Chapter 31

From the outside, the medical tent appeared to be no larger than Kagain's. The interior, however, not only was the same size as the common room of the Red Sheaf Inn but also bore an uncanny resemblance to it, down to the wooden floorboards and faint smell of watered-down ale.

Despite having entered it once before, Jaheira momentarily stopped inside the entrance and blinked a few times before hurrying over to one of the two dozen bedrolls arranged in neat, orderly lines on the floor, half of which were already occupied by either unconscious or groaning travellers and mercenaries.

Dorean was sitting upright while Imoen frantically ran her trembling hands over his blood-covered face and shoulders. Striding over to them, Jaheira kneeled down and set her quarterstaff on the floor, then took hold of Imoen's blood-smeared hands and firmly moved her aside before turning to Dorean.

The dwarf wordlessly raised his right arm. Jaheira grimaced upon seeing the rapidly spreading stain of red on the gray-coloured cloak wrapped around the limb. She swiftly removed the material, revealing the sleeve of Dorean's yellow shirt, now soaked a dark red. Imoen wailed softly at the sight, her bloodied hands moving to her mouth.

Without missing a beat, Jaheira quickly and carefully rolled back the sleeve. She paused upon seeing the sleeve-knife on the dwarf's wrist, recognizing it as one of the two knives that Montaron had returned to him in the Dented Shield headquarters. Her expression unaltered, Jaheira untied the leather scabbard and placed the weapon next to the torn and bloodied cloak.

Her mouth tightened as she quickly examined the two deep bite-wounds on the upper and lower sides of the dwarf's hairy arm, both of which were oozing blood.

There was no time to clean or disinfect it, not with bleeding this profuse.

She pressed her hands over the wounds, feeling his blood stubbornly pushing past her palms and falling onto the bedroll to stain it red.

Imoen's choked sobs filled the tent, and as her breathing became more erratic, Jaheira was about to address her when she felt rather than saw or heard Khalid gently but firmly take hold of Imoen by the shoulders and lead her away from the bedroll.

"Any other wounds?" Jaheira asked curtly.

"No."

She glanced up. It was difficult to tell with the beard, but from his eyes and cheeks, Dorean's expression was the same as his voice; calm and relaxed.

"I cannot move my hands," Jaheira said, tightening her grip as more blood slipped through her hands. "Check your forehead."

"Don't need to," he calmly replied.

Jaheira blinked at him, her face remaining impassive for a few seconds before she frowned down at the dwarf and opened her mouth to speak.

"I don't have any symptoms," he said, cutting her off.

He looked away from her towards where Imoen was currently standing with Khalid, the latter patting her shoulders as she looked on at her wounded roommate through teary eyes.

"Were any of you hurt?" he asked gently, turning back to Jaheira.

"No," she answered shortly.

"Glad to hear it," he replied. Her frown deepened and she returned her gaze to his wound, noting that the bleeding had not lessened.

"I am expended of my healing spells and potions," she said. "In case you are wondering." She kept her gaze down, awaiting his response. When none came, she glanced at his face again and saw that there was no visible change; it was still calm and relaxed, albeit covered in blood.

She turned her head slightly as two Flaming Fist mercenaries hurriedly entered the tent, carrying the body of a third between them. They hurried to the nearest bedroll, which happened to be the one next to Dorean's, and lowered their choking comrade onto it.

Jaheira's eyelids lowered as she noted the blood and tearing of the chainmail around the man's throat; the war hound that had done the deed had successfully avoided his breastplate. She then turned her head further when one of the mercenaries opened a satchel and removed one of several healing potions from within it.

She gave the mercenaries several seconds to treat their wounded comrade before speaking.

"I need one of your potions," she said flatly.

Both men turned to look at her from behind the visors of their helmets. They remained still for several seconds, looking at Jaheira and her patient, before silently returning to treating their own.

"He is bleeding heavily," she said, raising her voice and gesturing with her head to Dorean as more blood forced its way between her fingers and around her palms.

"We're under orders not to arrest or harm the dwarf," said the potion-bearer, his voice distorted due to his full-face helmet. "That does not mean we have to protect or help him."

"I'll pay you for it," said Imoen, reaching for her belt as she strode forward.

"Keep your gold," said the potion-bearer, not looking up from where he was carefully pouring the contents of the vial onto the supine man's throat.

"There's over a hundred in here," Imoen persisted, removing and bouncing her coin pouch in her hand. "You can have it all, we just need one-"

"We do not aid murderers," said the other mercenary, his voice similarly distorted as he lifted his head to glare at Dorean.

