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Baldur's Gate II - The Shadows of Amn

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PART ONE
NO DISGRACE ON THE DEAD.

CHAPTER ONE

The first and foremost sensation of my captivity was the stench of a dead flesh - the smell of an embalming fluid mixed with an undertone of rotten meat, void filled with nauseating smell emanating from a hand touching my face. The insane giggle floating in my half-dead brain, "I can smell it, therefore I am..." Oblivion.

Then the light so harsh and bright that it was better to keep my eyes shut. Yes, it was . . . much better to stay dead. Maybe that drooling, lazy voice would go away. Its maniacal persistence in my head was wearing down my hastily built defenses, breaking through my barriers, prying deeper and deeper.

Slam, the barrier goes up again. Oblivion. Other than occasional whiff of carrion mixed with embalming resin and that voice- I cannot recall anything from those first days, or was it - weeks?

I could not see a thing, I did not want not look. I had to go blind. I did not feel anything. I would not feel pain. I was just a mind floating in stinking darkness filled with incomprehensive noise.

Supposedly, my defensive powers were very good, even in those early days. Later, I had found many festering wounds upon my person, mostly in sensitive areas. I had not have a slightest idea of how I had gotten them. I was very glad of that fact. The electric burns on my palms also turned to be a surprise. Thank you - Father- I am not a totally ungrateful child after all. Imoen was not so lucky.

My floating stinking void suddenly popped up like a bubble. I could see again. I could feel the pain. My body itched and ached in thousand spots. I stank like a pig, and I was gasping for breath. I could feel somebody shaking me as a familiar breathless melodious voice chimed in my ears.

"Wake up little sister, wake up. We have to get out of here."

Imoen was remarkably efficient. She looked fresh and clean and, as always, pretty as a toy. That was peculiar under the circumstances. I did not know then that she was hurt on a level deeper than the mere eye could see. With her bright golden beauty and joyful nature she was attractive enough to invite our captor’s ‘special’ attentions. I guess, breaking a delicate porcelain figurine was more alluring than smashing a filthy voodoo doll I looked; breaking it piece by piece was even more fun.

Gods be praised (though I cringe at the though of attracting attention of any deity) that I am dark-haired and suntanned. There is almost no trace of elvish blood in my appearance. Imoen looks more fairy-like than I even though I supposedly have some elvish ancestors. I cannot understand how did she live through those "experiments" of his, or did not loose her sanity forever. At the time of my release, I knew nothing of it.

Me head was still dizzy and my heart hollow, when a vision of the red-stained dagger being cleaned on the white linen hit me with a certainty of the brick between the eyes. I gasped, as the memory of that night became reality again. The wave of guilt and sorrow overwhelmed me. Our capture and my lover’s death were entirely my fault.

Even today, so many years later, I still cannot forget my first reaction. Being unable to forget and forgive myself hurts. The horrid creature, who was both the torturer and the victim, was the only one to blame for all that had occurred; but what was the point of trying to find oblivion in revenge?

Imoen was talking to me, trying to shake me from of my stupor but I cannot recall a word of what she’d said in the first few moments. The world continued to spin around me - I found myself in a round metal cage in the room with a look of a torture chamber. You can recognize it even if you have never seen one in your life. I had seen way too many.

Perhaps, the builder of that particular one envisioned it as a research facility of a sort but a good old-fashioned metal cage is just what it is - a tool of pain and misery. There were more cages and, unsettling enough, more people inside some of them, both dead and living.

 In the cage just across from mine, a young attractive woman sat on the floor in a lotus position. Her limpid green eyes looked at me as serious as ever, as she calmly went through her druidic meditations. Her leather tunic was torn, her belt missing, her hair filthy, but there she was - resolute to go through her workout. That finally broke the spell. I moaned and limped out of my cage with some help from Imoen, who wrinkled her pretty nose, no doubt, at the smell of me.

"Gods, what I really need right now is to pee." I whimpered.

"Glad you are finally awake. It’s time we start moving," responded the woman in the cage cheerfully, springing up from the floor.

"Jaheira! I am truly glad you are alive." I felt an immense relief at seeing her. She was steady as a rock and if she was here there was still hope that we can get out of this mess.

"It would be nice if you can free me from this stupid cage, girl."

"Me thinks, she got it right!" said the rumbling voice from the left. "By Silvanus’s beard an Mielikki's bow! We were worried about you!"

I whirled around and found myself face to face with a smiling giant who looked at me kindly through the bars of the next cage. His usually clean-shaven head and chin were covered with thick bristle. It was dark and wiry. I almost sat on the floor laughing with relief.

"Silvanus’s beard indeed! I never thought I would see anything like this in my life. Minsc, I take it - they deprived you of ALL sharp objects?"

He scratched at his stubble loathingly. "Minsc and Boo will look like brothers before long."

"Oh, no ... Not that hamster again! Are you saying you still have the little bugger with you?"

Boo was the name of an amicable hamster who was technically Minsc’ property. I suspected that the reality was more complicated than that, and ‘who owned whom’ in this duo was a gray zone. Minsc claimed the rodent was sold to him ‘by an old chap in a red dress who was smoking a pipe’. That sounded rather fishy to me, for the only old man with a pipe that I knew of, was a bit too busy to engage in a pet trade. Than again, he was a very nosy individual.⁰

 As a dedicated ranger Minsc had made the hamster his familiar, though personally I thought this selection was a bit extravagant.  Boo was Minsc’ last bastion of defense against the onslaughts of berserker rage, and a calming influence for his nerves. Minsc was a Rashemi, and as many of their warriors carried a curse of an uncontrollable battle rage (though many of the  Rashemen considered it a blessing). I was delighted to learn that the ranger got to keep his little companion.

"There is too much of me to search properly." He grinned. "They took my swords but not my hamster!"

"There was fighting going on all over the place and I found the key from your cage left here on the table." Imoen repeated. She was talking to me, I realized. 

That final phrase suddenly got my attention. Fortunately, in times of need my mind turns into a razor-sharp instrument of a field surgeon. There was no place for emotions now.

"What kind of fighting?"

"Men in black ... hooded assassins ... they all looked much the same to me."

"This sounds very much like the ones who took us," Jaheira responded from inside her cage. "And they can return any moment to finish the job! Are you going to work on getting me out of this trap or what?"

"Wait, are you saying that those people have been fighting between themselves?"

"No, the others… they looked ... strange, sinister. I cannot say what they were … my head hurts…" Imoen whimpered in pain pressing her fingertips to her temples.

"Are you girls going to help me break out? Boo is getting restless!" Minsc inquired in his turn.

After a brief search we found the key from Jaheira’s cage hanging on the wall in the small adjacent room. The fact that the cell where they kept Imoen was opened, but she was left without a guard, and that the keys from the cages have been left lying around was not just an open invitation - it was a farce. Whoever kept us captive obviously wanted us try to escape. Worse than that, we did not have any choice but to follow his trail of breadcrumbs, and maybe walk straight into a trap. I always prefer to have an ace or two hidden up my sleeves; at that moment all the cards have been in the hands of other player.

Minsc’ cage did not even have a lock. Whoever took care of him just welded the door of the cell with iron bars. Jaheira and Imoen watched in silence as I tried to remember all the metal softening tricks that I ever knew. Minsc spent all the time since he was imprisoned tirelessly bending the rusty spikes. No old metal cage could resist that kind of treatment for long – but so far it was holding.

"You are an insolent child, my dear! If you had not had run away from us nothing of this would have happened! Even Boo has more sense than you! What is it you are trying to do now? One of your little magicks, is it?"

I moaned. "By Oghma’s inkwell, Minsc! I am trying to concentrate!"

"If you cannot pick this with your pretty little fingers, let Imoen try." He actually laughed.

He can laugh and make inane comments like that in any impossible situation. I think this is the nature of saints and children, and he is both with his heart of gold and bizarre sense of humor, though a little bit of wit would not have hurt.

"Oh, Minsc, just shut up. Go teach Boo suck eggs! I am going to leave you here to rot, if you don’t stop rambling!" His cage creaked. The magically softened metal gave up as he shook it one last time outraged at my remark.

"You are a smart one! You said this on purpose to make me mad, right?"

"At least you are still as impudent as you used to be." Jaheira shook her head at me.

"What happened to the others?" I was brave enough to ask. They all sobered and went quiet.

"Dynaheir is dead, lassie, I lost her," Minsc said finally.

 That was a shock. I turned to Minsc and actually saw tears on his eyes. He was shaking. The big guy’s grief was as deep as his anger. I realized that this had thrown his entire life into chaos.

Another death on my conscience! I remembered the lightning storm at the distance. Dynaheir was a Rashemi Witch, and what I had seen that night was her last stand. Minsc and Dynaheir were kin and he was bound to her as her personal guardian and protector, as many Rashemi berserkers who follow their wichlaran. Now that she was dead, what will happen to him? Would he be able to continue his ‘dajemma – a ritual quest of a warrior’ - alone? Would he be able to keep his battle fury under control without her influence? I did not have the answers.

"I shall stay with you to avenge her,” he reassured me immediately, “I will take the life of whoever slain her with this hands, that I swear. I had failed her for the last time and now I will follow his trail to the Nine Hells if needed!"

I suddenly shivered.

"Minsc...we will punish whoever did this to us and killed her! But first we need to get out of here alive."

"I would like to find out what happened to Khalid." Jaheira said suddenly in a clear serious voice. "Did he have a chance to speak with you before they jumped us? I hope he is fine," her voice trembled just a little. "If he is free, he is probably looking for us now."

I almost had a fainting spell at that. "I ... I cannot remember anything at all from that night," I stammered, gripping the twisted metal piece with my cold and clammy fingers. "I was not able to remember who I am at first." That part was true at least. The silence that followed threatened to swallow the remains of my courage.

"We need to start moving. He left when a golem brought news of the attack on this place, but he can be back any moment now. I need … we need to get away from him!" Imoen said fervently.

"Who is 'Him', Imoen?"

"Irenicus… he said his name was Irenicus."

We searched the room quickly only to discover a relatively harmless magical Construct, standing idly in the adjoined closet over a pile of rusty discarded weaponry, old armor, and bloodstained rugs. I got the impression that one of its duties was to dispose of the stuff left behind by the prisoners. I did not dare to think about what had happened to the former owners of those things. The pile was ominous, but even a rusted weapon is better than none. I picked a bloodstained leather shirt from the top of the pile. It could fit a woman or a child. Jaheira silently took it away from me.

We armed and outfitted ourselves as best as we could, though it did not seem that we had any chance against the master of this place, weapons or no weapons. The Construct proved to be quite talkative. I heard - they call these things golems. I had never seen one before. It was basically a roughly shaped clay statue with flat eyeless face. It was quite fascinating! I do always try to learn about things magical. Being a student of the Craft myself, I crave information. This is the main aspect of my otherwise ordinary and boring personality. It is not surprising in somebody who spent her entire life in the biggest fortress-library of the Realms.

My foster father Gorion, praised be his name, had encouraged my reading and obsession with books for he was that way himself. He was also my first and only teacher of the Craft. I doubt anybody else would have thought of teaching me magic. They all seem to think the taint is in my blood. They actually tried to explain it to me, to clarify why I should stay away from the only passion of my life, the only respite that I have and my only hope to establish myself as something entirely separate from the essence of my real father.

When the curse of my origin was discovered it had driven me further away from so-called 'social interactions'. The man, who had died on that wretched rainy night trying to protect me, was the only person besides Gorion who was able to see the terrified twenty-year-old under the arrogant, acerbic personality that I present to the rest of the world. At the end, it had cost him his free will and his life.

