Revelation
Lysara had dreams, the same as everyone who slept, though rarely. Perhaps that was odd for an elf, but after all she had been raised by humans, and slept, rather than meditating Reverie, as elves usually did. Oh she knew about the meditation, but no one had ever taught her how to slip in and out of it, so she didn't. The ninth night of her stay at the Friendly Arm, the only dream she could remember was vivid indeed.
Here she was again, reliving in her mind's eye the tragic time that had forced her to flee Candlekeep. As soon as Winthrop was out of sight, Lysara crept up the steps to the second floor. After quickly checking three of the doors, she found what she was looking for: a contentedly snoring Lord Romsy. She crept into his room, making no sound a sleeping human would ever perceive – yet something was different here than it was in her memory, though she couldn't put her finger on what – and looked around. Aside from the inn's minimal accommodations, the only thing that may have belonged to Romsy was a wooden chest with a tough looking lock on it. It was an odd feeling that she couldn't identify. Dread would have been the closest approximation she could name. And something was missing…
No question about it, Imoen was the better lock-pick. It took Lysara almost a minute to spring the lock, all the while casting nervous glances between Romsy's prone form and the cracked-open door. She sifted through an assortment of clothing, cloaks, shoes and boots – being very careful to leave them approximately where she found them – and a few weapons. Those certainly hadn't been in Romsey's chest when she'd robbed him, and she nearly gagged when she saw the red fluid coating that one dagger. That should have sent her screaming from the room, but it didn't. At last she came to the 'something interesting' that she remembered: a jewelry box.
After a brief inspection for traps, she got the box open. By now she was running out of time; Winthrop would be coming back from the cellar any moment. She started to pick out three pieces of jewelry; a gold necklace and ring, and another ring that glowed with a faint magical aura, and two gems, a star sapphire and a pearl. None had any kind of distinctive symbol on them, or were easily identifiable in any real way. But she noticed something unnerving and terrifying. As she picked up these items to stow them, all the jewels turned into solid black spheres that reflected no light, like gaps in reality leading into the void.
At that exact second, Lord Romsy sat up in bed, but it was not the Aton Romsy who she had loathed so. This Romsy had clearly been dead for some time. His rotting face turned in her direction and she forced herself to suppress a scream as he pulled another dagger from his chest, dripping with his own blood. His eyes, like the gems, were whole black spheres that reflected no light, lacking whites; just as the raven had so many years ago. Dropping the valuables, she fled out the room and down the stairs. Just as before, Winthrop came out of the storeroom bearing a bottle, though sooner than he should have. This time, however, he looked as dead as Romsy. His skin was a pale gray, with patches of it simply missing or hanging loose. A dagger line lay open under his chin, blood soaking down the front of the portly man's tunic, and his eyes too were exactly like the raven's.
She knew it couldn't be real. This couldn't be the truth. Her friends in Candlekeep couldn't be dead! The undeath surrounding her was as horrific for the people it had struck as it was for the simple fact that she was being surrounded by undead.
Winthrop broke the bottle against the doorjamb he had just walked through, sending more blood flying as the glass shattered and made to stab her with the broken end. She fled through the door, truly terrified at these inexplicable specters. She ran, following the same path she had that fateful night, toward the stables. This time, though, she heard the voices as she left the inn. Both were male, and in conversation.
"You're sure about this, Barl?" said the first voice.
"You saw the wench earlier. This is easy money, twenty-five gold and a little bit of fun for each of us and all we haveta do – there she goes."
Neither spoke again, but one stepped to block her path. So relieved was she that they were not undead, but real, living men, that she nearly forgot what they were about. She let him draw his knife first, then shot her sword out of its scabbard, disarming him on the first strike. Then came the click-twang of a crossbow being fired, which she ducked. The bolt missed her and hit her would-be assassin directly in the heart. She kept on running, knowing her adversary would have no time to reload and fire again before she was around the corner and likely in sight of a Watcher. She just hoped that they didn't turn out to be walking dead either.
Then she was in the stables for no reason she could determine, which were quite deserted, except for a raven sitting on one of the horse gates. It was the raven. The same one she had seen on the keep walls so long ago. The raven had eyes of purest black, without whites; they were just solid obsidian orbs. No, not obsidian… Obsidian reflected light and had streaks of color running through it. These were flat and dull, as the others' had been, the archetype for their eyes. Then she was spinning and landing unceremoniously on her backside, coming face to face with her worst nightmare.
All light beyond the stables was gone, except for a small spec of light that might have been coming from the keep itself. From this darkness strode the armored fiend who had slain her father. Instantly a fury unlike any she had ever known gripped her, and, drawing her weapons, charged the fiend.
Imoen was there between the two of them, her outstretched hand turning aside all the weapons involved. "Now is not the time to fight it," she told Lysara, completely ignoring the fiend's attempts to get past her. "He is too strong now, and you… are not ready. The only way to win is to deny it battle."
