The sight of the massive stone walls with brightly colored banners flapping lightly in the wind was a welcome one, even if it was still several hundred yards off. Surrounded by expansive plains dotted with rivers, farmland, and settlements, the once nearly desolate lands of De'Arnise were slowly flourishing, becoming more and more populous as the region blossomed under the leadership of one Lady Nalia De'Arnise. Nearly a year since the assault by the red dragon Firkraag had almost brought the Keep and the people within to ruin. Nearly a year since Nalia De'Arnise had truly, completely emerged from the long shadow that her father's well-loved reign had cast, growing into a leader that commanded respect from her people as well as her foes. Nearly a year since Solaufein had seen her last.
He doubted that his contribution to the salvation of not only her people but her life would be forgotten. Surely she would offer them refuge, if only long enough to get Anomen back on his feet. Still, she had to know about the driders- if they attacked and her men were taken by surprise because he had neglected to tell her what was chasing him, the blood would be on his head. He had enough guilt for a lifetime... no need to add more to it.
"Do you need aid? I can carry our companion for a time if your strength is fading." Reynald offered, glancing at the limp form of Anomen draped across Solaufein's arms as they traversed the last stretches of countryside on their way to the Keep. It had been nearly a full day's hike to reach the Keep, and sun would set within the hour. They had traded the duties of carrying Anomen for a time- he had only regained consciousness once or twice through the whole ordeal, and when he had done so, it was not long before the injuries inflicted by the Unholy Blight sent him spiraling back towards oblivion once more. As their only healer was, in fact, Anomen himself, and with no spellcaster among them to augment the cleric's abilities, they were labored down far more than they should have been otherwise.
Solaufein grunted, shaking his head as he finally bothered to answer the former knight's offer of help. "No. We are nearly there, and if we should by Lolth's assassins before we reach the walls, one of us should be in condition to strike back quickly."
Reynald nodded as though in agreement with the drow's words, but it was obvious to the warrior that he was still hesitant to leave him holding the admittedly heavy load, complete with pack, armor, and weapons to match. Still, he'd be damned if he showed a sign of weakness- especially with the threat of his old life looming overhead. He had beaten countless foes over the hundreds of years he'd lived- if he had to beat the entirety of his former life to finally find freedom, then he'd do that too. The sun slipped just beyond the top of the De'Arnise Castle, lending a lengthening shadow over the two companions as they drew ever closer to the closed bridge. Solaufein arched an eyebrow as they approached- the drawbridge was closed, true enough. Nalia had never kept the castle shut before, except when it had been under siege. Perhaps not the wisest or safest of choices, but there had always been a guard posted, and besides, she had insisted that it would reflect upon her desire to welcome any and all of the common folk she served to her door.
A watchman posted above the raised bridge spotted their approach, raising a cry that echoed down to them. "Oi! State your business with the court De'Arnise!"
"We have an injured man who needs aid- is that not cause enough to seek refuge? Lower your bridge and allow us passage!" Reynald called back, but even as he looked up at the guard, Solaufein's frown deepened. This was not the 'Court De'Arnise' he remembered from his former visits.
"The Lady of these lands does not simply allow every peasant and injured wayfarer passage into the royal grounds. Unless Lady De'Arnise has called upon your presence, I suggest you be on your way." the guard called down firmly, planting his spear next to him with a look that showed little if any compassion for the plight of these three nameless faces.
"Tell Lady Nalia that Solaufein of Ust Natha is here. She will know the name. I suggest you be on your way to inform her quickly, guard, before your callous temperament offends her Ladyship." the drow remarked loudly enough for the guard to hear, though his tone still managed to convey a sense of impatience and irritation that would quicken the step of any under his command.
Still, whether by distance between them, or perhaps a simple stubborn satisfaction that the guard above took in frustrating those below him and within his power, he called back, "How dare you speak to a member of the guard in so insolent a fashion! I shall not bother the Lady with your senseless prattle! Begone before I tell the guards among the towers to rain arrows upon your heads. The De'Arnise Keep is no haven for every wanderer and ne-re do well that passes by. Again I say, off with you!"
"As a member of the guard of Athkatla, I state my cause just and reasons valid for requiring entry." Reynald said, straightening his posture and attempting to look... well, guardly. Perhaps his tenure amongst the defenders of the City of Coin had come to a close recently, but... the cause was just enough, and it had only been a few days since, after all.
"Enough! Next you shall tell me that you are a paladin of the Radiant Heart, or perhaps a Cowled Wizard, come to our doorstep!" the guard laughed mockingly, before stamping his spear against the cold stone that composed the walls of the Keep. "I shall no longer tolerate your foolish ramblings. Shout as you will, but be forewarned, I will not be responsible for the fate you make for yourselves."
Solaufein glanced at the arrow towers, and what his keen elven eyesight picked up made his frown deepen. The archers manning the arrow towers were listening to something that the gate guard was saying... and began to pull arrows from their quivers, readying their bows for an attack. Something was wrong... this was not the same Keep. Perhaps Nalia was in danger? Only one way to find out... and to gain access, for that matter. Anomen would not survive a trip all the way back to Athkatla... they needed help, and they needed it now. He knelt to the ground, lowering Anomen's unconscious bulk to the soil as gently as he could muster, then stood, praying that his gamble might pay off for both Reynald and he, but for Anomen as well.
Reynald opened his mouth once more, ready to speak with all the righteous indignation that these uncaring responses truly deserved, but for the sake of their health- all of them- Solaufein shouted upwards once more, "I give you a final chance! Tell Nalia that Solaufein of Ust Natha has come- ah, I see no need. She has come to you, and you will find the way you have treated one of her allies gravely disturbing."
The guard above hesitated for a moment, finally glancing over his shoulder as though the Lady Nalia was there, ready to discipline him for his missteps- and it was all the time the drow warrior needed. The hand he had held clutched in his pocket gripped the magical stone and erupted with magic, a dimension door blazing into existence all around him as he slipped through time and space- reappearing beside the stubborn guard. The look of shock and terror on his face as Solaufein materialized beside him was almost worth the effort alone, but the drow only gave himself a brief moment to enjoy it before swinging his fist in an uppercut as hard as he could manage. The blow rocked the guard back onto his heels and flat to his back, completely taken by surprise.
Shouts of alarm echoed from the arrow towers and Solaufein hunkered down to avoid the arrows that would almost certainly be heading his way in moments- one such missile struck the stone banister beside him and shattered with the impact. He grimaced, shuffling to the bridge winch as fast as he dared, taking small comfort in the knowledge that while the archers were aiming at him, they were not striking out at Reynald and Anomen. Another arrow struck within inches of his back- while he was impressed at the accuracy of Nalia's new guardsmen, he rather wished they were focusing their attentions on something worth shooting at rather than... well, him.
