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PART TWO
THE THIEF, THE KNIGHT, HIS SISTER, AND MY LIES

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The road to Hell is  paved with Good Intentions.

“My sister is dead!” the young cleric’s voice quivered as if saying these words aloud made him an accomplice; and by accepting the ugly truth of her death, he somehow made it more real. “I am leaving the company. I beg you, Jaheira, wake her up, we need to talk.”

“I am awake,” I murmured foggily, starting to pull myself out of the now tepid water of my bath, and then realizing from a sudden panic in Jaheira’s voice that something was not quite right. The fact of my nudity did not reach my brain at once, but when it slowly made its way up there I ducked back into the Vyatri’s best copper tub with a splash. Jaheira had arranged it brought in here and filled with blissfully hot water for my bath. Verily, Anomen was at such a state that a platoon of naked virgins could have marched right through the room without his notice. Being a highly practical girl, I did not find a better solution than to quickly cast a blurring spell upon my humble persona, and thus protect his virtue from further corruption by the sight of my dripping charms.

“Anomen?” I offered awkwardly from my hazy cover. “I am sorry. I offer my condolences. Is there anything that we can do? ”

He suddenly staggered, hiding face in his hands. It is always embarrassing to a see men cry. To see his broad shoulders shake from violent sobs was near heartbreaking.

“Can you take him into the sitting room and stay with him for a while?” I hissed at Jaheira. “I will be there in a moment!”

She wanted to say something, but swallowed her remark and gently led him out of the bedroom that was solely hers before tonight, in where he barged unexpectedly a few minutes ago. I grabbed a woolen robe, draping it hastily over my still wet body, and gathered my clean but wet mane into a towel, wrapping it around my head. Thus ready, I sighed and cancelled the blurring spell. My head was still fuzzy from the strange dream I had experienced, and I was at a complete loss of how to deal with Anomen’s tragedy. From what he had told me in few amiable conversations before our budding comradeship spun out of control into the gray area of mutual distrust, jealousy, and petty reprisals, his sister meant everything to him.

I had had my share of heartbreaking losses this year, starting with Gorion’s violent death and ending with abduction of Imoen. I was afraid it had taught me nothing but the art of suppressing my emotions and skillfully terminating relationships before they threatened to grow into serious attachments. My flight from Baldur’s Gate was a perfect example of where it had led me at the end. Still, Anomen deserved better than tepid ‘sincere condolences’, so I braced myself and marched into the anteroom of Vyatri’s best suite, generously paid for by Trademeet’s Mayor Logan Corpith. It was the usual mixture of plush furniture and virulently bright carpets, which was the Amnish upper classes idea of luxury accommodations.

Anomen was standing at the exit door, evidently trapped in indecision, while Jaheira was murmuring something to him soothingly. His eyes were red and swollen but his face was now full of sullen rage that so often followed what he considered his ‘moments of weakness’. I instantly recognized were we were headed, and braced myself for another tantrum.

“I apologize for disturbing you in such an oafish manner,” he said icily, “my personal grievances surely aren’t worth interrupting you at your bath. Still, I felt obliged to notify you of my immediate departure.”

Up to this day, I have no idea what came over me. I guess my physical condition of extreme tiredness played its role, as well as emotional exhaustion. I felt such an intense flood of feelings overwhelming me: a mixture of anger, irritation, but most strongly – pity that I could not control myself. I walked straight to the spot where he was rooted, glaring mulishly at his feet, and slapped him twice with as much force as I could master, once on the left cheek and once on the right.

“That is for your sister’s death being ‘not worthy of my attention’,” I said grimly, “and that one for doubting that I would offer my help in dealing with the matter.”

Anomen blanched, which made the two red prints on his cheeks stand out even brighter. For a moment or so, I was afraid he was going to hit me back, but his bred-in chivalry and closet romanticism overwhelmed the basic instincts of enraged Amnian noble. His lips trembled with unspoken words of reproof. There was only one way out of this situation now. I cursed myself for not keeping my hands to myself, and grabbed his head firmly. I had never kissed a man with a beard before. It tickled a great deal. His lips tasted of salt and bitter anger.

“Don’t get any ideas, that was an apology for slapping you,” I offered breathlessly, “though by Helm’s beard - I would have done it again given a chance! Will you please stop being intolerable now and tell me what had happened?”

His color slowly returned to normal, albeit he did look like he was hit on the head with a heavy object. Jaheira murmured something incomprehensible and retreated into the bedroom proper.

“Terl was waiting for me in the common room,” the young man muttered. Then seeing my perplexed look explained hastily. “He has been with the family for more then two decades as a stablemaster, and sometimes Moira’s personal bodyguard. He is probably the last of our men who had stayed with us, despite father’s frequent negligence to pay his salary. He is … was very attached to my sister.” He swallowed to dislodge a lump in his throat, and continued. “It looks like Lord Cor was out of the city heading for Murann, when disaster struck. Terl was able to overtake him on his way and then went after me, without my father’s permission. She has been dead for almost two weeks now, and I kept writing to her!” His lips began to tremble again, but he took a deep breath and managed to control himself. “I need to return to Athkatla immediately, my lady. I am sorry for not being able to continue traveling with you but this matter is of utmost importance.”

“We are all headed back to Athkatla,” I offered. “There is no need to part ways just now. And I seriously doubt that on your own you would make it any faster than if you stay with us. I was thinking of the ways of increasing our speed of travel. Can you wait until morning? We will depart at first light. Besides, your horse won’t make it unless you let it rest.”

“I was planning to borrow Terl’s,” Anomen answered uncertainly, “and then switch mounts at every mail post along the Great Trade Way. I could make it in two days if I go without rest.”

“More likely you will fall down in a ditch somewhere between here and Athkatla, and break your neck,” I sneered. “It is over two hundred miles, and some of it will be through the rough mountain terrain. You are traveling with two accomplished wizards, and you cannot trust us to do better then this? Please let us show you what we can do. I cannot open the portal for a crowd of seven people and their horses. I have to confess - this is beyond my reach just yet. But I promise you we will be at the front gates of your distinguished capital by tomorrow’s nightfall, or you can call me a harebrained female who does not know her spells from her cookie recipes!”

“Cookie recipes, ah?” He sighed. “Somehow you strike me as a type who does not know the difference between meringue and marquee.”

“There is any?” I raised an eyebrow, “well, if there is – you can tell me about it on our way. Do we have a deal then? You shall travel with us to the city gates, and if later you need additional help, you can always count on me. I do not abandon my friends and companions in their time of need, as I have already told you.”

“I was not sure if I was included in the category, “Anomen stated.

“You’ve made it,” I nodded, “though verily, I had to give you some cheat points to make it through the finals. Oops, sorry, it was not me speaking, it was somebody else!”

He had managed a weak smile, albeit it probably cost him some effort.

“I am sorry, Anomen,” I added sincerely. “I do count you as a friend, despite what you may think of me and my ways. I will do my best to deliver you safely to Athkatla and then help you to deal with your sister’s death, if there is any matter in which you may need my help”

“It may be so,” he offered reluctantly. “I did not want to tell you at once – but it was murder. She was found in her own bedroom, apparently killed during the robbery attempt.”

I had sent him to bed, although I was sure he would not close his eyes even for a moment. He had a lot on his mind right then. My next step was to go find Jan. The ubiquitous gnome was still in the main room, having a turnip beer or two with Minsc and Boo over their happy reunion. Unexpectedly, Valygar was there as well, albeit I could not spot Yoshimo anywhere. They all assured me he had retired for the night already. They were not surprised at the news. It turned out – they were all there when Anomen received the message.

“It is fortunate indeed that we are all aware of the situation,” I said. “Valygar, I need you to purchase two additional horses for Minsc and Jaheira, and I need it done soon. Preferably – tonight. Don’t give me that look! I know it is past midnight already. I would not have asked if I did not think you can do it. Go ask Vyatri, and I don’t care about the price or their speed – only the stamina. It looks like we will need to leave the pack animals behind, and travel light. So think about what is it that you absolutely have to carry with you. The rest of it we can purchase in Athkatla.”

They were all disappointed of course. Why is it that over the course of travels you always tend to accumulate packloads of various junk and get attached to it?

“Jan, can I please have a moment of your time in private? And Minsc, don’t count on him coming back to continue your celebration. If you have any unfinished business in Trademeet, go do it now, because we are leaving first thing in the morning.”

“Minsc is always ready to re-join the ranks of brave heroes for more fun butt-kicking!” He grinned. “Besides, Busy is getting overprotective and Boo is getting fat. We all need to hit the road again.”

“His merchant goddess started to get some funny ideas,” Jan grinned. “I bet all this Lurraxol-Alibakkar business is getting in her head. That reminds me of something that had happened to my second great aunt Calliope Jansen, the one that everybody used to call Loopie. She was so hot to get married that she did not even notice that her groom had feathers on his feet and was ten feet taller that it is becoming in a grown up gnome! It turned out he was a griffin in disguise, so poor Loopie never came back from her honeymoon. Still, the wedding cake was a rhapsody in turnips, whipped cream and sugar plums, and I never tasted anything like that again!”

“I bet, that was a great consolation to her, “ I muttered, “Jan dearie, as Yoshimo says - I need your skill and expertise in a certain field. Would you be so kind as to grab your spellbook and follow me into my private quarters for a quiet conversation?”

“Your Worship!” The old clown covered his eyes with his hand, peeping through the half-spread fingers. “I am honored but I have to confess – my heart is already given to another. Why don’t you pick up on one of the younger lads, who as I may point it out to you, are also a bit taller and don’t have a bald patch?”

“No more ale for you tonight!” I growled, “and mind it, that also includes Evermead and Bearhugger’s Stinky Stout. If I ever need to hear your opinion on my choice of dates, I shall ask. Since neither of these younger characters has any experience in the School of Illusion and Phantasm, shut up your big mouth and follow me!”

“Is it wise?” Jan asked suddenly in a more serious tone. “Why don’t you let the lad go to deal with it by himself? He is a grown up, and you cannot always shelter him from the reality of life.”

“It is rather complicated,” I sighed, “besides, we need to return to Athkatla anyway, now that we had found Mr. Corthala and discovered the depth of our Cowled employer’s deception. Not that I ever had any doubts about them playing with the rigged dice!”

“You know an awful lot about these things for a girl of your age,” the gnome looked at me with concern. “I suppose it is not surprising in the daughter of Bhaal, but it is a pity you not nearly as wise in the matters of your own heart. Still, it is your call. I shall help you in any way I can.”

We had spent few hours in intense discussion and preparation, and I let him go to catch some sleep for the few hours that were left of the night. When I finally made it to my bed I fell into it and was sleeping before my face even touched the pillow. It seemed like only a single moment had passed before Jaheira shook me back into awareness. In the gray light of an early predawn I noticed that she was dressed in her custom green wool, but that instead of the enchanted chainmail she was wearing an old leather pants and jerkin, crisscrossed with various harnesses and straps, bearing her field gear and even a small water flask. Both of her precious scimitars were missing.

“It is time,” she said simply. “I did not want to bother you last night, but now I must confess. I cannot follow you to Athkatla. There is a duty that I owe to someone, and I believe its time has come.”

“What is it this time, Jaheira?” I was puzzled, and my sleep deprivation did not improve my already grouchy mood.

“The tree spirits and their seeds,” she answered simply. “I forgot about it for a time, but when I saw the Spirit of the Silver Mire, I remembered them; and then while I was sitting here waiting for you these last few days, I could not shake off the sound of their voices. They were counting on me and I still carry the seed pouch in my backpack. But what if I would be slain tomorrow, and nobody will bother to deliver these to their Forest Queen? I had to go now and do it while it is not too late. The Windspear Hills are only two days march from Trademeet. I would follow you back to Athkatla as soon as I can.”

“You must be kidding!” I exclaimed in distress. “How can you travel through the wilderness alone, in the middle of a winter season? I do appreciate your feelings, but this is suicidal!”

“Child,” Jaheira scowled at me, “you forgot I am much older than you, and my heart is that of a druid. A single human female may be lost in the winter forest, but not a single she-wolf!”

My eyes popped open. “Are you telling me that you are planning to travel in your wolf form for four days or more? Is not it … dangerous?”

