Next week's update might be late...half term coming up!

...

Finn slept hard that night. When he woke his mind was clear for one blissful moment, but then the blood came flowing back. He tried to force the images away, but neither they nor the bright morning could be denied. He sat up and drew open the curtain, surprised to see Imoen dressed and sitting at the table.

"Good morning," she said, making an attempt at cheer.

"Morning," he replied, rubbing his stiff neck.

"You slept like a rock last night," she remarked. "You didn't even shift when I went out this morning."

"Why, where did you go?"

"Just out to the markets. Do you want some breakfast? I've got loads of food here!"

She stirred up a pot of boiled wheat that had been sitting over the embers. There were dates and cream, and a slab of good bacon that smelled remarkable as it sizzled in the pan. There was ale, too, the good stuff from The Green Man pub. Faced with all that his appetite came roaring back. It was a breakfast fit for a king, and Finn devoured it all.

"Where'd you get the coin for this?" he said after another mouthful. "Jaheira didn't give you all that much last night."

"Oh, that Ione gave me some coin yesterday," she replied, turning her back to him.

"Coin for what?"

"Just…coin. A little advance, that's all. Enough to fill up the cupboard a bit, at least!"

Her cheerful manner didn't fool him, though.

"Imoen… What did she say to you? Does she want you to do something?"

"No, no. Don't worry about it. It's nothing, really. No daggers involved!"

"Imoen, I'm serious here. Stay away from that woman," Finn said, setting down his knife. "She's trouble. Jaheira thinks that…"

"Jaheira thinks?" she interrupted. "What, you didn't tell her, did you?"

She looked at him in surprise, her face grown white with genuine shock.

"Tell her, she bloody knew everything already!" he exclaimed. "She knew about your little snatch. And she knew about…yesterday, too."

"So what…what are they going to do?" Imoen stammered.

"I don't know," Finn said quietly. "They said they'd help. Jaheira took your…you know. Said she'd deal with it. But you need to stay away from that woman, all right?"

"Oh, it's good to hear that now!" the girl cried, jumping up from her chair.

"Why, what did you do?"

"Do? Never mind what I did, I'm going to die, that's what!" she cried again. "She's going to kill me! She'll kill me dead, and that's it!"

"That woman isn't going to touch you," Finn said. "I'll kill her myself before…"

"Not her!" Imoen said dismissively. "No, it's… What is that?"

...

For as she spoke a red fog was seeping under the door. Imoen screamed and retreated into the corner, but the mist seemed to be directing itself straight towards her. Finn could only stare, frozen in surprise. The mist flowed around Imoen before dissipating, leaving a bright red mark on the palms of her hands.

The next moment the door burst open. A woman stood there, tall and terrible in her purple mage robe. She pointed a finger straight at the frightened girl.

"You!" Dynaheir exclaimed. "You are the thief! Deny it not, Imoen…my spell has tracked you like a hound!"

"Get her away from me!" Imoen shrieked.

"Dynaheir?" Finn cried, trying to make some sense of what was going on. "What in the blazes? All right, everyone settle down!"

"I shall not settle down," the mage cried in return. "Dost thou know of the penalty for stealing from the Wychlaran? Death, by disintegration!"

"Nobody's disintegrating anybody!" Finn said, placing himself between the cowering girl and the incensed mage. "Now does someone want to tell me what this is all about?"

"This fool of a child has stolen my book!" Dynaheir exclaimed.

"Book…what…you don't mean that book?"

"Yes, that book! Now return it to me, before I summon the justice of the ghosts of Rashemen!"

She raised her hands and they became cloaked in magical energy. Imoen squealed and ducked into another corner.

"Stop, stop!" Finn cried again. He didn't think that Dynaheir would really hurt Imoen, but by the look on her face he didn't want to find out. "Imoen, just give her back the book!"

"I don't have it!" she said.

"Do not lie!" Dynaheir demanded.

"I'm not lying! Alright, I took it, okay? I'm sorry. But I don't have it anymore. I didn't think there would be any harm. Not like it's really worth anything…"

"Not worth anything?" Finn interrupted. "Only near to a hundred gold! I should know, I bought it myself."

"Oh," Imoen said. "Dynaheir…I'm so sorry."

"Apologies mean little to me, child," the mage replied. "Not without the book in thy hands. Where is it? Hast thou sold it?"

"I'd like to know that myself," Finn said.

He grunted and sat back down at the table. Dynaheir cancelled her spell and no longer seemed on the verge of turning Imoen to dust, though her eyes were still glowing with incensed rage. The girl slowly emerged from her corner.

