!" he cried, "You are hurt!"
"Hardly, Haer'Dalis," the Transmuter brushed it aside, sighing when he caught her wrist and turned her arm about to show Viconia, "Look, my Blackbird – the embers of the fire have left their mark upon our leader."
Only then did Elatharia recall falling upon the fire after the lightning bolt hit her. The skin was hardly seriously damaged; a little pink and blistered. She had hardly thought about it since…she had… A wave of nausea overcame her suddenly at the memory of how she had killed her Bhaalspawn attacker. It had been one thing to take revenge and another to do it like that. She had even surprised herself – and wondered at how Aerie could have seen her do that and now turn to her this morning with such friendly comments.
"Haer'Dalis," she complained, pulling her hand free…and wincing at the pain that shot through her ribs. He eyed her victoriously and she glared back, looking to Viconia and finding that the drow was just smirking at her, "You knew that off-balancing me would prove this," she waved angrily over her bruised ribs.
"Indeed. Perhaps you underestimated this Sparrow?"
"Gods, it's nothing…"
She was still grumbling when a small hand settled over her side and soothing energy flowed into her injuries. The Transmuter blinked down at Mazzy in surprise as her pains subsided. The paladin stepped back to keep eye contact without having to tilt her head back so much and just raised her eyebrows as if daring Elatharia to keep arguing.
"Not much good for us if our leader is injured, Elatharia," Mazzy admonished lightly, glaring over at Korgan when the dwarf hollered for her cast Lay Hands on him, "Any wounds you gain, dwarf, would be better tended by Anomen or one of the other priests. Such is the lot of those who fight recklessly in battle," she shot back imperiously.
"You remind me of my uncle Golodon when you speak like that, young Mazzy!" Jan chortled as he came back into the house from…somewhere, squeezing his small frame past Minsc in the doorway.
After that those of the group who needed to put their armour back on gathered at one end to help each other. When Anomen moved to join them he left Aerie on the couch, now holding an apple. When Jaheira sat next to her, already dressed in her leathers, the avariel nudged the druid with a little giggle.
"They look so strange, don't they, Jaheira? All huddled up and helping each other dress," the avariel's little smile was surprisingly mischievous.
"You are certainly in a good mood today, Aerie," Jaheira noted, looking over the avariel with a small frown.
"It's the road, I think. I like the open air and the promise of doing some good in the Windspear Hills!"
"(Now she sounds like the imbecilic ranger)," Edwin grumbled from his seat, deigning to look up from his book as Elatharia sat back on the windowsill near him.
"I think your manner is infectious and should be continued," Haer'Dalis told Aerie, saluting her with his small harp, "Have you ever thought of channelling such vivacious energy onto the stage, my Dove?"
Viconia rolled her eyes irritably as she knelt upon her bedrolls to finish lacing her Shadow Dragon Scale. Both this and her mithral shirt were immaculate, though her leggings were torn where she had been shot.
Edwin nudged Elatharia's leg with his own. The sunlight was bright on his olive skin, and Elatharia wondered if he realised he was growing stubble. His eyes looked reddish in the bright glow rising over the bluish-shadow of the Cloudpeaks.
"I did say that no one would realise," Edwin told her quietly so that the others would not hear – Haer'Dalis was loudly regaling Aerie and Jaheira with tales of acting successes. The Conjurer raised an eyebrow when the Transmuter ran a hand over her hair, knowing that was what his words referred to, "Though I must admit sleeping within hearing distance of a Bhaalspawn makes rest difficult. How many different horrors haunted you last night, Transmuter?"
"No different than normal," Elatharia lied, shuddering to remember the sight of Imoen being dragged from her, of Gorion and Tethtoril blown away into oblivion. They were the guidance. And they are so far away.
Edwin raised an eyebrow doubtfully.
"You lost control," he told her softly, "Again. Yesterday. That Strength spell should not have been powerful enough to allow you to tear his head from his shoulders. Impressive," his lips twitched, "But chaotic."
"I know," Elatharia sighed, watching Jaheira closely as the druid's stare turned distrustfully towards Edwin, "But it wasn't as bad this time. I would have killed him anyway. Does it really matter how?"
"The druid might say yes. The avariel definitely would," Edwin reminded her, nudging her leg again, "So make sure next time you keep your brutality for the eyes of those who will not judge you so childishly, yes?"
"Again with wisdom. That hardly sounds like you," Elatharia pointed out, "Have you been talking to Viconia this morning?"
"…Yes," Edwin admitted with narrow eyes, "(But her conclusion came only thanks to my intellectual input)."
