In The Cards

It is not always possible to foresee all the possible consequences of your actions, but you must always be aware of the fact that they may come back to haunt you at the worst possible moment. If people thought of that more often they would be far less likely to get saddled with socially embarrassing diseases, or finding they have unwittingly promised to perform at their friends’ children’s parties, something that may prove equally mortifying.

Excerpt from ‘Ruminations Of A Master Bard’

Edwin was dreaming. In his dream, he was sitting on the floor, in front of a vast fireplace sporting a toasting hot fire that made him feel comfortably warm from his toes to the tip of his nose. The rest of the room was dark, featureless and blurred, with furniture hunched up in the background like great dark beasts. It wasn’t that important. The one thing that mattered was the lovely creature curled up on his lap.

The red cat was purring loudly, a contented sound that relaxed the wizard immensely, giving him the impression that everything was right with the world. Her golden eyes were closed as she relaxed to his touch, though now and then her small paws kneaded his lap in a way that showed that she was awake and that made the wizard swallow hard each time it happened.

The animal’s fur was soft and smooth beneath his caressing fingers, so very soft. He felt that he could go on petting it forever, and every time he touched it he felt as if tiny sparks jumped from the cat through his fingers and straight into his soul. Beautiful. So very beautiful, my Firecat.

She was safe now, at least for the moment, and she was with him. All was well. All would be well. He would make it so, and he wouldn’t let anything stand in his way.

Edwin closed his eyes and let the purring fill his soul with quiet bliss, feeling so relaxed that he was almost ready to go to sleep. But then….something changed.

There was another sound intruding into the background now. Distant…faint. But it was getting stronger, and stole into his heart on quiet feet, demanding that he acknowledge it.

Closer now, coming closer and closer, and now he could recognize it clearly as it resonated through his soul. It was a ghostly sound, loud and mournful, and it sent a cold shiver of dread down his spine. His hand on the fur of the cat was moving slowly, as if through treacle, and she looked up at him, watching him with a puzzled and slightly annoyed look in her glittering eyes. Strangely enough, she didn’t seem to hear what he heard.

Closer, ever closer the sound came, piercing the walls of the house from outside. It might well have been the cry of a soul in eternal torment, but Edwin knew it only too well, and his stomach twisted with guilt and apprehension as the accusing cries rang in his ears. It was the howling of a great wolf.

The howls were very close now, coming from just outside the great door that had suddenly appeared in the wall on the far side of the room. Edwin carefully put the red cat down on the ground. She blinked and watched him curiously, still clearly unable to hear the terrible noise. Still calm, she remained seated by the fireplace as the wizard slowly crossed the floor, staring into the fire with eyes that matched its color exactly.

Slowly, oh so slowly, Edwin walked across the floor. He wanted nothing more than to stop, than to turn around and run, but his body wouldn’t obey him. With the terrible certainty of a nightmare he guessed what waited on the other side of the door, but he was unable to do anything other than to go on. He had to go on, though every step made the cold dread gain a firmer hold on his heart.

Now, his hand was on the door handle, and he gave a startled oath. The metal of the handle was freezing with cold; it almost took his skin off. Taking a deep breath, he grasped it with the sleeve of his red robe, and then pulled the door open.

The cold struck the Red Wizard full in the face, making him gasp for breath as an icy wind whipped at him, tearing at his clothes. Drifts of snow immediately blew across the threshold. It took him a few seconds to realize that the howls had stopped. And then…he saw.

The great black wolf stood a short distance away, watching the door intently. It was a magnificent animal, as large as a dire wolf, its thick fur the color of deepest midnight. Clumps of snow clung to it in places, as if the wolf had been wading through the deep snow for hours. The animal held its head high, but there was still something about its stance that suggested extreme weariness. And…there was blood in the snow.

Though the dark blood was extremely difficult to make out against the black fur, it became visible as it left its scarlet marks on the ground, and Edwin thought he could make out the wounds as well, nasty and painful-looking gashes along the sides of the wolf, wounds that pained him to the core. Then he met the eyes of the wolf, and what he saw there was even worse. Anger, yes. Apprehension, and badly concealed uncertainty. But pain most of all. Pain and sorrow.

I did that. Me. The realization hit Edwin with all the force of a blow to his stomach, and before he knew it he was stumbling through the snow, fighting to get closer to the wolf. The animal took a few steps backwards, baring its impressive white teeth in a silent snarl, clearly unwilling to trust him.

