Chapter 3

Hand over your ward.

That sentence went through Darien's mind a great many times over the night. If it didn't make him so utterly sick to his stomach every time it did, it could almost be considered a suitable distraction to another fact that would shame and disturb him for far longer. The fact that he had spent the rest of that horrid night hiding. In a bush.

He wasn't sure how long he'd run, only that when he stopped it was because his legs could no longer reliably hold him, much less carry him; to the point where he could barely feel them. It would later occur to him that the arrow the woman buried into his shoulder may have been treated with something; a potion or some form of magic, it mattered not. It was easier to swallow than simple cowardice.

And that's what it was, wasn't it? Simple cowardice. He and his father had been confronted with a threat, and he had run.

Logic challenged this. There were four of the attackers, and only two of them. Gorion was a capable and experienced mage, and Darien had never done more than hold a sword for moments at a time. He had been injured, and Gorion had told him to run.

None of these things matter when your father is dead.

Not when his murderer stalks after you in the night.

Or that was the fear, the nagging in the back of his mind that kept him awake long after his body lost its power. But the armored nightmare never came. It was hours later, when the rain had almost stopped that he realized, almost academically, that there was an arrow in his arm that could probably stand to be removed. The grass was green, the sky was blue, and he had an arrow buried in his flesh.

Hand over your ward.

Unconsciousness didn't take Darien until he tried to break off the section of arrow that still protruded from his shoulder. He was successful, but at once pain shot through him, sharp, intense, and ultimately overwhelming.

---

It was midday when he awoke, though it was some time before he allowed himself to open his eyes and see it. He felt no brush around him, didn't feel the cold mud that had pooled around him through much of the night. In absence of these things, he was almost able to keep himself from noticing anything else about his situation and allow himself to believe he was still in his bed in Candlekeep, the nightmare of last night merely that.

Then he opened his eyes and found that he had been laid out in a grassy clearing, still outdoors. That his shoulder was bandaged, the remainder of the arrow removed, his clothes, well, still rather messy.

But before all this, he saw Imoen.

He yelped sharply as he first saw the young woman kneeling next to him, brow furrowed ponderously, an expression she quickly echoed as she recoiled backwards, landing on her backside and skittering back a few paces on dragging arms and kicking feet. "Don't do that!" she cried, more out of habit than anything.

"Imoe-OW!" Darien barked sharply as he tried to sit up, his shoulder offering a sudden and rather violent protest that had him grasping at the amateurishly bound wound. The affect this had was not much better, but ebbed away slowly. His attention was more focused on Imoen at the moment.

"What-"

"I was just-

"Why-"

"You were really-"

"How did-"

"STOP INTERRUPTING!"

The last was cried by both in unison, a realization that quieted them both, Imoen casting her gaze off to the side to inspect some imaginary distraction while Darien collected himself. "What are you doing out here?" Darien finally asked.

Imoen dragged one finger against the ground in a tight circle, frowning, "Uhh, well I- y'know- I've... never really been outta Candlekeep, and I guess I thought... hey, if old Imoen pops up in the middle of the wilderness a bazillion miles from home, they'd... uh, they'd have to take her with them, right? Can't go back home..." She sighed unhappily, not taking nearly as great a zeal in her schemes as Darien was used to seeing. "... then I found you here."

Darien just shook his head silently, putting one hand over his eyes briefly. "Unbelievable. How did you even know where we were heading? I didn't even know until we'd already left."

Imoen winced, "I guess I... sort of... accidentally... read a letter Gorion got a week or so back. Knew the general direction, so... went that way." She explained with a bit of an apologetic shrug.

Darien just gaped for a moment, repeating, in so many words, "I can not believe this. Of all the irresponsible, stone headed... little... tricks..." Darien trailed off, letting his typical exasperated rant float off into the air as the facts of his situation returned to him. "... Imoen... I'm nowhere near the road to the Friendly Arm. How did you find me at all?"

Imoen swallowed hard then, staring straight at the ground, not out of guilt for anything she'd done, not the petty disappointed of a trick gone awry, just the unpleasant matter of a certain truth. She drew her legs up to her chest, voice oddly quiet as she answered, "I... I knew you weren't on the path anymore. So I went lookin' for ya."

Hand over your ward.

"... How did you know that?"

Imoen stared at the ground a moment longer and muttered, "... Cuz I found Gorion first."

Darien's blood ran cold then. He'd know Gorion hadn't survived. He knew what he'd heard, and he knew Gorion would have come looking for him if his fate had been any different, but to have it brought back to him felt, irrationally, like a hard slap in the face.

His expression sank, his voice troubled as he asked her, "Where?"

---

Whatever irrational hope Darien had held that what he'd heard last night had been some illusion cast by his fear was dashed when he saw the body for himself. The kindest and wisest man he had ever known lay dead before him. The great sage Gorion, left in a tangled heap of blood and limbs.

"... I'm sorry, Darien." Imoen said solemnly after a long moment of silence, during which Darien did not realize that he had stopped breathing until he took in a shaky gasp of air; startled out of the moment.

Still Darien couldn't find words. Indeed, moving forward seemed quite out of the question at that instant in time. But after a span that was not nearly as long as it felt, Darien asked, tonelessly, "... Did the letter say anything else?"

Imoen seemed surprised by the question, though whether it was because of the disconnect from what she had expected from Darien, or simply being jarred out of the moment is up in the air. "Well, uh, no, not as such. I kinda, y'know... skimmed over it." And truth be told, she'd been rather upset by what she'd found. "But the letter might still be-" she stopped suddenly, wincing at the same moment that Darien's eyes slid shut. "... Might still be on him." Imoen finished, her lack of enthusiasm palpable.

"Okay." Darien said in that same empty tone of voice that Imoen was already learning to hate. "We'll check him."