The Transmuter only spared a moment to hold back her mirth before laughing. There was nothing better than a Red Wizard's ludicrous ego to brighten her mornings, even after an attempted ambush and visions of Bhaal-in-Irenicus's form. Especially after them.
Viconia had been surprised…repeatedly and excessively…over the past few hours.
It had been over a century since she had been so taken by surprise as in that ambush during the night; not even outside of Peldvale a year ago when she had stumbled from that wretched Flaming Fist – after all, then she had been blinded by the daylight. There at the foot of the cliff it had been midnight. And she, Viconia DeVir, once of the Underdark and Menzoberranzan, once a High Priestess of Lolth, she had been taken by surprise on a quiet night in the pitch black when there should have been nothing but a few dying flames and the pattering of the rain to distract her.
It was the tiefling, she knew it. The truth made her cringe with guilt, but it was sometimes necessary to accept one's failings. Maybe it was the surface life, too. It was making her soft, making her see people in that pathetic manner that had so galled her for so long. He had distracted her with tales of Sigil and the Planes, ignoring her jibes and threats until she was won over and willing him to continue, fascinated. In Menzoberranzan she would have been one of the slave masters he described to her; he knew this, and he batted it aside. You would not have had it in your heart to keep me caged, my Blackbird. One way or another we would have set each other free. It was an impudent statement and she should have recoiled, but there was a darkness in his eyes, something very interesting in his tone and his hand so gentle against her arm. He was seducing her, not the other way around. Perhaps. But he was also doing little more than speak with her and give her his time.
She was ashamed of her weakness. The feeling of wanting this man was in itself quite relieving. It had been a long time since she had harboured such feelings. Longer than her time on the surface. What she raged at herself for was the rest of it, and here was another of her surprises. She found herself wanting his attention, found her heart dropping when he flirted with Aerie. This had to stop. She had to turn away, ignore him, do everything in her power to send him away. Before he knew the truth and laughed in her face.
And then had come her third surprise. Her memories of the night were hazy at best but she could recall the tiefling carrying her to Valygar's cabin, of that unfamiliar ranger accepting her – an injured drow – into his home. When she had awoken, Haer'Dalis had been asleep in the chair beside her, Anomen snoozing on the couch nearby and ready to lend healing aid if necessary. It seemed that more than just Elatharia in this group would extend their aid to her. But she would not trust it. In her experience kindness or attention always led to one thing. Betrayal.
Viconia was still brooding once they had left Valygar's cabin far behind them, its owner in tow. He stalked at the far end of the party, occasionally sharing a word or two with Mazzy or Yoshimo. Haer'Dalis and Aerie were discussing a play the tiefling was writing; he had asked her to act in it with him and she had – eventually – blushingly agreed.
Korgan looked a little sickened by their topic as he trudged behind them. He had met Viconia's eyes with a glare until she had turned around and continued walking. She absolutely would not listen to what the avariel and tiefling were saying. It would be better if he turned his attentions to the surface elf. It would be, it would be, it would be…
"I haven't seen you brood like this for a long time," Elatharia noted, dropping back from Edwin's side along the narrow, muddy trail. The Transmuter had seemed thoughtful herself, but her sidelong glance now was accompanied by a little smirk and a nudge of her shoulder against Viconia's. Even behind that cloth mask it was clear she was teasing the drow.
"I have not been taken so off guard for longer," Viconia noted coolly, squinting up at the cleared sky. The others had greeted the loss of the rain clouds with relief. The drow missed them. The bright sun burned her sensitive eyes and made her dizzy.
"It was uncharacteristic," Elatharia agreed, glancing momentarily ahead at Edwin and lowering her voice, "No worse than me losing control of my Bhaal taint and tearing my attacker's head from his shoulders."
"You did that?" Viconia's day was suddenly looking up, "By Shar, you should be rejoicing at such a boon of power, khal'abbil."
"I would be if it didn't require a certain loss of control," Elatharia reminded her. The drow shrugged; where she came from such things were praised, "And speaking of loss of control – what did you learn from our Yoshimo-hating tiefling? Does he have a real motive or is it some kind of prejudice…or memory?"
"There was little to tell," Viconia turned her eyes on anything but the Transmuter; the muddy trail, the sloping hills rising ahead, the great shadow of the Cloudpeaks over the dense forest beside them… "He is resilient to probing and ingenious at evasion. He did speak insistently of Yoshimo as a 'poor actor', a 'berk chained by something dark'. But he also spoke at length of his experiences as a slave in the Blood Wars. Such things are never…palatable to me even after Menzoberranzan. It is one thing to be cruel and torment…another to do as the demons do. But he did not explain the link he was making, and I would be wary of both, khal'abbil. Whatever Haer'Dalis sees in Yoshimo is unlikely to be purely an emotional reaction. The tiefling prides himself on his judgement of character, and he has rarely shown the side of himself that he turned upon Yoshimo. But at the same time…the illogical side of things may well have played a part in his extreme reaction. We will have to observe and be patient. If we are lucky they may kill each other before we have to bother."