“For the weak in spirit, it may be,” she agreed calmly, “there is always a temptation to simply give up your human side and turn to a simpler, cleaner life of a wolf. Remember nothing but the last hunt in the snow-covered hills and the salty taste of hot blood filling your mouth after a long chase and that one final leap. But don’t worry. I have too many threads tying me to my humanity yet. My oath to Gorion, Khalid’s unavenged death, Imoen’s fate and your final plight. I am curious to see how all this will end, and you still need me by your side to pull you out of the fire in the last possible moment. I shall return.”

“If you say so,” I consented weakly.

At that moment, I realized just how much I was going to miss her. Over the last year, she became an integral part of my life, stepping in for Gorion and filling that emptiness in my wretched Bhaalspawn’s soul that would always be yapping for a parent figure with all the grace and dignity of a lost pup. I suspected now that all the miserable melodrama of my heartless affair with her husband was caused more by my desire to be closer to her than by any genuine passion. It is always amazing to discover the inner motives of your actions long after the time when you can actually fix the consequences is gone.

“Would you be careful?” I asked stupidly, trying to sound graceful and mature but managing only something close to a pathetic wail. “I … I am sure we will be fine, but I shall worry about you.”

“I will take care of myself,” Jaheira smiled royally, “Your new companion, Valygar Corthala, seems to be dependable. He had purchased two very fine horses from the innkeeper and one of these is staying here for me. I am leaving most of my heavier gear behind, because as you know I can only integrate a few natural items into my wolf body, and they have to be in close contact with my skin. When I come back, I shall pick up my more expensive belongings, and hire one of the locals to escort me back to Athkatla with all our pack animals and the luggage you will leave behind. It was all arranged while you were sleeping.”

I had followed her into the cold and snowy courtyard where Valygar had already saddled our horses, and we rode through the silent city, and out into the calm winter field outside. There she dismounted giving him the reins, and smiled at me briefly with a quick node and one last wave of her strong hand. Her transformation was as quick and flawless as almost everything she did. Honey whinnied nervously, and tried to shy away at the sight of her new shape but quickly calmed down as Valygar patted him on the neck. Valygar’s horse stayed as calm and controlled as her rider. In a few moments, the dark gray shadow slinked into the blackthorn bushes, surrounding the empty field, and we were headed back into the city to prepare for our charge to Athkatla.  

* * * * *

The first hour of our journey from Trademeet passed uneventfully. We left the city gates behind and were now riding through the endless procession of small farms and lone hamlets, surrounded by naked winter orchards and shorn corn fields. The weather favored us, for after yesterday’s onslaught of wet snow and rain a light drop in temperature hardened the brown mud of the road, and a few sunrays peeked shyly through the low curtain of gray clouds. We were now traveling along the Coast Trade Way – the second great caravan route that passed through that peculiar little city. As I already mentioned elsewhere, the Trade Way runs all the way through the mountains of Small Teeth, then along the fertile valleys of northern Amn and through the foothills of Cloud Peaks, eventually crossing these great snow-covered mountains, and venturing into the familiar lands of the northern Sword Coast. Alas, we were not going that way! When we reach the city of Crimmor, almost two hundred miles north from here, we shall take the southern turn leading to the very gates of Athkatla.

The horses were restless, snorting and jolting sporadically, as if in anticipation of my questionable scheme. Their riders were feeling little better, albeit every one of them except Jan, who was in the conspiracy, periodically gave me a dubious look. Anomen was riding behind me, pale and silent, staring lifelessly into the empty space before him. His eyelids were still red, and deep dark circles were visible around his eyes this morning. Yoshimo scowled darkly, muttering to himself. Despite his general cheery urban attitude, he was not happy about going back to Athkatla. I was rather curious about it, and decided to cozy up to him later to find out why he was so nervous. Valygar was calm and composed, radiating silent content as if the idea of finally confronting his worst nightmare pleased him, and gave him an extra energy. Minsc was as loud and noisy as ever. A large wicker basket full of fancy foods was strapped behind his saddle – I guessed it was the gift from his latest girlfriend. Obviously they had parted on best terms.

I thought of the lonely she-wolf that was even now covering the long miles between Trademeet and Windspear Hills to the east from here. This morning I had a long conversation with old stablemaster Terl - a man who had brought Anomen the dire news. He did not wish to return to his master’s service at once but agreed to watch over our pack animals and then escort Jaheira back to the capital. Maybe by that time I would have news of Imoen’s whereabouts, and we can set off to rescue her together.

Until now I had never thought about the inconvenience of traveling in an entirely male company. Every one of them was quite a character by himself. The need to keep them all concentrated on our goal, rather than dissenting into petty rivalries and challenging my authority was never so obvious before Jaheira’s departure. She was like a good first mate, who could always keep the mutinous crew at bay by the sheer strength of her personality. I preferred more subtle methods. The problem was - I could not continue these little mental games without the cover of her grouchy dictatorship. It was like in that old storybook that I read once. First a ‘bad’ guardsman threatens the thief, and than a softer ‘good’ one would have a much easier time with him. I would have to be triple careful from now on, or my ability to influence them would melt like yesterday’s snow under the heat of today’s sun. Of course there was always that last reserve of threatening to polymorph the perpetrator into a squirrel, but they knew I was too soft to actually do it.

I sighed. It was time to set our plans in motion. I pulled at Honey’s reins and raised my hand requesting their full attention. As I went into explanations, amidst curious glances and cheerful encouragements from Minsc, my backpack jerked.

 “Are you absolutely sure this is gonna work?” the rabbit asked sourly.

“It better, I had given him my word.”

Jan winked at me, mouthing a silent “go on lassie.”

Improved haste is not a particularly difficult spell. The trick was timing and synchronization. As I made a round of the horses, slapping each of the mounts on the flank or backside with lump of grease, and following with a little spark from my flint stone and a quick vocal component, the animal’s ears perked, their feet began to tremble, and a mad glitter flickered in their dark eyes. I mounted Honey, and with some help from Valygar, strapped my feet to the stirrups, then pulled a rope and fastened it around my waist, effectively tying myself to the saddle. They all stared at me with not a small degree of curiosity and amusement.

“Here goes my dignity and self-esteem,” I thought gruffly. My old pensioner of a horse felt strangely vigorous and jittery under me. I touched my mount’s warm sides with my knees, and he jumped forward with a sudden vigor of a two-year-old stallion.

“Now we ride!” I grinned, “and gods help anything and anybody that will fall under these hooves! We have about two hours of this accelerated pace. Should be enough to cover the fifty miles from here to the  passage through the Small Teeth, and maybe even make it to Imnescar all the way through the mountains!”

I will never forget that journey. Later on I became a much better rider, and the fear of angry earth rushing into my face under the ever raising and falling hooves was replaced with pure joy of companionship with strong and gentle animal that allows a puny human ride him. But that travel from Trademeet to Athkatla was forever etched in my memory as one Hellride. We had thundered through the plane between Umar and Ommlur Hills, and passed the dark vale flanked by the Twin towers of Eternal Eclipse ⁶⁵, never knowing that the tall structures of the hidden Temple of Cyric were looming in the shadows on both sides of us. We climbed up the narrow roads, looping widely among the steep slopes of the old mountains. The Small Teeth are not particularly tall, but they are inhabited by hordes of goblinoids and mountain trolls. On our way here from Athkatla, we had traveled with well-protected caravan. That morning we just went through the craggy terrain without stopping to look for trouble. I doubt any creature could have followed us anyway, even though by that time the first echelons of Sythillisian ⁶⁶ imperial troops were probably gathering among the shadowy canyons.

By the time that the sun had climbed up above our heads, we had left Imnescar behind, crossing the shallow river above that small town, and exiting the region of the Small Teeth on the other side of the ridge. My spell wore off. The horses were exhausted by their speed jolt, and the riders were in even worse condition for they had to match their slow human reflexes to the increased agility of their mounts. We all stopped at the gentle slope of a green hill facing north. Minsc helped me to untie myself and I collapsed into his hands, unable to stand straight. That second day in the saddle was turning out to be worse than the first one.

“We cannot continue at this pace,” Valygar looked at me with concern. “If you want to kill yourself – fine, but I will not allow you to ruin the horses. They will need at least a half a day’s rest, before we can go on.”

“Had to be careful around that one,” I thought briefly.

“Jan, do it now!” I nodded to the little wizard. The gnome rose in his stirrups and opened his palms.

Perhaps only a true student of the Craft may fully appreciate the excitement that comes with mastering the weave. Every time I encounter a new, previously un-experienced enchantment, my every nerve trembles with anticipation. There is no pleasure greater than that of a discovery of a new spell, and since the School of Illusion remains a closed book to me, I was particularly thrilled to observe its practical application.

Nothing seemed to change around us, except a sudden quietness that fell over the land. I looked up. High above us a crow was stuck in mid-flight, its wings raising in a slow motion and falling down at the same snail speed. I laughed pointing my hand at it.

“The Tempus Fugit dweomer will last until we are rested,” Jan grinned with satisfaction. “Take your time lads. For every hour that you spend snoozing now, only ten minutes of the real time shall pass.”

“Yes,” I nodded. “And I am going to take a full advantage of it. I will need to cast those haste spells again. But after eight or so hours of sleep that I intend to take, it should not be much of a problem!”

“You may yet convince me that magic can be used to bring something more into this world, but death and misery,” Valygar stated. “But I don’t think it is going to be easy.”

“We’ll take our turns working on you, lad,” the gnome winked. “Magic is a wondrous thing and it is really quite safe! Did I ever tell you the story about my uncle Scratchy and his magical Shoe of Speed? Mind it, he always told everybody that he had lost the other shoe while trying to pull his heel out of the ditch in Calimshan while his second foot was already in Tethyr. Nobody would believe him of course, although I always wondered if it was indeed a freak accident with the griffin that had left him with only one leg!”

* * * * *

We had made it to Athkatla by late afternoon, that same day. The last twenty miles through the rapidly falling dusk were the most challenging, albeit this time when the time came I had managed to dismount on my own. My legs were trembling but the quiet satisfaction of the job well done filled my heart, as we led our horses through the gates of the great city in the descending darkness of that mild winter evening.

Through all the endless miles of our journey Anomen stayed silent and remote, locked deep in his grief. Now, as Yoshimo negotiated with the city watchmen over the exact content of our saddlebags, the young Helmite pulled me aside with the same ghostly expression on his pale face.

“I maybe crossing the borderlines again,” he said gravely, “but I have to ask. And if you do not feel like doing me this favor – just say so. I promise I will not hold it against you.”

“What is it, Anomen?” I asked softly. I have to admit at being a little bit surprised, for I fully expected him to ride off into the night upon reaching the city gates.

“I know how tired you are right now,” he blinked, “and after all that you and Jan had done to bring me here tonight I should not press my luck and push you for more favors. But I cannot make myself go and face the old bastard alone! In the past Moira had always been there to stop me, to prevent the worst from happening.” His voice quivered at the sound of her name. “Now that my sister is dead I would not trust myself to be in the same room with my father. If I find out that her death was caused by his reckless negligence and abuse of his position as her guardian … I beg you, my lady, come with me, and stop me from spilling the blood of my own father! You are the only person in this world right now on whom I can rely. I know if the worst comes to worst - I would listen to you!”

“Don’t do it cricket, or you will regret it badly!” the rabbit hissed frantically in my mind.

“All right,” I sighed. “I will go with you. You have mentioned some time ago that your ancestral home is somewhere in the Government District?”

“It is on the other side of the river, in the so-called golden triangle, wedged between the Gems District, the Trades Quarter and the Temple Grounds,” he blurted with obvious relief. “I promise, it would not take long! And later on I will escort you back to your lodgings, wherever that may be. I would have offered you and our friends my hospitality - but I can’t. I have not slept in that house ever since I turned nineteen and joined the Order as Helm’s initiate. It has been … six years I think.”

“Fancy you finally telling me your real age,” I smiled. “You are four years senior than me, my friend. I always thought you were younger.”

He blushed slightly and tugged at his beard. “Prithee my lady,  I do look somewhat … youthful. That is what they always tell me. Still, I am almost ready to pass my Test and enter the Knighthood. I hope they will consider it soon.”

