Chapter 22: Our Duty
Edwin did not raise his eyes from the scroll in front of him when Elatharia returned to the library, though he raised his head a little when he heard her boots clicking on the smooth black marble floor. His black hair was dishevelled and the area around the table smelled strongly of herbal tea and conjuring salts. Elatharia paused at his shoulder, peering down at the dark scroll even when he let out a weary sigh and covered it with his hands. She caught only the briefest glimpse of a few Netherese sigils.
"Been summoning things to work it out for you?" the Transmuter inquired as she unbuckled her cloak, slinging it over the back of the chair beside him. She sniffed the air pointedly, "It smells like you've been conjuring things." Conjuring salts and herbal tea. She would never be able to disassociate those two things from this man, she knew.
"No, idiot, obviously not," Edwin groaned, "There is more to Conjuration than bringing forth devils and demons to sell my soul."
"Good," she paused, and then slipped off her mask as well, "I just killed a Shadow Thief," she admitted in the next breath, running her hands through her tangled curls of dark hair until her fingers snagged and she winced, "Executed him, actually…" Her insides twisted at the words. She pushed any chance at rumination aside hastily.
"Hmm. Very interesting. Go away."
"This library is joined to my bedroom, Red Wizard," she reminded him as she plucked the teapot up from the table, "And you have been working all day. Something happened back at the Graveyard, and you'll only blame me when something happens and I never told you. I'm just making sure it'll be because you wouldn't listen in the first place."
He pinched the bridge of his nose and scrunched his eyes shut in irritation, but she heard his chair scrape across the ground when she moved for the kitchen area with the teapot and no further explanation. She was a little surprised by this compliance, but then again he had been staring at that scroll for ten hours straight (at the least), as far as she knew.
The kitchen area stood through an open archway beside the bedroom alcove. It was not large, but one of the stranger things in the building; it was furnished with little more than a few cupboards full of different pots and pans, a few plates and even fewer cups. It also featured a large basin which collected clean, apparently miraculously fresh, water from an endlessly dripping tap protruding from the ceiling above. There was a drain beside it for used water, and Elatharia now filled the kettle from the tap which stood out from the side of the basin much like the tap on a beer keg. Once it was full enough for use, she placed it on the newly lit fire in the wall nearby and turned to look at Edwin.
The Red Wizard was leaning back against the opposite counter, rubbing at his eyes and temples. When he blinked back at her, those eyes – normally sharp and perceptive – seemed bleary and tired. Edwin was someone who needed only a few hours' sleep a night to function well, and would always rise after a maximum of six hours. Elatharia peered at him in disbelief.
"Well, you look tired," she noted wryly, "Made much progress? Deciphered anything?"
"(I am seeing three of everything)," he glared at her as if it were her fault, "(No, four – definitely four,)" he rubbed at his eyes again, "And I have made very good progress, incompetent Transmuter. A few more hours' study and I will have achieved the scroll's purpose. I have already performed part of the casting required."
"A few more hours' study? Tomorrow, I hope? I don't much relish the idea of you blowing up the library while I sleep," the Transmuter told him, "And what is the purpose of the scroll, then? Or do I have to wait until tomorrow to find out, when I trip over your corpse?"
Edwin rather resentfully started putting the tealeaves into the teapot's internal strainer. He seemed too tired to argue properly, which was in itself a little worrying.
"You will have to wait. I am not telling my secrets to idiots who might add apocalyptic suggestions or even attempt to steal the scroll for themselves," he glanced at her while she pulled off her boots and took them to stand just outside the arch leading to the room, "You seem particularly blasé tonight. And your mocking tone is highly irritating."
"Like I told you, Bodhi had me kill a Shadow Thief tonight," anger stabbed through her at the memory, and she could not meet the Thayvian's eyes, "And she offered me a bone dagger. Which I refused, because if nothing else she was expecting me to accept it…but I pushed him over the cliff. She wanted his colleagues to find his body, killed by magic, and thus to turn against me – if either refused to kill him with the dagger, or refused to kill him at all."