They taught me well not to show any weakness. There were days when I hoped to find a cure for my condition. If I could only reach for the cursed divine essence and drive it out - purify my blood with the witch fires of Mystra! If I could burn out the taint! I used to dream about it, though my mortal body would not survive the transformation. Insolent as I am I have no desire to be transformed into an undead lich¹ . Though, it may be better than what awaits me after death now.

"How many female lich’s are out there, anyway?"

"What is it you are muttering, baby? Why would you want to be a lich?" Imoen inquired timidly.

I squirmed, "Imoen, I am two months older than you."

"Will you please stop looking at this golem like you want to take it apart here and now? We don’t have time for this!"

"I sure will, Jaheira. I was merely thinking over what it was saying about The Guardian. What may that be?"

"We will find out soon enough; let’s get going."

The first room that we had entered hosted a surprise. A crackling, buzzing machine spitted out electric discharges and nasty little critters with bat-like wings. The creatures were simmering with electricity as well, and shocked the hell out of us before we disposed of them all. But the machine kept sputtering out more! Fortunately, by that time I had figured out which lever to pull to shut down the whole construction.

I remembered the Encyclopedia of magical creatures that described the little imp-like beasties. They were called 'mephits' and were not the creatures of our Plane. There should be more than one kind. They can cast one particular spell akin to their element. If you know in advance what to expect, they are not particularly dangerous.

"One of his toys he called it," Imoen said, "A lightning portal device."

"Are there any more of these? Or any other kind?"

" I don’t know, baby, I guess it can be. I know little of this place." She blushed.

"You seem to know much more than the rest of us together, Imoen."

"He… he hurt me, a … a lot. He thought I was you for some time. I don’t know why! I did not want to tell him that he was wrong. He showed me something about myself... I don’t want to talk about it! He had been talking about the great potential, the Bhaal’s quintessence. Do you know what it means?" she was shaking. "If only I can remove this pain, like a little dagger stuck in my skull."

"I can place another healing spell on you if you wish," Jaheira offered quickly.

"No, no, it is not that kind of pain. I hope it will get away. We had to leave this place! He can come back any moment now! I don’t think I would want to live through another…"

So, our captor took Imoen for a Bhaaalspawn at first - that was the fact worth remembering. I was followed by assassins and potential kidnappers along the Sword Coast for more than a year. They always knew their target no matter how many times I tried to cover my trail and change my name. I have used many names in my travels and the one by which I was known in Baldur’s Gate – our last long stop before my final flight – had nothing to do with my real identity. Imoen was with me most of the time and she never thought of hiding her name. Besides, her shock of bushy golden-red hair and cheerful laughter were impossible to forget once you have put your eyes on her.

"We better take her out of here quick," Jaheira said emphatically.

I simply nodded, for there was not much I could do about Imoen’s condition without knowledge of what had caused it.

In a few steps, the corridor opened into a huge underground cavern filled with glittering rose light, and shimmering shadows. For a moment, I stood there speechless.

In front of me, the giant clusters of flame- and grape-colored crystal thrust from the dark-ochre floor like some exotic anemones almost meeting the low multicolored ceiling. The intricately shaped, fragile stalactites hung from above meeting the spiral-curved stalagmites, rising up from the ground. Whoever our enemy was, he was not entirely blind to this dark beauty for he had kept this cavern in its natural state.

I heard a distant tinkling of water and caught the light reflected off the surface of the murky underground river. The sight of water almost made me moan for I was extremely dry and thirsty. My skin was covered with filth and pus and I could not stand my own stench.

I was also ravenous. I did not recall eating anything during my captivity though Imoen insisted that I was force-fed while unconscious. At the moment, all our food consisted of two stale loaves of bread given to Minsc and Jaheira as their daily rations. This should do for a while unless we wanted to try a rat on a stick.

The light at the center of the cavern suddenly shimmered and solidified into a tall, alien-looking man, smug and flamboyant in his quasi-oriental outfit. Judging by the height and bluish-white skin color of the stranger, he was not the creature of this Plane. The shiny golden rings in his nose and ears, combined with the bright silk turban gave me some clue to his identity.

"The Guardian!" gasped Imoen.

"Umm, a ‘genie’, to be precise,” I responded, “I think they would call it 'djinn' in Calimshan,"

The djinn laughed. Its laughter sounded peculiar, as its vocal cords were producing something akin to a thunder in the stifled atmosphere of the underground cave.

"If I am not mistaken, you are indeed what a northerner would call a genie,” I continued un-baffled, giving the creature a slight nod of my head. My heart was racing like a frightened rabbit, but my face stayed calm and controlled. “I always thought it fascinating, that the inhabitants of the Elemental Planes would so easily adapt to our superstitions about them. Look at you, wearing this stupid headgear and trousers! I think this type of outfit is out of fashion even in Calimshan for about three thousand years!"

"Time flows differently in our realm, oh Sarcastic one! We are a conservative race. By the way, I am Aataqah,” the djinn responded bemusedly, “You have escaped somewhat later than I had hoped."

"And now I am supposed to say, ‘What is going on here?’ Consider it said!" I was rather irritated with the whole circus. "I assume your master will show up next?"

"I have no master, oh Daughter of Bhaal, and I welcome you to my little piece of this place!” He smirked and made a wide sweep with his both hands.

“The Shattered one thinks that he has control over me, while in fact I indulge my curiosity by watching him. Your name is well known amongst those who watch. Your life's thread is bright indeed, though in your path lies many a dark, and frayed end."

"Just stuff it." I was fuming with irritation and had my most powerful spell at the tip of my tongue but the djinn ignored my murderous expression most graciously.

"You are a rather daring little lady for a Daughter of Murder! But back to business - tell me, oh Spawn of Bhaal, are you ready to answer the riddle?"

"Oh, another one of these,” I clicked my tongue and made a rude gesture at the creature, “Why would I want to indulge you?"

"Firstly, because I will help you if you do it right, as I did already. Secondly, because you had to be curious of what I wish to ask!"

"I am not, “ I scowled.

"Somehow, I thought you would be more compliant,” the djinn complained, and shook his ethereal finger at me accusingly. “But you are as self-reliant as all of your kin, Daughter of Murder! So defiant and yet so pleasant to the eye!” He smiled most benevolently. “I like women with a bit of a temper."

I knew I looked dismal and smelled like a privy so if it was an attempt at flattery - it was lost on me. But to show a bit of acquiescence at this point was logical, for obviously the creature’s intentions were subtler then I first assumed.

"Ask your question quick and maybe I will answer you, Mr. Genie." I acceded trying to sound interested but still avoiding the commitment.

"Very well, oh Defiant one! Imagine yourself being captured and doomed to die," the djinn smiled nastily, "Your sibling was taken with you. The only way out would be to forsake your own life for his freedom. But even then, maybe both of you would die. Would you sacrifice yourself or not? That is my question!"

"I cannot not answer one way or another, for the question is ambiguous,” I offered. “There are many circumstances when I would choose one way or another. For one, my brother Sarevok was my sibling, who tried to assassinate me, I had to kill him by my own hand later on."

The djinn cringed and felt silent for a moment or two in deep thought. When he spoke again his voice sounded uncertain, as if he had to abandon his ‘script’ and improvise on a spot.

"Bah, oh Smart one, that was unforeseen.”

Then his face brightened again. “Ugh…yes, I cannot resist your ugh… ingenuous appeal, oh Daughter of Bhaal! So I am succumbing to your charms. Go talk to Rielev. Offer him the release that he craves and you shall find that the direction of your next journey would soon become apparent. Fare thee well!"

The genie vanished hastily with another, rather theatrical flash of light. A little thunderclap followed a few seconds later, as if whoever was taking care of the sound effects remembered to turn it on finally. I had the feeling that his prepared speech was much longer and that I had somehow beaten him in his little game.

I sighed. "Looks like we may have a chance to escape after all. Though I think the djinn was lying about his relation to our captor. He sounded too well-coached."

"I did not really get it," Imoen sighed. "What did he want? What are we going to do now?"

"I would be damned if I am going to make another step before I wash myself," I lifted my chin stubbornly. "Maybe we all are going to die in the next hour or so but if this is going to happen I want to die clean."

"Are you sure you want to do this right now?" Jaheira was puzzled. "He can return any moment."

"I don’t think he is going to interrupt this little spectacle until we locate whatever he wants us to find." I suggested. "And in any case, he is not getting me back alive! I can still feel his dirty hands on my skin."

“The touch of the undead brings rot and decay,” Imoen muttered, “I would prefer the caress of a Loviator’s priest to His touch for the Maiden of Pain gives cleansing in agony…”

We exchanged frightened looks with Jaheira. Never before our brave-hearted and cheerful Imoen would have considered turning to the Goddess of Pain for consolation.

"Boo says - we can scare away legions of evil with our smell! Perhaps we should stay this way and take advantage over the enemy?" Minsc boomed loudly, interrupting this awkward moment.

Upon hearing this Jaheira smacked him smartly on the bottom with the flat of her scimitar and started to pull her shirt off without another word.

"I am going, I am going!" He hastily retreated from the field.

We bathed and drunk the murky water; then washed our clothes and ate some of the bread. Having my hair clean felt like a holy miracle. I braided it and wrapped the braid around the crown of my head in my usual fashion. Amazingly - that made me feel better. I gathered the pitiful remains of my once expensive gray silken outfit and secured it with a string. My clothes were in abominable condition, slashed and torn in many places.

Imoen just washed her face and hands. I noticed her new ornate belt but decided against asking about its origins. By that time we allowed Minsc to return from his exile behind the rock. All his stubble had mysteriously disappeared. I guessed shaving his head before battle was a sort of ritual to him, akin to cleaning his sword.

"Minsc and Boo are back,” He declared happily. “Oh, my eyes are blinded with shining beauty! All these pretty ladies and just the two of us. Ouch! There was no need to pinch, Jaheira. You will make Boo nervous."

I giggled tensely.

"Hey lassie! Now you look like a soldier ready for battle, yes? Are we going to kick some serious butt today?"

"I look like a rat trapped in a maze, Minsc," I answered, " but whoever is trying to make me push the button and get the cheese, is going to have a very long wait."

He laughed and gulped down his portion of the stale bread, sharing it with Boo, who scuttled happily in and out of his sleeve.

Afterwards we continued on our journey. The place was creeping with all sorts of magical life forms - there were mephits, little goblins, mutated rats and mice, and some weirder creatures that I did not even try to recognize. All of this was offensive, foul, yelling and trying to scratch, bite, kick, and put an arrow in you from around every corner. It was very annoying and I got angry enough to chew nails, when after following the long, dark corridor filled with all that magical riffraff, we had walked into the dead end. We had to carefully retrace our steps to the cavern, and take a different way from there.

Before long, we found a round chamber with yet another Construct. That one was a blind golem, that responded only to the simplest of commands. It was another servant of our captor, used to perform the humble task of cleaning the sewage.  After searching in vain for clues we left the golem in its room.

 By that time we’ve got used to continuous annoyance of having to fight our every step through the dungeon. Soon, we were rewarded for our patience by discovering something of major importance.

I stumbled and nearly vomited as we had entered the spacious chamber behind a heavy wooden door. It was filled with the familiar stench of the preserved death, the smell that I had first discerned on the hands touching me in my trance. We explored the room after disposing of yet another set of mephits. It was a strange place, filled with round tanks made of opaque green glass. It appeared that the tanks, or rather whatever was floating in them, was the source of that awful smell.

"I know this place! I was here with him!" Imoen was almost hysterical. "This things in the tanks used to be his servants… It is a punishment of a sort. He can keep them alive like this forever."

"Calm down, girl. This cannot be true. There is nothing alive in this room but us now. Being a druid, I can feel the living things." Jaheira was seriously upset.