“And you want it badly,” I nodded, “I hope you shall pass with flying colors. After all that we’ve accomplished I think you most definitely deserve it. It is not like they have a candidate who almost single-handedly slain a big scary Shadow Dragon every week!”

But Anomen missed my gentle teasing and wanton flattery. “I wish I was here watching over Moira instead,” he muttered suddenly, lowering his eyes. His cheeks flashed red. “I feel I had failed her. I run off for my petty adventure like a small child who is drawn by the bright new toy, and left her unprotected! If  I only knew … But it is too late now. It has always been too late. I am a selfish, egoistic bastard who had left her in the mercy of the wretched alcoholic, when it was me whom he really wanted to torment all along!”

“He is her father,” I objected, “how should you know?”

“I knew!” he snapped back at me, “Helm forgive me, but I did. I had always known that Cor was a miserable wretch, who could not tell his left hand from his right when he is in his cups! And he is prone to violence…” his lips whitened. “I don’t believe he could have actually hurt her, physically. Moira always managed to handle him. Much better than I ever did anyway. But how could I rely on him to protect her?”

“Calm down,” I patted his mailed arm soothingly. “I am sure you did what you’ve thought was best for her. You could not make her leave her home, and even if you did convince her – where would she go?”

“I should have stayed myself!” Anomen cried out. “I knew I would have been miserable, trying to adjust to the position I always loathed, and take over the trade that never suited me, but she may have been alive now if I did!”

“And what if ruining your life together with hers was not enough to save her?” I asked quietly, “you may never know what may have happened. Do you think she would have been happier if the tension between you and your father grew up into something really ugly? You should stop mulling over what is lost and focus on the future. Let’s get going - we need to hurry if we want to reach your father’s house before they lock the front doors for the night.”

“Knowing Lord Cor, they are probably always open,” the young man snapped angrily, “despite the recent crime explosion in the city! But your are right, my lady. I apologize for my bad manners. We must go now.”

“Would you mind taking Minsc with us?” I asked casually. “It is getting late, and with all these restrictions on magic use in your fair city I would feel safer with two of you around. He can wait at the front doors. And he can be really handy if things go wrong between the two Delryns!”

“Fair enough, that you don’t trust me with the matter of your safety,” he responded bitterly, “how can I object if my own heedless deeds speak for me?”

“Come on, you being too hard on yourself.” I turned towards the rest of the team who have finished their negotiations and waited politely for us to conclude our conversation. “I suggest we keep a low profile and go back to the Slums.” I proclaimed. They all nodded. “Yoshimo, I would rely on you to lead everybody safely to the ‘Coronet’.”

 The thief bowed his head silently. On our way to Athkatla I tried to talk to him several times, but he rebuffed all of my carefully aimed questions, and stayed gloomy and thoughtful  through the entire journey. In fact, I got a distinctive feeling that he was avoiding me fastidiously. Gone were his frequent flashes of mirth and polite compliments, followed by soft touches of my hand by his quick fingers. Now Yoshimo was locked in his strange, depressive mood.

“Minsc, I would like you to go with us. I may need your help along the way. I  have an errand in another part of the city, but we will be back at the Coronet soon enough.” I felt strangely reluctant to tell them where we were headed. “I wish I knew why I am doing this,” I muttered to myself but gnome’s ears were sharp enough to intercept my remark.

“Be careful what you ask for,” he said with a little shake of his head, “or you may very well get your wish, and then what are you going to do?”

It was strange to be back in this city teaming with life even in the darker hours, after more than a month spent among the quiet planes and silent forests of the country. We passed the ostentatiously rich mansions of the nouveau-riche commoners in the Bridge district, crossed the famous Alandor bridge lighted by many bright torches and filled with carriages going to and fro, and entered the northern part of Athkatla, the home of its ‘blue blood’ nobility and organized religion. Delryn’s residence was only a few blocks away when a strange commotion in the courtyard of the old jailhouse across the street had caught my eye.

The people who buzzed around the huge pile of wood, dousing it with buckets of oil, surely looked strange. In the uneven light of their torches I could see the crimson and black vestments, marked with upturned black triangle bearing the sign of white antlers. This mark proclaimed their affiliation as surely as it was branded upon their brow with hot iron.

“By Helm’s stinky feet!” I exclaimed in certain agitation, paying no heed to the young Helmite’s displeasure at my profanity. “What are these damnable creeps doing in here? I thought the church of the Maid of Misfortune ⁶⁷ was banned from most of the civilized places?!”

A tall, powerfully built figure wearing a long white cloak of soft wool, over the gleaming platemail was exiting the front gate of a nearby mansion. An emblem of a shiny golden heart emblazoned on the left side of his white garment caught my eye immediately. At my words the gray-haired veteran suddenly stopped in his tracks. His face, crisscrossed with a multitude of half-healed scars and roughened by prolonged exposure to sun, creased and piercing dark eyes under the bushy eyebrows looked at me in displeasure. “Watch your tongue young woman! If I was your father I would have made you wash your mouth with soap this very moment!” His voice was deep and harsh, more used to giving out orders on the battlefield than to a light conversation.

I shrugged and made a wry face at him, trying to sidestep his imposing figure and have a better look at the priests of Beshaba across the street. The old man looked me over, assessing a ragged black mantle, a tangled mane of sable hair, and my men’s riding boots and breaches - all in dull black wool and leather without a single colored tassel or any other ornament. I suppose I did look weird, maybe even ominous. If you add to that I am almost as tall as any human man, and my eyes gleam in the dark with uncanny golden light of their own…well, you’ll get the idea of the first impression I had made on the man. He cursed and made a sign to avert evil, then his stare switched to my companions.

“Young Anomen!” He exclaimed in a puzzled voice. “What are you doing here in the dark of the night in such a strange company?”

Anomen’s jaw dropped, and I have to confess that I almost giggled at his completely stunned expression.

“Aren’t you supposed to be riding south, keeping your eye on the … Ah!” The old man’s gaze shifted back to me.

“Sir…Sir Keldorn,” Anomen finally managed to find his tongue. “Let me introduce you to lady Thea of Candlekeep. I have been traveling with her and her companions as of late,” He nodded at Minsc who grinned at our new acquaintance in a most unabashed manner, deliberately petting Boo who was perched on his shoulder. “I left with Prelate’s full approval of course!” Anomen continued, “We have just returned to Athkatla because of the news that I received,” he swallowed. “My sister Moira was found dead, Sir Keldorn. Murdered most foully. I am on my way to my father’s house.”

“Aye,” the old knight’s attitude shifted from outright hostility to grudging acknowledgment. “I have heard the dire news. My condolences to you and your … family,” Keldorn (I assumed that was his name) cringed as if he swallowed something rotten. “Lord Cor is already spreading rumors that that commoner is responsible. I suggest you be careful in taking that at face value, young squire. The Calimshite is a vile man, but your father’s history with him speaks for itself. As far as I know he does not have any proof to support his accusations. Your position at the Order is precarious enough as it is, and with your Test coming any week now you don’t want to get yourself in trouble!”

Anomen’s face darkened. “Old fool!” he muttered then reddened at Keldorn’s angry look. “I meant my father of course, Lord Firecam! Everybody in the city is well aware of his feud with Saerk, albeit commoner or not he is probably one of richest man in the city. But to think that Cor would use my sister’s death to come back at the man… It is disgusting!”

“Good attitude, young squire,” the knight nodded smiling. Now run along and take good care of your …companion.”

I looked at him sharply. I generally don’t jump for paladins but neither do I feel resentment towards any religious order, which does not engage in human sacrifices, torture and other theologically proscribed forms of cruelty. Something about Sir Keldorn Firecam however, irked me to no end. It was hard to explain, but the way he looked at me gave me the creeps, and his general stance towards Anomen and his loss was somewhat… heartless. Later on I discovered that he was one of the Inquisitors. That’s an order inside many religious orders that specializes on eliminating spellcasters. Truly told, the Order of the Most Radiant Heart deemed itself the force of good, and their primary targets were supposedly ‘evil’ wizards and clerics of opposing religions. But when the focus of your career is hunting down and eliminating magic users in the city, which condemns any use of the weave unauthorized by the powers that be (sic Order of the Cowled Wizards), your attitude towards any spellcaster tends to shift towards severe distrust. And if you add to this that the creature in question was the daughter of the long dead evil God … I think my discomfort around Sir Keldorn was understandable.

It was getting late and I had absolutely no desire to disturb the hornet’s nest by getting into the confrontation with stiff old prig. So I nodded politely muttering something to the matter of  “pleasure to meet you, Sir …er…Keldorn” and was ready to escape when the sharp cries from the direction of old jailhouse made me turn around and freeze in astonishment.

The Beshabans were done with their preparations, and were now engaged in heated struggle. The whole bunch of them (about five or six men in dark red robes over chainmail) surrounded a small figure in a rough sack-cloth garment with a low hood covering the face, whom they dragged forward from the prison cell behind now opened heavy iron door. The face of the person under the hood was invisible, but he was giving the clerics of the Maid of Misfortune a very hard time. One of the priests suddenly doubled, falling to his knees and clutching at his crotch, the other sat down heavily with hand over his bleeding nose.

I swore, rather more colorfully than the first time, and run across the street, pushing through the small crowd that was quickly gathering in the courtyard, always eager to participate in any creative display of human suffering. From the corner of my eye I noticed Minsc, who was following at my heels, and Anomen, who was somewhat slower to react but was now pushing through the onlookers to get to me. Strangely enough, the old Inquisitor had also followed us and was now standing there surrounded by the empty space that everybody gave to his magnificent white cloak and shiny platemail. My companions looked somewhat less resplendent, for Minsc had donned his old studded leathers for the convenience of the long ride to Athkatla, and Anomen was only wearing his steel vambraces and shoulder plates, for the same reason.

The priests of Beshaba finally managed to subdue their victim and drag him up the steep ramp that led to the thick wooden pole, surrounded by stacks of wood and kindling that they generously soaked in oil. A sick feeling settled in my stomach. I had never seen anything so barbaric but some of the older books in Candlekeep libraries had mentioned the tradition of ritualistic ‘cleansing’ by fire that the Church of Beshaba used on their enemies and those enemies’ prized possessions. That was one of the reasons for which Beshaba worshippers were banned from most of the human cities. To see something like that happening on the street of the capital city of Amn was unthinkable! I could not believe my eyes. I was certain that somebody would interfere, and step forward to stop this madness. Whoever that criminal was – he surely did not deserve an awful death by being burned alive in front of the gleeful crowd. In Baldur’s Gate even the vilest of murderers were simply beheaded or hanged by the neck. I turned to the Inquisitor, who was standing still as a marble statue, both hands on the pommel of his ornate sword.

“Sir, is it lawful in Athkatla for the priests of Beshaba to dispense their own justice?”

He grimaced. “These are vultures indeed, but we let them feed on the refuse that will otherwise poison the lifestream of the city.”

“Simply speaking, the authorities allow this kind of self-styled executions if the perpetrator is not anybody important?”

“Don’t try to bend my words, Bhaalspawn! Whoever this wretched creature is, their execution was surely approved by the city Council. We will find out soon enough what crime was committed to deserve such a fate.”

I noted for myself that the old spook did not deem it necessary to conceal his knowledge of my identity. His first words to Anomen were enlightening enough. Verily, I knew that our young squire’s mission was to track my progress through Amn for his beloved Order. But I expected them to be somewhat more cautious on the matter. Now it looked like they were so sure of themselves – they dropped the last pretense of discretion.

The Beshabans finished tying their prisoner to the stake and were now all gathered at the front of the pyre, ready to proceed with their ceremony. I stared in bewilderment. The hood had fallen off their victim’s head in the struggle, revealing the unkempt mane of snow-white hair. Were these the signs of advanced age or endured torture?

One of the red-robed acolytes stepped forward, raising his hand. His dark oily hair swung back uncovering the ugly tattoo of Beshaba’s antlers on his cheek.

“My brethren! Behold this foul drow elf that we bound here before yer! This she-spider, this black-skinned whelp of darkness that we apprehended yesterday on the market! She had tried to sneak upon us, no doubt to spy for her kin, deeming us lax of vigilance and laughing in her evil heart at the weakness of humankind!”

