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Warning: Some violence and one brief mention of extreme gore awaits herein.
Chapter 23: What Thay Will Not Keep
A day had passed in this wretched state, and nothing had changed. The drow had been useless in doing anything other than accepting that yes, it was a curse. Elatharia was increasingly adamant that they needed to speak to the avariel, but both the drow and the tiefling had suggested that was an unwise course. Edwin did not care for sense, but he did care about his dignity. It was bad enough that the three of them knew about his problem. He would not show this weakness to those who would revel in it. True, those who currently knew also revelled in it - but the others hated him and everything he stood for almost as much as he hated them. Even Edwin, not known for his calm manner or his preference for pausing for thought, knew better than to let Aerie, Jaheira or Anomen see him like this.
There were so many things wrong with his predicament that he hardly knew where one ended and the next began.
One: he was now a woman. Obviously. Female Red Wizards were thought of as highly as male ones in Thay in spite of their gender because of the great status of their position and the power that they had proven themselves capable of wielding. But that did not change the fact that this was not his natural state, and it was confusing. Getting dressed, getting undressed, washing, relieving himself, even simple tasks like walking in a way that seemed most inconspicuous in a crowd…all of them were difficult, confusing and tiring. Not to mention alarming and embarrassing.
Two: his walk with Elatharia to the Adventurers' Mart had been bad enough, but now they were in that place, standing around and waiting for Ribald Barterman's assistant to procure the spell component Elatharia had asked for, Edwin was becoming acquainted with new issues. He would have, ideally, liked to keep a low profile. But many of the men they had passed on the street, or bumped into in the shop, had stared. Not at his face particularly, but it was an uncomfortable situation. Demeaning. It was making him angry. His fingers were starting to twitch with the need to burn the place to the ground.
Three: Elatharia. She had seemed as amused as Viconia at first, but as the hours wore on and they had failed to learn more from the scroll – after also failing to find anything of note in the Graveyard – she had become less entertained. It was a relief that they were at least spending their time attempting to fix this problem, but even Edwin could tell she was angry. Increasingly so. Particularly once advised not to ask Aerie about the scroll. Perhaps it was the frustration of being unable to solve a Transmutation problem, of all things, but Edwin had the uncomfortable feeling that, perhaps, he was the object of her anger. He was used to having an influence on her. She was young, and particularly in the past she had been interested in his – initially half-hearted – attempts to seduce her. She had almost given in back at the Friendly Arm.
There would be a lot of ways in which that previous outlook would benefit Edwin. In his current form he did not draw her interest. She treated him almost like a stranger, where just the night before she had been determined to (irritatingly, of course) discuss her suspicions about Bodhi with him. There had been something promising in her eyes then. Now she refused to meet his gaze.
Finally, the assistant returned with the little vial and Elatharia handed a few silver coins over to Ribald Barterman, the grizzled and entirely uncouth patron of the large, bustling shop. The patrons here, shifting amongst the multiple floors of the complex, were not the usual demographic of Amn. Many wore robes under their cloaks and others were dressed in the gleaming armour of foreign knights. Sometimes the place was raided by the Cowled Wizards. After all, it was full of magical ingredients (officially sold under the label 'foreign remedies'), books from as far afield as blessed Thay or tropical Chult and arms and armour with terrifyingly immense enchantments.
The place drew patrons from across the Realms. It was almost gratifying to be seen as a frequenter of the shop – except no one would know Edwin in his current state anyway. Still, it was not unusual for him to recognise a face amongst the few wizards who did come to the spell components section. When he and Elatharia brushed past a tall, olive-skinned man in dark robes, Edwin thought very little of it though recognition sparked. When that man stared a moment too long at each of them, he took it as a further sign of how demeaning the feminine condition really was.
And soon, after the short walk back to the Slums, Edwin found himself distracted by the altogether unplanned route which Elatharia turned down. As they passed the Copper Coronet, heading east towards their former home at Gaelan Bayle's house, Edwin caught the Transmuter by the elbow.
"Incompetent Transmuter, we are not going within half a mile radius of the avariel," Edwin insisted.
When she turned to face him, her glare undoubted though it was hidden by her ridiculous mask, the Conjurer was again momentarily disorientated by the similarity in their heights. He was used to standing a head taller than her at least. Not to being able to look her levelly in the eye.
"'Incompetent Transmuter'?" she hissed, wrenching her arm free of his grip, "It's because of your own incompetence that we've got another thing to hide! But no," she drew herself up, maybe an inch smaller than him, her large eyes very green in the sunlight and her voice clipped with anger, "We are not going to see Aerie. We're running out of money, since the Shadow Thieves' robbed us, and I need to collect my share of the proceeds from Jan's turnip business just to make sure that we can eat tonight."
She was exaggerating, Edwin knew. And her anger was, as ever, strangely becoming. She was flushed and tense, her chest heaving as she attempted to gain control of her rage. Remembering the flare of light in her eyes when he had induced her anger just a few days before, he was momentarily distracted by the altogether strange – and yet unexpectedly similar – sensation of this new body's reaction to his thoughts. Perhaps he could learn something from this predicament.
"I am going to Jan's house, anyway. Feel free to go back to the Sphere on your own," the Transmuter was saying, turning about and heading for the large green building in the distance.
Edwin was momentarily torn between the indignity of the gnome seeing him in this state, and the paranoia that Elatharia was entirely capable of detouring to Gaelan Bayle's house on the way back. After a moment, he hurried after her, almost tripping over the long skirt of the dark green Traveller's Robe he had insisted upon wearing. It had seemed too conspicuous, wearing his own Archmagi jacket; it was ludicrously large, even with the sleeves rolled up. And he was, at the moment in particular, attempting to keep himself inconspicuous. The very thought of an assassin finding him in this embarrassing state made him shudder in horror.
