Lysara waited, still as a statue, in the forest. Her only real friend was behind her while she had two cannonfodder henchmen on either side, just in case her prey decided to take a different route or go around the clearing instead of through it. She didn't even know how or why she knew that Gorion and his ward would come this way, only that they would.
It was one of her Father's gifts, she supposed. One had to be able to find their prey in order to murder them, after all.
"Why bother with the boy?" her friend asked, not for the first time. "He's nothing, just a library-raised little spoiled brat.
"I will bother with him because I want to kill him," Lysara answered calmly. How was it that she had been raised by that abusive bastard that had made her watch her mother's death… among the least of the things he'd done to her… while that boy got to grow up with actual love and a parent that kept their hands off of him? It infuriated her, it made her want to kill not only this pair, but her so-called father as well. Patience… patience… soon she would feed the bastard's soul to her dead father, when the time was right. "It is my father's work."
"Come away. Let's just get going to our next stop. We'll be late if we tarry much longer."
"Just a little longer," Lysara insisted. "Did you know that I can remember being in the Temple? I remember watching, helpless, as my mother started to carry me up those steps. If that man had been a few minutes later, I wouldn't be here now, and likely neither would his precious ward. Perhaps that suits you, my 'friend?'"
"You know I would do anything for you," her friend insisted.
"Then don't – touch – that – boy," she reiterated her earlier order. "He is mine. Quiet now…"
"…shelter soon," Gorion's voice, familiar since the meeting she'd attended earlier that night. Had she realized he was already with Tethtoryl, she would have refused the headmaster's summons. Weeks of avoiding letting the old man and the brat see her undone… at least either that encounter or her hounds had provoked him into flight. She didn't know and didn't care which. The old man paused about halfway through the clearing, the boy – if someone that large could be called a mere boy - a few paces behind him. Had he spotted her? How could a mere human have done so? "Prepare yourself, we are in an ambush."
"You're perceptive for an old man," Lysara said, keeping her voice low. Men liked it when she spoke softly, and they usually did as she wished when she made them like her, unless she was asking her 'father' to not do this or that to her. Casually sauntering out of the trees that she'd thought were concealing her mere moments ago, she stopped a half-dozen paces in front of him and presented herself in her shiny black, form-fitting armor. As much as she hated covering her face, she'd even consented to wearing a leather head wrap tonight, just in case the boy got away. "You know why I'm here: hand over your ward an no one will be hurt. Maybe I can even… do you a favor or two."
"You're a fool if you believe I would trust your benevolence," Gorion replied, shifting his staff in front of him and gesturing with his other hand. The boy, who was now withdrawing back the way they'd come, would have to wait until his foster-father had been dealt with. The mage might actually be able to hurt her, though he'd certainly waste a spell or two taking out her ogre henchmen first. That was why she'd brought them, after all. And her friend was supposed to have taken the shot and killed the man already. "Step aside and you and your lackeys will be unhurt."
"I'm sorry you feel that way, old man," Lysara apologized with just a hint of sarcasm and a gesture at her friend.
She heard the sound of a crossbow firing, and let out an annoyed growl as the bolt sailed through the air a foot above and a pace to the left of Gorion, arcing towards the boy instead of the old man. She didn't pay attention to what, if anything, the bolt hit, and instead drew, darting towards Gorion, who sent a bolt of lightning at one ogre, a sphere that she recognized as a sleep spell in her friend's direction, and an acid arrow at the second ogre before she'd even managed to cross half the space between them.
She made it another two steps before the magic started slamming into her. Her left bracer absorbed the first spell, a fireball, while her right nullified the icy prison that tried to form around her. Gorion wasn't only good, he was fast, she had to give him that much.
He was worthy prey.
The magical ring on her left hand glowed as she invoked its power, forming a shell around her that would repel most forms of lesser magic. Then he simply wasn't there between one step and the next as he finished another incantation, and no less than five spells hit her simultaneously. She spared only a moment to wonder how he'd done that before she realized her sphere had been overloaded, and only her amulet saved her from being disfigured by an acid arrow.
