Test of Faith
"He should have been back by now," muttered Branwen.
"He'll be back," said Saunder.
"And how can you know he won't run into more trouble than he's expected? It's been nearly an hour now!" Saunder's eyes widened at her accusing tone and was glad the night concealed his shock.
"Keep your voice down," rasped Ajantis, "we can't reveal ourselves to the bandits just yet."
Branwen sighed and paced impatiently. Her hand never leaving the handle of her war hammer.
"Branwen," Imoen started, approaching the warrior-priest.
"What is it?" she spat.
"Kivan knows his business better than any of us know our own. I've seen him slip into shadows in broad daylight and we all know the night only sharpens his skills." Branwen hadn't been swayed. Imoen chuckled.
"What's so funny?" asked Branwen, her scowl deepening.
"Did Saunder ever tell you about how Kivan came to join us?" asked Imoen.
"No," Branwen replied, her tongue was still acid but her interest was apparent.
"I guess he wouldn't have. Saunder doesn't like stories that don't make him seem heroic."
"This should be interesting," Branwen smiled faintly.
"Well, after we left Candlekeep, it was just Saunder and me. Gorion had just died and we were both afraid and unsure of what we needed to do. We were poorly equipped and easy prey for the bandits that ambushed us. I don't need to tell you that we were completely caught off guard.
"I was knocked onto the ground with a blade at my throat before I even saw them. I might have screamed if I hadn't been so terrified. Saunder tried to fight one of them but his sword broke on the second swing. The bandit made to finish him but an arrow caught him in the throat before he got the chance.
"It was less than a few seconds later when Kivan came behind the man holding me and finished him. Kivan didn't show himself until the last bandit went still. He had both me and Saunder scared for a moment, and we wondered for a moment if we were safer with the bandits."
"You still have your doubts about him?" asked Branwen, the venom gone from her voice.
Imoen winced, "He's just so brooding and," Imoen hesitated, afraid she might upset Branwen, "and I've never known that anyone could be so bent on vengeance."
"He may not be so bent on vengeance as you think," Branwen replied mildly.
"It's all he ever talks about–whenever he speaks at all that is. He seems completely obsessed with hunting down the bandits, especially Tazok."
"Think Imoen, why was Kivan there at such a convenient time."
Imoen bit her lower lip, trying to remember, "He said he had been following the bandits for several days so that he could follow them back to their camp."
"You see, were Kivan really so bent on vengeance as you believe, he would have let those bandits kill you and been able to follow them to their camp. Instead, he chose to save you and sacrifice several days of tracking."
Imoen paused, "I hadn't thought of it that way."
"Vengeance is a strange thing. Do you know why he wants to kill Tazok so badly?"
Imoen shook her head.
"There was something I have been wondering about," Branwen said, "Saunder was training to be a paladin, was he not?" Imoen nodded. "Then why was he not better trained for combat?"
Her question caught Imoen off-guard, "I never thought much about it then but even Saunder found it odd. Gorion always seemed to think his connection to Tyr was more important than his strength with weapons. In the months before we left Gorion even scheduled less training with the guardsmen for Saunder in favor of more time for meditation–"
The snapping of a twig announced Kivan's return, he had learned that the party didn't like him sneaking up on them.
"What has kept you?" Branwen shot at him before he had the chance to speak.
"I apologize that I did not work so swiftly as you desired but the need for caution outweighed the need for celerity. Regardless, all of the outlying sentries are dead. I suspect that the majority of the bandits are out on raids and the greater part of the few that remain in camp are asleep. The exception is a hut raised on a wooden platform, the torches there remain lit."
"How many bandits are there?" asked Ajantis.
"I estimate there are roughly thirty," said Kivan, "a mix of hobgoblins and humans. I have watched them for some time and am certain Tazok is not now among them." If Kivan was disappointed by that fact, he succeeded in not showing it.
"Six of them to every one of us then," said Branwen, "those are pretty good odds."
"We're actually going to take on thirty bandits by ourselves?" asked Imoen.
"There will never be a better time," said Kivan, his face said he would do it alone if no one else was willing.
"We act now," declared Saunder. The party needed no additional orders. Kivan led the party to the trees bordering the clearing that contained the collection of bandit huts.
Ajantis clapped Saunder on the shoulder, "You are ready Saunder, the bandits will soon see that brute strength is no match for a skilled warrior."