"Surety," Edwin nodded, shaking his head at her as if she were stupid, "It is a reasonable tactic, and one I have heard of being used many times. (A little blatant, though.) I am unsurprised by your uncultured response, however," he sighed, "I suppose she still has her proof that you are happy to murder your way through your service with her…"
"She has some history with Irenicus," Elatharia pointed out, watching the kettle as it started to whistle quietly, "She wants to get to Spellhold, and – for some reason I can't fathom – she's happy to help us get there, for the minor price of a few lives. She seems awfully well-connected for someone who wants help from us in killing him."
"Her motivation at least sounds better than the Shadow Thieves'," Edwin half-muttered, rubbing at his head again, "Who have, after all, already taken your money. Nor does she have any clear allies who can move about in daylight."
"She has proven herself to be deceptive," Elatharia insisted, "And I think we need to be careful. Especially since both of us have had assassins attempt to kill us within the last two tendays."
She caught his arm as he passed her to pick up the kettle, and he looked down at her darkly for a moment before continuing on his way. When she placed the teapot between them, he responded automatically by pouring the water. She might have laughed at how coordinated they were in this most domestic of tasks, but she was distracted. So instead, she leaned her elbow on the counter and looked up at him expectantly. He fiddled with the teapot lid for a second before grimacing and turning to face her.
"That man who attempted to kill me was a Cowled Wizard," Edwin stated, "We saw him dressed like one, surrounded by colleagues. No one can survive for long pretending to be a Cowled Wizard in these parts (one of the few sensible laws in the city). He was not dressed like one when he came to kill me. And he was the most pathetic mage I have ever seen…" he paused, face going blank for a moment, and waved her to silence when she started to speak, "Do you remember the crackle of his Dimension Door?" His voice was low and urgent all of a sudden.
"…yes?" Elatharia thought back…and realised, "It wasn't just a Dimension Door. When he arrived something stole his spell protections."
"Bodhi's wards," Edwin told her, "I saw them on the way in and the way out of the crypts which she has claimed as hers. He must have passed through them to get to us, and not known about her Abjuration wards. There is no way that he was in league with her."
"And, to save your pride, he was actually a very good wizard," Elatharia snorted at the thought, a little of the pressure that had settled upon her mind easing, "Albeit a Diviner. Since he managed to track us, avoid my own Divination spells, and follow us to our exact location. All through several layers of warded stone."
She laughed properly at his scandalised expression.
"Although I'd still like to know why someone is trying to kill you. Did you know him? Was he paid to do it? Who might have paid him? You didn't seem all that surprised to see him, or interested in keeping him alive for questioning."
"You ask questions like a small child, constantly nattering," Edwin complained, "About something which is none of your busin…"
"It's the Red Wizards, isn't it?" Elatharia interrupted, surprising herself by how her voice caught and quietened when he looked at her with an expression that was, very briefly, afraid. Her throat tightened, and she leaned towards him, looking up into his eyes and searching in vain for an explanation, "What did you do?"
"Nothing that is any of your business," Edwin reiterated, frowning blearily, "And we should not be discussing this so late at night when I ought to be better spending my time completing my decipherment of the Nether Scroll!"
Elatharia snorted at his tone, utterly undeterred. She felt too relieved by the idea that there was no conspiracy against them. Not yet, anyway. The rest did not need to be considered. If it got her what she wanted in the end, what did it matter?
When Edwin leaned around for their cups, she did not immediately think much of it. When she started to shift out of the way automatically, her hand brushed his outstretched arm and she paused, remembering their conversation the night before and her following resolution. She would not be defeated by Irenicus and his attempts to destroy her. She would do as she wished, not wallow in fear over her choices.
Hesitantly, she looked up to his face again, and as he met her stare his expression was guarded.
"We will discuss it tomorrow, when I have achieved my goal," he told her, surprisingly softly – as if half-distracted or deep in thought.
As he poured their tea and she picked up her cup, cradling it between her hands, she watched him. And try as she might, she could not decide to what it was that he was referring; his pursuit by the Thayvians, or the question she had shown in her eyes.
A high-pitched and highly unfamiliar scream awoke Elatharia a few hours later.
Heart racing in confused fright, arms and legs shaking uncoordinatedly as she automatically rolled out of bed and pulled on her dressing gown, the Transmuter stumbled to the thick curtain that separated her room from the library. She leapt back when that curtain was pushed aside roughly and an unfamiliar woman almost bowled straight into her.
