Many thanks to those of you who've read this far; and you who've favourited/followed! It's turning out to be a long story, so your tenacity means lots and lots :P
There's some more character devlopment here, including some of the cut content from the game (Casavir's backstory...).
Reviews/feedback are greatly welcome - I shall endeavour to be speedy in my responses :)
Valarian and his men had prevailed in the end, although it had not been an easy battle. They had found Aldanon and his mysterious companion locked in an old officers' room high up on the north-west tower of the keep. The old man rode freely with the company, chattering to Sand or Valarian, or anyone who would listen, about all of the magical knowledge he had gained under Black Garius's 'patronage' as he saw it. His fellow prisoner had not been treated so freely. Isaviel had seen only the faintest hint of a tall, thin form, shrouded in a long grey cloak, being led into the carriage they had reserved for any prisoners they might take. There were no Luskans to share her new prison, and that was telling of the difficult conflict.
Before the Neverwintans had left for home, only a few hours before the first winter snows had begun to fall, they had built a great pyre and burned all of the bodies of the dead Luskans together, fearing any necromantic magic that surviving wizards affiliated with Garius might know. Their own dead they dealt with more respectfully – or so they claimed, though Isaviel saw no more honour in it – carting them back to Neverwinter to be dealt with by the temples of Tyr or Lathander.
Qara and Sand had fought without injury in the battle, and they both seemed to give each other an even wider birth than before. They had never spoken much, though Sand had often professed a certain disdain for the sorcerer. Now they seemed wary of each other, if not respectful of each other's power. They had seen each other fight for the first time, and whatever they had seen had given them pause.
Casavir and Shandra rode together on the journey back to Neverwinter, and seemed so caught up in each other that they barely spoke to the others; that gave Neeshka no end of entertainment, and her jokes became more irreverent daily. She and Isaviel at last spent some time with each other, and the Moon Elf had all but forgotten how much she enjoyed the Tiefling's company, and the same could be said for Khelgar. The Tiefling and the Dwarf had developed a strange kind of companionable depreciation of each other, and their banter made her laugh when she had feared so greatly over the past few days. The Dwarf was sporting all sorts of injuries and cuts from his time fighting in the courtyard, but he still managed to remain cheerful – even if he did resent riding a horse. The pair made her happy, and she was glad to have some time to laugh with them.
The same could not be said for Elanee, whose dislike of the Tiefling was unendingly evident; she would barely acknowledge her presence, and when she did there was loathing in her voice. Worse than that, for the whole journey back to Neverwinter the druid had complained about Isaviel's choice to give the Tome of Iltkazar to Aldanon for perusal. 'It is polluting the air we breathe; we should have burned it'. She would not stop, nor would she cease her insistence that they travel to the Circle of the Mere, to consult her Elders.
Isaviel paid her no heed regarding this either; Elanee was little more than a child, a human of not even twenty years. She had been sent as a watcher by those Elders, and Isaviel feared she knew more than she was giving away. She would not listen to the advice of people such as those – not unless there was no other way, and currently she was too relieved to have defeated Black Garius and his minions, right in the throes of their maleficent ritual. The King of Shadows must surely have been weakened by the loss of such a powerful servant – and by the success of the Neverwintans at Crossroad Keep against his other acolytes. He was clearly waiting, and he could definitely wait a little longer. They needed to regroup, rest, and find a path to Haven at long last. She had enough shards now to make a longsword, if not the original greatsword. Or perhaps two new kukris. All she needed was more information; where had it come from, what was it used for, who had wielded it, how could it be re-forged?
All of these things were easily enough to ponder on the three-day long slog back to Neverwinter; although the snows soon ended, and the clouds retreated to reveal an icy blue sky, the ground was still a foot of – now half-frozen – mud. The carts moved even slower than before, and Isaviel and her companions had to stay with Valarian and his amalgamation of remaining Greycloaks and Many-Starred Cloaks in case of further attack.
Bishop ignored Isaviel just as zealously as he had before, riding apart from everyone, hunting for himself, making his own camp. Karnwyr was not with him – though the wolf had healed from its wounds, it had remained at The Sunken Flagon. For some reason Duncan had not even questioned his duty to look after it. Meanwhile, the ranger's attitude angered Isaviel more and more. They had not spoken of feelings, they had never claimed to care for each other, but they had spent a great deal of time together until recently. They had trained together, hunted together, fought together, worked together, slept together. He had called to her when she was in danger, he had tried to save her when he would have abandoned all the others, and he had stayed with her throughout the night when she had endured the poisonous wound dealt her by Qaggoth-Yeg.
She often found herself staring over at the fire of his camp, a few metres away from that of her friends, and she caught the glint of his eyes in the darkness when he watched her, thinking she was not looking. She guiltily dreamed that he crept to her bedroll in the night; that he stayed with her…but it did not happen. He did not even return to The Sunken Flagon with them. The tavern was unusually full of people, hot and crowded with not a spare seat when the ranger returned, bringing with him a much-needed blast of cold air. He jostled his way through the crowds, looking murderous when one drunken man all but collapsed onto him, and went straight through the door to the living quarters. Karnwyr leapt to his feet and followed; Isaviel heard the wolf running up the stairs.
Most of the others were as drunk as the patrons, as well as full of Sal's generously served food; talking, joking, laughing in relief with Duncan. Isaviel's uncle had welcomed them heartily in spite of the busy state of the tavern, although eventually they had made their way to the back room and he had brought them a keg of ale with which to celebrate their victories.