She spotted her prey, once again a dozen steps away, and didn't even bother trying to close the distance. She just drew her dagger and threw, following in its wake and charging after it. This made no sense. He was an old man; he shouldn't be this hard to kill. He deflected the thrown knife with his staff and threw a magic missile at her a moment later. Invoking her boots, she just took the hit on her armor – she had little in the way of defense against straight-out arcane attacks – and charged, far faster than normal.
That was the look she loved to see. His face turned from surprise to abject terror, and understanding that he was about to die. That look, in the last moments of a life, told an observant person what the man's true character was. Gorion was… a good man who loved his child. She didn't think she could have hated him more.
He parried her first strike, which was alright with her. It was a feint anyway. Her roundhouse kick, enhanced with the additional speed granted by her boots, caused the most delicious sound of cracking ribs, and the old man crumpled sideways. She straddled his chest, pinning his arms with her knees in an instant and pressed her dagger to his throat.
"Please…" he said softly. "Take my life, but spare my sun."
"How about… no," she replied with a sneer she knew he couldn't see. Dropping her sword, she grabbed a fistful of his hair and made sure he couldn't move his head. "I've only one question for you before you die, Gorion. Why did you save him and not me?"
"I would have saved all of your kin, if I could have," he told her, which only made her feel angry enough to end him quickly. "I'm so sorry."
"Sorry?" she screeched in his face before rearing back and stabbing her blade into his throat. "You're sorry? I only wish I had time to make you truly sorry for the fate you consigned me to."
Over and over again she thrust her blade into the already dead man's body before she pried herself up. She scanned the trees very, very carefully, and screamed again when she saw nothing, not even a residual heat-print.
She hated disappointment. And since she couldn't get to him, she just had to make sure that some kind-hearted priest couldn't undo the damage she'd just done. "I'll have your blood, you hear me?" she screamed out as she continued mutilating the corpse. "His fate will be pleasant compared to yours!"
Absolutely fuming, she sheathed her weapons and stalked over to where her 'friend' lay, fast asleep. She kicked that 'friend' in the side until they woke up and started moving before they could even fully rouse. Being late to her next appointment would throw off her whole timetable, and that would raise questions she really didn't want asked, let alone answered.
"This is but a fragment of the power you will hold," that disembodied voice intoned, "when you learn…"
[-]
It was the worst dream yet. Why had she dreamed that she was the one who killed Gorion? And what was that bit about a temple? She had no memories of her mother at all. Lysara awoke, not remembering where she was for a few moments, but refusing to let loose the scream that had built within her. She came bolt upright with a yelp, looking around and panting in terror at her surroundings. She was the first one awake for once, and made it to her feet, almost reaching for her swords before her mind kicked in.
Her father's gift… she remembered her nightmare-self thinking that, though details were slipping away from her, and good riddance. Still, there was something there, something that was worth looking at. And so she clung to the details, like trying to grab hold of tiny fish with her bare hands. Who had 'her friend' been? She tried to examine that first, but the person's voice, even their gender, let alone their face eluded her. All she knew was that they'd been approximately the same size.
The boy… she got a better impression of him, though he hadn't spoken, and she hadn't even gotten a good look at him, just his heat silhouette. He'd been huge, and why was that thing about a meeting tickling her mind…
"Are you alright?" Jaheira asked kindly.
Lysara gave a start, looking at the druid in surprise as she sat down next to her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You look as if you've seen the worst thing your mind could conceive," the druid told her in a comforting voice.
"I dreamt… I dreamt it was me," Lysara said quietly, looking down at the floor as she wrapped her arms around her knees and not bothering to dislodge Jaheira's hand.
"Dreamt what was you?" Jaheira pressed.
"That… I killed father," she whispered.
"Do not blame yourself, child," the druid counseled. "Gorion's death was not of your making."
"No, you don't understand. I didn't dream that I caused it, I dreamt that I did it. He was protecting a large man I couldn't see, and I killed him just because he was between…"
"You blame yourself, falsely, and your mind conjured a scenario that played upon your fear that you are truly to blame," Jaheira cut in. "Tell me of that night, every detail and leave nothing out. Begin when the sun set."
She did as requested, retelling of how Imoen had startled her in her room, and given her the pair of boots that even now sat at the foot of her cot. She got as far as knocking on Tethtoryl's door before she just froze, the flow of words stopping with just one whisper of, "Koveras."
"I beg your pardon?" Jaheira said, asking for clarification.
