Epilogue: A Coda in Red
One month later
The ride had been long and tiring, but it was necessary for him to endure. Shen stood in the shade beneath a massive white tree in the cemetery of the village, watching silently as some sort of clergyman addressed the gathered peasants. Every so often, the clergyman would make a hand gesture toward the archer's wood coffin and then bow his head as he spoke.
Shen was standing on his own, further away from the procession, following the body language of the other people attending the funeral. Even after spending a few weeks with that young bard, he still could not grasp their language beyond a few basic words. Dealing with foreign tongues was his sister's ability, certainly not his. Still, Nell had been kind enough to find out from the temple priests where the archer's home village was located. She even translated for him a letter to give to the townsfolk, explaining how Norris had perished, who Shen was, and as much as they knew of what had happened on that day. Unfortunately, she grew rather impatient with him shortly after that, and had to leave him to take care of her own affairs. Neither she nor the temple priests were able to find any information regarding the samurai's missing sister.
In the evening after the funeral ended, several of the locals seemed intent on buying him drinks at the local tavern as thanks. He went with them for a time, nodding along as they jabbered incoherently, but didn't actually partake in their offer.
It was on his way out of the rural village that a rather unexpected meeting occurred. A young man, a messenger of some sort, stopped Shen on the road as he was riding out of town, and handed an envelope to the samurai. Although Shen had no idea what the messenger was saying to him, there was a map within the envelope along with a letter that was written in a clear, crisp Shou Lung script.
The unnamed sender had discovered where Shen's sister was being held, and requested that the samurai follow the map directions, toward a desert in the northeast. Any attempt at interrogating the messenger yielded no answers. While Shen was suspicious as to how the sender even knew where he would be found, the samurai decided that he had no other leads to follow.
Hurrying his horse forward, Shen began to ride off along the road, wondering what the future had in store for him.
"… And that was when the priest told me I was ex-communicated! That was funny, yes?"
Nell raised her arms slightly, trying to hide her face behind her book. It was bad enough being stranded in the middle of Baldur's Gate with no money. The only reason she bothered staying to help the samurai was so she could earn enough gold to afford passage back north. She had already missed the Waterdeep Conservatory auditions, but perhaps there was still time to try out for one of Neverwinter's bardic colleges. The only caravan within her price range that travelled that far, however, placed her in a wagon with a nattering passenger beside her who just wouldn't shut up.
"So, what about you, little miss? What brings you up this way?" He placed a finger against the top of her book and pushed it down, grinning like a dunce.
She growled, "If I tell you, will you stop bothering me?"
"Why, certainly!"
"I was in Baldur's Gate to see their local art museum, and now I'm heading back home."
The man's eyes lit up and he somehow managed to smile even wider. "Why, that's most excellent! I've done much reading about their collection myself, and it certainly is one of the most diverse in the western realms!" Returning her eyes to her book, Nell grimaced and tried to ignore him.
"But I must say, little miss," the man continued, "I thought you had been forcibly teleported to Baldur's Gate through some sort of mirror portal, and ended up singly stopping a magic-fuelled beast that was ravaging the city's Old Quarter…"
Nell froze for a moment before looking up at him.
He continued to smile cheerfully at her. "Accomplishing such a feat would take a great amount of skill and talent, and I must say that as a fellow musician, you certainly seem to possess the qualities that we tend to look for in our members." Leaning in his seat against the side of the wagon, the man yawned and stretched his arms back, casually flipping up the collar of his tunic. On the underside of the collar was a small metallic brooch, adorned with the symbol of a silver crescent moon and harpsichord. "Tell me, little miss, have you ever heard of the Harpers?"
Nell rubbed her side of her head, groaning in annoyance. Oh, bloody hell…
"Hey! Hey! Get off of there, you mangy devil!" Derrick screamed, waving his arms in the air. The grey cat paused in its shredding of the antique map and stared at him for a moment. Then it went back to clawing its paws across Cormyr, leaving scratch marks in the countertop as well.
Derrick swatted near Jinx with his cane, "Shoo!"
Linde came over and scooped up the cat in her arms, giving the shopkeeper a silent glare. Mewling like a baby, Jinx climbed up around her shoulders and was trying to look innocent as the girl carried him away into the back of the store. No doubt the pet would cause even more damage back there.
