Chapter 2 – Hard to Starboard

2 Days Earlier

The camp shook with the force of a cave bear's roar. Tents trembled and the ground reverberated with the sounds of righteous fury and the wails of failure. But irritatingly impassive against the raging tempest, Astarion stared Halsin down with an unwaveringly steely glare.

"We MUST find her! We must find her NOW!" The druid bellowed. "How can you be so indifferent in the face of this evil…this OUTRAGE! How can you be so uncaring?! Or is it that you only pretend to love her so you…"

"Choose your next words very carefully, my friend." Astarion hissed lowly. "Otherwise, you may find that your handling of feral beasts isn't as good as you think."

Halsin clenched his fists, gritting his teeth in a menacing scowl towering a full half-foot above the vampire's head. "Then explain yourself." He snapped.

What had begun as a panic after the discovery of Lyric's sudden disappearance had taken less than an hour to devolve into a screaming match between Halsin, who was convinced that Astarion was somehow responsible for her loss; Astarion, who had refused to answer any direct questions though he had been the first to notice her missing; and Shadowheart, who for all her usual social anxieties, was valiantly trying to keep the two men from tearing each other's throats out.

"I don't answer to you." Astarion replied bluntly. "That which is between myself and Lyric, remains between us and us alone. But don't think I don't know why you are so beside yourself, lobcock. I heard what you said to her the other night. What you asked of her when you thought yourself out of my hearing."

Halsin huffed. "I asked nothing of her that she would not be willing to give. I only needed to know, child of nature to child of nature, what she felt of our connection in the wilds. You would not understand."

"Please!" Shadowheart interjected, fluttering her hands frantically between them. "Stop this! It's not getting us anywhere and it's certainly not helping us figure out what happened. I want to find her too, you know! She's dear to all of us. Maybe the closest thing I've ever had to a sister even. So enough! Both of you!"

Gale, ever vigilant, took his moment to rejoin the party. "I've scoured every inch of this camp and I see nothing that would lead me to believe that we were attacked in the night. There are no signs of a struggle, not even a trail of footprints. No errant magics that I've detected. It's like…it's like she just got up and floated away into nowhere."

Astarion sighed and tried not to roll his eyes too blatantly. "I suspect you're not far from the truth. But I fear it's much worse than any of you suspect."

Shadowheart's face then mirrored Halsin's, with a pinched grimace of concern. "Wait. Astarion, is Halsin right? Do you know where she is?"

"No, not exactly." He answered, emphasizing the first word in his characteristic lilt while gesturing with his arms wide open. "But I have a peculiar suspicion. A few too many conveniently connected dots to ignore, as it were. That's why I've spent the last hour thinking." He paused. "About Dribbles."

Collectively, the assembled company looked as if they could have punched him without so much as a twitch of guilt. Thus, sensing the growing danger to his person, Astarion quickly continued.

"Dribbles. The clown. You know, from that ridiculous circus in Rivington?"

"The doppelganger." Lae'zel filled in with a low, even, tone. "The one that ambushed you with a dog as a magic trick. Lyric said that they were a kind of shapeshifter. Stealing the form of another in order to take their place within society."

"Yes, precisely." Astarion nodded with a flourish of his fingers. "And once we had dispatched the creature – though I still contend that little stage stunt with the dog was unnecessary – it was not long before we inevitably discovered that the real dear old Dribbles is apparently in quite a few pieces."

"Orin's work, no doubt." Halsin folded his arms and set his jaw. "She was in hiding there as that fortune-telling dryad after all. And as the Chosen of Bhaal, the Lord of Murder, I presume she's behind the entire rash of serial killings we've heard are going on in this city."

Here, Astarion began to shift back and forth on his heels. "Yes, well, what if, and hear me out, what if there was actually someone else at work in all this. Someone whom none of you… know."

Karlach, who had remained silent and watchful up until this point, bristled. "Right! Cazador! That old bastard has finally come to collect on you, has he? Done deal. I say we march up there to his mansion whatever, get our girl, and fuck him up!"

Again Astarion stiffened his posture and retreated ever so slightly from the press of the gathering. "Not Cazador. Well, not entirely. Listen, I'm actually quite adept at keeping secrets, despite popular opinion but I think there's something about Lyric that it's time you knew. She and I share a rather terrible bit of history. We both have monsters in our past, you see. Mine, as you now know, is a ghastly vampire lord literally hell-bent on ritualizing his way into ascended immortality on the backs of his own spawn. I mean, he's rather ostentatious that way. But hers is much harder to see. Blended into the very texture of this city, there's an elven scion who not only commands the wealth and power of a merchant fleet, but the ignorantly adoring hearts Baldur's Gate high society. And they are both directly responsible for the scars that she and I carry."

