Chapter 29 – Candlekeep – Day 96
Endar was as good as his word. A small galley had arrived at the pier in the dead of night. Niklos joined the six in clambering on board the ship. Once there they went below decks and the ship left with the morning pre dawn tide. Stopped by the harbor master Jeral heard money change hands and the ship was allowed out into the river. The day passed quickly as the ship glided downstream, the rowers working steadily to add their speed to that of the current. Once in the open ocean the captain hoisted the square black sail and pointed the bow of the ship southward. Skirting the coast the ship reached Candlekeep in the early morning of the following day.
At first light Jeral and his friends found themselves in a small skiff crewed by four sailors. Niklos manned the tiller as the boat steadily approached the shore rolling along with the incoming tide. Imoen sat next to Niklos and gazed adoringly at the young thief as he steered the skiff towards shore. The pair had retired to a stateroom immediately upon entering the galley and they pair had not emerged until the ship was anchored off shore from Candlekeep. Imoen blushed at the looks she received from her companions. All save Ajantis, his scornful looks and comments elicited sarcastic and biting comments in return from Imoen. Jeral realized that any affection Imoen held towards the paladin was long gone and that she looked happier than he had seen her in a long time.
The skiff grounded on the beach and Jeral hopped out into knee deep water and waded ashore. He looked upwards to the small fortress sitting at the top of the bluff. The legendary Library of Candlekeep was known by many names across the realms. But to Jeral it was simply home. Jeral grasped his long bow in his left hand and started walking the well worn path that snaked up the cliff face to the castle gates. The others fell in line behind him as they steadily made their way upwards. Imoen waited until they were out of sight and then bode Niklos farewell. The snickers of the sailors did nothing to temper her affections and she kissed Niklos passionately and then strode off after her companions. As she strode out of sight she shouted back, "get some rest and keep the bed warm until I return." The howls of laughter from the sailors greeted her in reply as she continued up the trail after the others.
The trail meandered up the bluff and finally reached the top of the cliff a few hundred yards away from the castle. Jeral and Imoen led the way directly to the gatehouse. As they approached a half dozen guards exited the gatehouse and stood watching their approach. The guards were dressed in silver chain mail with matching helms. Four carried long spears while a pair carried sword and shield. Another half dozen crossbow men stood on the battlements watching their approach. A burly soldier with a face fill of grey whiskers strode out of the gatehouse and greeted Jeral and Imoen by name once they were within hailing distance. Hull, the burly sergeant of the guard approached the pair like long lost friends.
"By the stars, for it is Imoen and Jeral. Why we had all wondered where you pair disappeared to."
"Greetings Hull, it is good to see you. It is good to be home."
"Ah Jeral, that is the thing. This is not your home any more. You willingly left Candlkeep with Gorion. Master Ulraunt declared that you no longer are a resident of Candlekeep."
"Hull, are you telling me I may not enter?"
"Now don't get riled Jeral, you know the Watchers do not make the rules. We merely enforce them on behalf of the monks. You, Imoen and your companions may only enter Candlekeep if you provide a tome that is a worthy addition to the Library. I wish it was otherwise but the rules are rules."
"Hull, I understand the rules very well. Please send for one of the monks for we have a tome that will gain us passage."
Hull barked at one of the guards and the young soldier entered the castle through the small sally port next to the main gate. Hull and the other four guards stood around nervously. The soldiers stole glances at Jeral and his companions, clearly their reputations had preceded their arrival at Candlekeep.
"So how is Yoktori working out? I am still dealing with the fact that he beat me so easily at the spring tournament."
Hull looked up and beamed with pride. "Ahhhhh, Jeral we got a good one in that fellow. He is turning into one of our finest Watchers. He is well disciplined and has excelled in all aspects of his training."
"I assume he is undefeated in the sparring yard."
"Aye, that one is a natural. With his speed and skill he is a match for any I have seen. Jeral, I assume you will let the past go. He defeated you in the tournament fairly. I will not have you looking to start trouble."