The stranger, half-seen in the early morning pre-dawn gloom, leapt forward with a shriek of frustration when Elatharia raised her hands to cast some kind of Paralysis spell. She latched onto the Transmuter's wrists and held them down at her sides. The expression on her face was imploring and horrified, not aggressive.
"Change me back!" the woman demanded, her dark eyes furious, and the accent was unmistakable. Elatharia choked on her next in-breath, "You are a Transmuter, change me back!"
"E-edwin?" she asked incredulously, peering at the woman in a new light.
The hair was dark enough, shorter than was common among women of these parts; curling around her ears. Her eyes were dark, her skin an olive shade. She was thin, and black tattoos visibly wound up her forearms and neck. The dark red shirt and black trousers which sagged off her frame were definitely his. Her face was regular; pretty even, but for the wild glare. Her nose was slightly too large, and her lips perhaps a little thin, as if the transformation process had not completed quite perfectly. Those were not negative features of Edwin's real face.
"Of course!" the woman insisted, her 'r' rolling distinctively. She stepped back with a furious huff when Elatharia choked again, this time on a laugh, "This is not funny!"
Covering her face in a desperate attempt to control herself, Elatharia breathed in deeply, a few chuckles escaping in spite of her valiant attempt. She had the feeling that this could quite easily turn into something that was not funny. A look at Edwin's panicked face, that kind of awful panic that people only showed when they knew that something was terribly, terribly wrong, helped her master herself. She suspected that the reactions of Viconia and Haer'Dalis, not to mention the others, might not be conducive to her retention of a serious mood.
"Alright," she agreed eventually, still smiling wryly as she tightened the belt on her dressing gown, "I am a Transmuter. We should be able to fix this. And failing that, there is always Jan."
"No!" Edwin leapt in front of her again when she attempt to move past him, "I will not be seen in this compromising, embarrassing state by anyone else!" He looked down at his body and shuddered as if in horror, pulling helplessly at his sagging clothes. Elatharia took the hint.
"You can wear something of mine," she offered grudgingly, "But you need to show me the scroll afterwards."
Edwin waited in silence while the Transmuter looked through her wardrobe. She had few possessions; a spare nightdress, a Traveller's Robe, a few pairs of leggings – all grey – and a few black tunics, not to mention the Robe of Vecna. After a moment of thought, she passed him a tunic-and-leggings combination. When he moved as if to start undressing right then, she waved him to stop and rummaged through the draw beneath the wardrobe. She wordlessly handed him some more 'appropriate' underwear for his current female form.
"You can keep those," she told him as he took the items gingerly, "I take it you have undressed enough prostitutes in your time to be able to extrapolate the reverse process."
It felt strange being in the same room as him while he changed, in spite of his altered form. He seemed too dazed and frightened to even start to consider her discomfort, so she left him in her room and moved down the steps into the library. The table was still strewn with books, though the chair Edwin had been using was lying on its back. One of the teacups was shattered beside it and tea was glistening in an aromatic puddle across the black floor. A flick of her wrist a few simple spellword saw the shard pull back together and the cup reform.
The Nether Scroll lay unfurled, held in position by four small metal paperweights, exactly where she had last seen it. Somewhat gingerly, the Transmuter plucked it from its place and peered at its dark brown surface. The sigils and the detailed notes around them stood out starkly in a peculiar bronze ink, shimmering as she held it up to the light. The alphabet was that of Netheril, a language and script which she had learned to read in secret one year. When Gorion had discovered she had been bribing Imoen to sneak into the library and steal the appropriate books, he had not been pleased. When he had realised how fast she had gained a reading knowledge of the language, he had mellowed somewhat. The same could not be said of the year in which she had taught herself how to read the Infernal script.
None of the sigils were familiar. They did not bear any resemblance to Transmutation sigils which she had seen before. The notes seemed more abstract than informative, explaining the history of each form before warning against usage by any but the most competent mages. Squinting, still shaking a little from her rude awakening, she slumped into a chair and attempted to make sense of the swirling shapes. Ah, there it was, the symbol for 'form change' – or at least a symbol which closely resembled it. Smiling to herself, she looked for the attached reverse…and blinked. There was not one. The shape was repeated, overlapping in two layers so that it interwove with itself. But it was not reversed. Tracing the shape of this first sigil slowly with her fingertip, she focused on its differences compared to what she was used to. She was a Transmuter who favoured the rather less orthodox style of the Turmish spellcasters, who needed no spell components for their Transmutations, but she had never seen anything like this.