Shadowheart dropped her hands and fidgeted; unsure how to proceed. "What are talking about, Astarion? Did she tell you something about what's going on? Maybe while…" She gestured in the direction of his tent, and his bed. "Even if this was something first exchanged in intimate confidence, please, tell us what you know. Truly, I understand the necessity of secrets and how important they are, you know that about me. But if we can save her…"

He sighed and looked the cleric over. "You're skilled in the medicinal arts, aren't you dear? Surely you've noticed that Lyric bears an impressively disfiguring scar. Though decorated with some of our traditional tattoos now, it runs so deep that the blade that crafted it took half her chest and a few ribs with it on its way through."

Shadowheart nodded. "Of course. We all have. It would be impossible to miss."

"Have you ever asked her how she got it?"

Almost chastised in their expressions, everyone shook their heads. But, surprisingly, it was Lae'zel who retorted.

"To demand that a warrior reveal to you the tale of their wounds is grossly insolent. Such stories are a gift given between those bonded by the blood of the battlefield. It is not for me or for anyone to make such an impertinent request."

Gale leaned on his staff. "Seemed like a sore subject if I'm honest. I merely assumed she did not want to talk about it."

Astarion smiled wryly. "That's because she didn't. I mean, not with you anyway."

But before the vampire's reply could result in a new round of traded insults, Wyll finally broke his silence. "And it is this monster whom you think has taken her then? Who is he? What is he? Where will we find him? Let's not waste more time on idle chatter if there is work to be done."

Discontented with the claustrophobic sensation of a mob closing in around him, Astarion blithely stepped aside and made his way towards the burning remnants of the former night's campfire. "I've never been much of a storyteller," he began. "But there was a time, quite long ago now, when I was in the thick of this city's politics. Mostly of the boring kind, I'll admit. Trade disputes, land use rights, petty crime, it was all very mundane. But I did get to know just how much influence the Noble Elven Houses of the outer realms have around here. It might not seem like it, what with all the other players we've dealt with lately, but there are three Houses that hold court in Baldur's Gate. House Elestar, House Lharithlyn, and House Argentaamn."

When he was not interrupted, despite the fact that Halsin was looking more and more impatient as the minutes ticked by, Astarion continued.

"Elestar is often sought out because of their trade in obscure and ancient knowledge and magic. Very popular among the wizarding companies and scroll-makers of Baldur's Gate, as I'm sure you can imagine. Lharithlyn is rather more modest though. They're generally famous for the intricate quality of their musical instruments, so they are mostly supported by the Bardic Colleges and whatnot. But then, there's Argentaamn. And they've been very busy over the last few centuries. Even before my life had been a hundred years in the grave, the Scion of Argentaamn had completely monopolized the city's shipping industry, taken near total control of the merchant marine, and had amassed so much favor among the elite – for quite literally getting them anything they wanted in half the time – that he was named Sword Master of the Sea. Ironic, as titles go, but one he earned every letter of. Lyric, I'm sad to say, unfortunately knew him by a different name. Olivet Ingen Ailil."

It was then, to nearly everyone's surprise, that Jaheira, their ally and occasional guide on the winding roads of Faerûn, came striding unexpectedly into their midst from somewhere near the dockside. Even Halsin was startled, having not heard her approach.

"I know this name." She stated loudly, chewing through her Tethyrian accent with a spit of anger. "All Harpers know this name. Olivet Ingen Ailil is not just the Scion of Argentaamn but a weaver of the blackest threads that warp the lives of nearly everyone who has ever traversed the sea. He is a kraken of the deep! A silent sea serpent! A nightmare in a beautiful masque who will leave you gasping for your last breaths on a mountain of silk before you even know that your cup has been poisoned."

Shadowheart shook her head with a mixture of distrust and confusion. "But what does this elf have to do with Lyric? She's never mentioned the Noble Houses nor does she carry their markings. She's a ranger. A forest walker. What association could she possible have with this Olivet?"

Once more, they all turned to Astarion. No one was pleased, of course, that this pompous, aggravating, vampire spawn was currently the key to their insight, but it was what it was, and Lyric had chosen to entrust him over anyone else. He tossed his head merrily with the realization.

"Well, let's just say that my darling Lyric hasn't always been in the business of petting bunnies. Or bantering with squirrels for that matter." He quipped. "In fact, she was a pirate. And not just any pirate, mind. Six-Tell Témalíre, Siren of the Sword Coast."

The statement caught them all off guard. This was a name that was not unknown to most of them. Nor were the shocking legends that went with it.

Karlach blinked.

Gale tilted his head so far sideways that his tasseled hat nearly fell straight into the dirt.

Wyll choked on his own spit.

Lae'zel twitched.

Jaheira inhaled slowly with a raised eyebrow.

Halsin vainly tried to loosen his collar and breathe.

And Shadowheart glared. "That's impossible. Absurd! You're lying!"