The figure at the stake raised her head in defiance. The white locks had fallen away, and I could see now that her skin was the color of ebony under the unnatural lightness of her thick, wavy hair. Her eyes burnt like two red embers above the stripe of thick cloth that covered her mouth, and her jaws moved vigorously, trying to chew her way through the rough cloth.

The crowd went wild. The cries “Burn her! Burn her! Burn the drow!” were coming from every direction now.

I pushed forward, making my way to the front and stopped facing the leader of the fanatics. My options were few but I had to try to talk sense into them before turning to violence.

“Pray brother, what were her crimes, besides just being a dark elf?” I asked acerbically. “Tell us the full extent of her vileness!”

“Why are you interested, sister?” the priest glared at me through his wild tresses, giggling like crazy. The stench of his unwashed body was unbearable at this close distance. Too late I remembered that the male priests of the Maid of Misrule were rumored to be maniacs, turned to insanity by the red-rimmed gaze of their Goddess. “Her crime is plain simple,” he scratched himself and looked at me drooling from the corner of his mouth. “She is a drow - therefore she must burn! Let’s see how her dirty magics will protect her from the cleansing fire!”

“How can you punish somebody just for being what she is?” I cried loudly turning back to the crowd. Sir Keldorn was standing in the front row now, staring at me harshly, his white cloak gleaming with ghostly brightness in the light of many torches.

“One must wonder what plot the drow are hatching,” he said with deepest scorn in his deep and pleasant voice. “It appears justice is about to be served ... Move aside woman, and don’t try to interfere. May its black and evil heart char into powder!”

“Such a fate is no less than the fiend deserves,” Anomen muttered uncertainly from behind his back, “though truly told, I had never thought that the drow can be so … stunning.”

My eyes caught the sight of Minsc who was pushing closer to me. His soft brown eyes opened wide at the sight of the Ilythiiri^d woman at the stake.

“I won’t let them burn the pretty elf!” The rage in the big ranger’s voice was unmistakable. “It is not right to hurt her just because she is different!” I prayed silently that one of his berserker fits won’t come upon him now.

“Jabress^d Thea! Usstan uil wun ant del xxizz! Orn dos xxizz ussa?^d” The familiar husky voice speaking in the harsh syllables of Ilythiirian^d cried suddenly.

I whirled around. The elven woman managed to push the cloth holding her gag away from her mouth. Her lovely chin and plump lips were now visible, as the disgusting rag slipped down around her neck. It was Viconia DeVir, my lost companion.

“Tlu honglath^d, Vicky,” I hissed in total astonishment. I have not seen her for almost a year, and did not recognize her at first in her prison garb and with the lower part of her face covered by the dirty rag. “Khal ussa. Usstan uil wun quarth!^d”

“You speak her language witch!” the mad priest wailed in terror. “Seize her brethren! She is in league with the drow!”

If he wanted to enrage the crowd he made a mistake, for his words had just the opposite effect on the rich passersby who had gathered around the pyre in hope of an easy entertainment. Not one of them was ready to risk their hide for the sake of mad Beshabans’ revenge on the dark elf. The crowd surged back in instinctive fear, and I noticed with some satisfaction that Sir Keldorn was trapped in the tight knot of frightened burghers and their wives and was forced to retreat from the scene, albeit temporarily.

I ran to the pyre ascending it in few strides, and started to cut Viconia’s bonds with my dagger, the same one that found its way into Rakshasa’s guts only a week before. Her limbs were cruelly wrought behind her back and tightly tied to the pole with a rope. They did not want to risk her working herself free when she would be overcome by her final death throws in the middle of the raging fire. It took me some time to cut through the bonds on both her hands and feet. I could hear the clash of metal below but did not dare to look. How many of them will we have to face? Would the old paladin join the Beshabans to drag their victim back to the pyre, perhaps tying me on the other side of the stake for company? Whose side would Anomen take?

When I finally finished with the ropes she sagged unable to keep herself upright for the first few minutes. The ropes were so tight that the circulation stopped in her bound hands and feet. I caught her in my hands. At that moment one of the Beshabans threw his torch on the pyre. The oiled wood caught up immediately.

I heard an enraged cry but could not see anything through the black cloud of smoke and orange flickers of fire. My hands were full of Viconia, who was coughing furiously unable to stand on her numbed feet. Strangely, the only thought in my head was of my poor rabbit whom I left in Jan’s care, and who will most certainly suffer if I never make it out of this mess. Then two strong hands seized me in an embrace, and I was dragged down from the burning pile of wood, still clutching the dark elf to my heaving bosom.

Anomen was angry as two hundred Baatezu but at least the forlorn look of a hurt child that he was wearing for the last two days was gone from his face. He turned without saying a word and caught the blow of a mace from an enraged Beshaban priest on his bracer.  His other hand was already swinging the Flail of Ages. I heard Minsc’ battle cry from the center of a swirl, that contained at least four of the Beshabans. Alas! I could do nothing to help them, for any spell cast on the street of Athkatla right now would bring more trouble from the Cowled Ones than it would be worth. I had no desire to be taken into custody for casting without a license.

Viconia stirred, pushing herself away from me and started her chant. Her breath was harsh and ragged and the motions of her hands were painfully slow at first. Suddenly my head was full of buzzing noise and when it passed I felt a surge of strength and vitality carousing through my body. She had prayed to her dark Goddess of pain, and her plea did not go unanswered  - my body now felt as strong and efficient as that of the young warrior-priest who just finished his opponent and quickly run to Minsc’ help, engaging another Beshaban fanatic. The crossbow bolt whizzed in the air, hitting the stack of burning wood behind our backs with a loud thud. I grabbed my knife and looked at Viconia, who was smiling menacingly at the long blade of dark fire in her own hand. We charged.

It was over in a few moments filled with red fog of madness. I stopped, pulling my dagger out of the limp body of a red-clad priest wrapped around his useless crossbow. My hands were shaking. Viconia was chanting the healing spell, holding Minsc’ torn and damaged shoulder, while he was smiling at her like crazy. In the bright light of the raging fire that was supposed to become Viconia’s funeral pyre, I could see the dark square littered with broken corpses of the priests and empty of any life except the four of us. A strong warm hand touched my elbow. I turned slowly. The young Helmite frowned, carefully checking me for injuries, then relaxed at finding nothing worth of his attention. His own face was bloody from the long oozing gash across his cheek but he dismissed my timid inquiry.

“I advise you against sheltering this creature in your shadow Bhaalspawn!” a sudden harsh request came from the tall, white figure carefully making his way between the sprawled corpses and scattered litter. “Your own plea is desperate enough. Do not make things worse for yourself by protecting the demon-whelp from justice!”

“Olot dos^d!” Viconia spat suddenly turning to face him. “You rivvin are all mad! I have done nothing to you old colnbluth^d. I was only seeking to buy supplies before leaving your cursed city when they seized me yesterday on the market!”

“Silence, drow!” Keldorn roared at her, his handsome face suddenly turning livid red. “Before I cut you into a thousand small pieces and feed you to the dogs starting with your vile tongue, the way your brethren murdered my friend and his whole family when I served near Eshpurta!”

“L'alurl rivvil zhah elghinyrr rivvil^d!” the ilythiiry^d priestess laughed in his face “Dos inbal bau bel’la, iblith^d! Would you attack an injured female wearing a turnip sack, with nay but air in her hands?”

I have to confess that I had the strongest desire to smack her on her shapely round bottom for this.

I was grateful enough for the old fool not to interfere with her rescue. To his honor, he had stayed away from our fight with Beshabans. Still, I had no desire to test the limits of his temper and fighting skills, and seeing his both hands jump to the hilt of his great sword I did something desperate. The implications of this act affected lives of more than one person but I am still not sure if I would not do it again under the similar circumstances. I grabbed my purse quickly selecting a small hemisphere of roughly cut diamond and matching piece of gum Arabic, and raised my hands in a casting stance. (Needless to say that I keep all my spell components segregated into the individual smaller pouches, with color-coded strings and painstaking markings.)

Seeing my lips move Keldorn roared raising the magically charged two-handed sword and taking a swing at me. In a flash of a second Minsc’ hands grabbed Lilarcor’s hilt, and the damned weapon was screaming and cussing, freed again of its scabbard. I saw Anomen rushing between his old comrade and myself with a look of horror on his face but at that moment my casting was complete, and a small greenish orb popped from my hands jumping at the old man and expanding rapidly into a dim, all-enveloping, semi-transparent sphere of what looked like a green glass. Sir Keldorn made a jest as if trying to avert my casting but it was too late. He was trapped inside the Otiluke’s Resilient Sphere as surely as a careless horsefly inside a piece of amber. Unlike the unfortunate insect, he would be free of in about an hour without any injury to anything more than his pride. The sphere was transparent to air, however it would surely stop any physical attack directed from inside or outside. He was now balancing precariously on the balls of his feet inside the sphere, hammering his mailed fists at its smooth green surface. His bejeweled great sword dropped from his hands and was laying harmlessly at his feet.

I could not stop myself from laughing at the look of angry puzzlement on his face. At seeing me laugh, it changed to the cold murderous rage. Viconia clapped her hands, grinning openly. Minsc chuckled but Anomen was looking at me with expression of deepest chagrin.

“What in the Realms did possess you to do this?” he complained loudly. “Please, Thea let him go! I am sure I can still resolve the quarrel between you two.”

“No harm will come to him from catching a few snores inside the Otiluke’s sphere,” I shrugged. “If he won’t try to roll it around like this, and get himself into the fire!” Hearing me say this the enraged knight stopped his hammering. “It will dissolve in an hour, or more likely, he will be free of it in a matter of minutes as the Cowled enforcers will surely be here soon. The amount of resonance from this spell is relatively small as it is only a forth circle enchantment. Still better safe than sorry. Let’s get out of here and talk about it in a safer place!” I turned to Viconia. “I assume you are coming with us, abbil ^d . Although knowing your damned pride I won’t be surprised if you just walked into the night, letting them capture you after all the effort I wasted on rescuing you yet again!”

“We cannot let Vicky go!” Minsc grinned. “Boo says, we are responsible for her now that we’ve got her out of the clutches of evil!”

“I will be fine, addled one,” Viconia grunted at him. “I survived on my own among the rivvin^d for almost two years now. But I would gladly join you again, Thea. Traveling with you always provides opportunities to test one’s merit – that I will grant you!”

Anomen shrugged. “It is no use arguing with you over the drow I suppose. You have already made your decision. If you swear to me that no harm will come to Sir Keldorn – let’s move out. I feel no remorse at ending the sorry lives of the few Beshaban lunatics, but confronting the Cowled Wizards patrol may be the end of us.”

“I swear to you this spell is absolutely harmless.” I bent over, picking a dull gray cloak left on the ground by one of the fleeing onlookers and offering it to Viconia. “Quickly wrap yourself, we would buy you something more appropriate later.” And throwing one last glance at the old paladin, who was now standing still inside his shiny prison with his arms crossed upon his heaving chest, we escaped the area.

* * * * *

“How long have you been in Athkatla and why did you get yourself into this mess?” I asked Viconia, after we got couple of blocks away from the place of her would-be execution.

“It is hardly a good time to get into details, Dalhar d’Elggin^d.” She chuckled. “Sufficient enough to say that both of these things were not of my choosing.”

“Be this way if you like, jalil^d!” I scowled grouchily. But don’t ask me how I spent the last six months either. And by the way, you know how I hate this moniker you gave me!”

“How shall I call you then, jabress ^d?” Viconia asked amusedly ignoring my other comments. “The last time I saw you, you had been absolutely paranoid about giving out any name to anybody.”

“Just call me Thea,” I sighed. “Imoen made sure that half of Amn knows me under that ridiculous nick she gave me.”

“The little thief is still with you then,” the dark elf frowned. “As I assume is the rest of your circus - the druid elg’caress^d and her idiot of a husband, and the Rashemi faern^d?”

“Khalid is dead,” I said after a short pause, “as well as Dynaheir. I would rather not talk about it.”

“I lost my witch,” Minsc’ face went dark. “And the Evil One, who had her slaughtered still walks the Realms! Heavens scream of his wickedness and Minsc is helpless to avenge her. The gray wizards took away the evil mage but they snatched our fair Imoen as well.”