"Of course not," a voice drawled mockingly from the tent entrance. "Not unless you are wealthy, influential, or a friend of the Grand Dukes."

With a smile to match his voice, the man known as Eldoth Kron strolled up to stand a few paces away from the two occupied bedrolls, seemingly unfazed by the dual glares from the Flaming Fist mercenaries. In contrast to nearly everyone in the tent, he appeared to be unhurt despite the two battles the caravan had undergone today; even his clothing and dark blue cloak were absent of any dirt or blemish.

"You had better be gone by the time we're done here, freelancer," the potion-bearer said menacingly. Eldoth raised an eyebrow in response before seemingly deciding to ignore the mercenaries. Turning to Jaheira, he reached towards his hip, unclasped a satchel similar to the potion-bearer's, removed a healing potion and stepped forward.

"May I?" he asked, dangling the vial between thumb and fore-finger.

Jaheira narrowed her eyes at him before glancing at Dorean, who was still maintaining a demeanour of relaxed calm despite his heavy bleeding and was now impassively watching Eldoth. She then removed her hand from the wound on the underside of the arm, wordlessly took the vial from Eldoth, removed the stopper one-handed, sniffed the contents, and promptly began applying them to Dorean's arm without so much as a word of thanks to the bard.

Seemingly taking no offense, Eldoth gave Dorean a smile and incline of his head before turning around with a sweep of his cloak and sauntering towards the exit. He halted briefly as he reached it, said a quick "Pardon me," and stood aside to let two very familiar (and seemingly unscathed) figures pass by him.

Montaron's eyes followed Eldoth out of the tent. Xzar's ignored the bard, focusing instead on Dorean and widening upon seeing the blood on and around him. He hurried over to the bedroll, the two severed hounds' heads falling from his hand and hitting the ground with a 'thump' as he reached into and drew a healing potion from his robes.

Dorean took one look at Jaheira's face and then quickly raised his free hand. "It's alright, Xzar, I'm okay now!"

"Don't be ridiculous!" the wizard said shrilly in a voice not unlike that of a scolding fishwife, drawing looks from the Flaming Fist mercenaries and other patients. "Why, you've bled enough to fill a pint!" He then looked at Jaheira who was watching him warily, frowned, and tossed the vial to her. She caught it one-handed without taking her eyes off him.

"Have him drink that, and make sure he takes it all," Xzar ordered. He folded his arms and huffed at Dorean. "Such a stubborn child. Just like your father."

Dorean, Jaheira and Khalid stared at him. Then, slowly and deliberately, Dorean took the potion from Jaheira, opened it and lifted it to his beard. His eyes remained fixed on Xzar as he drank, and he held out the vial once it was empty. With a satisfied smile, Xzar leaned over Jaheira to take it. Khalid flinched while Jaheira went very still, her cyan eyes boring into the wizard's face. Thus, neither of them saw Imoen approaching until she was kneeling down in front of Dorean.

"How is he?" she asked softly, looking at Jaheira.

"...the bleeding has ceased," the half-elf replied, turning back to and examining both wounds on Dorean's arm. "But the wounds are still open and at risk of infection."

"No need to worry about that, Jaheira," said Dorean. "And thank you."

Imoen blinked, nodded quietly, then wrapped her arms around Jaheira's shoulders. The latter blinked three times before frowning at the side of the girl's head.

"I hardly think this warrants an embrace," she said reproachfully.

"Shut up and lemme hug ya," Imoen replied. Jaheira scowled but did not move, waiting until Imoen drew back, smiling at her.

"Thank you, Jaheira."

"Yes, yes, now - oh, for Silvanus' sake, child!" Jaheira exclaimed as Imoen hugged her again.

Finally relinquishing her hold on the half-elf, Imoen then turned to Xzar, paused when he shrank back from her and said, "Oh, right." She then looked at him, seeming oddly despondent, before blinking and turning to Dorean.

"The man who helped you. Do you know him?"

Dorean paused in the midst of applying a dressing to his arm and shook his head.

"His n-name is Eldoth Kron," said Khalid, approaching the bedroll. "He's one of the freelance m-mercenaries."

Imoen's brow furrowed in thought. She then blinked as Montaron went over to stand next to Khalid in front of her. Her mouth opened and then closed as she noticed the halfling's eyes sweeping over Dorean's torn, bloodied cloak, his arm which Jaheira was now helping to bandage, and finally the dwarf's face.

"Ye have fought dogs before."

There was no question in the sentence. Dorean silently returned Montaron's cold, piercing gaze, his bloodied face seemingly emotionless behind his beard.

