Author's Note: All right, I've been suffering terribly from writer's block on this story, so I'm not sure how coherent or good this chapter is. I've written on it with several huge pauses in-between, so it might appear as a bit... off.

Depend on the rabbit's foot if

you will, but remember it didn't

work for the rabbit. -- R.E. Shay

CHAPTER FIVE

Not the Luckiest Night

There are times when the tides of one's life are turned by an event so unexpected that it takes a while for the person to even realize it happened. Such is the way of fate for some, to take away that which they thought to be their purpose, causing them to sit back and wonder why they exist in the first place. The mind then goes through a struggle whose only conclusion is a series of more questions that many have tried to answer but none succeeded. One feels lost and alone, and all in all meaningless.

Such was the situation of the obscure bard by the name of Garrick that night. But, instead of trying to answer questions, he had chosen to drown his uncertainties and confusion, his worry for the future and his lack of purpose in a plethora of wine glasses. And if there was any activity where companions were never difficult to find, then drinking was certainly it.

But that particular person Garrick had never expected to come drum her fingers on the back of his chair, trying to get his attention and smirking in an openly malevolent manner. For a moment, he thought he had drank too much and was only imagining the rather fragile blond-haired girl, clumsy in her chain mail, but otherwise adamant in her decision to intimidate him. Her green eyes bore into his intensely, almost as if she was thinking to grow sharp talons and shred his flesh to pieces; she wasn't much, and yet she made for the most terrifying sight Garrick had ever been faced with.

"Hello," he began, trying to smile. "Err..." Through a cloud of what looked like ages past, he could remember their previous encounter, also the first, and the name came to him with some difficulty. "Vendice." He nodded, almost as if trying to reassure himself he had gotten it right.

The only response came in the form of a hand rising up to his throat and grabbing, then pulling with clutched fingers, until he was forced to stand up and close in to those frightfully glazed eyes.

"Garrick," she hissed coldly, superiorly, as if she had trapped a simple fly, while she herself was a goddess of immense power and grandeur.

None of the two looked around, the young man because he was much too preoccupied with fearing for his physical integrity and the girl because she knew all too well her total control of every living thing in the room would diminish if she did. At the moment, as it sadly happens when the crowd is faced with something grand and individual, no one really cared about poor Garrick, because everyone was simply fascinated with the aura of unbelievable self-confidence and domination of everything that Vendice emanated.

He took a shaky breath when she released him, right after she had spat out the name, and shoved him away like a noble paladin would do with a despicable sinner that refused to repent, or with a criminal who was beyond atonement.

"Follow," she ordered after that, icily, even as she turned around and flashed a few of the most curious figures in the room a sharp glance each.

There was no room for opposition or denial, no room for an interruption in the way she had done everything, with that detailed perfection every mortal who had an amount of pride wished to achieve. She had somehow pulled off that kind of chiseled manner capable of reducing everyone to silence, of subduing all that was around. Things like that only happened in stories of heroic deeds, Garrick told himself in a stupefied fashion, as he followed, his clarity of mind inspired to return by that very same attitude. Perhaps it was what it meant to be a leader – the ability to affect those around you by simply doing what you wished to do.

The young bard found himself striding behind the half-elven girl before he could even question why, following her out of the tavern. The impact her steely eyes and proud manner had made on the tavern's patrons was enough to prevent them from gathering a crowd, though admittedly the eyes of the curious did not leave them until they exited and placed the door in the way.

Outside, it was dark and rather foggy, a typical chilly evening that caused the heat accumulated through the day to rise up from the ground and fill the air with milky vapors. Almost without realizing it, Garrick shivered, as some bad feeling or another raked its claws along his spine. Nevertheless, he stopped on the veranda, away from any window, where Vendice also rested. Everything about her was different, he noticed, almost as if a single breath of the cool air had been enough to take the weight of whatever had possessed her off her shoulders.

"Shut up!" the girl snarled, managing to stupefy Garrick completely, before she whipped around to face him, arms akimbo. "What have you to say in your defense, hmm? Sending me off to get killed by bounty hunters, are you?"

"What?" the young man blinked in surprise, desperately trying to make some sense of it all.

"Don't act like you don't know," she snapped. "Won't work with me, so you'd better spit it all out. Were you gonna split profits?"

He regarded her incredulously, with an eyebrow resting slightly higher than the other, wondering what in the nine hells she was talking about. She looked pretty serious, for someone who was spewing out such unfounded nonsense, which could only mean she believed whole-heartedly that she spoke truth. Now, he needed only to determine what that 'truth' of hers was...

Garrick cleared his throat and smiled charmingly. "If you'd be so kind as to explain yourself, I might--"

She interrupted him with a low growl, looking almost out of her mind; or maybe that was her problem in the first place.

"Confess!" she nearly shouted, only to tilt her head in an attentive manner the very next moment, as if she were listening to someone speak. Her attitude changed again, with a preoccupied smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "It's not like I have all night for you, y'know?"

"Listen," Garrick tried not to look completely awed and not to act sympathetic, as he would towards someone who had lost their sanity. "It's not usually my style, but I'll be direct with you. You're acting like a crazed harpy and I have no idea what you're talking about."