“I have heard rumors,” Viconia’s immaculate white brows creased in speculation, “of the great disaster at the Promenade. But that had been … over a month ago. You must have encountered a formidable opponent if he is still ‘walking the Realms’, abbil ^d .”

“He is a mage of immense powers,” I answered calmly. “But I am working on it. My first priority is Imoen’s recovery of course, then I will go after the mage Irenicus.”

“I can care less for the weakling’s fate but vengeance is the sweetest draft that our throat can endure,” Viconia nodded. “Shar guides me! I owe you my life twice over, jabress^d. I shall be one of the tools of your revenge if you wish. I always knew you had an eye for the elg’caress’s^d mate, although forgive me if I say you have most ridiculous taste! Did you ever get him for yourself and is this why she had left your company?”

I did not see that one coming. It took a tremendous amount of self-restraint to keep my lips from trembling and stay silent, while trying to compose myself. Through all this exchange, we were walking down the bridge over one of the many smaller streams and gutters that crisscrossed the city. Anomen was leading us, carefully ignoring our conversation. At this remark however he stumbled, and turned around to stare at me wildly. Well, at least he was easy enough to deal with!

“Anything wrong?” I asked raising an eyebrow. He blushed but did not dare to answer and shook his head in denial, then continued his lead. Minsc followed him discreetly, so that I and Viconia trailed ten steps behind them now. I turned to the dark elf.

“You’ve just refused to discuss your own adventures, jalil^d. I shall allow myself the same liberty.”

We walked in silence for a while then I sighed, “Jaheira is not gone. She is merely on a quest of her own running east even as we speak. I hope she is going to be fine and we will see her back one day.”

“Pity, “ Viconia shrugged, “I shall never understand the reservations your surfacers have while discussing these matters. You’ve told me yourself that the tu’rilthiir^d is dead now. I was merely trying to understand the degree of your infuriation with your enemy. The young rivvil^d is your new mrann d’ssinss^d then?” She nodded at the young Helmite at the front.

“No.” I said simply.

“I thought it was unlikely,” Viconia continued unabashedly. “Although he is not that bad looking as rivvin^d go.”

“Be my guest,” I muttered. “But don’t tell me later I did not warn you. His temper is worse than that of a horse with a burr under his saddle.”

“I love a male with a spirit,” she purred, “a ssin’urn^d young stallion, maybe just what I need to forget that messy affair! These Beshaban rivvin^d were truly disgusting.”

I looked at her appreciatively. I had always considered Viconia one of the loveliest creatures I ever saw. Her face was a perfection of ebony, with lush red lips smiling like ripe cherries over two rows of perfect white teeth. She was not tall but shaped rather seductively in all the right places. Her dark skin was shining with healthy luster, under the disgusting burlap sack with holes she was wearing for clothes below her new cloak, and a significant amount of her flesh could be seen through the many tears in it.

At that moment however we had reached our destination, and so the rest of Viconia’s musings were lost for me. I have to admit that somehow that conversation made me uncomfortable. Not that I really minded her trying her formidable charms on our young cleric! Knowing his attitude towards anybody not of his race and social standing it was really hard to imagine she may succeed. But I did not like the idea. Yet the Nine Hells were going to freeze over before I was going to tell her that.

The Delryn Estate was only a few blocks away from the pretty square with a fountain in front of the opulent Council Building that I fondly named a ‘Bughouse’ for myself. It was located at the very end of the street, with one of its walls looming precariously over a deep rocky cleft.

As many big cities, Athkatla was originally built on few closely positioned Hills, albeit it has been expanding rapidly over the last few centuries, first spilling over to the other side of the river, and then taking over its own growing suburbs. The land inside the so-called ‘golden triangle’ - a narrow patch of ground at the geographical center of the old city - was so expensive, that any minor inconvenience such as a deep ravine or a fast flowing spring running through the property was simply incorporated into the building plans.

The house was originally built as an impressive four-stored affair, with many turrets and ornate knick-knacks. Now it was rapidly deteriorating into a ruin, shedding paint and old plaster. The front gate was open despite the late hour.

“I have to say I am impressed,” I noted to Anomen. “What is it – a late Empire style or something even older?”

“The house was built only three hundred years ago,” Anomen answered absently, “half of it is uninhabitable anyway, the whole east wing is closed except for the ground level, and the basements are flooded with water.”

As we ascended the dusty stairs to the faintly lit veranda, I quickly looked over my companions. Minsc was no problem, even though he looked like a second-rate unemployed mercenary. I myself was no better but there were many fortune seekers from war-torn Tethyr that were flooding the busy streets of Amnian capital these days. I decided I would pass for what I was – a half-legitimate spellcaster seeking employment. (I made a promise to myself that the first thing I do tomorrow would be purchasing a license from the Cowled Creeps Guild.) Viconia however, presented a serious problem. After all the racket that we had made freeing her the last thing I wanted was another scandal over my dark-skinned elf started by a doorkeeper! She grinned at me and hid herself deeper in the voluminous gray garment of soft wool that I picked for her from the street. It was too big but that was even better, for it covered her from head to black naked toes. I just hoped nobody would pay attention to her bare heels.

It went better than I hoped, for the bedraggled, middle aged man, who had answered at the doors was half asleep and genuinely relieved to see Anomen. It turned out – he was the only living soul in the house besides Lord Cor, and stuck with the services of his personal valet, butler, and bodyguard.

The sleepy fellow waved us into the dark lobby, and locked the doors. From the few words that he exchanged with Anomen I figured they knew each other well, and that Delryn senior was in the kitchen engaged in his customary evening activity of trying to drink himself to death. We walked from barely lit, cold lobby into the long gallery partially opened into the inner courtyard. It was a mild evening, albeit the air was cooling rapidly. This close to the coast the weather never drops to harsh winter temperatures of high mountains peaks. Still, seeing the bare branches of ornamental trees and bushed hanging desolately over the small marble pool filled with dead leaves, made me feel cold.

Anomen’s face that once again acquired a sullen expression of a small boy, who was barely keeping himself from crying. I waved to Minsc and Viconia, “you shall wait here. It is a family business that he wants to discuss in private.”

She smiled lazily at me, and pulled Minsc by the sleeve, indicating that they are going to wait for us in the gallery. Amazingly, Minsc allowed himself to be led like a lamb for the slaughter.

“Thank you for coming with me, my lady,” Anomen muttered shakily. “I am not a child I once was but facing him alone still makes my blood chill. ‘Tis not of him I am afraid!” he exclaimed suddenly raising his clenched fist to the ceiling. “It is of the beast within me that roars at the sight of his depravity!”

The kitchen door was wide open. A fire lit in the old-fashioned fireplace, the first one that I’ve seen so far, made the big clattered room an isle warmth and light in the cold vastness of the desolate house. The old man was sitting at the table with his head dropped upon his hands, and his overturned tankard was laying empty in the puddle of what smelled like a cheap Sembian red.

At the sound of our footsteps he suddenly stirred and raised his gray, disheveled head. The face that looked at me with bleak, bloodshot eyes showing a row of bad yellow teeth in a sickly smile was Anomen’s. Afterwards I noticed that the nose was a bit too long, the chin weak, and that the deep dark pouches hung under the eyes of murky gray, not sapphirine blue. But that was later. At a first glance their family resemblance was uncanny.

“It is not a pleasant feeling when your possible future is looking at you with eyes like these,” I thought wretchedly. I understood now the implications of a blood link, wondering briefly if my own features resembled in any way Bhaal’s former mortal shell, or any of his later avatars. I sincerely hoped not.

“The prodigal son returns to his forgiving parent!” with an unsteady jerk of his whole body Lord Cor managed to rise from his seat and made a great gesture of mocking acknowledgement. “Tell me son, is this a new custom you’ve picked at the Order to come home only for the funerals, like some sort of a buzzard? I am afraid ‘tis no more womenfolk left in this family to bury! So, next time you’ll grace this roof with your precious self ‘tis going to be when your old man kicks the bucket. Don’t worry lad, I am making a good job of it as you can see for yourself,” he gestured at the row of empty bottles at the kitchen wall. These were large, full gallon or more vessels of the cheapest kind you can buy for a few silvers, more known among their unhappy consumers as a ‘cat’s piss’.

Anomen’s face quivered. I realized that the old bugger was an adept in his craft of intimidation, for he had managed to get what he wanted in one easy shot – the young man was now filled with remorse and self loathing. And he was more then ready for this when he walked into the kitchen! As for me, being totally ignored by the master of the house suited my purposes just fine. I decided not to interfere unless it was absolutely crucial and slipped quietly closer to the wall, hiding myself in the shadows.

“Father, where is your daughter Moira,” Anomen asked almost gently. “What happened to her?”

“Are you mocking me, boy?” Cor actually tried to laugh with the shallow, croaking sound of an old crow. “Har, har,” that sound was so awful that even my diehard skepticism started to melt around the edges. His eyes were that of a dieing man. “She is dead, foolish boy, dead for more than a fortnight!” The old man’s whole body shook and he had fallen back in his chair as a half-empty sack.

For a moment I thought he was going to break but he recovered his posture quickly, and the cruel little smile was back on his lips. I gathered this malicious game was now more important to him than a moment of shared grief with his only remaining child.

“Murdered most violently!” Cor shrieked like a madman. “In her own bedroom in the middle of the night, while you have been away playing in your little knight games!”

“How could this happen,” the young man asked quietly. “Where were your retainers, father, why did not they protect her?”

“Don’t you know the answer?” the old jester replied mockingly, “or you are taking me for a fool? They all left many months ago, as I was unable to pay their wages! I am broke, son. All because of you! Because you left, and Moira had to do men’s job, the one that was truly yours! Verily, at the end she was a better son to me than your ever managed!”

“Another neat trick,” I noted calmly for myself. “Always try to transfer a lion’s share of your own guilt on the ones you are tormenting. Works like a magic word most of the time.”

“You should never have allowed this!” Anomen’s face reddened in anger. “She was putting herself in danger by mingling in men’s business! It did not matter at the end however,” his voice broke suddenly. “Tell me father was there an inquiry? Did they ever find her killer?”

‘They never will, Anomen,” Cor’s laughter was now of a bitter kind, but there was a strange note of conviction in it, “the one who did it is well protected by his wealth. He has all the guards in this city firmly in his pocket. Why, I think he personally pays Chief Inspector Brega the second half of his salary! Do you think justice would ever reach the likes of him?” The old man’s eyes were burrowing into his son’s face like gimlets.

“If this is about your long term enmity with the Calimshite…” Anomen started meekly but Cor never let him finish the sentence.

“I know it was Saerk as good as I know my face in the mirror!” Cor exploded in a violent rage. For a few minutes, all we could hear was a stream of vile curses and wailing complaints. Then he cowed. “He took everything from me, everything! My wealth, my trade, the love of my wife and children, your mother’s health; and finally when there was nothing left he took my daughter from me as well!”

“You’ve lost it all by yourself, father,” Anomen said shaking his head. They had obviously been over this argument many times before. “And why would Saerk risk his precious hide sneaking into our house in the middle of the night to kill my sister?” He continued in the lines that we discussed on our way here. “The Calimshite has this grudge against you but he is no fool. I may have believed you, if you’ve claimed that he had hired killers, albeit such an accusation would require proof if brought before the High Council. But to claim that he actually did it all by himself is ridiculous. Nobody would ever believe such a tale!”

“I have proof, foolish boy!” Cor’s eyes flashed. “I have this,” he rose shakily and opened his shabby green surcoat, digging inside some hidden seam with his trembling fingers. I was so surprised I actually made a few steps forward to see better. What he finally brought to the light before our eyes was a small dagger, a kind that a young man of noble stature would carry at his belt without thinking much of it, and that in my opinion better suited for peeling fruit or sharpening pencils than for serious fighting.

It was a lovely little weapon, with elegant narrow blade and ornate guard, gilded, and sprinkled with diamond dust. The hilt was crafted with supreme skill, and there was no mistake – between the golden leaves and sinuous curves was hidden a stylized letter F.