"Out of my way!" the fiend bellowed at Imoen, tickling Lysara's memory.
Lysara backed off, looking for a way to flee, and finding the door that led into the guard warrens. Forcing herself to calmness, she reached for it, Imoen still standing between her and her would-be killer. She'd just managed to exit the keep by the guardhouse exit when she heard a harsh, malevolet voice ring out from everywhere and nowhere at once. "You will learn," it said. It sounded familiar somehow. It wasn't the fiend's voice that spoke though… but something much… much worse.
[-]Lysara jerked awake with a piercing scream of terror an hour before the sun rose. Jaheria was on her feet instantly, and even Imoen was shaken awake by the sound. She was still trying to catch her breath and get her bearings when Khalid flung the door open from outside, stepping in and looking around to see what the problem was. For an instant her terror-wrapped mind superimposed the Fiend's image over his still-there armor. Did the man sleep in the stuff? Her scream must have carried as well, because quite a few of the Inn's guards were practically on his heels.
"What goes on here?" the captain demanded as Imoen was still trying to calm Lysara down, Jaheria was yelling about how childish she was being, and then the guards started pointing weapons at Khalid. Being the only man, armored at that, in a room full of women in their bedclothes did tend to breed suspicion.
"N-nightmare," Lysara stuttered, trying to explain and diffuse the situation before Jaheria could grab one of those guard's weapons and skewer him with it for directing it at her husband. "For that you woke up the whole bloody inn?" the nondescript captain said disgustedly. "You're sure it wasn't something to do with this…"
"I suggest you do not finish that sentence, Captain," Jaheria said with barely suppressed fury, "lest I think that you are accusing my husband of being a scoundrel."
It was sorted out in short order, with many apologies on all sides. Jaheria rounded on the two of them as soon the others were gone and the door was closed. Khalid was leaning on it outside, making sure that they wouldn't be disturbed any time soon.
"I hadn't taken you for a screamer," Jaheria said with a surprising lack of wrath.
"I didn't even know you had dreams, Lys," Imoen put in softly. "Elves aren't supposed to and all. Mine haven't been all that nice lately, but nothing like what that must have been."
She took a moment before answering. "I don't… often… scream, or dream like that. And no, I don't want to talk about it. I'd rather not even think about it." She shuddered at the memory, already slipping away from her like water down the river. What was it that had tickled her memory at the end? She couldn't recall it anymore.
After a moment, Jaheria nodded. "As you will. I hope you at least managed some restful sleep. I am not much skilled in healing, and what Sylvanus allows me is draining on my body as well as yours. Let us see your wound."
"Didn't you already heal me?" Lysara asked, puzzled.
"I am not a priestess, child. The powers I employ do not simply mend wounds. By Sylvanus' grace, she allows me to draw on my own strength, as well as those I am tending, to accelerate the body's own ability to mend itself. The faster I accelerate it in one burst, the more likely things will go badly for the both of us."
After a quick examination, Jaheria cast another healing spell on Lysara's wound, a tingling not unlike the numbing poison spreading through the whole of the limb for a moment before fading. She gave the shoulder an experimental rotation, feeling only mild discomfort, and nodded gratefully, reaching for her daily wear.
"Take it easy for today. Eat an extra portion at breakfast and try not to overexert. Your muscles have finished healing, but they need to solidify their connections before you will be able to fight at full effectiveness."
"I've been taking it easy for most of the last tenday," Lysara objected.
"Getting restless?" Jaheria asked as she smirked. "Get dressed. I'm sure it wouldn't hurt to run some laps. Just keep a low profile."
She dressed conservatively in plain breeches and a high-necked blouse with long sleeves, finishing by stomping into the boots that Imoen had given her. Looking in the mirror, she just looked… common, if uncommonly pretty. She'd never thought of herself as anything overly special where her looks were concerned, even if Gorion and Imoen both said they'd looked out for her because they both thought she was beautiful. She bit her lip as she walked out of the room, leaving Imoen with her nose glued to the pages of Elminster's tome.
"Tell me, child," she heard Jaheria say to Imoen as she was leaving. She couldn't help it; she paused just outside the door to listen. "Is she behaving… normally? For her, I mean."
Imoen's voice, muffled by the wood sounded almost absent-minded. "If you want to know about Lysara, ask Lysara."
"Child, Imoen. Her behavior troubles me-"
"You're not her mother, nor mine. I've never talked about her behind her back before, except to praise her charms to a boy she was interested in, and I don't intend to start now."
"You and she are very close, aren't you?"
"She's my sister."
Lysara wished she could have seen the look on Jaheria's face in that stunned silence. But after a few seconds, she started to move away, giving a start when she saw Khalid watching her from the stairwell railing.