The stench of the cabbages and turnips kept in barrels and carts just within the tall Jansen walls was the first reminder that they were approaching Jan's home. Then they turned a corner, and those tall, mossy walls reared up before them – beyond stood the grass-covered house, its tiered rooves used for a variety of gardens and vegetable allotments. Elatharia did not pause at the low wooden gate, undoing the latch and stepping through without even holding it for Edwin to follow. Once within, both of them coughed and winced against the potent smell of the vegetables hoarded against the wall beside them, but the Transmuter forged on.
"Jan's inside!" a high voice promised, and both wizards looked across the spread of tilled allotments to see a particularly small and withered female gnome grinning at them from ear to ear. Hunched, wrinkled and with white, patchy hair she must have been very old – but she was still holding a rake, overalls tied on over her skirts and bodice, tending to the vast garden.
Elatharia nodded stiffly in some semblance of what would have been expected of her, and they moved at greater speed for the ill-fitting house. It was a collection of many shapes; cubes, cuboids, spheres and pyramids, all mortared together and covered in moss and grass. A few flowers bloomed around the door and the paving between the building and the garden was cracked and buckled with the paths of questing roots. Edwin had never seen a place more in need of knocking down.
"It's worse inside, trust me," Elatharia muttered as they reached the low front door and she knocked firmly. Its lintel came no higher than her shoulder.
The sound of several latches clicking was followed by the creaking of the door, and then they were faced with another female gnome. Though tiny and hunched like the one who had been raking something in the garden, this one was slightly less wrinkled, her eyes larger and rounder and irritatingly curious. Strands of moss and green thread had been woven into her thick white hair and she was dressed in a bright yellow dress which looked like it had been made out of a fluffy material more commonly favoured by makers of carpets.
"You must be Elatharia."
She stepped aside to let them duck within.
The smell of fermenting turnips hit them like a wall and Edwin began to doubt the sense in following. It was dark inside; lit only by a few dirty skylights, several floor-level windows and a single oil lamp that hung from the blessedly high ceiling. Potted plants lined the multiple windowsills and the ground was covered in patchwork rugs, none of which matched.
"He's in his room," the gnome added as they passed her, both attempting not to gag on the smell emanating from the steps across the chamber which no doubt led into some dreadful basement.
Evidently relieved that they would not be going down there, Elatharia headed quickly across the room to the spiral stairs leading up through the ceiling. The twist of the steps was tight and they had to pull themselves up by the railing rather than use each step as a gnome might. The gap in the ceiling was narrow and Edwin watched in more than mild fascination as the Transmuter negotiated her way nimbly through above him. He realised he would not have been able to follow had he been in his true, male form.
Following, the Red Wizard had hoped they would be stepping out onto a landing, but instead they continued up another flight of the spiral staircase. It was particularly difficult to navigate in this borrowed robe, not to mention his unfamiliar female form. But after a little more uncomfortable climbing, the Transmuter did step off onto the landing of the next floor. She watched him intently, her expression unreadable thanks to that wretched quarter-mask, as he squirmed his way unhappily to join her.
They had to stoop here thanks to the low, slanting rafters, but Elatharia seemed familiar with the layout of the abominably cramped interior of this otherwise sprawling house. She turned as he gained his footing, heading for a small doorway in the corner of this narrow corridor. The sound of cogs cranking and clattering metal was already audible. There was no doubt about whose room this was.
The Transmuter did not pause to knock on the open door, ducking through the low frame without hesitation. Once Edwin followed, he could understand; the sloping roof was higher here, at least at this end of the wedge-shaped room, and they could straighten their backs.
"What is it that brings you to the Jansen Residence, oh noble, valiant, gracious and extravagant leader?" Jan inquired jovially.
The part-time Illusionist was seated at the far end of the room, just below the low slope of the large window which took up most of the roof. He was surrounded by a pile of various mechanical items and tools, the light shining off his bald head. He eyed them knowingly from the complicated row of lenses perched on his nose. Edwin blanched when the gnome's small, beady eyes found him.
Elatharia smiled grimly at those words, as if they did anything other than amuse her. Reaching into her bag of holding, she closed the small door behind Edwin and made a slight gesture with her hand. The Conjurer heard the lock click, and his heart sank. Dread filled him. He could not cast that particular Transmutation spell faster than this particular Transmuter. She had just locked them in here, and he was starting to realise why.
"I've got something I need you to look at, Jan," she explained, stepping quickly past Edwin when he hissed at her to stop and grabbed at her arm. When she pulled her hand free from the bag, there was the dark Nether Scroll.
"Elatharia! What are you doing? (The gnome is more likely to laugh and refuse aid than offer anything useful – as if he could do anything other than worsen the situation academically, anyway)," Edwin snarled, failing to catch her wrist for a second time as she dodged out of the way with a highly inflammatory sneer.
"Jan, have a look," she insisted, bending to pass the scroll to the gnome before Edwin could reach her again. She caught his arm when he made to lunge for Jan; for a moment they grappled, and it was long enough for the gnome to unfurl the parchment.
"Oh, well. This is a little peculiar," the gnome admitted.
He eyed Edwin with a suspicious and faintly amused sidelong glance as he stood and ambled to the right corner of the room, where a cluttered table stood covered in cogs, tubes, wrenches and parchment. A twist of a little wheel at the top of one leg raised the only clear section of the table by a few degrees, metal grinding all the while. Muttering to himself, he clipped the unfurled scroll onto the stand, clicking a few of his lenses into place. Another glance Edwin's way. A little more peering at the scroll. Then he snorted with amusement, chuckling to himself.
"Well, I think this is the best thing that has ever happened to you, Edwin," he suggested with a snigger, "I once knew an old wizard who turned himself into the form of a young woman. Didn't let him die any slower, mind you."