"This…isn't a Transmutation spell," she muttered to herself, "Not like any I've seen."
The next few sigils were foreign to her, their forms blurring and shifting in her thoughts before she could grasp them. Abjurations. It seemed safe to say that Edwin had not reached these points – or if he had, then they had not caused him the same kind of trouble.
"Tell me you did not just say that," Edwin all but begged as he appeared at the top step up to the alcove. It seemed that he had, eventually, navigated his new underwear properly, and the tunic hung around his new female form flatteringly. The leggings were a little short, and Elatharia eyed his feet sceptically.
"You have tiny feet," she observed, "As a woman, I mean. I have small feet, but yours are tiny. I think we're going to need to ask Aerie for a pair of shoes."
"Ask Aerie for a…" Edwin gasped the words out as if they were utterly mad, his female voice rising shrilly as he failed to control its unfamiliar range. The furious grasping gesture he aimed her way was very familiar, however, "You should be able to fix this! If you cannot, then you are an incompetent, worthless, idiotic…"
"…only ally you have in the entire Prime Material Plane," Elatharia finished for him, her tone laced with warning. The truth behind her words twisted uncomfortably inside her, and she decided to ignore it.
"We must be able to work this out," Edwin offered eventually, his voice full of resentment as he descended the steps and padded over to her side, shifting uncomfortably in his new clothes.
"It does not have the opposite form that it needs to have to be a full Transmutation sigil," Elatharia sighed, shaking the paper as if that might help, "And the form does not quite match up to what I would expect of a 'shape change' notation. Transmutation is a very varied field; there are a lot of things that we learn the basic theory for, but have to freestyle in order to achieve what we want. This doesn't look like someone's written down one of those. It looks like…" she paused, squinting at the bronze shapes before her.
"What? What does it look like?" Edwin demanded, raking a hand through his hair – which was one of the only features, along with his tattoos, that he had retained.
"…it looks like a curse. An arcane curse."
"There is no such thing," he straightened up in denial, momentarily fumbling with his arms to achieve a successful folding of them across his chest. Elatharia might have laughed at that, if her mind had not been racing so fast and so far across all that she knew.
"I can try to reverse it," she said slowly, placing the Nether Scroll on the table in front of her and letting it slowly coil back in on itself, "But it will take time. I'd need to consult Viconia – if not preferably Aerie, since she has knowledge of arcane notations and divine magic."
"No, no, no," Edwin denied at speed, "I will not accept help from the scheming drow, nor allow my weakness to be shown to the simpering avariel! We must be able to do this together! Perhaps…perhaps we should return to the tomb in which we found it? Maybe there is something to be learned there. (And I cannot abide any more people seeing me in this demeaning state.)"
Elatharia shot him a dubious look before standing and pulling his abandoned Archmagi jacket off the back of a chair nearby. She threw it at him, and he caught it, eyes wide as he stared down at the black fabric as if it might betray him if he tried it on.
"That will be too big, but you can always roll up the sleeves. You'll need its magical protections – which are better than that Travellers' Robe you were eyeing up in my wardrobe – and before you ask, I'll be wearing my Robe of Vecna. So no, you can't have that."
Stalking back up the stairs to pull on her day clothes, she was suddenly angry with him for waking her up and getting himself in the predicament in the first place. She was even angrier with herself for her failure to solve the problem immediately and return to her bed. But above all, she was furious that she cared.
The Planar Sphere was comprised of five separate globes, all of which could be turned about enough to set them out of alignment with one or more of the other globes. In the western sphere of the building were the four guest bedrooms, all of them situated around an incongruously verdant garden and central pond, from which water was siphoned into basins in each chamber. Viconia had not felt so self-sufficient and clean at the same time since she was a young priestess of Lolth in Menzoberranzan. Of course, that had ended badly thanks to a weakness of hers which she could never have foreseen.
