Had you been where I hae, you would nae be so canty, oh,
Had you seen what I hae on the braes of Killiecrankie, oh.
I’ve fought on land, I’ve fought at sea, at home I fought my auntie, oh,
But I met the devil and Dundee at Killiecrankie, oh.
	--- “Killiecrankie”, words probably by Robert Burns

Nalia led the group out of the stockade and up to the large rocky tor that supported the base of the Keep. Anomen looked at it with admiration. It must have been a great deal of work for those creatures to burrow through the solid rock. Ordinary sappers would have been foiled by the sheer magnitude of the task, unless they were dwarves, and even they would have been hard pressed to do the job silently.

Minsc let out a low whistle. “This is a tough nut indeed! But we shall crack it to remove the nutmeat of evil,” he rumbled.

Jan started to say something, then thought better of it. Patricia had explained quite clearly the consequences of making too much noise. A rock thrown from one of those battlements could turn him into pate de gnome. But what was that faint sound from behind him? It had a sort of sprung rhythm to it. Turning, he saw Patricia bringing up the rear just as Nalia pulled the hidden lever that opened the secret passage.

They all crowded through into a small storeroom. As Patricia passed him, he could hear the faint noise again. He shook his head to clear it. Was that singing? Anomen heard it too. “Patricia,” he hissed, “what are you doing?”

She stopped, startled. “What?” she hissed back.

“You’re humming.”

“Oops. Sorry,” she whispered. “Bad habit of Winthrop’s I picked up. Sometimes I don’t even know I’m doing it.”

She felt embarrassed. Until he spoke, she’d no idea she was making any noise, but once it was mentioned she even recognized the tune that had been playing through the back of her consciousness. “Killiecrankie” was fitting perhaps, especially with Jan around, but this was hardly the time or place for singing. She was no bard; people didn’t flock to listen to her voice, although she could carry a tune well enough. It was just that she’d had the bad luck to be raised by two musicians who between them probably knew 10,000 songs, and some of them were bound to stick. Imoen did the same thing while she was studying spells. At least neither of them had turned out to be completely tone deaf.

The group reformed with Patricia and Anomen in the lead. Nalia had assured them that there were no traps along the secret passage, but Patricia kept a sharp eye out as they went along anyway. If the interior entrance to the passage had been located, the invaders might have trapped it themselves. They rummaged around a bit in the barrels and coffers stacked in the first room, pulling out some extra ammunition for their missile weapons.

Soon they entered the guards’ barracks room. Unfortunately, a troll was already in there with one of the keep servants, and its claws ripped the man’s throat out before Anomen and Patricia could reach them. Minsc joined the other two in a ring around the green monster, the Sword of Chaos already out and singing its high sword-keen as he brought it arcing down on the troll’s left shoulder. Jan finished it off with a blaze of fire from his fingertips. The entire scene played itself out in seconds. Patricia turned at once to the fallen man, but saw at a glance that there would be no saving or raising this one. The damage was too severe.

In the passage entrance Nalia stood transfixed. It was suddenly too much to take: the bright red and green blood spatters on the floor, the old porter Skajig’s body lying limp and mutilated, and most of all the horrible stench of scorched flesh. She turned and retched, wishing vainly that she’d refused the porridge they’d been offered at the stockade. Oddly enough, it was Jan’s arm that reached over to hold her head and offered her a damp rag to wipe her mouth. When it was over, Nalia looked up into his dark eyes, and found them full of understanding.

“Nally, I don’t think this is the time to tell you the story of Cletus Bifflelips, although you do remind me so much of him. The rest of this isn’t going to be any easier than what you just saw. Like my cousin Bumbalo, you’ve just been inducted into the ‘Why me?’ club. Bumbalo was afflicted with the curse of more money than he knew what to do with. An only child, he was indulged with every whim, including his own pony and groom. One day, the groom was leading the pony while Bumbalo rode, and a great sinkhole suddenly opened up beneath them. The groom instinctively threw himself at young Bumby, which knocked the boy off the pony at an angle that allowed him to land clear of the sinkhole. Though Bumby ran as fast as his fat legs would carry him (did I mention that he ate too many sweets?), by the time help arrived the pony had perished. It had broken its neck. They were able to save the groom, but Bumby never felt the same way about animals again.”

The tight knot in Nalia’s stomach had eased as she listened to the gnome’s hypnotic voice. But why hadn’t fighting the slavers made her feel the same way? Now another voice added, “What Jan’s trying to say, Nalia, is that since this is your home, what you’re apt to see here will bother you most. You may even feel guilty for not being here sooner. If you must tear yourself up with survivor guilt, please wait until we’re done, okay? We need your help, Nalia. Can you manage to do what you must?”

Nalia’s chin came up with new resolve. Patricia was right. This was her family and her home, and she had to find the courage to defend it, no matter how much loss was around her. She struggled with a new and unfamiliar thought. Perhaps all these wrongs could fuel her desire to avenge them. She’d never understood vengeance before, but now it was a bright flame burning in her heart. Nalia stared at Patricia with a level gaze. “Let’s go toast some more trolls. I’ve been saving some special arrows for these boys, and I’ve got a real backlog to make up for.”

Atta girl, thought Patricia. I think she’ll do, after all.