Jeral smiled warmly at Hull. "I assure you I have no wish to lose again. I do want to chat with him if I have time for I want him to teach me how to fight with two blades."
"It is extremely difficult to learn to fight with two blades. Most who try fail to master the art and a man proficient with one blade will always defeat a man poorly trained with two. So proceed accordingly."
"Ever the weapons master. Hull I Thank you for your wise council. I will definitely keep that in mind."
"Think nothing of it Jeral, although I must say that you and Imoen seem to have grown up quite a bit in a short period of time. And you have some very capable looking friends." Jeral quickly introduced his companions and Minsc and Hull chatted animatedly about the pros and cons of the great sword while the party waited for the monks to arrive. Once the monks arrived Jeral pulled out one of the two tomes he had taken from Jhasso's house. The monk's eyes widened in excitement as his trembling hands took the proffered book.
"You have made a worthy donation to the Library of Candlekeep. You are your companions are welcome to enter. Please visit Winthrop at the Candlekeep Inn and he will see to your lodgings." The monks turned away and quickly departed. With a nod Hull ordered the gates opened and the group entered Candlekeep. Jeral and Imoen had returned home.
The inn looked exactly as Imoen remembered it. Smiling she opened the door and led the way into the common room. At this hour in the morning the common room was empty, all of the patrons having departed to attend to their daily business and not yet returning for lunch. Imoen motioned everyone to seats around a table, grabbed Jeral by the arm, and headed to the kitchen. Pushing open the door to the kitchen she was accosted by a wave of familiar and welcome smells. Winthrop was making a fish stew for lunch and bread was baking in the stone oven against the wall. Withrop was as fat as Imoen remembered and he was sweating heavily as he cut up vegetables for the stew. Sliding the last of the vegetables into the pot he wiped his hands on his apron and looked up.
"No offense miss but I do not cotton to guests in my kitchen. Please wait in the tavern and I will be right out."
"Are you kidding me? I lived under your roof for nearly my entire life and now you do not recognize me. You, you….buffleheaded ninny!" Imoen stomped her foot angrily on the floor as the color flushed into her face.
"By the Gods! Imoen, is that you? Then that, you, by the Gods Jeral has returned as well. You two look like proper nobility in those fancy get ups with those fine weapons. Imoen, you look a right proper lady what with the fancy get up and all. Course any woman that wears pants that tight had to be you. I am sorry I did not see it. Come here and give old Winthrop a hug. I was so sorry to hear about Gorion's death. He was a great man and a better friend. He dearly loved both of you and would be delighted that you were still alive."
Imoen raced forward and hugged the man who raised her and the tears came freely as she sobbed into his sweaty chest. Winthrop patted her on the back and fought back tears as they embraced.
"Ssssssshhh, there there lass. It will all be ok. Winthrop is here." After a few moments Imoen composed herself and found she could speak without crying.
"Sorry, just been through a lot since I left. So much to tell you. I am not sure where to begin."
"That part is easy lass. This is a tavern, this is a place for people to tell stories. We will start with a drink and some food and take it from there. You and Jeral go sit down and I will take care of everything." Imoen nodded and went back into the common room to rejoin her friends.
Winthrop soon came through the doors with a tray full of steaming bread fresh from the oven along with blocks of cheese, a jar of honey and a pitcher of cream. "Let me get everyone a round of drinks and then you and Jeral can introduce me to your friends." He bustled behind the bar and returned with mugs of ale and bottles of stronger spirits in case anyone wanted something more than ale. He dumped everything onto the table with a thunk and then sat down heavily.
"Excuse my manners but this place has not been the same since you left."
"Are you running it by yourself?"
"Feels like it but no. I hired a new girl after you left, wisp of a lass, but she is still learning her way here. But I manage. Enough about me, so who are your friends?"
"You mean you do not know?"
"Imoen, don't be daft, why would I know who these people are?"
"Well couple reasons. First we are kinda famous."
Winthrop laughed deeply and smacked his hand on his meaty thigh. "Ha you always were a joker Imoen. Famous."