Grobnar was healthy enough to join them there, and several of the others had gathered around him. The Gnome looked cheerful but tired, and a little bemused, propped up along one of the benches by the wall near the fire, watching his increasingly drunken companions with wide eyes while they had originally been telling him about their exploits at Crossroad Keep. It would appear that his absence, and his injury, had given them a reason to pay him heed where few had before.
The longer they had talked, the more they had drunk, and somehow the stories of all the exploits Grobnar had missed out on had descended into Khelgar's tales of bar brawls.
"So then I punched 'im for askin'," the Dwarf was explaining – it seemed to be some punch-line of a joke, as well, for the others burst out into laughter, "And while he was pickin' his teeth off the floor, his friend decided to add a few choice words about my heritage…so I punched him, too."
Isaviel had not been listening, spinning her ale around in her hands and staring into the fire, leaning forward in her chair, deep in thought. They had been given this day off before she would need to go to Brelaina's office. It would feel rather strange dealing with the woman now they held the same rank, but it was there that the unknown prisoner was being held; everything had been very mysterious in that regard so far, and it made her uncomfortable. Nasher and his cronies already knew too much for her liking about the shards, the King of Shadows, and about her. She could not help but wonder how that was possible, but it made her anxious that they were keeping a great deal of information from her, which could be the difference between living and dying. The Githyanki might have vowed to torment her no more, and Garius may have been dead, but there were still answers she needed about the shards, and there was the promise of the return of the King of Shadows.
The plants were dying too soon, and there were reports of polluted waters in the outlying farms, particularly those closer to the Mere, from where nothing had been heard for many weeks. When she became one with the shadows she had felt a change as well, not just when she had been in the room with Garius casting his spells, but before on the road. She could feel them pushing against her, as though she were wading through water where once she had been drifting through air. Elanee had at least been right about the King of Shadows, it would seem.
The druid seemed happier now, at least for the time being. Casavir, Shandra and Grobnar were always kind to her, and Khelgar had pressed enough flagons of ale into her hands that she was giggling along to all of the Dwarf's ridiculous tales. They had all relaxed with such ease, ready to party and celebrate a reprieve in their several days of threat. Even Casavir had been drinking, and Isaviel could see Shandra's hand lightly resting on his leg under the table. Over time, his arm had found its way around her shoulders as well, and they glowed with happiness. Neeshka was very drunk, something she seemed to be very good at, and was leaning heavily on the table, her tail swaying slowly over the back of her chair. Even in her inebriation she had noted Isaviel's absence, but her uncoordinated attempts to wave the Moon Elf over had failed utterly.
Qara was working in the kitchens with Sal, to her everlasting indignation, and Sand had not made an appearance yet. He had spoken briefly with Isaviel about what Qaggoth-Yeg had said to her, for it had unsettled them both. He could not give her any clues about what those words had meant, but he had said that Daeghun probably could, so he had returned to his house to try to contact Tarmas one more time before he joined the rest of them. It had been over an hour, and he had not returned.
"Right, so we've got enough money between us t' afford one. This pay thing is pretty good, if ye ask me," Khelgar was announcing rather loudly, slamming his big hairy fist down on the table to emphasise his point.
"Who's going to get some? There's no way I'm walking all that way after that much ale," Shandra proclaimed just as loudly, though her speech was notably not so impeded as the Dwarf's.
"Why don't you get you're knight in shining armour to do it for you?" Neeshka slurred, "It'll give me a rest from that horrible aura."
"I would offer, but I fear I am somewhat….incapacitated," Grobnar piped in, and suddenly Elanee stood without a word and left the room. Isaviel heard a muffled sob before the druid was through the door and out of earshot.
"Wow, what's with her?" Neeshka asked with a derisive grunt, "Spoken too much fairy-talk for one day?"
"Oh dear, do not be so cruel to Lady Elanee!" Grobnar demanded in uncharacteristic indignation, to the appreciative nod of Casavir. Neeshka just grunted derisively.
"I think ye should go for us, Casavir. I think yer the only one o' us who can walk in a straight line, truth be told," Khelgar admitted, to the sniggers of Neeshka.
"I…perhaps someone…the Moonstone Mask's wines may be fine but…" the paladin floundered momentarily, flushing a deep pink to his roots, which made Shandra laugh heartily.
"Even I've heard the tales of the Moonstone Mask's past," the woman agreed, patting his shoulder, "But I've also heard that it's rather different now. A little good wine to go with all this ale and I think our celebrations are complete."
"As…as you will," Casavir nodded, standing, still looking rather flustered.
"I'll come with you," Isaviel threw in now, watching the paladin curiously, and he blanched even more, but did not disagree, nodding rather stiffly.
"Of…course, my lady…captain…Isaviel," he reddened further, which made the Moon Elf laugh.
"Look after him," Shandra grinned over at Isaviel, shaking her head in disbelief, "I think he might faint if he gets too close to the Mask."
The early evening was very cold, the sky purple and pink against the Sea of Swords, though lasting snows would not find Neverwinter; they never did. Nor did the water freeze in the bay, though all the lands further north were reportedly now struggling with far worse conditions. The docks did not smell so bad in the colder weather, but they were no less crowded and their many taverns were no less rowdy. The Merchant Quarter was far quieter, with a population wealthy enough to possess luxury allowing them to stay indoors against the cold.
