Chapter 45

It felt to Kivan like he was gliding rather than running; he could barely feel the dirt beneath his boots as he slid down the hill. Below him, the two ghasts ran side-by-side, Tiax balanced astride their shoulders. The gnome's quarterstaff was laid across his lap, the ends resting on the backs of their necks.

Behind Kivan, the other ghasts fanned out to the sides and rear upon reaching the bottom of the hill. Their footfalls were rapid and soft despite their taloned feet, and the ranger kept a tight grip on his longbow as he followed their master.

Red soil and yellow grass gave way to green as they left the Red Canyons behind, and soon they reached a river; one of the smaller of the Sea of Swords' many fingers creeping onto the coast.

The ghasts did not hesitate, plunging straight in. Kivan halted, watching them swim side-by-side with perfectly synchronised breast-strokes, their talons slicing through the surging water. Tiax stood with one foot on each of their backs, maintaining his balance with total ease.

The remaining ghasts ignored Kivan, sprinting past him and swimming after their master. After a moment, he tore his eyes away from the gnome, started to take a running leap when he remembered the sack on his back, and began his crossing using fallen trees, rocks, logs and other floating debris.

As he made a particularly far leap toward the next rock, an image suddenly bloomed unbidden before his eyes; dark hair trailing behind the small yet strong back of an elven woman as she nimbly hopped from a rock onto an alligator's back. He heard her laugh, fearless and arrogant, as her feet evaded the animal's jaws by a hair's breadth to land on the next boulder.

Suddenly, he felt brine fill his ears and realized that he had fallen into the water. His weapons, armor and pack all instantly conspired to drag him down. He snarled, eliciting a stream of bubbles from between his teeth, and gave two great arm-strokes, launching himself almost to the surface.

The memory ambushed him again. He saw her reach the other side, turn and give him a wide, toothy grin as she waited for him to follow her. He relented, and she laughed as he cursed and leapt up ten feet to avoid a lunging gator.

The memory fled as suddenly as it arrived, and he stopped swimming with his nose barely beneath the surface. He then lowered his head, and looked left and right. No alligators. Nor her.

He felt his body descend again, sinking into the depths, and slowly stared off at nothing as bubbles trailed from his nose and mouth.

Then he felt something clawing and thumping at his back, and remembered the sack. With a single kick of his legs, he surfaced, threw himself onto the nearest boulder, and wrenched the thrashing sack from his back.

Opening it, he reached in. His hand was immediately assaulted by wings and clawed feet. Undeterred, Kivan pulled out the squawking chicken, whose flailing immediately increased tenfold. Tiny talons dug into his wrists, and amid a spray of water and feathers, Kivan brought the animal up to to his face and snarled, "Be still!"

The chicken froze, claws still awkwardly imbedded in Kivan's hands as it stared into his eyes. It kept very still, albeit trembling from head to foot. Kivan paused, then closed his eyes, sighed, tucked the bird under one arm and resumed crossing the river. Soft, nervous squawks emitted from the chicken with each leap, though when he reached the shore and lifted it up to eye-level again, it immediately fell back to terrified attempted stillness.

Doubt resurfaced, and he looked up to to find Tiax watching him from atop his two ghasts, smoke curling above his head from the pipe between his bearded lips. Kivan's menacing glare faltered upon seeing the gnome's quiet, half-lidded face. After a moment, it regained its strength and projected itself full-force, sending a silent warning to not lie to its owner.

However, Tiax's expression did not alter, and it was a long moment before Kivan finally broke eye contact and looked back to the chicken. "Are you Melicamp?"

There was a pause, then the bird dipped its head very slightly in what could be construed as a nod. Kivan hesitated before plunging on. "Thalantyr sent me. He had been looking for you day and night. You should not have run away."

Something seemed to stir in the bird's eyes, but despite his experience with animals, Kivan could not interpret what it might be; chickens in general were far from intelligent, and there was nothing he could discern in this one to differentiate it from any other.

