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Dearest Readers, dark it may be, let your passage through winding paths lead you to back to the brightest light.
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THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE
Book One: From the Earth | Chapter 34: Within A Mountain
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The Old City on the Tor.
Five years ago, that morning, the sight of the spires welcomed her to Iriaebor, from afar a glittering wreath of marble upon the earth's brow.
Five years later, this evening, they welcomed her once more, still imposing as ever, now up close as it were a forbidding forest of stone.
Packed in an open wagon with the rest of Eldoth's crew, Irse sat in mute reflection, gazing ahead as the Old City loomed in their view. Up the steeply winding highway at the hill's southern face they ascended, then passed through the gates. Above them, the spires closed in like spindly giants hewn from pale rock, bowing in silent greeting.
And that, Children, after living for a while in the territory of Iriaebor, was how your Mother finally got to set foot in the Old City on the Tor and see one of its many towers up close.
And truth be told, it hurts the neck to look up that high, and not much to see down below, anyway.
Always they told her of this ancient section of Iriaebor and of its stifling atmosphere, now proved true with her very eyes. Rickety ill-kept structures of wood crammed against each other if not wedged against the towers like brown rats scurrying between the feet of titans. Narrow grimy roads veined out into dark alleys, and always they say the streets lay bathed in the perpetual gloom cast by the shadows of the spires even in daylight. Centuries of building upon scarce space left nowhere to go but up that rather than waste hours trekking down an endless spiral of stairs, the merchants and nobles opted to construct interconnecting bridges which spanned the skies like precariously knotted spiderwebs.
It is often said that when in the Old City, three things could fall on your head from above – bird poop, tobacco and black lotus spit, or the lifeless carcass of an assassinated merchant.
Out of caution, Irse pulled her cowl over her head.
Recalling what else she had heard of the Old City, Irse warily took in the sights. Though the Tor was home to the spires where the powerful made their abode, business and residence at the City remained free to all, if they could find the space. Whether carousing in its taverns or jostling through the streets, nobles often went shoulder to shoulder with commoners, journeymen, artisans, dockhands, and travelers.
Indeed for despite the deepening evening, the roads bustled with people and horse-drawn carts as trade and merriment happened at all hours, though briefly banned when the draconian Lord Cutter took over the Council, about a year after Irse and Okami arrived. Some power struggle said to have ensued, hushed whispers of Zhentarim and Harper involvement, until the fair and well-loved Lord Bron reclaimed leadership of the City. During that time, Irse merely shrugged off such talk, for work and training filled her days while Okami ensured they complied well enough with any ordinances imposed upon all in the City, no matter how stringent.
Her mind drifted back to her Teacher. A pang of guilt coursed through the gut, but the elf drove it back and steeled her heart. Now was not the time to be having second thoughts. Okami and the other men with their families were depending on her.
Eldoth explained the job earlier at the Snakeherd, over six rounds of bread and stew she ordered on his tab, the gallant and expectant look on his face melting into a scowl of discomfort at the fifth. The way he described things in that irritatingly patronizing manner of his, the task seemed quite simple – stand guard and keep an eye out for anything amiss, not that anything should be out of the ordinary tonight.
Irse grinned nervously at the handful of men and women in the wagon with her – yet none returned her smile, all grim and silent, wrapped in their cloaks to keep out the brisk chill of the autumn night.
Soon they arrived at one of the towers, the iron gate of the compound thrown wide open to let them in. Everyone alighted and huddled around Eldoth and the Head Guard to receive their orders. Irse found herself following a man and a woman to the fifth level of the spire. The elf forced an anxious swallow down her throat. The fifth out of what seemed like a hundred more.
As explained to them earlier in the courtyard, she and the others have been hired by Eldoth at the behest of his employer to beef up the tower's security. Apparently, some important meeting would be happening tonight, attended by members of powerful merchant guilds. Irse was relieved to learn that her task was incredibly easy – keep watch over the passageway while the attendees make their way to the upper levels. No escorting, ushering, prancing, and ceremonial show of arms. Just stand there, be there.
By instruction, she took her position at one of the many windows dotting a corridor which wound around the tower's circular base. How considerate, she mused, let any marksman with a sharp eye and a good crossbow get to her first before the most esteemed guests. But the elf was in no mood to argue with a sure bag of money. Somewhat restless, Irse removed her cloak, folded and tucked the cloth behind her, then adjusted the sword in her belt. Okami's sword. Again, she thought of her Teacher, remorse flickering once more at keeping him in the dark about her decision.
One of the men came up to her, a badge in his outstretched hand. Irse took it from him, eyes broadening in bafflement at the symbol drawn on its face.