He leaned upwards, taking hold of the wooden wheel that allowed access to the drawbridge, and began shifting his weight, trying his best to maneuver the heavy turntable while lying down- a surprisingly difficult task, as he was able to get little momentum into the effort. More shouts of alarm- he chuckled, knowing the next response. Failing to stop him with their arrows, they would be moving up with their blades instead. He considered staying down in case some of them had remained behind with their bows- no time for that. Reynald would have to follow his lead, and leaving him out in the cold would probably get him shot up once he was taken by the guard. Which he was, most assuredly going to be taken. He threw himself to his feet, then proceeded to throw his full weight into turning the winch, grunting with the exertion of moving several hundred pounds of wood and iron into position.
The guards were too close, within moments they'd strike him if he had not signaled surrender of a sort. He made one last effort, hurling his body forward to push the drawbridge down fully, praying to Lady Silverhair that Reynald had enough sense to take Anomen and him across for this short moment of respite. He managed to pick himself up before the other guards finally came within arms' reach, their swords drawn and at guard. "Surrender or face death, invader!"
"As I told this fool previously," the drow remarked, frowning as the man at his feet began to regain consciousness from the commotion, "I am no invader. Your Lady knows me well, and would have invited me in personally had you but told her my name. If anyone is to blame for this mess, it is the worthless human before us."
As the guard rose to his knees, Solaufein had to resist the urge to kick him back down again. No, that would not endear him any further to the guardsmen. Then again, Solaufein decided as he raised his hands and followed in captivity back down to the main courtyard of the Keep, he doubted that Nalia would allow him to befall any serious hurt. Or rather, the Nalia he had known would not have. Whatever was going on here now might speak differently to that assumption.
X X X X X X
Sarevok crushed the skull of the undead creature lying before him, the last of the foes they had faced upon returning to the Forest of Mir. Although still shaken by the encounter with the Master Wraiths, their resolve had been strengthened once more, and everyone had been well prepared to fight if necessary once Greywulf had brought them back. Granted, it took everyone a bit longer than they had thought, having to repack their bags after Cespenar had gotten into everyone's belongings, scattering them through the Pocket Plane. Still, after several threats from Sarevok and Imoen both if he did not pick it all up, the impish butler had recovered everything and restored it, along with a few magical augmentations, according to his 'recipes.' Imoen's splint mail was a bit more protective, and so was the cloak Minsc wore, though nothing overly visible or magnificent.
Still, the new protections had proved useful when they came back, immediately finding a number of skeleton warriors and undead guarding the inner courtyard of the temple. They were not overly numerous, but their undead spirits seemed powered by the lingering taint of Bhaal, and thus they were a far greater challenge than similar creatures. Aerie had taken a nasty hit across the thigh, though it was healing quite well after the magics of Jaheira had been put to use; the only tell-tale sign that anything had happened was a slight limp that the girl walked with, one that would be gone with another day's rest.
At the other end of the courtyard was a wall about twenty feet high, only passable by a set of staircases on both far ends of the construction. The right side stairs had been collapsed long ago by rubble that had most likely fallen from the long since destroyed ceiling, and so they moved quickly to ascend the stairs on the left, Minsc at the rear position, watching for any more creatures coming with malicious intent. The path was quickly covered, and at the top of the platform above stood a small gazebo type structure, circular steps leading to a small covered dome, held up by stone pillars.
Cracks ran across this altar of darkness, suggesting a possible collapse at any time, but it did not seem to bother the figure hunched over nearby cloaked in brown, dirty patchwork robes. A small green fire burned in the very center underneath the dome, apparently doing a little more than simply warming the figure nearby. The group approached cautiously, awaiting some ravenous looking hag, a crone covered in wrinkled flesh and age spots with dirty fingernails and a cackle to match her persona.
When the woman turned, standing up straight with dark ebony hair spilling from her robes and a smooth, beautiful face underneath, there was a pause of awkward questioning from the group between one another- the woman folded her arms and cocked an eyebrow upward, lips pursed in expectant distaste. "So... you have finally arrived. I had foreseen that you would do so."
Imoen squinted in the green-tinted light, as though expecting the woman's beauty to dissolve in moments and reveal a monster beneath. "That so, huh? Care to tell us how?"
"Mmm." the woman smirked, raising a slender hand as she examined the back of her long, black nails. She considered the party of six, then turned her face back to the flames and put her hands out, the sleeves of her robes pulled back so that the flames did not set them alight. "They call me the Witch of the Glade, the outsiders do. I know a great many things of you and your kind, Bhaalspawn. Are you so surprised, that I know of who you are, the three of you? Or perhaps I should say two... for all of your bluster and size, you, warrior, have only the slightest hint of the taint left within you. I begin to wonder if that armor and blade is not compensating for your lack of... power."
It was a lesson Greywulf took note of rather quickly, as he had done in the past when dealing with his murderous half-brother- one of his extremely few weak spots? His ego. And even though the taunt may have been juvenile and rather beneath anyone there, it was enough to draw the rage of the Deathbringer. "I am Sarevok, woman. Do not think that you can simply spout whatever insults you please without repercussion. I have killed men for saying less to me."
"As much as I'd like to let the two of you continue your little verbal spat, we're not here for that." Greywulf raised two hands, giving Sarevok a hint of a longer stare, gesturing for him to back off. If he decided to slice her open, they'd be decidedly out of clues as to the home of Yaga-Shura's mountain palace. "I am Greywulf... and since you know much more than you let on, I see no point in hiding it. I am a Bhaalspawn, as are my kin here beside me."
"Mmm... manners, even. It has been some time since I have conversed with another. I am pleased to see you are more than your brother- more than a mindless brute demanding power like so many of the vermin that make their way here, to my glade. As for me- you may call me Nyalee. It has been a very long time since another has called me by name. I would be pleased to hear it spoken on the tongues of men once again."
"You may present a veneer of civility, but what kind of person makes their living out in the ruins of a place of evil such as this?" Jaheira questioned, gesturing toward the stone statues and Bhaal-imagery that lay desecrated amidst the temple rubble. "I find it hard to believe that you choose this ruin simply for the solitude it affords you."
Nyalee laughed, a high-pitched chuckle that did not inspire thoughts of mirth- or sanity, for that matter. Still, it ended as quickly as it had come, and the only sign she had even exhibited that unrestrained display of maddened humor was the tight upward pull to her lips, baring perfect, white teeth. Unlikely even in the cities. "You do not trust me. And what have I done to warrant such suspicion? Your association with the others... the rest of your kinsmen... it has left you bitter and cold inside. Not so cold as my boy Yaga-Shura... no, none are as cold as he."