She looked genuinely baffled, at least, though incredulity still rested on her features in no small amount, which was what made it so blatant in the first place. Finally, she shook her head, and Garrick could swear she had muttered something along the lines of "Shut up!" once again.

"You know what?" she sounded considerably calmer when she spoke again. "Let's see how the others judge the matter." She didn't even seem to consider he might have a word to say in that, but merely grabbed him by the arm and began to stalk decidedly in the direction of the Red Sheaf.

"Uhh..." Garrick mumbled confusedly, trying to decide whether it was worth resisting. He decided it wasn't, since the others hadn't looked as unstable as Vendice. "What matter, exactly?" he asked, as he followed her, giving up on even the attempt to look as if he wasn't being dragged forcibly.

"Oh, please," the girl didn't budge from her all-knowing aura. "You're the one who sent us into the Red Sheaf; your friend, the bounty hunter, attacked almost as soon as we entered."

Garrick sighed.

Montaron's evening had so far been the exact opposite of the relaxation and entertainment he had imagined with relief when he had found the money on Silke's body. First off, the dwarven bounty hunter who had charged at them with only too little in the way of an explanation was broke and had no valuables on him; even the armor was old and Vendice and Khalid had nearly ruined his wooden shield completely when they had battered him down. As for the axe, it was too heavy for Montaron to carry around and none of the others seemed to care about it, despite his various attempts to get their attention.

Then, the idiot mage had simply had to go get himself some pie, after fishing some gold coins out of Montaron's pocket without even asking first. Why he put up with that, the rogue couldn't quite explain; except, maybe, because his superiors wouldn't have been as pleased as he if any harm should have come to Xzar. At any rate, the prospect of sitting at the same table with a childish imbecile who was munching on pumpkin pie like a hamster didn't much appeal to Monty; even Jaheira's company was preferable to that.

The druid, however, had found it fit to send him off to find the missing Vendice, while she and her husband tended to the pink-haired annoyance. For all he cared, Montaron liked her a lot better unconscious, because she didn't open her mouth to speak and didn't constantly stare at him and spy on everything he did.

He exited the Red Sheaf Inn, grumbling assiduously, only to lay eyes upon a pack of Flaming Fist soldiers, fully armored and everything, who had gathered around Silke's body. Montaron would have cursed their group's negligence, but there was no time now, when he needed to sneak past the party. It wasn't a really difficult thing to do for someone of his size, especially with the many bushes surrounding the inn, and he soon emerged further along the street. Now he really needed to find the half-elven girl before she got them into any trouble.

He soon found out there was no need to look far, for Vendice was just heading his way, dragging an exasperated-looking Garrick right behind her.

"For the fifth time," the young man was just saying, as he rolled his eyes rigorously. "I've had nothing to do with the bounty hunter. It was a coincidence."

"Psst!" Montaron interjected, hurrying to cross their path. "Look, before ye go marching right in their midst!" He vehemently pointed toward the group of soldiers and guards.

"You should have moved Silke's body!" Garrick realized, trying to pull himself free of Vendice. "Let me go; it wasn't me that struck her down."

The half-elf only tightened her grip of him even more and smirked defiantly. "No, you were her partner in crime," she retorted, then became sarcastic. "That's much better, indeed."

Montaron grumbled, then turned his back on the two and began to walk back toward the Inn, doing his best to look as if he was just arriving and was completely oblivious to what had gone on. Vendice, with Garrick involuntarily in tow, followed close behind, attempting to do the very same, more or less. As they all expected, one of the guards noticed them and signaled that they should stop, then began to approach. He regarded the trio with scouring eyes, trying to determine if they were suspicious or not; Montaron felt like cursing again when Vendice hurried to let go of Garrick and smiled innocently while her 'prisoner' rubbed his aching arm.

The Flaming Fist mercenary apparently deemed Montaron as the one in charge of their small group, because he turned to the halfling and gave him a more intense and attentive gaze than he did the others. "Do you happen to know anything about what has occurred here?" he asked, pointing over his shoulder, back to the crime scene.

"Of course he does," Vendice replied gleefully, before Montaron could even blink. "He's the one that killed her, after all!"

Elminster rolled a sigh down into his beard, as the words from the semi-distant scene taking place in front of the Red Sheaf were carried over to him by the spell he had used to enhance his hearing. He had hoped the young one, Gorion's ward, would not begin by causing so much trouble; but hope was often the last resort of people who knew the exact opposite would happen.

Picking up his staff, the aged spellcaster adjusted a pair of glasses on his nose, then lightly slammed the weapon's lower end against the ground, muttering something. His next move was to point it at the wooden barn nearby, with the effects manifesting themselves almost immediately. Red flames sprang to life in just an instant, rising from the structure's base and licking their way upwards along the walls, casting a mass of light over the garden that surrounded it. An orange glow engulfed a portion of sky above, causing the stars to pale in comparison.

Satisfied, the mage nodded to himself, then turned away and began to walk toward the group he had been listening to for quite a while. A couple more guards had advanced on Vendice and her two companions, apparently with the intent of questioning a bit more and asking for each other's opinion before they did anything. Elminster cleared his throat when he was close enough.