"I didn't sell it… Not really. I'm sure we can get it back. I didn't know, I really didn't know it was worth anything! She just said she wanted to borrow it, that's all…"

"Who? Oh, don't tell me!" Finn said.

"Yeah. Sorry," Imoen replied.

"Then you both seem to know the name of this person, though I am none the wiser," Dynaheir said.

"You want to explain, Imoen?" he said, rubbing his head.

"Right, well… There's just this lady. She said there was this book Dynaheir had that she really needed to read, but Dynaheir wouldn't let the book out of her sight. She knew we were friends, I guess, how I don't know, but… She just wanted to borrow it, that's all. She said that Dynaheir wouldn't even know it was gone. So I slipped in last night, though that little window at the top of the stairs. I meant to bring it back, I did! But…"

"And this woman's name?" Dynaheir demanded. "The one for whom you decided to break the trust of friendship?"

"Ione Valesa. She's an elf."

Dynaheir's eyes narrowed again. Finn thought she recognised the name, but the mage stayed silent.

"I am so so sorry," Imoen pleaded again. "I didn't really want to do it. But I just… I mean, we…"

"I think what she means is we've been having some trouble here," Finn said. "Things are a bit…hectic. But we'll get your book back, I swear it. Just give us a bit of time. Please."

Dynaheir folded her arms into her long sleeves. She hadn't even worn a cloak; the cold clearly was of no concern to her.

"So you plan on speaking with this woman?" she asked.

"Yes, of course."

The mage looked at the wall and scowled.

"No," she said, unexpectedly. "Do not go seeking this book."

"I don't understand," Imoen said. "You don't want it anymore?"

"So you're just going to let her keep it?" Finn said too. "You spent a fortune on it!"

"The gold is not important," the mage replied. "And I trust you will not be sneaking through windows again, Imoen?"

"Don't worry. I won't," she said earnestly. "I'm so sorry, again…"

"That is enough," Dynaheir said, raising her hand. "Thy are forgiven. Now I must bid you both fair morning. I left my master alone in the shop, and he can scarce climb the ladder to fetch a book. Good day."

She whirled around and swiftly departed, another guest in a rush. After she went Imoen let out a long breath.

"By the gods! I'm glad that's over. I feel awful, I do. I suppose you're going to lecture me now?"

"No," Finn said grimly. "I'm going out."

Imoen didn't ask where he was going. Finn wasn't sure himself. He just needed air in his lungs.

...

He walked the streets blindly, not really seeing where he was going. There were too many if's and maybe's. The past year had been nothing but a series of endless games of blind man's bluff, and he was fed up with it. He was going to get answers. Today.

He turned around and made for Ione Valesa's house. He banged hard with the knocker, but in spite of his insistence the door never opened. The place was still shut up tight. Finn banged again and growled in frustration. He considered breaking a window, but thought the better of it. With his current issues raising the ire of the law was the last thing he needed. So instead he turned his attention to Dynaheir.

He wanted to know what was so important about that book. Why in all the hells would Ione Valesa have Imoen steal it? It wasn't the gold, surely. Maybe she just wanted to see how far she could push them. By getting his sister into more trouble she'd stand a better chance of manipulating him. Assuming that was what she wanted, at least. None of it made any sense.

The mage was alone in her shop as usual. Dynaheir glanced up, startled as he forcefully opened the door.

"Ah, Finn," she began.

"I'm here about the book," he said, not bothering to say hello.

"You have found it?" she asked.

"No. I want to know why Ione Valesa was so desperate to get her hands on it. And why you wanted it enough to pay a hundred gold for it in the first place."

Dynaheir looked surprised by his blunt questioning. She rose up from the table where she had been reading and stepped forward, but kept her eyes on the floor.

"It is a rare volume…"

"And it's gone a bit rarer these days," he interrupted.

"By courtesy of thy Imoen," Dynaheir flashed back.

"I'm sorry about that. But I don't think she did it on a whim, and she sure didn't take it for her own reading. This Valesa woman directed her to do it. But why?"

"Surely, she is the one you must ask," the mage replied. "It is I who have been wronged, not thee. Yet you come to my shop and make demands like an officer of the law? I will not tolerate this."

Her dark eyes were lit like fire; a queen taken offence to a churlish peasant. But Finn could sense a nervousness in her manner just the same. She knew more than she was telling, he was sure of it.

"You know who she is, don't you? You were ready to fry Imoen alive over stealing that book, but the moment you heard her name you ran for the door. I need to know, Dynaheir. It's important."