The import of what she had just said caused them to pause a moment, before the ranger among them broke the silence. "Minsc does not understand." he frowned. "You… are the mother? Boo does not see how this works, if you know what he means."
"And what is it you find so hard to believe? That I could have given birth to one so powerful, so strange as he? Surely you know I am a witch of no small power." Nyalee growled, almost snarling at Minsc as she spun, her robes whirling around her, threadbare and ragged at the edges. "Perhaps I was his mother indeed. Perhaps he came from my loins when Lord Bhaal lay with me, once, long ago. Or perhaps I simply found him and raised him as my own. Does it matter to you, mortals? No. All you seek... all any Bhaalspawn seeks, is the blood. The murder, the death. You seek to kill Yaga-Shura, and you wish my help."
Aerie drew away from the witch as she spoke, swallowing gently, before mustering her courage and stepping up to speak in a tone that belied the fear obviously running through her veins. "I am with Jaheira in this matter. I do not trust this woman, Greywulf. I can sense the evil within this place... within her-"
Nyalee hissed and lurched towards Aerie, the younger elf recoiling in shock as a blast of dark magic waved between them, Aerie hurtling to the ground. Minsc's eyes went wide as he saw his witch thrown aside, and his sword was halfway from its scabbard before Aerie shook her head, one hand to her head as the other helped push her back to her feet. "No! She didn't do it... I saw inside her mind for a moment. It was... nothing but power. Raw, dark energy. I have never felt anything like it..."
"That is because I am like nothing you have ever seen, of that you can be sure." Nyalee spoke with disdain, turning her back on the group as she returned to her magical flame, warming her hands. She glanced behind her at the party of six, still wary about coming any closer to this mysterious woman. "Come closer, if you wish my aid. It is you who have intruded on my sanctity. The least you might do is accommodate an old woman's needs... and I find a chill in my bones comes far too easily in these dark nights."
"An old woman, are you?" Greywulf questioned, though all six slowly filed closer, encircling the flame so that they all stood with her in sight. No sense in taking unnecessary risks- every one of them had a weapon or spell ready within moments. "You would shame me were I to consider myself old and look as you do."
"Perhaps you think me so vain as to conceal my true face with magics... and for what purpose would that serve? So that I could look ravishing, seductive those unfortunate enough to venture into my lair? I should simply kill them and be done with it, should the opportunity arise. A lesson many learned the hard way." Nyalee smirked, glancing up at the broken arches that would have formed a gazebo where they stood, long ago. Upon the remnants of the arches were several mounted skulls- all of them human. "No, my youth stems from another source... the same source that gives Yaga-Shura his vaunted immortality... a trick that I taught him long ago, and one which he has used to great... effect. Traitorous son of mine..."
"And just what kind of trick are you talkin' about? Imoen asked, trying not to seem interested, though in reality, her attention was firmly in hand. Some kind of magic that was powerful enough to not only provide invulnerability, but eternal youth? How could a mage like her resist?
Nyalee glanced at her, then smiled gently, a strange expression on her normally frosty features. "Come child, take my hand. You shall see-"
Greywulf's eyes widened and he was about to use his quarterstaff to intervene before Imoen extended her hand and clasped Nyalee's. The staff rested upon the top of their connected limbs, before Nyalee looked back at him with disgust. "Still so filled with mistrust, are you? Bah! Rot under the footprint of my boy, for all I care! You, girl... how soft your skin is. You are quite the powerful child, that much I can sense."
"Umm... thanks?" Imoen said with a forced smile, trying not to grimace. "You might want to warm yourself a bit more though- s'like you've got ice in your veins or something."
"Indeed?" Nyalee asked, not a care in her voice. "Perhaps the fire is not so warm as I had hoped. No fire warms my heart any longer-" She thrust Imoen's hand inside her robes, directly over heart. Imoen tried to recoil but Nyalee's grip turned to iron as she glared at Imoen with blackness in her eyes. "Tell me child... what do you feel?"
Imoen's features fell in shock and disbelief as she slowly understood. "There's no heartbeat- nothing at all, is there..."
Nyalee released Imoen as the girl hurriedly stumbled away, the rest moving to form a more cohesive group, ready to defend themselves if needed from whatever this... thing was that stood before them. "Just what are you, woman?" Sarevok growled, the Blade of Chaos firmly in his hands and pointed at her face.
"What am I?" Nyalee closed her robes tightly, as though that could fill the void that no doubt existed where her heart had once sat, beating in her breast. "I have been many things. A Priestess of Bhaal? A Sorceress cast out and hunted by the Knights of the South? A Mother betrayed by her son who seeks revenge? Perhaps all of these, and perhaps none. I am Nyalee, Witch of the Glade, and that is enough for you. I will help you kill Yaga-Shura. Do you wish my aid or not, for now is the time to decide."
The six shared a glance- what trust could be spared for the woman and whatever 'aid' she offered was scant indeed, but it was one of their only opportunities, and denying a potential ally in a fight against one touted to be invulnerability personified would be foolish. Slowly, Greywulf lowered his staff and nodded, his brown hair gently brushing the front of his forehead. "Speak, and we will listen."
"Then take note, for I am about to tell you of rituals the likes of which have not been seen or performed on this earth in ages. Rituals I dared to learn and study... rituals I passed on to my son, preparing him for his rebirth as the new Lord of Murder." Nyalee spoke darkly, her upper lip curling in disgust when she spoke of the fire giant. "To cast aside one's mortal shell and embrace immortality requires a great sacrifice- one must remove the source of life so that it may be suspended, kept apart from the body while yet providing the spark of creation within us all. Such rituals are ancient and complex- to perform one is to take on the role of a god for the briefest of moments. Ao has struck down many who attempted to do so for their hubris."
"And I see that you survived the retribution of the gods." Jaheira folded her arms, her spear crossing behind her legs as she held the shaft lightly between three fingers and her thumb. "Why he chose to spare one such as you I shall never know."
Nyalee glared for a moment, then flicked a long nailed finger at the group and a Silence Spell ignited amidst them, closing the vocal passages of every single one of them. She turned away as though nothing had happened, continuing her story. "I taught the boy how to fight, how to survive... I trained him to become the greatest warrior, the greatest spawn that would walk the Realms! Trained him to become the Lord of Murder... but even I knew that all my training would mean nothing if he were to fall under the blade of another spawn. A fate no god-child is immune to. Every Bhaalspawn is attracted to the rest of his kin, to slay, to hunt, to murder. I would protect my boy... and so I performed the ritual upon him, removing his heart from his chest, still beating and embalmed in magics older than Faerun itself."