---

Darien was not a cold person by any means, but the shock of the last twenty four hours was taking something a toll, and at this point he wasn't sure if he was being coldly rational, or letting the whole thing deaden his feelings until the next time his mood swung. Gorion had not prepared him for this situation, but one does not live under the tutelage of one of the most learned men in the Realms without gaining a measure of rationality. He had a destination, he had help waiting for him... and he had a murderer out for his blood. He couldn't waste too much time.

He couldn't stop and weep over a corpse.

Powerful though the impulse was.

But all the clear thinking in the world couldn't have sped the process. Laying out Gorion's corpse and looting it like a pair of petty thieves made both of them ill, but Darien knew better than to leave behind the money Imoen found. A fair amount, enough to hopefully take care of him for a short while. Assuming he found some place to spend it.

Soon enough though, Darien found a note rolled up in one of Gorion's inner rope pockets. He wordlessly held it up, drawing Imoen's attention away from her own search, then unrolled it, and read it aloud:

'My friend Gorion.

'Please forgive the abruptness with which I now write, but time is short and there is much to be done. What we have long feared may soon come to pass, though not in the manner foretold, and certainly not in the proper time frame. As we both know, forecasting these events has proved increasingly difficult, leaving little option other than a leap of faith. We have done what we can for those in thy care, but the time nears where we must step back and let matters take what course they will. We have, perhaps, been a touch too sheltering at this point.

'Despite my desire to remain neutral in this matter, I could not, in good conscience, let events proceed without some measure of warning. The other side will move soon, and I urge thee to leave Candlekeep this very night, if possible. The darkness may seem equally threatening, but a moving target is much harder to hit, regardless of how sparse the cover. A fighting chance is all that can be asked for at this point.

'Luck be with us all.

'I'm getting too old for this.'

"... It's signed 'E'. That's it." Darien finished, his voice unsteady. So his father knew that something was coming - coming for Darien - and what's more, some outside source knew as well. But what was there to know about him? Who could possibly wish him harm, and why? Who could be so determined that not even the fortress walls of Candlekeep were considered capable of keeping one young man safe? The questions troubled him, more so that the answers were so elusive.

Imoen watched these thoughts play out across Darien's face with a troubled expression before breaking the silence. "What happened out here?"

Darien didn't seem to hear her at first, but looked up at her slowly, simultaneously rising to his feet. "We were attacked during the night." Hand over your ward. "Two ogres, a woman, and some... thing in heavy armor, of a design I've never heard of." Darien sighed and paced a few steps away from the body, shaking his head. "I was hurt... father told me to run. Obviously he killed the ogres," he said, gesturing towards the two large corpses littering the field, "The woman isn't here, so she must have left with the man. The man..." Darien fell silent, and nodded his head at Gorion's body; more specifically the thin but incredibly tall line pierced into his abdomen.

Imoen gulped and stood up, glancing at Gorion anxiously before stepping around him and towards Darien. From the note she could gather easily enough that they were after him, and a lifetime around him told her easily enough that this weighed heavily on his mind. On top of so much else. "What are you gonna do?" She asked. "You... you gonna go find him?"

Darien closed his eyes, bringing one hand to his forehead as he spoke. "I don't know. I... Helm, I'd like nothing more than to see that creature rot." His arm fell to his side, "... But I'm no fighter. And not even... not even he could kill him." Darien's gaze found its way to Gorion once more... and there it lingered, his expression slowly giving way, chipping past the stone it had tried to set itself in.

Hand over your ward.

With a sharp hiss of breath, Darien collected himself. He couldn't afford this. He couldn't afford to be weak. The reality of the situation was clear enough, as he soon expressed, "It doesn't matter." He said, considering his departed father a moment longer before turning away. "Sooner or later... I imagine he'll find me.

"Imoen... thanks. Thanks a lot. But I... I need to go now. You should head back to Candlekeep."

Darien's solemn mood was shaken somewhat by the sudden snort Imoen gave.

"Leave?" Imoen blurted, like it was the silliest thing she'd ever heard. "Leave you all alone to wander with your- your long-winded speeches an' moody... intospactive... buffleheadedness?"

"Introspective." Darien said automatically.

"See? That! Right there! You'll drive yourself crazy way before anything interesting happens to ya! Hah! Leave! You'll have to beat me off with a stick now!"

Darien just shook his head slowly, trying very hard to be patient under the circumstances. "Imoen, you heard the letter. This could be dangerous."

Imoen shrugged jovially. "I can take care of myself, thank you very much. Better 'n you, anyhow."

Darien opened his mouth, and immediately saw four thousand counters rear up from Imoen's smirking face before words were even traded. He pondered, opened his mouth again... and got much the same result.

Hopeless.

"... Fine. Fine. But the first time you do something stupid and get yourself into trouble, you're going back home, even if I have to knock you out and mail you there."

"Please, when have I ever...?" She grinned.

The moment hung in the air between them as a slow smile forced its way onto Darien's face. But like all things, the moment passed. Darien's gaze flickered, and Imoen followed it back to Gorion. "Should we... y'know... bury him?" She asked tentatively, glancing back at Darien.

Darien looked past her, silently pondering the question he had just as recently asked himself before shaking his head. "... No. No tools. No time. I..." He started to speak again, then thought better of it and turned away. "Let's go." He said, and began to walk down the very road he'd been following before the nightmare that left him orphaned in the wild.

Imoen watched him go for a moment, seeming, for a moment, reluctant to follow despite her words. But Imoen was not afraid to leave; she had no desire to leave her friend alone. It was instead the wrongness of this. Leaving him there. But try as she might, she couldn't argue the point. Smiling sadly, she offered a brief wave, speaking softly, "... G'bye Mr. Kreshire..." before following after her departing friend.