"Thy questioning is tiresome," she said, flinging a stray lock back over her shoulder. "But there is some truth in what thy say. I do know her name, though we have not met. She is a collector of sorts, with an interest in rare tomes. That is all."

"But that still doesn't explain why you let it drop so fast," Finn remarked.

"No. But in truth, I had already learned all I needed from that tome. My rage had less to do with the loss of the book itself, than it was so easily taken from me. I have let down my guard, and I shall not allow it to happen again."

Finn looked at her hands. There was some sort of silver ink traced over her palms, elaborate designs worked into runes he didn't recognise. They shimmered like water as she spoke. Dynaheir followed his gaze, and quickly hid her hands in the folds of her robe.

"Now, I have nought more to say to thee. I bid thee to leave this place."

"Alright," Finn said slowly. "But something is still fishy here, and we aren't on the docks. I'm sorry, Dynaheir."

Why he was apologising, he didn't really know. The mage drew in a deep breath.

"I say again, do not go seeking this book. Good day."

Her earlier advice repeated, Dynaheir showed him the door. As he left the shop Finn heard the sound of the bolt sliding across the frame. He stiffened and made his way down the slushy, snow-covered street.

...

Dynaheir's admonition weighed on his mind. If he hadn't held this book in his hands he might have been convinced it was truly some journal of profane magical power, not a worm-eaten old travel diary. But there was something in there both those women wanted. And seeing as Finn wasn't likely to get an answer out of either one of them, he decided to go back to the one place where he might stand a chance.

"Oh, I see you have returned," the bookseller said, clearly surprised at Finn's entrance. "Is there another tome I can help you with today?"

"No…" Finn replied. "But I wonder if maybe we could have a chat? It's about the book."

"Well, I am expecting Lady Devaine any moment…but I could spare some time. There is not a problem, I hope?"

"It's hard to say," Finn replied. "Look, have you read this book?"

"Yes… Years ago. I have read all of Holkenar's works at some point. Why do you ask?"

"I…don't know," he stammered. "I just wanted to know… Is there anything odd about it? Something out of the ordinary. Why is it worth so much?"

"Do you not know? You purchased it," the man said with a little laugh. "You have not read it yet, I take it?"

"Um, no. Just tell me if there's anything strange about this book, if you can? Anything to make note of."

"Strange?" the bookseller remarked. "My good man, I am not certain of what you are asking. The book is valuable on account of its age and rarity, that much should be obvious. The Mists of Mir was one of Holkenar's lesser works, and copies are very rarely seen. But strange? I do not know…"

His assistant appeared to ask his opinion on some matter, and Finn waited impatiently while the two discussed a folio. It was pointless. How could he ask, if he didn't even know what he was asking for? He was wasting both their time. But the assistant departed and the man drew in a breath.

"Pardon the interruption," he said. "But since you have asked… There is one chapter which stood out in my mind. I had forgotten till you mentioned it. Holkenar was particularly fond of folk tales, and he related the story of a temple hidden within a deep swamp. A cursed temple, where wicked deeds were carried out. There was a story of two local children… Well, I remember I found it particularly disturbing, that tale. I'm not sure if that's what you are alluding to?"

"What…temple was it?" Finn heard himself say.

"You mean, what god was it dedicated to? Why, it was the Lord of Murder. Bhaal."

Finn didn't hear anything else. He felt a heat rising from somewhere within his stomach, and his heart began to pound.

"…I say, are you all right?" he heard the man speak. The voice was vague, like it was coming through the end of a tunnel. Finn jerked his head and the rush of blood faded, leaving him feeling cold.

"Aye," he somehow managed to say.

"That is good, you looked almost faint… Ah, Lady Devaine! A pleasure it is to see you, as always. I have the new bindings ready for your inspection…"

Finn made haste from the shop, nearly knocking over the well-dressed woman who had just entered. He ignored her indignant exclamation as he hurried out into the street. He burst into a run, not knowing where he was going, or why.

It wasn't a coincidence. It couldn't be. The book Dynaheir and the elven woman were both so keen on just happened to contain a mention of a temple devoted to Bhaal? Jaheira thought that Ione Valesa might know what he was…but did that mean Dynaheir did, too?

How could she? Finn himself had no idea of his heritage back when Minsc and Dynaheir were travelling with them; and of the few people who knew his secret he didn't think it too likely any of them would raise that particular nugget in conversation. Not even Imoen. Was it Imoen? The girl couldn't keep her gob shut for half a minute. But not even Imoen, surely.

...