As they neared Blacklake, Casavir still had not spoken, his eyes fixed firmly on the path ahead of him, as if the goal to buy expensive wine for their friends was of the utmost importance. Isaviel recognised his discomfort; she had seen how unwilling he was to go, and how little he wanted her with him when he found he had no viable excuses. This was more than just embarrassment of the Moonstone Mask's former status as a brothel, there was something far more interesting going on. Isaviel was determined to find out somehow.
"You and Shandra get on very well," she offered by way of breaking the silence, and at last Casavir glanced at her, evident surprise in his eyes.
"Yes. She is kind and noble of heart."
"You love her?"
"I…" the paladin looked taken aback by Isaviel's forwardness, "I…would die for her," he managed at last.
The idea was alien to the Moon Elf and it gave her pause. It made her wonder at why she had been so determined to save Shandra, Khelgar and Grobnar – it also reminded her of how determined Bishop had been to stop her. It was her turn to look away uncomfortably, wishing she had the nerve to apologise for her bluntness. She and Casavir had never said a comfortable word to each other that she could recall, except when talking of battle.
"You are surprised by my words," Casavir noted as they were waved through the gates into the Blacklake, oddly gloomy and rendered an eeriness to go with its silence.
"I am," Isaviel admitted, "I see that she admires you greatly. Enough that she did not recognise why you reacted as you did to mention of the Moonstone Mask."
"Ah," the paladin straightened his stance even more, turning the next corner rather sharply, "I must say I was relieved by that, my lady, although I believe you have misunderstood."
"Oh really? I never took you for a brothel-goer," Isaviel teased, swiping at his arm, "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not so sordid as all that. I never thought for a second that you were thinking the owner might recognise you as a patron. Is it the place? Or is it someone?"
"Both," Casavir admitted uncomfortably, offering little more information, "And neither. It is a great shame of mine, my lady…"
"Isaviel," the Moon Elf corrected pointedly, and he just nodded once.
They spoke no more until they reached the large, ornate building which was their goal, its painted walls covered in autumn-killed, winter-frosted ivy. The walls were high around the Moonstone Mask, an archway opening the way to a long, broad path flanked with an expansive garden dotted with chairs and benches. No one was sitting outside in this weather, where the earth was mud and all seats were covered in puddles of water liable to freeze overnight.
The doors opened as they approached, bathing the night-time world with bright golden light and a wash of heat. The Moonstone Mask was evidently very busy, and there were lights flickering at windows on all three floors, the tavern hall already audibly rowdy. A woman of questionable years stood holding the doors for them; though her ornately coiffed hair was a deep black, her figure was tending towards plumpness and there were lines around her genial eyes. The startlingly low-cut blue velvet gown she wore, embroidered at all seams, made Isaviel feel remarkably under-dressed in her plain black tunic and leggings, her walking boots just as muddy as ever. Casavir did not have that problem, for his white tunic sported the patterned stitching of understated nobility.
"Ah, welcome be to both of you," the woman smiled; when she gestured inside, the necklace at her throat caught the light, and Isaviel saw that its pendant was a large many-faceted stone carved into the form of a mask. That would be the moonstone, then.
"We would like to buy a bottle of wine only," Isaviel explained at the door when the woman raised an eyebrow at her attire, and Casavir utterly failed to say anything, remaining a little outside.
"Of course," the woman took the pouch of gold she offered, her eyes lingering on the Moon Elf's face for a few moments, "Wait here, please."
As the woman passed through the busy tavern, smiling and talking briefly with a number of the very well-dressed patrons, Casavir let out a long breath – as if he had been holding it – and wiped a hand across his forehead. Isaviel watched him with incredulity, but he rather pointedly did not meet her eyes. Only once the woman had returned and handed Isaviel the bottle of wine did she look to Casavir, and when she did her carefully schooled expression fell suddenly. She grew pale, and then flushed, stepping outside and closing the door after herself once Isaviel followed.
"Casavir?" she hissed, "After all these years?"
"Ophala, I…"
"Thought I would hit you and tell you I hated you?" the woman scoffed, "I have had many lovers since you – I had as many more before you…though it is true that I foolishly loved your youthful charm."
"My lady…I should not have come regardless…"
"But you could not find a good enough excuse to avoid it when your lovely friend here bade you accompany her?" Ophala's smile was tight when she glanced once more towards Isaviel, "You always were too gallant. She doesn't really seem your type though – I've heard Isaviel Farlong has quite the wicked streak. What in all the hells has she been teaching you?"
"Ophala! You misunderstand…"
"I know full well what she means to you, Casavir. I know everything about everyone at all times; I know when you are in the city and when you are not, do not doubt that. Now leave me be. Have the sense not to return – your abandonment of me for a life of servitude was most…insulting."
She gave him no more chance to speak, stepping back into the tavern and letting the door fall shut with a clang behind her. Casavir turned immediately and began to stride away down the path, Isaviel following quickly on his heels.
"What was that about? Isn't she a little too old for you?"
"Fifteen years ago you would not have queried it. She was – and is – a beautiful…and forceful woman," Casavir paused as they reached the street, looking upon Isaviel with something like resignation, "I wish I could keep this a secret from you, but it would seem that you have heard too much to achieve that."
"You're definitely right about that."
"Very well," the paladin sighed as they began the walk back, the Moon Elf unconcernedly swinging the bottle of wine by her side, "Fifteen years ago I was indeed a lover of Ophala Cheldarstorm, who is now the owner of the Moonstone Mask…"
"Hang on…was she the owner of the brothel as well?"