Elatharia snorted at the derisive words, flinging the lower corner of her grey cloak over her shoulder to keep in some warmth. The wind up here was bitter.
"You sound so dismissive that I doubt your sincerity, Viconia," she noted, "Is this perhaps more to do with how this certain tiefling slept in a chair to be closer to your injured self and be at hand should you require aid?"
"Such sentiment is for the foolish…"
"And the dead, I know," the Transmuter sighed, finishing off Viconia's familiar sentiment, "Just remember that he's not a drow, and you don't need to expect him to be."
The priestess felt a wave of frustration rising at those words. Of course no one could understand.
"If you are so in favour of pathetic sentiment and done with your match-making perhaps you should head back to your Red Wizard, khal'abbil," Viconia snarled.
Elatharia laughed so loudly that the Conjurer stalking ahead of them twisted around to glare, his hands deep in his pockets and his shoulders hunched against the cold. He could not know how much his return to the group had improved the Transmuter's mood; Viconia had hardly heard her laugh like that once since she had saved the drow in the Government District. Then arrived Edwin and suddenly not even Imoen's loss could stave off this kind of mirth. Although truth be told there was something overly giddy about the young Bhaalspawn today that belied a certain…fragility.
"I never mentioned any match between yourself and Haer'Dalis, Viconia," the Transmuter told her, "But now you say it…"
"Be gone!" Viconia pushed the wizard towards Edwin with all her might but the Transmuter just kept laughing, cackling something up at his glowering face until he rolled his eyes and headed off after Jaheira and Minsc again.
"Rivvin," the drow grumbled to herself once she was alone once more with her thoughts.
She had preferred it so much more when their conversation had centred upon killing their assassin. Those were things she could understand and put into context. Hearing Aerie giggling at something Haer'Dalis said behind her, Viconia snarled irritably, pulling up her hood to hide her eyes from the light and hopefully block out this confusing surface world altogether.
They had searched the bodies of their attackers from the night before but found nothing to explain the ambush – not even a note implying a bounty. This was a clue in itself, Elatharia was sure, and once her almost hysterical laughter over Viconia's bad mood had abated she could not avoid pondering this problem. With the rain subsided and the sky clear and blue once more, she had few uncomfortable distractions to keep her mind from the problem; just the sucking of the mud on her boots and the apparently exponential incline of the path rising up and curving behind a tall rocky outcropping. Not even the icy wind that had Aerie shuddering could touch the Transmuter when she wrapped herself in this cloak, enchanted as it was against the cold. Once it had been Gorion's, rescued for her by Imoen from Irenicus's dungeon. Frowning, she felt the smooth grey fabric shifting comfortingly against her otherwise bare arms and thought.
"This is ridiculous. I say we stop now and leave the rangers and druid to their inevitably wretched fates up there," Edwin complained from a few paces ahead, stopping suddenly and twisting about to sit on the nearest rock, sheltered from the bright sun beneath the overhanging leaves of the dense forest impinging increasingly upon this path, "In Thay I would never have had to suffer this indignity, slave driver."
"An ironic comment, if ever I heard one," Elatharia noted, pretending to push past when he put a leg out to block her way. In truth her limbs were burning and the rest was much-needed.
"(She is speaking drivel as if that will somehow stop me from recognising that she is distracted.)"
Elatharia did her best to ignore his comment. When she leaned against his thigh like this and put a hand on his shoulder to brace herself she could just about make out Valygar, Minsc and Jaheira watching the scattered group from the top of the rocky incline.
"Once you are done making use of me as a pedestal I would much prefer it if you made use of my incredible intellect," Edwin noted. His voice was unusually void of its habitual sourness and his breath brushed lightly against her collarbone.
"But you make such a good pedestal."
She spoke before she could think, and the words held a flirtatious tone that rang uncomfortably for her in the silence. Blushing, Elatharia looked down and met his dark eyes as they succeeded in raising slowly to meet her gaze. She stepped back sharply.
"Erm…as it happens I do have need of your incredible intellect," Elatharia admitted, sitting beside him on the rock and pulling her unravelled cloak about herself again. She stared at her hands folded on her lap rather than look into the Thayvian's eyes.
