For even gods are mortal, Tethtoril said; and in the tomb of one such was the device to reach once more this place.
The Dowager Duchess, relict of Belt, came with entourage to surrender; she wore black dress solid of mourning, and a heavy collar of white lace across her throat and neck. She came later than she had promised, almost insultingly so; but enough protocol remained to allow a Grand Duke's widow her entrance.
Her escorts were a young man, well-dressed, bearing a crest and ring of a Waterdhavian noble family; a tall and muscular red-haired woman; and a young girl. Anchev sat slumped, disrespectfully, in the single seat he had left from the four chairs of the Dukes on the dais of the hall, as if he purposefully showed himself powerful above all forces of mortal precedent. Guards of the Flaming Fist in gleaming armour and a few noble and merchant representatives lined his hall in support; and not far from his side stood the dark-robed, grey-haired diviner Winski Perorate, and the grey-robed, dark-haired necromancer Semaj el Farsi. Sauriram's ebony, silver-tipped walking stick tapped heavily on the ground at each slow step she walked. At her side her male escort appeared to help to hold her upright.
She inclined her head slightly in the middle of the hall, standing above the tiled image of the mast of the ship of the city's bright emblem.
"Sarevok Anchev," she said, with a tone of voice that might as well have been Young man, "I come with my greetings. And my prayers to Helm for your soul. Religion has been one of my few solaces since the death of my husband."
He stood lazily. "The old and mere human, the dowager Belt," he said, bitter venom in his tongue. Then he stood, panther-like grace in an orc-sized form of rippling muscle. He saw the faces of her escorts: the light-haired, soft-faced boy, who was not the knight who had fought his Ravager; the broad red-haired woman, who had not the face of Angelo Dosan; and the young brown-haired girl with deep-set eyes and a green dress that did not quite fit her shape. He ignored them.
Sarevok crossed the tesserae of the beautiful mosaic without heed to its blue and jaunty brown tiles. "Tell me," he said, and reached a mighty gauntlet to enwrap the old woman's throat. "Where are you hiding my sister?"
She struggled feebly, held a foot above the ground; her escorts charged to rescue her, but the Grand Duke flung them aside with a single sweep of his left hand.
"I...do not know..." Sauriram said softly.
"Then you are of no use, old woman." The golden eyes glowed; the fist was powerful enough to snap the neck of a human in moments. The spiked hand tightened. Then a metallic flare of light shone from Sauriram's neck, and she fell backward to the ground. Fragments of her lace collar hung from the armour of the giant. Revealed below the widow of Belt's clothing was a thick gorget piece glittering with magic, and she raised the staff and began to speak words of prayer. Then Garrick raised his voice for song-magic; Vai of the Flaming Fist ripped from her dress the blade once gifted to her upon a promotion; and Faldorn in bear's form drove forward to Sarevok.
Then from the servants' entrance approached the other band of attackers by the simple expedient of having fought the small numbers in their way. A powerful spell of divination lit the hall, cast by Annaclair of Helm, who had mastered the art of seeking a doppelganger. It proved that Sarevok's guards were largely not human; humans feared him and few beside his monsters remained to feign the retinue of a Duke. The doppelgangers hissed for the attack.
Angelo Dosan chased the newcomers, and his daughter moved in with her sword drawn. The gnome Tiax shimmered out of the thin air of shadows conjured by both his god and his rogue's arts, and called words of a dark spell. From the air came a floating, glowing skull in darkness, as if the mad lord himself fought against one who would succeed him. As if it were a necromancer's skull trap it mesmerised. Viconia cast a spell of weakness on the young wizard, as if she thought him an easy target; and he turned on her to cast in return. Jaheira the Harper conjured wide entanglements and dispelments, standing by her husband to fight against recent-minted acolytes who conjured with the golden skull in thorns. Sauriram's chant finished, and from the staff came a guardian in the full polished armour approved by Helm, shining brilliant as a holy spirit summoned to aid against the diviner Perorate. I saw Sarevok's golden sword drawn against Faldorn; and I called his name.
The slash he left in Faldorn's fur was narrow by the distraction, and she lurched backward and placed paws across the wound. He turned. Huge, golden-eyed Sarevok came running. I led him out of the way.
The armour was impassable and his speed horrible. I used abilities given, exactly as he did: calling flexibility to limbs to work faster, contorting away from the vicious blows.
"You deny me—" he said. "It lasts no longer, family; when you are dead I will be the Lord of Murder once and for all, it must be that. At last you show your face; I cannot be defied.
"I should have strangled you bare-handed when last we met upon this floor."