The last of the bandits tripped over a root as he ran and fell onto his face. Saunder was close behind him, gripping Ashideena with both hands, having lost his shield during the fray. The bandit turned onto his back to stare up into Saunder's eyes, which gleamed with cold fury.
"Mercy, m'lord," the bandit wept, "please, I'll do whatever penance need be done, just let me live." Saunder began to lower his weapon.
Slay this scum.
The command carried such power that Saunder had again raised his sword and crushed the bandit's skull before he had even thought about it, before the bandit even had a chance to scream.
Saunder whirled about to find the source of the voice, chasing the bandit had led him away from the camp and there was no one near. With the last bandit fallen, Saunder's anger began to diminish. The anger that had slowly built with each bandit slain. It was not the anger of fury or bloodlust. It had been an intensely cold anger. Hatred and malice.
Saunder shook his head. Gorion trained me better than this.
"Saunder!" Imoen's yell pierced Saunder's thoughts and he ran to meet her. The girl still had an arrow nocked. Moonlight gleamed off a narrow stream of red trickling down her cheek.
"You're hurt," said Saunder as he raised a hand to the wound.
"Save it," said Imoen, holding back Saunder's hand, "the others need it worse than me."
"Take me to them," said Saunder.
"You gave us all a scare when you ran off," said Imoen as she led Saunder to where the others waited.
"Sorry," said Saunder, "I saw one of the bandits trying to escape."
"Did you catch him?" asked Imoen.
"Aye," said Saunder, slowly, "I caught him."
"You always were a quick sprinter," Imoen said wistfully, "I'm amazed you can move at all beneath that armor."
"It's not so bad," said Saunder, "Ajantis's armor weighs more than mine."
"I suppose so," said Imoen, glad that she was burdened only by a leather jerkin.
The bandit camp lay not far ahead. All of the smaller huts had been set on fire during the first part of the raid in order to draw the bandits out. The mangled bodies of over two dozen bandits outside the huts, with still more charred corpses within, were testament to the fact that Branwen's idea had been successful.
The party was scattered about the platform on which Tazok's hut had been built. Kivan sat on the platform, leaning against the hut while Branwen tended his wounds.
"Saunder," said Branwen as she saw him approach, "are you wounded?"
"No," said Saunder, and realized with no small surprise that he had not even sustained a minor cut during the frenzied battle. No, it was never frenzied. I knew what I was doing. Every cut was precisely and swiftly executed.
"None of that blood is yours then?" asked Ajantis. Saunder shook his head, looking down at the blood and gore than now adorned his armor.
"I suppose I'll have to clean it up before we next enter town," said Saunder.
"That would be wise," replied Ajantis, "lest the commoners think a bloodthirsty blackguard has come among them." Saunder chuckled mirthlessly at the last bit.
"If anyone else is hurt," began Saunder, "I have not yet lain my hands on any wounds."
"Kivan could still use some healing," said Branwen, "I've exhausted my spells and a number of potions on him."
"You should have healed yourself," Kivan groaned.
"You were in much worse shape than I," Branwen countered, "it was foolhardy of you to fight Taugosz alone. You've been hunting bandits for long enough to know his reputation as a warrior."
"I had no choice," said Kivan, "he had Imoen marked. I think her safety is worth a little discomfort."
"Discomfort! You call a perforated shoulder, half a dozen broken ribs and a shattered knee discomfort?"
Kivan raised his eyebrows before he replied, "Yes."
"Why do I even try," muttered Branwen.
Saunder approached the pair and knelt down beside them, then looked at Branwen's left arm, a steak of red was dimly visible on the green wool. Saunder pulled her sleeve up to see the long gash.
"It's not very deep," said Branwen, "but I think it is more than a lay on hands spell can cure. I will heal it in the morning when I have rested enough to clear my head."
Saunder closed his hands around the gash and released the spell. It was gone once he removed his hands. Ajantis moved in to appraise the work and nodded approvingly.
"You may want to invest in some vambraces," said Saunder as he drew away.
Branwen stared up to look at Saunder, "Your abilities have grown since we met, Saunder, I am impressed."
"I've learned a few things," Saunder replied.
"But, that spell must have been more than a simple lay on hands . . ."
"Do you hear that?" asked Ajantis. Saunder stopped and listened, then heard the distant sounds of armored men moving.
"They're Flaming Fist Mercenaries," murmured Kivan.
"How do you know?" asked Imoen.