He then slowly glared again at Tiax, who was still quietly watching him, then marched over with the bird under his arm until he was standing five paces away from the gnome and his undead bearers. "Tell me where we are going and why, right now, or I leave."

"The fortress to the south, in the mountains near the sea. The scavengers have taken those whose importance they know not. Nor will they understand even if they did. We must free them."

"Them?" said Kivan. "Who is 'them?'"

"From the land that is of the Fey, and yet is not," Tiax replied. As if responding to a silent command, the ghasts turned, causing the gnome to face the other way. "Enough, servant; we must make haste."

"What of this?" Kivan demanded, holding out the chicken.

"Bring him."

"Bring him? Are you mad?"

Tobacco ash sprayed as Tiax's head snapped around, eyes wide and flashing, and Kivan had an arrow aimed at his forehead in an instant. The chicken screeched as it struck the ground at the elf's feet, then gave an ear-splitting, high-pitched shriek as the ghasts all rounded on the elf.

For a long moment, there was silence save for its warbling, Kivan and Tiax glaring daggers at each other. Then, slowly, the gnome raised and wagged a finger at Kivan.

"Tiax…" he whispered. "is not. Mad." He lowered his hand. "Follow, servant," he said, now suddenly calm and composed. "Bring the boy."

..

In terms of scale and size, the noble rooms in the Northern Light are nearly identical to the common and merchant rooms, with the main difference being the furnishing; whereas the latter two each consist of little more than twin beds, a bedside cabinet, a plain mat at the door, a single privacy screen and wash basins, the noble rooms have bronze bathtubs, tall wardrobes, desks with chairs, full-size mirrors, thickly carpeted floors and canopied two-person beds with sheets and pillows woven and bought from slaves and merchants of Calimshan. Their softness partially relieved Safana's annoyance at being woken by the audible bell chiming coming from the common room to signal its closing time; apparently, the Northern Light disagrees with the Belching Dragon on providing late-night services.

She pouted at the ceiling, then slowly sat up and leaned sideways to look over the unoccupied side of the bed at the slumbering squire on the floor. Unlike her, Ajantis had not been roused by the bell, probably due to the pillow covering his head while his pack served the pillow's function. The former pirate smirked, then lay back down on the bed and allowed its luxurious softness to drift her off into slumber.

Dorean then rolled out from under the bed, stood on tiptoe, carefully held a moist cloth close to Safana's nose and silently counted to twenty before pressing it against her mouth. Safana did not stir, and her breathing did not alter. Dorean waited a full minute anyway, then removed the cloth from her mouth, went around the bed and did the same to Ajantis.

He then rounded the bed again, finished his search of Safana's pack, then carefully put everything back in their initial places before closing it. He then returned to Ajantis and sedated him a second time before lifting the knight's head to drag his pack out from beneath it. Then, without turning it right side up, he opened the flap and began his search.

Like Safana, Ajantis was not hoarding; Dorean found no food. Sifting through simple, basic gear and equipment carried by a person who uses plate-mail armour, he found four small books, paperback instead of the more common scrolls. One had the eye-gauntlet symbol of Helm on its cover, another the symbol of the Radiant Heart, and the third he recognized from the cover as a copy of Volo's Guide to the Sword Coast. The cover of the last one was blank. Dorean flipped through the pages of the other three books, confirming their contents and lack of concealed notes or messages, then set them aside and opened it.

A written journal.

He immediately turned to the latest entries, his impassive expression not faltering in the slightest as he read their contents. Then, after returning and checking that everything was back in its original position, Dorean closed it, lifted Ajantis' pillow-covered head again, and slid the pack back under it. He then went very still, listening for any irregularities in the duo's breathing, before turning away and heading to the door.

Should have asked if there was a closing time. Next time I might not be so lucky.

Opening the door a crack, Dorean peered out to confirm the emptiness of the hallway beyond before exiting and moving to the adjacent room. Like Safana's and Ajantis's, it too was a noble room, and its lock along with the basic alarm spell warded into its frame were picked and bypassed within a minute.