"Koveras. When I met with father that night, before he gave me these blades, he was with the headmaster of Candlekeep. But there was another man there, easily the biggest I've ever seen. Tethtoryl called him 'Koveras' and… I remember his eyes most of all, but that voice… It was him! He was the man in the armor!"
She was getting excited, her voice gaining in volume and pitch as she continued, and a couple of the soldier women stirred and looked at her through bleary eyes. She apologized and one woman just put her head back down.
"So you have a name for your enemy," Viconia's voice came from the exact opposite direction that Lysara had been looking. She whipped her head around, and caught the tail-end of Jaheira doing exactly the same. "This man that killed your father… this is the mistake you spoke to me of?"
The drow had touched a nerve. "My history is my own, drow," she retorted hotly.
"Perhaps a trade then?" the drow offered. "I will elaborate on my failure if you elaborate on your own."
Lysara chewed that over for a few moments, Jaheira oddly staying quiet as she studied the drow. "Another time, perhaps," she said after a few moments. "I have spoken of it more than I care to of late."
The drow shrugged indifferently, and went back to her reverie.
"We will discuss this further when we have more privacy," Jaheira told Lysara, before getting up and getting ready for the day.
[-]
Uneventful days passed before the small town of Nashkel finally came into view. Adjantis still either didn't notice, or was ignoring, Lysara's attempts to flirt with him, and grew progressively ruder in response to her persistence. Khalid and Jaheira were still being their usual, overprotective, standoffish selves, though the druid finally seemed to be relaxing a little. Lysara also found, much to her boredom, that the common men refused to compete with or wager against her again. In fact, the man who she'd drunk under the table outright avoided her entirely, always triggering a wave of pointing and laughing from his comrades.
She didn't make a single effort to try and mend a fence with the man, always remembering his insinuations when she saw him. Imoen usually had her nose glued to her book, and her spells were rapidly growing in power under the studies that she was conducting of it. The Thayvian mage had apparently had a vast supply of spell components on him, and Imoen took great delight in using many of them to increase her own skill; only on spells which caused no harm to anything, fortunately, and she never tried to polymorph anything.
But even Imoen needed a break every now and then, as much as she seemed to love studying magic. While they were still approaching the outskirts of Nashkel she was rifling through the dead Thavian's scroll case – she'd already produced a number of wonderfully useful items from the bag of holding - and just froze. "Lysara, Jaheira, Adjantis!" she called out, "C'mere you guys. Now'ish would be good!"
Lysara brought her horse up close, alongside where Imoen was perched excitedly on the very edge of the seat she was occupying as she haphazardly stuffed everything back approximately where it was supposed to be, except for one folded cloth she had pulled from the case. "What's up?" she asked.
"Just a sec," she replied, gathering her things and dropping down to the ground. "C'mon, I really don't think I should go shouting this."
Lysara dismounted and was soon joined by their curious companions.
"What is it?" Jaheira asked grumpily, as she always did when she had been unsuccessful in trying to get something – usually her reason for coming with them – out of Viconia. She was echoed shortly thereafter by Adjantis.
"Look, portal magic – what I understand of it anyway – requires that a mage knows both where he is and where he's going intimately," Imoen informed them, pausing to brush a lock of her hair from her face.
"What of it?" the Paladin asked testily.
"So, by intimately I mean he has to know where he is, what his destination looks like, and…" she trailed off as she produced a map of the Southern Sword Coast with several large X marks, all in the deep wilds and each of them numbered.
"And where is it," Lysara finished with a whisper.
"So… we know where they are?" Adjantis asked.
"If we can get the right number out of one of the prisoners, assuming they even knew what the number was," Imoen agreed.
"They may not, but we've been leaning on them for their camp's location," Adjantis replied. "They'll know the general area. There are twelve locations marked on that map, and ten prisoners. If we just 'mention' one of those locations to them, or even in front of them, their reaction might tell us if it's the right location or not."
"Then what? Send an army to the next location on the list?" Lysara asked.
"The Grand Dukes would be very interested in dispatching the lot of them. Even Lord Nasher of my home city of Neverwinter has an interest in keeping this trade route open. An army might very well be possible."