"Perhaps this apparatus can be activated by magic," I suggested.

"Yes, some sort of activation device is required. I can feel their eyes on me still. Let’s get out of here,"  Imoen wailed.

"We will, Imoen, as soon as I finish searching the room. We may find some clues to our mystery here. What was that you’ve mentioned, about my potential that he was trying to unlock?"

"I don’t care if he can make me strong as an orc! All I want is to get out of here and see the sky again, maybe for the last time! You don’t know what he did to me!" She was truly weeping now.

All I could do was to hold her and let her cry for a while. That was when I realized, that something truly evil had been done to her while I was unconscious. We had our difficulties with Imoen. I always suspected that she was driven to me more by the desire to prove herself equal or better than by anything else. But still, she was the closest thing I had for a family.

I do admit that I am paranoid and not very trusty. We had our ups and downs with the girl but over the last half a year we learned the degree of our dependence on each other. There were times when I needed her as much or even more then she needed me. We shared the memories of our childhood in Candlekeep and that was precious. Now that she was badly hurt the misery that she caused me by her sudden demand to come clear with my lover’s wife seemed distant and unimportant. Surely, I could not blame her for what had followed. The whole affair was of my own doing. Everything that had transpired was the result  of my decision to leave rather than to face the consequences of my actions.

That did not make me any closer with Imoen though. The hard sick feeling of doubt was stuck in my heart, and nothing would dispel it. I could only hope that after we escape from this hell, somehow, I would set it right with everybody. For now, I needed to get them all safely out of there.

 I looked around the chamber one last time and noticed a folding chair equipped with the mechanical manipulators. The master of this place cared for his own safety and comfort while playing his little torture games. Imoen was quiet now.

"You are right, of course, we better search this place. It may help us to find the way out." Imoen said in a hollow voice.

"We will get out, I give you my world."

"We will kick his evil ass all the way to the early grave, my girl! Yes?" Minsc grumbled.

Imoen nodded wearily and wiped the tears from her eyes.

The things in the tanks stayed dead, and although I stared into their cloudy depths almost forever, I was not able to perceive anything useful. So, we continued our journey along the dusty corridors of this strange prison.

I asked Minsc to explore the corridor ahead, looking for traps and was surprised when Imoen suddenly showed some spirit. She was absolutely outraged by the fact that I tried to keep her ‘pinned to my skirts’ and deny her the rightful place as our scout. She was very much her old self again. I hoped for her sake that I was making a right decision by letting her do it. She was a wonder to watch as she crept silently along the walls, almost becoming one with the shadows. Her recent whim of studying the basics of concealment magic helped her a lot. I had to agree that she had become reasonably good with illusion spells and could detect things invisible to the untrained eye.

I was never interested in this sort of tricks but I have to say honestly that it has its uses. It is relatively safe, too. My expertise is in what they call a school of Conjuration. Being the bread and butter of a battlemage this kind of magic requires incredible attention to details and patience of a fisherwoman, setting her nets in the immaterial depths of alternative dimensions. Except that things that you have to catch are ugly and dangerous. Many a conjurer ended up as a nasty splatter on the map of the world by letting her summoned charges wriggle out of control. The fact that I am still alive after running wild for so long without any guidance is incredible by itself.

She was back in minutes, silent and frowning thoughtfully.

" I found a thing that would interest you, baby. It is another one of those tanks but the being inside is truly ‘alive’ and it can communicate. It scared the hell out of me! It does not really talk. You can hear it inside your head, kind of. I though I was turning insane again for a moment."

"Let’s go and see what it is for ourselves." I said cautiously.

"Are you sure it’s necessary? Perhaps, we should try to press forward and find our way out of here quick. I feel like our time is running out."

Jaheira was always impatient. I looked at her pale tired face and a sense of guilt and desperation twisted in my heart like a knife again. I knew I was doing the right thing by looking for clues. The parting words of the genie Aataqah were a strong incentive to follow every possible lead. But I was at a complete loss of how to handle her. I was afraid to argue and afraid to let it go. She could smell a rat in my very change of the attitude towards her. Hell, I was not ready to relay the facts to her and to take responsibility for what had happened. To my complete astonishment, Imoen came to my rescue.

"Can’t you see it, she is doing the only right thing, Jaheira? If we want to get out of here, we need information. Every hole in this place is magically sealed! Trust me, I know. And I know you wouldn’t wish to face Him again! Our only chance to escape is to find a weak link, a clue pointing out to what this place is, and the only way we can get that clue is to speak to somebody who actually belongs here! So let her do her thinking and …Oh, I am so sorry, Jaheira. Forgive me. I did not want to offend you … I am tired. I am so tired. I need to get out of here soon."

She was all shaky again and Jaheira was trying to calm her down with a simple blessing spell. I had a sudden premonition of horrors yet to come.

We crept along the corridor following Imoen, but for once, no creature stirred in the dark corners of our prison. The heavy door creaked on its rusted hinges, and we entered a dusty dark room packed with furniture. It looked like a kind of a broom closet. A place where all broken and forgotten things would silently collect dust for generations to come. Overall the room, though dirty and abandoned, did have a look of been visited occasionally. The trail made by human feet was zigzagging across the dusty floor. The dome of dusky green glass towered at the left wall covered with dirt and spider webs. It slightly buzzed and whispered at me.

"There is no light here." Indeed the only light source was internal glow of the glass dome. It was a colossal glass jar similar to the ones we had seen in the big room, but somewhat older and of more primitive design. It vibrated with hidden power.

"I need to have a closer look. There is something going on here. Please stay where you are, just in case."

I muttered a spell and a quick glimmer of runes settled on my shoulders. I tugged at my skirt caught on some invisible splinter. The fabric stretched and ripped. I cursed. Jaheira sighed resolutely. There was a spark of laughter in her green eyes though.

"Please be careful." Imoen sounded meek.

"Looks like good old pickle jar to me. If what’s inside gives you any trouble Minsc and Boo will chop it into relish!"

I chuckled nervously at Minsc’s comment and approached the tank. It was big, murky, and smelly. Something cloudy and ethereal floated in its depths but the thick cover of dust covered the dome so it was impossible to see clearly.

" Pleasse, pleasse come closser..." A whisper in my brain suddenly became audible.

"What are you? Where are you?" I staggered.

"You are not one of the sservantss, I can feel you presence, you are ghosst in the darkness ... come closser into the light sso I can ssee you."

I gathered all my resolution and cleared the front of the warm slippery glass with my sleeve. It took me some time to recognize what was hovering within the tank. At first, I had mistaken the being inside for a sort of jellyfish, preserved in its own juices. Then I made out the details. My heart sank. Floating in the green liquid was a naked human brain trailing the spinal cord like some gruesome attachment, and surrounded by the white cloud of raw nerves and dead blood vessels. A pair of eyes linked to the brain with the pale strings of nerves was bobbing right in front of my face, staring at me intently. All the bone and muscle tissue was gone.

"Gods have mercy on us!" I croaked. "Are you dead or alive?"

"Doess not matter. Not anymore. Masster has done this to me, and sstill I live... I dream mosst of the time."

"What had happened to you?"

"I don’t remember. I died. I think it wass a magical accident of a ssort, an essperiment gone wrong. I wass to live forever as a reward for my sservicess... but I don’t wish it anymore…"

"Who is this master you speak of? Is he the one named Irenicus?"

"No, noo don’t usse thiss name... You don’t undersstand ... Yess, I wass a sservant, a faithful sservant but alsso a friend. All of it iss gone now. My youth, my dreamss of immortality."

"Are you all right? You have gone all white." Jaheira asked with sudden concern and I realized that the whole conversation was going on inside my head. I nodded silently trying to keep a grip on myself.

"I am all right, I had established a contact with this... thing..."

"I am not a thing, I am Rielev. That wass my name." The voice wailed suddenly in my mind. "You are hiss prisonerss? Yess, I can feel it. Ssome thingss never change. He will be angry. Will you help me to esscape? To sstop thiss endless pain... I will help you in return."

"How can we help you to escape? You cannot leave this tank." Momentarily, I had a feeling of a smile from him.

" I want you to take out the batteriess. The magic sstorage devicess. If you take them - I will die at leasst. I will tell you everything you need to know, if you promisse to help me. I beg you."

"I see." Silence enveloped us, so dense - it was almost palpable. His shadow was quivering like a jelly within the dim circle of light. I was suddenly very tired and cold, and my mind refused to cooperate. I knew I was following a trail of breadcrumbs like a dutiful mouse guided into a trap, but it was my only trail.

"Well, I will do it." I said aloud, and was shaken by the sound of my own voice. Jaheira was looking straight at me, but amazingly did not ask anything.

"Good, now assk, and I will tell you all that I know of thiss place. I shall help you to esscape." The voice was whispering inside my head again.

"Why," I asked him silently, "do you serve him so dutifully, even with your death?"

And so we talked, and I uncovered some secrets, and found more questions. Poor restless soul! The torment of being suspended forever between life and death had driven him mad long time ago. There was almost nothing left of his memories - just the dieing whisper of the mind. I suspected that as his physical body was dissolving in that evil solution, which was supposedly preserving him, his memories were fading away, leaving him fewer and fewer bright spots of his life faintly connected with quivering links of remembrances lost.

I wondered what kind of a perverse joke his ‘master’ had played on him, by granting him this sort of immortality. It was a fascinatingly evil thing to do to your faithful friend and servant. At the end Rielev started to realize that he was just another experiment, and wanted to stop it. That was why I managed to convince him to share everything he still remembered with me. Looked like Irenicus had a habit to come here and talk to him from time to time, discussing his ongoing affairs. He probably thought of it as of his biggest joke - to torment the crazy non-living thing with the details of his current nastiness.

It was a blessing, to let him go. Every time I come close to the flimsy border that separates us from the ‘other side’, I remember Rielev. He was probably that first pebble that tripped the avalanche, unraveling his master’s plans for us. He told me, among the other things, that I should be able to talk to other servants, using the magic storage device that powered his tank.

There had been a few objects scattered among the trash in the room that I found useful, including the sewer golem keystone. Rielev had informed me that his master left it there for us. Some people just totally lack imagination! What was it - arrogant perception of everybody else’s mind as a ‘minor’ one or rigid thinking?

* * * * *

The green light flashed brightly again and the white fog coalesced into a woman’s shape. This time she was agitated and spitting like a hellcat. But her male companion paid no heed to her moods. His voice sounded as cool and arrogant as ever.

"So your scheme backfired again. Now I have to rid my house of this infestation of thieves. I knew it sounded too good to be true."

"Aran has more guts than I though." She spat. "I took his best people and turned them into my minions. He barely has any wizards left to cover a simple smuggling operation. And still he dares to challenge you!"

"A cornered rat is the most dangerous one."

"I will take care of it myself!"

"No," he mused. "Just send me the few of the ones you have taken, to wipe out this vermin. It will be entertaining to watch. And I want that headhunter, you had mentioned. Deliver him to me, but don’t play with him. Not just yet."

"What can you possibly want from him? These humans think they are fast and stealthy but I perceive their every motion as if they move in a thick jelly, really. You cannot imagine how fascinating it is to watch the food run. You can see every hair on its head, every capillary under its skin so close - it makes your mouth water."

He shrugged. "You are getting too excited about it. It is just another state of your body." His remark was interrupted by a scream. He frowned irritably. "This is such a nuisance. I had to stop my work and come here to take care of this petty robbery. I think I will have to put more traps at the entrance. Something powerful but simple."

"How is your work going? Is she talking to you now?" She asked eagerly.