"I am serious. That is squire Ajantis, the mage Dynaheir, the warrior priest Yeslick and the ranger Minsc. We are known from Nashkiel to Baldur's Gate."
"You are serious aren't you? By the Gods. Well Candlekeep is always a bit isolated and since the iron crisis started we almost never get guests so we do not keep up with the goings on in the realm. Why you lot are only the second set of visitors this place has seen in over a month."
"Who are the other visitors?" Jeral leaned forward eagerly and knocked over his mug of ale. Winthrop nimbly slid his chair back from the table to avoid the mess. He pulled a ran out of his apron and smoothly mopped up the mess on the table.
"I may be fat but I still have the reflexes of my youth. Emily! Emily! Please come down here. Right where was I?"
"The other visitors."
"Right, Jeral you need to calm yourself. You look far too tense for a man at your age. You should be worried about nothing beyond wine and women."
"Winthrop, the visitors."
"Pilgrims. About a dozen of them arrived two days ago. Have been spending every waking moment in the Library. Might odd for pilgrims but who am I to judge?"
Winthrop did not fail to notice that a dozen eyes started at him intently and all were leaning forward to hear more about the pilgrims.
"Out with in Winthrop, what was odd about them?"
"You know how holy rollers usually are. Pilgrims tend to be a pious lot dressed plainly and forgoing many earthly delights in an effort to get closer to whatever they call their faith. This lot rolls in dressed in satin robes and eating like kings. They are tremendously wealthy and seem to have little interest in any of the Gods. Then there is the big one, called himself Koveras, even bigger than your burly friend Minsc there. If that one is a pilgrim I am an elf."
Winthrop shook his head and reached inside his shirt to pull a small iron key on an electrum chain off of his neck. Placing it on the table he slid it towards Jeral.
"This is for you lad. It is the key to Gorion's chambers in the Library. He said that if anything ever happened to him he wanted you to read a letter he left for you on his desk." Jeral grabbed the key with a trembling hand and stood to depart.
"Jeral what do you think you are doing?"
"Why I am going to the Library, I want to check out my room and then see what Gorion left for me in his. And I also want a look at the pilgrims."
Shaking his head Winthrop looked grim. "You know the Library rules, no one may enter the Library with arms or armor. Go upstairs; last room on the left is yours. Freshen up, make yourself presentable and then visit Gorion's room. The pilgrims can wait. I have rooms enough for all of you at no charge."
Imoen hugged Winthrop fiercely. "You are too kind puffguts, I have missed you."
"I have missed you too lass I feared the worst when you all left." Winthrop paused to blow his nose and right back tears as he hugged Imoen again. Breaking the hug he cleared his throat and turned towards Jeral.
"Jeral, when you go to the Library look out for Ulraunt. He is no friend of yours. The day after you left he had everything removed from your room and then burned. He then had the temple priests clean the room thoroughly. That next day they blessed the room with holy water and conducted a ritual to purge the room of what he called a 'foul taint.' It made no sense to me but he has never wanted you here at Candlekeep, been going on and on about you since Gorion brought you here as a wee baby. Not sure why he had it in for you but something about your arrival here never set right with him." With those cheerful words echoing in Jeral's head he slowly mounted the stairs to his room.
The Library was exactly as Jeral remembered it. The massive wooden doors opened silently and a wave of cool dry air washed over him in a wave. The Candlekeep Library was older than most buildings in the realm and made by the finest dwarven craftsmen who had ever walked the land. The Library was constructed in a such a manner that no matter the time of day or the season of the year the interior of the building was cool and dry. The conditions were ideal for the preservation of books, ensuring that books would never rot or mildew. Many books were centuries old and only showed minor yellowing from the passage of time. The building was one of the marvels of the world and Jeral was fortunate enough to have called it home.