"We really do have the… best intentions for you and Im… her," the quiet man said. "Gor-" Looking at the stairs over his shoulder, he corrected himself. "Your father was a dearer friend to us than you know, though not as dear to us as Imoen obviously is to you. Tell, me… is she truly the care-free spirit that Gorion wrote of? She seemed rather serious last eve."
Shrugging, Lysara set foot on the top stair before pausing to answer. "If you want to know about Imoen, ask Imoen," she said softly. Predictably, Khalid moved to follow her. She didn't ask, he would have most likely just denied it, or said he was doing it because there was a pair of zhents somewhere in the Inn, but she knew he was shadowing her, if not the real why of it. She heard all the metal about him rattling as he climbed down behind her.
"You're my bodyguard for the day?" she asked without looking back at him. She heard him nearly stumble and swear under his breath, and added another point in her mind for who had the brains in that relationship.
"Jaheria and I… well, we know someone's-"
"Quiet," Lysara hissed as a couple of lollygagging servants came into view near the foot of the stairs. Jaheria should give her husband a lesson or two on 'keeping a low profile.' "I'm going for a run. The healer said it wouldn't aggravate my illness at this point."
Talk of illness usually sent rumors flying, and made anyone who didn't have to be near you scatter when they saw you coming; which is why she said it to him when she knew there were servants nearby, all the while turned towards him as if she hadn't seen them. It was a ploy that she herself had fallen for once. As it was, the two they were passing jumped as if she'd flashed a dagger, and retreated to the far end of the hall.
They made their way down to the common room, Lysara ordering her usual breakfast: a bowl of oatmeal with a cup of strong tea. Khalid didn't have anything. He just watched her, and the common room while she ate.
"Oh, hello again, pretty little woman," the stuttering voice of Xzar said from behind her. Khalid almost jumped out of his chair, but the madman ignored him.
"Pretty now, am I?" she asked, turning to him. Oddly, he looked to be almost well groomed, and clean.
"Of course," he said quickly. "Surely men have commented on your obvious beauty and charm before now, haven't they?"
Lysara gestured behind her back at Khalid, trying to get him to be patient. If she'd had any lingering doubts into the mage's sanity, they were dispelled when he started trying to charm her.
"Not often, no," she replied, faking a blush and pretending to try and hide her face. She was curious what he wanted, and figured that feeding him what he expected to see was the best way to get him to admit it.
"Oh, that is a pity. I shall have to remedy that then, oh elven lady fair, of the chestnut hair…"
Khalid snorted behind her. If that was the extent of his woman-wooing abilities, Lysara certainly saw why he thought members her sex was nothing but trouble. Then again, he was insane. Maybe he'd already forgotten having said that.
"They tell me you've taken ill, oh what a shame. Monty and I are heading to Nashkel tomorrow. Perhaps you'd care to accompany us?"
"I don't think so," she said flat-out.
"Oh, but you'd be such a valuable travelling companion!" he declared, eyes darting around again. "And Monty and I would keep you entertained every step of the way."
"Xzar… what do you want?" she asked flat-out.
"Want? Why nothing…"
"Ok, that's enough," Khalid said, standing up and moving between them.
"Who asked you, over-armored idiot?" Xzar demanded. "Can't you see the lady and I are having a private chat?"
"I'm not interested in anything you have to say, Xzar. Leave me alone, and that goes for Montaron as well since I know he's somewhere near here."
"Oh, so you're not interested in who your real parents a-" the mage began, but suddenly Montaron was there next to him, driving his fist into Xzar's side even as Khalid was stepping towards him.
That had her attention. "What did you do that for? I wasn't going to tell her, just entice her!" the mage protested.
"I've seen an eight-year-old do a better job of enticing women than you," the Halfling spat. Lysara used the distraction to slip away, Khalid following her and the pair seemingly oblivious to their departure as they continued to argue.
"What was that about my parents?" she asked, "My real parents?"
"Likely just nonsense to entice you into coming with them," Khalid answered. "Never trust their ilk, Lysara. It's obvious they're interested in you in some fashion, but it's just as clear that you won't like it when you discover why. That's what they do."
He watched her, and the exercise grounds while she warmed up, refusing to say a word when she asked him a question. He watched her, running a pace behind while she ran. How in the world he managed to equal her speed while encumbered by full plate mail was beyond her. But she had to stop long before she normally would have, and long before he did. She was getting out of shape from all this 'recovery.'
The barracks practice ring, where guests met with wooden swords under the guards' watchful eye was her next stop. "You're sure this is wise?" Khalid asked as she started in that direction. The man should have been seriously annoying her, but she just didn't care. "Jaheria said that you needed to take it easy for a day or two yet."
"That's I'm only going to do a short workout with wooden weapons. Well, that and they have my blades locked away in some cabinet."