"Which one are you asking about? The pretty doll is talking too much for my taste. She is really getting on my nerves. You would think that kind of blood would grant at least some bit of intelligence. The other day she tried to jump off the platform inside the Plane of Air. But she has a lovely behind."

She leered, showing too much teeth. "What about the other one?"

"She is still in a coma. Or, at least, she is faking it rather well. I cannot get any kind of response, though I tried all the usual sensitive areas and neural centers."

"Can I help you with this? I just found this enthralling book by Sir Tamdorn Torquemad. He was one of the heroes of the Order of Most Radiant Heart and Grand Inquisitor himself. You would not believe what they used to do with the suspected witches!" She chuckled. "To think of how much knowledge was lost over the years. It pains me." She did a funny little motion with her fingers, like turning some invisible screw. " I suspect, that deep in his heart, he worshipped devotedly to Loviatar, the Maiden of Pain, much to Helm’s dismay."

His laughter boomed with the loud echo in the little room.

"Even those pompous asses used to have some little fun every now and then. How fitting! I will borrow this memoir from you, certainly. But first, I want to test some of my theories. This invasion," he gestured with his hand disapprovingly, "may actually be useful after all."

"What do you mean ‘useful’?"

"The classic ‘rat in the labyrinth’ setup. The thieves will provide a distraction, so they can escape and try to get out. I want to observe the subject’s reactions unhindered. The little doll is going to free her friends from their cells and the rest is a matter of my imagination."

"Is not it a bit risky? Making them run free in your lab. Why bother getting all of them out anyway, not just the girl?"

"I want her concentrated on her task of getting out, not worried about what happened to the others."

"You don’t mind that the other one will talk?"

"And tell them what? She does not have enough brains to present any danger. And I will make sure that she cannot harm herself and damage a valuable specimen. Don’t worry. Your share will be safe enough."

CHAPTER TWO

  As all the buzzing and whispering died inside the glass prison and the light went out fading slowly to nothingness I wished silently, that if Rielev had worshipped any gods- they would be lenient on his wounded soul. He deserved it for he had suffered enough to redeem whatever crimes he may have committed in the past. Willingly or not he provided us with the first solid lead on the nature of or captor’s interest in us, in me in particular.

Whoever Irenicus was, he was fascinated with death, enthralled and scared at the same time, desperately looking for the way to cheat it. I was the Child of Murder, the daughter of the god of violent death. Perhaps, he expected me to possess some special powers related to his favorite subject? Puzzled with this discovery I recalled the lines of an ancient poem :

All that will bring us to the edge,

For mortal heart is golden pledge

Of inexpressible seduction

And immortality bequest...

... and shivered with sudden chill. I never thought along these lines before. For me my heritage was a curse, not a temptation.

"He is finally dead, isn’t he? I couldn’t look away. I have seen the death before, but never was I so drawn to it. Almost as if I craved to see it happen."

I turned slowly. Imoen stood by my side looking intently into the green glass.

"He finally got his rest. It was his strongest desire." I said tiredly.

"Death is … pretty. Why do I say this? Or please, take me away from here before it is too late!"

I hugged her and walked her to the door nodding for the others to follow. The small ornate cylinder in my hand pulsed with hidden power and glowed slightly. It was demanding my attention in its quiet way. There were others in the hall of jars and Rielev had told me how to wake them up.

"So you can actually charge unanimated objects to make them store raw magic. Interesting idea. I would love to speak with this guy …" I mused.

"No you would not! Trust me on this one!" Imoen snapped viciously.

I blinked. "Calm down, little sister, I was merely speculating. We will return to the jar room now. I need to interview some of the pickled people there."

"How can you? They are dead."

"Nope, their jars are different. They have some minimal level of power maintained naturally. But you need this," I balanced the cylinder on my hand, " to make them speak."

"You seem to have had a really interesting conversation with that guy," Jaheira reflected from somewhere in the gloom behind.

"So I did. Let’s get going."

Perhaps under different circumstances I would have felt more remorse and some compassion for the servants stored in the jars. However, I had three living souls dependant on me and no other way to get the information I needed.

As we entered the hall of jars again, Imoen squirmed and bit her lip but otherwise stayed quiet and remote. My explorations took some time. Only few of the jars contained conscious beings. Those living inhabitants were mostly mad and raving. They could add little to the information Rielev had already provided. Yet, there were some unusual twists to the plot. One of the poor despondent creatures kept gibbering about a certain object that will grant him an access to the 'genie'. Aataqah was not the only djinn bound in this dungeon; that much I knew already from Rielev.

I wondered again, what was Aataqah’s role in this. The cavern of crystals, which he claimed as his place of residence was there long before all the other parts of this dungeon were built. The underground river in the cavern was not just an ordinary stream - the pools formed by its waters reflected strange and disturbing images. Rielev insisted that the place was a source of raw magic energy, which our captor tapped and used to power his underground complex. There were strange magical areas in our world, some left from the Time of Troubles, others ancient as time itself and buried deep underground. I frowned irritably at my lack of information. I needed more data to elucidate these wild speculations.

"Next we move to the library," I sighted finally.

"How do you know it is safe?" Imoen asked.

"You should have asked how do I know there is a library," I smiled," but I will let it pass."

"Are you suspecting me now?" She bristled.

"Imoen," I said as gently as possible. "I don’t think you are in control of your actions. That’s all I meant. This belt you are wearing. I probed it - it is enchanted."

She gasped. "How can you! … I cannot remove it - that is true! But it is not what you think." She blushed hotly. "I am not a puppet! It is a protection spell. Look at this and dare say you don’t trust me!"

Abruptly, she shoved her hands into my face, palms up. The thin white scars were encircling her wrists. They looked like they healed years ago, but I remembered her hands and those marks had not been here before. I grabbed her wrists into my hands and looked closer.

"A dagger of the mind," I muttered. "Did you try to kill yourself?"

She went white. "Yes, several times, but he would not let me do it! Once you are his, he would not let you escape that easy. This belt, it casts a ward spell on you, which will not let you die, does not matter how hurt you are. You can bleed almost to death or break all you bones, but still survive." She sobbed. "He let me lay for hours bleeding but alive. He said - I can only learn from my own experience."

"I am sorry, Imoen," I whispered. I just did not know what to say at this point.

"Peace, girls. I had already lost my witch. I am not letting any of you to come to any more harm, while I am still breathing." Minsc said abruptly.

"Let me handle this, Minsc." Jaheira grabbed Imoen by the shoulders and pulled her aside, hugging her tightly and muttering intently into her ear.

I let her do it. There was not much that I could do. Yet, if anybody could help, it was Jaheira with her extensive knowledge of medicinal spells and natural sensitivity to the rhythms of the living body. I considered the situation in the pause that ensued. I would be damned if I knew how to break out of this vicious circle! There was a trap behind every step we took. Every turn led back into the cage. Well, he could not have thought of everything. There should be some holes in his weavings. I was not going to use the golem key until I finished with the library. We were relatively safe to explore this place until I opened the sewer door, I decided. But it is better to keep a spell or two ready. Besides, Rielev warned me to expect surprises if I wonder off the path laid for me.

It is always fascinating to see the monster ² sublimate into a physical body. They usually go for the latest nightmare they can ‘divine’ from your memory. Mine are usually weird, but this time I managed to coerce my summoning into a shape of a hobgoblin. The second one was easier. Normally I can control up to five summoned creatures, which is about the natural limit. I always wonder what perverse logic is behind this number. Probably just a mental block for I heard that in elder times mages marched into a battle with the armies of summoned monsters and skeletal warriors. "Pandemonium Apercu" - the Bible of Conjuration, does not say anything on the matter either.

With two hobgoblins marching at front, we proceeded down the dusty corridor with caution. I did not want to risk Imoen in her present state of mind, though Jaheira insisted that I was wrong and that the danger itself was best distraction for the girl. So, when the first crossbow bolt hit the front goblin with a thud, Jaheira cursed and looked at me appreciatively. Her scimitar was out in a flash and light as a feather, she jumped in front of the sturdy dwarf in the black chain mail. Steel met steel with a sick rasping sound.

I commanded the hobgoblins to cover the crossbowmen, while chanting my next incantation. Jaheira was pushing her opponent back effectively, parrying his axe with her shield. He was obviously the leader of the group that attacked us, for he was barking commands to his comrades. Two more axemen rushed to his help, but Minsc intercepted them first.

There were six or seven of those strange dwarves, all covered head to toe with chainmail, gray skinned, and completely bald characters. It did not look like they have expected us, for they were ill prepared and disorganized, but they had advantage in numbers. They smelled faintly of iron forge and smoke, and their dark pebble-like eyes shone with madness. They yelled, cursed, and whistled with glee as they rushed at us from the semidarkness of the narrow passageways. In moments, the whole room was crawling with them. I thought vaguely of the cockroaches as I released the spell.

A well-placed lightning bolt took out one of the attackers. Minsc had two or three of them on him now, and was enjoying himself immensely. The hand-to-hand combat was his dominion, so I left him to it and concentrated on my next task, for I spotted the major player in the game - an enemy enchanter. I realized abruptly that all these events took no more then few minutes of real time for he did not have a chance to finish a single spell.

As I started my casting I spared Imoen a quick glance. She stood in the middle of the raging battle cool and efficient with her bow and arrows. Inadvertently, this momentous distraction was enough for a crossbow bolt to hit me in the shoulder.

"Curse it! My spell is ruined, watch the caster Jaheira!"

I recognized his wailings as a nasty mind control spell and was bracing myself for the worst, when an arrow flashed by burying itself deep in his throat. He felt, blood bubbling from his mouth, quivered and went quiet. Imoen was shooting arrows with a steady hand of a veteran fighter. I wondered if a danger sense worked as a medicine for her.

"Back off, baby! We can handle this," she screamed.

"Get out of the way girl if you are hurt!" Minsk yelled, hacking at his two remaining enemies. The third one was already down.

Something hit the ground, rolled to my feet, and stopped. I looked closely into the still living eyes of the severed head as I sagged to the floor clawing at the spike in my shoulder. They were dark and angry. Blood was flowing freely between my fingers, leaving my head empty and light. Well, at least it was still attached to my neck, I thought weakly.

The fight was over in seconds. After their leader lost his head, the remaining dwarves lost their nerve, and were defeated quickly. My monsters were dead too, punctured by crossbow bolts like pincushions. They sizzled slightly, dissolving in black pools of ichor. But they took the crossbowmen with them.

Jaheira rolled the head out of her way with the tip of her boot and kneeled before me, getting a steady grip on my upper arm. Her green eyes held mine as she chanted the healing spell and her hand gripped the bolt, quickly pulling it out of my flesh. I screamed, but the pain was already gone and the wound was cleaned and sealed magically.

"Not even a scar left," Jaheira smiled proudly. "You have to do it properly, before the blood stops by itself."

"How about a friendly kiss instead of spells? Boo told me it is a much better medicine." Minsc was bleeding profoundly from many small cuts but it did not seem to spoil his cheerful demeanor.

"Get over here, you comedian." She gripped his head firmly and planted a kiss on his forehead after applying a quick healing spell. He grinned and retreated to collect weapons and ammunition from the fallen enemy. After inspecting the chain mail on the headless corpse of the leader, he whistled in surprise and pulled it off without hesitation.

"Here is your princely trophy, sister. I have seen you scimitar at work. Remind me never make you angry."

The black mail shirt reeked of blood and dark magic and was indeed a rare piece of Craftsmanship.

"It stinks with death." Jaheira cringed.

"Butt kicking for goodness! It will protect you better than your leather. Take it."

"I guess you are right. Thanks for caring." She took the mail reluctantly but hold it on her outstretched hands, still undecided.