A familiar emblem, an encircled maul in the color of black.
"Keep it on you all the time," the man barked at her, holding up a similar badge strung around his neck.
"Oh, you must be one of the Blackmauls? New to the company?" Irse asked, herself quite puzzled.
"Huh? Uh, yeah?"
"Well, I'm not one of them but I know someone there. When did you join?"
The man fidgeted as if wishing he were elsewhere. "Eh, two years ago?"
Irse nodded slowly. "I see."
She paused for a moment, face suddenly brightening. "Remember Molvert the Molar? Squard told me about that one. Funny run-in with those kobolds at Scornubel three years ago, huh?"
"Ah, who? Aw, yeah that Mol- man, all right, ha ha. Damn those kobolds," the man stammered in his rather dry chuckle.
"Yes, damn those kobolds," Irse echoed with hollow enthusiasm.
No, not kobolds in Scornubel three years prior. It was Molvert the Molar and a hobgoblin at Secomber a decade ago but the incident so legendary it was passed down to every Blackmaul mercenary as a cautionary tale about peeing alone drunk in the woods. And Squard would never tell a funny story - the doubly droll clerk could out-dry the entire Anauroch. Irse had heard it from Kagain's veterans instead, each version differing only in the amount of hysterical details but the moral always unchanging.
And this man before her, and the others probably now wearing the same badge – Irse had never seen them before, not once in the five years she and her Teacher armed each and every one of Kagain's men.
They both laughed awkwardly at the cooked-up story but stopped and stood in attention as Eldoth approached. That toadying smirk still hung beneath his mustache, but his eyes betrayed an edge of unease about him.
"I thought I'm paying you to keep those little lips closed and tight," he snapped.
"I was just making small talk, Sir. Get to know better who I'm working with. "
"How friendly of one from the Fair Folk, but it won't be necessary for just a one-night job. Your species should learn to just lay back and keep quiet," he cut her off, earning a rough and knowing chuckle from the other man.
Irse clamped down on the urge to glare back. Eldoth walked away and left them. The other man shrugged his shoulders and likewise made himself scarce.
Now by herself in that gloomy corridor, Irse ruminated on the earlier exchange with one of the men. Kagain claimed he couldn't spare any of his mercenaries, thusly willing to hire out someone who wasn't his own while collecting on a finder's fee for himself. And yet here now were folks whom she had never seen before, sporting badges as if they were Blackmaul mercenaries?
Why and what for, she murmured repeatedly if perhaps chanting the questions might summon answers. Yet the more she asked, the more it rattled her brain, a wrongness growing and twisting her gut. What would Teacher think? If only he were here, but he wasn't. She was.
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Cloaked and silent, the attendees arrived in intermittent sequence, corridor kept purposely dim, small torches providing the barest light, undoubtedly the better to conceal the comings and goings of these powerful individuals. One of them came, accompanied by Eldoth himself. As he and his hooded charge passed by, it claimed every ounce of willpower not to blow a raspberry at him, the elf contenting herself with just sticking out her tongue behind his back as they rounded the corner.
They had been told how many were to arrive tonight. Irse counted - just one more and the meeting will start. The final guest appeared, preceded by an armed attendant, and at the sight of them, she jerked in attention.
In an instant, Irse recognized the newcomer from his profile. And neither was he exactly hiding his identity, with the cowl pulled back and folded at his nape.
"Dabron," she whispered sharply as he passed her by. "A warning?"
The nobleman halted, the bodyguard likewise pausing. Dabron turned slightly to face her, his eyes darting to the side as if to make sure there were no others in the corridor with them. He gestured at his retainer to go on ahead, waiting until the guard disappeared around the corner.
Irse wasted no time. "Those Blackmaul mercenaries hired to stand guard tonight. I know they're not Blackmauls but I don't know why they'd say they are. Almost stinks of bad fish but I don't know what's truly going on. Please watch out."
Dabron Sashenstar regarded the elf for a second, then fumbled with his sleeve, his eyes never straying from her. "Know your place and your duty, guard! Have you not been informed that only members of House Sashenstar and their trusted men and allies are granted access to the meeting place," he addressed her a little too loudly and haughtily.
Dabron leaned forward with an imperious expression at her. "And do you know the name of this special room, guard?"
Taken aback by his demeanor, Irse wagged her head.
"Just as I expected with you botching greenbloods. The name of the meeting room is, if you must... recall, the Pavilion of Clouds. See to it that you remember," he charged her before circling and walking away without a second glance.
Irse glared daggers at the back of the man. How dare he after all what she and Okami had done for him that day, years ago. Well, seems like constant exposure to gold not only made one snobbish, but also forgetful.