"Good evening, my good men," he said, tugging at his hat to adjust its position on his head. "I regret having to take thy precious time, but would you be kind enough to look that way?" He pointed one of his gnarled fingers in the direction he had just arrived from, continuing to look calm, as if nothing was happening. "I'm afraid it is quite beyond an old man like me to help in there."

The guards looked alarmed and didn't mind him much, too busy with signaling to their companions and showing them the light that poured over the top of a house. They had little doubt regarding what it was, though all of them failed to either notice or wonder why the mist was just as thick in there as anywhere else. One by one, the Flaming Fist men and local guards alike forgot what they were doing before and fled toward the scene of the burning barn. One of them remained, to make sure Vendice and her companions didn't leave.

"Indulge an old man," Elminster addressed that remaining soldier. "What has happened here?" He looked surprised when his eyes fell upon Silke's dead body.

"This halfling here and his accomplices murdered this woman," the Flaming Fist mercenary solemnly replied, keeping his official posture. "They have admitted as much."

"Well," Vendice found it fit to interject. "I also said that she attacked first. What were my friends to do – just let her kill me?"

"We have yet to clarify that," the soldier replied, stubbornly holding on to his ideas.

"Excuse me, good Sir," Elminster said blandly. "I am a mage of no small repute myself; and I can tell you that this woman cast an offensive spell before she died."

"That is most interesting, Sir," the guard replied, sighing profusely. He eyed Vendice and her group and frowned, spending a few moments in a highly undecided state of mind; finally, he nodded. "You may go, if the old man will remain to testify in your favor."

"I will," Elminster nodded his agreement.

Vendice looked at him, and the old mage saw all the questions in her eyes, but there was no way they could find any answer with the Flaming Fist mercenary still standing there. Reluctantly, the half-elven girl turned to depart, glaring at Garrick and muttering something about how he was allowed to do whatever he wished, that she believed him.

The old mage smiled, though no one noticed that; he approved. "Fine imagery, wouldn't you say?" he asked the soldier, who gave him an odd look. But indeed, the mage was very proud of the illusion he had created.

By the time Vendice reached the door to her room, key in hand, she was sour and weary and had begun to feel awfully filthy again; besides, now 'lonesome' had come to complete the list of her current attributes. Jaheira hadn't allowed her to share Imoen's room, on account of the possibility that she could disturb the young rogue's rest and healing process. At least her friend – her sister – was going to be all right.

With that thought, Vendice began to unlock the door... only to find that the key would not even budge inside the lock. Puzzled, she tried the other way, only to hear an odd noise coming from inside her room; she had apparently just locked the door and startled someone inside in the process, causing them to hit something and tumble to the floor.

"Who in the nine the hells are you?" she hissed through the door, trying to do as little as possible in the way of being heard by everyone in the other rooms.

Silence.

"You can spend your night in there, if you don't answer me," she threatened, blood already beginning to boil in the veins of her generally impatient self.

"I'm a thief, okay?" came a gruff, muttered reply from the inside, on the spiteful tone of a man. "Who did you think it was? Yer momma?" Obviously, the idiot didn't like being trapped in there and caught in the act, but at least he had enough sense to know there was no way out. Of course, he could jump out the window, but the guards that still roamed around the Inn were very likely to notice him.

Psst, the voice drew Vendice's attention, sounding highly conspiratorial. I have an idea; this could be interesting. Vendice listened to it carefully, then began to laugh, unable to hold back the urge to express so much amusement. She heard the thief mutter a few insults and curses addressed to her, but didn't mind that, for the sake of applying what the voice had suggested.

"I'll let you out," she spoke through the door. "If... you sing me a song."

Silence.

"Go on," urged the bard. "I'm not hearing anything."

"You're crazy, Miss," came the retort, spat out between the man's teeth.

"And you're stuck in there," she replied carelessly, shrugging. "All right, then, I'll go call a guard."

There was more silence coming from the room, so she began to pull away, quite disappointed; there was no way the guy was getting away with it if he didn't sing.

"Hum-hum, hummm, hum-hum," someone began, which caused her to stop and clutch her stomach as she burst out laughing in a way far beyond even the pretense of control.

"Stop, stop! That's enough!" she demanded, between a couple of giggling fits that strove to still emerge. I swear, the voice worded out the thought for her. I've never heard anyone who has less ear for music than this one. With that, Vendice had to fully agree.

"Come on, get out of there," she said, shaking her head and grinning from ear to ear as she unlocked the door and cracked it open. She pulled away from it, ready to defend herself if the thief wanted to attack her.

He didn't. He was an average man, tall and rather skinny and bony, draped in a hooded black cape, and he was quick on his way, once he had glared at her in the process of exiting. Still unable to wipe the amusement from her features, Vendice proceeded to enter her own room, and ran smack into Xzar, who stood staring at her with wide eyes and an oblivious smile.

"Did you like my singing?" he asked gleefully, sounding hopeful and excited.

"Uhh..." Vendice babbled, feeling the sudden need to slap her forehead. "Very much, Xzar, very much..."