"Let me," I said tentatively, and pulled the mail shirt out of her hands. I draped it carefully over the stone bench and backed away, just far enough. I hit it with the acid splash first, so that all dried blood dissolved with a hiss. Next, I called fire. Not a trace of gore remained when I handed it to Jaheira, still slightly warm and shining darkly. Imoen clapped her hands and Minsc nodded with approval as Jaheira pulled it over her head.

"I always thought you mages need your spellbooks for this stuff to work. Why, you always used to carry around a mulepack of them," Minsc stated cheerfully. "Looks like you don’t need them after all!"

"Most of it is here." I tapped a finger on my forehead. "Though, every beginner is strongly encouraged to keep a written record. And, off course, I always keep all decent grimoires I can get my hands on. I wish I could get my things back. It will be hard to restore my spells from memory."

He finished searching the corpses with practical ruthlessness of a seasoned warrior who had seen way to many deaths in his time to care about such flimsy thing as ethics. And he was right, curse it! We have been robbed of all our possessions and coins, as well as our freedom.

"Here is something strange. Why would this guy carry around a bag full of acorns?

"Let me see it, Minsc," I opened a small suede bag. "It is not just acorns, there are other seeds as well."

"This chief character had it around his neck. That is, when he had one." Minsc said insensibly.

Indeed the bag was stained with blood but suede was thick enough to protect the insides from been soaked. Jaheira looked over my shoulder with interest.

"Hmm, I can see birch and linden ³ seeds here, as well as oak acorns."

"You better keep it than. Perhaps we will discover the meaning of this later." I handed the seeds to Jaheira.

"I found some gold and jewels too, lassie. Boo told me you’ll need a decent dress when we make it out of here." Minsc chuckled at me. "Not that I mind a glimpse of a pretty leg or two, but you may catch cold if you go around like this outside. I never knew a girl, who cannot be cheered up by a new dress."

I nodded silently, indicating, that I did not wish to discuss this any further. He was right - I looked like a scarecrow. My formerly elegant overdress was in tatters. The gray silk was slashed and torn in many places and covered with ugly rust colored stains, which I was not able to remove. Both of the sleeves were half ripped off, exposing my scarred and burned arms and shoulders. Jaheira healed the injuries, but could not avoid scarring. I did not pay it much attention. Not that I normally cared much about my appearance anyway. Yet, about two months ago, things have changed.

Now that my lover was dead and my sandcastles lay in ruins, I settled in a kind of a silent numb despair. Hating myself felt like a proper thing to do. It would have been easier, if I could share this agony with the others. But my deep and desperate sense of guilt prevented me from telling anybody that I had seen him dead. The pain was like a cancer, eating me from inside, but still, the crime was too shameful to confess it.

"We need to search the library," I said reasonably after a short pause. "I guess that was the turn we passed just before they jumped us." I turned to Imoen. "By the way, that was a great shot!"

She shrugged. "Those dwarves were Duergar, I think. I still remember some of the geography lessons from Candlekeep. You have always skipped them under the pretense that they were boring. Duergar are all evil, no wonder they serve him."

"There is no such thing as good or evil. It is only your prospective that makes you choose sides," I answered automatically.

"Oh, yeah? I would like you to meet Irenicus close and personal!" Her voice ringed with hatred so intense, that I was scared for her.

"Peace," I said. "I already did." I showed her my arms. "And geography was boring. I was reading about polymorph spells at that time. Remember Melicamp, the talking chicken?" I chuckled. "I was fortunate I did not end up like him!"

She almost smiled, for her lips curled up involuntarily at this shared memory, and calmed down a little.

"Your scars, I have a few too. He likes to play with the knives. That is why he keeps this army of dwarf smiths here - to keep his knives sharp."

She shrugged and glanced quickly at Jaheira, then looked away as if scared of her own thoughts. This bothered me for a second, but soon I forgot about it. Later, I remembered this detail and all that it implied. We appropriated some particular useful items, including backpacks and an assortment of weapons from the dead Duergar. I was particularly happy to get my hands on a sling and a bag of heavy lead bullets.

We returned to the library. I carefully searched it shelf by shelf. But there was absolutely nothing there that could help us. I found a few common scrolls. All these materials were familiar to me and suitable, perhaps, for the beginner. He obviously had removed everything valuable. I wondered, if he knew I was a scholar of magic, or if he cared at all.

"It makes me homesick," said Imoen suddenly. "All these dusty shelves and books nearly spilling over."

"Well, it makes me sneeze," I chuckled getting off the ladder, "and this is a far cry from Candlekeep. I wonder where does he keep his personal books and scrolls."

"In his study, probably." Imoen answered automatically.

I only raised an eyebrow at this and stayed silent. I found a few useful items among the old history tomes and textbooks. These were a thick ledger in octavo bound in a cheap brown cloth, a half-empty bottle of ink, and a bunch of dry feathers, suitable for quills. All these treasures I packed carefully in the capacious leather pouch, which I stripped off the dead Duergar leader. I carefully tore off the first few pages out of the book. It was a machine shop inventory of a sort listing iron bars, screws and whetstones; all scrawled with unsteady hand and a loathing for spelling. I guessed that the original owner of the book would not need it any more and so, settled the book on my knee, and sharpened the quill. Jaheira moaned. I blinked suspiciously at her.

"What? I need to keep some sort of a record, you know. I left my old journal behind in Baldur’s Gate."

"Do you have to waste time on this? We can be dead tomorrow or in an hour."

"Indeed, that is why I am trying to keep these chronicles going. Manuscripts last longer than people."

"Who is ever going to read this?" She shrugged. "Suit yourself, but don’t waste your breath on presenting us all as mighty heroes. You should know by now how long human gratitude lasts."

"You know my position on this, Jaheira. We have been over this many times. I will try to stay as neutral as possible for the active participant of the events. I thought you were happy enough with my accounts before."

"You had not wrote a word in the last two months. I knew it was too good to last. I was right."

"You cannot enter the same river twice."

"What do you mean by this?"

"I am not the same person that I was two month ago."

"So I see."

"I am sorry for all that happened, baby." Imoen suddenly blurted out. "You know I never meant you to come to any harm, nor …"

"I know you did not, Imoen. Nobody could have foreseen the future. Enough of this talk, I am responsible for this group’s survival and I am going to see us through. Everything is going to be fine. Nothing of it is your fault."

I was stuttering, so desperate I was to stop her from talking. She looked at me wretchedly, but did not continue.

"Why would you, of all people, blame yourself, Imoen?" Jaheira was astounded at the notion. "If anybody is to blame, it would be me, for sending Khalid ahead, instead of you. It had clearly been an ambush. I was the leader and so I was responsible."

"Peace, women. I am the one who was blind and she paid dearly for it!" Minsc was now pacing back and forth between the shelves, unable to keep still. "This evildoer is going to taste my sword yet! Her death will not go unpunished!"

"Hush, Minsc. Whoever holds the heaviest burden knows it in his heart. We cannot bring back the dead. But at least we can care for the living."

I said this in a cold and final tone then closed the journal and packed everything neatly in the bag. It was time to move on.

The corridor behind the library led to another dead end. When we tried to move in the opposite direction, behind the room with dead Duergar, we encountered a magically sealed door. That place rang a bell in my memory, for the shape of the lock implied some sort of a special key. Rielev had mentioned this place and later one of the servants confirmed its existence. I made a mental note for myself to look for the key.

Down the corridor, we found a cunningly set trap. Imoen was able to locate and disarm it, but it was not pretty. So, he did not want us to go in this direction? Curiosity kills the cat, but in that case, all we got was couple of nasty scratches from the half-bred demon, confined inside the magical bubble in the room behind the trap. We released and killed it without much understanding of what purpose had it served. At least I had the satisfaction of ruining his experiment. Childish of me, but at this point the danger sense gave way to a reckless desire to have it all over. I was so tired of been worried and so desperate that even openly confronting Irenicus looked like a feasible idea. It was time to use the sewer key.

We returned to the sewer golem, and I reluctantly placed the enchanted stone on its outstretched hand. The construct creaked, turned around, and left the room.

"That was pretty easy," Imoen said shakily, after golem stomped away.

"Blind and obedient," I said. "I wish all men would be like this! The world would become much safer place."

"Sirrah! Your father must be rolling over in his grave, for not spanking you enough!" Minsc grumbled. "Boo and I may just decide to put his soul to rest, alas for a short time!"

"I am afraid it is too late, Minsc." Jaheira shook her head. "Though, I would help you to hold her down."

"Peace, friends" I said. "Present company and hamsters excluded."

We had followed the golem through the cave of wondrous crystals and beyond. That corridor now had an opening. I could hear the booming steps of the golem, the screech of a rusty metal and afterwards the splash and stout ‘wham’. Something squealed as if being kicked by the heavy stone foot. The massive door was opened into the ultimate darkness. Ripe and fetid stench of cloaca assaulted our nostrils. We jumped aside as the golem passed us on its way back. The door started to creak slowly. I grabbed the torch from the nearest ring of stone and pushed inside, before it shut itself. The others followed. I could barely see anything in the dim light of my torch. The round chamber was filled with the stench of refuse emanating from the round pit in the middle. The pit was covered with the massive iron grating, which was now closed. The rest of the room was lost in the shadows, but I could just make out piles of trash, accumulated around the walls.

"Somehow, I don’t think he uses this particular door on his way out." I mused.

But before I could make any more observations or further comments, a hateful shriek filled my ears and a pale shapeless thing covered with slime jumped on us out of the dark.

"Hell and damnation!" I yelled in sheer panic. "What is this?"

"An Otyugh, I think," Jaheira answered as she grabbed her scimitars. "Ugly and diseased carrion eater! Be very careful with this one."

Minsc only grunted something inaudible as he jumped forward, pushing me aside. His swords flashed, whacking at the beast. The arrow whizzed past my ear as I prepared a spell.

Suddenly Minsc yelped in pain and cursed violently.

"It is holding me! I will need help."

I could hear Imoen muttering something on the background. What was she up to? No time to find out.

Jaheira was in the action, trying to distract the beast from the big guy. This left her no time and space to heal. The ugly thing had our ranger’s foot in its jaws. Now it was steadily chewing on Minsc’s knee, having him enveloped in its disgusting tentacles. Jaheira hacked off one of the Otyugh’s legs and proceeded with the other appendages, but it was holding on like a dog. Minsc was pale and sweaty now, unsuccessfully trying to cut thorough the beast’s thick eyestalk.

I spun and pushed the torch into Imoen’s hand, then rushed ahead with a curse almost tripping over my skirt in process. Somehow, I managed to get a grip on Minsc and planted my palms on his back. He staggered heavily.

"I need a skin contact for this to work!" I shouted frantically, shifting my hands to his bare neck. Instantly I formed a single wish in my mind, and desperately tried to concentrate on it, to issue a direct command for the body to heal. A crack of a bone and moan broke my concentration.

"Stop it!" I ordered to myself inside my head.

His skin felt cold and clammy with perspiration. Suddenly, a vision of a snake, ready to strike, filled my mind.

"Please not now!" I begged silently.

The world was frozen in suspense. The healing energy flowed from my fingertips into my patient. Minsc shrugged as if shaking off a dizzy spell. His right hand moved like a spring, and the beastie squelched and died. Minsc staggered and sat heavily on the floor.

The snake in my mind sprang up and flied into my face. I screamed and almost fainted.

"I keep forgetting about these weird things that you can do." Jaheira shook her head and kneeled before our brave warrior, cutting the leggings on his injured foot with her knife.

My head was swimming, but I tried to cover my condition by being harsh.