She turned back to them, and for the first time, a hint of sadness, of regret appeared on her face. "And for all my help, what did he do? He betrayed me... his mother, his own beloved keeper... while I slumbered, he used my own craft to remove my heart. Mine!" She turned to the flames and pointed within, and if one squinted hard enough, looked deeply enough- there, in the midst of the fire was a heart, beating slowly, rhythmically. She sighed, snapping her fingers, releasing their voices as she peered down at her heart once again, as though oblivious to everything around her. "He took my lessons and perverted them- the flame that protects my heart keeps it awash in magic and extends my life. Yet the magics are incomplete- I must constantly maintain this flame or it will go out and I shall die."
"Why don't you just put your heart back in?" Aerie asked slowly, wary of incurring another surge of petulant wrath from the witch. "You taught him the rituals, surely you can restore yourself?"
"Foolish girl!" Nyalee screamed, and for a moment the party feared they would have to strike her down if she lashed out, but the fury dimmed quickly, the only sign that it had been there at all being a smoldering rage in her eyes. "It took me a *lifetime* to prepare for the ritual that I put my son through. I spent years tracking down the powders, the runes necessary to perform the rituals once. He took all the remains that I possessed when he took my heart. Who will find the ingredients I need to restore myself? Surely you are not so filled with foresight that you brought the blood of a god here with you?"
"The blood of a god?" Greywulf recoiled, the very words filling him with sudden fear and respect for the power this woman commanded. "Where did you-"
"Did I not tell you that the ingredients were... difficult, to acquire?" Nyalee smirked. "No... Yaga-Shura knew that I would never leave this place again. All I can do is wait, endure through the ages and seek revenge upon the one who sentenced me to this eternity of torment."
"Then tell us how to kill the giant, and we shall deliver the vengeance that he deserves! So swears Minsc." the ranger thumped his chest with his fist once, and Greywulf could not help but sympathize, if only the slightest bit, with Nyalee. Unable to die, yet left with nothing. It was a wonder that she had not been driven mad... or perhaps she had.
Nyalee smiled, and those watching found it slightly more chilling than the scowls that normally lay upon her features. "The heart is the key, is it not? To kill Yaga-Shura, his invulnerability must be overcome, and his heart must be returned to him."
"But you said that it would take years to perform the ritual to return someone's heart to them." Imoen frowned. "We don't even know the rituals-"
"The rituals are only used if one wishes to *survive* the rejoining process..." Nyalee hissed, and with that, it all was made clear. "His ritual is complete, and the heart's flame cannot simply be quenched by letting the fire die, as mine can. But if you were to return his heart to him without performing the rituals, he would most certainly perish in the rejoining. He would suffer agony like nothing he has felt before... and then the essence of his life would be torn from him, shattered into the void!"
"You're enjoying that thought way too much." Imoen grimaced, shaking her head slightly. "But it's a start, I guess. You got an idea where we can find this heart o' his?"
Nyalee pointed behind her... and upward, at the mountains lining the darkened horizon. "The Marching Mountains- filled with fire and stone and ash! Broken open to reveal the lava running beneath during the Time of Troubles! Seek out the temple of followers he has recruited in the hills. He will keep it guarded under lock and key, watched over by fire giants who worship him as a god... so foolish. He is not Bhaal... not yet."
"And he won't be, either. Not if we have our way." Greywulf nodded slightly, gesturing toward the others. "We'd best be on our way then- it's a long road ahead to the Hills of Fire. For what it's worth... thank you for your help."
"Worth more than you think, god-child." Nyalee said slowly, as the group filed out, eager to be away from the corrupting influence of this former house of evil. "Your visit has been the first human contact I have had in years- should you wish to return, I shall tell you what I know of the other god-spawn, of the powers and goals of the Lord of Murder. Perhaps if you ascend to the Throne of Bhaal, you will not forget me here in this desolate place. My only request is that you kill my boy before returning."
Her words were oddly sincere- and Greywulf realized that for all her evil, for all the deeds she had performed, wicked or not, she was a broken woman. Perhaps one with the powers of a powerful witch at her fingertips, but one who sought the comfort of simple companionship, even if only for a brief few minutes. And he could not help but pity her once more. He nodded slowly, ignoring the surprised glare from Jaheira, Sarevok and Imoen as he spoke. "Mayhap we will, if your promise holds true. Farewell."
X X X X X X
The sound of armor plates clattering provided a constant din as the ground thundered with the footsteps of marching men, perfectly in formation, their stature unmatched in regality and perfection. Their helmets gleamed in the sunlight and their shields bore the symbol of righteous fervor. Two brigades of knights, each with a flag bearer at the lead, the Radiant Heart showing no fear in the face of the enemies they marched to strike against.
The plight of Saradush had not gone unnoticed- as soon as the Radiant Heart had determined just how dire the threat truly was, as many knights as could be spared were drawn together and sent on their way to help those trapped inside against those besieging it. Which, of course, had been anticipated long ago. Of course the Radiant Heart would get involved. How could they not? The only surprise was that it had taken them this long to arrive. Or perhaps not such a surprise, considering how many diversions had been set up to delay their arrival, making sure that the city had long since fallen by the time they arrived. Still, they had fought their way through hordes of enemies, all with the express purpose of delaying them. And delay them they did, even if their attempts at killing the knights had failed miserably. This was the best of the best that the Order had to offer.
Each knight was the equivalent of ten men in combat- numbering four hundred, there were paladins, knights, and even a few clerics in their midst. They were prepared for anything- prepared to push back the forces of the fire giant and send their evil back to the darkness from whence it came. And at the head, leading his men into battle with no concern for himself, only for those he fought beside, was one of the greatest the Radiant Heart could claim in their ranks, Sir Ryan Trawl. His helmet tucked in one hand to provide some measure of comfort in the sweltering heat, his shield tightly gripped in the other, he could not help but feel that, for all the danger and evil that was besieging the city, this was not his battle to fight. Should not be his battle, rather. His place should have been at Watcher's Keep, fighting the evil locked within and aiding the Knights of the Vigil. Instead, that task had fallen to Anomen Delryn. Anomen the Brave. Anomen the Hate-filled. Anomen the Skilled. Anomen the Haughty. For every positive quality that made him a perfect candidate for the Order, Sir Ryan could name another that would drum a lesser man out of the Order within moments. That he had stayed in contention for the rank of Knight this long spoke to something... he wasn't sure what. Foolishness on the part of him and the Prelate? Perhaps. A dedication that would not be overcome so easily within Anomen? Also possible.