Finn stopped running and crashed into an alley. He leaned against the brick wall of a house, breathing heavily. Sarevok's death was supposed to be the end of everything. He'd be free…no more hunters or assassins, no one stalking his every move. He and Anna could have the life they were meant to have…but it was all a dream.

There was no end to it. Not as long as he was still there. The cursed blood of Bhaal lived on, pumping through his veins and filling his mind with black thoughts, nightmare visions he couldn't escape. He sent his own wife away out of the fear of what he might do to her in the night…when he slipped, and lost control…he wanted to hold her face in his hands, not wake to find them wrapped around her bruised neck. Not again.

He was a Bhaalspawn, and there would never be any peace. He was never meant to have peace. It was no bad luck, no coincidence that death followed him everywhere he went. It was drawn to him…bad blood. It was thick as tar, black as the night, and it would never, ever let him go.

Finn choked, letting out a sob into the freezing air. A weight was crushing him, the weight of a hundred corpses pressing down onto him, driving him into the ground. But then, somehow, he thought of Gorion. The old man was forever telling him, always look to the hour's work to be done.

Life at Candlekeep had been so ordered. At every hour the temple bell rang, directing the monks to a new task. Work in the morning, work in the afternoon, work at night. That regimentation always drove him mad; the monks needed a bell to tell them when to wake and sleep, when to eat, they couldn't even sit on the chamber pot without a bell, or so it seemed.

Now though he could see the purpose. The whole was too much, but take a little at a time, and the job would be done. The only difference was that Finn wasn't waist-deep in tomes of knowledge. He was fighting for his continued existence. He was fighting against his existence. Each challenge needed to be met anew. He knew that, though in all the chaos he had forgotten.

Then take it one thing at a time. Dynaheir was a friend, or so he thought; by Ione Valesa wasn't. And when she came back, they would have words. She would tell him what he wanted to know.

Finn straightened up and hurried back to his lodgings. The clouds had broken a little over the course of the afternoon, allowing a winter sunset to reflect off the snow in shades of purple and blue. Imoen was gone now, but somehow he had an idea of where she was.

He went to the corner and tore open the loose floorboards. Sarevok's blade was still there, waiting for him. The blade took two hands for even him to wield, but it had a speed that belied its size. No coarse weapon was this; the detailing showed craftsmanship of the highest order, even if the swordsmith who forged it had a heart as black as the steel he hammered. The runes etched into the blade glowed faintly in red and gold, a curse, an incantation of death.

Finn seized the hilt and felt power rippling down his arm. He had no scabbard to hold Sarevok's blade; that had been buried with its master in the ancient temple where he fell. So instead he slid it into a simple leather sheath he strapped onto his back. He removed Khalid's old sword and leaned it against the table. It slid to the floor and Finn didn't bother to pick it up.

He stepped back out into the darkening air. He didn't feel the cold; his blood was flowing fast and his cloak seemed more like a hindrance than a comfort. He set off in a rush towards Ione Valesa's house, but soon slackened his pace.

There were footsteps behind him, a gait to match his own. They were light of foot but he could hear them just the same. No one hailed him and no on approached, but Finn knew he was being followed.

He didn't turn around. There was more than one by the sound of it. Finn shut his eyes. Three. Three men were following him. He didn't ask himself how he could know that with such surety; he gave up asking that sort of question long ago. When his blood was hot strange things were bound to happen.

But tonight he didn't feel like denying his pursuers their target. There was a house up ahead, once a large building of brick, but left little more than a shell by the quake. He turned, and let himself in the front door as casually as if it had been his own home.

...

Finn stood in the shadows, waiting for whoever was to appear. He didn't have long to wait. Two men followed him in, their faces concealed by their hoods.

"Evening, lads," Finn said to them.

"Good evening," the foremost replied. "An odd place to stop. Have you a meeting here? Or just a call of nature, perhaps."

"Just thought I'd stop to take a breather," Finn answered.

"Then I do hope you enjoy your breath. It will soon be your last," the man said.

Finn saw the flash of a dagger as it emerged from under his cloak, but he didn't move.

"Just like that, then?" he said. "Hope it isn't my purse you're after. Not worth the cowhide it's made of, to be sure."

"This is not a robbery, though it will be made to look like one," the man assured him. "It is vengeance. Inconveniencing our organisation is rather bad for your health. I do not know the reason you killed Trevalan, but his death has put us in a bit of a spot. The cause is not so important here, as the effect."

"You figured that out? I shouldn't be surprised, half the world knows what I get up to. For whatever its worth, I didn't want to kill him. Truth be told, I'm not even sure of the reason I was there myself. Somebody sent me. I was just there to talk, nothing else," Finn told him.