"Yes," the paladin blanched, "Some time after I knew her. But the paladin's profession called to me more strongly than did my love for her…and when I was required to by the law, I was forced to kill the man who was trying to win her affections from me. In my shame I fled the city and for a time fought with the Greycloaks near Triboar, but increasingly their bureaucracy angered me and I learned that my aim was not to fight for a city, but to fight for the people within it. That is why I was in the mountains near Old Owl Well when you met me."
"And I take it that you want me to make sure Shandra never finds out about this? You think something like that will make her cease to love you?" Isaviel smirked when Casavir failed to respond, "She doesn't strike me as the type."
"I believe telling any new love of a past lover is bound to cause a problem, Isaviel," Casavir told her with only the slightest hint of humour, "If you were forced to tell Bishop of anyone you may have once loved, how would he react? How would you react if he told you something similar? "
"I…" suddenly words failed the Moon Elf, though she preferred not to think on it, and they walked on in silence.
The others had been highly grateful for their far-ranging efforts, though also far too drunk to drink the entire bottle of wine. Shandra and Casavir had retreated into a corner, whispering together and laughing quietly at intervals; Isaviel had quickly ceased to pay them any heed. Neeshka and Khelgar had passed out on the table rather quickly, and though Duncan had permitted Qara to have a glass of that most expensive wine, she had soon been called back to the kitchens. Grobnar had declined any, though he had also given a little money towards it, and Elanee was not in her room. Thus it had fallen to Isaviel to drink the rest, and she did so straight from the bottle until the room was spinning a little and she could half-believe that there was no King of Shadows and there never had been any Black Garius.
The Moon Elf was heading for her room when Bishop caught her, the ranger just coming in through the back door. She moved past him, reaching for the handle of her door, but his hand closed around her wrist, and she was immobilised by the feel of his body against her back, his breath hot on her neck. Glancing around at him, it was suddenly very hard to be angry with him, and instead she found herself twisting around to face him, her finger tracing the cut her nail had made against the bruise on his cheek. In wordless response he backed her up against the door, kissing her shoulder, her neck, pulling the wine bottle from her hand. He kissed her cheek as well, until his lips found hers, lingering, his arm wrapping around her waist and pulling her closer.
"Mmmm, that wine tastes good," Bishop grinned, pulling her towards him as he took a long swig from the bottle, then resting his chin on the top of her head as he spoke again, "I could get drunk just from kissing you, but the wine helps, too."
Isaviel was about to speak, to demand an explanation for his change of attitude, but she saw something in his eyes when she looked up and it made her pause. Whatever it was, it made her heart race, and they pulled each other closer at the same time. She found herself clinging to him far tighter than she had intended, revelling in the warm weight of his arms; one around her waist, the other across her back.
She smiled against him as he took her hand, leading her up the winding wooden staircase nearby, the one that led to his attic room. The door was already ajar when he reached it, shouldering through and then kicking it closed behind them, pushing her back onto the bed; just a mattress. Here the roof sloped on both sides, coming to a point above them, and there were few possessions visible. At some point he had brought the wine bottle up with them, and now he was drinking from it as she watched, propped up on her elbows.
"What happened to all that rage?" Isaviel asked teasingly, and Bishop looked over at her, raising an eyebrow.
"Maybe I wanted to persuade you out of your virtuous captaincy," Bishop suggested after downing the wine at last, looking her up and down, "Or maybe I just like how you look when I kiss you."
Something about the way he said those words made her bite her lip and glance away from his eyes, suddenly uncomfortable. Her heart was still racing, and when he moved up the bed above her to kiss her as he had promised it was a long, slow kiss, full of feeling. As he pulled away a little there was vulnerability in his eyes, and she knew there was in hers too.
"I will kill you if you betray me," she snarled and he laughed softly, pressing his forehead against hers.
"I'd expect nothing less."
In the darkness when she woke, she knew he could not see her clearly, though he had already opened his eyes. With both of them void of weapons he seemed no more vulnerable – she certainly was not – but he seemed less able to hide the emotions in his voice and in his eyes. Their limbs were tangled, her hair spread over his shoulder and down his arm, his lips warm and soft, moving slowly over hers now. When she whispered his name, he whispered hers in answer. Everything was slow and strange, not the way it had been before. When she nuzzled against his chest he put an arm around her shoulders, rolling onto his back. They had made peace, and in this one moment, perhaps never again, they had found their own emotional peace as well.
Muffled voices sounded on the floor below them, and that stirred them from their half-awake trance. Isaviel sat up suddenly, automatically wrapping her hair into a bun and pulling her clothes on, kicking the empty wine bottle Bishop had brought up with them out of the way and pulling wide the door, looking back at the ranger with a smirk.
"Get up, Bishop. I have to go to see whoever Brelaina has with her at the office, and you're not lounging there while I have to suffer that."
"Oh, of course captain. Whatever you say, captain," he rolled his eyes, sitting up at his own speed, ducking when she threw one of his boots at him.
Becoming a shadow to avoid her bumbling awakening companions in the corridor below, all aiming to be first in the washroom Sal had undoubtedly made ready for them, Isaviel snuck back to her room, gathered up a fur-trimmed grey tunic and a pair of black leggings, and beat the others to the baths. That meant she and Shandra were the first ready to go to Brelaina's office, breakfasting on fresh bread, toasted over a fire with butter and drinking water flavoured with berries of the Neverwinter Wood.