Reis Kensiddar seemed to be a competent retired wizard, but apparently, he was no Ulraunt, and the Northern Light was no Candlekeep.

..

According to what Kivan could remember of what the innkeeper Feldepost had told him a few months ago in Beregost – in between his nervous smiles and the occasional stutter – Bear River used to be visited by daring hunters and suicidal fishermen. Groups of both would travel from Baldur's Gate, Waterdeep, Athkatla and even beyond, seeking the notoriously large catfish or the bears that had given the region its name. However, shortly after the Time of Troubles, Bear River had fallen under the control of a vicious and cunning tribe of gnolls during their territory expansion from their base in the cliffside fortress overlooking the coast. The area has since served as an outpost and hunting ground for the creatures, resisting all attempts by local soldiers, hired mercenaries and adventurers to drive them out.

Peering out from between the leaves of a tree's branches at the northernmost of the river's two bridges - originally constructed by Amnian workers, then reinforced and widened by the gnolls to accommodate their size and weight – Kivan narrowed his eyes at the lack of dog-shaped heads. Instead, hobgoblins now patrolled the bridge, their armour and flags bearing the symbol of the Chill. His gaze lingered on one of the hulking ogre berserkers with them - an ugly, scarred brute wearing a bear-pelt about its head and shoulders - and his right hand drifted to the feathered shaft of one of his quivered arrows.

A soft squawk emitted from below. Kivan ignored it, still staring at the ogre's head. After a second squawk, however, he looked down at the still-trembling chicken at the foot of the tree. Tiax was standing beside it, hidden behind and peering around the tree; he appeared to be looking at the river instead of the bridge. Three ghasts stood nearby, silent and still as statues.

After a moment, Kivan looked back at the ogres, then dropped down beside the gnome. "Too wide to swim all the way," he said. "There is an island. We go there, rest, then –"

"No."

"There are no merrows here, I have checked–"

"Thou will not enter the water a second time. Follow, servant."

Kivan gave an irritated growl and opened his mouth to reply, but Tiax was already moving away into the woods with his ghasts in tow. The elf snarled at their backs, then scooped up the chicken in one arm and followed them.

An hour passed, and Kivan's frustration reached a burning high when he saw that he was being led south-east, away from the river leading to the stronghold and thus adding almost a day to their journey. He increased his pace, closing the distance between him and the mad little gnome, and opened his mouth to speak when the ghasts suddenly stopped and crouched down in the brush out of sight.

Kivan did the same, quickly lowering the chicken to the ground and nocking an arrow. The sounds of rustling leaves and chirping animals amplified in his elven ears as he strained his senses. For a few minutes, nothing stirred save for a few forest critters, and Kivan began to glower in the direction of Tiax again when he spotted movement and instantly went very still, not moving a muscle.

Five Chill hobgoblins emerged into view, their longbows out and loaded, heads swiveling and eyes sweeping as they crept slowly forward, directly towards Kivan's location.

They saw us.

He slowly lifted his bow, pulled back the string and took aim at the foremost hobgoblin which he recognized from its uniform as a Chill Iron Shadow. He breathed in deep, and in that split-second, he saw Deheriana couching beside him in the undergrowth, grinning as she aimed her own bow.

The hobgoblins were now less than twenty paces away and closing. Kivan raised the arrow from the iron shadow's chest to his head when a small hand suddenly reached up and grasped it just behind the arrowhead. Kivan glared down in surprise and fury at Tiax, and was about to fire anyway when another arrow sped out of the undergrowth and struck the iron shadow in the head.

As their leader tumbled into the brush, three of the other four hobgoblins dove for cover while the exception spun and fired his bow just before being shot in the chest. Kivan's eyes widened as the arrow bounced off the mercenary's armour, and he nearly flinched when a cry of "Stop!" echoed off the trees.