"This is all Cerdan's fault." Although he did want his son back in his life, Derrick now had to take care of two kids in addition to that furry grey ball of hate. All thanks to the elf. There was no question about it; if they were going to stay, he was going to make them work ragged.
The merchant leaned over the counter and watched as Bryn stood atop a ladder at the side of the store, dusting and organizing the tomes on the top shelves. The boy looked back, and waved to his father.
Derrick forced a smile onto his own face and returned the wave. He wondered if there were any poorhouses in Waterdeep that weren't above serving stew made of donated cats.
Saudere awakened in the middle of the night. It took him a few moments to remember where he was… in a solitary cell in Waterdeep, awaiting his time to testify before the Order of Tyr's Grand Inquisitor. He sat upright and squinted in the dark.
"You allowed the crimson scrolls to fall into the hands of outsiders."
The Prelate froze and didn't dare to move even slightly. "Who are–"
"You don't know who I am. But you know who I represent." The woman's voice was sharp and full of irritation. "You cannot even begin to fathom how disappointed we are."
"The scrolls are still being held in the evidence vault. You may need to–"
"I have already taken steps to contain the damage you've caused. The evidence your colleagues seized has been destroyed, I compromised your Order's vault myself." The Prelate could hear the intruder's footsteps come closer until she was standing no more than a few feet from his cot. He still couldn't see her. She continued, "You should count yourself fortunate that the only documents we provided to you were entirely focused on the Behemoth project. If your people gained knowledge of some of our other endeavours, you and I would be having a very different conversation."
Swallowing nervously, Saudere tried to maintain his composure. "Don't waste your words on me, girl. If you are here to execute me on your superiors' behalf, then waste no time. I will not fear my own death, and I know it will prevent others from learning the truth about Caden's Hill if I am not alive to testify."
There was utter silence for a long period. It felt like several minutes had passed when the woman finally replied. "No. The failure shall be upon you and your Order. We sever ourselves from any further involvement in your Behemoth project. You will go before your Inquisitors, and you will tell them the entire truth, except for my organization's role." Saudere could hear her walking toward the cell door. "We will arrange to have you declared guilty, but granted a less harsh sentence. You will quietly retire to your family's estate… it is in a rural locale and out of the way, is it not?"
He heard the door click and open, but the torches lighting the hallway outside were not enough to illuminate the woman's form. The woman paused and said, "Do you understand? You are to implicate yourself and whichever fellow knights and clergy contributed to the Behemoth project. When the inquisition is done with the Behemoth and Caden's Hill investigation, there will be no further questions. After that, we do not want to hear about you again. Nor will you hear of us."
Saudere's throat felt terribly parched as he replied. "I will do as you say."
She said nothing else, and closed the cell door behind her, locking it as well. Saudere placed his head in his hands, and sat quietly in the dark for the rest of the night.
There was no movement. Cyrael was frozen in place, trapped in the same pose since his failure at Baldur's Gate. He was held in a solid chunk of some kind of a translucent crystalline mineral. The glass-like crystal bound every part of his body, even filling his mouth and going down his throat to his lungs. Even if he hadn't already been made immortal by the power of the Sigil, the imprisoning enchantment would have magically sustained him, ensuring that he would survive in the absence of food, water, and air for the full duration of the spell.
Without mobility, he couldn't raise or speak his own spells. Without air, he couldn't even summon his fire swords to provide light or heat. As a celestial, the only light came from the dim glow that emanated from his skin. But all he could see were faint reflections of himself in the facets of the crystal prison, frozen with the same expression of shock on his face that he had when he realized what the elves were doing.
How did it come to this? Cyrael thought. I had a destiny! It was foretold!
Without the celestial there to wage the war against humankind, Faerun was fated to die. This couldn't be right. There was no one else alive that would be able or willing to find and free him. If the spell held him here for a thousand years, then what ruined world might he find when he was finally released? Would there even be a world left?
Cyrael could think of little else as he waited there, petrified deep underground for years to come.
"The sun will be rising soon. We'd better hurry."
Cerdan continued to bash the patch of wet dirt with his shovel. He waved Selena off when she picked up one of the buckets of water they had brought with them. "No, I think that's good. We won't need any more."