“What is the meaning of this, father?” Anomen’s voice trailed in confusion, “it is pretty enough thing but surely you cannot mean…”

“This little knife cut the throat of your sister, fool!” the elder man shrieked angrily. “Derkin had found it in her bedroom, under the writing desk! She was found lying at the doorstep, as if trying to flee her murderers,” his voice shook slightly at these last words but he quickly gathered himself and continued in his usual harsh and intimidating manner. “As it is entirely your fault that she was left unprotected it is now up to you to avenge her death! You must kill Saerk Farrahd and his son! Harsh price to pay for the innocence lost but pay it you shall. Or would you leave this last desperate task to my unsteady hands? Our honor would be lost - your honor would be lost knightling! I realize you can care less for the disgrace to your family name but your own position would be more than shameful if you refuse, for I will make your cowardice the talk of the city!”

“But this would be murder! I cannot possibly do it without violating the tenets of my Order!” Anomen’s knuckles went white. I could hear his rugged breath and see the look of desperation in his haunted eyes.

“That is about enough Sir Delryn, “ I said quietly, stepping forward and putting my hand on his son’s trembling hand, “We have heard your arguments. I applaud your mastery in presenting the facts in the way that best suits your objective but believe you me - I have seen better performances in my days. If your daughter was murdered with this very weapon, and you claim that you found it on the site of the crime – that is a solid clue that can be forwarded to the magistrate, so that the weapon could be tracked back to its original owner. It was fairly stupid of him to use the dagger with his family device, and doubly so to leave it behind after the deed was done.”

“Who are you, woman?!” Cor shrunk away from me as if finally noticing my presence.

I smiled in a way that made the hardened warriors sweat, and looked him straight in the eye with my glowing cat-orbs. I knew the effect my golden eyes had on most of my opponents, and used it shamelessly. It that particular case I had no remorse whatsoever. He looked away after a few seconds, pretending to search for his spilled drink.

“A witch, no doubt that the young fool picked up in the gutter! Ain’t they teaching you anything at the Order about staying clear of women such as her, son?” he asked Anomen refilling his glass with a shaky hand.

“Phew, I would be very careful using this kind of expressions around me sir,” I said purring, “or you may finish your life feeding on worms and flies in that same gutter. I think that a shape of a spotted toad or a yellow-bellied newt would fit you better that the one you are currently wearing. And then I may just forget to turn you back!”

I saw Anomen’s lips curve up a little. A sparkle of humor glittered in the depth of his eyes. I rejoiced at this, for humor is the best weapon you can use against the bullying swine like Cor. There is nothing worse to their miserable souls than to see their victims laugh at them. Hatred on the other hand, is a nutritious soil on which they grow and prosper. Hate them – and thus feed their need to continue tormenting you. Laugh at them and ignore their need to be recognized – and they will wither like pale algae under the harsh cleansing heat of a sunlight.

“I think I may need to borrow this from you,” I reached out and plucked the dagger out of his limp fingers. “Too bad you had removed the blood stains from the blade. Or were there ever any?”

“Get her away from me!” the old cur shrieked suddenly, spilling his wine and flailing his hands at me as if I was a stinging wasp. “Can’t you see – I am just an old man, grieving over my late daughter? I need some rest! My nerves are shattered! Disobedient son, if you want to talk to me come back alone but never bring her back into my presence. Go now, I will not say another word to you!”

“I shall look into this case, that much I can promise, “ I said calmly, “I treasure Anomen’s friendship and share his grief. As for you Lord Delryn, I sincerely hope I will never have to put my eyes on your sorry face again. I pity your son for having you for a father but this also makes me feel deeper respect for him. Unlike you, he is trying to make something of his life despite all the effort you put into ruining it!”

We walked into the dark and empty gallery together, leaving behind the suffocating warmth of the kitchen, reeking of spilled vine and old vomit. I sneaked a glance at my companion – in the semi-darkness his face looked calm and composed.

“Can you really do something like this?” he asked suddenly.

“What? Turn him into a frog? I sure can,” I grinned relieved at his countenance. “Don’t worry though, I am not a stiff-necked righteous prig like Elminster. I would not dare to pass my own judgment in a case like this. Mayhap there are some scraps of decency left in him under all that bitterness, although I doubt it!”

“Actually, ‘tis a shame you are not,” Anomen stated. Then continued as I swallowed my surprise, “I had never seen him so afraid. I have to thank you for showing me that I can deal with my father without resorting to violence. Honestly, I was so scared coming here I almost wept. These blind rages that sometimes come over me… I don’t wish to talk about it but some time ago I became certain that one day I would damn my soul by committing patricide!”

“That is how he wants you feel,” I nodded solemnly, “I had seen enough raging bullies and quiet ‘intelligent’ tyrants in my lifetime. What both of these kinds absolutely cannot stand, is a sense of humor in their victims. Laughter makes them feel uneasy and lets you see the things the way they are – not the way they want you see them! I am glad I was of help,” I added timidly. “Not that you really need any, you were doing pretty well by yourself.”

“I did?” he raised an eyebrow, “I thought I was cowering like a beaten pup under his heavy boot yet again! But if you say so, I would gladly believe you. ‘Tis does not change the fact that my sister was murdered vilely,” his face flashed in anger and a shadow of doubt showed in his eyes again. “Do you think there is possibly some truth in his accusations? This dagger,” the young man nodded at the ornate toy in my hand, “surely looks authentic. I had seen Saerk’s lackeys wearing uniform with letters like this!”

“It is a good question,” I nodded gravely. “I can promise you that much – I will not stop looking until there is still a chance of finding out what had actually happened. In the mean time, we better present this evidence before the magistrate. I want to hit myself for leaving your stablemaster Terl behind at Trademeet! He was the one who discovered the body. Or was it actually more than one? Were there any witnesses?”

“I don’t know, “ Anomen shook his head in disdain, “Helm’s beard! I don’t even know where she is buried! The old bastard was so intent on coaxing me to kill the Calimshite for him, he did not even care to tell us that much! Ah, forgive me, my lady, I forgot my manners again.”

“If you start apologizing for every time you have lost your temper, we won’t be done until tomorrow,” I stated sardonically, causing him to turn pink again, “I suggest you go and find the servant that answered at the doors.”

It turned out – Cor had ordered his daughter’s body to be cremated. No doubt he could not afford to pay for a decent funeral! Her ashes were deposited in a cinerary urn, and placed inside the little shrine near the round marble pool in the courtyard.

We went there with him. It must have been a lovely place in midsummer. Now the black tangle of uncut rosebushes surrounded dark and silent waters. It was cold. The little pool was full of rotting leaves; and in the blue light of the bleak moon I thought that a grim statue of Helm in the little shrine looked urgently upset. It must have been a trick of light, for when I had a closer look the stern deity’s face bore its canonical expression of utmost patience.

Anomen must have knelt there for almost half an hour. I grew cold and tired. Minsc sighs would have been more appropriate coming from a medium size whale. Viconia was shifting restlessly from feet to feet, and I noticed that she was now wearing a pair of big woolen socks, reaching almost above her knees. I wondered where did they come from but decided against asking. Minsc was ever resourceful, and carried numerous small items in his seemingly small belt pouch. I finally ordered them to retreat into the equally cold gallery, were they at least were covered from the slow drizzle of fine mist that started to sprinkle from the low winter sky.

“Anomen,” I put the tips of my fingers on his shoulder, careful of startling him out of his reverie. “It is time to go. We need to get back to the Coronet. It is a long and dangerous journey.”

“Yes, yes. Forgive me,” the young man muttered as if waking up from a deep sleep. His eyes were red again but his face was resolute. “I want to ask for one more favor,” he mumbled. “I need to see her room. I don’t think my father will bother us tonight. I may never have another chance to touch her things.”

“You are right again and I am being a fool!” I exclaimed in a fervent whisper. “Of course I need to look at the house tonight! It is absolutely imperative. Can you call for your father’s man, Derkin, to accompany us? I may need to ask him some more questions.”

Moira’s bedroom was on the third floor in the more habitable part of the house. We had followed the slumping figure carrying a lantern up the stairs, and then to the left through the long, hollow corridors. Her door was closed and locked. Derkin assured us that nobody had been inside since the official investigation was closed about a week ago. The body was prepared for the funeral services next day after Cor’s arrival, and the women who had washed and dressed it for the pyre were allowed to take the dirty bed linens, and some of the clothes. The bed was bare of everything but the mattress, and the walk-in dresser was virtually empty of anything but few old garments. The room was basically stripped to the bone. Somebody even washed the floors. Almost three days had passed from Terl’s grim discovery to Lord Cor’s arrival. All that time the house was empty, and although the magistrate sealed the doors and placed a guard at the entrance, there was always a chance that somebody may have sneaked in to tamper with the evidence. It was a rare strike of luck that Derkin had found that dagger under the writing desk.

I lowered to my knees to inspect the floor tiles at the spot were the butler indicated the body was found, before he left us his lamp and retreated into the corridor. To my utter astonishment, I could not find a faintest trace of blood. Terl found her dead in the early morning, after he unsuccessfully tried to raise the cook Sara, the only other person in the house, and found her room empty and splattered with blood. That much I had remembered from his heartbreaking tale.  If Moira had her throat cut before she was left on the floor of her bedroom I expected to find a large pool of blood that should have soaked the floor tiles. No amount of scrubbing could have removed such a stain. But there was absolutely no trace of it left on the floor.  There were two possibilities to account for this – either Terl had lied to me about the manner of her wound, and I dismissed that immediately, or her body was moved after it was already cold and the blood stopped flowing. The only other place in the house that bore traces of violence was the room of the missing serving woman, who had vanished without a trace.

Derkin admitted that there were a lot of rumors about this circulating among the servants. The official version was that she was killed and then dumped into the ravine, where her body was hauled by the rapid stream and carried away into Alandor. The grooms had their own version according to which Sara was the traitor, who had let the burglars in, and then eloped faking her own death by killing a chicken in her room. I regretted once again my total ineptitude in the School of Divination. A little clairvoyance session may have cleared the matters, although too much time had already passed. I closed my eyes tightly and tried to concentrate on picking the emphatic vibes in the room. I was not particularly sensitive but any trained wizard should be able to at least hear the paranormal ‘noise’ that was left behind by the act of violence, especially murder. I expected vague and disturbing sense of wrongness. What I got instead was something so horrific that my mind rebuked violently and shut itself entirely from the weave.

As I sat on the floor struggling for breath the young Helmite turned from his sister’s writing desk and run to my side with a frightened cry. I waived him away but he insisted on helping me to my feet and bringing me over to the only chair in the room, assisting me tenderly as if I was made of porcelain. I looked at the book that he had picked up from the shelf above the fireplace and was leafing through while I was going on with my investigation. It was “The Most Incredible Adventures of Sir Galeod and His Illustrious Companions” by Gremlio the ‘Honeytongue’ of Waterdeep, one of the soppiest romance novels I could recall from my childhood, dealing with dragons, knights, fair ladies and other such accoutrement. Since I was as guilty as he in reading it and its twenty four companion tomes in a single reading binge, I ignored the implication. To clear myself  I have to mention that I was fourteen at the time when that particular sin was committed, and that I shared it with Imoen, who was extremely upset when Galeod’s sweetheart Lady Delaila was abducted for eleventh time by some particularly vile specimen of a villain, and was about to be ravished in his underground dungeon. “If only she knew,” I thought bitterly. But perhaps it was a blessing that she did not.

Thinking of Imoen brought me back to reality. I quickly sorted trough the desk and its drawers. Nothing. The magistrate officials had already seen all of this, and Cor most likely had ordered the most important of her papers burnt. Then again, she probably did not carry her business letters home, and Anomen mentioned that to his greatest chagrin Moira used to work in the small office they rented at the Docks. Terl was escorting her back and forth when needed. One little detail however caught my imagination. In the topmost drawer on the right I found a small ribbon of white silk, creased at the ends as if it was used to tie a stack of letters. There was nothing more of importance. I sighed, and pocketed the ribbon.

“Anomen, did she ever tell you anything about her personal life?” I asked tentatively. “Like if she had a friend or romantic interest?”