"Hey, I don’t think your nature devotion is any less occult or obscure! However, I don’t mind it. In fact, you would have done a better job in healing him, if you remembered that you are our only witchdoctor at the moment!"

She flashed at this and dutifully concentrated on healing the big ranger’s leg. "Imoen, would you please move closer with the torch, so I can see, what I am doing here?"

"You are harsh on her." Imoen whispered. She was the one who kept her head cool during the whole affair, and cleverly slowed the creature down with a minor spell. Now she was shivering with reaction and this caused the torch in her hand to flicker and cast unsteady shadows on the damp gray walls.

"She is a hot head." I shrugged. "I need everybody to work together, me included. Otherwise, we all will die. This was stupid of me, not to send a scout ahead."

"The rivers will flow away from the sea tomorrow, no less," Jaheira muttered. "You are actually criticizing yourself for a change."

"I am only human."

"Are you making fun of me? After what you just did it sounds rather hypocritical."

Her tone was calm and that finally got me. "She knows my weak spot, and is using it deliberately to offset my balance! " I took a deep breath and proceeded, with as much arrogance as I could manage.

"You are aware of my feelings on the matter. I did express them more than once. Nevertheless, you continue goading me with the history of my unfortunate conception and birth!"

Now she looked stunned.

" It was not my fault, and I know nothing about the motives of my ‘divine’ parent, or about his plans for me. Yet, you insist that I must be held personally responsible for the fact, which took place nine months before I was born!"

"Don’t be ridiculous, I never said anything of a sort!"

"But you bloody meant it!" I went raging. "Ever since this whole story was uncovered I wanted to ask you something, but you always cleverly managed to avoid it. Now, I am just going to ask it anyway!"

My hands were shaking, and Jaheira’s calm demeanor ignited me even more.

"How long have you been involved into planning my life for me? How many of you carefully watched my every step, ever since I learned to walk?"

She was pale and obviously hurt with my hateful and childish accusations, but I just could not stop myself. My usual self-control suddenly melted, and the words were pouring out like the contents of a punctured wineskin.

Jaheira stayed silent through my long accusatory speech, which made me feel rather like a small child, having a tantrum. I suppose that was how she had seen it. When I realized that she is not going to answer to any of this, my anger died, replaced with embarrassment. I was totally spent.

Now it is probably a good time to explain what was this all about. Jaheira had all the rights to be paranoid about my hidden powers and inner motives. For being a product of divine concupiscence towards a mortal female,I am paranoid about this myself. Yes, I can heal and cure poison with the touch of my hands, but any lesser cleric would perform these tasks with greater success. The difference was, the cleric would be drawing on the power of his or her deity. I had these abilities innate. There were also less gentle and more sinister powers that I started to suspect in myself.

Personally, I think that my conception was an act of pure malevolence and ruthless ambition, rather than lust. The god who fathered me was not known for his tender heart and merciful attitude. It was the deity of Murder and Violent Death - Bhaal. He met his own death not long after his rendezvous with my mother. It is known that he was aware of his coming demise, for it was prophesied, and tried to cheat by the simplest trick known to every mortal - producing an offspring.

I have no doubt that he did not plan to leave his children alone after his death. There have been many of us, coming from many races and nations of the Realms, as the prophesy stated. I was lucky to have had a semblance of a real family, for my mother had a friend, who had adopted me after her death in childbirth and became my real father and the teacher of Magic, who had never shown me anything but kindness and support. I had never wished for any other life but a steady and stable existence inside the walls of Candlekeep, with all the books in the world within my easy reach and every traveling scholar of Magic eventually stopping there to give a presentation. I was deprived of all this after my stepfather Gorion was murdered violently by my insane half-brother Sarevok.

Ever since, I was forced to strive across the land like a tornado, leaving chaos in my wake. Every sleepy derelict village that we visited bore the seeds of trouble. Every man or woman whom I would dare to love would be in desperate danger by a mere fact of being near me. Nevertheless, some brave souls attached themselves to me driven apparently by strong currents of fate. Every so often, I feel my pull on the others like a candle feels its pull on the night moths and gnats. Neither of us can do anything about our deadly attraction. I don’t fancy myself as a great beauty, if anything, my looks can be considered titillatingly exotic.

The attraction I am talking about works on the different level. It is as if the fabric of the reality will create a vortex around my fate, and drag others into it. There is nothing pleasant about it. It works as a trap for both sides. When I tried to flee and leave everybody behind, it only led to further death and desperation. At times I do think of the death as a way out. My major fear is that this is exactly what my dead progenitor would have wanted. This is the way to eliminate the weakest spawns of Bhaal, so that the world would be left on the mercy of the strongest contestant for his throne.

I know it sounds like a hypocrisy, but I would give every bit of those ‘special powers’ that I have just to be a normal person, with my own ambitions and desires, not that of the dead evil god. I consider myself quite a talented mage. I am curious and inquisitive by nature. More than anything else, I want to become known as a specialist in my chosen field and live a peaceful life of a scholar. I do not have any political aspirations or mad desires. Why do I have to share my body with the essence so vehemently alien to me?

Unfortunately, it does not look like my heart’s desire will be taken into a consideration by whoever is watching over my fate. That is the main reason under my refusal to worship any deity. I am proud of my agnosticism, though it sounds so funny coming from me! How can you be an agnostic in a world were deities walk the land and consort with mortals? Well, let me try to make myself clear. The gods crave human worship even more than humans crave power and sex. For the gods will cease to exist without mortal veneration. They will simply die and drift forever on the waves of the ether, slowly dissolving into nothingness. Mortal beings, on the other hand, would not suffer much from their gods demise. We would still have magic and science, arts and Crafts invented and much enjoyed by us. After all, even the supposed death of the goddess of magic did not destroy the Weave, though it was heavily disrupted. Mortals create gods, not the other way around. That is my firm and strong belief. The deity would show its face to occupy the throne after all the groundwork of developing and honing the momentous idea into an abstract concept or well-respected Craft had been done by the mortals. Thus, we have the goddess of Joy taking over theater performances or the god of Abstract Knowledge becoming also a patron of laboratory research. It is not like I wish that all the gods would disappear. I simply don’t care about them. They exist on their particular Planes and supposedly take care of their worshippers. I do not worship anybody or anything and I don’t need anybody to look after me. Though I would probably love to be able to walk the Spheres and see the distant worlds and the inhabitants of the other Planes.

When I learned about my father’s identity, I was disgusted and terrified. Jaheira and I have had many arguments on the matter. None of them usually went as ugly as the last one. She thought of me as of an insolent child, which I admit was partially true. But I was not going to change my ways to please anybody, even Jaheira. She had always looked like she was no more than a few years older than me but she had an elven blood too. I never dared to ask how old she actually was but had always thought of her as of a wiser, older sister. Something I had never had with Imoen. To think of what I did … No, the dead are buried, and grass is growing tall over their graves. I should care for the living.

What bothered me most at the moment was something that happened during the fight. Those visions I started to have - they were quite disturbing. It was like a returning nightmare, only it happened in my waking hours…

I would hear a hissing sound and see the golden stream of sand falling from the hot blue sky into the bowl of a gigantic hourglass. The sand would consolidate into a coiled shape of a serpent, which would rise leisurely with the same hissing sound to stand on its tail, looking straight into my eye. Slowly, deliberately it will imitate my every move, keeping its gaze fixed on mine, and at the same time swinging rhythmically akin to a pendulum. The time would be suspended, so I would see every scale on its long body and every flicker of its dark forked tongue. Then it would strike like an unwinding spring and fly into my face with its fangs poised!

That was usually when I was able to regain control of myself. The first time it happened was two months ago, when I left my bedroom in the middle of the night, sleepless and heart sick, and headed into the library to console myself with reading. Right before I entered the library, I had a vision of a snake. He was inside alone, and the fire was dancing high in the fireplace. When I later recalled that night, I had never remembered the snake vision. Not until I have seen the bloody dagger, being wiped on the white linen of his shirt.

Now I wondered if the vision had been a warning or a premonition of a sort. If the first one proved to be so deadly, what did the second one mean? Was it something I was about to do? Or was it something happening at this very moment in the entirely different part of the world, but inevitably linked with my fate?

* * * * *

You serve your greed in apt disgrace,

Resolved to turn your heart to stone.

But when your luck will turn its face,

You’ll have to meet your doom alone.

For blood is spilt, and price is paid,

And every coin has other side,

Your fate is sealed and path is laid

To follow whim of cruel pride.

* * * * *

Yoshimo was troubled. Something at the back of his mind kept nagging at him, like a splinter left under the skin, or a little chip of bone in this unreachable place between his teeth. He sniffed the air and listened - a sudden chill run down his spine. He had realized what was bothering him - the utter silence of the night.

The street was quiet and empty, which was unusual for the Slums, even at this time of night. In this place beggars and urchins, drunkards and prostitutes of every race and gender shared the sidewalks with wild cats and dogs across the clock. On occasion, the flood of liquid refuse would shower on the unlucky passerby from the open window or door. Curses and screams, weeping and scuffle would mix with moans of pleasure, a howling of a dog doused with hot water or a cry of a baby, sick from neglect into the never-ending symphony of the city. He was never alone here. There were always witnesses and this made life dangerous, but also reliable. If you play by the rules and pay your dues to whatever criminal boss was currently in charge of your part of the city - you will be fine. And he learned the rules of the game earlier than he learned to read and write for he was a successful bounty hunter in a dozen of big cities of the Realms. The trick was to never let yourself feel any sympathy for your quarry. If you stay coolheaded and professional and don’t let the subject get to you - you will be finer still.

He retrieved runaway slaves, thieving servants and adolescent girls, seduced and whisked away by their lovers - sometimes the girls ended up in the funhouses of the distant cities. These were high-rated criminal cases. The domestic category included adulterous wives and children running away from their parents. Yoshimo was rather philosophical about his profession. People would always try to run away from their duty, which they perceived as their chains. His job was to gently or maybe not so gently remind them of their obligations to the law, to their owner, or their spouse. He preferred to use sleeping draughts and a garrote, rather then the brute force. He had had a nice collection of padded manacles and collars, in case the subject was not cooperating. He had a stable income and a savings account in the local bank. The girls liked him, for he always had some little extra to buy a trinket or two.

His current paramour was a plump pretty girl, who was making quite a name for herself in the local thieves guild. Kachiko worked in the richer part of the city. She frequented local tavern, which welcomed foreign traders. There she flirted with the dim-witted rich merchants, getting them drunk and excited enough to follow her into the narrow alleys, behind the Wakeen Promenade. The owner of the place was well paid of course, and he strictly forbade any "funny business" on his premises. What happened to his guests outside did not trouble him much and if a headless corpse of a missing tradesman turned out in the morning, well, ' they should have known better', was his usual response. Kachiko was very good with her knives, and she usually had a backup so, when she went missing for several days, he did not worry much. But now he remembered this and the thought made him uncomfortable. Not that he was much in love, he would never loose his head for a woman for his true passion in life was money, but there was no obvious reason behind her sudden disappearance and he liked logic and order in everything.

After listening quietly to the wind for several minutes, Yoshimo shrugged and continued on his way. He was quite a handsome figure in his dark, undescriptive but expensive clothes. His lean, fit figure moved noiselessly from shadow to shadow making it hard to follow. His destination and favorite hangout, the Copper Coronet tavern, was only a few paces away when a womanly shape robed in a hooded cloak crossed his path. He swore in surprise then laughed sharply in recognition as her dark eyes gleamed at him with the delighted smile.

"You’ve bested me today, Kachi. Where have you been all this time? I missed you." She did not answer, just pressed a finger to her lips, and beckoned with her other hand to follow.

"What is it you are playing at?" He asked, astonished and little uneasy.