Without waiting for, or listening to, his continued protests, she picked up a solid oak replica of a standard short sword, and a foot-long stick meant to represent a dagger. Here she really was slow and careful; paying a great deal of attention to her left shoulder, but otherwise emptying her thoughts. Each stroke that brought neither pain, nor nausea emboldened her, and soon she was dancing the blades as Jarl had taught her.
Her fighting discipline was divided into three broad categories: Movement, Form, and Dance. The forms that she worked each day were simple groups of movements, for exercise purposes, or to be used in specific situations. She thought that Jarl had taught all of them to her, but one of his favorite sayings had been 'there's always something more to learn.' Another was 'take it, and make it yours.' She had no idea what he meant by that one.
Her Dances were far more complex and adaptive, and she had only mastered one of the nine to her mentor's satisfaction, though she was familiar with them all. Rationally, she didn't think it wise to reveal her best moves before a set of slack-jawed strangers – every guard in the barracks, and guest out for exercise had eyes on her as she practiced – but the restlessness Jaheria had so accurately accused her of having had very little to do with rationality.
Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, her body had its limits in its current state. After working several Forms, she tried the First Dance. But apparently the stress on her shoulder was too great just yet. A sharp spike of pain in her left arm made her stop after the third step in her Dance with a cry as she dropped the faux weapon. She suddenly realized that she was sweating, and profusely. A glance at the sun's position told her that she'd been exercising for nearly three hours. It was past time to go back in and find some other use for her pent-up energy. Maybe she could try to pry a few answers out of Jaheria.
"This by you is light exercise?" Khalid asked as he fell in step with her. She was trying to mop sweat out of her face with her handkerchief until one of the guards tossed her a clean towel. She smiled gratefully at him, and for some reason the oaf blushed. Just to be on the safe side, she handed that towel to a maid to be laundered instead of giving it back. Even Candlekeep had had its share of perverts. "I'd hate to see what you'd consider to be a real workout."
Lysara shrugged, carefully as they moved back inside. "I haven't had the chance to really work out in almost a month," she replied, exaggerating the time for the benefit of anyone who might be listening. "How do you move so nimbly in…" she trailed off as she poked him, and then poked him again. Her finger passed through his armor and she felt fabric and hard muscle beneath. "What the…"
"A few of years ago, a neophyte sorcerer put a glamor on me. It makes me look and sound as if I'm wearing full plate and chain no matter what I'm wearing or not," Khalid explained as they took to the stairs. "Even the most skilled mage that we're acquainted with can't stop it from reappearing even if it's dispelled."
She held her tongue, not asking the obvious questions and filing them away for later. There were too many ears about to be discussing Harper matters, if he was willing to answer at all.
"Feeling better?" Jaheria asked when they got back to their room. She was doing something with a leather jerkin. But she had her back to Lysara so she couldn't quite see what.
"Worlds better," she said mechanically. Khalid had once again taken position outside the door and Imoen didn't appear to have moved beyond pulling her legs up to prop that book of magic up where she could read it better. Lysara looked in her pack, hunting for a new blouse but found it empty.
"I had your clothes taken to be laundered. Most of them were filthy," Jaheria informed her absently. "They'll be back within the hour." Picking up a garment out of her own bag, she tossed it over to Lysara. "We look to be of a size. Borrow one of mine if you wish."
It was clean wool, of somewhat better quality than she was used to wearing. But she changed into it gratefully. She hated sitting in her own sweat. Although Jaheria's blouse was a bit loose across the chest and an inch longer in the arm, it fit her well enough. "Here," Jaheria added, presenting Lysara with the jerkin she'd been working on. "For your protection."
"So when do we leave?" Lysara asked as she slipped into the leather and started lacing it up to try it on. "I don't think settling down in one spot for long is a good idea until I've at least figured out who is trying to kill me."
"Plan to guard your tongue, child," Jaheria replied worriedly, glancing about as though she expected spies to be hiding behind the drapes. Imoen closed her book and directed a level stare at the druid. "Settling down is out of the question. Khalid and I came to see to this iron shortage, and you agreed to assist us in that endeavor. Or did you have other ideas, child?"
"Oh you know, pick up a handsome knight here at the Inn, get married, have kids, wait for someone to show up and butcher me," she told the druid sarcastically. "What about the people who are trying to kill me?"
"We don't have any leads in that direction," Jaheria said carefully, ignoring the jibe. "As we look into this we'll also be – discreetly – trying to find information on your assailants. Of course, it would be helpful if you would describe them."
Lysara shook her head. "It… it was dark," she said quietly, going on to describe what she could remember of the fiend. As an afterthought, she added in the figure that had been no bigger than herself. But she hadn't even seen if that figure was man or woman. Hells, it could have been an illithid for all that she'd seen.
Jaheria sat quietly after she was finished, but Imoen spoke. "Well, how many men can be out there who're that big?" she asked. "His size alone would make him kind of distinctive."
"Magic can be employed to reduce or enlarge a person's size. His real appearance may be very different," Jaheria pointed out.