"Yes?" his voice sounded a little rougher than usual, but also curious.
A glance down the hill while she collected her thoughts showed the staggered spread of their lagging companions; Aerie was struggling, her boots muddy almost to the knees. She was holding onto Anomen's offered forearm; the cleric looked as though he could probably have been advancing a little quicker without her, but there was no frustration in his open expression. Yoshimo walked alone behind them, not struggling but not bothering to overtake. He looked amused by whatever conversation Anomen was using to distract the avariel. Behind the Kara-Turan, Viconia was swathed in her yellow cloak, her expression not visible and her limp a little more obvious – Haer'Dalis was lingering at her side, a small smile on his face as he offered her an arm which was refused. He kept pace with her…though she continued to ignore him. Meanwhile Mazzy, Korgan and Jan were all struggling even more than Aerie, their shorter legs giving them a disadvantage on the steep, slippery path. It looked as though Korgan was using the image of a retreating Mazzy as his inspiration to continue onwards.
"Well?" Edwin sounded a little more like himself, turning to stare at Elatharia as she observed their more distant companions and the curve of the muddy path sloping down in front of them. It was no longer possible to even see a hint of Valygar's cabin on its cliff, even from this high up.
"My hair has changed each time I have killed Bhaalspawn," she began slowly, and he nodded impatiently for her to continue, "And increasingly I have been fighting the urges of my heritage. Last night I dreamed of…Imoen. And in that dream I was…told…that each death feeds the taint. My assassin was undoubtedly of my blood; his eyes, the way he died – they both point to this. And he wanted to kill me because of what I am, just as Sarevok did. They can't have hated what I am, because they both embraced it…so…" she prompted the Conjurer with silence, risking a glance at him and seeing him staring off into the sky thoughtfully. Did she want him to disagree with her belief or otherwise? Perhaps neither was any better than the other.
"You are telling me you believe your power grows with the death of your siblings. That this 'taint' does not flow away but instead enters the one who caused the death of the one who held it," the Red Wizard mused, rubbing at his chin, "This would make sense if Bhaal had left a small part of himself in each of those he sired. It would mean his soul need not be housed elsewhere – in a phylactery or otherwise – and instead can pass on bit by bit to the more successful of his progeny. And they in turn will grow in power as they succeed until the few are left and the most worthy can be chosen."
"You hardly sound disturbed," Elatharia noted. The bright world and the relief from the rain no longer seemed so cheering. Viconia's transparently bad mood no longer seemed so funny, "If what you are saying is true then I really should be looking over my shoulder. Not just for opportunistic madmen like Irenicus but for actual Bhaalspawn who want to steal the power I have gained from killing Sarevok…and this other 'brother' of mine." She voiced the words as steadily as she could, but the thought still set her heart pounding. Did she need any more reasons to struggle to sleep at night? Any more problems to slow her attempts to rescue Imoen?
"You already knew this," Edwin admonished her, hooking a finger under her chin to force her to look at him. His finger was surprisingly warm in spite of the cold wind, "And you are bemoaning a great blessing. Great power does not come to those who shy from battle or ruthlessness. You must learn to harness what you have and use it to further your cause. Be ready for battle, ingratiate yourself with these fools who follow you, and kill all those in your path."
"Spoken like a true Thayvian," Elatharia agreed, watching his face twist from sincerity to scorn at her words. Peeling his grip from her chin she kept hold of his hand even as he looked at the contact distrustfully. "And I think that I have no choice really. If I am to be attacked repeatedly by my own kin, who want the power of Bhaal for themselves, and if I am to save Imoen…then I need to be ready to win. And use any power I gain to my advantage."
His eyes blazed when he looked back up from her hands, both of which were now tight around his one in her lap. A wicked grin spread across his face and he nodded forcefully.
"Yes," he agreed, his hand twisting in hers to return the grip, "Yes. And I shall prove to you that the Thayvian way is the best way. (Incompetent Transmuter.)"
"I can still hear you, Conjurer," she snarled in fake rage, kicking at the back of his heel.
Hearing the sound of Anomen's voice growing closer behind her, she twisted around, standing slowly with a slightly self-conscious wave to Aerie. The avariel had been watching the two wizards' interaction, for she was frowning openly and not listening to the Helmite on whom she rested so heavily.
"Come on," Elatharia sighed, tugging on the Red Wizard's hand, "Get up, Edwin. We've a few hours to the Windspear Hills yet and I doubt all of it is up hill."
