Loyalty of the Tiefling

by JHMLYNDALE

The events of Mask of the Betrayer, but with the twist of Neeshka having managed to follow her harbour-boy… who is hers rather than Elanee's. Prologue, 25 chapters, Epilogue.

4. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

It took only a few more hours before a walled town became visible and as they approached the city gates Blake frowned slightly. He'd been expecting Mulsantir to be a little more impressive and if a wagon had gone off the road and become stuck in the mud outside Crossroad Keep he'd have sent some Greycloaks to help. These people though seemed happy to let the merchant struggle outside their dreary town.

"A wet and gloomy Mulsantir afternoon to you my foreign friend," the best dressed of the three men around the wagon called, breaking off from giving advice to the other two that they seemed happy to ignore. "You did not, perchance, encounter an army of angry spirits on the road? I don't normally begin conversations this way, but the local shamans aren't usually in such a pique and my wagon isn't usually mired outside the city gates."

"An army of angry spirits?" Blake replied evasively. "Is that common in this land?"

"To be truthful I have no idea," admitted the merchant. "This is a hard country, unkind to foreigners, and I try to keep myself behind as many walls as I can and bide my time until I return home for the season."

"I am seeking a theatre and a woman called Lienna."

"We are seeking an Inn," Neeshka said, correcting Blake's sense of priorities. Blake nodded to her with a smile.

"Then Tymorra has smiled thrice upon you as you will find all three within these walls," replied the merchant. "For the theatre pass through these gates and head straight on to the round ramshackle structure that smells distinctly of garlic and sour wine. For the Inn look towards the river, there is a building that is recognisably built from ship timbers and generally has at least one drunk slumped outside against its walls."

"Most vivid descriptions," Blake nodded, "I am sure I'll not mistake any other buildings for them. And this Lienna, she is generally within the theatre?"

"Indeed," the merchant confirmed before adding, "in fact I have never seen her come out so you are sure to find her there."

"My thanks, friend. You've been a great deal of help."

"Then a blessing has come of my mired wagon, though if I may offer another piece of advice?" the merchant asked. Blake gave an enquiring look and the merchant continued, "I have a selection of warm and, more important, long and hooded cloaks, such as your friend might benefit from wearing within this city."

"Ah, unkind to foreigners…" Blake growled, before turning to Neeshka and saying in a more normal tone, "my sweet, you have pretty horns and a lovely lithe tail, but he could be right."

Neeshka frowned. "If anyone gives me any trouble I can handle them, but the tip of my tail is getting cold…"

"A cloak for the lady, and for the gentleman then?" said the merchant, sensing a sale.

"Indeed," Blake replied, "and my thanks for the warning. We have the skills to defend ourselves, but I know what a poor impression littering the road with the corpses of street-toughs might make."

The merchant gestured for the employee with the least mud on to get a stack of cloaks from the wagon. As the man gathered the cloaks and approached with them piled high in his arms the merchant nodded. "It benefits us both, my friend. You avoid trouble and I make my wagon just that tiny bit lighter and my purse heavier."

Neeshka had moved to meet the approaching man as the merchant spoke and started looking through the cloaks. She grinned slightly as she gently pulled one out of the stack, and then rubbed the soft fur lining against her cheek before looking at Blake with her grin broadening.

"Your lady has a fine eye, that is one of the rarer and most warm and durable pelts…"

"By which you mean expensive…" Blake interjected cynically. Neeshka stuck her tongue out at Blake at this comment. "And of course by expensive I mean nice enough for her," he smoothly continued. "Especially since she's the one whose gold-pouch was not stolen."

For a moment Neeshka looked less enthusiastic as she realised she was paying, and the merchant looked worried as he wondered if these potential customers had enough gold for it to been worth being that helpful and letting them look at the nicer cloaks. Still their armour and weapons did look well crafted, which was another good reason for them to buy concealing cloaks, so they could not be that poor.

"I suppose it would be unkind to insist you get out your emergency gold when I have a pouch handy," Neeshka replied, pouting slightly.

"Also be unkind to offer barter," Blake said, turning to the merchant, "when you are trying to lighten your wagon."

The merchant looked relieved at the mention of emergency gold or barter and, after some brief intense haggling between him and Neeshka, the deal was done. Two fine cloaks for them and a fair amount of gold for him. Neeshka snuggled into her cloak and gave Blake the sort of smile that made him think of roaring fires with that cloak and Neeshka laid out in front of them. The fire casting highlights on her skin as she wriggled to enjoy the feel of the warmth and the soft fur all over her naked body. It was a pleasant fantasy but Blake was annoyed that the practical side of his mind had started to consider the problem of hard floorboards and how many cushions he'd need to make his sweetheart as comfortable as she deserved.

To distract himself from his thoughts Blake turned to the two assistants, both of whom were back at trying to dislodge the wagon. The break caused by one carrying cloaks to Neeshka and the other taking the chance for a short rest did not seem to have revived them much. Clasping the hoodless cloth and leather cloak he'd chosen around him Blake approached and they regarded him without much interest.

"Do either of you have any objection to the arcane?"

The two men exchanged glances, puzzled why this was being asked, and after shrugging at each other the one that had brought the cloaks over replied. "Erm… no?"

"Very well," Blake said, concentrating and making the incantations to infuse them in turn with Bull's Strength. The two men straightened up slightly as the power of their muscles was increased, looking both grateful and surprised as a man in full armour did not match their idea of what a Wizard looked like, and he'd said arcane rather than divine so he'd not be a Cleric.

"Thank you!" the one that had stayed by the wagon said.

"No trouble, I hope you get this wagon free."

Blake wandered back towards Neeshka, glad that he'd had those spells prepared. For a long while he had not since he'd managed to find Belts of Strength that did the same or better job but, rather than fading like the spell, did this for as long as they were worn. One day though he'd realised that, generally, when he rested to renew his spells and strength he still had spells within that circle of the arcane unused. Therefore the unused spells might as well be of Bull's Strength as of anything else and he could allow himself the advantage of having those spells prepared in case his belt was damaged or, as in this case, someone needed aid.

"My thanks," said the merchant extending his hand, "Shelvedar Numm."

"Blake Marsh," replied Blake, taking and shaking the hand.

"The Red Knight bless your plans in there."

"And Waukeen bless your business," Blake politely responded, "and Shaundakul your travels."

With that Blake and Neeshka started up the short slope to the gates. Tymorra did seem to be still smiling on them, Blake mused. It had been fortunate that the guards were so lazy or unhelpful or both as if they had been helping with the wagon they would have seen him and his beloved without the concealing cloaks. Blake still tried to not clank too much though as they passed the guard, who welcomed them with a scowl of disdain for outsiders.

"That looks like the Veil," Blake commented quietly, "and past those shut gates… is that an upside down ship?"

"Blast!" muttered Neeshka, glaring at the barrier between them and an Inn room. "Still, better for you to get some answers first so you can concentrate."

"My love," Blake pointed out, "my problem is concentrating on anything else while you are around, not the reverse."

"Maybe," admitted Neeshka, giving Blake a sudden grin, "but if we get some answers then we can celebrate."

Blake chuckled at the idea they needed a reason to 'celebrate' as he wandered over to the market stalls. Neeshka wisely hung back a little behind him so the stallholders could not as easily see her pretty but unusual eyes or under her hood to see her delicate horns. This had required her to hand over her coin pouch, something she would have laughed at the idea of a year ago, but she supposed if she trusted him with her heart then her coin was almost as safe. But only almost since she had not broken Blake of the bad habit of friendly trading and of being inclined to pay too close to the asking price.

Despite his lesser skill at haggling they managed to equip themselves without depleting Neeshka's purse enough to make her pout in annoyance. Blake's caution about taking anything from the actual barrow rather than just the Imiskari ruins meant they did not have as much to sell and he was cautious, again, to not sell anything that seemed too distinctive. But they had found enough to cover what they spent. The Red Wizard's shortbow proved good as part-exchange for a longbow and some extra arrows. There could be a long journey ahead so bedrolls and waterproof cloths for camping, some extra trail supplies, more clothes for if they wanted to change out of armour or at least have fresh underwear, and other sundries seemed wise. A replacement coin pouch for himself let Blake split the proceeds and a hat gave him something to keep sun and rain off. He also felt wearing a hat showed you were not looking to fight, whereas a bare head could mean that or just that like the local guards you simply didn't wear a helmet while killing things.

Thankfully with the Bag of Holding and the more common magic bags they could hold all these supplies without needing to strap things to every part of themselves and have backpacks large enough for a brownie to use as a house. They examined the Veil Theatre as they browsed the market and strolled a little; looking like a happy couple taking a break while they discussed if they needed any more shopping. Largely this was true as Blake was trying to think if they had forgotten anything and, though answers might be within the Veil Theatre, for now he was content to enjoy the weak sunshine and Neeshka's company.

"Looks quiet enough," said Neeshka quietly, pretending to consider and be commenting on a display of fresh fruits. "I'll bet there is a window or back door we can get in."

"You maybe," Blake pointed out just as quietly before buying some fruit and handing one to Neeshka. "But, as loath as I am to let you out of my sight, that might be better than just walking in the front."

Neeshka nodded to him as she chomped into the fruit. Then she smiled from within the shadows of her hood and delicately ran the tip of her tongue over her slightly parted lips. "What?" she asked, eyes twinkling as she saw Blake's gaze follow this. "Just getting a little juice off."

"Good," Blake replied softly, "as tasty as this fruit might be I prefer the taste of your lips. Or of you…"

Before either of them could regret, again, that the gates towards the Inn were shut their happy flirting was interrupted by screams. Merchants and shoppers looked up or around in puzzlement. Blake and Neeshka had already reacted and turned to face where these screams were coming from before most of the people in the marketplace had finished even realising those were screams. Thankfully the bystanders did not seem to notice this unusually fast reaction.

"Hells!" Blake muttered, reaching under his new cloak and starting to unbutton the strap across his sword. "Might have waited so long we'll need to walk in the front anyway."

Neeshka covered his hand with her own and looked seriously into his eyes. "This isn't Neverwinter," she reminded him, "you are not a Knight here, or even a City Watchman, and we don't need to draw attention!"

Blake glanced from her to the door and back and hesitated. He could argue that they needed answers and so needed to investigate, but Neeshka knew him too well. She knew that he was an inveterate busybody when it came to people who might be in need. This was how they had met, someone else might have simply ignored the thugs from Fort Locke disgracing their uniforms rather than intervene to attempt to settle things peacefully. That the thugs had decided to respond to that attempt by trying to kill Blake and Khelgar so they could claim for three 'bandit corpses' rather than one had not been a good first impression for soldiers of Neverwinter to make.

Neeshka rolled her eyes and sighed as she drew her rapier. "Never mind, forgot for a moment who I was talking to," she muttered, "let's hope they are grateful"

Blake cast a few quick spells in preparation and, having swapped hat for chainmail hood and helmet and put his large kite-shaped shield back on his arm, tried the doors and found them unlocked. Leading the way he found, to his annoyance, that among the bales of hay that seemed to serve as audience seats were three Red Wizards and five Gnolls. At least what looked like the theatre staff had been lined up against one wall so they were out of the way.

The Red Wizards and Gnolls had turned as Blake and Neeshka entered. "You should have remained outside," one sneered, "our business is with Lienna, not some fool interloper."

"I have business with Lienna too," Blake replied, "so explain yourself wizard."

"Your voice is filled with desperation stranger," the Red Wizard said, seemingly unable to tell that from annoyance. "Don't worry; we'll make your death quicker than Lienna's might be."

"Do I look worried?" Blake asked rhetorically, giving up on speech other than to mutter an invocation and plant a Scintillating Sphere in the Red Wizards face.

As the Red Wizard convulsed from the electricity and fell Neeshka shrugged off her heavy cloak and sprang at the nearest Gnoll. He was still trying to recover from his surprise at Blake's spell when Neeshka's rapier carved through his throat. Another Gnoll swung his heavy hammer at Neeshka but she nimbly hopped back out of range so the Gnoll wasted the force of his swing on empty air. As he stumbled slightly forward he howled and stumbled back again as Neeshka bounced on her toes and kicked him in the muzzle.

Blake would have admired this grace but he was busy. The axe of the Gnoll attacking him thudded into the curved wall of the theatre as it, and the hand that had been holding it, continued in the direction of the blow the Gnoll had swung and which Blake had met with his sword. The Gnoll looked down at his wrist where the blade had sheered though bone and tendon and where his hand used to be, and then stopped looking at anything as Blake brought his sword back. This backswing met the Gnoll's unarmoured head at eye level, shaving a fraction of an inch off the top of his muzzle as the tip of Blake's sword cut through eye and skull and brain.

"Attack together, attack together!" a Red Wizard ordered, rather frantically as he looked at the three corpses.

The Gnolls growled and shuffled into a formation as Neeshka rejoined Blake and Blake looked at the Gnolls and considered a spell.

"No! Stupid mutts!" the Red Wizard added, giving Blake a glance. "Not that close together, you could all be caught by the same Sphere!"

The Gnolls grumbled some more as they moved apart a little but Blake had to avoid giving them warning with a smile as he saw they had not moved far enough. He might not be able to catch them with the same '-ball', whether of fire or sound or acid or electricity, but they were still close enough together for one of his favourite spells. Blake uttered the invocation in the magical tongue and, as in the barrow, a ball of fire formed in front of him before splitting into individual balls that streaked away and into the Gnolls. The scent of burning fur was unpleasant but Blake was happy to see the Red Wizard that had been chivvying the Gnolls had been close enough to be caught by the Firebrand as well.

Neeshka had recognised what Blake was casting and had been ready to act the moment her harbour-boy finished. With her reflexes and speed her attack was only an instant behind the impact of the spell. Neeshka brought the tip of her rapier down across one Gnoll's belly in what looked almost like a gentle brush. For a moment nothing seemed to have happened, then the fur and the flesh beneath split apart from just below the plate of metal covering the Gnoll's heart to just above his groin as his movement, and their weight, forced his guts out through the long clean cut.

Blake aimed for much the same target, but with less finesse and a little slower. Firebrand might be a favoured enough spell for Neeshka to recognise it but, even with practice, he still needed to pause a fraction to shift his concentration back from spellcasting to swordsmanship. As the Red Wizard screamed and beat at his burning robes Blake strode forward. The Gnolls were not armoured at their waists and his swing drove his sword deep into the Gnoll's side, just above the hip, the physical wound worsened by the magic on his blade. As Blake drew his sword back through the wound the edge sliced even deeper and the Gnoll collapsed, rapidly soaking the dirt floor of the theatre with blood from the severed major vessels that had been feeding the muscles of his leg.