Still, even if the man was the absolute epitome of the character the Order demanded, he did not feel he was ready for the task he had been sent on. To be handed a mission of such paramount importance when still a squire, especially one so controversial in the minds of the rest of the Order... it was a decision Sir Ryan feared that both he and the Prelate would regret. Still, it had been the Prelate's decision to send the young man on this task- a final test of his worth, one way or another. And true to what they had said, there was really nobody else. The Wars that the Bhaalspawn wrought demanded their full attention lest it devour the entirety of Amn. If their conflicts remained among each other, the Order would be more than happy to let them simply expend their armies on one another. Even the burning of a few villages, as horrid as it sounded, could be ignored if the multitude of conflicts took place without harming innocents. But when they besieged a full city, when Saradush came under attack, it was decided that such a thing could not stand. And so Sir Ryan was sent with the strongest knights that could be mustered and sent to put an end to the evil that had killed so many, this... Yaga-Shura.
Trawl's eyes narrowed under the high sun, even as the smell of burning flesh and ash caught his senses. They were getting close. The skies above were no longer a bright blue, but dingy gray, choked with the cloud of ashes and smoke that erupted from the burnt carcass of Saradush. The city was just over the next hilltop, a perfect place to launch a counterattack from- or to launch an ambush. Sir Ryan held a clenched fist up, signaling to the men behind him to halt, the silent order sweeping back through the ranks as the knights and paladins halted, an inaudible wash of excitement and nervousness flowing among them. They were nearly to their target, battle would be upon them in moments. Sir Ryan inhaled sharply, trying to quell the sudden urge to charge the hill in a wash of bodies and valorous cries. Several years ago, he would not have hesitated- he had been headstrong, far too eager for battle. It had only been when he had managed to combine his unrivaled skill on the battlefield with a patience that could only be taught through experience that he had truly ascended to the higher ranks of the Order, finally recognized as having the wisdom to share Prelate Wessaren's counsel, Keldorn Firecam's advice... were the venerable paladin still alive.
No, there would be no glorious charge for honor and death today. First and foremost, his concern was to ensure that each man under his command made it back home alive. A blind rush would accomplish little more than expending their energy for a charge undoubtedly met halfway by an enemy with the high-ground advantage. Still, those above would not simply give their position away either... so something had to be done. Ryan Trawl extended an arm, made a chopping motion with an arc toward the hillside, then gathered his strength, saying a prayer to Helm.
Those in the rear of the formation carried longbows and held two types of arrows in their quivers- arrows of fire and arrows of ice. The fire enchantments would obviously do little against the Fire Giants, but for their purposes, they would be enough. The back half of both brigades drew arrows and took aim over the top of the hillside, holding steady as sweat rolled down their faces. Sir Ryan waited a brief moment, then shouted a single word. "Fire!"
Two volleys took flight, the marksmen shooting true, the hillside was just low enough to allow the arrows to sail over top, landing upon targets unseen opposite them on the upper portion of the hill that was obscured to them. The sound of an onrush of flame due to the enchantments was setting the land ablaze, and Sir Ryan could see hints of flame licking the upper edges of the hill. If he had been wrong and they had truly taken their enemy by surprise, it would at least give them a buffer as they made their way to the top of the hill. If not- shouts and screams of fury erupted as hundreds of soldiers swarmed over the top of the hill, flying down the hillside with axes and swords in hands. With that sight, the fear and concern Sir Trawl had felt melted away as he planted his helmet atop his head with one firm motion, drew his blade and shield and shouted the order, "Hold!!"
He retreated back to the center between the formations as the two groups swept out to become one, a wall of shields raised by those in front, the ones right behind keeping their shields up to deflect any arrows- there. A return volley struck back at them, most striking the raised shields, though a few slipped in and the screams of a few of his men tightened Sir Ryan's throat. He knew that his own archers would be readying their own bows to do the same shooting through small cracks allowed in their shield formation. "Fire!"
More arrows emerged to strike the men rushing downhill, sending their bodies tumbling into the wall of shields ahead of their living brethren- seconds before the living wave hit. Sir Ryan braced his footing as flesh impacted against their shields, the sound of blades striking metal echoing next to his head as they tried to swing their weapons down and over the top of their formation, only to hit the shields raised above by the men second in line. He felt his body get pushed back, boots digging into the soil as the man he faced slammed into his shield, nearly bowling him over- and Sir Ryan took advantage of that momentum, lowering his own body and pushing upwards with all his might, launching the man over the top of him and sending him rolling behind their lines where one of his own men would surely finish him off. He returned to his guard position just in time as another man hit, this time giving him no room or time to perform the same maneuver. Another volley of arrows, and another round of the enemy fell to the ground, their bodies burning with magical flame.
The main wave had hit, abandoned their high ground advantage- Sir Ryan bellowed the order and led the counter-attack, sweeping his shield out once, twice, then a third time to smash the jaw of the man in front of him and send him to the ground. He came down with a final thrust of his sword to end his attacker's life, even as his own men flanked him, sweeping forward on their own. He felt an onrush of power and energy flood his body and he knew that the clerics he had brought with them were doing their job. Too many targets to be of use picking people out with offensive spells- their blessings and chants would have to do instead. The sound of an explosion rocked the ground nearby, and he glanced to see several knights smoking, lying on the ground, before trying desperately to get up before their opponents killed them on the ground.
A fireball hurled by a mage from atop the hill- their clerics were also Protecting them from Fire as best they could, but if the mages above were left to their own devices for very long, it would decimate the ranks of the knights. No doubt the archers were already bringing their bows to bear on the mages, or as best they could at such a range. He pushed those worries out of his head and instead focused on the battle before him- a splash of warm blood hit him in the face as he chopped downwards again, cutting through flesh and blood and armor with the enchanted blade he held, keeping his men moving forward. Let the mages be concerned with them rushing the hill. Not that they were in any position to do so.
A thump hit the ground. Then another. The whole earth shook and the light passing over the top of the hillside darkened as several massive silhouettes appeared, a particularly tall one with blazing orange hair and a beard that came down to his chest. He was wearing plate armor that left half his chest exposed, and held a war hammer that was easily the size of Sir Ryan himself. Yaga-Shura laughed madly as he looked down upon the fighting, then waved his arm forward, marching down the hillside with a dozen fire giants at his side. After days of searching through the rubble of the city, he had killed dozens of Bhaalspawn, weak and insignificant. He had heard from those he tortured that the wards of Gorion were even seen inside. But despite all his efforts, he was rewarded with nothing more than ants to be crushed beneath his heel. This would provide... an amusing distraction.
X X X X X X
"So how are you, little brother?"
Greywulf glanced to his left, something akin to a wry smile crossing his cracked and parched lips. When the witch had told them that the place they sought was cracked open by the gods, revealing the fires of the earth beneath, he had taken some of that as hyperbole. Upon arrival at the base of the mountain range, they had seen streams of lava and volcanic rivers flowing freely from and into the earth's crust. Even with Protection from Fire spells shielding every one of them, the heat was almost unbearable. They had to plan their routes such that they stayed as far from the open lava streams as possible, and that led them through some... interesting terrain. Such as climbing cliff faces of hot, dirty rock and navigating trails that mountain goats would find difficult to traverse.