"Well, by every god of Faerûn, every demon of the Abyss and all the devils of the Hells," Elatharia surmised for herself, Edwin, the two rangers and Jaheira as they crested a rise topped with a sign displaying with a hearty welcome that this was the Windspear Hills, "I do believe we have either come too late…or there was something missing from Lord Jierdan's explanation."
"Indeed," Valygar agreed, to a chorus of nods.
Out before them stretched the little Windspear hamlet, as marked cheerfully upon their map. It ought to have been standing, snoozing away in the twilight, by a small lake and opposite a further extension of the dense woodland that lived in this place and seemed to stretch on forever over the hills to the east. Only, stand seemed to be the key word in this case. There was the lake, shimmering golden in the failing light, and there was the hamlet…or what remained of it. The pavement was cracked and buckled as if from some mighty impact, and every house was either shattered or lingered only as blackened stumps, charred by some fearsome fire much as a substantial swathe of the forest across the water. The hills rose higher to the north as they came in from the west, and into the stone of one particularly jagged rise – more mountain than hill in truth – was graven a functional but hardly beautiful castle. The falling sun glinted off a few of its distant windows, sending long shadows down the hillside from its high spires. The way between hamlet and castle was still a few miles, blocked by rocky crevasses and rain-slicked hillsides.
"By Helm!" Anomen cried upon reaching Elatharia's side. He turned with a clank of mail to face her rather than the scene of destruction which had all of them frozen in their tracks, "The Lord of Windspear will have something to say about this!"
"Like I said, Firkraag has either failed to tell us everything or something worse has befallen his…"
"Lord Firkraag?" Anomen sounded confused, and everyone was suddenly looking at him. He returned their stares with a suddenly guilty one of his own, brows furrowing, "You do realise that he is…not the lord of Windspear, yes? A lord in these parts he may well be, but the name he does not hold. That title, last I knew, belonged to Lord Garren Windspear. The owner of that castle," he pointed one gauntleted hand towards the castle which clutched against the distant mountain side.
"What?" Jaheira growled while Valygar nodded.
"Imbecile! Idiot!" Edwin spat in disgust, throwing his hands up and stalking away, "(Why do I lower myself to their standards?)"
Elatharia was holding the map unfurled before her, the promise of ten thousand gold suddenly feeling more distant than it had before. A little desperately she angled herself towards Anomen so the Helmite could see the shapes defined, pointing at the little dot that was undeniably the castle. A scrawling hand confirmed what she then told him.
"Lord Jierdan Firkraag claimed that is his castle, Anomen," she told him levelly.
"No, no that's not right," the cleric was shaking his head, looking to Aerie for support when she reached the group, Mazzy frowning concernedly at her side, "You see, Lord Garren is a fairly youthful lord. My father received an invitation to his daughter's birthday just two tendays passed. As his second cousin, I should know…"
"Are ye sayin' that we just slogged up 'ere to these damnable mountains believin' in some bastard's word because ye were too drunk te know the name 'Jierdan Firkraag' from 'Garren Windspear', brat?" Korgan snarled. His heavy-set face had a certain demonic twist in the gloom as he heaved his axe from his back and took a ready stance, "Bark yer orders and I'll take his head from his shoulders!"
Edwin turned about from his trajectory towards a rock at the far end of the clearing, a hungry expression on his face even as Mazzy leapt in front of Korgan and called for him to stand down. Aerie let out a startled cry at the dwarf's aggressive response and Anomen pulled her behind himself reflexively.
"Enough!" Elatharia called out when chaos looked set to descend upon the weary group, "Do I have to paralyse all of you, or would you rather become acquainted with how it feels to turn to stone?"
Her unusual outburst at least caught their attention, aided by Minsc's hulking form looming behind her and nodding fiercely – he had perhaps not quite caught on to her aggressive undertone.
"It is unlikely to be so simple as you are assuming, dwarf," Viconia noted softly now, stepping out from the shadows and gesturing back at the hamlet and castle, "Firkraag likely asked us here for a reason, and he did claim he lives in that castle – whether or not it is his by right," she looked to Elatharia now, her normally blue eyes red with the beginnings of infravision in the low light, "Should we not continue on while we are here? There will likely be some kind of reward in this."
'Or spoils to be taken,' she added in the Drow Sign Language, the gestures so subtle that few would have been able to notice them – and only Elatharia could read them with Edwin several paces away in the wrong direction. The Transmuter hid her responding smile.
"Yes," she agreed, looking back out over the scene of destruction below them, "We'll go down to the hamlet before nightfall and see what we can ascertain. Depending upon what we find, we'll approach the castle tomorrow morning. Reasonable?"