Neither Gnoll was dead, yet, but they were out of the fight. Blake caught Neeshka's eye and they nodded to each other briefly. The last Gnoll had recovered a little and, snarling, padded towards Neeshka. Blake glanced at this and decided his sweetheart could handle one Gnoll long enough for him to finish one thing before helping. The Red Wizard's robes had finally stopped burning, but Blake knew the burns to his chest and to his hands where he had struck at the flames would be painful. Before this pain could really register Blake swept his sword around at his shoulder level, which was neck level on the slightly shorter Red Wizard. One of the theatre staff, Blake was confident it was one of the two men, squeaked as the force of this forehand blow sent the decapitated head bouncing across the floor to roll to a stop at their feet.

Turning to help Neeshka Blake realised he had been mistaken to think Neeshka would need this help. Blood was dripping from the Gnoll's wrist where Neeshka had sliced across the back of it and severed the tendons holding the Gnoll's hand shut on its weapon. The Gnoll was still trying to bash Neeshka with his shield and try to slow her down for him to bite at her with his impressive teeth. Neeshka avoided that shield swipe with almost contemptuous ease and stabbed her rapier out and into the Gnoll's open mouth. Unfortunately, unlike the spirit-animal, the Gnoll had a thick skull and for a second Neeshka had to tug hard to free her blade.

The third Red Wizard had finally realised she was going to have to sully her hands with casting combat magic and saw her chance. Rather slowly compared with Blake's battle practiced ease she recited the magic words and cast a Lesser Missile Storm. Blake rushed across as he saw her casting and tried to shield Neeshka from this attack. The magical missiles curved out from the Red Wizard, separating too widely for Blake to block them all but his presence was enough to help. Each missile of the storm would target an enemy so Blake being there meant, according to random chance, half of them would hit him rather than Neeshka.

As it turned out Blake was either fortunate or unfortunate as only one missile 'leaked' past him to strike at Neeshka. His armour did have some proofing against magical energy but Blake still grunted as the missiles struck and discharged and some of their power seeped through his armour into him. Neeshka heard this grunt and this, and the slight pain from the one missile hit, gave her legs extra spring as she pounced from out behind Blake and towards the Red Wizard. Her enemy had just enough time to look surprised before Neeshka buried her rapier through the centre of her chest and her heart. For a moment the two looked at each other before Neeshka drew her arm and blade back and stepped away as the Red Wizard fell flat on her face and died.

Blake glanced around the theatre, at the shocked looking staff and at the fallen Red Wizards and Gnolls. He stabbed his sword down and through the neck of the Gnoll Neeshka had gutted, giving him a quick death rather than let him continue to twitch and bleed from his mouth and slowly die. Seeing the mess they had made Blake felt it was fortunate the floor of this theatre was dirt that could be dug out and replaced. Blake shook his sword off a little to dislodge the larger drops of blood and then wiped it before hooking the now bloodstained cloth to his belt. Its magic made it self-cleaning but sometimes it could take a while to catch up with how it had been dirtied.

"Fortunate they underestimated us, praise Tymorra," Blake commented quietly to Neeshka, as the theatre staff continued to stare, "the Red Wizards thought their Gnolls could deal with the killing so they were slow to 'waste' their magic on us."

"Looks like the Red Wizards were not the only ones surprised," replied Neeshka, nodding at the theatre staff.

This nod seemed to break the lady Dwarf in the centre of the group out of her daze. Picking her way carefully around the blood soaked dirt and parts of Red Wizard and Gnolls she approached Blake and Neeshka. Blake looked down at her, his armour with a few patches of gore and his sword not entirely wiped clean, and tried to not look too suspicious and intimidating.

"A more timely entrance I've never seen, in forty years of theatre," the lady Dwarf said with a slightly nervous smile. "Lienna told us visitors would be coming, though she said nothing of slaying Red Wizards, nor of saving our lives."

Blake frowned at this news. Whoever these people were they were enough in the confidence of the plotters to be told to expect visitors. Either that or revealing that knowledge to them would have been no threat as they were intended to be slain. Blake thought back to the journey here and whether the Red Wizard who Neeshka had slain in the barrow would have been able to keep the same pace, or how much she would have been able to slow the pace before it became suspicious. It did seem likely that despite the delay of loitering in the market to examine the theatre they had arrived sooner than this Lienna might have expected.

"That Red Wizard was not alone…" the lady Dwarf added, "there are more of them and they've followed Lienna into the back rooms."

"You should get yourselves to safety," Blake replied, not voicing his cynical thought that of course they had, if these had survived then they could say Lienna was being chased and if they died then at least the back rooms were more private. "I'll deal with the Wizards."

"Wait! Lienna is no simple theatre matron," warned the lady Dwarf, not surprising Blake with the news. "She has a secret, a shadowy door that leads to a reflection of the Veil. She has fled through the shadow door. I am sure of it. Still, such tricks won't stop Red Wizards, not for long." The lady Dwarf dug in the folds of her dress and held out a black stone. "Here, take this."

Blake hesitated and then rather than dirty his scabbard with the not perfectly cleaned sword stabbed it into the dirt floor to free his hand to take the stone. The magic around it seemed annoyingly familiar as the Dwarf pressed it into his hand. This was very reminiscent of the spells surrounding what they had fought back on the Sword Coast.

"As long as you've got this stone the shadow door will open for you and you'll be able to follow."

"So this 'door' leads to another plane? One that is similar to our own?" Blake asked, suspecting he knew the answer.

"Lienna brought me through the portal, but only a handful of times. It was cold… drained of colour. An unpleasant place, but it looked like our theatre… mostly. Quickly now, through the door at the back of the stage. Find Lienna's bedroom, and go to the back corner, by the mirror. As long as you have that stone you can't miss the door."

Blake nodded as the lady Dwarf trotted off, followed swiftly by her three much taller colleagues. Turning back to Neeshka they exchanged significant looks before he put the stone in a belt pouch and pulled his sword out of the floor again. As they climbed the short set of stairs to the stage Neeshka cleared her throat nervously.

"Are you sure about this?" Neeshka asked as they entered the back rooms. "Could be getting into a lot more trouble and…"

"And we've had enough trouble with shadows for any one lifetime." agreed Blake. "Not much choice though if we want to try to reach this Lienna and have her answer our questions."

Neeshka's tail twitched as she saw some chests and cabinets but Blake was unkind and kept on walking with a shake of his head. Though the lady Dwarf had not said whether to look to their left or their right they soon found the bedroom. Blake looked quickly around it before his wandering took him too close to the mirror and a dark circle sprang into existence.

"That would answer the question of whether the door would open for us," Blake commented, "now the question is whether we are going to kill Red Wizards to save Lienna, as that Dwarf would expect, or going to kill Red Wizards because they are allied with Lienna."

"One way to find out, walk into the creepy black circle to the cold unpleasant place…" replied Neeshka, before winking and adding, "you first."

A moment of disorientation and then they were elsewhere. Rather than bed and workbenches there were shelves of books and all was muted. As the Dwarf had warned colour had no place in this plane, all was shades of grey and black. There was a sense of familiarity nagging at Blake as he glanced around him.

"Seen gloomier places, can't think of any though… Hey are you all right harbour-boy?"

"Something about this room," Blake mused as he crossed to a door and opened it. "No! Something about this room, it feels… wait, that table."

Blake stared at the table in the centre of the room, dreams or memories returning as he looked at the rough wood and the restraints nailed into it. He had felt those planks against his back, those straps binding him down, and he knew the source of the stains of blood upon it and the floor. His jaw tightened in partially remembered pain and in freshly born rage.

"Sure is a lot of blood about it, someone got cut…open…here," Neeshka started, stammering to a halt as she realised who.

"Aye," growled Blake, looking at the table for a few seconds longer before nodding and turning to her, "I think this is not my first time of being in this room."

"I should have killed that bald-bitch slower!" Neeshka snapped. The blood was bad enough but she could see the tension in her harbour-boy's body, so she was sure those restraints had been needed rather than him being doped to the gills, and immobile, when it happened.

"Seeing this you'll get no argument at the moment from me," nodded Blake, "may Hoar continue to bless us with retribution against them."

Still frowning Blake cautiously approached the table and, leaning his sword against it, pulled off his right gauntlet despite how awkward using his left hand was with his shield on that arm. If sight had brought back memories then maybe so would touch, or perhaps smell… though he was not going to lick the table and try taste. He had been punched in the mouth enough at Harvest Brawls to know he did not like the taste of his own blood. Careful of splinters Blake started to run his bare fingertips across the wood, trying to recover more of the feel of that wood against his bare back and of what had happened here.

"Ack!" grunted Blake, his hand slapping at his breastplate as he reflexively grabbed at his chest, the slap hard enough to sting but that minor pain lost in the agony of memory.

"Blake!" Neeshka almost screamed as her harbour-boy's face distorted and he staggered back away from the table. He was quite a weight, especially in full armour, but she managed to stop him falling.

Blake leaned heavily on Neeshka as he gasped for breath, glad for the open face of his helm and the support of his beloved, and tried to sort the rush of memories. "Two… two voices, or is it one… so alike, so alike. Restraints digging into me. Dark figures, it is two women… sisters? Twins? Fingers cold on my skin, a blade…cutting, pain, so much pain… blood, blood to their elbows, a hand inside my chest… withdrawing, the shard glittering… her eyes on mine… for love?… beasts, gargoyles? Carrying me from the table, into darkness, a cave with runes, oh such foulness, a foul presence waiting within…"

Suddenly Blake jolted upright, surprising Neeshka with the reaction and almost making them both fall backwards again. For long moments it was all Blake could do to breathe and press his bare hand against the forehead of his helmet as he fought against passing out. Finally though his knees felt like they could support him and he straightened up and tried to speak.

"Well…" Blake began weakly, before swallowing a few times and starting again, "Well… that answers how involved this Lienna was."

Neeshka bent and picked up the gauntlet Blake had dropped. Holding it for him she asked, "Was it Lienna who shoved her hand into you?"

"No," Blake replied, closing his eyes in recollection as he slid his hand into the gauntlet, "it was the other. The one whose robes were red before they cut me open rather than just afterwards."

"Eww," said Neeshka, not letting go of the gauntlet and looking at the amount of blood, "accurate, but eww."

Blake nodded as he looked around the room. "Seems here was where I lost the shard before being taken on to the barrow."

"Do you smell something?" Neeshka asked suddenly, her delicate nose twitching.

"Hells!" sniffed Blake, catching the same scent, "Burnt flesh…"

"Lienna! Either she burned the Red Wizards…" Neeshka said, releasing the gauntlet and her harbour-boy's arm.

"Or they burned her while I was distracted by this," finished Blake. With an effort he squared his shoulders and straightened up, "Better find out which."

Picking his sword back up from where it was leaning against the table Blake approached the door. If this shadow Veil were as similar as the Dwarf had said to the one in the normal world then this would lead to the stage. For a moment he considered kicking the door down, it looked flimsy enough, but instead he simply cast some extra protections in anticipation of facing magic and opened it. The smell of charred meat doubled as more was carried on the draught and as Blake and Neeshka moved towards the stage. As expected there were more Red Wizards, though their leader's reaction was less expected.

"You…" the Red Wizard said, his eyes widening, "Araman warned me of you."

"Did he?" Blake replied flatly. "Who's Araman?"

"Does it matter?" commented Neeshka, gesturing subtly. "Look over there."

Blake looked and could see the source of the smell. In the middle of the aisle between shadow-plane bales of hay was a charred skeleton surrounded by blackened soil. That might be tangible enough remains for a prayer of raise dead or resurrection, if Blake had still the services of a cleric of that power, which he did not since Zhjave had deserted them. "Beshaba," he cursed, invoking the name of the Maid of Misfortune as he saw their luck had changed for the worse. "If that is Lienna you have made a mistake Red Wizard," Blake said, turning back to their leader. "I might have wanted her dead…"

"Might have?" Neeshka exclaimed.

Blake glanced at Neeshka before continuing. "I wanted her dead, but I needed to talk to her first."

"A shame the old hag didn't put up more of a fight then before destroying herself in that blaze of fire," the Red Wizard mocked.

"A shame indeed," Blake agreed calmly, "why did you want her dead?"

"I have earned a promotion, but knowing that won't do you any good," the Red Wizard said, some confidence coming to his voice. "Lienna was wise to destroy herself rather than face me. I doubt you have her sense to surrender and make this quick… No matter, let's settle this!"

With that he began chanting to cast a Fireball but as it burst from his hands Blake and Neeshka were already moving. Neeshka's speed and grace would have let her avoid this attack even without the spell Blake had cast to enhance their ability to avoid the worst effects of spells. Blake was rather slower, but he was still quick enough to get mostly out of the way and protective spells and equipment absorbed what fire he did not avoid.

The Red Wizards seemed taken off balance by the speed of Blake and Neeshka's reactions. Then one really was taken off balance as Neeshka leapt from the stage, planting both her feet on his upper chest to ride him down to the floor. The Red Wizard had just enough time to 'oof' out the breath forced from him by landing flat on his back with a Tiefling standing on his chest before she let her knees bend with the impact and her rapier came down and through his neck.

Blake meanwhile had decided to use the stairs and either this gave his first opponent a little more warning or that Red Wizard simply had better reactions. The missiles of a Greater Missile Storm arced away from him and into Blake. This hurt but was nowhere near enough to stop Blake's charge; he ignored the pain and continued on, his armour glowing slightly in patches as it radiated the magical energy it had absorbed back into the weave. The Red Wizard started to back away, to try to keep some distance to cast another spell, but this was too late as Blake brought his sword down in a forehand blow that opened the Red Wizard's front from shoulder to opposite hip.

As Neeshka landed from jumping off the Red Wizard she'd ridden down the Red Wizard leader thought he saw a chance. Muttering again in the language of magic he sent a spell of Disintegrate slicing towards Neeshka, but she twisted backwards and the beam continued past her to carve a hole in the shadow-theatre wall. Glancing over his shoulder at the armoured man the Red Wizard snarled to his last ally to hold him off. The Tiefling was approaching, and she'd proved quick on her Infernal-spawned feet, so the Red Wizard leader decided to try something less easy to sidestep. He chanted and the broader effect of a Cone of Cold spewed from his hands.

Neeshka stumbled as despite her efforts an edge of this caught her and one leg became coated with frost. The fine links of the chainmail froze together, the leather of her boot became stiff with cold, and beneath her armour her leg went slightly numb. She could still move it but it would take a few minutes for feeling to completely return to her leg and for her armour links to shed all the tiny fragments of ice that were falling from them like snow as she moved and they broke free.

The Red Wizard leader smiled as he saw his target become an easier one. He hesitated a moment in triumph as he considered what spell would be best to finish her, what would be most painful or humiliating, or whether to simply immobilise her and save her for later… There was a sudden impact in his back and he fell under the weight of whatever had struck him. Wetness soaked him as he twisted on the floor under this weight and he nearly vomited as he realised what had hit him had been the headless corpse of his last ally and he was being drenched in blood.