After a moment, Montaron removed and tossed an empty crossbow onto the cloak next to the dwarf.

"Try not to lose this one."

He then turned away, ignoring the eyes of the party following him as he exited the tent.

"Xzar," Imoen said after a moment.

"...yes?" Xzar replied cautiously, leaning back from her in case she attempted to hug him.

"Why did you take those?" she asked, pointing at the two dogs' heads now lying on the floor.

"Oh," Xzar said, lowering his hands in relief. "I'm taking their skulls."

"I see," Imoen replied. "Are you making more skull traps?"

She then turned to see the entire party staring at her. Jaheira frowned and opened her mouth to speak when Jessa Vai marched into the tent, followed by four of her fellow Flaming Fist mercenaries, all of whom appeared bloodied and battered.

Dorean tensed as they drew closer, stopping at the occupied bedroll next to his.

"How is he?" Vai asked, looking down at her wounded and now seemingly unconscious comrade.

"Not good," the potion-bearer replied. "We've done what we can. The rest is up to him now."

Vai paused, nodded and then turned to face the party, revealing a fresh set of partially-healed claw marks on her right temple.

"All of you. Outside. Now."

They watched as she marched back out with her entourage. Imoen then turned to see Dorean pulling his blood-soaked sleeve over his bandaged arm.

"Little brother..."

He stood up and gathered his belongings, surreptitiously stowing the sleeve knife in his shirt, then picked up his torn, blood-stained cloak. Imoen watched as he put it on, then sighed and stood up to help him with his pack.

"Come on," Dorean said quietly, nodding to Khalid, Jaheira and Xzar, all of whom then watched as a resigned Imoen followed Dorean from the bloodied bedroll towards the tent entrance.

As they began to follow the Candlekeep duo, Jaheira felt rather than saw Khalid coldly staring at the two Flaming Fist mercenaries. She placed her hand on his arm near the elbow and gave it a light squeeze. In response, Khalid slowly turned his head away from the two men.

Their unfriendly eyes followed the party out of the tent, lingering on Xzar pausing to pick up the severed dogs' heads, and it was a moment before they returned their attention to their unconscious comrade.

..

Vai was waiting for them outside the tent, her men filed out in a line behind her. She did not waste any time, speaking as soon as the party had emerged from the tent.

"The Amnians are missing and I need to see to my men. Find them."

Jaheira stepped forward, planting her quarterstaff in the ground with a thump. "We are not-"

"My men and I are only here as support for the caravan," Vai interrupted. "Witton is not our problem. He is yours." She returned Jaheira's glare with her own. "Find him. Now."

Her order given, she immediately turned and strode away, the mercenaries and Jaheira's scowl following after her.

"We may have to kill her," Xzar purred. The party turned to look at him. He was now holding the dog's heads by their ears in one hand. "Oh, don't worry," he said upon seeing their faces. "I could frame someone else for it. The dented dwarf, perhaps. Or one of her men!" he added, perking up with a childish grin. "I hear she is quite unpopular among her fellow officers."

There was a moment's silence save for his giggling. Imoen then leaned over and poked Xzar in the chest. The wizard blinked, then shrieked and leapt straight up into the air, the tongues in the severed heads lolling out of their mouths as they flew up and then landed on the ground. He remained still for a moment, then glared at Imoen, turned his back on her and crossed his arms.

"I think I know where to start looking for him," Dorean said, seemingly choosing to ignore what he had just witnessed. "Come on."

He walked away without looking at the others. Glancing at Xzar, Khalid and Jaheira both took Imoen by her shoulders and marched her away to follow the dwarf.

Xzar remained fixed in place, arms folded and head bowed in sulking, glowering fashion. After a moment, he blinked, looked around, then hastily picked up the severed heads and loped after the party.

..

The caravan travellers and mercenaries were only midway in the process of setting up camp when the war hounds had launched their attack, and they were now currently preoccupied with seeing to their wounded and setting up defensive measures around the camp's perimeter. The air was permeated with the smell of blood, along with a stench that suggested that a latrine was among the necessities that had yet to be prepared.

They rounded a tent and saw bodies being stacked in a neat line on the ground. The war hounds had succeeded where the bandits on the plains had failed; several of the corpses wore the uniforms of the Flaming Fist and Dented Shield companies. Imoen turned pale and averted her gaze, earning a hand on her shoulder from Khalid and a head-tilted stare from Xzar. In contrast, Dorean stoically and silently counted the number of dead mercenaries before he began to lead the party past the row of dead.

"Are you certain the horses are being kept on the east side?" he asked Khalid. The half-elf nodded in reply, still looking at Imoen. Dorean paused, glancing pensively over his shoulder at his roommate, before turning away.