Responses in the affirmative came in the form of several nods, a hearty pat on the back from Minsc (that nearly sent her tumbling down the hill), a sneer from Edwin, a doubtful grunt from Korgan and an appreciative smirk from Viconia. The drow understood Elatharia's thinking – if there was nothing to find then they would be storming the castle regardless. Or something to that effect.
Korgan and Viconia lingered as the others started to move for the path down to the hamlet. The dwarf looked less than happy, his axe planted in the ground before him and his bushy brows low over his small, deep-set eyes.
"Ye shoulda let me kill the brat, Elatharia," he complained. Viconia rolled her eyes before looking past him altogether, to the tree line where Edwin was sitting down to wait for them rather than continue on with the others.
"Perhaps in due course, Korgan," the Transmuter suggested, trying not to laugh at his one-sided thoughts, "But I'll raise you one better than that for now," she pointed behind herself at the castle, "That. I'm sure there is enough gold and jewels in there to let us ignore one drunken fool's mistake for now, yes?"
"Ah, lass," Korgan's eyes took on a dreamy glaze, "Fer a weedy little spellslinger ye certainly know how te win an old dwarf over."
Without further discussion he turned and headed after the others. Only once several of them had disappeared out of sight down the path and the dwarf was halfway across the clearing did Elatharia realise who was missing. Maybe it was the slowly forming frown on the drow's face, or just a natural response to the absence of two of their party, but as the world grew quieter and her eyes turned to the oppressively dark forest beyond, Elatharia's sense that something was not right only grew.
"Viconia? Where is Haer'Dalis? And Jan?"
The drow's eyes widened when she realised they were missing. The tiefling had been at her side the whole way and was probably not one to voluntarily linger so long with the gnome. Edwin was arriving in front of them when Viconia's stare snapped from the forest to Elatharia. Without warning she took hold of the Transmuter's arm and dragged her at a half-run towards a cluster of stone at the very edge of the clearing, waving irritably for the Conjurer to follow and hissing for silence when he started to complain.
'What are you doing?' Elatharia demanded in their shared sign language once the three were crouched behind the stone, peering over the top and watching the treeline – it was fortunate for Edwin that he had learned to understand it, though he lacked the dexterity to form any sentences of his own. 'How does this answer my question?'
'There are shapes moving in the trees. Haer'Dalis was watching them and is circling around to meet us. They will be upon us very soon. And it would be wise to hold them fast rather than kill them outright. They do not appear to have seen us.'
Not questioning why Viconia was certain that her first response would be to kill this unknown group – and still wondering at Jan's absence even if Haer'Dalis was accounted for – Elatharia leaned out over the edge of the rise upon which they hid, making eye contact with a curious Jaheira who was peering up at them from the lower path. She gestured towards the trees across the clearing and mouthed 'we need to hold them', praying to the gods that the druid would understand her meaning.
The grunts and snarls of the group approaching them were audible long before they were visible, along with their heavy footsteps crackling clumsily through the undergrowth…and a rather pungent odour on the air. Haer'Dalis materialised out of the darkness at Viconia's side just seconds before the hulking forms of a pair of ogres blundered into the clearing, massive creatures of muscle and brawn – but very little else – they came accompanied by a smaller trio of hobgoblins (who themselves were both taller and broader than any member of Elatharia's group). They were dressed in unexpectedly high-quality plate mail, wielding well-forged greatswords and morning stars that gleamed in the last rays of sunlight.
Haer'Dalis put a finger over his lips to stay any immediate responses, gesturing for them to listen a moment first.
"Where went the creatures? Me want make short work of those worthless hides. Take them back and show the lord what we done and what good servants us are. Agree, fellow brutes?" the first ogre was enunciating.
When Edwin's hand closed tightly around her wrist, Elatharia nodded in silent agreement. Though the creatures were grunting to each other in the expected ogre pidgin of the local human language, the rumble of their voices lasted a little too long, each word lingering as if enunciated clearly and followed by a delay which did not fit with the movement of their lips. The air fairly shimmered with potent magic.
"Now," Elatharia hissed.
As one she, Viconia and Edwin stood, each rattling of a different spell to paralyse the creatures before them. Almost immediately in time with them the ground began to writhe beneath the creatures, who gave shouts of alarm at the sight of the three spellcasters, raising their weapons and stumbling back rather than forwards. As thick vines and roots erupted from the earth, coiling around the creatures' legs, the three behind the rock let loose their spells. Though each was slightly different they all had the required effect: paralysis. One of the ogres shrugged his way through each wave of paralysing spells, however, and Elatharia tensed as he managed to stumble a few steps towards them even as Haer'Dalis leapt onto the rock in front of her, swords drawn.