"Your mockery is hardly conducive to you surviving my inevitable return to my true form, imbecile," Edwin spat, unsettled as ever by the high pitch of his current voice. But Jan just continued as if the threat had never been spoken.
"These Transmutation mistakes are all…oh…Elatharia, oh queen of wonder, I am a little confused as to how you haven't…oh…well. Why didn't you tell me?"
He sent a glare the Transmuter's way which was obviously supposed to be genuine – yet another sign of the gnome's ridiculous sense of humour. Elatharia just put her hands on her hips and waited, angling herself in such a way as to dissuade Edwin from lunging for the scroll. Meanwhile Jan stood, scratching at his head thoughtfully and crossing the room to the sagging bookcase. Pulling out one particularly ancient and dog-eared tome, her sent Elatharia a long look.
"This is going to take me some time. You might want to sit down and have a glass of turnip juice."
Though the expression on Edwin's face was furious, the Red Wizard had been surprisingly quiet while they waited for Jan to consider the scroll. The Conjurer seemed startled by his own voice and was far less comfortable in public – perhaps understandably, because every movement seemed to feel wrong to him. It might have been a sad sight, if Elatharia had not been so angry with him for getting himself into this situation so close to getting to Spellhold. And she would not believe that they had much longer left to wait before they acquired passage from Bodhi. If the vampire mistress also had unfinished business with Irenicus then surely she would not want to delay any more than did Elatharia and her group?
The two wizards both vehemently declined the turnip juice that Jan offered them, and instead sat in uncomfortable silence upon the narrow bench at the end of his untidy bed. The light was very bright at this time of day through the sloping window and they could make out the high roof of Gaelan Bayle's house behind a row of smaller buildings. The glinting far off in the distance must have come from the sparkling spires and rooves of the Temple District.
At last Jan sat back with a sigh, tapping his stubby fingers on the table top for a thoughtful moment before pulling off his elaborate glasses and looking around at the two rather sullen wizards sitting at the end of his bed.
"Impressive, really," the Illusionist noted, "I suppose you already know it's a Transmutation and a curse? To really understand the extent that these enemies of yours have gone to in order to dupe you, Eddie, I would really find a proper palaeographer. I take it you haven't cast the other two spells beneath it? Because, really, they're not the Abjurations that they look…"
"Wait, wait. Gnome! What in all the Hells are you babbling about?" Edwin demanded, flinching dramatically at the gnome's utterance of his 'nickname'. Jan blinked at him, and then burst out laughing.
"Oh, of course! Genius, just genius. I assume you heard some whispers amongst your 'sources' in the Cowled Wizards? Of a Nether Scroll hidden away in the Graveyard? I heard those stories, too, but that place was raided years ago in an attack that left the lich there quite mad, and very weak."
"You're saying the reports Edwin heard were false?" Elatharia asked while the Red Wizard spluttered, "That he was…set up?"
"Impossible! (I had not thought they could have found me so quickly here. The Shadow Thieves' arrangement gave me protection from being detected…)," Edwin paused in his muttering, and then sat up straight, "Degardan!" he hissed, paling significantly. Elatharia looked in confusion from him to Jan.
"Can someone explain, please?"
"Oh of course, oh glorious leader," Jan smiled innocently when Elatharia shot him a hard look for his continued mockery, "Whoever wrote this scroll clearly knew our Eddie well…"
"Shut up, monkey! My name is Edwin Odesseiron, and if you are going to use it you should say it in full, and properly. Failing that (and I do not doubt that you would) you should address me only as 'sir'."
"Of course, Eddie," Jan waved the Red Wizard's words aside, eyes full of mischief, and continued his previous explanation as if never interrupted, "…And they also had an excellent scribing knowledge of Netherese – although not so good that I can't see the Thayvian flourishes. You never can quite make it out of the Infernal script when that's what you learned first. Something about the insidious power of the devils' alphabet. So – whoever wrote the handy notes at the side was Thayvian. And whoever scribed those spells was also Thayvian – it's in the same hand, and it's a reasonable imitation of Netherese spell scribing. Not all that close, mind you. So I take it you saw the Transmutation and the curse in this first spell. And now, looking at Eddie's lovely shade of green, I'm going to guess our cursed friend here has also cast the other two spells. And well, that's the best thing about this scroll. Because hidden in the 'Netherese' Abjuration forms…there are some Thayvian Divinations. When Eddie cast these Abjurations they actually activated the Divinations beneath. Of course Eddie would not notice these, having never studied Divination, and there's no reason why our illustrious be-masked leader would know anything about Thayvian Divination styles. Likely, she could be put off rather effectively by the Abjurations drawn on top of them – although I suspect whoever made this did not know Eddie travels with a Transmuter. In fact, I'm sure you both focused on the first spell anyway, since that's what's got you in your current state. By casting the Transmutation, you activated the curse – and the casting of the Abjurations actually activated the Divinations which you would not have been able to cast."
"Oh, gods," Edwin sounded horrified. Elatharia did not remember seeing him so afraid. Personally, she found herself rather impressed by the Thayvian who had set this trap.
"So, whoever set Edwin up managed to hide this fake scroll with the mad lich," she considered the sky thoughtfully as everything came together, "And that would explain how the first assassin got into the crypts; because he was following the tracking spell already laid there by the Red Wizards who are hunting you. And then you went ahead and cast all the spells, so now they're tracking your every movement whether you have the scroll or not…"
Edwin's thin female fingers closed tightly around Elatharia's wrist and he looked at her with wide, frightened eyes.
"Degardan!" he hissed, "I saw him in the Adventurer's Mart earlier. I thought I recognised his face, but he was wearing black robes and had used some kind of…face paint…"
"Make up?" Jan supplied.
"…to conceal his tattoos."
Elatharia did not know whether to glare, laugh or put her head in her hands.