She liked to think that she would not fail in that manner again, but she was also determined to make the best of this life while she could. She was bathing in the deep basin inset within the floor of her semi-spherical room when a knock came at her door. Surprised, she paused just as she was ringing out her long, white hair. When the knock came again, louder this time, she sighed and stood with a shower of droplets, the warm water sloshing against her legs as she unstoppered the drain and clambered out.
"Viconia, even you ought to be awake at this hour," Elatharia's voice sounded strained. There was another woman's voice chattering nervously nearby, too.
Knotting her hair, and still not deigning to respond vocally because she was the eldest daughter of the DeVir house, once fourth in Menzoberranzan, Viconia dried herself unhurriedly and pulled on her slip, just in case the tiefling was waiting. Drow did not care overmuch about nudity, but she had no wish of relinquishing anything easily to Haer'Dalis.
Padding over the carpet, she pulled open the surprisingly plain wooden door…and blinked in momentary confusion. There was Elatharia, mask and all, dressed in her usual Robe of Vecna and that pale grey cloak…and beside her was an exotic-looking woman dressed in a tunic and leggings which looked strangely like the Transmuter's. Her boots were too large by far and her black jacket, which looked oddly like Edwin's, hung loosely around her thin frame; its tails fell well below the backs of her knees, and the sleeves had been neatly rolled up to the elbow. Her forearms were decorated with intertwining black lines. Viconia blinked.
"Khal'abbil," she began slowly, squinting against the bright light that was always shining in the garden beyond her room, "Is that Edwin?"
The unfamiliar woman twisted her face into an ugly sneer, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot and shrinking further into the large jacket.
"Your powers of deduction are incredibly tardy, as always, Viconia," Edwin told her with rather more spite than real meaning, his distinctive accent the same even if his voice was not.
Viconia stared for a moment longer, raising an eyebrow at his tone. As a drow, such fearsome disdain seemed far less jarring to her coming from a female form. She bit back her smile for a moment as she looked to Elatharia – who was looking decidedly unamused – and the thought of this problem, of all of its implications and complications, was simply too much. The drow dissolved into laughter, and only laughed more when the two wizards shared an irritable glance. It looked as if they were as annoyed with each other (and probably themselves) as they were with her.
The door across the garden opened speedily and Haer'Dalis appeared in the gap, his lute in one hand and a decidedly curious expression on his face.
"My Blackbird? Never have I heard such mirth from you!" he cried with some significant dramatic flare. When Viconia only laughed more, sitting back against the cushioned stool a few paces in her room, he approached, "My Raven, who is…oh, my Sparrowhawk," she could hear the smile in his voice as Edwin turned to face him and the tiefling immediately recognised the Red Wizard, "I am not sure if I prefer you in this form."
"Of course you should not! It is not my natural form. Your laughter is childish and almost as demeaning as this current…mistake," Edwin sighed, shuddering, and turned away when Haer'Dalis leaned around Elatharia for a better look at the change.
"Viconia, once you're in control of your diaphragm, I'd like you to have a look at this," Elatharia held out the dark, rolled up paper which the drow recognised as the Nether Scroll. Curiosity started to overcome her amusement, and the Sharan priestess wiped away her tears, breathing deeply to try to control herself.
"I am sure you are aware that I am no wizard, khal'abbil. What could I possibly contribute?"
Elatharia sent an uncomfortable glance towards Haer'Dalis, who just smiled mildly back.
"Just come and see us in the library when you're dressed," the Transmuter requested of the drow after a pause.
"(Not a moment too soon,)" Edwin muttered as Elatharia turned to leave; he moved away with relief visible in his stance, overtaking the Transmuter – who followed, but reluctantly.
"It entertains me that you find his plight so amusing," Haer'Dalis noted once the pair had gone and he yet lingered, leaning in her doorway. Viconia eyed him with a rising sense of nervousness. Dressed in her thin shift with her wet hair knotted behind her head and trickling water down the back of her neck…she felt very exposed.
"And you do not?" she kept her tone scornful, casting about for something larger that she might throw on over her slip before she could successfully remove him. Her spare clothes were folded on the chest at the foot of the bed nearby. Her armour hung over the back of a chair. Her towel was too far away, discarded by the basin.
