Adrian: Baldur's Gate

They were now four days out from the city, and morale was beginning to run low. Not that any of them had any ideas of giving up, but there had been no sign of the Throne raiders whatever, and frustration was building.

Besheridan took it best of any of them; he had a frighteningly inexhaustible store of patience. They would find the Throne operatives, and kill them. All it would take was time, and there was no real time limit set on this mission.

Adrian likewise knew there was no rush, but it was an offense to his tactical abilities that they had found no trace of the foe. Not even a wrecked caravan to show where they had been, for gods' sake!

Xzar had begun to go off into one of his spells of utter irrationality, until Kirya had firmly yanked him back. Not with threats, as Montaron would have done before he died, or simple matter-of-fact dismissal, as Adrian did, but with a combination of sensual pleasure and physical abuse. She'd kiss him, then slap him in the face. He'd blink, shake his head, and recover....for a little while.

Kirya sighed. "Sometimes it goes on for days like this," the Necromancer said bitterly.

"Yes, we know," said Adrian wearily.

"I don't understand what you see in him," Edwin said to her.

"That's right," she snapped back at him, green eyes blazing. "You don't."

Edwin recoiled from this anger, and more the surprising devotion to Xzar he saw in her eyes.

Rakal, for his part, kept quiet most of the time, occasionaly sharing misery with Kagain that they hadn't drunk any ale in days. He was not talkative beyond need. Adrian had thought himself to be a quiet sort, but if one didn't know better one would almost say Rakal was mute.

"Tiax wonders if maybe we should leave the road and explore the surrounding wilds."

"Yes, I'm beginning to consider that option myself," agreed Adrian.

"We're not anywhere near the halfway mark between Baldur's Gate and Waterdeep," said Besheridan. "No need to make any hasty decisions."

Adrian curbed his temper. It wouldn't do to start arguing with a man he respected over something so trival. "I know, but we've found nothing so far, Besheridan. Not a single sign."

Besheridan shrugged. "We will."

Adrian grunted.

"Perhaps I should pray for guidance to Shar," said Viconia thoughtfully. "She has helped me survive the surface world this far, after all."

"Mayhaps you should tonight, dear--" Adrian began, then stopped. Over the next hill, raucous laughter could be heard. Adrian, Besheridan, Rakal and Kagain all knew that timber of laughter. It was the sort made by arrogant, strong drunks, town toughs and mercenaries. And here and now, that meant either fellow Zhentarim...or Iron Throne. Adrian made a "quiet" gesture with his hand, and they slowly moved to the breast of the hill and looked down.

A ramshackle village sprawled like an ugly cancer over the caravan route. It was obviously new, and obviously put together by people who cared little or not at all for architectural asthetics.

"That village was not here last time I came this way," said Besheridan.

"A Throne camp right on the road?" said Edwin, incredulously.

"More likely a mercenary camp from which they recruit," said Kirya. "A watering hole for that sort which grew into more than that."

Rakal nodded slowly. When the others looked at him, he reluctantly elaborated, "Is the sort of place I've always felt at home."

"Well then," said Adrian thoughtfully. "Perhaps we should pay them a visit tonight."