Chapter 7 – Prepare to Be Boarded

His fingers were cold and numb, his palms damp with anxiety. But despite the uncomfortable tension in his neck and knuckles, Astarion moved without a sound. Up the ladder and into the south watchtower, through the guard's station, and out onto the upper patio that overlooked the Lower City. At night, this was one of the household's favorite gathering places. Down below, just beyond the gardens next to the wall, the lights of Baldur's Gate would twinkle and flutter in perfect harmony with the starry sky above. The harbor, unmoving in the windless midnight, was like a glass bridge between them, blending the two halves of the world together until it was impossible to tell which way was up. Lanterns, attached to guards and revelers alike, would streak like comets through the streets, and the din of laughter, bardic fiddling, and singing would float up to provide each evening's entertainment.

This was how Astarion had come to love music. He remembered how he used to steal up to the top of the terra cotta overhang, just so he could sit alone and listen to the ballads and story epics bursting out of every window from the Elfsong Tavern to the Mermaid. It was really the only time he got to be away from everything and to just feel the beats and notes as the rhythms soothed his fractious heart. When he was sent out into the city to hunt, he never really had the time to enjoy the venues he visited, always too focused on his next target, his next dance with the perfect prey, to really pay much attention to the performances. But from up here, he could even quietly sing the choruses as he learned the words to the verses. With the instrumental accompaniment, he could even whisper new stories by composing his own secret lyrics.

Lyric.

He had never told her why he had called her that. Not the real reason anyway. That day, on the beach, with the wreckage of the nautiloid surrounding them and disgusting blobs of slowly congealing tentacles dissolving into the salt marsh, he had seen her coming over the rise. Confused and a little bloodied, she'd heard him before she had seen him. His call of "over here!" reaching her above the crash of the waves and the roar of the ship's infernal fires. He'd meant then to ambush her, certain that any surviving illithid thralls would be crawling all over him in seconds. But then their minds had connected, in a way that he had simply never experienced before in his life. For a moment, she had seen the back alleyways and crowded barrooms of his favorite retreats. And he had seen her, sitting on the edge of a masted galleon's rail, profuse fatal bleeding gushing from a vicious laceration to her chest as she calmly sang the words to an ancient sea chant.

The Lyric.

The songs of the dead are the words to our fears,
They laugh from the waves with beckoning cheers,
My heart longs to join them. Oh, to be free.
I remember so many who don't think of me.
So come to the ocean since that's where I'll be.

Then, as he watched through her eyes, she had let her hands slip and had fallen away into the raging waters below.

Now, approaching the door on the far end of the portico of Szarr Manor, Astarion reached for his dagger. As he did, he couldn't help but silently sing the rest of the old tune.

Before each of my ghostly crew I stand.
I've promised them home wherever we land.
Never again will I take up their strife,
They turn away, but I owe them my life.

I'll go then to meet her on the shores of the sea,

For our souls in the depths together will be.

The door opened and gave way to darkness beyond. To Halsin's surprise, the pale elf plunged in without a moment's hesitation.


As she adjusted to the dust-filled gloom, Shadowheart coughed and pinched her eyes to look about. They had entered into some kind of upper hallway with a far balcony that overlooked the main entrance foyer below. This was not the first thing that she noticed, however. Rather, her gaze was immediately drawn to the walls full of art. Massive, tapestry-sized canvases, that covered every foot of space from floor to vaulted ceiling. And every gilded slate a gothic masterpiece of contradictory taste. Each work was clearly well executed by an artist of considerable talent, with realistic looking subjects and colors that were bright and eye-catching. But the subject matter had absolutely no cohesion or recognizable theme. It was as if the entire gallery had been assembled by a committee of people who openly hated one another and were only commissioning new pieces as an act of revenge for the previous ones.

"Yes." Astarion could be heard to say in response to the sudden silence and wide-eyed stares. "I told you that Cazador fancied himself quite the connoisseur. I never said that he was especially good at it."

