Forsaken
Sadira stood on the balcony of her husband Bahram's apartment. Bahram was an affluent merchant and thus a very respectable man in Cormyr. Sadira enjoyed the view that the tall building provided and could certainly see the broad Lake of Dragons and the towering Storm Horn Mountains much better from this apartment than she could in her old home.
Sadira had always found it strange when she was young. She still remembered other children telling her that she was not the child of the parents she had grown up with. She had cried then, and when she had returned home and asked her mother if she had been adopted her mother had slapped her and demanded due respect then told her never to speak of foolish things again, never answering the question.
Why do these questions ail me now? I am nearly twenty years old. Not some stupid child. I am even married to a respectable man. True, he may be thirty years older than me but he is respectable and has brought respect to my family.
Why should you care about your family's respectability?
Quiet yourself!
After all, they were in quite a hurry to marry you off.
Damn you.
Damn me? I'm the only one who wants to see you rise above your pathetic state. Your husband, your family, they only want you chained down so they can use you. You can be so much more.
I am a simple woman; the wife of a successful merchant.
You define yourself by what others call you? What kind of a life is that? Don't you want anything for yourself? Are you too weak to even want? You know what you want to do.
What are you talking about?
Silence.
"What are you doing woman? Get off that balcony and inside!"The coarse voice was unmistakably Bahram's.
Sadira left the balcony and steadily walked inside. Bahram was standing there, a large bearded man for whom every movement seemed to be a tremendous effort.
"Are you daft woman? Shut the door. You haven't even set dinner have you?"
"No, I thought you were dining with your contemporaries tonight," Sadira responded meekly.
"Stupid bitch," muttered Bahram as he turned his back on Sadira and walked to the door.
He paused before he left the apartment and exhaled and inhaled heavily both to catch Sadira's attention and obtain the necessary wind to speak, "I must say I'm rather glad you forgot to fix something. Your cooking has never failed to embarrass me in front of my contemporaries. I will dine out this evening. But it seems you have work to do here. My mother would be embarrassed to even live in this messy place, let alone entertain guests."
Sadira stood in the same place for a long time, feeling empty. At length, she walked over to the kitchen but didn't fix anything. She couldn't bring herself to be interested in the various exotic foods and fine spices that Bahram's station afforded him. Sadira found the cutlery to be the only thing of interest in the kitchen. She examined each knife and found them all to be clumsy, awkward instruments.
Sadira left the knives out as she left the kitchen and walked into Bahram's office, fully aware that her husband had told her many times not to enter it. The office was small but elegant with wooden paneled walls. Bahram's desk was covered with numerous papers but remained immaculately organized. Sadira eyed the jeweled khukuri knife that hung above the desk and took it down.
Bahram entered the apartment awkwardly; he was drunk. Sadira smiled, and the voice told her it would be easy. It was not long before Sadira was on the bed and underneath Bahram. Her moment came when the fool was still fumbling with his trousers.
Sadira slid her hand underneath the pillow to grip the jeweled khukuri hilt and brought the weapon out of its hiding place in a slash that severed Bahram from elbow to hip. Sadira scurried to the side of the bed as Bahram spilled his innards on the white linen and fell on top of them. Sadira didn't know how many times she hacked at the dying and finally dead man before she grew tired of the exercise.
You are worthy, the voice echoed in Sadira's head, but she barely heard it.
Eventually, Sadira moved down onto the settee at the foot of the bed, seemingly unaware of the gore that matted her hair and stained her fine dress, a gift to her from one of Bahram's trading partners, a man from Marsember. She had even been unaware of Bahram's screams.
Sadira realized her lack of discretion when she heard a fist banging on her bedroom door and darted soundlessly to a dark corner of the room, which was only lit by the outside street lights.
At length the guardsmen bashed the lock and the door flung open. One of the guardsmen stepped through the door, a truncheon in his hand and started toward the bed where Bahram lay facedown. When he reached him the guard turned over Bahram's body and recoiled when he saw Bahram's insides strewn across the sheets, "well it looks like that old woman next door didn't call us for nothing this time."
"Who do you think did it?" asked the other guardsman, who had begun to walk into the room, his truncheon was still girt at his side.
"Jealous wife maybe? From what I've heard this Bahram has–or had rather–a penchant for sleeping around."
"Do you think she might still be here?"
"Nah, she probably fled some–"
"Hold on," said the second guardsman, "do you smell that?"
"I don't smell anything but a dead man."
"I could have sworn I smelled perfume," the guardsman began to draw his truncheon as he scanned the room.