"You and Bishop made up, didn't you?" Shandra noted, "Unless something else is making you look like that."
"What?" the Moon Elf looked up at her, startled, seeing the woman's smirk, but Shandra was shaking her head with a laugh.
"Honestly, I don't know how you can stand him. He's so…angry all the time. And so cruel to everyone but you," the woman added.
All Isaviel could think of was how he had tried to pull her away from Qaggoth-Yeg, how he had kissed her that morning, the look in his eyes… She could not remember when it was that she had started to like his anger and his sarcasm, and the way he moved and talked, and fought…but she remained silent, looking towards Duncan instead, and blanching when she saw what he carried towards her.
"What in all the Hells is that?" she demanded furiously.
She did not move even slightly to take the cloth tabard he held out towards her. It was deep crimson, and when he waved it at her with a laugh at her expression, holding it by the shoulders, she could see the Neverwinter eye symbol and its three tears. That was the garb of a captain; a joint position transferable between the Watch and the Greycloaks.
"Tell me I don't have to wear that."
"Ye do, lass," Duncan was grinning at her with rather evident enjoyment of her indignation, "And ye have to wear it wi' pride."
"I will not," she denied after swearing at him rather violently, just as Casavir entered the room and sent her a disapproving frown.
"I think ye have to, lass," Duncan told her as she rather tentatively took hold of the smooth fabric.
"Who brought this to you?"
"Sir Nevalle did, while ye were away. I thought I'd leave the shock 'til after ye'd had a little time to celebrate first. But now ye've got to, lest Nasher think ye're refusing yer duties. Marshal Cormick has a few things to break to ye on that score, though he won't say what. Sand should be here shortly, and once the others are ready, I believe Brelaina will be expecting ye."
Khelgar grinned broadly and Qara snorted in derision when they saw Isaviel buckling her belt around the tabard, feeling ridiculous, and when Bishop joined them he laughed heartily at the sight of her dressed so dutifully. She swore at him, which made him laugh harder. Once Sand joined them, and she looked over at the wizard's serious expression, her rage died, and the others' jokes became insignificant.
"You have heard no more from West Harbour," she stated, and Sand shook his head.
"Tarmas and Daeghun've always been tough, Sand," Duncan's voice sounded strained, "If they're not answerin' yer spells that probably means they're more alive than otherwise…"
"Drunken old fool," Qara sniffed derisively, ignoring the several pairs of glaring eyes that turned her way.
Isaviel ignored all of this quite deliberately, shrugging on the pack for the shards and fastening her cloak. When she headed for the door, those among her friends who were also Watch members followed, leaving Duncan to worry about his brother with only Sal, Bishop, Qara and Grobnar for company. Outside the roofs were frosted and the air showed them their breaths as puffs of white. The Moon Elf was suddenly aware of having missed the beginning of winter. Somehow, amongst the fights, injuries, and more fights, the seasons had changed, and the cold had left its icy imprint on the land.
Snow brushed against her cheek, and she looked up at the pale white sky to see more flakes following, drifting through the air all about her company – not one flake would remain a moment on Neverwinter ground, thanks to the warm waters flowing through the city from the Crags, lending it its name. But even without the snow undoubtedly deepening outside the city walls there was no doubt they were very much a part of the Frozen North. But so was she, and so were her companions.
Isaviel set a brisk pace through the Docks, and they came to Brelaina's office at the Watch Headquarters only a relatively short time later. She was waiting for the Moon Elf, that much had been correct, and with her was Aldanon. The Watch captain looked politely bored, an emotion evidently merging with frustration and annoyance. She stood swiftly when Isaviel entered with Casavir, Shandra and Khelgar, the only members of her group who were technically also members of the Watch, Sand at their heels.
"Captain," the word fell from Brelaina's tongue with deceptive ease; her eyes were cold and distrustful, however, "I am glad you have come. Our latest prisoner has been asking for you by name, and since Lord Aldanon here cannot inform me whether or not she is dangerous, I have taken the liberty of waiting for you."
"I'm sorry I could not be have been of more help," Aldanon nodded, his eyes wide and honest, his white tufts of hair even wilder than usual about his lined face, "My thinking is that as a Githzerai she may well be somewhat inclined to help – well met to you, Isaviel, by the way. You seem to be everywhere," he gave her an absent-minded nod before continuing, "You see, her people were once one with the Githyanki, but they have been separated for millennia and follow a different…code of conduct. It is common knowledge. I would expect that, as Isaviel here is hunted by Githyanki, she would automatically be an ally of the Githzerai and therefore also of our Githzerai prisoner."
"Ah. This explains the mysteriousness of all of this," Sand sighed, stepping aside as Aldanon passed him.
"Good luck, Captain Farlong," the old man added at the door, "I hope their prisoner does not attempt to kill you. She seemed reasonable enough at Crossroad Keep – I spent almost a tenday sharing a room with her, and I can promise you that at least she does not snore – but you never can tell with assassins."
With that he left, and Brelaina gave a great sigh of relief, gesturing to one of the guards by the other door, and with a quick nod he left hurriedly. She glanced briefly at Cormick, looking exceptionally old and tired slumped in a chair by the window. He had not spoken, and his stillness was telling, but Sand rushed over to him, squeezing his good shoulder.
"You are feeling better, old friend?"