A human man appeared from behind a tree, running a hand through his blonde hair and adjusting his Chill uniform as he walked up to the hobgoblins. He appeared to be young by human standards, yet there were lines on his face and under his eyes, hints of having seen enough of the world to have grown at least a little tired of it. "Gather round," he called, and another five hobgoblins appeared, joining the ones they had ambushed.

"You okay, Ba'ruk?" the human asked, moving in front of the iron shadow who was standing up and rubbing his forehead where he had been shot.

An annoyed growl answered him.

"That was a 'yes'," the human replied jovially, receiving chuckles from the other Chill. "So, let's have it. What was it you did wrong?"

Ba'ruk turned his head and frowned in Kivan's direction. The elf stayed very still, Tiax's hand still gripping his nocked arrow. "Thought I saw…ahh," he finished with another growl.

"You tunnel-visioned," said the human. "You got too focused on what you think you saw, and spotted the ambush too late. So you and your team will be hunting for lunch tomorrow." He smiled and gave Ba'ruk's arm a friendly pat as the victorious Chill team guffawed. "Good shooting," he added, turning to the latter. "But it was the only good part of your attack."

"Lieutenant?" said one of the winners.

"You only took down the leader, one of them was able to shoot back, and you missed the others. You should have all fired at the same time, instead of waiting for your leader to make the first shot. If you had, you could have taken them all down at once."

The winning team exchanged looks with each other and the losing team. "Sir," said the former's leader hesitantly. "Firing at the same time, without a signal…"

"I know," the human officer replied, his tone calm and friendly. "You will have to practice and keep practicing. No other way to do it." He smiled, and the team leader blinked before standing at attention and saluting him. "Alright, boys, take ten. Rest, eat, then we go again. Ba'ruk's team will be on offense this time."

There was a string of salutes and a chorus of "Sir," then the Chill shouldered their bows to draw waterskins and hook-hung salted meats from their belts, with the exception of Ba'ruk who walked beside the human away from them. The duo stopped within ten yards of Kivan and Tiax, turning their backs to watch their trainees.

"What do you think?" asked the human. Ba'ruk glanced down at the smaller man beside him before looking back to the other hobgoblins with a snort.

"Think I want my commandos back, Neville."

"Crush's orders, Ba'ruk. Nothing we can do."

"Feh! We should be there with them, instead of back here."

"Maybe, but he's right either way; the men need to be trained better. Besides, after Deke and Raiken, the warband yesterday…we should probably count ourselves lucky we're so far away from Tazok now."

Ba'ruk let out a second, more derisive snort, not looking at his fellow officer. For a moment, the duo stood quietly, watching their trainees. "Is it true what they say?" Ba'ruk asked, his voice hushed. "About the ogres?"

Neville did not meet his eyes. "Yes," he said at last.

Ba'ruk hesitated again. "The torturing too?"

"…yes."

"Gods," said Ba'ruk, shaking his shaggy (and bruised) head. "I hope they get that bastard. The men are getting scared just talking about him."

Kivan realized that he was smiling, and the smile faded the instant he became aware of it. He looked at the backs of the two Chill officers, completely unaware of his presence, and felt the throbbing of his blood within his chest, heard it flowing within his ears. His bow was still up, arrow pointed at the back of Neville's blond head.

Tiax suddenly tugged down hard on the arrow. Kivan nearly stumbled forward, and barely avoided making a sound. He rounded on Tiax, teeth bared in a furious glare, and stopped upon seeing his face; slackened and relaxed, yet with a bright, moon-reflected gleam to the eyes.

After a moment, without a glance at the Chill, Tiax let go of the arrow, tapped Kivan once on the elbow, then turned away. Kivan stared after him as the ghasts crept after their master. Behind him, the Chill officers moving forward, giving instructions to their trainees.

Then, with a grimace, he started to move, stopped, went back and picked up the chicken again. Despite it still trembling, it pressed itself against his side as he followed the gnome into the woods.