As he strode through the halls of the Library he saw monks going about their business and Watchers positioned on each level to keep the peace and protect the priceless tomes. Jeral recognized many of the monks and soldiers on sight. Each time he made eye contact with one of the occupants of the Library the reaction was the same. They would do a double take as if unable to believe their eyes. They then would move in the opposite direction from Jeral as quickly as possible and not look back. To Jeral it almost felt like they were afraid of him. But that was impossible. Most of the monks and soldiers in the great Library had known Jeral since he was an infant. What could they have to fear from him?
Pushing that question aside Jeral made for the great staircase and started slowly wending his way upwards. Gorion's room was located on the fifth floor of six in the Library. Jeral slowly made his way up the stairs avoiding eye contact with anyone else. Confusion mingled with anticipation as Jeral reach the landing on the fifth floor and headed towards Gorion's room. As Jeral reached Gorion's door he stopped and eyed the doorway carefully. The door and the walls surrounding it were scarred by hundreds of weapon blows and scorch marks were everywhere. Clearly Ulraunt had wanted to force entry into Gorion's room but his desires were no match for the wizard's power. Even death had not broken the enchantments that Gorion had placed on the room. Jeral smiled at the thought of Gorion and the power he was able to wield. Once again Jeral wondered how he was able to survive when one such as Gorion did not. Was he just lucky? For if it was luck that would surely run out one of these days and likely at the worst possible time.
Jeral pulled the key from his pocket and placed it in the lock. Once the key entered the lock it dispelled whatever enchantments were holding the door together for the door crumbled into a pile of splinters within seconds. Jeral gingerly stepped over the wreckage of the door, entered the room, and looked around. Gorion had always lived simply and his room was always organized and spotless. As Jeral took in the room it looked as if Gorion had just left for breakfast. The bed was neatly made, the room was clean and well ordered. The lantern on the desk burned brightly illuminating the entire room in a warm yellow light.
A blue envelope sat in the middle of Gorion's desk. Jeral wordlessly picked up the envelope and turned it over. His own name was written on the center of the envelope in Gorion's own hand. The envelope was sealed with a heavy blob of green wax and sealed with Gorion's signet ring. Since Jeral was unarmed he could not cleanly open the letter. Jeral turned the envelope over and ripped it open with trembling hands. Inside the envelope were two pages of file vellum covered in silver writing. The envelope dropped to the ground as Jeral began to read.
Hello my son,
If you are reading this, it means I have met an untimely death. I would tell you not to grieve for me, but I feel much better thinking that you would. There are things I must tell you in this letter that I might have told you before. However, if my death came too soon then I would have never been given the chance. First off, I am not your biological father, for that distinction lies with an entity known as Bhaal. The Bhaal that I speak of is the one you know of as a divinity. In the crisis known as the Time of Troubles, when the Gods walked Faerun, Bhaal was also forced into a mortal shell. He was somehow forewarned of the death that awaited him during this time. For reasons unknown to me, he sought out women of every race and forced himself upon them. Your mother was one of those women, and as you know, she died in childbirth. I had been her friend and on occasion, lover. I felt obligated to raise you as my own. I have always thought of you as my child and I hope you still think of me as your father. You are a special child. The blood of the Gods runs through your veins. If you make use of our extensive Library you will find that our founder, Alaundo, has many prophecies concerning the coming of the spawn of Bhaal. There are many who will want to use you for their own purposes. One, a man who calls himself Sarevok, is the worst danger. He has studied here at Candlekeep and thus knows a great deal about your history and who you are. Please remember this above all else. Blood is not destiny for man will always retain free will. You have lived a good life and you have a good heart. Nothing will change that unless you choose to walk a darker path. Watching you grow into the fine man you are today was my greatest pleasure and it was my honor to call you my son.
Gorion
P.S. I still think the whole bard thing is a bad decision.
The letter dropped from Jeral's hands as he staggered back and sat down heavily on the bed. The tears came unbidden and he sobbed into his hands. His mind swam as he took in everything. Despite the outrageous claims in the letter Jeral knew in his bones that Gorion spoke the truth. Suddenly everything made sense; the waves of rage, the dreams, the healing powers, the overpowering smell of blood, the additional strength gained when angry, it all made perfect sense. Jeral was a demigod, a spawn of darkness most foul.