"I heard the sergeant shouting at his men five minutes ago."
"Why did you not tell us then?" asked Branwen.
"We have nothing to fear from them," said Kivan.
"We just did their job for them," said Ajantis, "and you've told me that we have Officer Vai's blessing to take the head of any bandit we come across."
The Flaming Fist Sergeant's commands were faintly audible: "Squad, halt! Break down into threes and search the premises!"
"They'll find us," said Saunder as he sat on one of the platform's steps and wiped the blood from Ashideena. He didn't have to wait long.
"You there," came a shout, "identify yourselves." Saunder looked in the direction of the shout to see a trio of Flaming Fist Mercenaries with swords at the ready.
He rose and faced them, "I am Saunder and this is my party. As you can see, we have just made a night's task of eliminating these bandits."
"So I see. And I thank you on behalf of the Flaming Fist. Saunder, I recognize the name. You are the one whose aid was enlisted by Lieutenant Vai, are you not?"
"I am," said Saunder, "may I ask who you are?"
"I am Sergeant Gregor of the Flaming Fist. My company was just heading south from Baldur's Gate to reinforce Lieutenant Vai's force in Beregost. Captain Hebron sent my squad ahead to investigate when we saw the fires and heard the sounds of battle."
"If I may, sergeant," began Ajantis, "I want to point out that not all bandits are present here. I highly recommend that you inform your superior and stake out this position so that you can ambush any stragglers who come this way. You must act quickly. I recommend that your commander move his company into this camp so that you can afford to pursue any bandits who attempt to escape without losing too many men to the chase."
"Sound advice, sir. I doubt Captain Hebron would pass up a chance to soil his sword in bandits' blood," replied the sergeant before he turned back to his own men, "inform Corporal Stefan that he is in charge until I return. Get the bodies out of sight and ambush any bandits who come through. I will return as soon as I am able." The two mercenaries nodded and hurried off to relay the instructions. "I suppose you will not be staying?" the sergeant asked Saunder.
"No," said Saunder, "we've had a long day and require rest."
"Very well," said the sergeant, "I wish you luck in your endeavors." With those words he began to walk away.
"One more question Sergeant Gregor," began Saunder.
"Yes sir?"
"Why is your company heading south?" asked Saunder.
"The lords haven't told us yet. Even Captain Hebron admits he doesn't know why." Sergeant Gregor lowered his voice and came closer to the party, "But there are rumors that Amn is behind all of these iron troubles we've been having. So me and most of the men think we're being garrisoned at Beregost as either the vanguard against an Amnish invasion or the advance force for an invasion of our own. I've heard they're considering committing the entire battalion south and calling in the reserves to keep order in the city."
"I have to say though," and the sergeant's voice dropped even lower, "I've been to Amn before and that country is many times as vast as Baldur's Gate and far more populous. They have at least four or five times as many troops as we do, many of them veterans, and not like those frontier troops in Nashkel. If it comes to war, it doesn't bode well for Baldur's Gate."
Gregor and Saunder exchanged nods before the sergeant walked back into the night.
There was a slight knock on the door.
A cold wind slipped through the arrow slits in Saunder's bedroom high in the renovated keep that was the Friendly Arm Inn. All of the lights were extinguished but Saunder still sat on the foot of his bed, sleepless.
Slay this scum. Those words and the horrified face of the bandit as his hammer fell played through Saunder's mind without end.
The knock became more insistent.
The road to the Friendly Arm and the business with the Flaming Fist had helped him to keep his mind off of it.
There was no such defense now.
Slay all the fools.
The knock was almost a bang.
Saunder snapped out of his reverie and crossed to the door. He opened the door slightly with his left hand to see who was standing behind it, his right hand on Ashideena's handle where it leaned against the wall.
After looking through the crack Saunder let go of his hammer and opened the door all the way to let Imoen in. She looked tired and, like Saunder, still wore her dirty traveling clothes.
"I guess I didn't wake you up," said Imoen as she sat on the foot of Saunder's bed. Saunder only shook his head and closed the door. "What's wrong?" she asked.
"It's hard to explain," said Saunder.
"No it isn't, you just don't want to tell me. Come on."
Saunder leaned against the wall, dry-washing his hands, "I don't know what happened when we were fighting against the bandits. I lost myself."
"You seemed in control to me," said Imoen, her tone worried.