Reaching a large outcropping among the cliffs they were trying to ascend, they had unanimously decided to make camp there for the day. They had hiked from the Forest of Mir to the Mountains of Fire, through the night, and the day offered no comfort for the sweltering heat. Not that sleeping would come easy, but better to have some kind of rest during the day, in a place where nobody in the right mind would look for them, and give them a chance to take their foes by surprise in the night.
Imoen's question was not unusual in the fact that she cared about Greywulf, nor that she was interested in talking when the last thing on anyone's mind at the moment would be... well, anything besides curling up in a ball and trying to wring some kind of rest out of their short respite. What was strange was that she called him 'little brother'- usually she was more than content to take the role of younger sibling. Not that either of them knew which was older. Still, he wrestled his aching body around to face her, leaning against the cliff face with tangled locks of hair clinging to his face, sweat trails running through the dirt and dust covering his features. "Well, I'm hot, tired, my waterskin's almost empty, and I'm one wayward step from falling to a bone-crunchingly painful fall to my death. So... not so bad. You?"
Imoen rolled her eyes, seating herself beside him, looking at him beneath glistening pink hair. "Yeah well, no need to be all snarky. That's my job, 'member."
He nodded slightly with a smile, leaning his head back again as his gaze lazily drifted over the rest of the group. Aerie was absolutely dying in the heat- she and Minsc were seated back to back, with the ranger using his massive body to provide her with some small measure of shade. Her blonde hair hung limply around the skin of her face, usually light and cream colored, but now bright red with a sunburn that would undoubtedly hurt in a matter of hours. Sarevok sat alone, as usual, as did Jaheira. The bronze skin of the druidess gleamed with sweat as she tried to keep herself in the shade, still tucked away from the others. She had said little while they had trekked, and Greywulf had allowed himself to hope that perhaps she had overcome the doubts within her about Khalid and Gorion... what they would think of their relationship.
"So what did you want to talk about, Im? Seems like you're feeling a little better. That's good, isn't it?"
"It is..." Imoen shrugged, undoing the cloak she and most of them wore, using it as a cushion beneath and behind her. "But I'm not here to talk about me- I saw what you did back in the Pocket Plane. Yer some kinda stupid, y'know that?"
"Sure do. But you'll have to be more specific." the half-elf chuckled, digging through his pack for the waterskin inside. He raised it high and squeezed another mouthful out of it. The water was warm and he nearly choked, swallowing too quickly, but it felt like heaven to the dehydrated sorcerer. He corked the skin again and glanced at her with a brief smile on his face. "Well go ahead. It's too hot to guess what you're onto here. And we've done this little dance often enough for me to know I need to hear whatever it is you're going to tell me."
"Take all the fun out of it, why don'tcha." She chuckled, then nodded, losing some of the smile. "You always do this, you know. You always try and help everyone but yerself. When are you gonna start asking for help? If I didn't know better, I'd say yer as stupid as Jaheira sometimes."
He couldn't help but laugh, knowing that the druid would've smacked both of them in another time and place, had she heard them. "Can't deny that. What can I say, it's been a rough week."
"So?" Imoen curled up beside him, her eyes fixed on him, the tone in her voice telling him that she was all ears- the same impish girl that he knew and loved, but his sister and his stalwart nonetheless. "Tell me about it."
He had a bizarre mental picture of a list stretching over the whole outcropping that contained all his problems, but he shook it off, choosing instead to sigh and list them off one at a time. "Well, we're fighting a six person war on some of the most powerful Bhaalspawn on Faerun, I'm worried sick that my choices are going to get everyone here killed, we're carting Sarevok of all people around with us, we agreed to try and kill an invincible fire giant, my taint is flaring up like a bad rash and Jaheira is going back and forth on our relationship, refusing to talk about the fact we're engaged. Maybe I should have given her a ring or something..."
As he spoke, Greywulf's mind finally caught up with his words and kicked him squarely in the teeth. He cut off immediately, looking at Imoen, who for her part, wore an expression of complete disbelief. He winced, knowing just how much Jaheira was going to kill him for this...
"What did you just say?" Imoen asked with a grin blossoming over her face. "Yer kidding, right? Gods, you aren't, are you!"
"By Mystra, keep it down!" Greywulf hissed, moving to try and clamp a hand over her mouth, but Imoen beat him to it, putting both hands over her mouth as she veritable hopped up and down whilst seated. "I am going to regret telling you this, aren't I..."
"No! No, you won't." Imoen nearly squealed with excitement, grabbing Greywulf's hands and looking at him with expectancy. "When? Where?! How come you didn't tell me, y'bufflehead?!"
"Ow." Greywulf ringed from the arm smack she'd just given him, exhaling quietly as he glanced over at the woman, taking distinct note that despite being as filthy as the rest of them, she looked as beautiful as ever. "I didn't tell you or the others because I knew this is exactly what you would do, and I knew that Jaheira would despise the attention. As for when... you remember back when we are about to fight Irenicus for the last time, in that tainted version of Hell? Well... it just kind of happened, I don't know..."
Imoen went slack-jawed... and then smacked him in the arm again. "You are absolutely clueless sometimes, y'know that? You proposed to the woman you love in a miniature plane of Hell. Ever hear of something called romance?"
"Forgive me for thinking Jaheira to be less the chocolate-and-flowers and more the shiny-new-armor kind of girl." he retorted, rubbing the place she had hit him twice gingerly. "Besides, I thought we were going to die. It seemed appropriate, I suppose."
"Appropriate? No no no no no." Imoen shook her head with a roll of the eyes and a sigh. "Appropriate is when one of them noble ladies spends a couple hund'rd gold on some dress she'll wear once and then gets her pocket picked by lil' ol me. Appropriate is not proposing to the woman you love when yer seconds away from death in a place that's an awful lot like... oh, I dunno, Hell! That's... I'm not sure what that is, but don't worry, because your much wiser sister is here to help."
"Hey now, that is out of the ques-" he began to protest before she shook her head, raising a hand to cut him off.
"Nope. Not gonna take no for an answer on this one. First thing you need to do is get her a ring. Preferably not one you just chopped off some bandit's hand, ok? No blood stains. She says she doesn't want one, then she's lying. Trust me- when I have led you wrong? Next thing is I'll go talk to her about this Khalid-Gorion thing that's been getting her down. Yer not the only one with eyes, y'know. Pretty sure everyone here knows what's eating at her."
"Imoen, this is not something you can just hop into and take lightly." Greywulf grabbed her by the arm, his tone warning her to take things slower. "I love her, all right? If she's not ready for something that was made on a spur of the moment decision, then that's her right and I'm going to respect it. And if she needs to talk with someone about... I don't know, guilt over our relationship, it should be with me. I love you, but please take this in the way it's meant when I tell you that I want you to stay out of this, okay?"