"So we have only a matter of time before he decides to come for you. Am I to expect your death or your capture?"
"I will not be killed or captured! " Edwin did not hear the mockery in her voice, his grip tightening on her arm, dragging her up with him as he stood.
Moments before it happened, Jan leapt to his feet too, his eyes blinking wide as a bright white sigil painted itself on the wall – some kind of warning ward. Then a mighty crash erupted downstairs, and they knew Degardan had found them.
Degardan had not come unprepared. As Elatharia, Edwin and Jan hurried down to the front room of the gnome's house – which was a difficult feat for the two larger wizards, narrow as the staircase was – the Red Wizard was standing in all his splendour at the centre of the room. The door had been blasted outwards off its hinges and lay burning upon the garden path. Jan's family were clustered amongst the turnip allotment, hugging each other and peering anxiously in at their home.
Not a small man – topping six feet – the Red Wizard must have had to duck rather inelegantly to enter the house, but he was a worrying sight all the same. He stood there dressed in the bright red robes of his order, the hood of his black, red-lined cloak pushed back to reveal a maze of pale tattoos, some of them currently glowing a strange white, arcing up his neck and over his bald head. His eyes were a striking pale blue, his face pinched and mottled with scars on one cheek. The patch of uneven white skin that rose from his shoulder to join the puckered remains of that cheek was unmistakably a healed burn. Numerous spell protections crackled and flickered around him; all of the Abjurations that Elatharia could not cast, and probably several of the Transmutations that she could.
"Edwin! I almost failed to recognise you in your current…state," the Red Wizard Diviner noted as Jan hopped onto the sitting room floor and Edwin squeezed his way out of the spiral staircase after him.
"Degardan, you will die for what you have done to me! (I would have killed him anyway, but still…)" Edwin jumped anew at the shrillness of his own voice.
"And this is my house, I'll have you know, mister Red Wizard 'I'm a Diviner, I'm so good at Divination that I'm on my way to being divine'!" Jan interjected at the same time as his hands wove through the appropriate gestures for a succession of Illusion spells. As he spoke, three duplicates of him appeared – all of them gesturing – and proceeded to mill about each other until it was impossible to tell which one was the real Jan.
Degardan just sneered at the gnome in a manner that was unsettlingly similar to Edwin.
Elatharia chose to stay in the spiral staircase for a moment, her eyes trained on the Diviner who was waiting for them at the centre of the room, and the cursed Conjurer who was stalking forward to face him. Even as they continued to spit fighting words, her hands moved through the gestures of her spells. Haste and Strength; only then did she move forward before her Fireshield ignited, lest she burn the building down.
"I see you still talk to yourself like a simpleton, Edwin," Degardan sighed. Edwin's angry cry was followed by a barrage of magic missiles which fizzled harmlessly off the Diviner's protections, "And I must say, it is very satisfying to see you so humbled by your own idiocy. It is a shame that I must return you to your natural form as part of the agreement." Edwin grew very still at that comment, hands raised for his next spell, which had probably been a protective one. "But I'm afraid the Cowled Wizards and the Zulkirs will be fighting over my head if I don't follow the appropriate identification procedures before I kill you."
Elatharia watched in nervous fascination as Degardan called upon his next spell, power forming and crackling between his hands. It occurred to her that Edwin would not know if this incantation were a ruse to kill him unprepared, or the real thing. Luckily for him, she could tell that it was indeed the real thing. Meanwhile, Jan seemed to have vanished out of sight entirely. Neither Red Wizard seemed particularly aware of the loss of the gnome.
The moment after Degardan's spell hit him, in a flash of bright light, Edwin threw up his first layer of spell protections. For a moment the luminescence of the two spells clashed, leaving spots in Elatharia's vision, and when they cleared Edwin was once more himself, tall and male. But dressed in her now ill-fitting green Traveller's Robe. The cloth had stretched across his chest and the sleeves slipped a little off his shoulders, revealing a particularly intricate tattoo beneath his collarbone from which spiralled the lines that Elatharia had previously made out on his arms and neck. It was not the manner in which she had ever envisaged first seeing them. The skirt, which had been too long before, now showed his (previously overlarge) polished boots and flared outwards around him in a peculiar way. It was, altogether, not very becoming anymore.
"You…will…die! At last! You were supposed to die before! Damn Thrul and Flass and Araman for picking you!" Edwin fairly shrieked, the tattoos visible on his arms and chest flaring up with red light, much like the white shine of Degardan's, as the Conjurer reached for some aggressive spell.
When Degardan's lip curled and he moved to cast a spell also, Elatharia started her own, too, reaching into the pouch on her belt for the collection of pebbles she would need. Hasted as she was, she finished first. The moment the pebbles swelled and flared with fire, she started to throw. Melf's Minute Meteors would not harm Degardan in his current protected state, but they did stagger him with their explosive force, causing him to lose his spell and stumble back with angry eyes, gradually testing and breaking through some of the layers of his Abjurations. It forced him to turn his attention to her and gave Edwin a moment or two to throw up some of his own protections. Wherever Jan had gone, he wasn't adding much to the spellbattle.
"Oh, you must be a very stupid thing to follow him, whore," Degardan spat when one of the Meteors fizzed past his protections, a hit with force enough to leave a bruise.
"Actually, he follows me," Elatharia corrected curtly, flinging her last Meteor. And though he dodged it, it still caught him on his shoulder and momentarily set his robes alight.
Degardan just laughed, and while Edwin was still calling up his protections, the Diviner sent a barrage of magic missiles her way. Though she attempted to run from them, several hit her with bruising force, knocking the breath from her and forcing her to double up, wheezing – in spite of the protective magics of the Robe of Vecna. In the meantime, she could heard the crackle and crash of rather more destructive spells being slung between the Red Wizards.