But he had not seen her for a week and a swing of her hips under the cloak was inviting enough to make him interested. He followed her back along the dark deserted street almost in a run but never managed to catch up. At the corner, she stopped and smiled radiantly, signaling him to follow again. He was out of breath, but her face stayed calm and pale though normally she would have flushed heavily from so much exercise. Now he was really worried, but the imp of unsatisfied curiosity was pulling at his legs as he followed her reluctantly under the arc of the tunnel leading into the shady alley behind the Promenade.

She was waiting for him in the darkness, her shape somehow more sinuous and inviting than he remembered. But as he stepped forward to grab her in his hands and give her a good shake for his trouble - her hood fell off, and instantly a blue magic flame flowered in her hands. This woman was not Kachiko. Her eyes flashed blood red like rubies, and her blonde hair, cut short to her shoulders, gleamed with the golden sheen in the unsteady light of the spell. He glimpsed her lithe, attractive body clothed in the black leather corsage and high-heeled boots. Then she threw her casting at him, and a thrill of happiness and desire to serve and worship this incredibly beautiful creature engulfed his mind, and swallowed every other thought and desire. He felt to his knees sobbing miserably at his mistress obvious displeasure.

"Filth," she muttered disgustedly. "You are lucky today, for he wants you alive, though I cannot comprehend, why." She chanted another spell and a portal opened to a gray and dusty underground place, filled with whispers. "Stand up and follow," she barked showing her white gleaming teeth in a scowl. He followed obediently and the darkness closed behind them.

* * * * *

We left the sewer as soon as Minsc declared himself fit to move.

"They have to do better than this to stop Minsc from kickin’ the ultimate butt of evil! If you cut my leg off, I’ll have a new one made out of iron. Just think of the possibilities!" He stomped his newly healed leg, smiled amenably at me, and turned to Jaheira.

"Thank you m’lady for patching me up so quickly."

"I am not a blacksmith, Minsc. You better keep both of your legs the way they are now." She muttered.

"Yeah, but the iron leg sounds like a nice treat that I can give to this Irenicus fellow!"

I slowly came back to my senses after the surge of an uncontrolled temper. Jaheira was quiet and cold as a snow maiden. She looked at me haughtily, virtually ignoring the whole subject of my outburst.

"So be it," I thought. "Two can play this game."

"Come on, Minsc, I am aware of your extraordinary sturdiness and fighting abilities." I interrupted his jovial revelations on the subject of the uses for the iron leg. "Even so, allow me to put some spells on you. I would have preferred to have a full day’s rest, but we cannot afford to loose any time now."

"Hey, you don’t have to make all this fuss just because I got a little scratch," he grinned broadly. "Not that I don’t like to be the center of attention of so many beautiful ladies!"

"Clown," I mumbled, applying myself to the task of spellcasting.

The steady shining of the spiritual armor spell settled on him followed by more subtle luck charm. Those were adequate protections against the horde of kobolds, which immediately attacked us in the corridor beyond the sewer. With Imoen holding the torch and a stream of magical missiles sizzling in the air and igniting the filthy red fur we had enough illumination to finish the little goons and follow the narrow corridor to the barred door at the end. I coughed and sneezed from the brown smoke, which now filled the passage. The door was closed but Minsc was able to force it with a single shove of his shoulder. As it burst open, Imoen staggered and gasped. It opened into the room, which looked like the living quarters of the master.

It was a handsome studio with a marble fireplace cracking merrily with fire and an expensive looking chess set laid open on the side table. The game was abandoned at some particularly elegant combination. I longingly looked at it, thinking over the possible ways out for the black. Their queen was about to take the white rook, and thus, imminently doom itself to the flank attack from the white bishop. I gently picked it up and moved it to the side square, which promised relative safety and a possibility to regroup.

"Please stop it!" Imoen shrieked at me.

"What?" I jerked my hand back, instinctively.

"This whole place is trapped, I can feel it!"

I looked around, noticing light attractive furniture, shelves loaded with books and scrolls, a cozy armchair by the fireplace and a big four-poster bed in the corner.

"Are you familiar with this room?"

"Yes, I am." She went silent.

I shrugged. "Do you think he would trap his own quarters?"

"He can do anything," she shook her head desperately, "any nasty rotten trick you can think of, just for the fun of it."

"Well, than we better not touch anything here, until we checked for traps."

Imoen was right - he had trapped the place, though not extensively. She was able to disarm all of his magical traps easily, which confirmed my opinion on our jailor’s character – arrogant to the point of been ridiculous. We took full advantage of this feature and searched his drawers and chests freely. I was happy to recover some of our stolen belongings, including my spellbooks, and plunder few semi-rare magical scrolls, though nothing special caught my eye there. The only thing worth mentioning was a little ugly statue, which depicted an air elemental. This was a reward for my patience, for that was the key I specifically looked for.

I was almost purring with content when something else caught my attention. The sudden whiff of air came from the heavy velvet curtain at the far side of the room, bringing with it a taste of moisture and a smell of green grass. I walked there, pulled the curtain aside, and stopped frozen in astonishment.

" Hey! What is it our bad girl found this time?" Minsc cheered looking over my shoulder.

The short tunnel behind the curtain opened into a big cavern. The subtle underground air currents carried the smell of fertile soil and wet greenery from that grotto - a welcome relief after dry dusty air of the dungeon. As we entered it a sensation of tranquil harmony settled over my mind. The walls of the grotto were shiny from water oozing over them in small rivulets. Every little crevice hosted a plant, so that the dark ochre cavern was draped with ferns and lichen. Deep green moss covered the floor. The air was rich with moisture. The dim light that filled the cavern had no obvious source and, I assumed, was provided by the long-term spell. Three immense trees grew in the center of the cavern taking most of the space. However, even that peaceful and pleasant scenery bore the seed of corruption. The leaves on the trees were still green, but the edges were touched with black and yellow. The trunks were solid, but showing traces of infection with the creeping fungi.

Suddenly three woman figures materialized in the clearing, visibly out of nowhere, surrounded by the glitter of green and gold.

"These are dryads! They should not be here! This is impossible!" Jaheira was shaken. Seeing the woodland spirits trapped here in a subterranean dungeon, deprived of sunlight, wind and flowing water was the worst abomination she could have imagined. Her druidic instinct broke her silent fury with me, which she maintained since our disastrous conversation.

She looked at me urgently, for I just stood there speechless, touched with harmonious beauty and sensual grace of the nymphs.

The first one was supple, light-skinned, and delicate. She was the vision of beauty, with green liquid eyes and a stream of pale green hair braided in a thousand little plaits and stringed with gold and ivory beads. She had a figure of a dancer. Her hands were strong but thin and graceful, with long flexible fingers. Her tree was a birch. An intricate necklace adorned with golden leaves and small emeralds jingled slightly on her pale neck as she moved.

The second one was physically powerful and athletic with gleaming dark brown skin and hair the color of dark copper. Her curves were perfection of the well-shaped muscle. I guessed her tree was an oak. Her eyes were the shade of burned caramel and her full raspberry colored lips rounded in a half-smile. Her necklace was of amber beads, carved in the shape of acorns with silver leaves.

The third dryad was lush and shapely, with rounded feminine figure, skin the color of honey, and beautiful heart-shaped face. Her eyes were pure gold and her hair bright lavish green of the linden tree leaves in the middle of June. She smelled faintly of honey and midsummer heat, and her necklace was of golden bees and miniature flowers, where each petal was a tiny pearl. Akin to her sisters, she did not wear anything but her jewelry and her long lustrous hair. Her effect on Minsc was stunning. Poor fellow was positively hypnotized but at the same time almost frightened. I knew very well that Minsc was not immune to the ladies charms, for I have overheard Dynaheir’s sarcastic remarks over his numerous ‘distractions’ in their journeys.

"Spare me, oh Polynesius ⁴ , the honey child," he muttered. "Fay of pleasure and eternal sleep."

"I am Cania," she smiled. "But I know the one you speak of, though I cannot say we like each other."

Minsc blinked sheepishly at this, but was obviously much relieved.

"I am Ulene," tinkled the Birch spirit.

"Elyme is my name," added the Oak one.

I tilted my head in polite acknowledgement. "Why are you here, illustrious spirits?"

"He imprisoned us here. We are his possessions."

"His slaves."

"His concubines."

"But how did it happen that you are trapped here? Is not it impossible to keep a dryad against her will? Can’t you just leave?" I said.

"We can’t leave our trees."

"Our trees will die and we will die with them."

"He stole the seedlings of our trees, planted them here and killed the actual trees."

"Is there any way we can help you?"

"You can help us. If you can find our seeds."

"The acorns of our trees."

"If you take them away from here and give them to the Woodland Queen, she will replant the trees and then, we can leave him. The trees will die, but new ones will grow."

"This is rather mysterious. The seeds should be on your trees, shouldn’t they?"

"He takes them away every year to destroy them."

"He enjoys our misery. He sent the Duergar to abuse our trees and ruin the seeds."

"The trees are sick. He must keep some of the acorns to replant them when they are dead. The Duergar may have them. Seek out Ilyich, their tribe leader."

I looked at the moss-covered floor. It was littered with broken twigs, leaves, and bits of bark but not a single acorn or a seed was left there. The trees looked ravished and disheveled, now that I had a closer look.

CHAPTER THREE

The cavern was filled with slow sad rustle of leaves and play of shifting shadows. Poor trapped spirits! They did not look so bright and beautiful to me anymore. Their very essence was tainted with a touch of decay the way their trees were diseased. My mind revolted against the very idea of that corruption, albeit deep in my soul an ever-present worm of skepticism started its work.

"Every single creature in this place hates the master, yet they follow his orders and comply to his desires. What if the dryads are also following his commands?" I thought half-heartedly.

Jaheira put an end to that by stepping boldly forward and pulling out the bloodied suede bag. She was carrying it around her neck like the dead Duergar. She untied the cords and presented the bag to the dryads.

Cania, who was closest to her, gasped and lowered to her knees as she recognized that bag.

"I plead to you, Nature child! Take these to our Queen in Windspear Hills!"

Jaheira flinched from embarrassment and quickly kneeled herself holding the bag in her hand, as if offering it to the dryad.

"Please, dear spirit, there is no need to beg, I will do all I can to deliver your acorns safely to your Queen."

All three dryads were trembling and excited. Cania sprang up and touched Jaheira gently on the forehead with her fingertips.

"Thank you, Nature child. If you do this, you will save our bodies and souls from this defilement. Irenicus is rotten at the core and he spreads his spiritual disease to everything he touches!"

"You know, when I was a child I dreamed of the tree nymphs; of being one with the forest," Imoen said suddenly in a trembling voice. "How beautiful you are! I, … I almost cannot see you. But your allure has no effect on him, does it?"

"You are welcome, child," Cania answered kindly. "You are right about him, but how do you know that?"

"He touched and defiled her the same way he did us!" The Oak dryad exclaimed angrily. "Don't give up to him, young woman - that much we learned from our captivity! It does not matter how he appeals to you, keep your spirit locked away, and fight back. That is the only way to survive!"

"He is barren inside," said Ulene, the Birch spirit. "We can awaken desires and instill emotions in the living, but it does not work with him. You cannot seduce a dead man, and Irenicus gives me the creeps for he is like a walking corpse!"

"Irenicus, even his name is synonymous with death and ugliness," Elyme added with disgust.

"The only thing I learned I dare not say aloud," Imoen muttered. "I must leave this place, before it is too late! Little sister, why cannot we go home?" She looked at me pleadingly.

I remained silent through all that exchange, but now it was time to make decisions.