"I am, Sand. The priests of Lathander know how to heal old men as well as they can young ones, apparently. Lucky for me," Cormick smiled stiffly, looking to Isaviel now, "I had heard that you were back in Neverwinter, and I meant to tell you – you fought bravely and we took them almost by surprise. You are to be commended; both for your effort and for the lives spared. Had you not been there, we would have far fewer brave men standing with us…and we also now have what may be the key to taking the fight to our enemies: Crossroad Keep itself…"
"I felt your presence before my eyes fell upon you," a low, female voice stated softly in wonder, "Kalach-cha."
Isaviel looked around to see a tall, slender creature standing by the door, flanked by two armed guards, her wrists bound. Her skin was greenish and mottled with brown, like the Githyanki, and her face was half-covered by a jewelled veil that left her high-cheekbones and her large, yellow eyes uncovered. Her forehead was utterly unlined, and around it hung two thin beaded braids of reddish hair – a long plait could be seen over her shoulder, though the hood of her thin grey cloak was up. She wore a knee-length dress, utterly outlandish to Isaviel, its bodice of woven metal thread which glinted blue when it caught the light, its skirt of interlaced strips of leather, several inlaid with blue and white jewels that pulsed with light. She watched the Moon Elf coolly, her thoughts unreadable, patient as her nature was observed. Her feet were large and broad, their nails long and black, and she wore thin-soled sandals, fastened only at the ankles, while her hands were long-fingered, bony, their nails just as black, and even longer.
"Step forward, Kalach-cha, let me look upon you," the Githzerai said at last, her voice benign enough as she raised her hands to push the hood back, revealing the rest of her hair and the silver threads woven into it, "As you have looked so carefully upon me."
"You asked for me by name," Isaviel stated at length, not moving forward, "How is that?"
"Your name is not how I have come to know you. Your enemies have named you Kalach-cha; 'Shard-Bearer' and that is how I first heard of you. That word travels far, even reaching the ears of my people in the plane of Limbo. At first my people thought our enemies had erred, that they did not know that of which they speak. But here, now, you stand before me and I know for myself that they are right. I will aid you in any way I can."
"You wish to help me," Isaviel could not help but sound disbelieving, "Why should I agree to that? How can you help me?"
"I know a great deal about the problems that beset your people, and of what lies within you. I understand the reasons behind the attack on your heart and home. You will have no greater ally than me in this. In exchange for my aid it is my wish that you free me – that I might travel with you and aid you against your enemies."
"Captain, it is up to you. Crossroad Keep is your jurisdiction, and it is with you that she will go if you so choose," Brelaina shrugged.
"There is little reason not to believe her," Sand put in, "She is a Githzerai, a long-time enemy with the Githyanki. They are famed for their honesty, their loyalty…and their oaths."
"I believe she speaks truly, my lady," Casavir added softly from beside the Moon Elf, "Her aura is one of great purity."
"Alright…do you have a name by which I might call you?" Isaviel asked after a moment, cringing at the paladin's words.
"My name is Zhjaeve," the Githzerai responded with a nod, "And the trade between us is this: in exchange for my freedom I will grant you the knowing of this threat – and all the darkness its shadow casts."
"Then speak," Khelgar grunted impatiently, "Why should we free ye 'til we hear what ye have to say?"
"Aldanon believes that she is not dangerous," Casavir threw in, "And that carries weight with me. It should with you, too, Khelgar."
"If you deny me freedom, then anything I can do to aid you will prove useless," Zhjaeve responded immediately, her voice full of a desperate sadness, "I seek to know more of this Prime Material Plane, this world that I am to help you save, and I wish to speak honestly to it, so that it might hear what strikes at its heart. That means I must see your lands – what you have spilled blood for, and what you will spill blood for."
"Very well," Isaviel nodded uncomfortably after a moment, looking into those strange yellow eyes, unsettled by Zhjaeve's conviction, and finding it hard to disbelief her, "I will free you, but I will kill you if you prove yourself a liar."
Immediately one of the guards cut the rope binding her wrists, and the Githzerai watched, rubbing at her slightly chafed skin only briefly before stepping forward and raising her eyes to meet Isaviel's once more. Though her expression was hidden by her veil, her eyes looked like she was smiling slightly.
"Thank you, Isaviel Farlong. Know that in freeing me you have gained more than anything you could have torn from the lips of your enemies."
"In that case your first stop will be the home of my uncle. It should help you learn a lot about our 'Prime Material Plane," Isaviel found herself grinning at the idea of this strange, distant creature dealing with the rowdy, drunken tavern atmosphere of The Sunken Flagon.
"Isaviel?" Cormick called after her as Khelgar and Casavir had escorted Zhjaeve from the room, and the Moon Elf turned in surprise, almost walking straight into Shandra.
"We have one more piece of news for you," Brelaina told her, and there was something in her tone, an intense expression of derision, as she folded her arms across her chest and looked to Cormick.
"Lord Nasher has commanded you to take on the governance of Crossroad Keep. Even before you had returned from the battle we had sent out builders and soldiers to start rebuilding. Its lands will be yours, and the tithes at its crossroads will be yours, as well as yours to collect…"
"Is your lord insane?" Isaviel exclaimed, throwing up her arms in disbelief, though they suddenly felt as heavy as led to her, "I have no background as a soldier, and I'm better at running from the Watch than I am at running with them…"
"Mind your words, squire," Brelaina noted coldly, but Isaviel looked at her with blazing eyes that showed she saw through her bluff.
"If I don't will you throw me in a cell, captain?"