“Please…” the wizard said, hardly able to get the word out. “Please, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I only wanted to keep you safe! Not…not this! I didn’t know!”

But you guessed, a small voice spoke inside his mind. Deep down, on some level, you guessed. For every action there is a price to pay. But sometimes…you aren’t the only one paying it.

Slowly, slowly, his hand outstretched, he edged closer to the wolf. For a moment he thought he would succeed in gaining its trust. But then, just as his fingertips touched the black fur, the animal sprang back; its eyes alight with suspicion, almost as if it was expecting him to strike it. A warning growl rumbled deep in its massive throat.

What…what have I done?

“Please,” Edwin said. “Don’t go…” But the black wolf already was turning around, disappearing deeper into the whirling snow, disappearing from sight. Lost to him. And it was cold. So cold.

“Cold,” Edwin muttered in his sleep, then suddenly jerked his eyes open. The shreds of the dream still clung to him, much as he wished he could forget it. What have I done?

“Mmmmfff…” Zaerini said, and Edwin suddenly became very much aware that the sleeping half-elf was cuddled up close to him, leaning against his chest to be exact, with his arms around her. When he bent forward, her hair tickled his nose, and he felt his heart beating faster. On the other side of the cell Khalid and Jaheira were also asleep, and Yeslick was snoring loudly close by, though Imoen stood at the bars, looking out. Hold on. Cell? Bars?

And then Edwin suddenly remembered the events of the past few days, and he winced as the memories came rushing back to him. Reiltar had died all right, just as planned, and he had felt both joy and fierce pride as Zaerini explained just what she had done. As far as he was concerned, she had handled things admirably. Only then they had got arrested. There had been a large number of guards eyeing them warily, weapons drawn. Too many to fight at once, and they had had no choice other than to go along. They had been locked in this small and uncomfortable cell ever since, not knowing what was going to happen next, feeling extremely apprehensive. The one good thing had been that the bard had been very accepting regarding Edwin’s suggestion that she sleep close by him – to keep warm, of course. He was almost positive that she was enjoying it as much as he did. She should not be locked up though. Not after that…that other experience. She is trying to keep calm, but I can see that it is affecting her.

“Hey, guys!” Imoen suddenly said. “You’d better wake up, somebody’s coming!”

Indeed there were footsteps approaching, and the tired adventurers soon found themselves being scrutinized by Ulraunt’s cold eyes. Edwin glared angrily back at the older wizard. Yeslick and Zaerini hadn’t given a word-for-word account of their previous encounter with the Keeper of the Tomes, but he had heard enough that it made him want to yank the elderly mage’s beard out hair by hair and make him choke on it.

“So, Bhaalspawn,” the Keeper of the Tomes said, his face twisting with contempt. “You show your true nature once again, by committing foul murder. I cannot say that I am surprised.”

Edwin could feel the woman reclining against him tense slightly, but when she spoke she managed to sound almost bored, even yawning widely in Ulraunt’s face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Old Buzzard,” she said. “Who is it that I’m supposed to have killed, anyway?”

“You know perfectly well who!” Ulraunt snapped, his beard bristling. “Reiltar Anchev, a respectable merchant, and a guest of Candlekeep.”

“Is that so?” Zaerini said, and now there was a definite edge to her voice. “And I assume you have some proof that I murdered this…respectable merchant? Such as a murder weapon? Or a witness? Or maybe a motive?”

“I have all the proof I need!” Ulraunt said, his voice shrill. “Though you managed to hide from sight, you are a Bhaalspawn! A foul creature bent only on destruction and chaos. And you had a motive, you yourself admitted it, as the man had offended you.”

The bard slowly stood, approaching the bars until her face was mere inches away from Ulraunt’s. She was smiling dangerously. “How strange,” she said. “I could have sworn that when last we discussed this you said that I had no cause at all for complaint against Reiltar, and that it was all a misunderstanding, and that I probably encouraged him anyway. And now you claim that I would murder him over a simple…misunderstanding?”

Edwin couldn’t quite remember getting to his feet, but he suddenly felt himself gripping the throat of Ulraunt’s robe, having yanked the other wizard up against the bars hard enough to give him a violent nosebleed. “You told her that?” he hissed into the other wizard’s pained face as Ulraunt gasped for breath. “That she encouraged him? Then let me put this to you. If I were to slay you right now (preferably by slow dismemberment, paying extra special attention to his favorite ‘member’), then if I am accused before a court of law I shall certainly remember to use the defense that your abysmal stupidity, criminally ugly face and droning voice encouraged me to do so. I believe that would make a strong case. Care to find out?”