When she pulled herself back up by the wood support nearest to her, Elatharia saw Edwin just staggering back form a tirade of Evocations. Degardan saw her movement before she could right herself properly, even through the smoke rising through the room from smouldering chairs and timbers. She gasped out her next spell just as he managed his; neither did anything to stop the other, and even as the ground buckled from just ahead of her all the way to Degardan, forcing him to stumble into the shallow trench she had intended to overbalance him, his spell seethed into the air around her. It filled her with dizziness first, then a pervasive ache. Her breath rattled, her limbs weakened and she stumbled more successfully to the ground than Degardan.
Though Elatharia had been rendered temporarily incapable, Degardan had been forced to lose his balance and his concentration; Edwin's next spell was a Conjuration that Elatharia had only seen mentioned in books before. From the side of the small rumple in the ground that she had created there rose a wall of stone; it curled cunningly just in front of the Diviner and over his foot, forcing him to trip properly and land heavily on his knees. It sounded like he had broken a bone, in truth. On cue, he howled in pain.
Edwin grinned wickedly, and Elatharia might have worn the same expression had she not been coughing wretchedly on her hands and knees thanks to the Diviner's use of a spell she normally preferred to use: Great Malison.
In spite of his pained position, Degardan did manage to raise a Wall of Force between himself and Edwin. The Conjurer's magic missiles and Evocations poured forth a little too wildly after that, crashing pointlessly off the Wall of Force and pinging across the room. Several windows smashed, a potted plant ignited, and smoke was darkening chokingly all around them.
Through the thick smog, Elatharia at last noticed Jan, popping into visibility right by Degardan and apparently not worried about Edwin's wild spells. The gnome shrugged almost apologetically and spoke a command phrase, backing up quickly as he did so. A rune appeared beneath the Diviner's feet, and Degardan spat some Thayvian curse when he realised that he would not be getting out of this alive. The explosion that engulfed him set the roof on fire and knocked all three of the living wizards to the floor.
"Anomen! I didn't realise you'd returned!" Aerie's high voice cut through Anomen's daydream and he sat up abruptly…a little guiltily. He had been thinking of her.
She must have returned to the house through the kitchen door and spoken to Jaheira, who was using the table in there to prepare dried provisions for the road and to sort through her herbs. The druid had been demanding those who shared the house with her to give her any clothing that might need fixing, too. She must have told Aerie that he had returned.
The avariel was hurrying through the door into the sitting room to greet him, her hair windblown from her morning walk and some pollen and petals clinging to her long white and blue dress from the collection of flowers she must have picked along the path she had taken. She was looking at him with those large, hopeful blue eyes, her smile expectant.
"Well? What happened at the test? Jaheira says…Jaheira says you haven't told her anything," Aerie's beautiful, delicate face fell into a worried frown, her voice falling back to its oft-present tremulousness. Her small hands curled in the fabric of her dress, suddenly tense.
"I have no news to tell," Anomen admitted swiftly before she assumed too much, attempting to smooth his hair back from the tangle he had ruffled it into, "Sir Trawl has assessed me but he must now meet with the council of the Order to determine if I am worthy. It may be days before they come to a decision."
"That's very…cruel!" Aerie exclaimed. When she felt something was unjust her expression reminded Anomen of a pout, and it was very endearing. Her strength of feeling was immense, "They must know that they are making you unhappy by making you wait!"
"Indeed, my lady – I do not doubt that this is part of their test," Anomen found himself a little amused by her indignation – he was, in truth, more than terrified that he had failed, and her rage on his behalf was very gratifying.
Aerie did not look mollified, but seeing his amusement her easy blush flushed her cheeks and she blinked, her eyes dropping to the floor between them. She adjusted the shoulders of her dress as if afraid that it suited her ill. It suited her very well.
"I…I feel that I also owe an apology to you," she admitted softly after a moment, and Anomen sat forward in surprise.
"My lady, that is not necessary…"
"It is," Aerie shook her head, her voice suddenly strong, "Because I knew that you were just trying to protect me, and that the opinion that drove you to confront Haer'Dalis is an opinion that I share. I just didn't want your…your actions to break up the group any more than it has started to fracture already. We need to be able to work together to help Imoen and bring Irenicus to justice."
"I am glad," Anomen nodded, standing and approaching her. She looked so vulnerable and nervous standing there in the centre of the large room, fiddling with the feathers on her dress. For someone so good and kind, she worried about her own moments of wildness too strongly. He wanted to reach out to her. His hands ached with the need.
"But I wanted to say that I am sorry as well," Aerie said at last, looking up at him with those deep, deep blue eyes. In them Anomen could imagine the open sky, or the endless glittering blue sea. His breath caught as he watched her, "And I am. For my angry words."
"There is no need, but I will accept your words if you need me to," Anomen smiled.
Aerie nodded, starting to smile…and then something caught her eye in the window and her eyebrows rose in shock. She grasped his arm, pointing down the street.
"Th-there's smoke coming from Jan's house!" she exclaimed in horror, "And flames! We…we need to help them! Jaheira!"
The druid had obviously heard Aerie's words, and ran into the room holding her spear. She took one look at the pillar of smoke rising up above the green mound of the highest Jansen roof and rushed for the door, barking orders for Aerie and Anomen to follow.
Elatharia was dragging herself back to her knees when the smoke started to clear a little, in time to see Jan hurrying outside to check on his relatives. Edwin was standing over the twitching and twisted form of Degardan, his hands visibly shaking as he glared down at his enemy, his grin wide and manic. He stood there in silence and watched his enemy die. Her Traveller's Robe was still stretched over his body very unflatteringly now, but he seemed oblivious to it for the time being.
When shouting sounded in the garden outside, Edwin looked down at his state of dress and swore to himself, spitting out the words to a Dimension Door, slipping through the silvery portal and no doubt returning to the Planar Sphere to change into his own clothes.