He calmed a moment, looking into Imoen's eyes for a brief second before sighing with despair. "You're not going to listen to a word I just said, are you?"
"Nope."
He leaned back against the cliff-side, running one hand over his face to wipe the sweat away, Imoen laughing quietly as she leaned beside him. "I thought this was supposed to be helping me with my problems, not creating more of them."
"Oh yeah... well that's easy. Stop trying to control everyone's actions and acknowledge that they can handle themselves without your constant input. We're all keeping an eye on Sarevok so if he tries anything, we'll burn him down like we did the last two times. If this whole heart-magic-thing works out like Nyalee said, we're set on that front. Oh, and I'm sure Jaheira can make a cream for that last one."
He stared at her for a moment, unsure of what to say... then laughed and leaned back beside her, draping one arm around her shoulder.
"Eww... yer all sweaty."
"Oh, like you're any better."
X X X X X X
Anomen's chest, stripped bare of his armor and tunic, rose and fell in rhythm as Solaufein and Reynald watched with concern present in both of the men's features. Still, the two clerics who ran the chantry at De'Arnise Keep were attending him, murmuring their spells and blessings as they attempted to heal the injuries inflicted upon his spirit.
Two of the guards of the Keep were posted at the door, their eyes never leaving the two men, their weapons returned to them after it had been determined just who the intruders actually were. Still, their 'interesting' method of entry had left the guard suspicious, and despite having heard of their arrival, their identities and giving them clemency, Nalia had yet to come see them. Just one more strange action by the idealistic noble that Solaufein had known. "Will he be all right?" Reynald finally spoke up, his concern for their mutual companion overriding any awkward tension that remained between the guards and the two visitors. "He was wounded by dark magics- but surely your spells can-"
"Best let them do their work uninterrupted." Solaufein spoke quietly, raising a hand to stop the former knight from speaking. "We should let them heal Anomen and then be on our way. This place is less... hospitable, then I would have imagined."
"I had thought you said prior that you knew the Lady of the Keep. Saved her life, in fact. Surely she would not ignore such a debt so easily." Reynald frowned, shaking away his matted blonde hair, down from wearing his helmet for so long. "If nothing else, we should take the opportunity to restock and resupply. 'Tis a long journey from here to Watcher's Keep, if my memory serves me well."
"It is, and a year ago, I would have agreed with you about Lady Nalia. But something has changed here, with this place." the drow murmured. "There is no refuge to be found, so far as I can see. We will be better served finding our own allies elsewhere. Still- perhaps I am reading too much into this. I should speak with her myself- it might shed light on this mystery of sorts."
"Then I shall come with you. As you say, there is little I can do to aid our companion, and perhaps my mind shall be clearer upon meeting this Nalia."
The two men headed for the door, but before they could reach it, the portal swung open revealing a man dressed in the silver armor of the Captain of the guard. Solaufein arched an eyebrow, the last man to wear that plate was Arat, a good man and a stalwart defender of the De'Arnise lands. He had died in the final assault by Firkraag's orcs upon the Keep, and an ornate statue of him standing alongside the former Lord De'Arnise, Nalia's father, stood in the courtyard. He stopped, clenched his fist to his chest and bowed slightly in a military salute, nodding to Solaufein. "Excuse me, my lords. I beg your forgiveness for the poor reception you received upon arrival. I am here to escort you to Lady Nalia. She will see you now."
"Perhaps you think me rude, but could she not have made the time earlier?" Reynald questioned. "Honor dictates that when one is beset by a friend who needs help, it should be done immediately, not after the rudest of welcomes we have received."
"I know not who you are, but I shall not argue your words." the Captain spoke solemnly, nodding to Reynald before turning to Solaufein. "And I shall not doubt the word of a man who travels with one of the saviors of the Keep. I doubt you remember me, Solaufein of Ust Natha. I am Cernick, formally under Captain Arat, and now Captain of the guard under Lady Nalia."
"Captain Cernick." Solaufein accepted the proffered handshake- it was still a ritual he was uncomfortable with, but he had gotten used to it. "Lead the way, and we shall ask as we go. You were here during the invasion- the atmosphere in this place has changed, has it not?"
"Indeed, though I suppose it can hardly be unexpected. War changes people, and Nalia has been at war nearly every day since her father was taken by the damned trolls." Cernick said grimly, walking them through the torch-lit halls of the Keep. Passing through what looked like a lounging area for nobility and guests- it had been a weapons store the last time Solaufein had been here- Cernick continued his tale. "Indeed, even after Firkraag was defeated and you and your company left for parts unknown, Nalia found herself besieged by a new kind of enemy- a political force led by the Roenall's, disputing Nalia's claim to the lands. What started as political posturing, bribes and threats quickly turned into a full-fledged invasion led by Lord Farthington Roenall. He led his troops to the very gates of the Keep."
"Nalia mentioned the Roenall family during our time spent here..." Solaufein paused, speaking more to Reynald than Captain Cernick. "I had not imagined them bold enough to try a full-fledged coup by way of military force."
"Nor had I." Cernick shook his head. "We were... unprepared to fight a force that powerful. Were it a battle down to military might alone, the Roenall's would have taken this Keep and Lady Nalia would've been tried and locked up at best, or forced to marry Isaea Roenall, at worse."
"Your words betray the distaste you feel for this family." Reynald remarked. "Are they truly so corrupt?"
"More so than you know." Cernick growled. "Our only reason for victory came at the hand of Nalia herself. Against all my wishes, she came to lead the charge of her forces at the gate of the Keep- and I admit I did not expect to see the power that my Lady commanded wielded so... effectively. With the power of the elements and... darker, magics in hand, she drove them off and slew Lord Farthington herself. Since then, no noble family has dared question her rule in these lands. She has emerged as one of the premiere nobles in the courts at Athkatla. She commands great respect when she speaks in the Government districts- it has brought her greater power and wealth than that which her father owned as ruler of these lands."
"Interesting... I had not thought her the sort to use her stature to gain power. She was always rather... idealistic, when I knew her."
"Perhaps, but idealism is nothing without the power to back it up- ah, we have arrived." Captain Cernick stopped at the large oak doors leading to the throne room of the Keep, opened them wide and bowed to the men. Lady Nalia has asked to see you alone. I shall wait outside. If there is any change in your companion, I shall inform you. It was good to see you once again, Solaufein."
The drow nodded to him and entered the throne room with Reynald in his wake. Standing across the room, clad in an armored mage's robe that showed both the royalty of her position and the power that she commanded, wearing flared armor at the shoulders with a light green sleeveless robe halting just before it touched the ground, the woman standing before them nodded once, a smile crossing her face when she saw Solaufein. "It is good to see you once again! My apologies for the rude welcome you received- had I know it was you barking at my front gate I should have given you a royal welcome to begin with."