As much as a Wizard had an advantage at range there was little one unprepared for physical combat could do up close against someone armed, armoured, battle-hardened, and motivated by a danger to the woman he loved. None of the Red Wizards had expected to have to get their hands or quarterstaffs dirty. Those in the Veil had the Gnolls for that and those that had pursued into the Plane of Shadows had expected, if anything, a duel of magic. Blake had barely been slowed as he brought his sword across in a backhanded blow and slammed his shield into the freshly decapitated corpse to knock it into the Red Wizard Leader.

Blake looked across at Neeshka, who nodded to him and started massaging her chilled leg, and then stared down at the surviving Red Wizard as blood dripped from his sword and the Red Wizard scrabbled at the dirt to try to drag himself out from under the body. He thought for a moment and then crouched down onto one knee as he slapped the flat of his sword onto the Red Wizard's left hand. There was a crunch from the hand and a cry from the mouth of the Red Wizard as Blake straightened again, and then drove his boot heel into the Red Wizard's face, truncating the Red Wizard's crying.

Neeshka looked a bit worried, she'd not been badly hurt or in enough danger that her harbour-boy ought to be beating someone to death over it. Reassurances were on the edge of her lips as Blake stabbed his sword down into the dirt floor and then crouched again and grabbed the Red Wizard by the throat. With anger and magic fuelled strength Blake hauled the Red Wizard up, out from under the corpse of his colleague, and slammed his back against the stage. The stage was low so the Red Wizard bent backwards slightly over it and unfortunately for him he tried to brace himself against the stage's edge. The pain in his left hand as he pressed it against the edge of the stage was joined by fresh agony from his right as Blake punched his shield-arm forward and crushed the Red Wizard's other hand between the edge of his shield and that of the stage.

"Talk," Blake said with as much menace as he could.

This was not enough menace though to pierce the Red Wizard's conceit. Even covered in the blood of another, his own blood bubbling from his broken nose and his mouth, and his hands crushed to a state only the most skilled clerics could regenerate he was still contemptuous of the danger. This thug might have broken his hands but the Red Wizard knew he still had some still-spells prepared. He only needed half a chance and he'd be able to fight back. There was no way this pair would recognise spellcasting without the normal hand waving.

Neeshka came over, Blake's hand tightening slightly on the Red Wizard's neck as he saw she was limping slightly, and she placed her the edge of her sword lightly against the back of Blake's hand. Blake looked at her for a moment before he understood, nodded, and removed his hand from under the blade. Released from this grip the Red Wizard had to fight to avoid falling forward onto Neeshka's sword and slicing his own throat open. As he tried to keep his balance and Neeshka kept her sword so he could not move far the Red Wizard watched Blake back away a little.

"I want answers," Blake said simply.

There was a short silence while the Red Wizard continued to stare defiantly and then Blake muttered an invocation. He'd always been more inclined to ask politely or try to persuade or convince than simply glower so he hoped his magic would be more menacing than his personality. A Vitriolic Sphere formed and crossed the short distance to the Red Wizard corpse by the stairs. Flesh and cloth began to smoke as the acid ate away at them and the corpse began to dissolve. Within seconds patches of skull started to show as the flesh there was both thin and unprotected by clothing. Blake turned back and looked at the Red Wizard.

Fear had entered the Red Wizard's eyes as well as pain as things suddenly seemed hopeless. For that thug to have cast that spell he must have considerable knowledge both of the arcane and of how to cast spells without needing hand-motions. The half chance the Red Wizard was hoping for had revealed itself as no chance at all. There was still one way to deny the thug what he wanted though… to achieve some victory.

Neeshka whipped her rapier away as the Red Wizard lunged, but too late. The incredibly sharp edge of the blade her harbour-boy had paid one of the finest smiths of the Sword Coast to make for her only needed the barest touch to open the Red Wizard's throat. As his blood spurted from his neck and he collapsed the Red Wizard managed to force a look of contempt and triumph to his face.

"I'm sorry, he just… just…" said Neeshka, looking down at the corpse with a stricken expression.

"Not your fault," Blake interrupted, "it is mine for being squeamish."

"Squeamish?" asked Neeshka, her contrition replaced by surprise. She'd seen what he'd done to that Red Wizard without hesitation or mercy.

"We both know there are wounds that incapacitate without being fatal," Blake pointed out. "But rather than cripple him I was just trying to intimidate and prevent spellcasting."

Neeshka looked back down at the corpse. She didn't much care about Red Wizards but she didn't want her harbour-boy becoming a torturer or being tempted towards becoming one. She quickly checked that corpse and the other two, unable to search the third thanks to the acid, and shook her head at Blake. "No clues," she confirmed as she lithely straightened.

"Disappointing, but reassuring in a way," Blake replied. Neeshka looked enquiringly at him so he gestured at the semi-dissolved body. "If there are no clues on them then unlikely there had been any on him."

Neeshka nodded. "We passed chests and bookcases on the way here, maybe better luck there?"

"Red Knight bless our plans and Tymorra our luck," Blake responded, plucking his sword from the ground and cleaning it off.

As they re-entered the previous room and Neeshka crossed to the chest there Blake found himself looking at the table rather than enjoying the sight of Neeshka at work. He wondered how the Red Wizards, or Lienna if she had survived, would have liked being strapped down there and cut open. Dark thoughts swirled through his mind, though whether they were from the depraved part of him, from stories of evil deeds he had read, or came from the hunger that still slept inside him Blake could not be sure.

Swiftly and efficiently Neeshka opened chests and they sorted the contents, adding a few scrolls and items to the burden within their magic bags but learning nothing new about what Lienna had intended or why Red Wizards had killed her. It was well known the Red Wizards of Thay were riven by conflict between their factions. That the leader here had felt he had earned a promotion argued for this being more of the same. What Lienna's faction was hoping to accomplish and why they were being opposed in this by that other faction was something Blake would have liked to have discovered though.

Neeshka cursed a little as the door in the portal-room defied her best efforts. Blake smiled sympathetically and then led the way back through the portal to the Veil Theatre. Moving towards the front doors they continued to search, though being careful and taking nothing and Neeshka re-locking anything she had needed to unlock so all appeared undisturbed. As they entered the auditorium Blake frowned as he saw the corpses of the Gnolls and Red Wizards were still there alone.

"Problem harbour-boy?" asked Neeshka, seeing this frown, as she picked up and dusted off her cloak.

"No, no problem," Blake replied sourly as his sweetheart clasped her cloak on, "in fact if we want to continue to hide you are a Tiefling it is fortunate that the guards here have been as lazy in responding to this attack as they were to freeing Shelvedar's wagon."

Neeshka chuckled and raised her hood as Blake tried to convince himself the absence of guards was a good thing. Her harbour boy had not been that long in the City Watch in Neverwinter, or that long Captain of Crossroad Keep, or even that long both combined, but it seemed to have been long enough to make him get irritated when he thought professional standards had not been met. Blake took off his helmet and lowered his chainmail hood to put his hat back on and Neeshka chuckled quietly again to herself as he led the way outside and she heard his noise of annoyance when he saw there were not even guards securing the front door of the theatre.

Suddenly there were three flashes of light, each producing a woman with a mask across her upper face. Blake relaxed his hand from where it had gone to his sword hilt as he looked at these women and decided these might be some of the infamous Witches of this land. It would be better to avoid provoking them with a hand on a weapon both because they had the reputation of being formidable spellcasters and because they were the local authorities. Neeshka had jumped back up a few steps into a defensive crouch and looked back at the Witches as they stared at her and Blake.

"So much for gratitude," Neeshka muttered as the Witches continued to stare, unwelcoming expressions visible around their eyes and on their lower faces.

"Our gratitude is limited, child," the oldest Witch retorted, "by the trouble you bring."

"Look Sheva… the girl's companion!" another Witch accused. "It's that one who offends the land and draws an army to our gate."

"Speak your name foreigner," the oldest Witch, Sheva, said, "and be warned that you address the Wychlaran."

"I am Blake Marsh," Blake said, deciding to drop his titles as it seemed unlikely these people would care, "and I came to your city to find a woman called Lienna. But it seems I arrived too late or should not have lingered in your marketplace first."

"Then Magda spoke true?" the third, nervous and younger sounding, Witch asked. "She said there were Thayans, that they appeared from the very shadows…"

'Hmm,' Blake mused to himself.'Sounds like the lady Dwarf is called Magda… and from the very shadows might mean from the Shadow Plane, so perhaps the guards aren't as incompetent as they would need to be to not notice a procession of Red Wizards and Gnolls through the gates? On the other hand if those enemies had come through the Shadow Plane then Lienna would know they had access to it and would know this was not a refuge. Never mind now though, the Witches are still speaking.'

"Calm, Katya, you are a Witch now, not a farmgirl," Sheva chided before turning back to Blake. "You crossed spells and blades with our mortal enemies foreigner and drove them from our midst. For that, much may be forgiven."

"Thank you," Blake replied. He tried to keep his tone polite, though he was not sure what he needed to be forgiven for and not sure he cared for the Wychlaran's opinion anyway. "All I ask is you let me finish my business here, find the answers I need, and I shall be on my way."

"He doesn't know…" quavered Katya, her tone making Blake decide the standard of farmgirls in this land was not impressive compared with Shandra and those in West Harbour. "He can't sense the spirits, like we can… the fury that trembles in the earth and screams upon the wind…"

"The bear-god has marched an army of spirits to our gate," Sheva said, overriding her subordinate. "He roars for your blood and claims you have defiled his sacred den… that you have loosed an evil upon the world."

"And the bear-god does not lie," the bitter voiced Witch said. "I can smell the wrongness on you, foreigner, it hangs upon you like a corpse shroud."

"Indeed, he may be right," Blake admitted, "a Red Wizard plot placed me, unconscious, in his barrow and these other Red Wizards have prevented me learning why. I had little luck explaining that to him before, but I don't wish any ill on you or your town so I am willing to try again. However I would prefer to speak to Magda first in case Lienna told her something I can use."

"Your country must be barren, foreigner…" marvelled Sheva, "its spirits long dead or twisted into creatures of flesh and reason. The gods of our land are ruled by passion alone. Whatever your intentions, whatever your arguments, however noble your dreams may be… if the bear-god craves your blood you will bleed."

"And how do we know your dreams are noble?" added the bitter Witch contemptuously. "How do we know you wouldn't have slain Lienna yourself? How do we know you won't do the same to Magda?"

"And how do you know my dreams are not noble?" Blake replied. "But, to answer your second question, with Lienna it would have depended on what she said. Being abducted and having my chest cut open does not engender kind feelings."

"Your honesty does you credit foreigner," conceded Sheva before adding, "Although it makes us glad we have placed Magda in a place of safety."

"Her… her I have no argument with," Blake nodded to himself as he sorted his thoughts. "When I entered the Veil Theatre and saw her it felt as if that was for the first time. Her face does not appear in what memories I have recovered of my abduction."

"Nonetheless foreigner, until you make your peace with the bear-god we cannot know you for a friend," replied Sheva, unconvinced. "Magda will be kept safe from the bear-god, and from you, until then."

"Then I have little choice," Blake frowned. "If you say I cannot use reason rather than force, then I shall have to confront Okku. Again."

Sheva looked at Blake a moment and then came to a decision, "No witch may stand against the spirits of the land… but I will honour the debt we owe you for defeating the Red Wizards. Go to our prison on the north edge of town. Any convict who is willing to stand at your side will be granted a full pardon."

"My thanks," Blake replied, wondering if the Witches were just trying to save on the cost of executions. "May Lady Luck smile on us all, even Okku, so this can be resolved for the best and I can get some of the answers I seek."

"We will watch from our high place, and we will receive you again," Sheva concluded. "If you return alive."

Three lights flashed and the Witches vanished as abruptly as they had arrived. Neeshka glanced around at the various passers-by and marketplace customers that were looking at them and sighed as she saw the looks they were being given and the gossiping that had already started. "So much for trying to keep a low profile," she muttered to Blake.

"Sorry dear," Blake replied as quietly, "you were right about entering the Veil Theatre."

"Oh!" exclaimed Neeshka before lowering her voice again. "No, no… I didn't mean that. Despite us preparing outside in plain view nobody seemed to notice. I was talking about the Witches flashing in and out."

"Ah," Blake replied, "and having that conversation out here rather than inside."

"Right," said Neeshka, "and they'll receive you if you survive? Generous of them, unless you shambled up to them as an Undead be hard to receive you if you didn't."

"At least they are keeping out of our way until then," Blake reminded her.

"Not completely," grinned Neeshka, "depends how much they would be watching from their 'high place'."

"Ah, yes…" Blake smiled, "there are some things I'd rather not have them watch us do, mostly those inspired by Sharess."

Neeshka giggled at the mention of the goddess of sensual fulfilment. "The show might cheer them up, or they might get jealous."

"One would cause us problems," Blake replied, "and the other is an image I'd have preferred to not have had evoked."

"We could just leave," Neeshka said, trying to change the subject again. "I am sure you could figure out some sort of spell to get us past the spirits or… as creepy as it was… we could see if we can travel through the Shadow Plane and come back out far away?"

"Those could work, but I don't think Okku would relent in his pursuit," Blake frowned in thought. "I'd rather fight him here where there is a chance of gaining answers from Magda than fight him far away where there would be no such gain. I just hope these witches are not like Captain Brelaina."

"Eh?" Neeshka said, not seeing the connection.

"You remember how she had us running around, dangling the promise of entering Blacklake if we completed one more task…"

"I still think we could have snuck over the wall," pouted Neeshka. "Was embarrassing working for the City Watch, not how I thought I'd be spending my time back in Neverwinter."

"Well, I didn't think I'd be helping a pretty Tiefling win a burglary contest," Blake pointed out.

"You are just lucky the Collector was willing to go along with your plan so we could trap Leldon."

"Lucky or unlucky?" Blake asked with a grin. "If he'd not been willing to pretend to be being robbed in return for those rare items we'd found I doubt you'd have given up the contest, and I am sure you would have found some interesting ways to try to persuade me to…ouch."

Neeshka flexed her hand where she had punched Blake in the upper arm. She'd misjudged slightly how hard the Mithril armour plate would be to hit compared with the leather pad she had in the same place. Seeing this Blake took her by the fingertips. He grazed a kiss across the knuckles of her glove and demonstrated he had learned some of the basics of how to behave at court. With a dimpled smile Neeshka bobbed slightly in a semi-curtsy in return.

"I'd have persuaded you," Neeshka said after a moment, happy to leave her hand in her harbour-boy's, "you'd have done what I wanted, but I cared a lot more about you than the contest with Leldon." Blake looked slightly blank so she continued with a slight sad smile, "I wasn't going to risk losing you to doubting my… reasons."

"Hmm," Blake said as he nodded, "as much as I love and trust you now it is hard to remember this was not always as complete. You're right, as much as I'd have enjoyed the persuasion…"

"And I'd have enjoyed the persuading…" interrupted Neeshka with a wink.