"So this was the home of the great Gorion? So extremely disappointing. A man of his reputation should have lived in a palace not a hovel such as this. How much he must have sacrificed to raise you." Jeral looked up and saw a man standing in the doorway of the room. The man was as tall as Minsc, and heavily muscled. His broad frame nearly filled the doorway as he looked dispassionately at Jeral. The man was not many years older than Jeral and darkly handsome. He was dressed in robes made of the finest white silks and they were tied with a bright red sash. He also wore black armored boots and studded metal gauntlets on each forearm. All in all he looked like a warrior making a feeble effort to appear as something else. He looked to his left and right down the hallway. Jeral was not sure why the man was here but the hairs on his neck were standing on end. This man was not Jeral's friend.
With two quick strides the large man entered the room and moved next to the bed. Before Jeral could react he was pulled roughly to his feet and lifted into the air. Another two steps and the large man had slammed Jeral into the cold stone wall. Adjusting his grip he placed both hands around Jeral's neck and started to squeeze. Jeral hammered against the man's forearms trying to break free but it was useless. The man was stronger than anyone he had ever seen.
"My name is Sarevok and I am the leader of the Iron Throne. I am also our father's true heir. I will enjoy watching you die as I have so many others of our siblings. Given all the trouble you have caused me I may stretch it out a bit. A sword through the chest is just too quick."
Jeral looked up and was momentarily paralyzed as he saw a pair of glowing golden eyes staring back at him. Everything, all the disparate pieces of the story finally came together in his mind. It was the eyes that did it. They were the same eyes that he saw in the forest clearing so many months ago. This was the armored behemoth that had killed Gorion; this was the man Jeral needed to kill. Jeral's face contorted in rage as he spat in the man's face. His attacker recoiled in an effort to avoid his spittle and loosened his grip slightly. Jeral seized his chance. Tightening his body Jeral lifted his knees up to his face the tucked into a tight ball. Lifting his hips he kicked out as hard as he could with both feet. As strong as his opponent was Jeral's legs were stronger than Sarevok's massive arms and he managed to knock the man back a few paces and force his hands from around his neck.
Free from the chokehold Jeral fell to the floor and struck the stones hard. Pain radiated up his spine as he struggled to his feet and sucked in air greedily. His attacker wiped the spittle off his face and smirked. "That was cute. You show more fight that that pathetic father of yours did." Jeral quickly uttered a few words of power and extended his right arm. A jet of flame shot out and struck the man full in the chest. His fine robes burst into flame and he staggered backwards out of the room screaming and batting at the flames.
"AHHHHHHHHH fire, fire fire, someone please help me!"
Sarevok staggered backwards into a bookshelf and then fell to the floor writhing in pain as several books burst into flame. Jeral stood staring at the man and tilted his head to the side in confusion. His spell was not all that powerful and this same man had shrugged off far stronger magics when he killed Gorion. Something did not make sense. The man continued to writhe around in apparent agony and ineffectually bat at the flames on his clothes. Jeral stepped out of the room and stared down at the writhing body on the floor. Breathing heavily he wanted to kill the man on the floor but the man's hysterics seemed wrong somehow. Jeral stood transfixed watching the flames.
"Have you no honor at all Jeral? What could this man have possibly done to you?"
Jeral whirled around and saw Ulraunt, the Director of Candlekeep approaching followed by a dozen Watchers. The white haired mage strode quickly along the hallway, his golden robes billowing around his bony frame as he approached. Ulraunt fanned the fingers of his right hand and streams of water shot out and quickly extinguished the flames. Snapping his fingers Ulraunt pointed at the downed man. "You two, take him to the temple quickly. They should be able to handle his burns and prevent any permanent scarring."
Jeral watched dumbly as a pair of Watchers hefted the large man to his feet and dragged him off down the hall. Jeral caught the faintest hint of a smirk on the big man's face as he was dragged away. Realizing that he had been tricked Jeral slumped his shoulders and turned to face Ulraunt.