You can't hide for long now.
Sadira surged out of the cover of darkness and delivered a hack with her khukuri that dug deeply into the nearest guardsman's shoulder and a second swing that tore into his side before shoving him out of the way. The other guardsman raised his cudgel but Sadira slashed the man's arm off before he could bring it down and the man stumbled backwards into a bedpost.
Sadira raised the khukuri to cleave the guardsman's head open.
"Please, Ilmater no," the man whimpered as his shoulders sagged.
Slay him.
What was left of the guardsman's strength failed him and he collapsed to the floor.
Sadira lowered the khukuri and ran from the apartment.
What am I doing? Sadira asked herself as she descended the stair to the streets.
What you were meant to do, the steely voice responded. Sadira tried to ignore it.
When Sadira reached the street she stood still for a moment, not knowing which way to turn. Finally Sadira chose the only direction she could think of.
Sadira had not paused on her way to the Temple of Lathander but had taken several detours to avoid guardsmen. The doors were open and she passed through them, casting quick glances in every direction as she entered the high-domed temple. Sadira felt cold and numb even though the temple remained suffused with warm light, and hugged herself tightly.
The voice that had been admonishing her the entire way to the temple was subdued to a murmur.
Sadira walked the length of the empty temple to the altar that lay beneath a tall statue of the Morning Lord. As she walked toward the altar each step became more labored than the last, until finally Sadira fell to her knees many yards from the altar. Sadira raised her eyes timidly to the statue of Lathander.
"Will you not let your child pray at your altar?"
"What ails you child?" Sadira heard a voice ask from behind.
Startled, Sadira shot to her feet and whirled about to see the kind, time-weathered face of Dawnmaster Edrigu, the man who presided over this temple. The priest looked pained when he saw the blood that soiled Sadira's dress and matted her hair.
"What foul matter has touched you?" he asked as he drew closer.
"I have failed to keep the teachings of the Morninglord in my heart and fallen victim to my demons," Sadira said, her eyes brimming with tears, "I don't know what to do."
Edrigu stood placidly for a moment, calmly examining Sadira before speaking sadly, "Allow me to bestow a blessing of the Morninglord upon you. You have much to atone for, but the Morninglord will aid you if you believe."
Sadira lowered her head as Edrigu spoke his blessing in a low chant. But there was something about his voice that was wrong. Sadira opened her mouth to shout but the Dawnmaster released his spell and Sadira felt herself entrapped by an invisible cage, her mouth frozen in a soundless scream, unable to move, nor even to speak or blink.
"You may come out now," the Dawnmaster said, his tone melancholy. A half-dozen armored guardsmen and a pair of temple paladins came out of hiding. Edrigu faced someone outside of Sadira's vision. "I do not think it would be best for you to apprehend her," he said.
"She killed her own husband and wounded two of my men," responded a gruff voice, "do you really expect me to just let her go?"
Gods, they're going to kill me!
"Absolutely not. But this child is sick, I can see that she is plagued with darkness."
I can get you out of this.
"This woman killed a man and by law will receive punishment in kind. You will be compensated for your troubles and that is the end of it."
No!
"I implore you sergeant, allow me to keep her for a time. I can help her. I can bring her back to the light. I know Sadira, she is not an evil–"
Do you really think this priest can help you?
"That's enough words priest. I'm following orders. If you want to dispute me feel free to take it up with the justices."
"You will probably have executed her by then."
Please help me.
"That isn't my problem and I don't see how it's yours either."
I knew you would come to your senses.
A deafening explosion shook the temple. Edrigu fell to the ground and blacked out for a moment. Slowly, he regained his senses and sat up.
"Are you hurt?" asked a temple paladin who stood over Edrigu, lending his arm. Edrigu took it and the paladin, Adiran by his voice, helped the priest to his feet. Sadira no longer stood where Edrigu had cast the hold spell on her. The Dawnmaster sighed. The sergeant of the guardsmen stood in the center of the temple, shouting at his men to find the escaped woman.
"Rally all of our brothers," Edrigu told the paladin as he leaned on his shoulder, "and find Sadira. It is imperative that we find her before the city authorities do," Edrigu freed himself from the paladin's shoulder and forced himself to stand up straight, "go now, and make haste."
"Yes, Dawnmaster," the paladin responded curtly, and hurried off to carry out his instructions.
"I pray," muttered Edrigu, "that I am wrong about her."
But when Edrigu looked at the fragments of the statue of Lathander that were strewn about the temple, and the cloven altar, he was all too certain that he was right.