"Isaviel, please," Cormick sighed, pulling himself to his feet, frowning deeply as he approached slowly, Sand at his elbow the whole way, "You dishonour your father – and your mother – with such brazen words. Winter may be well upon us, but the failed harvest, the poisoned waters, the darkness you saw in the Mere – as well as Black Garius and his black magic – are all signs we saw thirty years ago. The King of Shadows is coming, we are so certain of it now, and this is only going to get worse. You need Neverwinter – and Neverwinter needs you, I think. Crossroad Keep is your land – defend it for the sake of your people and for the sake of Neverwinter, as well as for yourself."
Isaviel found herself speechless, at a loss as to why Shandra looked so pleased, her blue eyes gleaming with happiness, her smile bright and broad. Sand looked ready to laugh at the Moon Elf's gormless expression, and that felt more like the appropriate response. Captain…of Crossroad Keep. Isaviel had never looked ahead much more than a day in her life, except when dreaming of escaping West Harbour, before the Watch and the Greycloaks starting putting these requirements upon her. She wanted nothing more than to tear the tabard from herself, throw it at Cormick's feet and flee the city. Waterdeep would do well – she might have once considered Luskan, but not after all they had done to her. In Waterdeep, she had heard, there was a complicated and successful spy network run by the exiled Moon Elf of Evermeet, Elaith Craulnober. If he did not accept her, perhaps the Shadow Thieves might. Neeshka had links to both thanks to Moire.
"So you have your orders," Brelaina smirked, "And it is with great pleasure that I will watch you go. You are to be received at Crossroad Keep by your new employees – Kana will meet you there, as your lieutenant. She will act as your advisor, and try to stop you losing this war."
"Jealous that my captaincy outranks your own, Brelaina?" Isaviel grinned, "And I don't lose."
The ashes had been cold for days, and under a thick blanket of snow they had frozen solid, an already forgotten pile of lost lives at the base of a great cliff-face. He had remembered all of it; that Elf taking the book from his hands and the shards from the pedestal, that self-satisfied look on her scarred face. He had been aware as the fallen acolytes were gathered up, along with his dead body, and piled in a heap with all the other killed Luskans off the road beyond the crossroads, by the cliff and under the shadow of the keep. They had burned, all of them, but neither he nor his acolytes had become ashes with the others. They had waited, silent, unable to move, while the frosts came after the rain, and the ice hardened over them; they had felt the soft brush of snow, not melting on their dead forms.
That night the shadows came, engulfing the remains of the pyre, seeping through the ashes and into Garius and his fallen servants, filling them with strength and their bare skulls with ghostly blue flame. At last they had the strength to rise, breaking through the ice with barely a shrug, each clad in robes of thick blackness, moving forward with dreadful purpose. There was no power greater than the King of Shadows, he knew that now. He had paid the ultimate price to learn that, and to accept that, but he had also come back out the other side, and in so doing been granted a strength and a purpose far greater than he had possessed before. He led the way, a ghastly sight, a skeletal corpse dressed in shadows, blue flames licking at his empty eye-sockets, and the others, now his siblings, all followed, silent and obedient to the will of their shared master.
On they went, not tiring, revelling in their new strength, in the gift they had been given: immortality, that which they had craved beyond anything else. Onward, to the Vale of Meredelain, where no man could kill them.
"Well, this is a surprise, I must say. But I suppose any enemy of the Githyanki is a friend o' mine," Duncan offered after he had been introduced to Zhjaeve, who was now wandering slowly around the perimeter of the room, asking Casavir about the items the barkeeper had on display, "Though even for you, lass, she's a strange one."
Isaviel just laughed at his baffled expression – he had been floundering ever since the Githzerai had refused his offer of ale, or wine, or beer. The half-Elf did not know where else he might find common ground with someone so outlandish. The Moon Elf's mirth died quickly, however, as she continued to regard her uncle, and she was surprised by her own sadness, taking his arm and drawing him aside, through the door into the corridor within which the stairs rose up to most of the bedrooms.
"What is it lass?" Duncan asked concernedly, "Ye look…troubled. There's somethin' ye need to tell me?"
"Yes," Isaviel sighed, staring through the open door absently, watching but not really seeing Neeshka playing cards at the table with Bishop and Mae'rillar, Grobnar practicing a love song to Elanee by the fire, Qara slapping an uncouth patron soundly across the face for his advances. It was not too busy yet, but there were expectant men of the Docks stepping through with increasing frequency, and the tavern hall was growing louder now that it was almost lunch-time for Neverwinter's working force.
"What is it then, lass? Don't keep me in suspense. It makes me realise I've got to worry about ye some more."
"That's your choice, not mine," Isaviel told him far more sharply than she should have, but it only made him frown disapprovingly, "We – or at least I – won't be staying at The Sunken Flagon from now on. Nasher has given Crossroad Keep to me, to prepare it for battle, and to drive me insane. I wish I could avoid it, but there it is: my fate, laid out for me without my permission."
"Gods," Duncan sighed, but his eyes were gleaming with pride as well as worry, "Ye've come far, and I think Daeghun'd be proud of ye. I'm sure he will be, when next ye meet…"
"With any luck I'll never see him again. He did me…"
"He helped ye, Isaviel, he made sure Merring taught ye to get over yer pains and yer angers. He taught ye the ways of the ranger, and spent hours out with ye in the wilds. If it weren't for him, ye'd not be the fighter ye are today, and I'd be worrying ten times worse over ye when ye step out of them doors tomorrow…"
"Tonight," Isaviel corrected him quickly, "I have to leave tonight. And I don't know when…if…I'll ever come back. If a war does start soon, Neverwinter will be under lockdown. You won't be able to leave, and I won't be able to return."