"Ugly…humans! Me make short work…" no attack was needed, for Jaheira's enchanted roots wrapped around his ankles, writhing up to his knees when he attempted to forge on, and then a huge loop of vines rose up behind him and caught him around the middle, holding him utterly fast. He continued to thrash and rave but was utterly useless, soon surrounded by the rest of Elatharia's group with his companions unable to do much more than breath evenly and move their eyes from side to side.
"These wretched creatures are evidently the source of the destruction of the hamlet below," Anomen was saying confidently, brandishing his mace at the one fully in-control – if immobilised – ogre, "We should dispense justice…"
"Such followers of evil ways should not be allowed to walk about the wilderness unchallenged!" Minsc boomed his agreement from nearby.
Each of the fighters of the group had been assigned to one of their captives; Anomen stood before the snarling ogre, with Minsc watching the ogre to his right and Korgan glaring at the hobgoblin to his left. Mazzy was calmly resting her sword over her shoulder in front of one of the other hobgoblins, Jaheira in a similar attitude nearby. Valygar was standing guard before the third hobgoblin though it was unclear how far he was watching this enemy and how far he was in fact scrutinising the cluster of wizards nearby.
"I be in favour of the killin', though not the sentiment," Korgan spat now, momentarily twisting to look over his shoulder at Elatharia. When she waved irritably for patience he grunted and turned away.
"Such brutes cannot be reasoned with, my lady," Anomen put in, surprisingly unbothered by the dwarf's comments, his cultured voice full of hatred as he continued to stare at the captive ogre, "They are unlikely to give you any kind of information and the blood staining their armour proves their murderous actions. I would like to reiterate that they are undoubtedly to be blamed for…"
"If they are responsible then we must act," Mazzy agreed firmly, sending a small frown Anomen's way, "Although not without proof."
"This is a course of action which I find much wiser," Jaheira called, bracing her spear in the ground before her and leaning against its shaft thoughtfully, "Anomen is showing his youth and inexperienced prejudice by assuming that these giant-kin and their followers are to blame. It is not always up to the justiciers of the city to dole out sentences upon the wilderness."
"Agreed," Valygar grunted, still staring distrustfully towards the gathered wizards.
Though Aerie startled at every growl of the entangled ogre, the other three wizards were all but entirely engrossed in one of Edwin's books, debating quietly. Jan had returned shortly after the capture of the ogres and hobgoblins, having followed their path out into the darkness for almost a mile around the woods.
"Please…my ladies, my lords, surely you do not mean to release these wretched monsters?" Anomen sounded scandalised.
"You regret those words, brute!" the ogre growled menacingly, eyes bulging from the strain of battling against his bonds.
"Brute? How dare you!" Anomen exclaimed. Yoshimo seemed to be laughing from where he was watching the road along which they had entered.
Edwin sighed noisily.
"By all the hells will you shut up, Helmite?" the Red Wizard snarled, "How many times must your betters tell you that something is amiss here? (Though I do not see why we should not kill the lot of them once our interrogation is over.)"
Anomen was about to defend his honour when Elatharia stood suddenly and waved for him to stop.
"Since none of you can be quiet and let us sort this out, I'll tell you the problems as we see them," she sighed, "Firstly: there is no way that two ogres and three hobgoblins did that to the hamlet. A wizard would be required, at the least. From the wreckage it looks like whoever did that had several – either that or we have a dragon problem. But I'd rather assume the former. Secondly: when was the last time any of you saw ogres and hobgoblins dressed in such shiny new armour? It hasn't been pried off dead bodies and pulled together piecemeal; this is armour made for them. Which means someone somewhere forged good quality arms and armour for two ogres and a trio of hobgoblins. None of them could be – or know – blacksmiths who are that good. Thirdly: the way they talk is not right. There's a delay. And when was the last time you heard an ogre call anyone a 'brute', Anomen? How about you, Valygar, ever come across something like that?"
Both shook their heads. The Helmite looked a little dazed. For that matter, so did the ogre behind him.
"You are very lucky to have a Transmuter and a part-time Illusionist travelling with you. Because those are the fields that have been used on whoever it is we currently have trapped here. So I'm going to try an experiment – and for that I'm going to need you to back off, Anomen," Elatharia shooed the Helmite aside.
The young cleric hesitated, watching her advance on the ogre with a doubtful expression. For his part, the ogre seemed to be trying to recoil back against the vines holding him. The sight was probably quite strange; a huge, armoured ogre leaning away from a half-elven woman who had to crane her head back to look into his blood-shot red eyes.