"I find myself too unsurprised," Haer'Dalis admitted with a lazy shrug. He smiled faintly when he stood straight and Viconia shifted back half a step. The mischievous expression that emerged on his face was irritating for how tempting it was, and that faint smile became a smirk as he seemed to know what had crossed her mind, "I should tell you that the avariel made clear her preference last night. For the cleric."
"Are you terribly disappointed?" Viconia froze as he took a few slow steps forward. Careful not to corner her. Always with a clear way out. A less observant person might have called those movements hesitant. But Viconia could read the hungry look in his eyes, and she knew better.
"No," he promised.
"I have told you before that should I require you, I will come to you," she told him softly, willing the shake from her voice and striding swiftly to the door, taking hold of it and waiting there pointedly until he stepped back outside with a faux-wounded look, "I do not currently require you." And she closed the door.
Damn Elatharia and that Nether Scroll.
Aerie was curled up in an armchair, looking at one of Gaelan Bayle's books but not really seeing the words, when Anomen clanked into view fully armoured in plate that was newly cleaned and polished. His family sword hung ceremonially from his hip, and the colourful cloak of the Radiant Heart was clasped as a half-cloak at his broad shoulders. He looked every inch the knight – in all but name – but for the terrified expression on his face.
For a moment, she considered being terse with him, before she contemplated why he was dressed in this manner. So instead she put down her book, not bothering to keep the page – her concentration had been frayed since their argument, and had struggled to sleep that night. Concentration was hardly something she had in abundance that day. In truth, she did not sleep well alone in her bedroom anymore with its three other bunks now empty – but, regardless, she had felt uncomfortable and miserable ever since her outburst the day before. There was nothing Aerie hated more than upsetting someone else.
"Anomen?" her voice was high to her own ears.
"I…" he ducked his head, "I beg your forgiveness, my lady. The things I said yesterday were not intended out of any selfish jealousies, nor because I deem you incapable of knowing your own mind. They were borne out of concern, and a…perhaps misguided…need to do the honourable thing."
"I know," the avariel agreed softly, standing and attempting a smile, "And I understand, Anomen. What…what you did wasn't quite right, but what you said…th-that was. I mean…I think it was probably true."
"Thank you, my lady," his eyes were bright with his genuine relief and he took up her hand, pressing it to his lips very gently.
Surprised, Aerie giggled and looked up at him with a different kind of nervousness. He smiled back, a little fainter than she would have preferred.
"I must go for my test today – to become a knight," he said as he released her hand, looking away bashfully at the mere thought, "Though I…do not feel ready. All my life I have passed blame, gloried in my successes, and been blind to difficult truths. I…"
He stopped when she placed her hand against his cheek, blinking down at her with his lingering fear and shame, but also something else. He seemed…dazed as he watched her smile at him.
"Your words may be true," she agreed gently, "But you are…are admitting those hard truths now. And that, to me, seems like someone who is very w-worthy."
On an impulse, she stood on her tiptoes and brushed a kiss to his cheek. His stubble tickled her chin, and she stifled another giggle at the sensation, but there was something exciting about the closeness of him, of his warm skin under her lips. She was blushing when she settled back down to her usual height. His smile was a little more knowing than hers as he stood straighter.
"You are very kind, my lady," he promised, his voice a little rougher than before, "And I will take the memory of your kiss with me, for you have a strength in you that I have seen in no other."
He moved to the front door with no more hesitation, and Aerie felt a flutter of sympathetic nervousness well up in her stomach as he hesitated in the open doorway, the midday sun bright and the clamour of the streets suddenly far more audible. He moved as if to look of his shoulder, paused, and then stepped through.
"Good luck!" she called, just before he shut the door.
"He will do well from this day."
Jaheira's voice, forceful and precise as always, sounded from across the room. Aerie looked to her with surprise to see the druid standing in the doorway leading to the stairs, leaning against the doorframe with her arms folded across her chest. Her sharp, chiselled features were as hard to read as ever, her grey eyes thoughtful and a little too intense as they watched the avariel. There was a faint scar on one cheek, and her lips were set in a thin line; even dressed in a simple cotton tunic and dark trousers, with her blonde hair loose and wavy to her shoulders, she seemed intimidating. She was the leader of a druid grove now, and some day she would have to return there. Aerie was glad that the druid would have another purpose in her life beyond revenge…one day. But it did also make her more intimidating, if that were possible.