Something small lay white and glimmering upon the floor where the nobleman previously stood. Irse picked it up.
A stone of recall.
Somewhat similar to the wardstone he had used to teleport them to a safehold – also a pebble wrapped with the familiar twine, but flat and with additional runes encircling the edge, and in the center the drawing of a representation of the tower, threaded through at the sides with a leather band with clasps at the end, made for wearing at the wrist.
Irse flipped it over her hand, examining further when a shrill whistle echoed across the corridor. One of the women guards hired by Eldoth approached, a bottle in one hand and a cordial smile on her lips. Irse returned the greeting with a nod. The woman stopped beside her, leaned against the wall and uncorked the bottle.
"This is gonna be one hells of a long night," she started, then glanced at the elf. "Arika, by the way," the woman introduced with a brandish tilt of her head.
"Irse."
"Could've been someplace else, but we both need the coin, right?"
Irse hummed her agreement.
Arika seemed about to take a drink, but instead lazily handed her the bottle. "Have a swig on me?"
"Uh, my thanks, but I'd rather not. We shouldn't be drinking while on duty," Irse reasoned.
"Come now, who's to know? Nothing's gonna happen anyway. They only hired us 'cause they're too jumpy with all that gold of theirs."
The woman egged her with the bottle. "Just wanna be friends, see? Loosen up a bit. I'm not gonna leave unless you take a good long sip," she teased.
Suddenly Arika grasped the elf by the shoulder, fingers digging deep as the ale was nudged closer to her face. Startled, Irse felt a familiar tinge of apprehension. When did she last feel something like this? Like being backed in a corner? It can't be, this lady was just being nice to her, right? Just a teeny sip of her ale.
"No, really, I'd rather not," Irse stammered, backing away.
But Arika insisted, going as far as to take Irse's hand and forcing the young elf's fingers to clasp around the bottle. "Don't be such a spoilsport. Just a little toast to friendship is all I'm asking. Promise I won't tell anyone, it'll be our little secret."
Irse exhaled, looking down at the uncorked mouth. Maybe there's no harm in taking a nip. And she was a bit thirsty too. The elf raised the bottle to her lips, eyes looking blankly ahead.
And then she saw.
Okami always spoke to his apprentice of bushi no mei, the eyes of a warrior, how there were different ways to see.
The first, nikugen, or the naked eye, telling one of nothing more than color, shape, and form.
The second, tengen, or heavenly eye, as with a bird from a great height may look down and see not only what is in front, but what lay around and beyond, to see all sides of the situation, neutral and without judgment.
The third, egen, or thinking sight, for when both mind and eye can see in the same instant to know the substance of what is being perceived, one can expect the coming action even before the object being observed could move from its place.
That a warrior's gaze must not be so wide, they would walk unfocused and smack straight into the tree in front of them. Neither so narrow, they missed the forest, evading the tree only to slam right into the next one.
For as Irse raised the bottle to her lips, before her she saw the woman's face. More than just the strawberry blond hair pulled into a messy bun, the tiny scar across the bridge of the nose, mishmash of freckles and pimples on the cheeks, one crooked front tooth out of line from its perfect sisters.
More than those, by egen, Irse saw on Arika's face the unmistakable leer of triumph and anticipation.
A warning jolt streaked through her. Same cruel gloating on the bandit's face, the man who sliced a chunk off her ear years ago. But why, when she was merely sharing her ale?
Irse's eye twitched, barely perceptible to one of less keen sight. She lowered the bottle, suspicion confirmed by the flash of disappointment on the woman's face.
So obviously clear. Arika probably meant to get Irse drunk while on duty, land the elf in trouble and not get paid, even claim the money all for herself. Seems like too mean a trick to be playing on anyone. Irse wasn't sure. But she was certain about she had to do next.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Arika muttered, barely concealing her impatience. "We haven't got all night."
Suddenly Irse pointed down the corridor, right at the turn of a corner.
"Did you see that?" she asked, hoping the panic in her tone didn't sound too contrived.
Arika glanced behind her. "I don't see anything. Must be your imagination."
"No, no. I know I saw something," Irse insisted, even leaning forward as if to peer in the dim passageway. "You know elves can see well in the dark. And I'm telling you, I saw something."
The woman seemed to believe her, for now a look of trepidation flickered on her face. "Well, go check it out," Arika ordered, shoving at Irse.
The elf jogged down the passageway, bottle still in hand, not stopping until she rounded the corner and made sure to be out of the other woman's line of sight. Irse walked up to one of the windows and with a couple of quick swishes, spilled most of the contents outside. There, that should satisfy Arika, make the woman leave her alone already.