Solaufein nodded frowning sideways as he saw Reynald take a knee before the noble- surely it was the proper, chivalrous response, though Solaufein saw little need with familiar companions. Nalia, however, not only saw but obviously appreciated the gesture- she smiled broadly and walked to Reynald, bidding him rise with one hand. "I see you have a friend, and a noble one at that. I am Lady De'Arnise, ruler of this Keep and these lands. You may call me Lady Nalia, if you prefer. You are?"
"Reynald, Reynald de Chatillon." the former knight spoke humbly, keeping his eyes low to the ground as he spoke with her. "You honor me with your words, m'lady. If there is anything I might do for you, I am at your service."
"Mmm. I shall keep your offer under consideration- I might have use for a new guard soon enough, after what idiocy they displayed today." Nalia's eyes flashed with anger, and her beautiful features quickened with irritation. "Do not worry about your treatment upon arrival- the guard who set my forces upon you is being punished as we speak- when he is well enough to leave the dungeon, I shall have him dismissed from my service for his failures."
"You mean to say he is being tortured... a rather harsh punishment for a simple case of... overzealousness, wouldn't you say?" Solaufein frowned. Not to say he had sympathy for the stubborn guard, but he was willing to play Devil's Advocate if it meant learning a bit more into the woman standing before him that he thought he knew.
"Oh, 'tis not simply for attacking you and your companions, dear man." Nalia laughed. "To allow two conceivably hostile strangers not only inside the walls, but to open the gates as well? Absolutely unacceptable. But enough of such dismal thoughts. From the state of Sir Anomen, it appears you have been off on your usual adventures, have you not? Please, I have been engaged in withering banter and negotiations with the assorted snobs of the city all day- it is why I could not greet you the moment I knew of your arrival. A tale of adventure and questing would do me good to hear. We shall have dinner served and you shall tell me all about how you have fared since our last meeting. I simply shall not take no for an answer. Reynald, I insist that you join us as well. To travel alongside this fine drow warrior, surely you must have some tales of your own, no?"
"Ah... nothing worthy of remembrance by the bards, I fear." Reynald coughed into his palm, and Solaufein noticed with a hint of amusement that the chivalrous knight's cheeks were flushing pink under the attentions of the admittedly beautiful Nalia.
"Nonsense- you shall regale me with your words and I shall be the judge of how worthy of remembrance they are. Come, and let no man say that the De'Arnise court does not attend to her guests well." Nalia announced, waving a hand for them to follow as she walked, the heels of her dark green boots clacking against the stone floor as she led them across the Throne Room toward the main dining hall.
To the surprise of the two warriors, food had already been brought to the table before they arrived, and three places were set, two alongside one another with the third opposite them. Nalia waited for the two servants to seat her guests, then for them to seat her as well. She clasped her hands and waved for them to partake as her gaze ran over the two of them. "Please, begin. I am not as hungry as I might have supposed after speaking with the fools who consider themselves the 'nobles' of Athkatla. It does wonders to curb one's appetite. The only good thing that comes from inviting them to the Keep, I think."
"Your opinion seems to have changed little of the nobility since our last meeting." Solaufein said, not touching his plate, though Reynald ate slowly, his eyes flashing back and forth between the food before him and Nalia. "I heard something from Captain Cernick of an invasion after we left?"
"Dogs, all of them!" Nalia cursed, her brows furrowing as she folded her arms before her, leaning forward and shaking her head. "The Roenall's are hardly worth remembering anymore. I presume Cernick told you of their attempted coup? They had the nerve to try and invade my home! After everything I had done to make this land flourish once again after Father's death, they dared attack me at my very doorstep! And had they tried a year prior, I would have been helpless to stop them. But you see, after everything that happened with Firkraag, I swore I would not be so helpless ever again. I took every opportunity to study the magics that Greywulf displayed in saving my home the first time, so that I could wield that power myself. With the Cowled Wizards in disarray, I was able to acquire several tomes that might have otherwise been... frowned upon, shall we say?"
"So it appears." Solaufein remarked, finally taking a token piece of his food as Reynald cut in.
"You are to be congratulated, m'lady. You defended your home and the people within. No populace could ask for more from their leader."
Nalia nodded in agreement, chuckling sigh. "If only it were so easy. The petty affairs of day-to-day ruling are tiresome bothers when compared to the thrill of the fight, I fear. My goal was always to stand up for the poor folk of my lands, the downtrodden. Now that I have raised them from the dregs they were living in, I find little challenge here in the De'Arnise lands. As you say, after saving them from the rule of a tyrant like Farthington Roenall, holding their loyalty and respect is... well, little more than simple gratitude."
"It is only natural to assume you keep this place under tighter lock and key since the attacks." Solaufein spoke quietly, gesturing to the double guards posted at each doorway. "I admit that I found it surprising to see the Keep bridge raised upon our arrival."
"Yes, though what I am surprised about is that it took so long for me to learn my lesson." Nalia shook her head with regret. "I thought I could rule these lands through simple benevolence- that my gifts to the unfortunate would inspire their loyalty. T'was true, to an extent. But for some, the only language they will respect is that of power. And any semblance of weakness will inspire them to strike. I will no longer tolerate that weakness in my Keep. The castle is secure under Captain Cernick's guard, the De'Arnise lands have proven their strength against any outside foe, and most importantly of all, I have shown myself to be no feeble noblewoman, more concerned with the quality of my next dress or the seating at the latest play. I command power, and respect."
"Ruling with a rod of iron?" Solaufein stopped, glancing around the room for a moment. "I had not thought you the sort, Nalia."
"A rod of magic, more appropriately." Nalia smirked, letting sparks of purple lightning dance from her red-painted fingernails. "But as I said before, enough of such thoughts. I hear enough from my advisors here, much less my friends. Tell me- just what brings you to my doorstep?"
Reynald looked at Solaufein, and without a single word the drow knew three things. One, that Reynald was dying to be the one to tell Nalia of their mission. Two, that Nalia was a new woman- whether that woman was one he could trust was yet to be determined. Three... Reynald was totally smitten with her. The fool probably didn't even know it himself-
"We need you to accompany us to Watcher's Keep, m'lady. It is of the utmost importance." Reynald blurted out, his voice filled with earnest conviction.
Solaufein froze, as did Nalia, both of them staring at Reynald, one with confusion and surprise, the other with a glare that would melt adamantine.
Nalia shook her head and smiled weakly, replying with, "What?"
Solaufein shook his head and cursed, silently wishing that he was unconscious along with Anomen.