"Jeral, I always knew you would show your true colors. The blood always wins. I told Gorion as much many times."
"What are you talking about Ulraunt? That man is with the Iron Throne and he killed my father. Killing him, or trying to kill him, is nothing more than justice."
"Silence your forked tongue hell spawn! Your lies know no bounds. Gorion was not your father. He was an arrogant fool who thought that love and compassion could overcome the evil coursing through your veins. That imbecile thought that he could raise a son of Bhaal and have him not return to the darkness. Your actions this day show the folly of that pathetic hope. Seven members of the Iron Throne lay dead downstairs at your hand. The eighth only survives due to my direct and timely intervention. Sarevok is now the leader of the Iron Throne since you killed his father and the other leadership of that fine merchant house."
"I have killed no one this day. If members of the Iron Throne are dead then I welcome it for they are a scourge on this land."
"From what I have heard you have single handedly made it your life's work to bring down a noble and honorable merchant house. Why the Iron Throne has saved Baldur's Gate. Providing iron to the city during this brutal iron crisis has helped ensure the Flaming Fist can protect the city and the entire realm. Why I received word just last night that you nearly destroyed their headquarters in Baldur's Gate. The Captain of the Flaming Fist, I think is name is Angelo, has a warrant out for your arrest."
"Lies! All lies! And Duke Eltan commands the Flaming Fist not Captain Angelo."
"Enough Jeral. I am done listening to you and your twisted lies. You will be placed under arrest until such a time that you and your companions can be returned to Baldur's Gate to face the headman's ax."
Jeral eyed Ulraunt and the ten Watchers with him, his eyes quickly scanning the room trying to assess his options.
Ulraunt sneered and held his arms out away from his body. Sheets of electricity began to form is each of his hands as he stared at Jeral. "I may not be anywhere near the mage that Gorion was but I am still more than powerful enough to handle the likes of you. Go quietly with these guards or else die on the spot. Either outcome will give me equal pleasure."
Jeral nodded once and hung his head. A pair of Watchers grasped each of his arms tightly and close marched him off to a cell in the lowest level of the Library. A wave of conflicting emotions washed through Jeral's mind as he struggled to comprehend all the events of the past hour. Jeral knew one thing for certain. He would manage to get free and he would see Sarevok again. And when he did Sarevok would die by his hand.
The cool moist air snapped Jeral out of his reverie. If there was moisture in the air then they had reached the dungeon level under the Library. Since they did not store any books on this level the builders had not concerned themselves with keeping it dry like the upper levels. Everything on this level was slick to the touch and patches of mold grew on almost every surface. Jeral saw the large holding cell at the end of the hall and was overcome with concern as he saw Imoen, Dynaheir, Ajantis, Yeslick and Minsc all in the cell already. Minsc was lying prone on the floor and Yeslick and Dynaheir were kneeling by his side. Jeral only caught a glimpse of the large ranger's face but the part he saw was badly bruised and covered in dried blood.
Jeral was roughly and thoroughly searched. Already without weapons and armor the guards stripped him of everything else of use. He was left with the clothes on his back and the boots on his feet. The guards did not miss a thing, each and every item that was socked away somewhere on his person was found and removed. Once he was stripped of all his personal belongings he was shoved into the cell with his companions. The heavy steel door swung shut behind him and Jeral heard the locks slid into place. The guards departed the dungeon and silence fell over the room. Jeral felt the angry stares of the paladin but was not ready to deal with Ajantis. Looking to avoid the issue he looked at the downed ranger and inquired what happened. Imoen looked over and responded in a tired voice.
"The Watchers came for us in the tavern. They claim we killed the leadership of the Iron Throne. The marched us here, stripped us down of everything but our clothes, and locked us in this cell."
"So what happened to Minsc? He looks like he wrestled a giant and lost."
Yeslick looked up from the ranger's side and said proudly, "This one has to be part dwarf. He has such a fire inside his internal furnace. The Watchers got a little fresh with Dynaheir while they were arresting us and Minsc took a wee bit of offense. He put down over half a dozen heavily armed soldiers with nothing but his bare hands before they managed to subdue him. They were lucky he was not in his armor and unarmed else they would still be battling to stop him."