"He has l-less faith in himself than you have in him," Aerie sighed, sitting back down upon her chosen armchair and hugging her knees to her chest. The druid shook her head as she stalked into the sitting room, coming up to the window next to the avariel and watching the cleric of Helm's progress along the street.
"I doubt that," Jaheira denied with a deep sigh, "But I think that, even should he fail, whatever he learns today will be a good lesson for him. He will have to face the harsh reality of this life in order to pass…and should he fail, he will be thrust into that harsh reality without mercy. It is always important to see things as they really are," her pale eyes shifted over Aerie for a moment before returning to the window.
"Like…like Haer'Dalis, you mean?" Aerie paused, and decided to rephrase when the awkward twist of embarrassment stabbed through her, "I mean, as I should realise what Haer'Dalis is really like? I…I think you should know that I was fully aware of how obvious I was about m-my…interest in him. And that I decided to overcome it some…some time ago," she titled her head as defiantly as she knew how, and a faint smile curved Jaheira's lips.
"Yes, child," she agreed surprisingly gently, "To all of those points. Unlike Anomen, I knew that you would come to the right conclusion on your own…"
"I am not a child," Aerie insisted, though her heart swelled to hear the druid's confidence in her, "I lived for more than two decades in the mountains of my people. And I have been a prisoner to the ground for almost a decade."
"I know," Jaheira sighed again, her shoulders slumping, "But you are an elf and can expect to live for many times that length. I am a half-elf, and although I have seen few more years than you, my years weigh more heavily on me. Upon my body, upon my heart, and upon my soul."
"I-I'm sorry," Aerie offered, because she did not know what to say to someone who sounded so…cold and whose words were so bleak, "And I'm glad that you believed in me to do the right thing."
"The right thing is not an absolute ideal," Jaheira disagreed, twisting about to sit against the windowsill by Aerie's chair, "And those who believe that it is tread a dangerous path on the road to cruelty. I search for the Balance, always. Because no one life is greater than any other, though some may believe that it is so." There was great bitterness in her voice, but her expression was controlled.
"I'm g-glad to have you with me, though," Aerie smiled, determined to find a gap in the druid's emotional armour and make her know that there were those around her who cared, "You're very wise. Although…revenge is not a path that I can understand, not…"
"Then you never will, and I will not be judged by one who does not 'understand'!" Jaheira snapped suddenly, looking away just as sharply. Aerie flinched, but held her ground.
"You are not the only one who has lost a loved one amongst us, Jaheira," she reminded the druid, "Anomen lost his sister, Minsc lost Dynaheir, Mazzy lost her husband Patrick in battle, and I…" she breathed deeply and continued, "My betrothed was killed by the same men who captured me. I loved him, and I would have married him. He had great, tawny wings smooth as silk and strong. I still dream that we soar through the sky together, sometimes. We would have been married for…for nearly a d-decade by now…" her voice faltered, and her eyes stung, but she could see Jaheira's guilty expression. The druid ducked her head and sighed for a third time.
"My anger is a fierce thing. Irenicus did not just kill my husband, Khalid, he…" Jaheira winced and fidgeted, her brows drawing together as if she were struggling with the words, "He had Imoen do it. Slowly. Under geas. She cried, and Khalid promised forgiveness even as her knife flashed. Irenicus just watched. No anger, no regret, no pleasure. He just watched, and waited. And did not care. And though no life is greater than another, Khalid was my love and Irenicus killed him. I cannot rest until that wizard's blood is draining at my feet. No one will understand that. Certainly not you."
An uncomfortable silence settled between them. It felt to Aerie that their confessions had pushed them apart, not narrowed the gap between them. The realisation filled her with great, regretful sadness. And it reminded her that the happy times which she had felt when she had her wings would never return. Not as they had been.
"Haer'Dalis is a key problem," Jaheira said quietly, her voice making Aerie jump after the silence that had descended. Confused, she looked to the druid for an explanation, "As are Viconia and Anomen… and you."
"What?" Aerie battled a flood of indignation, "What do you mean?"