"In the cold light of day I'd have had doubts back then, wondered if you were using me, if I was…" Blake paused with a sigh before continuing. "Still, back to the Witches. I don't think there's a, metaphorical, wall to sneak over here."

"If this was Neverwinter I'd know where to look, I'd have some contacts," grumbled Neeshka, "but in this town your guess is as good as mine harbour-boy. Well, maybe not quite as good, but…"

"But I know what you mean," Blake admitted. "And scrying spells will be of no help, they are sure to have screened Magda from those and it's equally sure they'd know if I attempted to prepare one."

"I hate that we're going to have to play by their rules," frowned Neeshka slightly.

"For now, but if we can kick the board over and that gets us home sooner then we shall."

Neeshka's frown cleared into a smile as she found her harbour-boy, despite his honesty, was looking for the better more devious angle. She glanced either way, the gates on the road up the hill were open and that would probably be the direction of the prison. More important the gates towards the dock were also open; she had faith that if that Inn had a nice room Blake would be able to screen it against the Witches watching and that she could motivate him to do this. Even if it would require many hours of study and preparation from him he would think it worth the end result.

Blake was having similar thoughts though he was less confident than Neeshka in his ability to create an anti-scrying field. He knew the basic ideas but that was a long way from being able to create a spell. Still, he thought looking at Neeshka, it was worth the time to think about and maybe recheck the market for any books that could help. However as Blake wandered towards the market two winged figures approached, their build suggesting Celestial blood rather than Avariel, and Neeshka suddenly winced and moved back. Blake cast a worried glance at her but she waved this concern off.

"We couldn't help but overhear," the male said, the broad antlers attached to his helmet bobbing as he spoke. "An army of angry spirits awaits you at the gates of Mulsantir. You will perhaps require more help against such a host."

"My bow and my brother's sword will aid you," the black haired female added, "should you agree to first help us find our lost sister Kaelyn the Dove."

Blake cast another worried glance back at Neeshka. Normally she'd have made some small noise at having it confirmed these people wanted a task performed but instead she was lingering barely within earshot. He was worried as what he could see of her body language with the concealing cloak suggested discomfort but these two seemed to be waiting for some sort of answer.

"You are the only winged people I have seen since arriving in this land," Blake replied, dragging his attention away from Neeshka, "so where would you suggest we start such a search?"

"Kaelyn came here seeking the abandoned stronghold of Myrkul," the female supplied, "the Death God's vault, which is in Shadow Mulsantir."

"Understandable that it would be abandoned with that God of the Dead having become subject to his own portfolio, and Shadow Mulsantir I think I have been to, though I did not exit the building in which I entered that plane."

"It is said that Mulsantir has thin boundaries between the Prime and the Plane of Shadow," nodded the male, making Blake hope he had strapped his antlered helmet on securely, "especially at night or in dark places."

"Yes, if the rumours are true there are many 'weak spots' where one can cross to the Plane of Shadow at night," added his sister. "Perhaps a thorough search of the city might reveal some of these to you."

"We asked the witches when we first arrived and they claimed that Shadow Mulsantir was just a myth," complained her brother, "but from what you have said we know that is a lie. Maybe if you spoke to them…"

"Wait," Blake interrupted, noticing something despite being distracted by his concern for Neeshka, "you say 'some of these to you' and 'if you spoke to them'…"

"Entering Myrkul's sanctum would be a violation of our faith to Kelemvor," the male noted piously.

Blake opened his mouth to argue. That they could not enter Myrkul's sanctum did not prevent them from helping in the search for places in Mulsantir to reach the Shadow-Plane. Did not prevent them from talking to the Witches again. Did not prevent them from crossing over to Shadow-Mulsantir and aiding against any danger on the way to Myrkul's sanctum before others entered it. Would not have prevented them from crossing over to Shadow-Mulsantir and, having opened or smashed the sanctum's outer doors, from shouting themselves hoarse calling in through that doorway for their sister. But then Blake glanced again at Neeshka. There was something wrong with her and, as it seemed connected to these people, allowing them to remain behind rather than protesting their excuses might be better.

"And your sister," Blake asked, refraining from his arguments, "is this not true for her as well?"

"Kaelyn has… abandoned her faith in Kelemvor," replied the male, reluctance and sadness mingling in his voice. "For this she was exiled from our grandfather's court. She now follows Ilmater, the god of martyrs."

"We hope to find our sister and convince her to not become a martyr herself…" added his sister.

Blake nodded rather than comment that acting rather simply hoping might have been more effective. "With no offence to your grandfather his having exiled her would seem to make that more likely a fate. Still, with the blessing of Tymorra, she may yet be reached in time."

"We hope so," said the male, again testing Blake's resolve to not argue.

"You say she is likely within the vault of dead Myrkul?" Blake continued, trying to get what information he could. "Do you have any idea what else might be within?"

"The Death God's Vault has been abandoned since his death", replied the male, "It was used as a library, a prison, and a secure place to store things valuable to the Myrkullite faith."

"Is there something specific she seeks?"

The two siblings exchanged a look and Blake's jaw tightened in impatience. These two had already made it clear they were going to be no practical help in the search for their sister so the least they could do was share the information they were unwilling to use themselves. For a moment Blake wavered between continuing the conversation and simply walking away; to leave them to find someone else and allow him to find out sooner what was wrong with Neeshka. Frankly he cared more about Neeshka's discomfort than he did about whether they or their sister lived or died, but a twinge of conscience made him make one last effort.

"If there is something she seeks," Blake pointed out, more annoyance than he realised seeping into each over-emphasised word, "then if you tell me what I will at least know where in this Vault to begin my search."

The female's lips tightened in decision as she saw their best chance slipping away from them. "I believe she may have gone there to learn more about Akachi's Crusade…"

"Sister!" protested her brother. "Do not speak of the Betrayer. For Kaelyn's sake I hope she is there for some other reason."

"Very well," Blake replied, ignoring the brother. "I shall seek out Kaelyn and seek her amongst the books, rather than the cells or strongboxes."

"Thank you," said the female. "We will be very grateful to once more lay eyes upon our beloved sister."

"Go with care," the male advised. "The Death God's vault may still contain some of Myrkul's old defences, and Kelemvor's blessings be with you."

As the two half-celestials moved back to where they had been lingering in the marketplace Blake pondered whether the hat he'd bought had 'idiot' embroidered on it and a spell that made this only visible when worn. That pair had picked him to do what they would not and of course he would go with care and of course there might still be traps there. Still best to take the warning in the spirit it was, probably, intended. Neeshka was moving back towards him so Blake took the few steps to meet her.

"Can we afford to help them?" Neeshka asked quietly, her normal effervescence notably absent. "I thought we wanted to get home as soon as we could."

"I'd think you'd like the idea of visiting an abandoned Vault with valuable things," said Blake, trying to cheer her up.

"Valuable to the Myrkullites and Valuable are two different things," Neeshka replied, looking irritated. "Holy artefacts are nothing but trouble."

Blake half smiled, much more reassuring to have Neeshka look annoyed with him rather than subdued, before looking concerned again. "There is more going on here with you than you are saying my love."

"You remember when we met Casavir?" Neeshka said, looking a little queasy.

"Aye, you said his aura made your skin itch…" replied Blake, realising as he spoke, "are you saying they give you the same trouble?"

"More," Neeshka admitted. "I don't know if it is them, or what Black Garius did to me, but it was quite painful them being close by."

Blake scowled as he remembered Black Garius' boast that he had directed his binding magic at and through Neeshka's blood of the lower planes, this could have made her more sensitive to those of the upper planes. "I don't want to cause you pain," suggested Blake slowly. "Perhaps what might be best is if you remain in Mulsantir, away from the half-celestials and away from the bear-god and let them inflict pain on each other rather than you…"

"Will you stop doing that harbour-boy!" Neeshka snapped, looking angry rather than just annoyed. "Have you ever needed to rescue me since that first time?"

"No, I suppose not, and you are only here because I needed the rescuing."

"Well then," Neeshka replied, glad Blake was not going to argue, "stop trying to tell me to stay somewhere safe. If you think we need their help, or if your tender conscience won't let you go back on having agreed to look for their sister, then I'll tolerate their presence."

"My conscience would handle disappointing strangers, especially those two, far better than it would handle pain to someone I love," Blake stated flatly. "But… that pain could come from Okku if we don't have them to be between his claws and you."

"Deal then," nodded Neeshka. "Now that is settled all we need is to find out how to get to their sister."

"Speaking to the Witches is not something I favour," Blake agreed, with obvious understatement, "but there seems no other choice. I'll assume that by their 'high place' they mean what someone less full of dung would call 'near the top of the hill'."

"As good a place to look as any now those inner gates are open."

The walk up the hill was not a long one and Blake and Neeshka nodded and glanced to each other as they saw what looked to be a Temple of Kelemvor. If Shadow-Mulsantir was a reflection of this plane then that would likely be where Myrkul's vault was there. Blake looked to their left and saw some statues, which was possibly where the Witches were, but he also saw a pair of Berserkers hitting each other outside a long low building.

"Other way harbour-boy," Neeshka commented quietly as Blake continued ahead.

"Avoiding Berserkers," replied Blake, also sotto voice. "Getting a better idea of town layout by circling around."

Neeshka nodded to this and then nodded again at the prison as they passed it. There were some stairs set into the side of the hill and it was a mild surprise to Blake after they had climbed them that they could see the Witches below rather than their 'high place' being on this highest point. With a shrug, and another prayer to Milil for eloquence, he led the way down the sloping path and approached the Witch who seemed to be the leader here.

"The bear-god still roars for your blood foreigner," Sheva said unwelcomingly, "why do you stand on our sacred ground?"

"I have met a brother and sister who have offered me aid, but that depends on my finding their sister who they believe is in Shadow Mulsantir."

"That place is a fable spread by the rumours of foreigners," Sheva lied.

"Madame," said Blake firmly, but without disrespect, "within the Veil Theatre I passed through a portal to the Plane of Shadows…"

"Hmmm, indeed, I suppose that renders the denials pointless in your case," Sheva groused. "I will mark a location on your map where when night falls you may find another portal. In return though I ask that you not speak of this to others."

"I will be discreet."

"See that you do," Sheva threatened, her expression souring a little more. "Residents of Mulsantir live with enough fear lately. I do not want some foreigner to give solidity to what is, for now, just a rumour."

Blake nodded to her and led the way back towards the prison. His mood was becoming ever darker as at each turn he found more deceit, more hindrance to him finding the answers he needed to unravel the Red Wizard plot. Those that had Oghma's blessings of knowledge seemed to wish to hoard them. The only person that had been helpful to him so far had been that merchant Shelvedar whose warning and advice had been worth far more than the profit he'd made on the cloaks. Even Magda had likely only given information because she thought he might need it to save Lienna. There was only one thing that made this less bleak and, praise Sune for their love, she was walking gracefully by his side.

"So we need to wait for night?" Neeshka asked as she returned the smile Blake had suddenly given her.

"Probably, unless we want to go through the Veil Theatre."

"I think not," Neeshka mused, "they might have got around to cleaning up the bodies by now."

"Aye, and if I am not supposed to speak of Shadow-Mulsantir would be hard to explain to those cleaners why I needed to go past them to the back rooms." Blake glanced at the sun before continuing. "It is only evening so that gives us time to prepare and to see what we can find in the prison."

"If they are in prison they can't be much good," Neeshka pointed out with professional pride.

"Or maybe the witches are more formidable than they seem, and have managed to imprison someone of significant power. If so then that would suggest it unwise for us to fight them, or at least not without finding some sort of advantage."

Neeshka thought a moment and then, reluctantly, conceded that point. Though privately she still felt confident who would come off worse if those Witches did force her and her harbour-boy to fight them. Whether it had been modesty or whether he thought there an advantage in their ignorance of his titles and deeds the result had been the same. The Witches did seem to be underestimating them and mistaking Blake's lack of arrogance for a lack of the power to be arrogant with.

It was only a short walk past the Temple of Kelemvor and around towards its back where the prison faced onto a small graveyard. Entering the prison an old Witch approached them with the scowl that seemed to have been placed on all their faces along with the masks. She looked at Blake and Neeshka and honoured them with a second or two of extra scowling before she spoke.

"As you have disturbed the spirits," the old Witch complained to Blake, "you also disturb me. For what reason are you here?"

"Your fellow Witch, Sheva, said any prisoner I can recruit would earn a pardon. Were you not informed?"

"I was," admitted the Witch-warden.

"Then that answers your question," Blake said, his tone becoming harsher at this needless pretence of ignorance. "Who do you have imprisoned here?"

"A murderer, a thief, and one whom I will not speak of," replied the old Witch, deciding to supply information so Blake would leave sooner. "Dangerous, he is. It is permitted to speak with them. Be warned: two you need not fear, but as for the third… guard your thoughts."

"Dangerous sounds promising," Neeshka whispered into Blake's ear.

Blake nodded to her in agreement as they crossed to the first cell and looked at the Hagspawn within.

"You want something from me?" the Hagspawn said as he felt their eyes on him.

"I am looking for aid fighting an army of spirits," Blake said simply.

"No hand will I raise against spirits," the Hagspawn replied. "Their reach and their memories are long."

"Certainly seem to bear grudges…" commented Neeshka before subsiding as Blake glanced at her. She bit her lower lip and twinkled her eyes at him as she realised she was actually arguing against Blake being able to recruit this person.

"If you are the murderer, rather than the thief, of whom the old witch spoke then what alternative have you?" Blake pointed out. "Certain death if you stay here to be executed but only probable death if you aid me and earn a pardon."

"Hah! I am Hagspawn and so outcast, trapped in this existence through no fault of my own. I gladly accept the fate that awaits me here since it will bring me the peace that has eluded me. Go now, I do not wish to speak to you any longer."

Blake and Neeshka exchanged a shrug, hers looking far prettier, as the Hagspawn turned away and started to ignore them. The next cell looked even less promising as all it contained was a Halfling and not one that looked tough. There were many tales of people underestimating the sharpness of Halfling blades, the accuracy of Halfling slings, or the potency of Halfling magic but this fellow looked more Mouse than Shrew. More prey than voracious but tiny predator.

"If you are going to ask me what you asked Groznek," the Halfling said before Blake could speak, "I've got the same answer: no."

"What sort of thievery did you commit?"

"There was a misunderstanding about the ownership of some coins I found while visiting the local bazaar…" came the reply as the Halfling eyes shifted back and forth rather than meeting Blake's own.

"An easy misunderstanding to happen," Neeshka said, mock-consolingly.

"Naturally the Witches took the word of the locals over that of a traveller from Luiren who'd barely arrived in the city," the Halfling added, looking more mouse like by the moment.

"Naturally," Blake replied deadpan.

"Look, you made your offer, I turned you down, and that's that," said the Halfling. "We've got nothing else to talk about."

"True," Blake admitted, "so enjoy the rest of your sentence. Hopefully this town doesn't have laws stating thieves' hands should be cut off, and a magic tattoo to prevent regeneration applied to the stump."