"He was shrugging off father's magic. I don't think you can be picky when you're shielding yourself from the arcane," Lysara said. "But I know one way or the other that I'd recognize his voice if I ever heard it again. I just wish I could either shake this feeling that I'd heard it before that encounter, or figure out where and when."
A knock interrupted their conversation, not that any of the three women were saying much after Lysara's last statement. "Enter," all three of them said together, making Imoen giggle. Jaheria even cracked a small smile. It was Khalid, followed by a round faced, and round-bellied woman carrying Lysara's neatly-folded laundry. She set it down and left without a word, never taking eyes off of Lysara. It made her skin crawl and her ears tingle.
Khalid and Jaheria noticed, and so did Imoen. After poking his head out the door and closing it, he turned to the group. "Tomorrow may be too late," he said. "At least two people have walked by six times since I've been standing out there."
Jaheria nodded, her face serious. "They know you're here," she said to Lysara. "They may even have dispatched a notice of your location to the enemy. If we were outside already I could mask your presence. But I fear that taking that course now would merely paint a target on your back. Fortunate then that you have that cloak."
"My cloak?" Lysara asked, mystified.
"You don't know? That is a ranger cloak, made in Myth Drannor before its fall unless I miss my guess. It blends into its environment, making it very difficult to see the person wearing it, though it won't blend into another person or an object. Once we're outside it will serve you well."
"Father didn't… have a chance to explain it to me," she replied softly.
"There is little time for talk. None, in truth. We need to find a way to sneak you down to the courtyard, and get out of here."
"I… I think I can help," Imoen said, and opened her book, studying the index for a moment before flipping to a page ahead of where she had been. "There are several spells of invisibility in here… I was studying one of them this morning."
"How did you get that past the customs guard?" Khalid asked, sounding puzzled.
"No idea. He looked at it and told me that history books were allowed through. Anyway, I need some glass dust, or very fine sand." Looking around for a moment, she picked up a glass and hurled it at the floor without hesitation, grinding her boot heel into the pile of glass that it made. "I'll apologize for this later."
"What must be done, can be done," Lysara said.
"One of Gorion's favorite sayings," Jaheria said with a nod. Imoen had ground some glass shards into a handful of powder that she started whispering over as Lysara hurriedly put her clothes back in her satchel. Even as she had pinned her cloak in place and drawn the hood, picking up her bag in the same motion, Imoen stood on the tips of her toes to sprinkle the dust on Lysara's head. It settled down without a fuss, clinging to her cloak. Imoen gasped, but Lysara could see no difference.
"Sorry! " she apologized, snapping the book shut and putting it in her own bag. "I'm new at this..."
"What?" Lysara asked.
"You still have a shadow," Jaheria observed, moving next to her. "Yet if you walk in someone else's, the overlap will still hide you. How long will that spell hold?"
"Umm, good question. The description says until she gets wet, tries to harm someone, or three hours. But if I bungled that too…"
"It will have to do, child," Jaheria cut in before turning to look at a point somewhere to Lysara's left. "Let us move quickly and hope for the best. Lysara, you will be shadowing Khalid. He is large enough that his shadow will eclipse your own. To all appearances, he will be going down in advance getting the horses ready so that we can depart quickly. Give him the token for your weapons. I'll go down with Imoen a few minutes later."
Khalid held out his hand, and, to everyone else's eyes, the requested token simply appeared in it. "Go, quickly now," Jaheria said. "The three of us cannot go down at once or it will draw eyes to this room."
Even though she knew she would make no noise, she was supposed to be shadowing the man. So Lysara timed her steps precisely with his, keeping her hands on his back to let him know that she was still there. One floor down they passed a large group of servants, mixed with two people wearing guard uniforms, and they all had daggers.
She steadied herself, trying to make her breathing even so as not to betray the act. What if she moved wrong… or they noticed the shadow cast from the sconce on the far side of the hall from where Khalid was walking? All she could do was clear her mind as she did during practice, and keep moving one step at the time.
She didn't think she'd ever been so relieved as when she crossed the threshold to the inn's exterior. At this hour the grounds were largely deserted. Khalid waited for the five horses they'd brought to be saddled, one of them with a lot of extra baggage, and the whole line of them led to the gate house.
It wasn't that she didn't trust Imoen. She did, with her life. But as Imoen herself had said, she was new at the spell-casting business. Leaning up to whisper in Khalid's ear once they were in the shadows of the portcullis, she said, "I'm going on. I'll hide along the road south of here."
Khalid nodded, patting one of the horse's flanks whispering, "Good girl." She hoped that meant he had heard her. But he gave no reaction when her touch slipped away from him. She ran, flitting from shadow to shadow and hoping that Imoen's spell hadn't already given out. Eventually she settled in a hollow beneath a hill, deep in shadows to hide her own and with her cloak pulled tightly around her in case the spell had faded and sincerely wishing she had a weapon.