Lysara took the map from Imoen, who made no move to stop her, folded it again, and handed it to Adjantis. "Our part in that section of the troubles is over… for now, at any rate. If we're seen to have come all this way only to turn aside, it will raise suspicion, and the task still needs looking into anyway. We have to continue to the mines now that we've come this far. The job of rousing this army against the bandit camp then falls to you, Sir Ilvastarr."
"Do you not wish my sword arm to aid you in the mine?" he asked. Maybe her imagination was playing with her but she thought he sounded truly concerned.
"You have the Order's influence behind you, and the Dukes will listen to you because of it. Besides, one can't always have what they wish for," she replied, acutely aware of him making her blush again.
"Yes, I am very much aware of that," he replied. "Forgive me, Madame. I fear I have treated you ill. May I speak to you alone a moment?"
"Of… of course," she answered, gesturing for the others to move off and waited for them to do so. "Yes?"
"I fear that I've somehow given you the wrong impression, milady. Make no mistake, you are a… an amazing woman… anyone who has watched you practicing with bow or blades or spellwork would be hard-pressed in that alone to contradict me. And then there's your sheer beauty…"
"Thank you," she replied, unable to contain a smile and a small giggle.
"However, I don't believe my wife would appreciate matters as you… appear to believe they stand," he finished as he took a step backwards, away from her.
She felt like she'd been punched stupid. Or maybe that she'd been being dumb from the start. Of course he'd have to be married already. A full knight, handsome and so impressive; she would – in fact she'd tried to – snatch him up in a heartbeat. She tried to tell herself that she couldn't blame his nameless, faceless woman for having beaten her to it.
She couldn't bring herself listen to herself this time.
"Oh," she said, her smile dropping off her face as she avoided his eyes. "I think that perhaps… I've been acting a touch foolishly. I… I thank you for your honesty."
He touched her chin, prompting her to look up at him. "I truly am sorry. I was attempting to put you off by being boorish to you when I should have been honest from the start…"
"If you'll excuse me, I believe my party is ready to depart," she said suddenly, trying to suppress a sudden flash of anger as she turned and strode off. And she felt even grumpier when he didn't even try to ask her to stop. She leapt up on her horse lightly and heeled her into motion without waiting.
Imoen, apparently foreseeing Lysara's outburst, caught up to her first. "Dumped you, huh?" she asked as she drew alongside.
"Worse. Married."
"Ouch."
"To be f-fair, I don't believe he f-flirted or e-encouraged you e-even once," Khalid spoke up as he caught up to them.
He just un-caught-up to them when he saw the looks on their faces as they glared at him, allowing his stallion to fall back. Why didn't men ever understand?
Before she could say another word, however, Viconia spoke. Lysara had actually forgotten that the Drow would be tailing them for a time. "I do not understand," she said. "You find this male pleasing, yet you hesitate to take the pleasure you wish from him. Why?"
Lysara slowed her horse to a walk, twisting in the saddle to consider to dark-skinned woman. "Does the word 'monogamy' have no place in your culture?" she asked.
"I have heard this word since coming to the surface, but I do not understand it," the drow answered.
"Drow consider males to be more like pets than companions," Jaheira supplied, "petted, played with, and replaced."
"I see," Lysara said. "So Viconia, supposing you were 'back home' and everything was as it had been in your life… if you 'found a male pleasing' and another woman 'took the pleasure she wished' from him, how would you react?"
She visibly bristled. "That would depend upon our relative statuses," she answered. She certainly didn't sound like she was indifferent to it, as Lysara had half-anticipated. "If she was of lesser status than I, there are a number of appropriate thanks I could level upon her. If her status was greater, I would have to be more creative, and more subtle."
"But you wouldn't like it," Lysara pressed. "Would you?"
"No," the drow admitted. "I find it strange though. I had always been told that males ruled the surface. Your words make it sound as if it is women who are truly feared, as it should be."
"Men like to think they're in charge," Imoen put in.
"We let them think that," Lysara added with a snicker, twisting to make sure that Khalid wasn't in earshot. That got a small little smirk out of Jaheira and a look out of the drow that was half appraising and more than half approving. "Well, most of us do most of the time, anyway."
"Ah, so the matron tugs the webs from the shadows, instead of out in the light for anyone to target her," the drow commented.