Jaheira's gaze lingered on the torn and blood-stained cloak on the dwarf's back, and her eyes slowly narrowed as she scrutinized the back of his head.

"I was taught it in Candlekeep," Dorean said without looking around.

"Gorion?" Jaheira asked, her voice noticeably softer than usual.

"No," Dorean replied. "Winthrop."

Imoen's eyelids lowered slightly. Glancing at her, Khalid and Jaheira exchanged looks. The latter had turned back to Dorean and was about to question him again when a voice somewhere beyond the camp boomed loud enough to carry across it.

"Attention, travellers," it announced, its tone brisk and grim. "We have you surrounded. You have no food, water, or medicine. Your friends and families are now dead and dying. All this, you have brought upon yourselves." It paused, seemingly to let the effect sink in. "Our offer still stands. The Amnian nobleman, the dwarf, and the iron. Leave them beyond sight of your camp, and we will allow you to leave with your lives. You have until dawn. Do not force us to do something we will regret."

Silence fell upon the camp, and for a moment, no life appeared to stir within it.

"Ah, an amplified voice," Xzar said idly. "I have not used one in many years. Not since my time as an apprentice."

"We need to move," Dorean said tersely, glancing furtively around as numerous eyes began to turn in their direction.

The party had not gone ten paces before a group of peasants and travellers moved to block their way.

"We have no quarrel with you," Dorean said, keeping his voice and expression calm. The man at the foremost of the group stepped forward, hefting a wooden club.

"That don't matter," he said, his voice weary yet possessing a determination that increased with every word. "You heard 'im. We gotta hand yez over or they'll kill us all." He looked round at his fellow travellers, many of whom were nodding in agreement with him.

"They are lying," Dorean replied, his voice and face turning stony. "They are going to kill us all anyway. Let me go and I'll fight them with you."

"Me dad's dead because'a you," said a boy in a blood-stained tunic, elbowing his way to the front of the group and glaring fiercely at Dorean through tear-streaked eyes. "You an' that other stinkin' groundling." He hefted a wooden club half his own height.

"It's not his fault," Imoen replied, stepping forward and attempting to push Dorean behind her. The dwarf refused to budge. "I'm sorry for your dad, but-"

"Enough'a this!" a middle-aged woman at the rear of the group shouted. "Get 'em!"

The group moved forward, and in the blink of an eye, Khalid and Jaheira were in front of Dorean and Imoen, both throwing a swift, single punch to the jaws of the impromptu leader and the boy. Both peasants instantly went limp and tumbled to the dirt, halting the rest of the group in their tracks.

"That was only a warning," Jaheira said, fixing an icy glare on the remaining travellers hefting their daggers, sticks and shovels. "If you persist, we will truly resort to violence. Walk away."

There was a hoarse cry from behind the party, and Khalid and Jaheira both spun around to see Xzar gripping a burly peasant in a chokehold. The latter dropped his knife as his hands shot up in a futile attempt to pry the wizard's left arm from his throat.

There were gasps from the other humans as blood issued from the man's mouth and his face turned blue as Xzar, his face twisted into a wide grin, mercilessly tightened his grip.

"Xzar! Release him!" Dorean bellowed.

Xzar went stock-still, blinking slowly. Then, his widened eyes fixed on the dwarf, he relinquished his hold. He ignored the peasant falling to his hands and knees and gasping for air, staring at the dwarf like he had grown a second head.

"He persisted," the wizard said, his voice small and meek. He then leaned back and raised his hands in a surrendering gesture as Dorean stepped forward, gray eyes flashing angrily.

"We're wasting time here," he said. Without another word, he turned and walked straight through the group of peasants, gliding past the ones not quick enough to get out of his way.

Imoen hesitated before rushing after him, followed by Khalid and Jaheira, the latter glaring at the peasants and travellers on either side as she passed.

After a moment, the travellers all slowly turned to look at Xzar. He blinked at the numerous stares, then looked down and scowled upon seeing that he had dropped the dogs' heads yet again. Scooping them up, he bounded after the party, and the peasants parted like reeds to allow him through.

..

Thankfully, there was no more hostility from the remainder of the caravan travellers, and in little time Dorean reached the eastern-most area of the camp. He looked at Khalid who pointed at two wagons set up parallel to each other. The party then rounded the corner of one of the wagons to see the six captured bandit horses tied to a single tree, and two tall figures, one of whom was hooded, cloaked and attempting to secure a saddle to one of the horses.