"Is he going to be ok?"
"He will be fine, he is resting now. I had to set a number of his bones before I could heal them so that took a lot out of him."
Jeral backed into the far corner of the cell and squatted down on his haunches. Imoen walked over and slid down the wall next to him. "Jeral, please don't hate me but I have to ask. Did you kill them?"
"No." One word, delivered in a whisper but it was delivered with a sincerity that Imoen implicitly trusted.
"Ok, that is good enough for me. Ulraunt said some pretty awful things about you. Said you are the very personification of evil. That you are the child of Bhaal."
"Apparently I am. Gorion left me a letter that spelled it all out. I am a demigod, the offspring of a mortal woman and Bhaal, the Lord of Murder. So he may be right."
"Jeral, why did you keep this from us? I cannot risk my knighthood by traveling with a, a, a creature such as you."
Imoen glared back at the paladin and sneered. "Nice to know you will throw away everything we have been through together over a few words."
"Imoen, it's okay. I do not want to fight anymore. I need to think, I need to let all this sink in. Ajantis, we have never seen eye to eye, our alliance has always been an uneasy one and this will not improve our relationship. I would only ask that you take the time to see past the words and see the man behind them. I do not feel I am evil, I struggle against the darkness but I feel most of us do. Just please keep an open mind."
"Bah, I have no need of an open mind, the path is clear to me. I must sever all ties with you, alert the Order to your true nature and await further orders."
"So be it." Jeral hung his head and a tense silence feel back over the group.
At some point he slept. A shrill whistle woke Jeral with a start. Lurching to his feet he started out the bars and broke into a wide smile.
"Tethtoril, it is nice to see a friendly face. You look well." The man facing Jeral was only slightly older than Jeral, very thin and dressed in sky blue mage robes. His long red hair was pulled back into an unruly top knot.
"Although you look like a kender with your hair pulled up like that."
"Yeah a really tall good looking kender though." Imoen snorted as she eyed her old friend. Tethtoril was one of the monks responsible for maintaining the Library. Despite training under Ulraunt Tethtoril never turned against Jeral and for that he was eternally greatful. Growing up he was one of the few people Jeral could call a friend.
"Well here I was worried about how the two of you are holding up. Seems like you are just fine, I guess I shall take my leave of you then." Tethtoril bowed deeply and waved his arms around in a poor imitation of genuflecting before royalty. Despite herself Imoen started laughing out loud. Tethtoril straightened up and his face become serious. Striding up to the bars he grasped Jeral around the shoulders and started into his face.
"Tell me the truth Jeral, did you kill those men?"
"No. But I am thrilled they are dead for the Iron Throne is evil and has been trying to kill me since the day I left Candlekeep."
"Are you held sway but the dark blood that courses through your veins?"
Jeral paused slightly before he responded. "I believe in my heart that I am a good man and I am striving to live my life accordingly. However, I cannot lie to you, there is darkness within me and I struggle to keep it at bay."
"Gorion used to say that the choices we make and the actions we take define who we are. I am glad to see you are not a vessel for the Lord of Murder as Ulraunt would have us believe."
"Why does he hate me so?"
"Don't take it personally Jeral. Ulraunt is a good man and as he sees it he is looking to keep Candlekeep safe. Gorion apparently had to tell him the truth about you before they would allow you to stay in the Library all those years ago. Ulraunt was the deputy at the time to the director and argued vehemently that you were beyond redemption. He was overruled and has never forgotten that slight. He is a good man; he just believes – as many do – that one cannot rise about their breeding."
"Yeah yeah Ulraunt is a peach. So what is going to happen to us red?"
"Imoen, it pains me to say it but the Watchers plan to transport the six of you to Baldur's Gate under heavy guard. Once there you will be turned over to the Flaming Fist for your crimes against the city. They have decreed that at midnight on the full moon two weeks hence you will all die for your crimes."