"Haer'Dalis and Viconia; you and Anomen – do not deny it. Whatever it is each of you feel for each other, whether it be lust, hate, fascination, tenderness, resentment, embarrassment…they distract you from the goal of getting to Imoen. Of reaching Irenicus. I am as desperate as Elatharia to achieve these things, and our common goal unites us. We have never been close, but we are predictable. The four of you…are not. There will be moments when you will be torn by the desire to help us, and the wish to act upon one of your other emotions."
"I would never do anything to break my promise to help you!" Aerie was aghast.
"But Anomen might. I heard your parting words when you got back last night – it sounds as if he and Haer'Dalis had been close to a violent confrontation before you parted them at the theatre. And the tiefling revels in manipulation more than any of us, more even than the Red Wizard. Who knows how long he will prey on you and the drow? Even if you rebuff him, I doubt that she will. And what happens when they tire of each other? Does someone betray us? Must one of us die for their irrational and selfish actions?" Jaheira rubbed at her face as if in defeat, "But I do not begrudge you and Anomen a chance at something hopeful."
"There's nothing between Anomen and I…" Aerie felt herself blushing at the thought.
"There is, or there will be," Jaheira told her flatly, barely pausing before her next hard comment, "Tell me that yesterday's problems have finally cured you of the tiefling's foolish notion."
"Th-the play?" Aerie asked, confused, and altogether beginning to wish that she had not tried to speak with the druid, "Why would I break my promise just because of my own p-personal awkwardness?"
Jaheira just looked at her, as if the answer ought to be obvious. But Aerie shook her head.
"Everyone is either bored or worried about what's going to happen next. We have days before the Shadow Thieves are ready to take us. Maybe longer. It's the least I can do to give us something to…to do. Even if you won't look forward to it! I…I can't just wait around like you and Minsc. I'm not used to adventure, and I'm here to do some good, not to fight. If I can help it," she forced the tremor from her voice, and tried to look as resolute as an avariel who was hugging her knees and clad in a feather-adorned blue dress could look, "It doesn't matter if you think badly of me for being frivolous. It's important to keep people happy, too. You can't just…glare at them and expect them to do what you want!"
Anger formed on Jaheira's face and her fists clenched – but she ground her teeth and closed her eyes, and the moment passed. When she looked once more to the flustered avariel, she attempted a guilty smile, though it manifested as more of a wince.
"I am…sorry to be so blunt," the druid attempted stiffly, "It is just that…I will not tolerate any more delays than we must already face. It is wearing on my nerves, what little remains of them."
Jaheira chuckled softly without mirth, turning her face away for a few moments. When she looked back at Aerie, her expression was much darker. Leaning forward, she spoke in a low, hushed voice.
"And as for Elatharia, she will be even less tolerant than I of complications in our group. In fact, I fear what she may turn to when pressed," Jaheira paused, and then her next words were spoken in heavily accented elvish, in a dialect which was not Aerie's native form, "I fear what she has already turned to. Have you noticed the divide amongst our group? You, Minsc, Anomen and I here. Jan at his home. Korgan at his. Mazzy here sometimes, and others at the inn. Yoshimo at the Guild House in the Docks, only present when Elatharia is. Edwin, Elatharia, Viconia and Haer'Dalis are all at the Planar Sphere. And Korgan will always be more amenable to them. Think about it. Edwin, Elatharia, Viconia and Haer'Dalis. They are keeping away from us. They are plotting something. They have already done something."
Aerie's blood ran cold. The words felt true in her heart.
It was no surprise – and indeed a great relief – that she had not seen Edwin since the Planar Sphere had been won. Or in fact much of Korgan, for that matter. She would have preferred for the both of them to leave for good. She had, however, noticed that Elatharia and Viconia had not returned to the Five Flagons the night before.
"What should we do?" the avariel asked in a small voice.
"I need you to use your arcane magic. We need to use Divination."
"It's Edwin's forbidden school," Aerie nodded thoughtfully, but then her brow twisted, "But it's one of Elatharia's stronger secondaries. I-I'm not as good a mage as either of them. I can't…"
"You can. They will not be expecting you to suspect them. If we do nothing, they could ruin all of us as they have already surely ruined themselves."
"A-alright," Aerie nodded at last, "If you're sure."
Jaheira's smile was grim. This was clearly not the first time she had sought to foil Elatharia.