The second figure was instantly recognizable despite the scarce torchlight that had been set up in the area; Ajantis' plate armour gleamed bright in the moonlight as he turned to face the party.

"Thank Helm you are here," he breathed, though he hesitated for a few seconds upon seeing Xzar hurrying up from the rear and swinging the hounds' heads in his hand.

"The horses were left unguarded?" Dorean asked, immediately scanning their surroundings.

"Yes, unfortunately," Ajantis replied distractedly, turning back to his companion who paused in securing the saddle to turn to the party.

"You again," said Bartholomew Witton, drawing back his hood. He now looked even more haggard than ever, and there were dark circles around his eyes behind his cracked spectacles. "I suppose you are here to prevent my departure," he added, his voice now more calm and levelled than they have ever heard. "Well, you can tell Captain Kagain and Officer Vai that I won't be needing their services any longer. Or yours, for that matter."

"The Flaming Fist do not see it that way," Jaheira replied, stepping forward and planting her quarterstaff in the ground. Witton's eyes narrowed and his lips tightened as he turned his gaze onto the half-elf.

"I see. Well, if you are going to force me to stay, you had better get on with it." He turned away and began to mount the horse.

"No one's going to force you, sir," Dorean said, stepping forward and looking pointedly at Jaheira. "But if you leave now, you will be caught and killed within the hour. We cannot allow that."

"From here, the Friendly Arm Inn is a half-day's journey on foot. That is only a few hours on horseback." Witton replied. His voice was low and distant, as though he was speaking more to himself than to them. "I can make it at a full gallop."

"No. You will not," Khalid said, moving to stand in front of the horse. "The Blacktalons are skilled archers. They will cut you down, on horse or no."

"It's too dangerous, Bartholomew," Imoen implored, joining Khalid in standing in front of the horse. It blinked and twitched its ears at them.

"Listen to them, milord," said Ajantis. "Do not do this."

"I thank you all for saving my life today," the diplomat said, his chin high and his gaze fixed straight ahead. "Get a horse, Ilvarstarr. We are leaving."

Ajantis stared up at Witton, then slowly drew himself together and took a deep, loud breath through his nose. Witton's bespectacled gaze slowly lowered to the squire's face.

"I understand the importance of your mission, sir," Ajantis said quietly. "I truly do. But I cannot - I will not abandon the people here. Not even for your sake."

Silence fell. Xzar tilted his head and stared at Ajantis.

Witton stared at the younger Amnian's face, and for a fleeting moment, he was suddenly no longer a haughty, aloof noble but merely an old man. Then he lifted his chin again, looking down coldly at his bodyguard.

"You are a credit to your Order, Ilvarstarr."

He held Ajantis' gaze for a few more seconds before abruptly blinking rapidly and then pitching sideways off the horse.

"Milord-!"

Ajantis managed to catch Witton just before he hit the ground. Jaheira was immediately at his side while Khalid swiftly drew his sword and shield and began to scan their surroundings.

"He is burning up," Jaheira said brusquely, placing a hand to Witton's forehead. "Was he bitten?"

"I...I do not know," Ajantis replied. "Perhaps. He would not let me see to him, and he did not appear to be hurt-!"

They both looked back to the diplomat as he began to cough violently.

"We need to get him to the med-tent, quick," said Dorean. "Imoen, could you help Ajantis to carry him?"

Imoen looked down at the still-blood-covered dwarf. For a fleeting moment, her expression was clouded. Then it softened and she nodded to him before going over to help Ajantis lift Witton off the ground.

While Khalid, Jaheira and Ajantis were preoccupied with the diplomat, Dorean slowly and casually returned his blowpipe to his pocket. As he turned to begin leading the party again, his eyes met Xzar's. He pretended not to notice the wizard's smile, realizing a second later that it would have been less suspicious to appear nonplussed by it.

..

Having spent the past quarter-hour giving out healing potions to wounded mercenaries, Eldoth Kron ducked behind an empty wagon and breathed a mixed sigh of frustration and relief. He then lifted up his satchel with both hands, his lips pursing in displeasure at the now-empty bag.

Oh, well. Not like it was his to begin with.

He tossed it onto the ground, sat down next to it, leaned against the wagon and then tilted his head back. He briefly gazed up at the stars before closing his eyes. His breathing slowed and deepened as he enjoyed his self-appointed break, listening to the sounds of the camp.

"Eldoth Kron."

The voice was casual. Bored, even. It was also barely two paces to his right.

"That ye name now?"

Eldoth did not open his eyes. The corners of his lips lifted into a pleasant smile.

"Good evening, Montaron," he drawled languidly. "It has been too long."