The half-Elven innkeeper looked momentarily stricken, but eventually nodded, gesturing back into the tavern.
"I suppose ye'd better get yer friends together then. I won't tell ye who I think ye should be leavin' here, but I'll be thinkin' it," he added pointedly.
Isaviel just snorted at that and headed straight towards Neeshka, Mae'rillar and Bishop. The Drow looked up first, and she sent him an uncomfortable smile. She had already spoken with all of the others and they had been very willing to join her. None of them had anything to hold them to Neverwinter, and Qara in particular would be gaining an improvement on her workload. It meant a change of scenery for all of them, and their wide ranges of skill and attitude would all be useful, she was certain. Shandra and Casavir both had experience with the lands near Neverwinter, natives of the area, and she suspected the commoner's outlook of one, and the soldier's of the other would prove invaluable.
These three who she was approaching, however…from what Isaviel had gleaned, it would appear that Bishop had been based in The Sunken Flagon for some time, roaming the wilds with his wolf when it suited him and coming back to the inn when it suited him. Neeshka had a life and an organisation to run in Neverwinter, and Mae'rillar too. But she needed them all, she was certain.
"You wish to have words with us?" Mae'rillar asked softly, his harsh accent momentarily obvious, his amber eyes watching her unblinkingly as she moved around the table to take a seat against the wall between Neeshka and Bishop.
"Something to do with that lovely captain's uniform she wears with so much pride," Bishop grunted without looking up from his set of cards, except to briefly snarl playfully towards Neeshka when the Tiefling continued her winning streak.
"Nasher has given Crossroad Keep to me," Isaviel sighed, and that made Neeshka look up sharply, "And I won't be living in Neverwinter anymore."
"What?" Neeshka exclaimed, dropping her cards onto the table, "Nasher can't think you'll stay in his service when it doesn't help you personally anymore, surely?"
"To be honest I think he'll have me killed," the Moon Elf shrugged, trying to sound humorous.
"That's if the King of Shadows doesn't get you first," Bishop suggested, and she kicked him under the table, but he did not even flinch. Instead he just smirked.
"And why do you come to all three of us with this information?" Mae'rillar inquired astutely, the expression on his chiselled features still unreadable.
"She's just trying to be…"
"I would like you all to come with me," Isaviel admitted, "Neeshka, I need you with me, if you'll come, when we get to Haven. The others will drive me crazy. And the contact with the Thieves' Guild will prove invaluable; if you can keep me informed about the plans of the Lords' Alliance, of what Nasher is doing in Neverwinter, and about Luskan. Mae'rillar…you're the best fighter I've ever come across…"
"You improve every time we meet," Mae'rillar offered.
"And you're a better teacher than Casavir, too. From what I've heard, we'll have a lot of new recruits to train, and I'd rather have people I know teaching them over people Nasher might choose." And someday I'd like to win against you, too. The Drow's slight smirk suggested he had correctly guessed her unspoken addition.
"This is suddenly so much more exciting!" Neeshka squeaked, "We can run the Guild from Crossroad Keep better than we can so close to the bases of the Watch here in Neverwinter."
"Thank you, Neeshka," Isaviel smiled, then looked to Mae'rillar once more, "I won't tell you to fight for me in any battles that might come. I won't pretend I won't ask you to, though."
"I will come with you," Mae'rillar acceded, his sudden smile fair to behold, his hand settling casually over Neeshka's, "And never fear, I once fought – on the winning side, might I add – against my own mother and her army of monsters. I suspect a King of Shadows cannot terrify me more than she and her devils did."
"Well," Isaviel hid her surprise and disquiet at all that suggested, "I believe we have a deal."
She stood then, and Bishop gave a quick nod, only glancing sidelong at her, before she could ask him that which she had just expected of the other two. It was better that way; he could not blackmail her with ideas of ownership, commands or suchlike if he offered when she did not ask.
Once everyone was ready to leave that evening, Duncan joined them outside The Sunken Flagon, rubbing his bare arms against the cold. It was already dark, and Sal had lit the lanterns over the awning, allowing them to see how thickly their breath frosted in front of their slowly numbing faces. All of the travellers were dressed in multiple cloaks and their best furs, hoods pulled up, gloves pulled on, sporting heavy packs across their shoulders and sharpened blades at their belts. Zhjaeve had been permitted to carry her own spear, an odd implement with an extremely long handle made of some blue material which bent like yew but certainly was not yew. She did not seem phased by the cold, and Khelgar had pressed additional furs into her hands, pulled out of storage by Duncan, almost by force. She had agreed to wear them over her other clothes, though they had been unable to find boots large enough and snow was settling upon her bare skin there.
They would be met at the gates by Sir Nevalle and Sand, as well as an appropriate number of horses, and a carriage to help transport Grobnar. The Gnome could walk again thanks to Sand's health potions, but it would be a little while yet before he was fit enough for unaided travel. Once Mae'rillar and Neeshka arrived, they all said their farewells to Duncan and moved away, leaving the Moon Elf to part with her uncle and the inn she had called her home for almost a year and a half.
"It is as it must be, I suppose," Duncan nodded firmly after a moment of silence, but she could see the disappointment in his eyes before he pulled her into a tight and unexpected hug, "Ye'll do well, lass. Come back and tell me about it all when ye're free again."
"I will, I promise."