Lysara rubbed her nose before answering. "In our culture… how do I put this… we commit to a single person for the whole of our lives. And if that love, that commitment, or the trust that goes with it is betrayed, well then you need to step lightly and get out of our way."
"That is putting it simplistically," Jaheira put in with a glare at the drow. "But essentially correct."
Viconia made a dismissive sound. "Trust is for the foolish, and the dead," she replied as if by rote.
"Really? So if I said that I trust you to do what you think is best for you, would I be foolish?" Lysara asked.
"That's to be expected," the woman answered. "I am drow. You surfacers can cling to 'trust' and 'love' if you wish. They are weak, the weakest of all emotions."
For some reason Lysara found herself wanting to help this woman see a different way, if not a better way. "It must be hard, living a life always looking over your shoulder," she offered as they passed into the town proper, passing a stable, complete with a yokel ogling them. "Never able to relax for fear that someone will plant a dagger in your back…"
"Easy lives breed easy prey. Life in the Underdark is hard, yes. But we are stronger for it. I am stronger for it."
"So strong that you have to attach yourself to random travellers just to survive?" Lysara pointed out. "If you, a drow whom I presume has at least a century's experience, fought me, a twenty'ish year old surface elf, who do you think would win?"
"You have power with your god, and skill with your blades. But there are many, many things you do not know of, dalhar. Oh, one day you will have the power and the skills needed to challenge me. But that is not this day," the drow replied. "Let me see if I can put this in terms you can appreciate… you know how to swing your god's power around, but your handling is clumsy. You don't yet know how to parry or block, let alone riposte. Who is it that has been teaching you your spells, anyway? You claim that you awakened to your deity but recently, but I have seen you cast a modest variety of spells as you practice."
"No one teaches me my spells," Lysara answered. "They just pop into my mind." That made the drow do a double take, and Lysara pressed. "What?"
"Not a priestess at all then," the drow said quietly. "You seem to have been chosen by your god instead. That… alters the situation substantially."
"And does it change your opinion of my earlier question?"
"Favored souls are a rarity in the lands of my birth…" She trailed off and looked sulky as Lysara turned to her again. "I do not wish to converse any further," she said after a few moments' quiet scrutiny.
"That's a yes," Imoen whispered to her. "I think that she gets a few of your points, and just doesn't wanna admit it."
"Speak when your opinion is asked for, surface mouse!" Viconia snapped.
"Yeesh, lighten up," Imoen replied with a flippant grin and a roll of her eyes.
"Stay close to us," Lysara whispered to Viconia to change the subject. "There's no telling how the common folk will react to… you. But we will protect you if we can."
"Perhaps you should worry more for them, instead," the drow replied with clipped, haughty tones before muttering something in her native tongue.
"We came here to meet the mayor of Nashkel, a man by the name of Berrun Ghastkill. He will have all the local information we need," Jaheira supplied when Viconia had deliberately dropped back behind the group. The drow was looking at Lysara in a most speculative manner, a light of understanding in her eye when she twisted to look at her.
"Well, I don't know where he is. Lead on," Lysara replied. For some reason that made the older woman look grumpy again, but she did as Lysara bade.
For the most part, Lysara just followed, smiling and chatting nonsense with Imoen, well aware of the drow behind her, feeling the older elf's studious gaze on her back. And she ignored that quiet study completely. It would take effort, penetrating a lifetime of indoctrination, but she thought she could see a raw gem beneath the oily black surface. She just wouldn't be able to tell if it was a diamond or obsidian or something in between until she could sift past the murk that was blocking her from seeing it clearly.
"Ah, there he is," Jaheira said after a little while of wandering and asking if anyone knew where the man was. She was pointing at a tall, heavyset man in the latter half of his middle years. He had tanned skin, and thinning – nearly bald – hair with nearly more grey than brown left in it, and sharp blue eyes. But Lys could tell by the way he moved that he wasn't one to be underestimated. He was standing in the lane speaking to red-robed wizard that Lysara couldn't discern more about than the fact that he was male. Everything else about him was shrouded.
When the mayor spotted their party, he made a dismissive gesture to the red-clad mage and stepped around him. Lysara had been just about to look away from him when he turned, following the mayor with his eyes. And then she saw his tattoos.