"Spare me your excuses. We have been following you ever since you visited that elven woman's home. Our enquiries led to her door, and lo and behold, here you come, the fellow who matches the description of his killer perfectly."

"So you've come to finish me off, then," Finn said grimly. "Get your little revenge."

"You will be the first, but not the last. All in your organisation shall feel the cold of steel tonight!"

"What organisation?" Finn began, but the man wasn't in the mood for further explanation.

He raised a hand in some sort of signal. Finn had a sudden awareness of someone behind him. The third man had crept in through the back of the house, keeping well to the shadows. Finn whirled but it was too late, the man's dagger too fast. Finn groaned feeling the steel sink deep into his side.

No doubt it had been meant for his back, but it didn't matter; the pain was bad enough. Finn crashed into the man, knocking him off his feet. He pulled Sarevok's blade from its sheath and took a swing at him. His ribs screamed in pain at the movement but he brought the sword down with all his force. But the man rolled to safety just before the blade came down.

"On him!" the first man hissed. Finn stumbled back against the wall, his foot slipping in his own blood. One of the men had strung a bow; he needed to move before that lad turned him into a pincushion. He made a dive just before the bow twanged and the arrow sailed off into the darkness.

"Cor! He's a slippery one," the man with the bow exclaimed.

"Does it matter?" the first man replied, angry. "Kill him!"

Those men weren't stupid. They weren't about to go head-to-head with him armed with only daggers. They stepped back and spread out, well beyond the reach of his blade. Finn needed to get closer or he'd stand no chance. He lunged towards the man who'd stuck a knife in his side, but he scampered away over the rubble nimbly as a cat.

"Can't catch me, boyo!" he taunted.

His wasted effort gave the man with the bow his chance. Finn cried out again feeling the arrow pierce his shoulder. It missed his neck by inches; the only luck he was likely to have left. Now he could barely raise his sword.

"That's it, bleed him out," the first man said. "Vanek, hit him again!"

Finn threw his body backwards, and the bowman cursed as his arrow missed. He felt like screaming as his body hit the rubble, but he forced himself to his feet. He yanked the arrow loose, feeling its bite again as he tore it from his flesh. An animal's instinct had taken over now, and Finn lunged at the man nearest to him.

It was their leader. His hood had been pushed back and Finn saw his face for one moment. His hair was dark and his eyes were cold-looking, but the man was no pushover. He managed to parry Finn's brutal strike with his dagger, twisting and stepping aside lightly as a dancer. But the force of Finn's blow caught him off his footing, and he stumbled over a broken brick. Finn struck again and this time he didn't miss.

He could feel Sarevok's blade slashing through the man's flesh; he felt it, not just the sensation of steel slicing through skin and bone, but a power, a sense of the life-force itself. It reverberated up the sword and into his arm, rippling through his body like a tuning fork. And as it came Finn could feel his own injuries lessen. He gasped with the sensation even as the man crumbled to the ground in pain.

"Vanekstrike," he gurgled, but his command went unheeded. Finn struck again and finished the job.

Again that rush came. Finn straightened up and glared at the man with the bow. He could feel all his hatred pouring out of him, out into the air. The man's string was taught, aiming straight between the eyes. But his hands suddenly shook and the arrow flopped away helplessly into the shadows.

"By the gods! Run! Run!" he screamed, as if a demon had suddenly appeared before him. His surviving companion needed no encouragement, and the pair of them disappeared into the darkness like rats.

Finn's first urge was to chase them. He took a few steps then stumbled, throwing his entire body down into the snow. He breathed heavily, ragged and deep, trying hard to fight off the will that had taken over him. His body shook as he tried desperately to cage that beast, the one that had saved his life.

It wanted to hunt. Bloodmore bloodFinn thought of that sensation that flowed up his arm when the blade struck home and it was all he could do to keep off his feet. That damned bladethe curse. It was worse than a harlot's call to a desperate man. But he couldn't fight now. He needed to put it back.

Finn lay still, gasping into the snow, trying to collect himself. The cold settled around him as the fire in his blood began to melt. Shadow Thieves. It was the first rational thought that came into his brain. Jaheira said that man had worked for the Shadow Thieves. Who else could those men be who ambushed him tonight? But the man had said they were after his organisation. Finn didn't have an organisation. But in spite of everything, he did have friends. And if they were following him, they would have seen where he went that day.

With a cry Finn forced himself up off the ground, his feet running fast as they could towards Minsc and Dynaheir's place.