"I don't mean to say that I lost control," said Saunder, "I mean that I lost myself to hatred and malice. Gorion trained me better than that."
"It's hard not to hate what these bandits represent," said Imoen, "fighting hobgoblins and kobolds was one thing but fighting other people is something different."
"You're right," said Saunder, "I slipped, and it's not something I'll let happen again. But you had another reason for coming here."
"Yeah," said Imoen, "I kinda feel like I'm not really pulling my weight in this group."
"What do you mean?" asked Saunder.
"Well, everyone kinda has a purpose. You and Ajantis have close combat covered. Kivan's bow has taken down more enemies than we even see. Branwen's a healer as well as a good fighter. I don't feel like I'm being as useful as anyone else."
"So what are you suggesting?"
"I've been looking through some of the stuff we've taken. Magical scrolls and such. I never paid much attention to them at Candlekeep, but with the stuff Gorion taught me, they're actually starting to make a lot of sense."
Saunder nodded, "So you want to be a mage?"
"Yep," Imoen said quietly.
"Don't let me stop you. We could certainly use one."
"Thanks. I've already started memorizing some minor spells, the more powerful spells are a lot harder to remember."
"Learn them as you can Imoen. I know you'll figure them out."
Imoen beamed as she left the room.
Saunder dropped his smile like a mask once the door closed. Somehow, he knew that his hatred was more than just disgust at the bandits. It was something that ran much deeper. Sleep didn't come easily.
Saunder stepped carefully. Leafless, gnarled trees towered menacingly over him. Brambles covered the roots and trunks of the trees and tore at Saunder's tunic and trousers. The night air itself was hostile, a palpable, suffocating thing. There was a dim light in the distance and Saunder slowly made his way toward it.
The paladin did not know how long he roamed through the wood before he saw the eyes. Fiery, golden eyes in the darkness. I've seen eyes like those before. Gorion's murderer. Saunder's hand went for his hammer only to find the weapon was not there. Suppressing a surge of panic, Saunder began to move toward the light again, the eyes followed, but made no attempt to overtake him.
"You seem a little lost," Saunder spun toward the voice and saw a man sitting by a fire in a clearing no more than ten feet across. The gnarled trees seemed to bend away from it. Saunder warily approached the man.
"You may share my fire if you wish, I think you will find it preferable to the outer darkness," the man waved his left hand to encompass the surrounding forest, "the choice is yours. Naturally, the consequences are as well."
"Who are you?" asked Saunder.
"A stranger in the dark may identify himself as anyone he wishes. Step closer, and see for truth." Saunder took a few steps and the man leaned forward, allowing the fire to illuminate him. He had short white hair and a neatly trimmed beard of the same color. His face was careworn, but remained sharply angled. His eyes were milky white and he was missing his right hand.
"Tyr," Saunder had barely said the name before he sunk to both knees with eyes lowered.
"Rise, Saunder. You need not fear me and may spare me the groveling. Your faith is known to me, else I would not have waited for you."
"I apologize for-"
"Such apologies are unnecessary. One must be wary when dealing with the unknown in unfamiliar territory. I would want nothing less from one of my faithful. I have answered one of your questions, but you have others. Ask what you will, and I will answer as I can."
Saunder looked around, saw how the gnarled trees bent away from the small clearing and how the golden eyes peered at him from the darkness. "What is this place?"
"There is no exact answer to that. It is a dreamscape of sorts, a personification of a reality you do not understand."
"And what is that? I've seen such eyes before, on the armored man who slew Gorion." Saunder motioned to the glowing eyes on the edge of the tight clearing.
"He is not the same creature that slew Gorion. You will know who that one is soon enough. This one however," Tyr pointed to the eyes hanging in the darkness, "is within you, and the two of you are as inseparable as blood and bone."
"What?"
"You are not yet ready to accept everything you must learn, but you must be on your guard against this one. He will prey on your bloodlust and seek to control you. You have already felt his touch."
Slay this scum. Saunder shook his head to drive the thought away.
"Yes, you fell to his counsel once, and so you must be doubly on your guard. Do not show him the slightest weakness which he may exploit.
"You must fight, the path you have taken demands it, but take care not to become something worse than the monsters you slay. There can be no victory in that.
"We will speak again. Your time in this place will give you no rest and you will need it for the trials ahead."
Saunder felt darkness overtaking him, but it was not like the darkness of the wood. It was the calming darkness of sleep.