Another Thayvian.
"Jaheira," Lysara said in a cautionary voice.
"I see him. Give no reaction that you would not to another of the Red Scourge, and do not mention his… associate."
"Well it's about time you showed up," the Mayor said to Jaheira when he got in range. "I was starting to think you weren't coming."
"We are always where we say we will be, though regrettably we are not always on time. Pressing personal matters came up on our way here," the druid replied.
The man eyed each of them in turn, frowning when Viconia turned away from him enough to hide her face beneath her hood. "Motley stragglers you've picked up, eh? Two greenhorn girls what look so wet behind the ears they may've just got out the bath, and one what won't show her face?"
"They are friends of ours, and much more capable than they look," Jaheira answered. "Lysara Vantress, Imoen Catari, and Viconia… uh…" She introduced each of them in turn, hesitating when she didn't know the drow's family name.
"De'Vir," Viconia supplied.
"It's nice to meet you, sir," Imoen said followed almost immediately by Lysara. Viconia gave no such nod to pleasantries.
"Right," the mayor replied skeptically. "So what've we got here… a sun elf warrior, a half-sun-elf druid, a wood elf, a human girl, and a drow, eh? Sounds like the opening of a bad joke."
Lysara privately thought the man was right.
"If our choice of companions does not suit your approval, we could always focus on another endeavor elsewhere," the half-elf replied. "Or we can look into and potentially solve your major problem here. Which do you choose?"
"I meant no offense," the mayor replied. "Come with me, if you please. Right now I'll take any help I can get, experienced or no. Just so you know, I don't care what race any of you hail from. If you can help, I'll sing all of your praises."
"If you wish, you can wait at the inn, or come with us," Jaheira told Lysara, Imoen and Viconia as they dismounted.
"While a hot bath and a hotter meal sounds absolutely divine, I think I'll pass for the time being," Lysara replied.
"I think I'll go replenish our supplies and whatnot," Imoen volunteered. "I'll meet you guys at the inn after."
"I believe I will attend this meeting as well," Viconia said, more to Lysara than to anyone else.
"Don't forget torches," Jaheira said to Imoen.
"What for? There was a ring of infravision in that bag, and the rest of you can see in the dark already," Imoen replied with her usual grin.
"Oh. Never mind then."
[-]
They followed the mayor through the town and into a small building with a well-tended garden out front. The foyer - which they passed through hastily - was tastefully appointed and being dusted by a maid even then. The first door on the left led into an equally tasteful office that was, while less than opulent, still better than many merchants would have had. Moments after they passed through the door, while everyone was still getting settled, two maids appeared, one of which had been in the foyer, but both bearing refreshments without having been bidden that Lysara had detected.
"Thank you, that will be all," the mayor told them. They curtsied and left. "Now, to business…"
Lysara poured a glass of wine, and offered it to Viconia, who merely held out her hand in refusal. Shrugging, she drank it down. "I understand that there's some trouble in the mine," she said to Ghastkill. "Tainted ore coming up that no one can figure out… is that the extent of the problem?"
"I only wish it were," the man snorted. "We've missing men, as in they went in to dig and never came back out. If there was more'n one way into that mine, I might just say they'd run off. But there isn't, and their bodies are never found."
"I don't suppose you'd have a record of where those men were supposed to be when they disappeared, would you?"
"My foreman, out at the mine, would…" the man replied before turning to the druid. I thought I was dealing with you and your husband, Jaheira?"
"Lysara has not asked anything yet that I myself would not," Jaheira replied cautiously. "That said, has the situation changed any since we last corresponded?"
"Not much at all. We still can't find a blasted thing wrong with the ore or anything. Though we may have a new lead on whose doing it… miners are reporting 'little horned devils' – no, they won't be more descriptive than that - down in the lowermost reaches. They've only been seen twice what's been reported, but you never know. There's a few things odd what've been going on apart from that, though I can't see how they're related to the mine."
"What are they?" Lysara asked as she picked up a pastry. "I mean, it's worth hearing about. You'll never know what's connected and what's not if you never listen to it in the first place." She was just hoping he'd volunteer something about that Thayvian he'd been talking to when they first spotted him.