The young cleric was shocked. “Why would you ask such a thing? Moira was as virtuous as she was beautiful! Pure in heart and soul. I am sure she would have let me know immediately if a young man approached her with an offer of courtship! There was something between her and Marcus, one of my fellow squires. But that was almost three years ago, and he was immediately transferred to Murann. He had written me later that it was of his mother’s doing, and how sorry he was to leave her behind.”

I snorted. Something told me that Anomen would have been the last one to know if his sister indeed had a romantic relationship. “I am done here, my friend,” I said gently, “if you wish to pick up a token in her memory, please do it quickly. I still need to check out the servant’s quarters downstairs.”

“But why, Thea?” He looked a bit  sheepish at daring to call me by my personal name once upon a time, rather than his customary ‘my lady’. “If you are looking for traces of Calimshite’s presence in the house why do you need to search the servants rooms? Moira was killed in this bedroom!”

I was not about to go into details with him. “There was another person in the house at the time of the murder,” I explained simply. “The missing cook. She had disappeared and her room was later found empty and covered with blood.”

“Ah,” Anomen mumbled and pocketed the book. “I am ready,” he said sulkily as if daring me to object at his choice of a memento. But I only nodded and knocked at the door letting Derkin know that we were  ready to depart.

The room of the missing servant looked truly horrible. After having a brief look I was sure that no chicken could have produced the amount of blood that was sprinkled over the walls and covered the floor in a huge dried puddle. The puddle also had an imprint - that of a human body. But there was no trace of a corpse being dragged in or out of the room. Whoever spirited it away must have been extremely powerful being. “Or used a levitation spell,” I added to myself. There were no further clues to be gathered tonight. So, I assembled my companions, and we started on our long track back to the ‘Copper Coronet’ on the other side of the great river.

CHAPTER FORTEEN

Yusef’s limbs were still trembling from terrible pain of a seizure caused by an entrapment spell that was augmented by Lagole’s punishment. He crouched on the cold stone floor in a fetal position until Deril brought him back to awareness. The boy almost welcomed the sharp jolts of pain from kicks in the ribs and face, for at least that made him feel alive. His eyebrow was bleeding from a deep cut but he paid it no heed. The lich was gone, taking Moira away, and he felt his life was over; except that he could not yet lay down and die because then she would be trapped in the stone for eternity for certain. Then he had opened his eyes and looked at the scowling wizard. Deril’s nose was definitely crooked to the left now, and it looked like the damage was permanent. Yusef wondered absentmindedly why did not the renegade pay the healer to fix it.

As if hearing his thoughts, Deril touched his broken appendage and hissed. “Wondering why didn’t I fix it, rat-boy? I had promised myself to keep it as a reminder of the debt that you owe me! When Lagole is done with you, I may still have my revenge,” He looked Yusef over appreciatively.

Yusef realized he was still stark naked. Hastily he started to gather his clothes strewn all over the place. He felt nauseous under Deril’s persistent stare but there was nothing he could do.

“At the end I always have no choice,” Yusef thought bitterly. His whole life was spent cowering under the thumb of a man who was an obsessive control freak. Now he was forced by fate into even worse form of slavery – he was bound both by his drug addiction and by  his bid to free Moira from her imprisonment. It did not occur to him to abandon her in her plight. Their lives were tied together now - that much he knew for sure; everything else was lost in a gray fog of despair and uncertainty.

He finished dressing himself and looked around in sick disgust. This room had seen his greatest moment of happiness, now it had also seen him sink indo the depths of misery from which he was not sure he would ever return.

“Take the girl’s things too, and put them into a dresser!” Deril commanded. “Now make up the bed – it is revolting to see what you have made out of it! Don’t forget to collect every shred of your belongings. You don’t want ol’ cur to find out what you did to his daughter before she croaked,” he made an obscene gesture but Yusef could not care less for his foul words. What they really did to Moira was much worse than what the mage implied.

All the time he kept his eyes carefully averted, so that not to look at the corpse. The resemblance to Moira was absolute. If he had not seen the spell take shape before his eyes, he would have believed it himself. Now he had to step over her to pass through the door. Deril was waiting for him in the corridor with a conjured sphere of magical light in his hand.

“Make haste rat-boy!” The wizard’s expression was anxious. Despite his bravado, he did not feel comfortable about lingering in this place, and a rather messy way in which he was forced to slaughter the old woman grinded on his nerves.

Yusef stopped in mid-stride. He knew it was not really her but his heart was breaking nonetheless. He bent over and tried to close the stubborn gray eyes. The illusion was complete. He could sense the marble cold smoothness of her cheek. He dropped to his knees and planted a kiss on her cold brow, wondering if this was going to be the last time that he would see her face.

“Get it over with, Farrahd!” The wizard barked in irritation, “unless you want to add necrophilia to the list of your vices! She is just an ugly old witch under all this glamour, anyway!”

Anger flashed in his head, hot and searing like a strike of lightning. In one step Yusef was at Deril’s side, his hand fast as a snake gripping at the wizard’s collar. He grabbed more of the heavy embroidered cloth, wrapping it around his fingers and tightening it around the flabby neck, finally making the mage choke.

 “I told you once, Deril - do not push me into a corner,” he said in a deadly cold voice, “the cornered rat can be most dangerous. You may have me trapped but I still have enough muscle to strangle you with my bare hands, and you are not your master!”

Yusef looked at the suddenly pale and flaccid cheeks of his enemy with satisfaction. This close he could see the extent of the damage done by his punch in the nose, and the ugly red scar on the wizard’s neck. Somehow the lich’s spell did not heal the wound completely. He knew it was folly to bait Deril so when his own position was so weak but could not stop himself after what he had to endure under the damned pervert’s scrutiny. He hated being ogled. Too late he remembered his own cruel words to the little boy killed by the lich’s spell.

Deril’s face quivered in panic. “Cool down, boy,” the renegade croaked, “let me go! You want your girl back, don’t you? I can help you to convince Lagole to be reasonable! Say in ten years of service he can let you both go, if you bring him enough souls to satisfy his fancy! And you will need more of your weed, won’t you?” His fingers started to pull something out of the pocket of his brocade robe.

“Hold it back asshole!” Yusef snarled grabbing the wizard’s fist with his free hand. But it was only a silken pouch with the herbal mix. Suddenly the young man felt such an intense craving for the weed his whole body shuddered. His lotus-induced exaltation was long over, spent on the sexual drive and desperate struggle against the lich’s spell, and up to this moment only his emotional agony kept him on his feet. Now Yusef felt the terrible weakness settling on his limbs, as a steel ring of headache tightened around his skull once again. He jerked the lotus bag out of Deril’s fingers and pushed the mage away.

“This is better,” Deril smiled sickly rubbing his throat, “you see, we can still find some understanding! You need me boy. Lagole needs you. I need Lagole. We better settle our differences and work together.” His voice sounded soothing, almost kind, but a deep and dangerous fire of hatred and lust smoldered under the heavy lids of his bleak eyes.

Yusef could not remember how he made it to the Bridge District that night. It was rather like sleepwalking. At the crossroad outside the Delryn Estate he stopped and pulled out his pipe. The first deep inhalation of pungent smoke numbed some of his pain, bringing instead vague and insincere hopes of resolution. The young man continued his journey, not paying any attention to the curious looks and muttered curses of the late passersby and occasional streetwalkers, who were becoming more abundant as he left the fashionable Gem’s District and get closer to the river. Yusef assumed he looked truly horrible to induce such gazes. His clothes were in disarray, and with a few precise strikes Deril had made a mess of his face while he was hovering on the floor. It was only an hour or so after midnight, he realized with a shrug. It seemed more like an eon had passed between his two trips over the Alandor bridge

“You cannot cross the same river twice,” he recalled an old saying. Suddenly his head was giddy with a surge of hysterical laughter. Yusef bent over unable to restrain himself. His whole body shook in the unstoppable throes of hysteria. His arms and legs trembled forcefully, and the violent sobs, mixed with choking giggles bubbled on his lips. He grabbed at the bridge rails, feeling an inexorable urge to throw himself over and be done with it this very moment.

“Are you all right, kiddo?” the hoarse woman’s voice inquired gently. “Are you having a fit or something? Be careful over there. My old pal Lily liked this spot. That was before some drunken sailor pushed her over the rail into the Alandor cause she won’t go with him without coin! They never even found her body. You are shaking like mad, you poor thing. Let me hold your hand. Get away from the railing and I will walk you off the bridge.” He raised his head.

She was profoundly, violently redheaded. In fact this was not sufficient to describe the color of her tresses, for it was more like a flaming torch than a hair. This flame-colored haystack was whipped into a semblance of a coiffure and decorated with red ribbons. Her dress was red too and incredibly revealing, Yusef realized with a shrug. She was obviously one of the cheapest sort. The ones who dared to walk the streets in the deep of the night in the most dangerous parts of the city.

“Hello handsome,” she grinned at him revealing a dark gap in place of the left incisor. “I am Rose Bouquet but you can call me aunt Rosie. Are you feeling better now?”

Yusef realized she was still holding his hand. His shakes subsided. It was strangely reassuring to feel her hot, living hand holding his icy fingers. “Thank you miss,” he muttered and suddenly smiled back at her. “I am better now. You are too kind.”

“It’s ok buddy,” she patted him on the arm gently. “If somebody mistreated you, you should tell the watch. Lieutenant Aegis isn’t as bad as half of them. He is not terribly good at his line of work, mind it, but at least he will listen to you!” She looked at him closely. “Hey you dress too posh for this line of work! Are you one of them noble kids, who think themselves brave to sneak around the Docks in this time of a night then? What happened to you? You sure look like Hell. I thought a client had roughed you up at first!”

With a sudden surge of understanding Yusef realized that she had taken him for one of the male prostitutes, who were working the streets of Athkatla together with their female counterparts. His clothes were dark, and of a simple cut, and the quality of the material could only be seen at a close distance. Somehow it made him feel better. At least she had tried to comfort him out of sheer compassion, not because of the professional interest.

“I am no noble Rosie,” Yusef nodded at her, stifling his unsteady hands. “I will be fine. I live just over there on the other side of the river,” he waived in the general direction of Farrahd mansion. Somehow it felt wrong to offer her coin for her kindness but he got another idea. He did not wear any rings, so with his shaking hands he unfastened a single gold earring with a tiny ruby that had dangled from his left earlobe and pushed it into her hand against her protestations. “It’s a gift,” he muttered, “but if you are hungry or sick you can always sell it for a few gold.” In fact he had no idea how much it could cost. The ruby was a genuine one and of good quality. He left her standing at the center of the bridge, looking at his unsteady gait as he crossed the river.

When Yusef finally reached the house he was stone tired. The only desire left in him was to rest. But as the Gods would have it, he was nowhere near the end of his troubles that night. As he entered the lobby he was notified that his father wanted to see him right away. Yusef wondered briefly which one of the servants was on a special assignment to spot him at the gates and run straight to his father. It did not matter really. They were all crawling on their bellies before Saerk, like small rodents under the stare of a desert cobra.

Saerk was waiting for him in the library and one look at his dour face made Yusef aware that his father was not in one of his better moods. Even though, he was not ready for what had followed next. Saerk waited just long enough for the servant to close the door. His fist connected with the boy’s abdomen at that precise moment, and when Yusef doubled over gasping for breath a series of quick, painful strikes rained at his head and protectively raised hands. Unlike Deril, Saerk avoided his face aiming more for the pain than actual damage.

“He wants me to look presentable afterwards,” Yusef thought half-coherently, covering his ringing head, “too bad somebody else did a better job on my face already!”

The most frightening was the fact that all of this proceeded in a deadly silence, interrupted only by rugged breathing and sounds of heavy blows falling on his head.

“Give me the weed,” Saerk said suddenly as if the spring inside him had finally unwound itself. His voice was cold and controlled. There was no trace of rage in it, and that was the scary part. As far as Yusef could remember his father was always in perfect control of his emotions. If he hit somebody he always new the exact amount of pain and damage he wanted to deliver. “I said give me the weed,” that was followed by another strike, this time a boot planted in his side. Yusef dropped to his knees. The world went black before his eyes, but before he could descend into the welcoming darkness his head was violently jerked up by the hand grappling at his hair. The young man wondered if his father would finally succeed in cracking one of his ribs, the task at which Deril failed miserably. “I can fight back and make him kill me,” he thought cynically. “Nah, he would not do me this favor, he would probably just call up the servants to hold me for him!”