His speed and grace was all for the fight, not the dance, and the last time we had met I had been blind to it. He flowed like tongues of fire; and when his blade hit the wall of the palace it sunk a foot deep, cut along the section of wood, and did not even slow. Below it I went aside and did not even seek to cut him in return.
"Live and...surrender it. Live with someone who cares for you..." All but impossible to talk. A hasting spell from Garrick hit and spared my life. Sarevok's own speed matched it easily. In the distance I saw Tamoko's face.
The words were of Imoen's covenant with her and not my own. Killed her uncle; tried to kill my city. But the three of us shared an understanding of the voices below. For the history...
"Forget Rieltar. Forget Cythandria. Forget the Ravager. You've lost yourself, I know—"
My voice squeaked and failed to hold Imoen's words. He continued to fight.
"She is so strong that I think it will be a long time for both of us. I would spend more time with her." His own words. "The people...that matter..."
No; he wouldn't turn.
He spoke coldly, and more strongly, than me. "The Lord of Murder's power is mine. As for your death, it is inevitable."
The sword struck in a dazzling pattern that I could not avoid; I drew on the gift to turn to untouchable. Something golden seethed inside, anger and hatred and the same kill everything trapped weak nothing. Using that power had it turn, just as Sarevok's own strength was fixed on this; and to embrace it meant this. Explosions of magecraft and priest's will shook the halls. Sarevok shouted, and walls and floors cracked.
The golden greatsword danced, and in my mind I made it what I loved.
By the fire Durlyle's broad hands were gentle at my waist, and with Imoen and Jorin dancing behind, Ajantis and Faldorn and Viconia graceful in the night, Shar-Teel amazing in some duelling practice, purple-tinged sword mercurial lightning in the air, I danced and spun in intricate steps without a single slip...
And on the ground Angelo Dosan lay dead. Almost too slowly, Shar-Teel stepped away from the lump of separated flesh and turned her sights to Sarevok.
I stepped successfully aside. Their blades met, near-equal, strength against strength; he sought to turn back to me but for that moment Shar-Teel kept him purely to her own skill. Tiax the gnome cast over fallen doppelgangers and of our own, raising ghouls to walk and seize...
The Lord of Murder gave a brief glance to the undead at his back and the eyes of the dead glowed to echo his power. They went forward for Shar-Teel and surrounded me, and the Burning Earth tried to parry their claws. Tiax swore, and raised his holy symbol again, the Helmite priestess echoing him; dissolving the dead once more. Viconia patted her arms to free herself of acid and fires sent to her by the young wizard, and frantically sought to command him down. Faldorn came to her aid.
Sarevok's sword spun through the air, and this time it hit Shar-Teel; it ripped through her armour as if it were paper. She leaned back from the blow, unhurt. He pressed her forward, pushed her back; she spat in his face. Then he was fighting both of us at the same time, I low and avoiding and Shar-Teel high and attacking, every time she had taught me showing where the next move would come. But sooner or later he would defeat and kill—
"No man beats me," Shar-Teel hissed, and then she was flying across the ruined tiles of the floor, blood flying from an open stomach. I saw Garrick's clothes on the ground, his body red; this was caused by Sarevok and I tried to see nothing else beside Bhaal's son.
"—No further distraction," Sarevok said, everywhere at once, the Burning Earth easily fended away—
And then Gorion's gambit was fulfilled. For a moment Sarevok Anchev stopped and stared. Ten Imoens stood upon the floor of the palace of the Grand Dukes, each raising their arms in a caster's stance. The edges of her pink robes were stained by silver blood and the fluid of undead ghouls of the Undercity; blue ethereal shadows tinged the shape of her mirror images; her hands rested in the unseen throne of Sarevok's power; and her eyes held the golden light that ought to have belonged to the Grand Duke.
I faded back from him; he knew another sister when he saw the one truly hidden from him. His amber eyes dulled; blood rushed to his face.
"People of Baldur's Gate!" Imoen's voice rang out like silver bells, and if I knew her it would be to the city entire, each reflection of her moving in unison. "I stand as your new demigoddess. The war will end; the monsters will end; but pray to me! Pray as long as you can and I'll heal as many as I can; the goddess Imoen, pink as summer and strong as flowers—"
A dispel of some sort was chanted by the mage Semaj; two of the Imoens blinked from existence, but the others remained. One laid a hand on Shar-Teel.
"Heal you all—ask me—pray to my name and the false god Sarevok no longer keeps his throne!" Shar-Teel's wound vanished; Imoen multiplied herself once more. "Imoen!"
—