"Well, there's been an unusual number of kobolds on the loose in the local countryside of late. We almost had to cancel the fair after they burned down one of the local farms. And then there's the former guard captain. He went berserk and slaughtered his family and at least a tenth of the guard before he made it out of town. There's a fairly large reward out for… well, never mind him.
"Last week I get this weird pair in here. A man and a woman, but they're not a couple as far as I can tell. Big man, kept calling the woman a 'witch' and glaring at anyone that tried to offer her a handshake. The woman had a funny accent and asked if they could lay low for a while from a Red Scourge that was chasing them. You probably caught sight of him on your way in.
"Edwin is the Thayvian's name. But he's little more than a pest. Don't get me wrong, I'm scared witless of the man. He just won't let me alone about Minsc and… Day-something. Sorry, but I just can't pronounce her name."
"Be cautious of the man," Jaheira warned, producing a ring from her pouch and setting it on the desk. "Do you recognize this?"
"It's a signet ring," Ghastkill said, picking it up to examine it. "Don't recognize the crest though. Why?"
"We took it from the remains of another Red Wizard that was assisting in a bandit assault to the north…" Jaheira began.
"Bah, Edwin is so caught up in this 'witch' and her big-man that he's blind to everything else around him," Ghastkill replied dismissively, tossing the ring back on his desk. "This guy's only the second Thayvian I've heard of in the region, lifetime total. I very much doubt that Thay has anything to do with the troubles."
"Do not underestimate the intricacies of the Red Wizards' plotting," another woman's voice came from what appeared to be a solid bookshelf, making everyone jump. "They are akin to, if not exceeding these 'zhents' I have heard about since coming north."
The bookshelf vanished, revealing another door that was wide open. In it stood a woman who Lysara didn't get more than a glance at before a large man, almost as large as Koveras, stepped into view. He stooped a little to get through the door, giving her an excellent view of his bald head with a strip of blue painted on it. He was broad of shoulder and had a claymore strapped to his back.
"Stand and deliver," he declared in an accent that Lysara couldn't place, "that my hamster might have a better look at you." Right on cue, a cute little rodent – Lysara had always liked most rodents – appeared on the big man's shoulder with a loud set of squeaks that almost sounded like the critter was trying to talk.
"Calm yourself, Minsc," the woman said gently, stepping once more into view. She was dark of hair and skin and eye, and wore her hair in numerous tight braids that fell to the small of her back. And Lysara wouldn't have dared set foot out of doors in the 'dress' the woman was wearing. It's blue silk was low cut to begin with, but also had a tight bodice that pushed her cleavage up while emphasizing the curve of her hip, and a slit right side that bared nearly the whole of her shapely leg. She smiled at each of them. "Pray forgive our startling entrance, and my protector's… eccentricity; I am Dynaheir, from Rashaman. If you would allow it, I would have a closer look at that ring."
Jaheira started, but just held out the ring to her after a moment. The Rashemi witch did nothing other than look at it, not even taking it from her. "The man you took this from was no ally to House Oddesseron," she declared after a moment, "And thus he could not have been one of our pursuers."
"Can you say for certain if he was a mercenary or an agent here as part of an advanced force?" Lysara asked.
"I cannot," the woman answered. "But I can say with some certainty that this man I have never even laid eyes upon was an outcast. That ring is a brand which cannot be removed by its wearer so long as they live. Another Thayvian allying themselves with such an outcast is awarded one of their own. But I have diverted you from the topic at hand. You were saying?"
"Right, the iron," Ghastkill said, steering them back to the reason they'd come. "I don't know how much more I can tell you. I'll send word ahead that you're coming…"
"With your permission," Dynaheir addressed Lysara suddenly, "Minsc and I would join you as well."
Lysara blinked at that. "You would?" she asked. "Might I ask why?"
"My magic, and the skills of a Rashemi Berserker, could be of great use to you," the witch answered. "I have become acquainted with a few of the people here, and would not see them suffer more for whatever mad scheme is being conducted in the hereabouts. Besides, you seem a capable enough group. Capable enough, perhaps, that our skills combined could outmatch a Red Wizard should he come calling."
"What say you," Lysara asked the others, looking at Khalid, Viconia, and Jaheira in turn.
"I do not care," the drow replied quietly first. "Bring them or not, it makes no difference to me."