Saerk’s rough fingers searched the pockets of his coat, and last his belt pouch.  With a satisfied grunt he pulled out the silk pouch and Yusef’s clay pipe. The thought of smashing it on the floor at once reflected on his face, then he thought better of it, and pocketed it instead. “I promised Thumb that I shall personally replace his other hand with a metal hook, if he as much as gives you another sniff of the stuff,” his father said gruffly. “Although by looking at you somebody already tried to teach you that same lesson. Where have you been all day? They told me you had left the Sea Bounty in the morning.”

Yusef unfastened his lips, still sticky with blood, and dragged his tongue over his teeth. Amazingly, they were all there. Painfully aware of how pathetic he must look, he remembered Rose Bouquet and her smile. But he did about enough of groveling for one day. So, Yusef looked Saerk straight in the eye and grinned.

 “And why should I tell you, father? If you are so well informed – go find out for yourself!” he spat right at Saerk’s shiny boot, pleased at his own precise aim.

The last thing that he saw was Saerk’s foot descending on his head.

* * * * *

The next day after our interview with Lord Cor it was raining in Athkatla. A massive herd of low, lead-gray clouds ascended from the Sea of Swords drowning the city in the chilly embrace of drizzling winter rain. I peeked out of the Coronet’s doors and shrugged. It was unpleasant enough to traverse the Slums in the mild days of Leafall. Now in the middle of the Rotting it was simply disgusting. The usual gusty smell of decaying refuse was not as pronounced, being sufficiently diluted by the falling rain, but all the contents of the sewer, normally contained below the street level were now overflowing the gutters and joyfully running along the narrow, muddy alleys. Besides, it was awfully cold and windy, not in a fresh, chilly way of the winter in the highlands but in a wet and miserable style that only a coastal city can deliver to her long-suffering inhabitants.

I groaned and went back inside the smoke-saturated, noisy warmth of the tavern. It was less packed now than in the older days of Lehtinan’s iron rule. And the crowd looked cleaner and more sober. Still, there were enough of the half-drunken dwarf types in their usual corner, mingling cheerfully with humans and even some rare elven and half-eleven populace of the more casual attitude. The ladies of negotiable affection were at least working for themselves (or for the pimps of their own choice), and there were considerably lesser amount of flies over the slabs of unsavory looking meat in the kitchen. I negotiated my usual mug of warm milk with cinnamon, making sure it was properly boiled first, and grabbing chunks of stale bread and moldy cheese, retreated into the room upstairs that I now shared with my audaciously rescued dark elf. She was still sleeping, curled leisurely under a warm baby-blue blanket - a strange choice of color for the establishment of Coronet’s type, albeit I suppose Hendak was introducing his own house rules now and aiming for a classier clientele.

As I entered the chamber, Viconia stirred and opened one ruby-red eye, peeping carefully from under her wooly cover.

“ ‘Tis only you, abbil,” she grumbled at seeing me and turned on her other side.

“Whom did you expect, jalil ^d?” I asked sarcastically sitting at the window, “a troop of personal attendants bringing garlands of fresh flowers and a lavish breakfast?”

“You could have had all of this and more,” the dark elf responded grudgingly, “I wonder what happens with all the coin that gets into your hands? I heard you have been offered a position of power in the city of Baldur’s Gate, that they almost wanted to elevate you to a ducal status!”

“Almost does not count.” I said after a short pause, biting off a piece of bread and following it with a sip of warm milk. “That’s a long story, and one I would rather keep to myself. Sufficient to say that all my money were drained from my account by a certain individual, or rather a group of individuals, who had kidnapped and sold me to a madman, who in turn almost killed me with various tortures, trying to drive me out of stasis that I put myself into. These were the same men who slayed Khalid,” I raised my hand in warning stopping her from asking the question that was obviously on the tip of her tongue, “and were responsible in the long run for the abduction of Imoen. Unfortunately they are also the ones who are now demanding a king’s ransom for the information on her whereabouts.”

“That must have been exciting, “Viconia yawned and gave me a big grin. “What did you do to these people, faern? Are they all frozen or deep-fried yet?”

“I was just collecting the money they specified, like the dutiful girl I am,” I answered grinning in the same dangerous way.

“But you have no intention of paying them, I gather?”

“Why Vicky? Do you think I am capable of taking the entire Shadow Thieves organization of Athkatla on my own?” I took another sip of milk.

“You would consider this, oh yes,” she nodded unabashedly, “but if I know you well, you want to make sure your plans are well laid before you strike.”

“If you know me so well, guess what am I thinking of right now,” I asked finishing my meager breakfast.

“Let me guess, jabress ^d,” she sighed, “I gather you have a plan and this plan involves dragging this particular ilythiiri ^d out of her cozy bed and into the rivvin-infested city again?”

“Correct,” I nodded cheerfully. “I will let you pick clothes from my saddlebags for now, albeit I am afraid all my leggings will be too long, and my tunics tight around the bosom.”

She looked at me cynically through the curtain of snow-white hair. “When you gave me this yesterday night, I had a chance to look at dosst belaern ^d, jabress!” she pulled at the sleeve of my plain nightgown she was presently wearing. “The stuff that you call clothes I would not consider fit for my lowliest scullery slave!”

“Pity,” I sighed. “Then you will have to spend your day in bed, abbil. I will ask Hendak to send you a tray with food and ale.”

“No, nope, nau ^d!” Viconia sat up with amazing alacrity. “You are not leaving me here, Thea. I would rather wear your scratchy black cassock than stay in this pit for the whole day! You rivvin have strange way to express your sorrow,” she muttered. “As if torturing your flesh brings joy to your lost ones.”

“We will have a shopping spree tonight,” I assured her. “But now you will have to hurry. We are going to visit the City Council this morning. I intend to launch a complain on your behalf, concerning the Beshabans.”

Viconia looked at me with an expression of pure horror. “I may consider staying in bed after all,” she muttered, “I do remember that place. I tried to get some sort of a residence permit once. If you are a dark elf they charge a fee for every day you stay in this Gods-forsaken city!”

“In that case we will have to bribe somebody to issue you a certificate of being a particularly dark-skinned darthiir ^d,” I chuckled, “And color your hair blue or something.”

“You will do this to my dead cold body, jabress!” She almost spat at me. “And by the way, I still have some of my own belongings stored in one of the tombs in the city graveyard. I should be able to sneak in and retrieve these after nightfall.”

I went downstairs leaving her to pick what she wanted out of my meager possessions. The first two people I run into were Yoshimo and Valygar. The pair looked exceedingly cheerful and mysterious. They also were sufficiently wet, so I concluded they had spent some time outside.

“Where have you been?” I asked suspiciously.

“She always mistrusts us, eh Creeps?” Valygar offered with a mocking chagrin, “we just went outside to check on the Sphere, your worship.”

I glanced at Yoshimo. He looked somewhat better today. As if whatever was bothering him on our way here failed to materialize. “Yes, Smarty and me went to see his ancestral retreat in the Slums, “Yoshimo nodded with a smile. “Beats his Imnesvale cabin many times over if you ask me, albeit he does not want to admit it.”

“There is a fellow over there who offered to sell it to me for two hundred gold,” Valygar chuckled mirthlessly. “Talk about being enterprising! I am afraid I had to decline, tempting though it was.”

“So you actually saw the Sphere?” I asked excitedly. I have to admit that despite Valygar’s assurances I still was somewhat unwilling to believe in its existence.

“Oh we sure did, Thea,” Yoshimo nodded. “It is big and silver, all right, and it does respond to his touch,” he looked at Valygar in commiseration. “It is not my call, but I would not touch it with a ten feet pole, if I were him!”

“Can you take me there?” I asked in a fit of sudden yearning. “We cannot get inside yet, Valygar. I am sorry but I promised Anomen that we go to see the magistrate first. But I want to have a look for myself”

They looked at each other. “I cannot see why not,” Valygar muttered, “What do you think Creeps?”

“I agree, Smarty,” the thief-taker nodded cheerfully. “Before she goes into the snake pit they call the City Hall, she can have a look at a simple and innocent stuff like a hundred feet in diameter silver trap, built by an undead necromancer!”

And so we visited the spot. I stood there under the drizzling rain, caught in awe. It was majestic. I could not find a better word for it. Shiny and silvery, towering like a giant hill of mithral over the wretched poverty of the Slums poorest quarters. Valygar showed me a slim outline of the door that appeared under his hand, when he touched the bright surface, and faded back into nothingness when he withdrew. It was completely out of place and out of time, and I craved to get inside it!

But there were many other things to consider before embarking on this particular adventure. There were intrigues hidden inside intrigues, and until I unraveled at least some of the motives behind seemingly innocent coincidences, I did not dare to act upon my desires. Now that I knew the sphere was real, it sure looked like something that would draw my attention, once I discovered the true motive of the Cowled Ones’ manhunt for Valygar. I was positive the sphere was under surveillance. (At least that was what I would have done if I were Tolgerias!) It was amazing nobody apprehended the ranger the moment he showed his face near the place. I wondered if he himself realized what a perfect target he made by just standing there.

The Cowled Ones knew I wanted Imoen back, yet at first they were unwilling to negotiate. From what the various suspicious characters hanging around were willing to tell, I gathered they made numerous attempts to open the sphere, over the last few weeks that we spent hunting for Valygar among the glades and forests of Imnesvale. Perhaps they will be a bit more flexible to trade the secret of the sphere for her release now!

In addition to this, the dragon horde gave me funds sufficient to bribe the thieves. The saddlebag that I did not show Vicky was stuffed with gold coin and gems. Even after I doled their respective shares to my companions, (Minsc and Jaheira refused to take their parts, Anomen mumbled that his honor prevented him from taking his share of the loot but agreed to accept the Flail of Ages, Yoshimo and Jan showed no remorse in taking the gold), I still had enough to pay the Shadow Thieves’ ransom. So, I had two paths opened to me were there were none before. Still I hesitated.

“Let’s get out of here lads,” I said after one of the street idlers started to show too much interest in our humble personas. We turned around a few corners, and managed to loose him in the maze of crooked alleys behind the Promenade. A small shop selling hats, scarves and various other accoutrements caught my eye. I nodded to my companions and we ducked inside. It was gloomy and dusty, and the old halfling lady, who owned the establishment pretended to be asleep at her counter at this relatively early hour. I busied myself in sorting through her selection of gloves and nodded my companions to do the same. After a while we heard the hurried steps of a runner pass the little shop in  a mad dash. So, our pursuer missed our hiding hole.

“Yoshimo,” I said selecting a pair of small azure gloves of soft kidskin, “How much do they pay you to stay with me?” He blinked. I looked at him sharply. “I am deadly serious, my friend,” I said coldly. “For I think that the time for your little games is long past. What is your real connection to the Shadow Thieves?”

A deep relief suddenly spread across his rigid face. He chuckled and shook in a fit of his so-familiar silent laughter. To my greatest surprise I felt the same way.

Valygar looked at both of us in turn and shook his head. “I suppose I am not trusted enough by any of you to be enlightened on the meaning of this,” he grumbled. “Yet it is sadly obvious that nether one of you has faith in the other.”

“Perhaps you are right,” I grinned widely, “and perhaps it is time to put these suspicions aside.”

“I agree,” Yoshimo nodded simply. “As to your direct question, Thea, I will give you a direct answer. I used to do an occasional work for them. Nothing serious. Tracking down a client who picked up his shipment of goods and refused to pay for his fancies, and stuff like this.”

“I assume by ‘goods’ you mean drugs and contraband?” I asked innocently

The rogue simply shrugged, dismissing my question as irrelevant. “I have not heard from Renal for a long time,” he continued musingly, “although I have heard rumors they were having… difficulties. Ever since I was kidnapped by your favorite mad wizard,” his face darkened at this recollection, “and made my choice to stick with you for my own safety as well as profit,” he clinked his full purse to demonstrate this point, “I had no communications with them.”

“You never mentioned that first motive,” I chuckled. “I suppose it makes sense to me now. If Irenicus was after you for whatever reason, and by the way, I still did not figure out what was it that he wanted from me, it was indeed safer for you to stick with us a