"Jan, you think this will work?"
"Well, if it doesn't I'd advise a swift retreat and maybe some turnip juice to calm your nerves," the gnome suggested cheerfully. Aerie did not look as confident as the smiling Illusionist.
"I-I'm not sure about this!" she warned tremulously, looking with wide eyes from Edwin to Jan and back again, evidently not certain of who to trust less.
"It's our best guess, and we've a group that outnumbers theirs considerably – even after I send Viconia to have a look at the hamlet," Elatharia pointed out, "I'll caste Haste if you're really so worried, Aerie," she sighed after a moment.
"You would trust a drow to scout the hamlet for us?" Valygar sounded as doubtful as Mazzy looked, seeing the Sharan priestess turn from where she had been watching the road leading out into the Windspear Hills.
"I've known her for longer than I've known you," Elatharia pointed out coolly while Jan began his spell behind her, "And Viconia is the only one of us who can see in the dark without one of these lights," she pointed up at one of the conjured lights drifting above them.
Valygar acceded her point a little uncertainly, turning back to focus upon the paralysed hobgoblin before him. Meanwhile Viconia was moving to head out alone but Haer'Dalis rose smoothly from his seat upon a rock near her.
"My Raven," he called to Elatharia, "It so happens that this Sparrow also sees in the darkness as our Blackbird – and it would be unwise to walk out there alone."
Viconia sent him a dead-eyed glare, muttering something about impudent males, but Elatharia nodded her agreement to the tiefling and a moment later the pair vanished in to the gloom.
Only a few more seconds passed, with only Jan's chanting and the whistling of the wind to fill the void that would have otherwise rung only with anxious silence. Once the spell was done, Elatharia felt no different – but all of her companions staggered back from her with startled gasps. The ogre before her simply stared, his mouth falling open and his eyebrows rising, unique amongst his companions now without his paralysis for being able to move his face.
"What do you see?" she asked the ogre smugly, and as before his lips seemed to move a heartbeat or two before the sound came out. Typical of Illusions; much like the one Jan had just cast on her.
"Human," the ogre grunted, and behind her Jan leapt up onto the rock and clapped his hands in gleeful success. The captive's thick brows furrowed, "Why goblin so pleased?" he inquired, "What…are…you?"
"That is an excellent question," Elatharia told him, and looked towards Anomen. The cleric was looking up, to where he now perceived her eye level to be.
"What do you see, Anomen?"
"An…ogre, my lady. You appear as an ogre," he sounded fairly disgusted. Truth be told, most of her party seemed to be staring at her in horror, as if whatever Jan had done to her appearance was as far from an improvement as possible.
"What?" the ogre seemed to catch on faster, "That mean…what? You sound like goblin. Talk like goblins. We told to take back your skins for bounty, just like…just like the others…"
As he spoke and the companions' belief in his identity began to shift, the illusion over his voice dwindled. He sounded human, his voice deep and well spoken…and vaguely familiar. When his appearance did not change, however, Elatharia knew for certain that the spell upon his form, and those of his followers, was a Transmutation, unlike the change to his voice. Illusions faded the more one disbelieved…Transmutations did actually change the object's shape temporarily.
"You should probably know that we see you as ogres and hobgoblins, just like you see us as goblins and the like," Elatharia informed him, shooing Anomen away further and stepping closer to her captive, a plan formulating steadily in her mind, "You must be…fairly desperate to have such an Illusion dispelled from your mind, and such a Transmutation altered from your body. It seems very likely that those you have killed before were actually misled fools such as yourselves."
"Gods! Please, free us from this state if you can!" the ogre looked as desperate as an ogre could look, and sounded it too.
"That is something my fellow wizards and I can do," Elatharia agreed, lowering her voice so only he could hear because these kind of tactics were not the kind that the likes of Jaheira, Mazzy, Anomen or Aerie would care for, "What would you do to be freed?"
"Anything! Anything to avoid killing the innocent or being forced to do so in a confrontation!"
"Very good," Elatharia smiled slowly, "How much would you be willing to pay?"
When she stepped back, waiting for the answer as Jan dispelled the Illusion upon her, she saw Valygar's dark eyes watching her closely, a deep and distrustful frown upon his face.
Author's note: I think poor Anomen might be (nearly) everyone in the party's least favourite person after that Lord Windspear identification failure...I never thought I could feel sorry for him, but it's not his fault that he has such low intelligence and wisdom stats...
And while Aerie is both very wise, and rather intelligent...she is so innocent sometimes that I feel like she needs an extra 'Innocence' stat on her character sheet.