As Jan scurried back into the room, calling up protective wards to put out the fires left behind by the spellbattle, Elatharia found herself dazed and drained by the sudden and fearsome battle. Her body ached terribly, and her side convulsed in agony when she attempted to raise one arm. Feeling this pain, though it was nothing compared to what she had once suffered, and tasting blood in her mouth, she could not take her eyes away from the corpse before her.
It brought back flashes of memories she fought to subdue. Of the ruin that Irenicus's barbed devil had made of her, a thing of bones and blood and shuddering shreds that had once been living and ought no longer to have been. Her stomach clenched, and she stumbled quickly from the house, tripping down the steps and landing heavily on the grass, gagging.
"Elatharia!"
"My…my lady!"
Running footsteps sounded closer, heading up the path towards her. Suddenly several voices were chattering all around her. Small hands fluttered at her waist and she waved them away, groaning at the pain. She recognised Aerie's voice, and Jaheira's. Anomen's as well, a little further away. Several of the Jansens were asking her if she needed anything, calling for reassurance from Jan that everything was alright. None of them seemed bothered about the hole that had been blasted through the roof of their sitting room, and two of them went straight to work dragging Degardan's body into the basement. At the sight, Elatharia hauled herself up to her knees, a hoarse laugh turning into a cough. She tasted blood more strongly then, pain shooting through her whole chest, and she swayed. Strong hands closed around her shoulders. She recognised the smell of Jaheira's herbs.
"It's alright, Elatharia," Aerie's voice was reassuring, but the Transmuter's cheeks felt stiff and she had to squint to see the avariel's worried face looming before her own. Anomen was hovering behind the part-time cleric, dressed in typical noblemen's velvet and not his armour.
"I don't believe you," Elatharia denied blearily, and the hands at her shoulders tightened. She felt something trickling from the corner of her mouth, and knew vaguely that it was blood. She caught a glimpse of Jaheira's face set into a grim frown as she swayed backwards this time, and confusion flooded her, "Why are you…? You don't care…" a cough that felt torn from her stopped her un-thought words, even as Aerie's soothing healing magic started to spread through her ribs, "You wouldn't…if you knew…"
Blankness. Darkness.
A ringing in her ears.
Water pouring. The rustling of sheets. Someone's voice, gentle and high.
As consciousness came, so did the memory of Degardan's corpse. Half-seen flashes of blood and gore burst behind her eyes, and they twisted into something more familiar, more personal. Her eyes flew open, and she gasped sharply.
Aerie, who had been ringing out a cloth into a metal basin at the end of the bed, turned around with a concerned look. For a moment the room span, and then Elatharia realised she was in the only single room permitted to the group by the Shadow Thieves'. This was the double bed in which Jaheira usually slept. She was in Gaelan Bayle's house.
She had killed a Shadow Thief two nights before. Willingly. Without remorse.
She had to get out.
"Wait, you should rest!" Aerie hurried to her side as the Transmuter attempted to sit up.
The pain in her chest had gone, as had the taste of blood. The avariel put a small hand on her shoulder and attempted to push her back down into a lying position. Elatharia resisted, glaring resentfully, and sat back against the headboard to give herself time to assess how much she really had healed. Apart from a faint ache around her ribs which suggested bruising, she felt healthy again.
"What…what happened?" there was the tremor in Aerie's voice. The one that either meant she was afraid, or she was afraid of how her companion in the conversation might respond.
"A mad mage attacked the Jansen residence when I was there with Edwin and Jan. I didn't know him," she shrugged, keeping her expression neutral. She had not told a lie with that answer, anyway.
"Really? Did he not give any indication about why?" Aerie searched her face, and the Transmuter automatically cast about for her mask. There it was, lying on the table in the corner. And there was the Robe of Vecna, on the back of a chair.
"Not that I understood." That was true, too. She did not know why Degardan had attempted to kill Edwin.
Aerie frowned faintly, but nodded. She seemed mollified, and turned around – crossing the room, she picked up a cup and brought it over to the convalescent Transmuter.
"Here, you should drink this," she proffered the drink. It smelled faintly of herbs, and Elatharia took it gingerly. It was cool, and tasted almost of nothing.
"Whose clothes am I wearing?" Elatharia dared to ask after a moment, gesturing with her free hand at the white nightgown currently adorning her thin frame, "And who changed me into it?"
Aerie giggled, sitting on the edge of the bed and staring out of the window at the sky.
"Just Jaheira and I. Anomen carried you into the washroom – and left – and then we had to remove your clothes to see how much damage we were dealing with," she winced, "It was quite bad. The spell the mage cast had worn off, but it had done a lot of damage. You were coughing up blood, and a few ribs were broken from one of his other attacks. So we had to heal you, and clean you – and clean your clothes," she shrugged, and smiled more brightly, patting Elatharia's knee, "That's why you're wearing one of my spare nightgowns."
"I can't believe I never woke up," Elatharia felt more than a little unnerved about that. Aerie sent her an uncomfortable glance, but offered no explanation, "I think it's given me a better perspective on what I'm doing to my enemies when I cast Greater Malison."
Another flinch. The avariel hated violence. Which reminded the Transmuter – she had killed a Shadow Thief recently, and was currently sitting in a Shadow Thief-owned bed in the house of a patron who she had (secretly) double-crossed.
"I need to go," she insisted, downing her drink and placing the cup resolutely on the nightstand.
Aerie put up no further resistance, though her expression suggested worry. She turned away when the Transmuter moved to pull on her own clothes.
"We should all meet up more often," the avariel said faintly, "I think it's wise to make sure we're united for the trip to Spellhold."