"Well? Anything?" Arika called out.
"Nothing. Sorry, I guess I was just spooked, that's all," Irse replied, returning.
"And now you need to drink it all up to calm your nerves," the woman pressed at her.
Irse fought the urge to frown. So impatient, this one. Give her what she wants then. The elf raised the bottle to her lips, covering the neck with her hands to make it appear she was truly drinking out of it, letting some of the ale wet the corner of her closed mouth. Irse wiped her lips and chin and handed the bottle back to Arika.
"That helped for sure. Thanks."
The woman smiled. "Of course. No trouble at all." And she left in a hurry as if eager to get away from this newly minted friendship.
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Hours and the rest of the night waved by and nothing happened. Irse stretched a leg, then another. Perhaps her fears were unfounded. Maybe Eldoth had indeed been tasked to hire the Blackmauls, but rather than meet Kagain's price, decided instead to ask for just one Blackmaul for some semblance of legitimacy, hire random thugs, and then faked their badges instead. Eldoth's employer satisfied while he pockets the rest of the security budget. Smart but slimy.
Why the Blackmauls, though? Irse pondered the reasons. Despite his tightfisted clawing ways, Kagain's mercenaries were known for being straight-up reliable professionals, kept in line under that mean bearded dwarf's meaner bearded axe. Often they touted the Blackmaul Protection Enterprise as a worthy upstart against the well-established Blacktalon Mercenary Company operating out of Blacktalon Citadel in the Old City.
Squard always suspected his boss of naming their business Blackmaul to confuse potential customers into hiring them instead of the Blacktalons, choosing the rundown former coster waybase at the Docks for his headquarters to intercept prospects before they even consider seeking the Blacktalon Citadel up at the Tor. Irse wouldn't be surprised if Kagain did it all out of sheer spite.
Because for some reason, the cranky uncomely dwarf evidently harbored a deep-dug hatred for the leader of the Blacktalons. One giant of a man, Taurgosz "Tenhammer" Khosann so named for allegedly having slain ten men with a single swing of his hammer.
Or as Kagain often nicknamed him with a snicker - "Benthammer".
Irse once asked her Teacher what Kagain meant by bent hammer, a jibe that confounded the young elf since everyone, specifically the lady mercenaries gossiping at the Blackmaul barracks, frequently spoke of Taurgosz's ramrod-straight and massive warhammer with misty-eyed awe.
But Okami had changed the subject with uneasy haste, sternly reminding his apprentice to concentrate on just the smithing hammer in front of her.
And the sword at her side, of course.
"Yeah! Swords Forever!" Irse proclaimed cheekily in jest, rapid-drawing Okami's katana and raising it in a mock token of fealty.
Shoulders sagged with a sigh. Master of Blades and Marinade, was she bored out of her skull right now.
Perhaps a quick jaunt through the corridors might keep the elf on her toes. Besides, all the guests have been accounted for and patrolling the perimeter should be an approvable exercise. Better earn her easy keep.
Irse hadn't gone far in her rounds when she heard voices whispering to each other, just behind the corner. Not exactly the faintest of whispers, elven ears confirmed.
"You put in all the sleep powder? The elf drank all of it?" queried the first man, the one who failed to convince that he was a Blackmaul.
"Yeah, downed near the whole bottle. Thirsty girl. Should be knocked out by now," Arika reported.
Deducing their intent, Irse tensed and gripped at the scabbard, flicking at the guard with her thumb to release the blade.
What to do, what to do? Should she strike? They're almost upon her!
And then the elf decided to play possum.
The pair found Irse slumped down on the floor, leaning to her left against the wall, beneath the window, left leg folded beneath her, the right knee bent with foot still on the ground. It appeared she had lost consciousness and crumpled to the floor but had fought to get up again before finally passing out.
"We gotta move quickly, ready the escape route within the hour as ordered," the man barked at his companion.
"And when we're done, each one of those rich bastards will be dead and guess which dumb knife-ear's left holding the bloody dagger?" Arika tittered.
Blade flashed from its sheath, rising from the earth, a move practiced a thousand times before, but this time not to counter her Teacher's practice sword coming for her neck.
Caught by surprise, the man made no counter and fell to the floor, clutching at the side of his throat where a fountain of blood spurted. As the man lay there, choking and croaking, Irse rounded on the woman. Arika scrambled and stumbled away, eyes darting between her fallen companion and the furious elf advancing upon her with a dripping sword.
She tried to draw her own weapon but as soon as she had raised her blade, steel whipped in the air between them. She cried in shock, dropping her sword and daring to look at her hand now bleeding and missing a finger.
Irse backed her against the wall, tip of the katana pointing at her throat.