The Halfling looked at Blake for the first time at that comment, wondering suddenly if he should have taken the offer and then tried to desert, but Blake had already turned and walked away. Blake paused a moment before the closed door at the end to speak quietly to Neeshka. "I doubt the Halfling would have done more than given Okku a belch," Blake commented, glancing back over his shoulder and amplifying, "a particularly foul belch, but the Hagspawn might have lasted longer."

"No loss, either of them" Neeshka replied.

"I suppose not," nodded Blake in agreement, "Hopefully this is the 'dangerous' one here, and he's the sort of dangerous that can be aimed."

Pushing the door open Blake had to fight to keep his disappointment from his face. The prisoner within looked to spend more time on his hair and gazing at himself in admiration in a mirror than on honing any skills useful against a spirit-army. On the other hand as little reason as Blake had to trust the judgement of Witches they had called him dangerous and there did seem to be some arcane markings on the floor.

"Ah, more jailers come to rattle my cage?" the man said, his skin tone though not his features reminiscent of the Hagspawn they had just seen. "Here I was, settling into a relaxing dream, now you've gone and spoiled it."

"Aww… sorry for interrupting your nap," retorted Neeshka, "must be very tiring being in jail."

"Your apology is accepted, in just the way you intended, and I am sure you know much of being in prison. Myself I have no desire to learn more of this from you or from personal experience. But you must have come for some urgent need… amuse me with it, it will help pass the time."

Before Neeshka could respond Blake spoke, trying to keep his tone diplomatic. "What are these wards around your prison?"

"Oh those?" asked the man with fake surprise. "I hadn't noticed. Did some child come by with a handful of chalk and scrawl them there?"

"Perhaps," Blake said, losing a little of his politeness, "given the skill. Someone altered them though, and from the inside."

"Hmm. A mystery, indeed," replied the man, casting a look at the wards. "Who do you suspect of altering them? Not me, I hope? I have an alibi."

"I'd never suspect you," Blake said, matching the man's earlier false surprise. "Looks to have been expertly done. Which, of course, rules you out at once."

"Well, I suppose I should be gratified by the exoneration. One less crime I am guilty of, and a judgement so caustically delivered. You may actually be worth speaking with…"

"You may actually not be," Neeshka muttered, impatient with the banter.

"But you have not answered what precisely it is that you want," the man continued, ignoring Neeshka. "I am not a reader-of-minds, you know, so out with it."

"First," Blake asked, his eyes narrowing a fraction, "what crime have you been jailed for?"

"My crime? It is a serious one you see," came the conceited reply. "I am too handsome to look upon." Neeshka gave a most unladylike snort at this and rolled her eyes at Blake as he glanced to her. Blake shrugged, his patience diminished, and started to turn to go. "It is no matter," the man said, seeing this reaction "I have no need to see how hot the already warm blood of your companion can be stoked, so here I will remain so as to not ruin your chances with the fairer sex."

Blake paused in his turn as his fists flexed. It did seem this man was only dangerous to the temper of those intolerant of mockery, but then Blake was intolerant of mockery directed towards Neeshka. Killing this fellow as he had Leldon's thugs that had called her 'goat-girl' would likely cause trouble, but there was the option of solving two problems with a series of punches. It would avenge the mockery and, if this man was imprisoned for being too handsome to look at, his problem could be solved by a contest between his sneering face and the Mithril of Blake's Gauntlets. Though if Neeshka wanted him maimed she was more than capable of doing it herself…

"Hah!" Neeshka replied scornfully, movement beneath her cloak showing her tail was lashing. "If I thought you could ruin his chances with the fairer sex I'd drag you out of here myself."

"What?" said Blake in a rather dopey tone, taken by surprise by this.

"Come on harbour-boy…" Neeshka grinned to Blake, "you don't think I haven't noticed how many women share my taste in you."

"An amusing notion," the man said, looking Blake up and down. "I should like to hear more about this strange occurrence."

"Strange? What is so strange…" Blake protested before he could help himself, "Ah… I mean, nothing to hear. She is exaggerating."

"Am I?" purred Neeshka, "What about Elanee?"

"Well, perhaps," Blake admitted, "though I never tried to encourage her…"

"Captain Brelaina…" added Neeshka.

"She didn't like me," Blake replied, "she just liked that we were embarrassing other factions and she could use us for that."

"Kana?" said Neeshka, wiggling her eyebrows at Blake, "She'd have loved to show you privately how she could handle your… 'Sword'."

"I think not…" Blake frowned repressively, "she seemed professional, a good seneschal…"

"Katriona?" mused Neeshka.

"Now that's just silly," Blake protested, "you know she was in love with Casavir."

"Maybe…" admitted Neeshka, "what about Qara then?"

"What about her?" said Blake, baffled.

"You know how she acted at the Academy," Neeshka pointed out, "but she sometimes took your advice rather than threaten to incinerate you like she would Sand."

"It… it was good advice…" replied Blake, still a little surprised at the idea, and a little surprised he was so surprised as unless she had been admitted to the Academy early, which could explain her alienation if she was among older but less talented people, there had only been a few years between him and Qara. "That doesn't mean she liked me, or at least not that way."

"Shandra," Neeshka said flatly.

"She didn't like me at all," frowned Blake, more puzzled than repressive this time, "not after we got first her barn and then her house burned down."

"And then you saved her life… twice… and she began sticking to you like glue," Neeshka said, continuing the tale, "and then she sacrificed her life to save yours."

"She sacrificed herself to save all of us," Blake corrected.

"Did she?" Neeshka asked dubiously.

"Yes!" Blake replied.

"Oh bravo," the man said, clapping his hands sardonically, "a fine defence of repeated denial and a surprising history to be defended."

Blake glared slightly at the man, having almost forgotten the audience for a moment. "So it was your wit and charm that got you jailed I see."

"Ah, a little bite to the usual banter, with just a dash of sarcasm."

'A dash?'

Blake thought.

"That would confirm you are not from Mulsantir, they have no sense of humour whatsoever," the man continued. "But come now, this banter is delightful but, as delightful as it is, I doubt it was just the chance to converse with me that brought you here."

"That would hardly have been enough I agree," Blake retorted, "I am looking for aid in defending Mulsantir."

"How disappointing, seeking soldiers are you?" replied the man with a sigh. "For that you have come to the wrong cell. I am neither foolhardy nor desperate enough to fight barbarians or Thayans. Go find a poorhouse and scatter a few coppers… that may yield better results."

"If it were barbarians or Thayans I might, though I would be reluctant to lower my standards to recruit those as apparently unskilled as you. Instead though I need help in fighting a spirit army that gathers outside Mulsantir, and you might have some very well hidden talent that would be useful for that."

"The army of spirits is at the gates?" the man asked, showing complete interest for the first time, some alertness entering his eyes to replace languid boredom. "So… they have arrived. I was wondering when that might take place in the real world."

"Real world? You knew this was going to happen and gave no warning?"

"Now, now, knowing and telling are two different beasts… and the bear-god, he is a third," came the unconcerned reply. "If I may say, you are rather brave to marshal an army to meet them. That's no 'ordinary' band of spirits out there… that's a hornet's nest of beasts. They're screaming for blood so loud I can hear them in my dreams." The man broke off and looked Blake up and down again, smiling smugly as he did. "And suddenly I am struck with the suspicion the blood they seek is yours."

"You deduced that from the fact I have to fight them?" Blake said sarcastically. "Bravo, I am in awe of your recognition of such subtle clues."

"Of course you are. Grave robbers are you? Tsk, tsk. One should leave barrows of the ancient bear-god alone lest he come for you in his garishly coloured furry rage. So, entertain me brave one. Why should one such as I follow you into such a hopeless battle?"

"Follow? After the pleasures of our conversation I was thinking more you being to the fore so I could throw you to Okku and try to hit him while he was still chewing you down."

"I hope that was yet more of your sarcasm," the man mused.

"Yes, you do, but there would be only one way to find out. You might be safer in there, but you'd also be far more bored."

"You know, I have no barbed retort to that," the man said in surprise. "And strangely, no desire to issue one if one were to be had. Your statement is frankly in line with my feelings in the matter. Better to be at risk than to be bored, and no telling how long I might be in here otherwise."

"I'll take that coincidence as a compliment," Blake nodded, "a slight one but one all the same."

"Well then, that bodes well for our travels," conceded the man. "You have a willing soldier at your side, for now, so shall we be off? And please, let us visit the witch-warden on the way out so I can pay my respects to her gentle loving soul."

The man wandered out the still open door, past Blake and Neeshka and past the cells towards the Witch-Warden who somehow managed to scowl even more at the sight of him than she already was. She unlocked a chest and the man started removing belongings from it. This was a relief to Blake as the equipment was of sufficiently high quality that he was not going to have to waste his limited gold on equipping this dubious ally. Whether it meant the man had the martial prowess to use this equipment effectively was another matter.

"This one is cursed for taking you, spawn of hags," the Witch-Warden sneered at them, "and I shall be glad to be rid of you. Nothing but trouble for me, for this city, you are."

"Shall you be glad to be rid of me, beautiful matron," contradicted the man, pausing in buckling his leather armour on. "Do not think I did not see the longing eyes you cast at me as you drew your rune circles on the floor of my cell."

"What lies are these?" the Witch-Warden protested, perhaps too vigorously. "Eyes of shame are the only eyes I have for you! Shame!"

"Now, now… there is no need to mask the feelings I stir in you," the man soothed, "and your age but makes you seem as wrinkled as a prune. I see what dances in your thoughts as you dream the slow hours of the day away here in this prison. In the golden woods of Urling, you once sang for an hour a hymn to the sun and dreamed it was a shield carried by a warrior who watched over you… and such passion in that song, why it gives you strength even now."

"You are a dangerous creature Dreamwalker," the Witch-Warden frowned, trying to hide her reaction. "The tales of you all speak such, and many are those you wound with your arrow-flights of words and humour. Do not think us deaf to those who suffer because of your careless footsteps in their dreams and thoughts. Get hence from my thoughts, I warn you."

"Is what she says true?" asked Blake, reconsidering whether throwing this man to Okku would be a bad thing. "Do you intrude in people's minds?"

"Yes, she speaks truly," the man said proudly as he finished gathering his things. "I am that which all farmers with ripe daughters fear, Gannayev… Gann-of-Dreams… who dances in the fires of their sweet children's minds and leaves footprints that no wind or time can erase… and old mother, do not think your mind has not laid down paths for me to stroll. Such thoughts in a woman your age, it would put even a farmer's fiery loined daughter to shame."

"You are a thief, a twister of words!" accused the Witch-Warden. "Go meet the spirit army then, but you will not have my blessing upon you, now or ever!"

Gann gave her another insolent smile before they went outside into the deepening gloom. Blake paused and looked around before turning to Gann. He had tolerated Bishop's foulness for the sake of needing him to track Shandra and had tolerated Qara's pyromania in the hope there was more to her than that. Gann seemed more like the former with his apparent joy in invading and scarring people's minds and that he had delighted in this long enough to earn tales about him. Qara's joy in the feeling of her power flowing through her and her delight each time she had an excuse to release it seemed more honest than this. Like Bishop, however, Gann deserved the chance to be of some use; even if that was only to provide a distraction as he changed his mind and fled after deciding it was better to be bored than at risk.

"Ah, night is not quite upon us," Blake commented. "We intend to travel to Shadow Mulsantir, there to find a lost sister to gain more aid against the Spirits."

"A dreary place from what people have dreamed of it," Gann replied.

"Dreary indeed, and only reachable at night… So I think I shall take your suggestion and spend the time until then scattering a few coppers."

"Dockside inns are good for that, they can attract some real dregs…" Neeshka began before blushing very slightly and adding, "er… not that I am suggesting your Uncle's Inn was anything but classy."

"Or that us staying there made us dregs," smiled Blake.

"As amusing as this talk of people and places unknown to me is," Gann said sardonically, "I suggest we simply go to the Sloop Inn rather than discuss it more."

Blake led the way down the hill and past the Veil Theatre to the riverfront and the Sloop Inn. As Shelvedar had described this did look like a pile of ship and did have a drunk or two slumped against it. It seemed unlikely to Blake that anyone worth even a few coppers as a warrior would be within, but at least this would allow himself and Neeshka to inspect the accommodations and find what there was for when the Witches had stopped watching.

"Well, this is classy," Neeshka commented, looking around as they entered. "You take me such refined places harbour-boy."

"Grrr," the half-Orc woman standing next to the door said.

"Ooops," Neeshka replied, "no offence."

"Just don't make trouble, or else…" growled the half-Orc.

"Define 'trouble'," Blake enquired.

"Don't break anything, and don't get into any fights… or else!"

"All right," Blake said. Her tone was a little abrasive but he couldn't argue with the 'request'.

Neeshka had continued to look around and pointed to a pair near the stage. "They look too drunk and too small…"

"Aye," Blake nodded, "the group in the corner look tough though, and I think that's the merchant we met over there. Let's talk to the barkeep first though."

As the three of them approached the barkeep broke into a practised smile. "A newcomer!" he smarmed, "Welcome to The Sloop! I'm Vladek, the proprietor of this proud establishment."

"Proud?" Neeshka exclaimed. "This dump?"

"Hush," Blake said, smiling.

"Sorry," Neeshka replied, giving a quick apologetic smile to Vladek, "oops again."

"No offence taken," Vladek reassured her, "one person's dump is another's pile of dung."

Blake looked at Vladek for a moment before he could reply. "I…don't see how that is better."

"Oh but it is, now listen and learn," Vladek said in the tone of one launching into a well-worn lecture. "Dung is produced by every living creature and all of them, every last one, hates their dung. They hate it! As soon as they make it they try to bury it, flush it into the Lake, fling it at passers-by, or even just get away from it so that others accidentally step in it."

"Or mulch it into fertiliser," Blake added.

"Aha!" Vladek exclaimed. "You do see how it is better. A wise farmer, or a businessman like me, knows the value of dung. Take what others hate and turn it into something they want, like better fed crops or this place."

"Tell me about your Inn," Blake said, looking around.

"Gladly, I acquired the Sloop a few years ago, with my wife Zorah…"

"And I thought we were a strange couple harbour-boy," Neeshka commented quietly.

"But when we took it over it was dung, an unprofitable glorified museum of some sort," Vladek continued. "I turned the Sloop into an Inn, a fabulous place where the common man, or woman, can come to relax, enjoy, and be entertained. And here we have none of that elitist 'high drama' nonsense like you will find at the Veil Theatre. We cater to the masses, and I've great pride that my Inn will succeed."

"Well, good fortune with that," Blake replied politely. "There is room for all tastes in theatre."

"Don't mistake me, I don't dislike the Veil…" Vladek reassured him. "It is just they are stuck in the past. I know, though, there is a need for lighthearted bawdy plays of comedy and farce rather than yet another ghastly epic drama."

Blake nodded. "Well, farewell."