"Yes," Elatharia winced a little, pulling off the nightgown and observing her colourfully bruised ribs before reaching for her newly cleaned underwear. Gods, how much had she bled? "I suppose that's probably true. Though none of us really get along all that well unless we have to." Oh, if only the avariel knew.
"I know," Aerie sounded a little exasperated, "A-and sometimes I do wonder why you keep some of them around…"
"That's a conversation I'm not having," Elatharia rebuffed the comment as she reached for the Robe of Vecna, slipping her arms through the holes and wrapping it around herself, fastening its three buttons at her waist. As ever, the item moulded to her shape comfortably, leaving one leg mostly bare. Aerie turned around when she heard the Transmuter pulling on her boots.
"I wish you would," the avariel complained as fiercely as she dared, folding her arms and watching Elatharia fastening the buttons up her inner calves, "But anyway, we do need to at least stick together. So that's why I'm still going to do the play with Haer'Dalis…"
"Still?" Elatharia was utterly ignorant of this, tying on her mask as well now.
Aerie blushed, and explained about the problems with Haer'Dalis and Anomen. Elatharia listened with a detached curiosity; the avariel's infatuations and fascinations seemed eternally youthful. The Transmuter was aware of the part-time cleric's former betrothal when she still had her wings; both of those concepts felt alien to her.
"…and Haer'Dalis has been showing a lot of interest in Viconia as well," Aerie's expression darkened at the thought as she finished her explanation. Elatharia hid her smile by turning away to fasten on her belt.
"They understand each other," she realised more than explained, "Even though he seems determined to tease her and she seems determined to be furious with him. Some people are just like that for a while with each other, I suppose."
"I don't understand it," Aerie sighed, her shoulders slumping. She followed at Elatharia's heels as the Transmuter made for the door, heading straight for the stairs, "Relationships are all about caring, understanding and trust."
Elatharia bit back her next comment, remembering the altercation between her and Edwin in the Planar Sphere and of how frustrated she had been with him for getting himself into that predicament with the Nether Scroll.
"Jan said to tell you that his family are safe," Aerie added quickly as Elatharia reached the front door. The sun was falling. Her stomach rumbled hungrily. She barely listened to the avariel's words.
"We'll meet up for the play. Thank you…for your help," the Transmuter offered distractedly, nodding briefly towards Aerie before opening the door and heading back to the Planar Sphere.
Neither Elatharia nor any of those who resided in Lavok's former home could cook. Between them the only kitchen skills they possessed were shared between Elatharia and Edwin – and none of them could subsist upon herbal tea for any length of time, so it was an unspoken agreement that they head to the Copper Coronet at around six hours after noon. As it turned out, both drow and tiefling were waiting expectantly in the octagonal room. The tiefling was sitting on the edge of the table, needling Viconia with some witticism, but he leapt to his feet when Elatharia entered.
"Our Sparrowhawk is cured! Wherefore art thou so late, my Raven of Doom?"
Elatharia paused a moment, blinking at him to emphasise that this turn of phrase was dramatic even for him. It had not occurred to her to be angry that the Red Wizard had abandoned her to her ailments – he had hardly been dressed for the occasion after his abrupt change in shape. She was already too angry with him for being stupid and decided that she ought to draw the line at that.
"My injuries were significant, but are now healed," the Transmuter shrugged. Haer'Dalis's eyes widened.
"And the Sparrowhawk left you to your wounds?"
"The tiefling has been like this all day, khal'abbil. I am beginning to consider various forms of artful – and artless – murder," Viconia sighed, eyeing the tiefling with a look that was probably supposed to be disdainful, "However, I am perhaps more inclined to eat something. Can we leave?"
"I'm not keeping you," Elatharia shrugged, suddenly impatient, "I need to speak to Edwin."
"Fare thee well then, my Raven," Haer'Dalis grinned, bowing low and passing her in the doorway.
Viconia waited only long enough to be transmuted into her moon elf form and then followed with a long-suffering look to Elatharia.
'If you do not join us by the time we have finished, we will bring you something,' the drow signed as she passed, and smirked slyly when the Transmuter sent her a puzzled look.
Once Viconia and Haer'Dalis had gone, Elatharia made her way into the western globe of the Sphere, assuming that Edwin would be in his chambers rather than the library. It was in this section of the building that she and several of the others had fought the crazed halflings; its lower levels held rune-inscribed circles and structures which could, possibly, one day be utilised again for summoning. Down there also stood the inactive golems which had so effectively cleaned up the mess that the battle for this area had made.
Edwin's room was one of the four around the pond, its door half-shrouded by trees and tall, very verdant grass. The crystal dome above sent sunlight streaming down at all times of the day. It was either a very good Conjuration spell, an Illusion…or a lingering relic of the Sphere's previous ability to link itself to the Planes.
She knocked.
No answer was immediately forthcoming.
Another knock, and then the doorway was pulled open with typical irritable force. Edwin stood before her, and his usual shape was momentarily as confusing as his cursed one had been. He was glaring at her, his deep red tunic loose and a little askew as if he had just pulled it on. He had not retained his beard after the change, and its absence emphasised his sharp, Mulan features. Elatharia finally realised why he had grown it in the first place – to hide his identity further.
"I need some answers," she told him by way of greeting, "And I just got back from several hours of coughing up my own blood after a particularly vicious Greater Malison from your Red Wizard pal. Thanks for asking."
Edwin's lip curled, but he stepped aside to let her enter.
His chamber was typically very neat – there was the row of books lined up on the bookshelf above the table, just as they had been in his room at the Docks Guild House. There was a large white bed against the adjacent wall and opposite it a pair of armchairs in front of a crackling fireplace. Unlike Viconia's room, this was a more traditional cuboid shape, with a step down into a separate washing area across the room. The walls were plain white, and the floor carpeted to match.
"You hardly seem unhealthy now," Edwin pointed out, herding her over to the armchairs.