Halsin chuckled as he stood before one particularly staggering rendition of two naked succubae intertwined through the skull of a horned giant. One of them apparently attempting to perform an unspeakable sex act with the skull's back molars while the other used the orbit of one eye socket as a cartwheel. "Well, if we make our way back out in this direction, we should definitely take this one with us!"

Lae'zel sighed loudly. "Enough chatter. This place is a maze, and we are already likely detected. Let us make haste before the vampire lord's defenses are upon us."

"Lae'zel's right." Shadowheart replied. "Astarion? Where to?"

"The Kennels below." He stated somewhat distantly. "The strongest holding cells are there and if he means to keep her while the ritual is prepared, it's the most likely place."

Halsin scowled with unconcealed concern at the shift in Astarion's demeanor. "Are you all right, my friend?"

"I…" Astarion trailed off, his body tense and his teeth set in a clenched frown. "I'm home. And… It's…it's just all so familiar but…at the same time…. like it was a lifetime ago. That's the ballroom just up ahead. Where Cazador would…entertain. But now that I'm here again I feel that it's just automatic that I should turn right, down that hallway. That's where our beds were kept and the…the room…where I…"

The druid laid a heavy but gentle hand on the younger elf's shoulder. "You don't have to go back there, you know. You don't have to go back to any of it."

But Astarion suddenly recoiled and hissed. "Yes, I do. I know that he's waiting for me. Watching me. He'll have taken her to the very place I would have taken her had I met her…"

"Don't" Shadowheart suddenly intervened, an unexpectedly compassionate tinge to her voice. "Astarion, don't do that to yourself. That's exactly what he'll use against you. Trust me, I know. He'll drag you back down with every 'what if' he knows your mind will choke on. If you had met Lyric earlier, or here in Baldur's Gate, she would be just as dead and forgotten as everyone else he forced you to lure here. Just another conquest. A plaything in the bedroom before the slaughter. He'll cut you down with her loss before she is even gone. This is something I can speak to with great authority, believe me."

Even more surprisingly, Lae'zel agreed. "This is an effective tactic and one to be wary of. The worst wounds will have already been inflicted before you even face him. This will be by design."

Astarion turned and was about to respond when he then froze. A voice behind him suddenly calling out his name with a trill of excitement.

"Master Astarion! You're home!"

To the utter bewilderment of everyone, a young woman dressed in a servant's tabard came gleefully trotting over to the group of them without so much as a twitch of suspicion.

"Oh, I'm so glad to see you!" She blurted out. "But you're late! His Lordship has already begun the Rite and you are expected below. He was very clear that all the masters must attend!"

Well-practiced in just this sort of exchange, the assembled company watched as Astarion once again dressed himself in a haughty air and waved his hand towards the woman indignantly. "Of course! Can't you see that I am on my way down now?" He then sneered at her irritably.

"Well, yes, I suppose but…" The servant woman fidgeted uncertainly. "The doors have already been sealed."

"Then unseal them." He shot back.

"I can't, saer! His Lordship performed the locking rituals himself. Only Godey has the key to allow passage in and out."

Godey. That was a name he had hoped to never hear again. A risen Skeleton Lord fully enthralled not just to Cazador's commands but to his love of exceptional cruelty. Years ago, Cazador had made Godey the Kennel Master for the sheer fact that he took incredible delight in the skeleton's creativity when it came to torturing the spawn. And, of course, Godey had always taken a particular liking to torturing Astarion. Whether it was chaining him up and drawing pictures on his "pretty little hide" with a red-hot iron or forcing him to eat decayed rats on silver platters, Astarion always knew that disobedience of any kind would come with some new horror dreamed up by an armored bone-man with literally no heart and no brain. Only the blackest void where his humanity should be.

Yet, somehow, he managed to keep his manner cool and his expression neutral.

"Thank you." Astarion stated dismissively. "I shall have a word with him right away."