"Whose bloody dagger are you putting in my hand?" she snarled.
"Please, don't kill me! Eldoth doesn't want you dead. He just wants you out cold, then we bring you upstairs to the meeting room when everyone's dead and done, and leave you there."
When everyone's dead? Irse's eyes widened. Eldoth means to have the Sashenstars and the other merchants killed, frame her and the Blackmauls for the murders? Of course, why only cover your tracks when you can lead them elsewhere? Even falsely implicate whichever innocent guild was doing business with Kagain this very instant.
Why? Over gold and a precious trade deal? Darned merchants!
Irse slashed at Arika's other hand. As she crumpled to the ground, Irse slit the woman's ankles as well, taking care not to cut too deep. Arika shrieked and cursed her. Oh dear, must have been a ligament there, but that should keep her from escaping. Maybe the other guards will find this woman and she might even lie and tell them the elf was part of this plot. But it doesn't matter. What mattered now was finding Dabron and warning him of Eldoth's murderous plan.
She retrieved both badges from Arika and the man, staring for a moment at the now lifeless body, feeling a flash of regret. Irse briefly recalled cutting him down, and her Teacher's words.
To strike at opportunity, not in convenience.
The elf turned her back on them and darted down the corridor.
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What a waste of time running around in circles. Irse wrung her hands through her hair as she ran into another dead end. How was it that this floor had no stairs to the sixth level? The corridor itself was a winding passage that snaked around the outer side of the tower then eventually leading inwards, to several corners and dead ends. Irse felt at the inner walls, seeking indentations or hidden levers that might serve as mechanisms to take her to a secret stairwell, but she found none.
At some point, the elf returned to the outer corridors and peered outside the windows. Nope, no ladders out here.
Scale the walls and knock at each window, one floor at a time. Begging your pardon, is this the tea party and dancing with the Sashenstars? No? Very well, as you were. Climbing on.
A waste of precious time. Tired and frustrated, she leaned against a wall and slid down to rest at her haunches.
At this rate, she would never get there in time. Dabron had been warned but given the circumstances he might not have the chance to prepare himself.
A flicker of recollection moved the hand to reach into the pocket and draw out the wardstone. Irse examined the object closely. This must be the only means possible for them to get to the upper levels without having to access whatever cleverly hidden passage leading up from this floor. But how to activate the stone?
Remembering how she had used Dabron's years ago, Irse clutched it tight and pictured… nothing, of course.
Maybe the wardstone could be activated by gestures? The elf tried everything – shaking, waving, scratching, rubbing, blowing on the surface. How about she kiss it? She was about to but then she didn't know where exactly this one had been. Nope.
Or triggered by spoken commands? That has to be it, if this tower had to be accessed by people other than the Sashenstars, and Dabron wouldn't have left it behind if he knew she couldn't use it by herself.
Think! How does one ask a stone to take them places? The elf cleared her throat, imitating the arrogant tone wherewith a noble might boss around a lowly lackey.
Wardstone, take me to the Pavilion of Clouds.
Nothing.
Wardstone, I need to get to the Pavilion of Clouds.
Nothing.
Wardstone, Me go to Pavilion of Clouds.
Nothing.
Wardstone, Pavilion of Clouds. Now.
Nothing.
Please, Mister Wardstone?
Nothing.
Irse gripped the wardstone, fighting the impulse to smash it against the wall or chuck it out of the window. Stupid Dabron! He could have at least told her how to use it instead of playing pompous prince. At the very least he could have inserted some sort of obvious code for what to say to the stone of…
Irse's eyes widened at remembering his last words to her before he turned away.
Without wasting another moment, Irse rose to her feet and quickly tied the wardstone to her left wrist. Thumb flicked at the blade guard to release the hilt to ready to draw, then hesitated.
Irse pursed her lip, sword hand curling into a fist. Would she truly dare to go there alone? Why not simply alert the others, the Head Guard? But what if they're in cahoots with Eldoth? Or sneak out and get to the Blackmauls, warn Kagain and grab reinforcements? But they had traveled quite the distance through the maze of unfamiliar streets, then there be the long trek down the Tor, then to the Docks. No, not enough time, and someone might even see her leaving, a sure sign of involvement in the plot.
She took a deep extended breath, exhaled forcefully, opened her hand, stretched out the palm and fingers, waved her wrist loose, then clutched the hilt, and steadily drew the blade.
Irse raised the wardstone to her mouth and whispered the command.
"Recall, Pavilion of Clouds."
Like an old friend beaming its greeting, the stone of recall glowed, and in the blink of an eye, her vision was shrouded by the familiar flash of darkness.
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