As if on cue, a weight settled around her hips, and she was astonished to find her sword belt resting there, complete with blades. Magical weapons that returned to the sheath they were linked to were not unheard of, but they were very rare. This was the first time she'd heard of a belt returning to its owner's hips.
The road was completely silent for a long while. The sun was starting to sink down on the western horizon when she heard something. Hooves beat at the earth, up on the hill behind her, galloping hooves. She flattened herself in the small hollow, trying to make herself as small as possible and wrapping her cloak all the more tightly around her.
She recognized one of the toughs from the bridge the other day, and grimly loosened her blade in its sheath before settling down to be as still as she knew how.
"I still say there's no way she could've gotten past us at the bridge," one of the men complained. "Damned elf probably bled out in the woods."
"Rim says he spotted her running around the inn," another one, obviously the leader, said. "The elf he saw was 'taken ill' and favored her left shoulder, andmatched the description. The note also said that she wasn't alone. Another girl was with her what matched the description o' that harlot."
"That's what you get for thinking with your nads," one of the two women put in. "Pretty face and a nice bottom and you'll follow it anywhere."
"Don't be jealous because you ain't got either," the other woman snickered.
"Enough chatter." The leader snapped. "Set up positions. She might have found more help at the inn. If you see either of those girls, assume the other one's nearby. And for Cyric's sake shut up. They're worth a lot more to the boss alive."
He just stayed right in the middle of the road, with three of his group going to one side, the other three to the second. One of the women had pulled a crossbow off her back and set up right in front of Lysara, the other woman and one of the men going up the hill, both with their own crossbows ready. They were obviously used to pulling ambushes. Lysara didn't know what was holding up her friends, but she hoped it took a little longer.
She had seven opponents… that she knew of. She didn't like the odds, but better that she was facing it then putting Imoen in danger. But she did so hate killing, even if she knew there was no way out of this without bloodshed. Out came her dagger, and she started to steel herself for what she had to do.
A wolf howled, and then another. Not so far off as it had sounded the last time she'd heard the sound, but close. It sounded very, very close. Before she could move, something large and hairy with four paws bounded down, jaws wrapping around the woman's throat as it bore her screaming to the ground. Two more screams from up above confirmed the deaths of the other two. The leader stared in disbelieve, pulling his crossbow and taking aim at the wolf that had just torn the woman's throat out.
Across the road, a bear with bloody jaws appeared, and the toughs' leader seemingly decided he'd seen enough. Or perhaps his horse simply panicked. It turned south and set off at a gallop with a cry of terror. The other horses bolted on cue, before a root somehow poked up through the paving stones, trying to wrap around rider-bearing horse's moving hooves. That one missed, but there were more where it came from, vines snaking up between the gaps in the stones snared the beast's legs, bringing it to a terrified halt and throwing the rider forward. Lysara winced as she watched him topple forward, his neck bending much too far back with a sickening crunch as his body went completely vertical before it fell back down, limp as a rag doll. The horse scrambled to its feet and bolted off after its companions.
Jaheria came into Lysara's view, calmly using a staff as a walking stick and completely ignoring the savage beasts that had just decimated their would-be assailants, even when a wolf came up to her. It didn't attack, it just stood there, sniffing at her shin with a wagging tail, before it turned and bolted away back the way it had come. The druid walked over to the toppled rider, poking his body with her staff and shaking her head when she looked down at his unmoving form.
"No answers from this one, unfortunately," she said before calling out. "Lysara? Are you near?"
She stayed still until she saw Khalid and Imoen riding down the road. They didn't appear to be in any hurry, but even from her vantage point, Imoen looked distinctly worried. "Lys?" she called. "C'mon, Lys. Please…"
Stepping carefully around the body and trying to keep her last meal down, she pulled her hood back, walking over to the mounted party. Imoen gave a squeal and dropped off her horse, rushing over to hug her friend in relief.
"Ah, there you are," Jaheria said calmly, still ignoring the carnage as she turned to face Lysara. "We would have been here hours ago save that they wouldn't allow anyone to leave. It seems your sword belt disappeared out of their storage locker and they insisted on searching the inn for it first." She eyed Lysara's belt, visible under her cloak, with a raised eyebrow.
"I swear I didn't take it," she said before she could think of anything else. "I just… I wished I had a weapon, and it appeared."
"Wishing for weapons, child?" Jaheria asked quietly.
"You would too if you were alone when you knew you were being hunted!" she protested.
"Tell me, girl. What do you think of what happened here?"
"I'm glad you came when you did. I didn't think I could have gotten myself out of this, especially without abandoning all of you to an ambush."
"Is that all?"
Sighing, she realized that the druid was trying to gauge her character, though the why of it escaped her. "It's horrible, alright? I'm having to concentrate on keeping my last meal in my stomach as we sit here speaking. Can we move on please?"