He adjusted his tunic as she sat down in her allocated space, and for a moment she saw the whorls of dark tattoos knotted at his shoulder. He was quite thin and thus the muscles were defined in spite of his disdain for athleticism. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he moved to take a seat rather than acknowledge her expression, which was not all that clear behind her mask.
"That's not a hard concept for you to grasp, so I'm not going to bother," Elatharia told him, pulling off her boots and curling up in the chair. His eyes followed the path of her bared left leg, and it sent a stab of something distracting through her, "I need to know what happened today."
"That is a courtesy I may or may not choose to give to you. Not a right," Edwin disagreed, his accent the same but his voice back to its familiar deeper tones.
"I need to know," Elatharia disagreed, "Who was Degardan? You already knew his name, and he certainly knew you. Why was he after you – was it him who set up that ruse with the 'Nether Scroll' or was he just an assassin? How many people want you dead? When might they come after you? Why? Will this hinder me in getting back my sister?"
Edwin scoffed, eyeing her almost warily from beneath his brows as he rested his chin in his hand. The firelight flickered distractingly in his red-brown eyes.
"(Must I really explain everything in so much detail?)" he sighed, "Degardan was a fellow of mine during my time as a student at Thaymount. He was a Diviner (an idiotic choice that killed him in the end) so I would imagine it was he who scribed the fake scroll. He was not working alone; I suspect the Cowled Wizard, Gethras, was a hired pawn of his. He is part of a particularly wealthy dynasty who own Eltabbar (gods damn them). It is just like him to pay for an assassin first. But no, the problem does not end with him. He was likely sent by those higher in the echelons of Thayvian society."
"Those names you listed – Flass, Thrul and…Araman. You said they 'chose' him."
"Yes," Edwin nodded slowly, as if she were stupid and missing something obvious. He did not seem particularly forthcoming on the details, but Elatharia was determined to learn more eventually. Even if he would not let her talk about it all at once, as she would have wished.
"Fine," the Transmuter rolled her eyes, "But why? Why are the Red Wizards so determined to kill you?"
Edwin sat back, bracing his hands against the arms of his chair as if bracing himself as well.
"Let us just say that I have angered those in high places. (With my dangerous skill and willingness to use it, of course.) I was sent to learn more about the problems in the region between Nashkell and Baldur's Gate largely because we knew that Rashemen had sent representatives. Also because my father had bargained for…another chance for me. If the witch, Dynaheir, crossed my path…I was to kill her. She crossed my path. I failed to kill her."
"It was your last chance, wasn't it?" Elatharia sighed. Edwin rubbed at his forehead as if the comment pained him.
"In a manner of speaking," he admitted, "Though that is hardly relevant." It seemed relevant, but she let him off. For the time being.
"Why did you fail to kill her?" the Transmuter asked at last, and the look he gave her made her voice falter a little on the last few words.
"Because I am a Red Wizard, and I understand when and from where greater power can be gained."
"But…you abandoned your homeland."
"No," he shook his head, frowning at her now as if it were obvious, "My father had negotiated my 'last chance' but I am no foreign fool unused to the ways of Thay. Those who want me dead will kill me the moment I return. He merely gave me a chance to flee until I have the strength to destroy my enemies."
He was trying to affect bluster, but Elatharia could see the uncertainty in him.
"And you think you can find greater power by following me? You didn't know you'd see me again when you left us at the Friendly Arm."
Edwin grimaced, but did not explain himself. He just watched her, frowning slightly, and then stood with a sigh.
Crossing the room, he plucked up the 'Nether Scroll'. Wordlessly, he returned – and threw it into the fire. They watched it burn in silence, its dyed parchment curling, splitting and igniting just like an ordinary scroll might. Once it had been utterly destroyed, and no ill effects ensued, Edwin's posture relaxed significantly. He looked tired.
"You are a child of a god," the Conjurer uttered softly as the scroll crumbled fully into cinders, "Power follows you. I follow power. It is the only way by which I might defeat my foes and return home in glory." He did not meet her eyes.
"Hardly a vote of loyalty," Elatharia snorted, watching the flames again. From the corner of her eye she saw him turn to look at her, "And I don't need one. I suppose."
"Oh, your magnanimity is something for which I live," Edwin drawled, but there was something…half-hearted in his mockery. He sounded relieved, "I simply could not have gone on, believing that you expected me to be your loyal puppy. (Or would it be 'puppet'?)"
"You know, Red Wizard – I'm a Transmuter," she waggled her fingers at him, smiling wickedly when his eyes widened in horrified understanding, "If you irritate me too much, I might just turn you back into a woman."
"No!" his face twisted, "You would not dare!" Edwin looked set to leap to his feet at the mere thought.
"Is it such an outrage to be a woman?" Elatharia baited him, "Is it so demeaning?"
"Yes!" he spat. She raised her eyebrows at him, forgetting that the expression would be less clear behind her mask, "Agh! You mock me and torment me as if I have not suffered enough already!"
"Suffered?" Elatharia's hint of anger was not entirely faked, "I think you'll find that you suffered less than I did for your poor judgement, Red Wizard. It wasn't you who choked on your own blood once Degardan died."
Edwin's eyes flashed, and he just sneered at her.
"You hardly seem out of sorts now," he shrugged, standing again and gesturing to the door, "So now that you are done whining and drowning me in your melodrama, I recommend that we follow the tiefling and the drow to the Copper Coronet before they plan my untimely – and your entirely satisfying – demise."
Elatharia snorted, kicking at his booted foot as he passed, but more than a little relieved that things were starting to get back to the way they were before. An ill-tempered Red Wizard was better than a fraught one, after all.
Super bonus points to whoever recognises all of Edwin's Red Wizard superiors' names. (I claim no credit for their creation).