It was hard to believe that this place had been the site of a massacre a mere fifty years ago. While standing there, Cerdan could barely even imagine the bodies he had seen strewn on and around the hill back during the final battle. The only reminder here was a vertical stone slab, no doubt raised by the survivors' families in the aftermath of the Behemoth's destruction. There were elvish words carved into the stone's face, but they had since been worn down by the elements into little more than illegible bumps and grooves. To the north were the forests where a few elven tribes still resided, but from what they'd heard, those communities were rapidly shrinking due to mass departures ever since the Battle of Caden's Hill.
"Uh, Cerdan, could you please place the staff now?" Selena asked, nudging him out of his momentary reverie.
"Ah, yes." Cerdan bent down and lifted the ornate staff that was lying on the ground. Fixed atop the staff was a large piece of carved red crystal that had at one time been the Behemoth's Heart. Holding the staff straight with both hands, the rogue slammed it deep into the patch of mud they had created. After letting it sink in a bit, he took some time to carefully adjust the staff to make sure it wasn't leaning at an angle. "Okay, I think this looks good. You can cast the spell now."
He continued holding the pole in position as Selena removed a spell scroll and began reading the syllables upon the parchment. When she finished speaking the necessary words, the parchment started to crumble in her hands, and she pointed at the patch of ground. The brown mud began to pale and harden, eventually transforming into solid stone and sealing the staff in place.
Releasing the staff, Cerdan took and step back and watched as the sun hit the translucent red crystal, creating a crimson light on the flat side of the standing stone. Carved into the back of the Behemoth's Heart was another short set of elvish words. With the light hitting the crystal directly at this early hour, the hour at which the Battle of Caden's Hill took place, the words were slightly magnified and projected onto the stone behind it.
"I'm glad you agreed to do this. Perhaps you are a bit more sensible than I've given you credit for. I'll admit, though," said Selena, "I'm still not sure about how safe this is."
"Oh, don't worry. That demon in the bottle drained the magical energy from the Heart. It's basically an inert gemstone now. Nothing will happen if I touch it again."
"I meant someone might try to steal it."
"Oh… well, I'm sure the elves from the nearby tribes will be coming here soon enough to mark the fiftieth anniversary of the battle. I think we can leave knowing they'll keep the crystal protected. Maybe they'll think it is a divine gift. They might even build a shrine around it."
"Cerdan, please don't be so pompous."
The rogue crossed his arms as he observed their handiwork, and then tilted his head toward Selena. "Anyway, I suppose you were right; it is the very least I could do. Do you want to say anything special for this occasion?"
"Somehow, I don't think the dead elven soldiers would appreciate any words from a member of their sworn enemies," she murmured. "They'd probably rather hear something from their commanding officer."
Cerdan shook his head slowly. "I've never been one for hollow speeches. And I couldn't bring myself to tell them their sacrifice was for some noble cause or even worthwhile in the end, especially when I know it wasn't." He sighed and gestured toward the elvish script projected upon the stone. "Maybe the words we chose say it best."
At this site, 1322 Dale Reckoning, thousands of soldiers perished under the strength of the creature known as the Behemoth, a weapon of the Order of Tyr. Remember our struggle and remember our sacrifice. Remember Caden's Hill.
With nothing left to be said, they gathered their gear and began to make their way down the side of the hill toward their horses, before any of the local elves arrived.
"So, what do you think?" asked Cerdan, "Have I made amends yet?"
Selena smiled slightly. "It's a start."
"Oh, good. More work for me," murmured the rogue, pretending to sound upset. He helped Selena onto her horse, and then tied his shovel to the side of his own saddle. "And remind me to thank Derrick for referring us to what was probably the most expensive jeweller in Waterdeep. Spending half my money to cut a few words into a gem, and the other half to attach it to a shiny rod… I'll have to remember to kill our old friend some time. Merchants. They're the real thieves, you know."
As he mounted his horse, he noticed Selena giving him a peculiar look. "What is it?"
"What was it that Derrick said on our second visit? He said that everyone has to face their past and answer for what they've done in prior lives." She paused a moment before continuing. "But we can't let our pasts confine us from accepting who we are today. For a while now, I've been trying to figure you out… whether Cerdan was pretending to be Caden or if Caden was pretending to be Cerdan. Truth be told, I'm still not entirely sure yet."
"Disappointed?"
"Not really." She shrugged and kicked her horse into a gallop. "I have plenty of time. I'm in no rush to find out." Selena pointed northwest along the road, and nodded in the direction of the Sword Coast. "So… Neverwinter, next?"
"Neverwinter it is," Cerdan said with a grin and a wink. He spurred his horse onward, and the elves rode on into a brave new day.