"Enjoy yourself," Vladek replied, still smiling his practised barkeep's smile.

As they moved away from Vladek a little Shelvedar glanced up from his drink, and smiled and gestured to Blake. "Blake, join us! Gullen, Vinck, spare some room… it's our friend from the road and his companion, don't you remember?"

"Aye, we remember the mud well enough," Gullen said, "and though his spells lessened the ache in our shoulders we still have that to remind us of getting your cursed wagon unstuck."

"You'll have to excuse my comrades," Shelvedar apologised, "they are dour company at the best of times, but uncommonly loyal to my purse."

"Did you manage to free your wagon, after all?" Blake asked.

"Happily, yes… and just before the spirits arrived. A rare stroke of luck, I assure you, and since luck is inevitably followed by terrible misfortune, I reasoned… why not great my misfortune in a drunken stupor? Gullen and Vinck didn't bother to argue, so here we are."

"This place seems… lively," Blake replied as he mused on the truth that Beshaba and Tymorra did seem to balance each other's influence.

"For myself, I attribute the pleasant atmosphere to the lack of Witches…" Shelvedar began.

"Witches can be pleasant," Gann commented, "if you touch their… dreams… just right."

Shelvedar blinked and then grinned at Gann. "In any case I find the locals far more palatable when drunk. If you can wait for the actors to sober up I hear they are playing an especially vulgar performance of 'The Fat Wizard's Wench'."

"Maybe another time," Blake shrugged. "What can you tell me about the patrons here?"

"Scoundrels and rogues every one," Shelvedar nodded approvingly. "Drink enough to pass out and they will kindly relieve you of your purse, your pants, and occasionally your hair… if the actors are in need of a wig."

"Sounds like home to me," smiled Neeshka.

"What of the owner?" Blake asked.

"A colourful fellow who I suspect has traded almost as freely in names as he has in tales. His wife is Zorah, the handsome woman yonder. Comment on her tusks if you must, but at your own risk and leave my name out of it."

Blake nodded, and then jerked his head towards his right shoulder. "And the Rashemi in the corner?"

"Those would be the local pirates," warned Shelvedar. "Of course I would never refer to them as such were they close enough to hear. Their captain is Fyldrin of the Eleven Chairs… though his arse seems to require only one and I have never enquired about the other ten."

"Hmm," mused Blake, pirates could be tough so might be useful. "Aside from that do you know anything of him?"

"Indeed, I know his father is rumoured to have been a great boar spirit… which would explain his considerable body hair," Shelvedar smiled. "Sadly I also know those rumours are nonsense. Fyldrin is the youngest son of Lord Thydrim who was slain in his bed by Thayan knives."

"Thayans, eh?" Blake said, seeing a possibility. "My thanks for the information, and farewell."

"And to you my friend. My table is yours, whenever you see fit to make it so."

Blake smiled his thanks again and walked a little way off from Shelvedar, gesturing Neeshka and to a lesser extent Gann into a huddle. "If we mention having killed Red Wizards," he said quietly, mostly to Neeshka, "and that we are working to unravel a plot of theirs we may be able to get that band to help…"

Neeshka looked dubious. "Maybe, but not everyone listens to good arguments. He looks like one of the thugs Leldon sent after us, too dumb to listen rather than try to fight."

"There is that, but you remember what happened to Leldon's thugs."

"Got your back harbour-boy."

"And I, I suppose," Gann added, with less enthusiasm. "At least this will let me see if your skill is such we have any chance against the bear-god."

Making sure his sword was free to slide in its scabbard Blake approached the pirates. Despite his hope that they would be able to recruit them he was already assessing what armour they wore, what weapons they had, and what strikes and defences would be most effective against them. Neeshka was right and the chances were slender that they would listen and allow the Red Knight to bless them with mutual plans against the Red Wizards. Hopefully they would at least be able to withdraw without upsetting Zorah by having to fight.

"My mind must be playing tricks," Fyldrin sneered as he noticed Blake. "Am I so drunk that I invited a foreign dog to join us?"

"No, Fyldrin…" oozed a particularly sycophantic pirate, "the foreigner invited himself."

"Then the foreigner can drown himself in the river," Fyldrin said, trying to look superior. "We drink with trueborn Rashemi, and no one else. Savvy?"

"Told you," Neeshka whispered into Blake's ear.

Blake nodded slightly to her, this was not a promising start but at least it meant he'd have no qualm of conscience if he did get these 'people' killed. "Drinking was not my intent," he said, making the attempt, "I do have a task though which…"

"Do not insult us foreigner by suggesting we would work for such as you," Fyldrin interrupted, puffing himself up idiotically. "Leave now unless you want us to kill you and the pretty Hagspawn and take your woman, repeatedly, for our pleasure."

'…which would allow you to revenge yourself further on Red Wizards.' Blake thought, finishing his sentence in his mind. Fyldrin's attitude did not bother Blake much and neither did the threat against him, while the threat to Gann didn't bother him at all. Threatening Neeshka was a mistake however that Blake decided would become a fatal one. His hand itched for the feel of his sword hilt in it, but no… better to not upset Zorah, and one thing Blake knew was that ships with their canvas sails, tarred ropes, and old wood burned very well. It had only been a short sea voyage from Highcliff to Neverwinter but it had been long enough for the Captain of that ship to tell them horror stories of how quickly fire could spread and of ships on fire in shark-infested waters and the choice of burning onboard or abandoning ship to be eaten.

Before Blake could step away and quietly ask Neeshka if she wanted fire to be these pirates fate he noticed her smile. He recognised that smile, it was one that presaged trouble and sure enough Neeshka was stepping forward. Somehow she managed to look cute and innocent as she dimpled at Fyldrin, until she drew her rapier and in one quick blur brought its point to within an inch of his left eye.

"Would you like to be known as Fyldrin of the One Eyepatch rather than of the Eleven Chairs?" Neeshka asked sweetly.

"Your woman is feisty, foreigner," Fyldrin said, showing either courage or stupidity. "I shall enjoy taming her once you are dead."

The pirates began to move to surround the trio and to draw their weapons. Blake sighed to himself as he gathered some arcane power to himself and began a quiet incantation. So much for not upsetting Zorah. Just as the pirates got into position he finished his spell of Firebrand and as the ball of fire formed this surprised Gann almost as much as it did the pirates. The large ball split into smaller ones to arc away and the pirates suddenly found themselves on fire, or at least burnt, where these individual fireballs had struck. As they staggered back Blake had time to draw his sword, though he did wish he'd had a little more warning that would have let him unsling his shield from his back or put his helmet on. Neeshka grinned as the pirates burned; she knew her harbour-boy and had known that was coming. That was part of the reason she had threatened Fyldrin, to draw the pirates in around them for that spell she knew Blake liked.

Of course the rest of the reason she had threatened Fyldrin was he'd threatened to kill Blake and to rape her. Fyldrin tried to move back, hoping his burning men were enough distraction, but Neeshka gave her rapier a casual twitch. The tip of it cleanly sliced open Fyldrin's left eye but the clean cut became messier as the magic on the blade discharged and the eye almost exploded. Fyldrin's backward motion became a stagger as he slapped himself in the brow with how fast his left hand come up to cover the ruined eyesocket. Neeshka gave a feral grin and pressed her attack.

Gann and Blake were having more trouble. Blake was a little off-balance without his shield, both physically from having the weight of it on his back rather than his arm and mentally in having to remember to use the sword-only techniques. He'd kept in practice with them in case his shield was destroyed or, as here, he'd not had time to strap it on, but practice and combat experience were rather different. Gann meanwhile was having to use his spear more like a quarterstaff; the pirates were close enough he did not have room for proper spear-thrusts and instead was snapping the butt and spearhead forward in short arcs at faces or shins.

There was a crunch as Gann landed a good blow on one Pirate's knee and that man staggered back a little. Seeing his chance Gann shifted his grip on the shaft of his spear and thrust, the sharp spearhead easily penetrating the man's sternum and rupturing his heart. Gann's movement drew the eyes of the pirates and gave Blake a little extra room stepped into the blow. With that Blake was able to lean back a little and sweep his sword around and three pirates staggered back as the tip of Blake's sword grazed across their unarmoured bellies. As they grasped at their bellies Gann turned and his spear flicked out into a chest and then a throat as Blake reversed his sword swing to finish off the third of those pirates he'd wounded.

"Fine work," commented Gann as the battle was reduced to three versus three.

"Thank you," Blake replied, prowling towards a now fearful looking Pirate. "You also."

Gann nodded and then used the reach advantage of his spear to stab a Pirate in the shoulder. As the pirates sword dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers Gann drew his spear back a little and then flicked it sideways, bringing the sharp tip and edge of the spearhead across his opponent's neck. Blake just brought his sword down in a two-handed diagonal blow. The Pirate did try to parry but his sword was smaller, thinner, and the metal not enhanced with magic. Blake's hand-and-a-half sword barely slowed as it sheered straight through the other blade and then through the Pirate's skull and down into his neck. Wrenching his sword out of the bone Blake turned to see how Neeshka was getting on.

"Oh my," Gann said, sounding impressed as he also turned, "remind me to not annoy her."

Fyldrin was staggering about, blood and fluid seeping from his ruined eyesocket, other cuts bleeding on chest and arms and legs. His blade was still in his hand but it was clear that was only because Neeshka wanted him to feel he could fight rather than him spoil her fun by surrendering. To Neeshka's disappointment he had managed to stay crouched enough to prevent her slicing off the part of him she wanted to, but he'd bleed out just as fast from the throat as from the crotch and it was time to finish this.

"Tame that you arsehole," Neeshka said, deftly slicing Fyldrin's neck open to the spine.

"Hey!" called Zorah, approaching now the fight was over.

"Hmm?" Blake said, still rather disconcerted though not disapproving of how Neeshka had dealt with Fyldrin. Turning to the half-Orc woman he gave her a half bow and his best attempt at an appeasing smile. "My apologies Madame, the provocation was too great."

"I warned you," replied Zorah, not mollified by Blake's smile, "now you are going to pay!"

"You'll find it hard to…" Neeshka began to threaten, still fired up from the fight.

"Please," said Blake, waving Neeshka to silence. "How do you mean Madame?"

"Floorboards need scrubbing," Zorah pointed out, gesturing at the mess, "table and chairs need replacing, bodies need weighting and dumping off the pier. Cost gold, you going to pay!"

"Of course," agreed Blake smoothly, "my apologies for the inconvenience, and my thanks for the service of disposal."

Blake handed over some gold, and then handed over a few more coins, and then a few more with a look that warned Zorah to not push his generosity any more. She gave him a tusky smile, happy to be dealing with someone who'd pay properly rather than being stupid enough to need threats or to let her cheat them. Then she started shouting at her husband and the drunken actors to get brooms and buckets for cleaning and rocks for weighting bodies. Leaving her to her organising Blake moved back to join Neeshka and Gann.

"I hope she disposes of those corpses well," Blake commented, wiping off his blade. "Be a distraction to have to deal with any pirates wanting to avenge their leader. Not that it is likely they would want to, even if they learned who was responsible."

"She seems efficient," noted Gann, watching as the room was restored towards its version of pristine condition.

"And the fight went well enough," Neeshka added.

"Both true, though I was going to offer to burn them in their ship rather than annoy Zorah with an immediate fight."

"That would have been good as well," Neeshka conceded, "though lacking the personal touch."

"Yes," replied Blake, glancing at Fyldrin and the results of Neeshka's 'personal touch'. "Let's check the back rooms before we leave. It's unlikely we'll find anyone worth recruiting sleeping things off, but it won't take long to be sure."

Entering the rear of the Inn they glanced down the short corridor and Blake felt his hopes diminish further. There were not that many doors and this more private area was just as dilapidated as the main room. If his uncle's inn had been this bad then Shandra would have probably demanded to be taken back to sleep in her burnt out house.

"This door is open," Neeshka reported.

"Was it open before you fiddled with the lock?" teased Blake, feeling the corner of his mouth quirk in a smile.

"Me?" Neeshka asked in reply, widening her eyes in faux shock. "Pick a lock? What sort of girl do you think I am?"

"A wonderful one, so never mind."

Blake reached for the door handle and carefully opened it. He did not want to upset someone by waking them but also did not want to make this seem too sneaky-slow. A waft of air escaped the door and he felt his eyes water and vomit rise in his throat in a way it hadn't since the time he'd taken a club to the crotch in a harvest brawl. Glancing in Blake shook his head. "Gods, could they not change the mattresses at least once a decade?"

"Seems not," replied Neeshka, "where is the pleasant scent of a burning zombie when you need it."

"I think this smell is more powerful a ward against intruders than any I could scribe," Gann said, holding his nose slightly as he stood well back.

Blake shut the door, careful to not close it too fast and cause too much of a draught to carry more smell. "Let's quickly check the other rooms and get outside to clear our noses with the aroma of rotting fish," he said, not as sarcastic about the rotting fish as he would have liked.

The other doors were no more promising save for one that looked very slightly better quality. Leaving that for last they checked room by room, opening each door just a crack to see what smell emerged. Each room was just as stinky as the last and this discouraged them from opening the door far enough to see inside. They did not want more of the stench to escape and if there were an occupant they were either very drunk or the source of the smell, and either would make recruiting them less welcome. Finally though was the last, marginally, less ramshackle door and to their relief no foul odour escaped the crack and Blake was able to open the door fully for them to peer inside.

"Hey, this is more like it," Neeshka said approvingly, glancing around the quite large and clean and habitable room. "Seems someone is staying here though."

Blake peered in past her, looking for discarded clothes on the double bed or personal items on tables. "What makes you say that?" he asked as he saw none.

"The trap, silly…" Neeshka replied, crouching and starting to fiddle with the nearly invisible wires crossing the floor.

"Aye, still…" said Blake, waiting for Neeshka to finish and stand before he moved further into the room, "if we have to stay in Mulsantir long this might be worth renting if it becomes available."

"Definitely worth renting," Neeshka replied with a grin and a wink. "I haven't forgotten what you said about a safe room with a lock and finding where I keep my emergency gold."

"Hahrmmm," said Blake, trying not to think about that for the moment. "Even without that motivation a few days to rest and…"

"Rest?" Neeshka teased.

"Rest and prepare for the journey home, and see if we can send a message ahead of us would be useful…"

"Your mind seems to be skipping ahead," Gann commented, raising one eyebrow, "or have you forgotten the small matter of the bear-god and his army."

"Not forgotten it," replied Blake, looking around the room, "but I'd rather be optimistic and think it worth making plans for after we confront him." Gann nodded to this so Blake continued. "From the Witch-Warden's comments you'd probably be soon leaving Mulsantir as well. We could use a guide if you were willing to travel in that direction and there seems enough room to screen off that corner for a cot if you didn't find other beds for those few…" The swirling circle of a portal opened as Blake approached that corner. "Nights," Blake finished.

"If I would have a portal appearing by my bed I think not," Gann said calmly before adding, "Besides I expect you snore."