The servant nodded and immediately scuttled off, mumbling nearly incoherently about "making everything perfect." She then started scraping the rug with her hands and, seeing as she had not brought a dustpan, happily put the wads of dirt and hair in her mouth as she worked.

"This way." Astarion motioned the others to follow him.

Halsin's wary gaze darted from servant to servant as they passed, and then to the doors that lined the halls, but they all remained closed. "This…this seems wrong." He whispered. "Is no one concerned that you've returned with an armed escort? A druid and a warrior…a cleric?!"

"They're thralls." His companion answered flatly. "They have no thoughts or will other than what they've been told to have, and they've been told to obey and submit to Cazador's chosen in every respect. They would not even consider that any one of us could betray him. Why would they? A vampire spawn isn't just a slave, we're puppets. It is simply not possible for a spawn to bring harm to their master in any way. Not by choice, by omission, or by scheme. Anything we do must therefore be at our master's behest. No matter how….out of character it might seem." The last part he said with a slightly malicious smile teasing at the corners of his mouth.

With something of a knowing smile of her own, Shadowheart then took Astarion's explanation to be the perfect justification for drawing her mace and shield, revealing the Light of Lathander into the dank halls of the vampire's estate to better illuminate their path forward. "Then no one will mind if I make a bit of a show."

Lae'zel tipped her head in accord, drawing her greatsword and keeping it in a ready position. "Yes." She replied. "No sense in attending the celebrations without our proper finery."

Halsin, however, decided against going in as a bear just yet.

The estate though, was indeed a maze. A labyrinth of corridors and stairwells that curved around each other only to end in multiple landings and even more extensive hallways. In several cases, Halsin became convinced that Astarion was only truly navigating the confusing architecture by using various decorations as landmarks. A particularly beautiful antique clock, a certain arrangement of art above a doorway, or a sequence of colors in the mismatched rugs that ran beneath long red curtains that concealed archways and windows. They kept this up for quite a distance, until even the druid's considerable senses of direction were completely turned around and he had no idea if they were closer to the center of the estate or somehow on the completely opposite side of it. But it was at this point that he was pulled up by Shadowheart's hand on his arm. He glanced down at her, but her eyes were fixed straight ahead.

Astarion had stopped, his back turned to the group and his face tilted slightly towards a door on his left. The door itself sat slightly open and the sickly light of an ill-tended lamp could be seen just beyond. The smell of incense filled the spaces around them; lavender, dragon's blood, and juniper. The soft sounds of a ticking clock complemented the muted patter of water pipes in the walls.

Halsin stepped forward and glanced briefly into the room. It was small and rectangular but well furnished with a large canopy bed, mahogany benches, and a large wardrobe. In the far corner, a cabinet with a brass faucet dripped neglectfully into a painted wash basin, and a wooden trunk served as a shelf for extra bed linens.

"What is it?" The druid asked, once more noting that Astarion seemed unable to restart his steps.

"This…" he started. "This is where I used to…to take them. This was the room….my room. I would bring them here. I would have them or…I would let them have me. While Cazador would watch, hidden somewhere in the room on the other side of that divan. Then, when he was…. satisfied…he would come and take them. He would take them away and leave me to…"

There was no need for anyone to ask who "them" was.

It was Lae'zel though who pushed the door open the rest of the way. Checking quickly from side to side to ensure that no one lay in wait, she huffed and shouldered her sword. "There is nothing here." She announced. "Just some indulgent pillows and useless conveniences. We must keep moving."

Astarion quickly agreed. "Yes, down those stairs and to the right. There will be a large rough-hewn door hidden behind a panel."

"Why keep the entrance concealed?" Shadowheart asked.

"Vanity." Astarion replied, finally moving past the offending corner room and towards the lower levels. "Cazador had the Kennels built to be sturdy and practical, not pleasing. And since the prison locks that it required were so large and, to his tastes, ugly, he had the entire thing walled up behind one of his favorite paintings. It's easy enough to get to though and it wasn't as if no one knew where to find it."