..

Exiting the last of the merchant-class rooms in the inn, Dorean turned his gaze down the hallway towards the peasant-class rooms.

Four hours to dawn. I'm not going to cover them all.

He breathed deep, then continued his task, spending the next hour searching the first five rooms closest to him. Five commoners, a fat, drunken merchant and two Amnian soldiers later (of whom the latter two appeared to be a gay couple meeting in secrecy from the army camp), Dorean was beginning to feel the urge to quit. He had not slept since High Hedge, and despite having a stamina born from natural dwarven endurance and honed by years of staying up late to kill rats, surveil and rob people, his eye-lids were finally starting to feel heavy.

He entered the sixth room to find its two beds pushed together, their occupants a young woman with the complexion and build of a farmer, and a middle-aged man with chiselled muscles, shoulder-length grey hair and a face whose proud confidence shone even through his slumber.

A single pack lay at the foot of the bed, next to a studded leather gambeson, a pack of well-worn boots and a sheathed long-sword. Dorean found his eyes drawn to the weapon, but only for a few seconds. He then made his way across the room, carefully avoiding the rice crisps scattered in the doorway and around the bed. He opened the flap of the pack a few inches, disabled the taut wire hidden just below it, and began his search. After sifting through the usual basic travelling gear, he found, opened and studied the contents of an old and battered scroll case.

Bounty notices. Many circled and crossed out, a few just circled.

He found the Flaming Fist notice for himself, Xzar and Montaron, and made a decision.

He left the room a half-hour later and spent the next hour searching room after room until he was standing before a door next to his and Imoen's.

Khalid and Jaheira.

For the first time that night he hesitated, staring up at the door's room number with his lockpick in his hand. Nearly three minutes passed before he turned away.

Four rooms later, he paused after lockpicking what felt like his twentieth door to blink rapidly and pat his cheeks, fighting back the fatigue slowly creeping up on him.

One hour left. Looks like I'm not going to find Eldoth, or Gar…

He opened the door, immediately recognized the two people in the room beyond, and breathed deep and silent before stepping inside.

Taking no chances with a Zhent, Dorean removed a small bottle and the moist cloth, re-wetted the latter, and crept at a snail's pace to the bed. Then, moving as slowly as possible, he repeated what he had done earlier; holding the cloth close to the nose and then pressing it to the mouth. This time, despite the waning night, he waited twice as long before satisfying himself that Eldoth and Skie were both truly unconscious, then got to work on their packs.

Skie's contained little, save a bottle of what he deduced to be perfume, a kit for crafting and sharpening darts, and a hairbrush. Eldoth's was significantly more interesting - maps of the Sword Coast, Amn, and Baldur's Gate, all bought from a shop in the city-state, a kit similar to Skie's, spare, a small satchel, and a long, thin pouch coloured a dark sea-blue.

Dorean removed and opened the pouch to reveal what appeared to be a single, spare lute string, carefully secured with wooden fastening pins.

A lot of bulk and weight just for this.

For some reason, he found himself staring at the string, and before blinked before putting down the pouch. He then unbuckled the satchel, and when he lifted the flap, all emotion fled from his face as he noted the vials stored within.

Just like my own.

The dwarf was still for a moment. He then slowly returned Eldoth's belongings to the man's pack, then took and looked through Skie's again, carefully examining every object. He lingered on the perfume bottle, and his mind recalled the look she had given him when she first saw him.

Ten seconds passed without him moving an inch.

He then returned Skie's meagre belongings, closed her pack, then slowly moved round to the side of the bed.

Skie lay on her side, one arm draped over her supine lover's chest, her breathing now slowed and softened from sedation.

Instant recognition; quicker than just memory from seeing my face on a bounty. And feeling. I don't know what, but there was a lot of it. Though that doesn't mean she intends me harm…

His blank, emotionless eyes moved from her face to Eldoth's and then back again, and his left hand slowly curled around the handle of his belt knife.