"He does," commented Neeshka.

"Hmm, looks like they kept that corner clear for the portal," Blake said, ignoring Neeshka, "and it looks like the one in the Veil Theatre. So they must know it is here and of Shadow Mulsantir despite the Witches efforts to suppress the 'rumour'."

"Who cares?" complained Neeshka, disappointment plain in her voice. "Important thing is I'm not sleeping… or doing anything else… in a room with a portal, can't put extra locks or traps on it like you can a door."

"So much for this room, which means so much for this Inn as somewhere for privacy," Blake sighed. For a moment his frustration threatened to erupt in a Qara level display of petulant power, but he restrained himself as though Vladek and Zorah should have their inn disinfested they did not deserve this to happen by it being burned to the ground. With an effort Blake tried to look on the bright side. "Still this portal appearing means now we don't have to go looking for one of the others."

A few preparatory spells and managing to get his chainmail hood up to protect his neck, his helmet on his head, and his shield on his arm made Blake feel better about facing whatever was beyond the portal. They had done fine against the Pirates but could not count on always being that lucky. Gann agreed and showed he had his own magic to further strengthen them. Blake recognised some of this and out of a sense of politeness and wishing to learn more of his ally decided to speak.

"Are you a Druid then?" enquired Blake.

"Oh, please," Gann replied repressively. "I have more patience with those than with the misguided fools within the various churches but even druids worship a 'god' that supposedly embodies their idea of the land. There is nothing I have seen that suggests the existence of 'gods' such as they worship. My power is a gift of the spirits of the land such as those I have talked to and such as the bear-god and his army that wait for your blood."

Blake looked a moment at Gann, wondering if this made him a reliable ally if he was so closely tied to the spirits. "I hope then that fighting the spirits will not cause them to withdraw this gift…"

"Spirits fight each other often," Gann interrupted, "they do not concern themselves with grudges or the past or notions of alliance. The moment is all and if that moment brings battle then so be it. They, and I, do what seems right and what feels most apt for the now."

"Hrm," chuckled Blake, "whereas my inclination is towards planning, as you saw with my trying to think ahead to the journey after the battle."

"At least this 'tree-worshipper' is prettier than the last one," Neeshka commented with a grin at Blake.

"Well…ah," Blake stuttered before realising there was not really a good way to reply. If he said Elanee had been prettier then Neeshka would pout and, with his apparent ego, so might Gann. If he agreed with his sweetheart then she might tease him about preferring a male Hagspawn to a female Elf.

"'Tree-worshipper'?" mused Gann. "That does sound vaguely disrespectful towards Druids, but a tale for another time as the gifts of my spirits and your… friend's… gifts from the weave are fading."

Blake nodded and strode forward into the portal. There was the usual sense of disorientation as they passed through and to their surprise found themselves on the riverfront outside the Shadow-Sloop Inn rather than within. Blake hoped this was not a common pattern as had this portal been shifted the same amount in a different direction they would have been in the river and that could have been a problem as he was wearing his full armour. As much as Mithril was light and restricted your movements less for the same protection his Full Plate was still more than heavy enough to drown him.

"This place resembles Mulsantir," Gann commented, "yet everything seems muted somehow."

"Aye," agreed Blake, "a shadow or, was described as, a dark reflection. We likely need to head north, the sister we seek may be in dead Myrkul's vault and that is likely where the Temple of Kelemvor is in 'real' Mulsantir."

"Gates are closed," Neeshka pointed out, "let me see what I can do…" However as she examined the lock she frowned. It was large, it was crude, and it seemed rusted solid. Experimentally she prodded its innards with her largest lockpicks as those were sturdy enough to let her apply some force without bending. "Hells, Hells, Hells… this is not working."

"Might have to find another portal after all, though that wall does not look impossible to climb."

"There does seem activity at the other end of the dock," Gann pointed out, "perhaps they would have a key. Or a ladder."

Neeshka gave Gann a look that showed how little she thought of either idea. "This isn't the sort of place you come unless you want to stay hidden, I doubt they would be willing to share."

"I agree…but I do not feel inclined to let them have a choice in the matter," Blake nodded. "We need information and if they become hostile that is their mistake."

"Have you considered trying charm rather than force?" asked Gann, amused by Blake's confidence.

"If you think you can talk a peaceful solution," Blake replied, "I am more than willing."

"Excellent," said Gann with satisfaction. "As I pointed out back at the prison that is my skill, though I do prefer to charm the ladies, and the dark to be of the night rather than of dreary shadow."

Blake nodded and they approached the group of people lurking in these shadows. Something about the man who seemed to be their leader betrayed him as a hardened warrior and the others standing with him were clad in robes that could conceal weapons or contain mages. It was not a peaceful looking group to approach, but then again Blake mused they could be thinking the same about the group approaching them. Be unsure about a helmeted man in full armour, a man in leather armour with a spear, and a woman whose cloak could conceal weapons but not conceal her deadly grace.

"Eh? What's all this?" their leader demanded. "Has Shelvedar gone and hired more lugs? What happened to Gullen and Vinck?"

"They're with him in the common room of the Sloop as they share a few drinks," Blake replied, deciding on honesty and ignoring Gann's hiss of irritation.

"Hah! Useless! A shame they weren't watching their room. Bad luck for them, and for you."

Blake twisted as he sensed a movement to his right and a dagger scraped across his armour rather than slipping between the plates and between his ribs. His arm had been drawn back to his side as he turned so he straightened that in a right cross. The punch did not land, but his assailant did have to duck back away from it and give Blake a moment to continue his arm's motion and swing it back to his sword hilt. Swivelling again Blake drew his sword and turned to place his shield between himself and the group they had approached, while the dagger man suddenly found himself outmatched in length of blade.

Neeshka had suffered a similar attack and her full lips tightened in annoyance as her nice new cloak got its first cut. The stab had been well placed but unfortunately for her attacker her cloak was not only heavy enough to have concealed her movements but also heavy enough to tangle his blade for a moment as his blow dented the cloth around his hand. Neeshka's hand came up to the clasp of her cloak and released it even as she dodged, reliving herself of the weight and letting that weight fall on her attacker's hand as he tried to draw his dagger back. His weapon smothered in a thick fur cloak the attacker grabbed at the cloak to try to free it, but this distraction was fatal as Neeshka used her forearm blade to split his face open.

Fortunate enough to not have someone appear from the shadows to try to kill him Gann had been able to lunge forward between Neeshka and Blake as they turned. The leader, or at least the spokesman, of these people Blake had made enemies of with his honesty managed to parry Gann's spear thrust and the robed figures fell back behind his protection. Gann spared a glance for where Blake had managed to back his attacker against the riverside wall and seemed to be playing with him. A couple more spearthrusts and parries and he spared a glance for Neeshka who had drawn her rapier but was duelling with two more assailants who had been a second or two tardy in their attack. As Gann thrust his spear out again he heard the robed figures start chanting and wondered why Blake didn't hurry up.

Blake knew what his attacker wanted him to do, as much as the wall prevented retreat it also presented the opportunity for Blake to get his sword trapped. Too hasty a blow might miss his nimbly dodging enemy and leave his blade embedded in, or between, the logs of the wall. Blake dabbed his sword out like a cat patting at a mouse to get it to be amusing and start running around again, short controlled movements that rarely did more than cut another gash in the dagger-man's leather armour. Finally one short twitch sideways of Blake's sword cut one strap too many and a flap of padded leather folded back down. For a moment his enemy's arm was entangled by this, his attention distracted by the need to free his arm, and that was all the chance Blake needed. Having an entangled arm suddenly ceased being a problem as the dagger-man found his sternum and heart ruptured by first a sword blade and then by the magic discharging from that blade.

Pulling his sword back out of the corpse's chest Blake half turned and saw the robed mages complete their spells. Reality shimmered and the winged form of a Horned Devil appeared near one as he summoned it to his aid. The other attacked more directly and magical missiles spewed from his hands and towards Gann and Blake, but by some chance most curved towards Neeshka. Her attention on the two foes she was facing and her back to the mages these almost caught her by surprise. With a grace and speed that astonished Blake every time he saw it she twisted and caught most of the impacts on her small shield or where her armour's fine Mithril chainmail was reinforced by leather or extra padding.

This movement and the impacts still put her off balance though and one enemy thrust at her with a shortsword. Neeshka parried this and counter-struck, but that left her even more off balance and vulnerable to the dagger thrust of her second foe. More magical missiles streaked in and this man had just enough time as he moved to attack to be pleased the Tiefling would be further slowed. Then that pleasure changed to surprise and then pain as those missiles continued their curve past Neeshka and into him and his comrade. He staggered back, the thin unenchanted leather he was clad in providing almost no protection, holes burned straight through it and into him. Neeshka regained her balance and her rapier flicked out once, opening a wound on his belly, and then, as his hand clutched at that, flicked out again and sliced the side of his neck open just behind and below his jaw line.

The man collapsed to one side, rapidly bleeding out, and Neeshka stabbed at her second foe. He tried to parry but she twisted her thinner longer blade aside and back in at an angle so its tip met his wrist and sliced its way up the underside of his arm. The man's hand relaxed, he was too well trained to drop his shortsword completely but his hand went numb with the pain and he almost lost his grip on it. Neeshka twisted her wrist back the other way and whipped her rapier's tip out of the man's arm and up and across his throat. He fell and Neeshka turned to grin at Blake, only to see his attention had turned away from her in the few seconds it had been since he cast that Missile Storm.

"Nicely done," Gann said to Blake as he thrust his spear in short stabs at the winged Demon, or Devil, Gann did not much care which. "Got any ideas for this?"

The winged creature snarled down at them as it batted one monstrous hand at Gann's spear thrusts, like a man waving at a fly. "No spells of Banishment prepared," replied Blake, "and all Devils and Demons are immune to fire."

"Are we going to have to do this the hard way then?" Gann asked, drawing his spear back and raising a howl from the winged creature as it grabbed the spearhead enough for the edges to cut its hand, but not enough to stop it moving and deepening those cuts.

Blake ignored the complaint and the howl as he muttered his invocation and hoped this would work. This was a spell he'd cast before so he was confident that he could cast it again, but there was still the chance the Horned Devil would be able to resist the effects of the magic. He completed his muttering and a beam of Disintegrate hissed from him. The Devil's hide was far stronger than the leather armour of the men Blake had hit with his Missile Storms but anyone had seen siege engines at work knew a door might shrug off rock after rock the size of someone's head but a battering ram concentrating the same force in a smaller area and all at once would splinter it. So it proved with magic as well as the Disintegrate burned into the winged creature's crotch and hip and it staggered to one side with pain and as that leg was partially severed.

Things of the lower planes could be astoundingly resilient though and Blake doubted this would be as fatal to this creature as it would be to a mortal. Rather than attack directly though he looked at the man who he had spoken to and who was now in view rather than this being blocked by the winged figure. Blake started to mutter a second spell that he had more confidence in as he had cast it in armour before and quite recently. A globe of magic-created acid formed in response to his spell of Vitriolic Sphere and streaked away from him. This almost ruptured prematurely as the Horned Devil tried to straighten up and the sphere nearly brushed its side and wing. Only almost though; it reached its target and burst over the man to drench him in acid and send a cloud of corrosive vapour across the mages and the back of the Devil whose back arched in pain as its tail and wings began to sizzle slightly.

Seeing this Gann darted forward, his spear thrust out at the wound Blake's magic had opened where their foe no longer had its thick hide to armour it. The winged creature managed to turn and put one massive hand in the way. Gann's spear slid between the bones of the creature's hand, the spearhead emerging from the palm, and Gann's jaw tightened as he felt his spear become trapped. The winged creature snarled at Gann and began to bring its other hand around to grab at the shaft of the spear to wrench it both from its hand and from Gann's grasp.

Neeshka slid forward, her speed and grace making her almost appear not to move so smoothly did she close the distance. She brought her rapier up above her head, holding it almost vertical as she laid it against one of the creature's wings, and then she sliced it downwards. The sharp edge of the blade and the magic on it cut deep into the wing and then through it. Compared with the rest of it the wings were quite delicate and from its reaction seemed rather sensitive. Forgetting the pain in its hand it roared and swung its un-speared hand back in a blow that could have taken Neeshka's head off if she was several times slower in her ability to duck.

As the blow passed harmlessly over Neeshka's head Gann planted his feet firmly and pulled back on his spear, using his own strength and the way the winged creature's body was twisting with the blow to pull this free. Blake also saw a chance and made his own attack, stabbing his sword into the side the creature had presented to him, his blade piercing deep into the creature's guts below its ribcage. Blake then pulled his sword back while wrenching to one side so it cut its way out of the creature's belly along part of the depth of the wound. This slowed the withdrawal though and meant Blake was moving sideways rather than back out of arm's length of the foe.

The creature brought both hands up and together above its face, its back curving backwards and careless in its rage of how bending backwards opened the edges of its belly wound. It brought those interwoven fists down, its knees bending to bring its weight into this crushing blow as it tried to turn Blake into pulp. His armour would have done little to protect him but as the creature bent Gann moved. The butt of his spear slid across the ground as he thrust it forward at an angle. Then the momentum of the Devil's blow carried its face down onto the spearhead and Gann almost lost his grip as the shaft of the spear bowed and wriggled in his grasp under the stress.

Despite Gann's tugging his weapon seemed wedged solid with the spearhead driven deep in the Horned Devil's skull and the butt driven slightly into the ground until suddenly the winged creature vanished, returning in death or defeat to whatever plane it had been summoned from. Gann nearly slapped himself in the face as his spear pivoted around where it was still trapped in the ground and Neeshka giggled slightly at the frown he gave his spearshaft. Blake ignored this as he was more concerned with the effects of his Vitriolic Sphere on the man. Acid wounds were even less pretty than most wounds were. One of the man's eyes was clouded and white and the acid had eaten large patches of his clothes and exposed skin away. The mages had come through this better as they'd thicker robes to protect them and had not been at the centre of the spell.

"You expect this to stop me?" demanded the man as Blake started forward. "An hour with a cleric and I'll be as good as new, you though… they'll never find all the pieces I am going to cut you into."

Gann managed to work his spear free of the ground and joined the cautiously advancing Blake, staying a little behind and to one side to let Blake meet the attack with his large shield and thicker armour before Gann used the longer reach of his spear to counter-strike. The man's eye flickered back and forth between them as he assessed them and shifted his sword in his hand as he thought.

"Deal with the Hagspawn," the man ordered the mages, his voice harsh with anger and pain, "the acid thrower is mine… wait! Where is the Tiefling girl?"

A gurgle of blood was his answer as one mage found himself looking at a rapier blade coming out of the centre of his chest before a moment later this withdrew back through it again with a slight twist and a discharge of magic. Neeshka stepped casually away from the falling body and glanced at the man. "You are not the only ones who can sneak," she calmly pointed out as the mage died and the other mage started to turn in shock.