Moments later, he simply motioned towards a rather awkward looking gilt frame that was obviously positioned over a thick extension in the main wall. "See?"

Under any other circumstances, Astarion would have found the next sequence of events to be quite funny. It began with Lae'zel, who had already grown rather tired of wandering through the castle unmolested, wedging her sword between art and wall and then levering it right apart such that the painting tore away from its moorings and crashed onto the carpet with an uncomfortably loud thud. It was then followed by Halsin grabbing onto the wrought-iron handle of the Kennel door and, without pretense or warning, simply ripping the entire thing off of its hinges and tossing it into a pile with the painting behind them. Lastly, with a flourish of divine favor, Shadowheart marched right across the threshold, shimmering weapon of unobscured daylight held high in her hand and declared their arrival to…a single armored skeleton standing slack-jawed in the middle of the room.

The brief second of confused silence was all Astarion needed though.

"Godey!" He exclaimed, sashaying into the dungeon room with a dramatic flair. "My old clay-brained toady! And a face still not even fit to sunburn! So, listen, seems I'm a tad late for tonight's festivities, would you be a dear and give us the key to the West Wing. I have a rather important appointment to keep."

"Ah-star-ee-un?" The skeleton guard finally managed to clatter out between decayed teeth and an even more decayed helmet.

"Yes, darling, the one and only!"

"But you…. you…. been missing! We've been out for you for…"

"Ages, I'm sure. But let's not get distracted, shall we? Key. Now."

Though still ambivalent, Godey finally rallied and squared up against the small force that was invading his protected rooms.

"Ha!" He cackled. "Ha Haha hahahahaha hhhhhhhaaaaaa! Of course, you come crawling in! You think you can just waltz right into his Lordship's very home and make demands?! You snide little worm! Godey ought to discipline you again. Bad boy! Lock you in your box for awhile longer and see how fast you beg Godey for mercy. Sweet whines of mercy for Godey, eh?"

Lae'zel then literally shoved Astarion to the side, almost sending him in a pile of soiled burlap.

"You! Skeleton! Do you have the key or not?"

Godey paused, taking in the strange githyanki with a hard-to-detect measure of curiosity.

"Yes yes." He finally teased. "Godey has key. But Godey will not open the door for you. Not for anyone. Not even for stupid dog who ran away."

Lae'zel nodded. "That is acceptable as your duties require. I shall therefore begin by removing your hands."

If it had been possible for a skeleton to get paler via fear alone, Godey would have been the first. "I…. what?"

"And then I shall break every bone in order from wrist to shoulder to spine until I find the key. If it does not appear by the time I reach your skull, I shall use your ribs to pry apart the plates of your armor until I am satisfied that the key is not upon your person but elsewhere in this room."

Shadowheart blinked. Here, she had thought that a threat of Turning would be sufficiently intimidating.

And then Lae'zel continued. "On the chance that you are lying though, and I fail to find the key anywhere in this stinking rathole. I shall then grind what remains of your bones to a fine dust so that I may determine if the airflow of this room indicates any manner of secret compartment or passageway. Yes, I think you may serve me many purposes."

Halsin looked at Shadowheart, who shrugged and looked at Astarion, who was staring in impressed awe at Lae'zel, who was quickly pulling out what appeared to be a hammer and a pair of tongs from her side-pack.

With an unholy cry, Godey abruptly exploded. He shrieked and clattered, his arms flailing, bone rattling on breastplate, as he nearly fell over himself rushing to where Astarion stood leaning against the flagstones. With exaggerated sincerity, he grabbed onto the young vampire's hand as he pushed a burnished silver and ruby ring into his palm.

"There there!" He yelled, somewhat louder than was necessary. "You take this, yes! Take! Take! Go right to the doors and down you go! See? Godey helps Master Astarion whenever he needs! There's no need for trouble! Off you go, off you go! Don't want to be late!"

Astarion smiled politely and pocketed the ring.

He then also reached up and pocketed Godey's two front teeth.