Astarion's smile however, only got brighter. Which naturally had the effect of making his face all that much more menacing. "Oh? Do you really think so, Shadowheart? Do you really think that I would invent a story this elaborate just to explain why the captain of our little rag-tag voyage has suddenly ghosted? Not when the truth is so much more fun. And especially when I happen to know that a very specific series of quite probable events is likely to be true?"

Jaheira raised her hand in warning to the hostile company. "Let him speak."

Not that it would have mattered, since Astarion had no intention of holding back in that moment. "We arrive in Baldur's Gate to no small amount of recognition; the word of our victory at Moonrise Towers concurrent with the march of the Absolute's army upon the city itself, now bursting at the seams with a deluge of terrified refugees. A city which is also the long-standing home of not only my old master but to the commandant adversary who nearly cost Lyric her life when she finally dared to defy him. A man who revels, not just in death, but in the ecstasy of killing. It's his art, his sustenance, in a way that – before any of you say it – is leagues beyond anything I have done. But she survived him and there is nothing worse to a monster like that than someone who can suffer you and live. And he knows she's here. He has to."

Astarion pushed on, his tone becoming harsher as emotion started to taint his voice and give the truth of his fears away. "Then we learn that the Chosen of Bhaal has joined the gallery of villains all lining up to take a piece out of us. Orin the Red, who delights in the slow, mocking, deaths of the innocent. Taking their faces and then leaving the rest of their bodies dismembered all over the streets or stuffing them under the floorboards for the maids to find. No doubt that she will already have found a satisfying audience with one Olivet Ingen Ailil."

Shadowheart swallowed and unexpectedly found herself fighting back tears. "Do you…do you think she's dead? Is Lyric already dead?"

It was Halsin who answered her first this time, his fist held tightly to his chest as he searched through the whispers of distant tree boughs for a sense of the stars turning overhead and the spirits that spoke through them.

"No." He said with untroubled confidence. "She lives still. Her heart yet beats in time with the rhythm of the Oak Father's cadence."

Astarion's contribution was far less serene however. "Of course she's still alive. There's simply no way Olivet would lose this chance to enact every deranged fantasy of revenge he's kept in tow all these years. He'll want her for as long as he can keep her. As long as he can keep her alive and in agony. That's our advantage. I might be coming across as a tad macabre, but this actually gives us a chance. We just need to pick up the trail and figure out where he's holding her."

"This, I think I can help with." Jaheira scratched at her chin as she thought hard on the matter. "The Harpers might have already been decimated, infiltrated by these…doppelgangers. But we still have a few trustworthy spies left in this city. And this is exactly a Harper specialty. Olivet isn't just some back-alley rat-skulk. He's a bureaucratic actor. A shining star at the top of a political powerhouse. This means that there are at least a few rules he must abide by and a presence he must maintain. Our people are well placed, and I am sure there is much we can learn from the networks that remain."

Shadowheart grabbed at this tiny sliver of hope. "Then do it. Get out there and find whatever you can as fast as you can. In the meantime, the rest of us need to return to Rivington or even the lower quarter. Someone knows something and I'm going to find them even if I have to wring the information out of the dead. I swear by all that has upheld us in these trying times, I will put five questions to a severed head in a bedpan if I must."

"Good idea." Halsin agreed. "Jaheira will take it up with the Harpers in secrecy, but best we do our part in a more coordinated fashion, I think. Karlach and Wyll, go visit the tiefling and Gur camps to see if they've heard anything in the underways. They're also more likely to have gotten news through the flophouses if there is any to be had. Shadowheart, you and Lae'zel should investigate the temples and healing houses. If they've taken in the murdered dead or the witnesses, you'll be able to talk to them more privately there. Gale, what of Sorcerer's Sundries? Do you think they might know of some magic we could use to locate her? Or free her when the time comes?"

Gale couldn't have been more excited to know that his particular talents would be of special use again. "Absolutely! I'll head right over now and have a word with the archivist. Finding important things that are lost is what we do best!"

As the others strapped their armor on and gathered up their weapons to depart, Halsin then turned to Astarion. "You and I will return to the Circus. That's the last place that the two of you were together before returning to camp, yes?"

Astarion balked. "Yes, but I hardly see why that matters and besides, I'm really not all that interested in taking up a carnival side-show with a dancing bear."

Though, ironically, the two of them weren't that far apart in age, Halsin was forced to draw on all of the meditative calm he had gained in his considerable 350 years in this world just to prevent himself from rearranging the vampire's skeleton into a shape more suitable for a traveling big top. Or maybe someone's cabinet of curiosities.

"Of all the…. I truly will never understand what it is that she sees in you, Astarion."

The subject of the taunt merely curtsied demurely. "Why, it's clearly my impeccable charm. I mean, aside from the stunning good looks, of course."

The elder druid pressed his thumb to his temple and willed his pulse to slow. It was going to be a very – very – long day.