Blake sprang, his sword licking out in a blow the man barely managed to turn away with his own sword. But it seemed Blake had only come that close because the man had been distracted by Neeshka killing his mage. Blake's next strike bothered him less as he sidestepped and let it pass. Then the duel was really on and Blake had to bring his shield in line fast to block, matching less frequent but strong blows from behind a tower shield against this man's lightning fast rapid strikes. For now it was a stalemate with the question being whether Blake would tire from having to move the weight of his shield around so much or the man from constantly moving to attack or dodge.

The last mage gabbled an incantation as Neeshka advanced on him and Azuth, Patron of Mages, had mercy on him as despite his haste he managed to create an Orb of Sound and send this into Neeshka. She staggered back as her body vibrated like an out of tune tuning fork, ripples of shock chasing each other across and through her armour and body as the magical sound spent itself. The mage did not have time to appreciate his success however as a spearhead tore through his body and was then torn back through the other way. Having mercy on the man Gann whipped the other end of his spear around and let the iron bands of the butt crush the side of his skull rather than leaving him to die slower.

Meanwhile Blake was feeling a little hard pressed. It seemed his shield was constantly vibrating from deflected blows and for every strike he made the man had moved and was no longer where the blow was aimed. Offensive magic was of little use in such a fight, Blake could not afford the few seconds of concentration even a simple spell would require, but at least the magic aiding his fighting skill was keeping the fight more even. Finally Blake saw an opening and swung, realising halfway through his attack as the man twisted out of the way that he had been fooled.

The man's sword slammed into Blake's forearm, but Blake reacting to shift the arc of his swing slightly meant he took the blow on metal rather than below it at his leather-covered wrist. The well-crafted armour held but even so the impact jarred Blake's arm, driving it out of line and numbing his hand. Blake moved back a couple of steps as he concentrated on keeping hold of his sword despite the numbness in his fingers and on getting back behind his shield. The man moved to press the advantage he had won but suddenly had to jump back to make Gann's spear thrust past him rather than into him.

Glancing between Blake and Gann the man hesitated to decide who the greater threat was. For now the armoured man's swordplay would be affected and maybe there was a chance before that foe recovered to draw the Hagspawn into another spear thrust and cripple or kill him with a counterattack? Turning slightly to keep them both in sight the man felt agony bloom as metal and magic carved across his shoulder blade. His arm dropped to his side and he had just time to realise it must have been the Tiefling before he saw the armoured man step forward. Just time to note the clumsiness of the blow and that he was right his enemy's swordplay was still affected. Just time until the world swirled around him for an instant before blackness took him.

Blake glanced at where the severed head had come to rest and shook his own head. "I don't think I could have beaten him in a fair fight."

"What have I said to you harbour-boy?" asked Neeshka.

"Yes I know dear, a fair fight is for idiots. Winning is what matters."

"A good philosophy for backstabbing," Gann commented calmly.

"And for war," corrected Blake. "Any advantage is good, you don't tell two-thirds of your army to not attack to make the numbers even."

"True," Gann admitted with a nod, "I doubt the bear-god has brought his army to outnumber us simply so they can watch as he challenges you to single 'heroic' combat… of course I doubt if your lady would let you indulge in single combat while she was there."

Neeshka nodded as she searched the headless corpse; glad the soil was absorbing most of the blood rather than this pooling like on the floorboards back in the inn but not as glad at how little there was to find. The few gold pieces and a ring or two without magic she discreetly diverted into her pouch to share with Blake later and the other thing was an open envelope. Curious Neeshka glanced at the letter inside and then straightened with supple grace back to her feet. She smiled as she saw Blake admire that grace but then held the envelope and letter out to him.

"Look at this…"

Blake reached out and then with a muttered 'hold on' unstrapped his shield from his arm to lean it against his leg and have both hands free to take things. Knowing her harbour-boy was only human Neeshka held her Ring of the Scholars over the papers to give him the extra light his eyes needed. "Ah," Blake mused, looking over the contents. "So, Shelvedar is a spy for Thesk… well, he has certainly been more helpful than the Witches."

"Screw them," said Neeshka with great feeling, "I say we just burn this letter."

"No, we will show them the letter," Blake replied, to Neeshka's surprise. "But… not yet, they seemed upset when we asked them about Shadow Mulsantir and that was to help me find aid to face Okku and solve the problem they wish solved. If I were to waste their time with something unconnected to that problem think how upset that would make them."

Neeshka grinned as she understood what Blake was saying. "True, they did seem to feel we should be concentrating on that problem," she said.

"They do have a sense of priorities," Gann added, not caring greatly either way about Shelvedar but not averse to tweaking the noses of the Witches, "and appeasing the bear-god would be their highest one."

"Ah, as sad as it might be if Shelvedar made an escape in the meantime," sighed Blake, "that is a risk we shall have to accept to not upset the witches by bothering them prematurely."

"Very sad," Neeshka said, trying to look sad and managing to only to look slightly less full of mischievous cheer for a moment before her grin broke back through.

Blake strapped his shield onto his back while Neeshka unwound her cloak from around the one assailant's hand. After cleaning off their weapons and armour with rags torn from what few parts of the clothing of the corpses had not been soaked with blood they moved back towards the portal and through it. The lighting in the room was far better than in the Shadow Plane and they managed to remove a few more specks of 'evidence' from their clothing. Neeshka concealed herself back under her cloak, Blake swapped helmet for hat, pulling back down his chainmail hood, and they moved back out and to the main room of the Sloop Inn.

"Blake," Shelvedar greeted, hearing the distinctive clank of armour heavier than was customary in Rashemen, "let me buy you a drink. They say that generosity makes one wealthy in friends, and since I am poor in all else, I will take what I can."

"I shall gratefully accept my friend," replied Blake with a smile, "we found a portal to the Shadow Plane and fighting has worked up a thirst."

"A…a portal," Shelvedar said, concern entering his eyes.

"Aye, and the leader of that group had a letter," Blake cheerfully responded before adding, "not that while Okku is still at the gate I would have time to read such a thing and see whose name was mentioned."

"Of course not," Shelvedar agreed, exchanging a look with Gullen and Vinck.

Blake met Shelvedar's eyes with his own. "And even had I read such a letter and discovered someone was a spy, well…" He shook his head. "Until Okku is dealt with I could hardly take the time to trouble the witches with such news."

"True enough," Shelvedar replied with a slight smile of relief, "they can be impatient."

"Indeed, far better to not waste those few minutes…" commented Blake. "They made that clear last time I spoke to them. Of course once Okku is dealt with…"

"You would, of course, feel obliged to notify the witches," Shelvedar said understandingly. "With their spies and magic it could be unhealthy to keep such a discovery from them."

"Of course," agreed Blake with a nod. "I'd not be a good guest in their city otherwise."

"Well my friend, I wish you luck with the bear-god and the witches," Shelvedar said, leaning back away from the bar. "Unfortunately I have an appointment in Shou Lung with a merchant who swore I would always be welcome in his house. A journey of several thousand leagues begins with a single step and I had best take that step as soon as possible if I am to find if he was lying about this."

"Good fortune in your travels," replied Blake, adding after a moment, "and if you are ever on the Sword Coast, and I have made it home, then a welcome would also await you south of the City of Neverwinter, and north-east of the village of Highcliff, at Crossroad Keep. You would be watched…"

"Not letting anyone sneak around after what happened with Bishop," Neeshka muttered. She'd have been keeping an eye on him if she hadn't been keeping a far closer eye on Blake that night. That her harbour-boy had managed to deal, very satisfyingly, with her and with the trouble Bishop caused didn't change her resolve to not let something like that happen again.

"But you would be welcome as a friend and as a merchant," finished Blake.

"I doubt the Lord of that Keep would be as welcoming as you… ah," Shelvedar smiled before that smile faded as he connected Blake's certainty about his welcome there with the quality of Blake's equipment and realised who he was probably speaking too.

Blake simply nodded. He might have shown Shelvedar his signet ring but he had not thought he would need to impress any wax seals while fighting the King of Shadows and that ring did not fit over or under his gauntlets and was not comfortable on a cord around his neck. And even if he had brought that ring with him then the Red Wizards would likely have stolen it so he still would not have had it now.

"A generous offer my friend," Shelvedar admitted, standing fully. "For now though I think Shou Lung shall be my aim."

Blake watched as Shelvedar and Gullen and Vinck made their way out and then with a slight shrug made his own way to the door. Zorah gave them a slight scowl as they crossed the room, she had watched the conversation and though it had been a relief that it hadn't ended in a fight it had been annoying that it had ended with Shelvedar leaving rather than continuing to order drinks. The least those three could have done after slaughtering some customers, and then running off another three, would be to stay a while and buy some drinks themselves.

As they got outside Blake glanced up at the stars that had revealed themselves and then down at the map by the light of the moon, "The location Sheva marked is close, and it is dark. We may be in luck."

"If you call it lucky to be able to return to the Plane of Shadows," Gann pointed out.

"I call it irritating to have to return to the Plane of Shadows," corrected Blake, leading the way up the short slope from riverside to marketplace, "but lucky that we might not have to wait. Those half-celestials yonder are the siblings whose sister we seek and how patient they will be for us to make the attempt I don't wish to test."

"Ah, they do look doughty warriors," Gann admitted, noting also how Neeshka was moving slightly wider past them. "And the way the spirits rage beyond the walls we need all the warriors we can get, even if that means yet more shadows to endure."

"Not just shadows to endure," grumbled Neeshka.

Sure enough as they travelled down the side street a swirl of darkness formed itself into a portal. Blake looked at this with some disfavour as he again pulled up chainmail hood, swapped hat for helmet, and put the weight of his shield on his arm rather than his back. Neeshka was also anticipating a fight and carefully folded her cloak and stowed it in one capacious magic bag rather than risk more damage to it. After a glance back down the street to see if curious eyes had noticed them and the portal or Neeshka's lovely tail being revealed Blake stepped forward and in. It almost seemed the world had not changed but even nighttime Mulsantir had more colours in the silver of moonlight and the yellow of lanterns than the Shadow Plane could possess.

Working on the assumption Myrkul's vault here would be in the same place as Kelemvor's temple in 'true'-Mulsantir Blake led the way around and up the hill. He was thankful the gates on the hill were open unlike the ones down to the riverside. What he was less thankful for was that it looked like not all the shadows ahead of them were a simple absence of light.

"Whoa!" Neeshka exclaimed, her eyes and her alertness both better than Blake's.

"Those… are some very large shadows," Gann commented as their movement also allowed him to discern their shape.

"I defeated one before," Blake replied confidently, "and that was being enhanced by a necromancer. These won't be as tough."

"Let's hope so," Gann said, "since there are two of them rather than just one."

Blake grunted in agreement as the towering figures moved towards them. They were almost as tall as the first Avatar of the King of Shadows had been but lacked its strange bony-looking armour. Various ideas flitted through his mind for the best tactics before he just growled to himself and charged, disdaining subtlety. This seemed to take the Nightwalkers aback and one had barely begun to swing its hand down to swat Blake to the ground when Blake's sword carved through its lower leg. There was no flesh to rend, no bone to shatter, and no blood to spray but the shadow form reacted to this strike in much the same way.

The Nightwalker crumpled to one side as its leg gave way. Blake brought his sword back and stabbed it upwards, meeting the descending chest and neck with its tip and cutting it from sternum to chin before the point dug in under the chin and up into what would have been the shadow's skull. This trapped Blake's sword and he had to release it and step aside as the Nightwalker finished its fall to the ground. Blake drew his dagger in case his faith had been unfounded but to his complete lack of surprise saw this precaution was unnecessary.

Distracted by Blake's charge the other Nightwalker had turned a little and then regretted its distraction when Gann stabbed it where if it had been human its belly button would have been. This would not have been immediately fatal even for a creature of flesh and was less so for a creature of shadow. As Gann pulled his spear back and the Nightwalker turned back to attack him Neeshka had seemed to appear from nowhere to deftly run her rapier over the back of both of the Nightwalker's knees. The great shadow collapsed and Gann's spear darted forward again and into its chest as it sprawled onto the ground. Neeshka bounded back in to slice its throat open and add a little guarantee to Gann's strike.

Both Nightwalkers seemed to shimmer and then dissolve back into the shadows of this plane. This was a relief to Blake as it released his sword but as he moved to pick this up an angry Tiefling intercepted him. Almost literal fires were dancing in her beautiful eyes as her tail lashed with her displeasure. "What the Hells was that?" Neeshka demanded, glaring at him as he sheathed his dagger. "You been talking lessons in finesse from Khelgar? You lost your sword in that thing!"

"I trust you," Blake replied simply. Neeshka did not seen placated by that so Blake added, "I trusted that you… and Gann… would use the distraction. I trusted that you and Gann would destroy the other Nightwalker before I needed my sword. I trust you."

Neeshka continued to glare. Part of her anger was at herself though as she realised she was not sure she wanted that much trust. For years she had needed to rely on herself alone and be alert for chances to betray or avoid being successfully betrayed. Putting herself in danger and trusting someone would save her would have been utter stupidity in that life, so it was a hard adjustment to make or to accept Blake trusted her so implicitly. There was still part of her that was sure Blake would wake up one day and realise his mistake in loving a former thief with Infernal blood. Decide that she was no proper consort for a good Harbourman and especially not for a Knight of Neverwinter.

Blake, unaware of Neeshka's thoughts, had continued on and picked up his sword. Her tail was still lashing slightly and Blake took a moment to admire how that made her rear sway, and another moment to give Gann a look to warn him off also admiring this, as he confirmed the Nightwalkers had left no residue on his blade. Gann coughed and turned his attention to the building before them.

"This does not resemble its counterpart in Mulsantir," Gann commented, looking the Death God's Vault up and down. "Strange, even with the changes in your gods of the dead."

"Not so strange," replied Blake. "By reputation Myrkul was a cruel God who wished people to fear death and that this was their inevitable fate. Kelemvor is more dispassionate, if death is inevitable then fearing it or not fearing it is irrelevant, what is is."

"You speak as if you think these things are real," Gann sneered. "As if this change was more than just what the 'priests' chose to believe."

"I think there are greater things than us, and some of them are worshipped as Gods. But leaving them aside it is still not so strange the difference. I doubt the Witches would allow a Temple with a huge skeleton jutting from it in Mulsantir."

Neeshka had turned and gave Blake a weak smile as she tried to distract herself from her own fears. "Would overshadow their high place," she commented.

Blake saw how weak that smile was and started to feel concerned. Neeshka saw the concern on his face though and not wanting to admit her fears to herself let alone him hurried ahead. Blake watched as Neeshka checked the door over. He wanted to know what the matter was but he did not want to distract her as she worked so he remained silent.

"All clear," Neeshka reported over her shoulder, denying Blake the chance to look her in the face. "No traps and not locked."

"Very well," Blake said, moving to follow Neeshka who had slipped inside as soon as the door had opened a crack.