Jaheria stood there, staring at Lysara as though trying to figure out if she was sincere or not, before finally gesturing at a tawny mare with her bow strapped beneath the saddle. Imoen didn't budge.
"Do you think we like the sight of death? What kind of people are you, to think that about us?" she demanded with a quiet rage. "What kind of people do you think we are?"
"I don't know what kind of girls you are," Jaheria snapped back, bringing her staff somewhat in front of her. It was a subtle move, but she was now in a defensive posture. "That is the point in asking questions such as these, no?"
"You claim you wish to help us, to help me," Lysara said, her voice started out even and her volume low, but she grew louder and more hysterical, her gestures more animated as she continued. "And you have just spared me from bloodying my hands, most likely saving my life in the process, for which I thank you. But all this death - the fact that I made it necessary - is on my conscience, a stain on my soul, regardless of who gave the order, or who did the killing. Do you think I like living with that? I hate the sight of blood! I hate it! And it is ten times worse that I am to blame."
"Mount up, children," Jaheria ordered, though there was sorrow in her voice and she seemed to have relaxed a little. At least she no longer held her staff as if she expected to need it. "And Lysara… forgive me, please."
"Perhaps if you reveal why you don't trust me, I would," she said as she swung her leg over her saddle. Without awaiting a reply, she set her horse off south at a walk. Khalid and Jaheria lagged back on their horses with the packhorse, talking quietly. Imoen kept her mouth shut, and Lysara strained to hear.
"… should tell her…" Jaheria's voice drifted forward.
"…secret for a reason…"
"She seemed sincere, maybe she… handle it."
"… you react to hear…"
"It isn't our secret to keep."
"It's not ours to share, either."
Lysara had intentionally let her horse start to slow, deliberately trying to overhear their conversation, but they seemed to notice that her attention wasn't on the road and Jaheria just glared at her until she heeled her mare into a trot to catch up with Imoen.
"Any eavesdropping spells in that book of yours?" she asked quietly.
"No. At least, none that I've found," Imoen whispered back. "I don't trust 'em either, but nothing much I can do about it at the moment. Chased you off when you got in earshot?"
"Better them than that pair of nut jobs. There's something about them that I find myself liking, like they remind me of father… I think they really did know him. I think they really do have our best interests at heart."
"Weren't listening, were you? Jaheria was very careful when she said she had the 'best intentions for you.' It's not the same thing at all, Lys." She glanced over her shoulder to check that the other pair were talking again. "They're acting like they're trying to decide whether you're a rabid dog or not. And I think they'll kill you without a second thought if they decide the wrong way."
"I thought I was growing jaded…" Lysara muttered.
"Oh, stop being like that. You know I'm scared out of my mind for you. Anyway, I don't trust them much."
"If they wanted me dead, they've had plenty of chances already."
"Like I said, they seem to be trying to decide if they should," Imoen said, keeping an eye behind them out of the corner of her eye. "They know something, I can smell it."
"Apparently they're-"
"Comfy?" Jaheria asked as she brought her horse even with theirs. Imoen jumped and yelped. Lysara just blinked. She hadn't noticed the druid closing the distance with them. "Night will be upon us soon. We've had a later start than we should have. Follow."
She turned her horse off the road, and they had little choice but to follow after her, down a trail that neither of them would have noticed if it hadn't been pointed out. She led them through a lot of twists and turns, through progressively deeper brush until there was no chance whatsoever of finding their way back to the road, and then through yet more of the same until they emerged in a small copse of trees. Only then did she call a halt.
"We will be safe here for the night. Only those who are one with the wilds can find their way to one of these secret places. I doubt you will find your way here again without a druid, or perhaps a ranger to guide you."
They settled down, without a fire, and Khalid passed out parcels from one of the bags on the pack horse. It was just bread, cheese, and salted meat that they ate before passing around the water skin.
"I apologize for earlier," Jaheria said, addressing both of the younger women. "There are… some things, which have been kept from you, Lysara. At least, I presume they have."
"Jaheria, my love, I thought we settled this," Khalid interrupted.
"Not quite, my Khalid," she replied gently. "It is something she needs to know. You cannot win a battle that you do not even know you are fighting." She turned back to Lysara, her expression grave in the dim light. "Did Gorion… ever speak of your parentage?"
"I know that my mother's name was Alianna… and that she's dead. I know father blamed himself for her death, but not the why. He… he talked in his sleep some times," Lysara answered. "I know nothing at all about my birth-father beyond the fact that he's dead as well. Why do you ask?"
"You… are not an only child. Your father… has a great many of them, each that we know of by a different woman," Jaheria went on, seemingly indecisive. "For those of us that know, we must always be careful.