The High Prelate of Tyr, Galin Saudere, pleaded guilty to the charges laid against him regarding the creation and subsequent cover-up of a magical weapon of massive devastation that had been created by a group within the Church of Tyr several decades earlier. For several years after, the Order of Tyr's reputation would suffer greatly in the eyes of many people across Faerun.
One month after his death, and many years after his exile, the fallen ranger Norris Delaen was returned to his home, a rural village far to the east of Waterdeep. He was laid to rest in his hometown's local cemetery, and was buried holding his pendant of Mielikki.
Zhong Shen travelled north and east to the Anauroch Desert, investigating the claim that his sister was being held prisoner in a slavers' camp of some kind. Following this venture, the samurai returned home to Shou Lung, a nation of Kara-tur in the east.
Ever the pessimist, Nell Morgan outright refused the membership offer from the Harpers, and did so with a very colourful choice of words directed at the recruiter. Seeing the value in a person possessing natural magic-resistance, however, the Harpers would continue to contact her over the years and, eventually, she relented and agreed to join them. This led to a particularly disastrous experience for the young woman, and she would quit the organization shortly thereafter.
Cyrael was imprisoned deep beneath the Old Quarter in Baldur's Gate for a long time. Shortly after his eventual release from the crystalline containment, he finally found death and perished in battle amidst an explosion of blue flame.
Dace survived.
After returning to Waterdeep to live with his father, Bryn and his friend Linde spent several years working as apprentices to Derrick Curaten. Much to the elder Curaten's chagrin, years later both youths would leave and become adventurers. Even worse, in their adulthood they would eventually return to Baldur's Gate and rejoin the Shadow Thieves' guild.
Cerdan Engeven and Selena Shademoor spent the next year on a mutual sojourn of sorts. Him, to quietly make amends for his past and learn some responsibility for once. Her, to see that the world went far beyond the walls of Baldur's Gate. Many years later, and through great labours, Selena would regain her priesthood in the Church of Tyr. Cerdan would never again return to the Shadow Thieves, or any other organized guild, for that matter. They would each make periodic returns to Baldur's Gate.
Despite the information regarding the truth behind the Behemoth Project being made public, no one would ever come after Cerdan in search of the power that lay dormant within him. With the Behemoth's Heart rendered inert, the Behemoth itself was never again restored.
Both elves would go on to travel Faerun extensively, sometimes together, sometimes not, but almost always with good faith and aplomb. And as for the future that lay beyond…
Seventy-five years later
The bell over the door jingled as a cloaked young woman stepped inside the store. An elderly, balding man sitting at the shop's counter looked up and adjusted his spectacles as he squinted at the new entrant.
"Well, now! A customer!" he turned in his seated and shouted through the curtain that led to the back room. "You hear that Linde? We have a guest!" There was no reply for a beat. He then looked to the young woman and scratched his head, giggling slightly. "Oh, that's right. She can't hear me. Hee hee!"
The woman cleared her throat, and brushed some of her red hair from her eyes. "Please drop the charade, guildmaster Curaten. I am not here to peruse your inventory."
Bryn's attitude changed. His demeanour of a daft old man disappeared, and was quickly replaced with suspicion and wariness. "Now that's something I haven't been called in quite some time, girl. You are a few decades too late to be calling me that. Just what is it you want from me?"
"We've met before, I believe. I don't recall much myself, but I'm told you never forget a face. I believe you knew my parents."
Leaning forward slightly, Bryn adjusted his glasses again, squinting at the girl. She was an elf… and she did have startlingly familiar features. Suddenly, it dawned on him, and his face lit up as if he had just won a prize. "Ah, yes! Of course! I remember you now. Yes, you have your mother's hair."
"Good. I need you to provide me with some information. I would ask my parents, but now they're… gone, I suppose. More besides, they would probably refuse to answer me even if they were still around."
"I'm sorry, but while I recognize your face, I still seem to have some difficulties with names. And what, exactly, are you talking about?"
"My name is Talana Engeven, sir. Please, tell me what my father did at Caden's Hill."
Fin
Author's Note: Thanks for reading. Well, that single day took about three and a half years to finish. There will not be a direct sequel to this, and definitely no further 24-hour fics. But I do intend to write several (shorter) stand-alone stories that may draw upon characters previously introduced. Check my forum for further details. Peace out.