"A berserker c-could indeed be a p-powerful a-asset," Khalid put in. "What do you feel about the arrangement, Minsc?"
"I am but Dynaheir's protector," the large man replied, still glancing between each of them, but flitting most often in Viconia's direction. "I go where she goes, and shield her from harm, with Boo's help." He paused as the rodent moved closer to his ear, leaning towards the hamster. "Boo says we should go with you."
Lysara tried to take it with a grain of salt that the man appeared to be having conversations with his hamster. There were rangers with special familiars, after all. Perhaps this berserker was something akin to them?
Jaheira just glared at Lysara for some reason, probably irked that Dynaheir had asked her for permission instead of the druid. She parsed her lips and shrugged. "At the very least, Imoen would be delighted to have another mage in the group to give her tips," she said at last.
"I suppose that settles that then," Lysara said as she stood. "Will you be joining us at the inn?"
"We have our own lodgings well away from Oddesseron's eyes and ears," Dynaheir replied. "We will make our way to the mines on our own and await you there."
"Thank you for your hospitality, sir," Lysara addressed the mayor. "And I look forward to working with the two of you. New friends are always welcome in my book."
"That is a drow," Minsc said, his hand raising for his hilt over his shoulders. "Boo is sure of it. Stand back Dynaheir!"
"Hold!" Lysara barked, moving between the two of them. "If you have an issue with Viconia, you have one with me."
"Minsc, stand down," Dynaheir ordered again. "I trust this Lysara, and if she trusts the drow, so will I… until she proves the girl wrong in it." She took him by the arm and drew him back through the door that they'd come in through. "If you'll excuse us," she called back.
"I apologize for my behavior, Mayor Ghastkill," Lysara said to the mayor with a small bow. "I'll just show myself out."
"T'was the berserker who threaten your… companion. Your reaction was justifiable. Gods' speed."
"We move out at first light," Lysara said as soon as they were out the door, astounded that she still heard no objections. She was starting to feel more confident in making suggestions and – when necessary – giving orders. "Let's see what Imoen's gotten for us, and then I want that nice hot bath."
"Such a pity you won't be meeting up with your little friend," a woman said as she stepped into their path. "I don't give a rat's ass about the rest of you. Give us the elf, and there'll be no trouble. Fight, and you all die."
Clad as she was from head to toe in armor, it was difficult to tell anything about her apart from the fact that she was slightly taller than Lysara, and of too significant a build to be an elf. She already had a Morningstar and shield at the ready, and in a fighting crouch as she blocked their path.
"We?" Lysara asked, peering to either side, and then behind. "There's only one of you."
She let out a disturbing chuckle. "Oh no, there's two of us. Fight, and that pretty little morsel you called Imoen will have a new air hole in her throat. My friend has a dagger to her neck as we speak."
Pure rage filled Lysara, and she did… something. She wasn't even sure what it was, but the bitch in front of her shrieked, even as she stopped moving, standing there still as a statue. Lysara walked up to the woman quite calmly and pulled the weapon out of her hand, tossing it aside.
"Listen now, and listen well. If you've harmed her in the slightest… where is she?" Lysara demanded.
"Dead," the girl replied.
Lysara wasn't even aware that her dagger was in hand until it pressed against her assailant's throat. Just a little more pressure… Jaheira had hold of her wrist, shaking her head silently.
Not silently. Lysara realized that the druid's lips were moving, but that some tone was blocking her from hearing her. Squeezing her eyes shut, Lysara backed off, shaking her head, and the sound gradually cleared.
"…thinking of?" Jaheira finished just as Lysara's hearing returned. "She just told you that she was bluffing!"
"She… did?" Lysara asked, still shaking her head and rubbing her brow. Her fingers came away wet from sweat. She dropped her knife and took a step back, and then another. "I… I couldn't hear anything."
"We will discuss it later, child," Jaheira replied, tying a length of rope around one of their attacker's wrists. "Khalid, take her other wrist. Lysara, release your spell. And you… If that girl is dead, I will take your head myself."
"I swear, I was bluffing. I don't even know who this 'Imoen' is," the woman sobbed.
Lysara wasn't surprised to find that her dagger had returned to its sheath once again. Disregarding the others, she sprang off, flat-out sprinting towards the inn.