"Many of your brothers and sisters… revel in death; especially when they are the ones who cause it. It is a trait inherited from your father. You see, you are a Child of Bhaal, the dead god of Murder who foresaw his end…"
She trailed off at the look on Lysara's face. Numbly, Lysara recited the same prophecy that Romsey had been puzzling over. Imoen just looked thunderstruck.
"Imoen was correct, you see," Jaheria put in when she was finished. "We were deciding what sort of person you were. But you seem to be above your tainted blood-"
"I have to die," she said suddenly, and darkly.
Imoen slapped her, and didn't hold back either. It hurt. "Don't you ever dare say that again! Don't even think it!" she all but screamed in her best friend's face. "There's no way in the hells I'm going to let you die, Lys. There's gotta be a way around this."
"'Chaos shall be sewn in their passage,'" Lysara quotes again. "I don't want to cause chaos. I don't want to hurt anyone. But… Father… those two men who attacked me in Candlekeep… those people on the road. I'm causing death just by living!"
"Imoen is correct, child," Jaheria said, resting a comforting hand on her forearm. "While there is life, there is still hope."
"You're going to kill me," Lysara said to Jaheria. It was all too easy to ignore Khalid's presence.
"No, child. We are not," she replied. "In fact, we are going to do our best to protect you from death or serious harm."
"Why?"
"Because… you are a good person," the druid answered. "And because you are Gorion's daughter. He sacrificed his life for you, child. I would not see that sacrifice be in vain. I regret our thoughts earlier."
Rubbing her eyes, and her cheek, Lysara realized that Imoen once again had a protective arm around her. "What about my mother? Do you know anything of her?"
"Little. I only laid eyes upon her once, and our encounter at the time was… less than civilized. Gorion did not much speak of her after her passing. I know that she was a wood elf, though I'm not sure from what region. In his last letter, Gorion did mention how much like her you look, and I have to agree. That is the extent of my knowledge.
"But I am curious about how much your elven lineage is showing now that you are away from walls and roads, deep in the wild forest. Are you a woman of the city, or of nature?"
She was trying to change the subject, and Lysara was more than content to accommodate the attempt. "After Imoen saved me… I felt something I didn't recognize. And… I just couldn't help but sing."
"Sing?" Jaheria asked, sounding surprised.
"Lys is a very musical person," Imoen put in, apparently as determined to move away from the morose topic of a few sentences past as the rest of them were. Her voice was still cracking slightly, but otherwise steady. "Well, don't look at me like that. You are! You're always singing to yourself when you're working, or when you think no one can hear you at it. And that night in the forest… I've never heard anything so beautiful."
Jaheria actually smiled. It was a real, happy smile, mixed with relief. "You are strongly connected to nature, child; far more so than I would expect of one raised behind walls. We will discuss more upon the morrow." Sighing, she laid out their bedrolls for them. "Rest well, ladies. Know that we will watch, and protect you. You have my word."
Lysara didn't take to her bedroll, though. Instead she sat leaning against a tree and tried to look at the sky through the tangle of branches, seeing only patches of empty blackness through the few holes in the canopy. So she closed her eyes, and listened, and breathed. Letting her nose and ears sense the forest for her. She tasted the air, cleaner than in the keep, or the inn, if somewhat closer than on the road.
Every sound came through clearly: from the night birds' chirping, their feathers rustling, to the scratching of rodents' paws. A whoosh from somewhere nearby as a bird took flight, and she heard the soft thump of a paw as a large cat prowled nearby. Yet none of it caused her the slightest concern. It simply was. Perhaps they thought her to be asleep, because she heard Jaheria gasp as she sang once more. Just as before, she didn't have any idea where the words came from, or what they meant, only that they were words; put to a tune that she knew she didn't know. The only thing that she knew about it was that it wasn't the same song as before. When she opened her eyes again, Jaheria was watching her, but Imoen and Khalid were both fast asleep.
"You keep your tempo with the forest's heartbeat," the druid observed. "Tomorrow, we will discuss what you sang."
"Go to sleep," Lysara bade her. "I'll take the watch."
The druid hesitated, then nodded. Without another word, she curled up against her husband, resting her head on his chest and going to sleep in short order. Apparently he really was wearing armor now because her face was still visible when she did this.
Once again, Lysara was wide awake, left to the solitude of the wild and her thoughts. Tonight, she dwelled on herself. The child of an evil god, her life would doubtlessly be marked by that taint. Was it possible that she could overcome it? Could she be a person that Gorion would have approved of, a person that she herself would like? Was there a man out there who could love her as a woman despite her accursed lineage?
What of friends? She didn't doubt that Imoen would stay by her side until she sent her away or one of them died. But who would want to be near someone like her? These questions caused a weariness far greater than sleep could cure to seep into her.
And then, there was the simple fact that she didn't have a clue how to be an elf, what it truly meant to be elven. All these things and more weighed heavily on her mind as she sought to sort through her own thoughts.
Just short of the moon's zenith, she realized that she was crying.