"We will be able to deliver your acorns to the Queen only if we escape from here," I said reasonably. "So, if you have any clues as to how we can accomplish this, you are welcome to share them with us."

"We will help you!" Cania, the Linden dryad sounded excited. "You will need a portal key to enter the next level of his dungeon. That is what he uses. Alas, you cannot get his key, so you should get a copy. The one that he made for his wife."

"There is a woman who actually lives with this monster?" I was astounded, though now I remembered one of the servants speaking of the 'Mistress room' and how dangerous it was.

"Oh, no. Her feet never touched this place. That was in the past. She despises him, but he still loves her or at least he thinks he does. He said - she is responsible for ruining his life."

"He built a room for her in the middle of this ... madhouse," Elyme said scornfully. "It is right here, connected with our grotto. We go there sometimes, to touch her things … the things he put there for her. He thinks that he preserves his memories in that way, but there is nothing inside him to preserve, just death. His dungeon is death all around."

"Death is different," Imoen said suddenly, "it can be pretty and seductive. He showed me."

"Let's go see this room," I interrupted. "Is there anything else we should know about it?"

"It is trapped, so be careful! We can go there as we wish but if any mortal being enters it - something bad will happen. We don't know what it is."

The 'Mistress room' was right there, its entrance hidden at the shadowy corner of the cavern. As we paused reluctantly at the door, one of the dryads reminded us to be careful. Indeed, the moment Imoen stepped on the threshold, a distant sound of alarm buzzed and went quiet again. Nothing happened, so after waiting for several minutes we entered.

It was an elegant circular room, just big enough to be spacious and cozy at the same time. A round Calimshani carpet beautifully patterned with green and white was the centerpiece of the bedroom decor. It covered entire floor and was so soft that your feet sunk into it. It felt like the field of grass. I understood why the dryads wanted to come here. It was as if you entered a different universe.

The light wooden furniture was of exquisite Craftsmanship. Every little table supported a piece of art or an antique vase with live tropical plant in full bloom. The flowers filled the room with heavenly fragrance. The bed was an elegant creation of oriental design, covered with green patterned silk, and decorated with four bedposts. Each bedpost was mounted with a glittering globe of polished green stone.

Hazy warm light of unknown origin filled the chamber. It was bright enough to read. And sure, a book was laid open, as if forgotten, on the side table near the bed. It looked like a person who lived here left not a moment ago and would soon be back. A marble head of an elven princess was on display on the elegant stand by the bookshelf.

"This is impossible!" Imoen exploded. "This place, it can not, should not belong to the same man who owns these terrible glass containers! These flowers and statues, all of this is a terrible mockery and abomination!" She almost choked.

"Maybe this is a side of him, we had not seen yet," I said calmly, trying to subdue her sudden fury.

"He thinks of this place as of sanctuary to his spirit!" She spat in disgust. "But he does not have any! He was talking about this room while he was cutting and tearing and … showing me..." she stopped. "He thinks, he built a shrine to his lost love, but she despises him and so do I! I … I spit on his name, on his filthy being! I would have burned this place down, if I could, but this in nothing. This is not a shrine, it is just a room meaning nothing, filled with nothing but empty desire."

"If it means nothing, why are you so angry?" I thought fleetingly.

A warning cry from dryads suddenly interrupted us. We all turned sharply and saw the guardian of this hidden paradise, summoned by the sound of the alarm. A terracotta-red clay golem was coming in our direction.

"The sanctuary of the Mistress room was violated!" It rumbled. "Thou shall pay for thy crime!"

It was a massive construct with rather silly expression of perpetual doom on its face.

"Where goes the stench of evil, there shall go a cleansing wind of Minsc and Boo!" Our ranger exclaimed cheerfully. He jumped forward and whacked the golem on the side with his sword. There was a nasty scraping sound of metal on pottery.

"No effect? I need a bigger sword!" Minsc yelled and whacked again.

His second blow had the same result. The golem turned around and tried to hit Minsc on the head with his fist.

"Hey, be careful of what you are doing!" Jaheira cried out banging the golem with her shield. "There is not much left there to begin with!"

"Damnation!" I exclaimed in some agitation. "This thing is immune to all sharp weapons, we should use clubs and staves!"

"Butt kicking for goodness!" Minsc ducked under the golem's swinging arm. "Boo says, we may have a little something here that it will find unpleasant."

He grinned impishly and ducked again. With a flash of an illusionist, he dropped his recently acquired backpack on the floor and produced a warhammer out of it. Jaheira exchanged a quick glance with him and threw him her shield, whilst getting a good two-handed grip on her staff.

She delivered a powerful blow to the golem's side. It turned around swiftly and made a swing at her. I grabbed my sling and loaded it with the first lead bullet. Jaheira was holding her ground with the golem, although he had reached her once and a big black bruise marred the side of her face. An arrow swished past me and hit the golem on the chest without much effect. I sent a nasty metal piece flying and grabbed for another. My bullets struck the construct with snapping noise.

At that moment, Minsc hit the golem with a hammer from behind. I heard the sound akin to the cracking pottery. The clay idol moved with surprising speed, but our fearless ranger was just a bit quicker, for he dropped to his knees and rolled over out of golem's reach.

"Come on, get me if you can! You half-baked clay pot!"

This time he was holding his shield up, covering his head and swung his hammer at the golem's ankles. It sagged. At the same time, Jaheira landed a sound blow at its back. The golem creaked again and suddenly scattered in a shower of chunks of pottery.

"Thus breaks the pot of evil and here comes more of it to follow! More evil butt headed our way to drive the mighty kick of Minsc's boot!" Minsc rejoiced, just as I sighed with relief.

Yep, he was right. The second golem showed up right after we finished the first one.

"I don't understand why are you so happy about it," I grumbled and launched a spell.

I do not know what possessed me to try magic on the golem, but the result was disastrous. Not only did it resist my magic missile, it also decided to concentrate solely on my humble self in its murderous pursuit. I was running around like a mouse chased by a cat, while my friends clouted the construct with blunt objects. All the time Minsc was making jokes about wizards in general and their intellectual abilities, while whacking at the golem with his hammer. Finally, the second construct was down and I was able to catch my breath and lick my wounds, figuratively speaking.

"Hey, at least you will remember that golems are heavily resistant to magic, my friend!" Jaheira said solemnly.

Boo squeaked and peered out of his master's pocket.

"Boo says, what?" Minsc listened to the little rodent peeping. "Ah, he said cheer up, Minsc! You are not the only one who does not have much in the brain department!"

"Sure," I said. "Do you know, each spell takes intellectual energy and blows it up into the ether? It is like playing a flute, really. Afterwards you are left empty-headed and nutty as a fruitcake. But jokes aside, I am glad I am still in one piece." I was slightly embarrassed by all the fuss.

"Good work with a sling, back there," Imoen smiled encouragingly. "It took me back to our days together in Candlekeep."

I was quite good with a sling since I was a child. It was my weapon of choice when for some reason I was not able to use magic. Now that Imoen reminded me, I recalled our first prominent adventure together and smiled. Imoen appeared in my life when I was about ten years old and has held a prominent place in my heart ever since. She befriended me in a blink of an eye, and in a week's time we were saving a thrush's nest in the Candlekeep gardens from a cat.

Imoen was always a softhearted girl. The type that would worry about stepping on a bug, and would be always nursing some sick kitten or pup in the backyard. I usually tagged along with her for solidarity's sake, when she managed to pull me away from my reading.

The young thrush was naive enough to make her nest in the middle of the thick thorny bush in our gardens. It seemed like a good idea at first, but it was way too close to the apple tree and Slinky, Phlydia's gray tabby cat, was able to creep down the tree branch into the midst of the bush, avoiding its thorns. Couple of small stones from the sling aimed with steady hand was enough to send him down into the shrubbery, meowing from ignominy. That would stop him from trying his luck for a day or so. But he would come back to do it again, so we would have to keep our eyes open and slings ready. Imoen was skipping classes and I had to bring her food out there.

When the thrush had her little ones out of the nest and learning to fly, it was the worst, for they were on the ground half of the time and we had to chase the cat out continuously. Imoen and me camped in the garden for the whole day, and only Gorion's interference prevented us from staying there overnight. That was the first (but not the last!) time when I adamantly refused to follow his orders.

The idea of abandoning our quest when we had already spent so much time trying to save the stupid birds was extremely irritating. Besides, I really did not want Imoen to get upset. I was rather shy and unsocial, as a child, and her suddenly acquired friendship had meant a lot to me. We had been able to find a compromise though, for Phlydia was a sweet old lady and she agreed to keep Slinky under house arrest for a while. Later the gang of young Oghmites decided to share our vigil and spend their free time in the gardens watching. The birds learned to use their wings soon, and flew away happily into the big world. Every year since we had thrushes visiting the garden, albeit they have learned and picked safer spots to nest.

Unfortunately, eight years later I was not there to save old Slinky's neck from a doppelganger ⁵ , who had him for dinner one night after these vile creatures invaded the Candlekeep. He was not the only victim of that disaster, for many old friends of mine were slain by the doppelgangers. We wiped out all the fiends but that did not bring back the dead.

I sighed and looked at Imoen, breaking away from my memories. She was always everybody's sweetheart, a kind of golden child trusting and enthusiastic about everything, at least on the surface. At dinner table, she was always chirping and bubbling with a new tale of adventure, which just had to be told.

She would get excited about a new friend and will fall in love instantly. But she could never compromise on her passions. If she found a weakness in you - she would be bitterly disappointed and denounce her friendship instantly. We had come a long way from our early days of naïve idealism and youthful exuberance. However, Imoen did not want to admit this to herself.

"Perhaps she could not accept any kind of change, and it is impossible for her inner self to be forced into a new shape," I thought bitterly. "I am much less courageous."

I was only afraid that if she could not bend she would be broken instead.

After dispatching the golems, we immediately returned to the 'Mistress' bedroom and searched it carefully. There had been a few vicious traps, including explosive and acid spells. The key to the portal was there, as well as some minor magical artifacts.

The place had lost its charm for me. I was looking at all the fancy furniture and art, smelling the sweet cloying perfume of the orchids and my fantasy added an underlying stench of the rotting flesh to that exquisite bouquet of fragrances. I looked into the blind eyes of the statue, and her face seemed to contort with revulsion. Maybe all of that was a product of my imagination. I shrugged. It was time now to make a major move.

"My friends, can you trust me once more with choosing our path from here?" I asked earnestly. " It may seem like a deviation, but my instinct tells me to follow this trail and I trust my inner sense more than I trust my eyes."

"Speak your mind, comrade," Jaheira said honestly. "You have always been a good leader and intelligent planner."

"I prefer swords to words." Minsc grinned. "Lead the way as you always did and Minsc will follow with his blade ready!"

"I will trust you with my life, as I always did." Imoen concluded and looked at me trustingly.

I always forgot what color her eyes were. They seem to change tone from gray to green or brown, flecked with little golden specks, if the light was right. Now they were murky gray with pain lurking under the surface.

"I have a reason to suspect that every word that we utter can be heard by the mage who captured us." I said carefully. "I don't think he is spending all his time watching us, but all the same he is seeing most of our progress through his labyrinth and I don't want him to know, what I think I know." I smiled. "That was rather awkward, was it not?"

"That is why I prefer my swords to your gibberish!" Minsc said enthusiastically. "If he is watching, I hope he can hear me now." He raised his head to the low ceiling and yelled.

"Hey you, rat-brained piece of refuse! Come out and meet my sword! We are all heroes here - girls, Boo, and me! Evil butts will be liberally kicked in wrathful indignation!"

"Oh, shut up Minsc," Jaheira said thoughtfully. "If she is right, he is not going to come out, until his timing is right.&quo