"I will not fight the Watchers for they are like family to me. We will have to escape once we reach Baldur's Gate."
"Jeral I am impressed, clearly you are managing to keep a hold on that anger that flows in your veins. However, I may offer a better solution that could keep all of you alive."
"You have our attention Tethtoril."
"I think I can teleport you and Imoen to the catacombs beneath the city with your equipment. From there, if you survive through the catacombs – and that is a big if - you can make your way to the surface. Board that ship of yours, return to Baldur's Gate, and free your friends before they meet the ax."
"Good monk, I have attempted many spells in this dungeon. It is warded against magic as are the walls of this castle. Everyone knows teleportation cannot allow anyone to enter or exit the castle."
"Lady Dynaheir, your words ring with wisdom. However, there are a few areas in which you do not have all the necessary information. This castle is warded to prevent any from entering. However, those of us with the arcane gift have learned how to cast spells despite the wards in place in the dungeon. By retaining the ability to use magic we can best protect the Library from danger. Additionally teleportation can work for a few of us. While your gift involves fire mine involves teleportation. Even since I was a novice I found I had a gift of teleportation. I quickly learned that I could teleport at will within the castle. I can tell you that I spent a lot of time in the ladies bath house when I was coming of age."
"I knew someone was watching me! I knew it. Tethtoril, you are a scoundrel." Tethtoril blushed beet red at Imoen's words. Clearing his throat he forced himself to continue. "My apologies Imoen for invading your privacy although I must say the view was spectacular."
Ignoring Imoen's look of outrage the red haired mage pushed on. "If I may continue. I think I can teleport Imoen and Jeral down into the catacombs with all of your equipment."
"What will happen to you when our absence is discovered?"
"Well I will not be here of course. I have decided that it is time for me to live life outside of these walls. I have an audition scheduled with the Cowled Wizards in the city of coin. So everyone already knows I am leaving soon. My departure should go unnoticed in the uproar that results from your absence."
"If you can teleport two then why not six?"
"A fair question noble squire. The magic that imbues this great Library with its protections is almost a living thing. Don't look at me like that. Ask your own mage, magic can be tightly attuned to nature and many other things we do not understand. I believe that the Library will allow those two to teleport to the catacombs as the castle – for lack of a better term – remembers them. I fear that if I try with anyone else the results would be spectacularly unfortunate." Dynaheir nodded tightly as Ajantis crossed his arms in frustration and leaded back against the wall.
"Jeral, I believe you forgot this." Tethtoril reached through the bars and handed Jeral a blue envelope. Jeral quickly tucked Gorion's final words in an inside pocked of his jacket. "You have my deepest thanks, this letter is very important to me."
"I thought it might be. So if there are no further questions we should begin." Imoen quickly hugged Dynaheir and then turned to face Tethtoril. Jeral nodded at his companions. Yeslick and Dynaheir returned his gaze and nodded farewell while Ajantis refused to make eye contact. Minsc continued to slumber unaware of the drama that surrounded him.
Tethtoril started chanting and making ornate patterns in the air with his hands. After a few minutes Imoen and Jeral started to shimmer and then quickly faded from view.
Tethtoril smiled wearily and leaned against the wall. "I think it actually worked."
"You did not know it would work?" The bite of Dynaheir's tone caused Tethtoril to wince slightly.
"Well I was pretty sure it would work but it was the kind of thing I could never test since there is no way back from the catacombs but to survive them and find a way out at the other end. Hard to get someone to go there willingly. Well best of luck, I need to be on my way before someone figures out I had a hand in their escape." With one last look Tethtoril turned away and headed upstairs into the Library.
"So this is how it ends. We will never see Jeral and Imoen again. Either they die in the catacombs or they survive and forget they ever knew us."
Dynaheir walked up to Ajantis and shook her head as she eyed the paladin.
"Consider this a test of faith Squire Ajantis. Pray to Helm for guidance. I for one am certain we will see them again. They will come to rescue us before we feel the headman's ax."