Ulraunt was gasping for air, dazed from the blow, and the blood streaming from his crushed nose didn’t make his task any easier. Edwin found the snuffling and pig-like noises he was making particularly enjoyable, though the blood staining his own robes would be a bit of a bother to get rid of.

“Edwin, d-don’t!” Khalid warned, grasping the wizard’s shoulder. “If he d-d-dies, we will all be executed at once.”

“It’s tempting though,” Imoen said in a thoughtful voice. “He was being very mean. He always hated Rini, and me too. He doesn’t really care who killed Reiltar, just as long as he can get rid of us.”

Zaerini nodded. “That’s probably true. But if he can see me hang for it, so much the better.”

“Edwin,” Jaheira said. “Bring him just a little closer. That is it.” There was a loud CLONK as the druid’s fist connected hard with Ulraunt’s temple. The wizard dropped to the ground, unconscious. “And now,” Jaheira said, “can we please do a little less talking and some more searching for the keys to this cell?”

Ulraunt did indeed turn out to be carrying a large ring of keys, among them one leading to the cell. The adventurers stepped outside, pleased to finally be out of the confined space. “Hm,” Zaerini said. “I have an idea. How about if we make old Ulraunt slip into something more comfortable? We seem to have everything we need right here…”

A short while later they were on their way towards the exit from the dungeon, but before they could get that far yet another familiar face appeared in their path. Tethoril. The old wizard looked very surprised to see the prisoners out of their cell, but not nearly as alarmed as Edwin would have expected. “What…” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re collecting money for the acquisition of neural matter for Western Wizards, so sadly lacking in the area of cognition,” Edwin said, a small sneer on his face. “Perhaps you would like to donate some coins, then we could put you first in line. We’re escaping, what do you think it looks like?”

Zaerini elbowed him sharply in the side. “Eddie!” she hissed. “He’s a friend, he was always nice to me and Immy. Be nice.” Then she turned to Tethoril. “Sorry about that,” she said. “None of us are exactly up to chat at the moment. And we are escaping, as he said, but we don’t want to cause any trouble.”

“Speak for yourself,” Edwin muttered, and then bit back a yelp as the bard deliberately tread on his toe.

Imoen bobbed her pink head up and down. “Yeah, sorry Mister T,” she said. “We’ve really gotta go, but then ya won’t see us again.”

Tethoril looked a little taken aback. “Gorion was a friend,” he said. “I would not see his child executed, unless I was certain there was good reason to do so, and I have been provided with none. I came to show you the way out, as it were.” He cleared his throat. “Your equipment has been placed in a small library close to here, one that has a secret entrance leading into the catacombs of Candlekeep. I will take you there, and that will give you a chance to escape without attracting the attention of the guards.”

“Thanks,” Zaerini said, smiling warmly at the old wizard.

“It be a very decent thing to do,” Yeslick said, nodding approvingly. “An’ there be no cave that a dwarf cannae find his way through.”

Edwin suddenly thought of something. “Are there by any chance any valuable tomes or priceless magical artifacts hidden within these catacombs?” he hopefully asked. “Not I would steal them or anything. I ask merely out of professional courtesy. (Or maybe a dragon…now that would be something…)”

Tethoril’s eyes were slightly dazed by now. “I…do not know,” he said. “Except for what is hidden in the deadly trapped crypt in the dead end corridor.”

“What’s that?” Imoen asked.

“An enormous amount of turnips that Ulraunt got swindled into buying recently from a passing gnomish wizard. Honestly, I don’t know what the man was thinking of. It’s not as if he even likes turnips…”

A few hours later the prison guard came by to supply his prisoners with supper. When he heard a muffled sound from inside the cell he looked outside, and then had to fight a violent urge to laugh. Ulraunt had been hung upside-down from the wall, his bony ankles secured by the iron rings normally used for wrists, and his robe had slid down and was covering his face, partially muffling his swearing. It was also painfully apparent that his underwear was covered with pictures of extremely large-chested elven ladies who almost seemed to be sniggering at his predicament. Or possibly at the content of the underpants, it was a bit difficult to tell.

Despite many efforts, no cleric was ever able to restore the original shape of Ulraunt’s nose, though several got extremely rich from trying. Magic was able to remove the organ in its entirety, though sticking it back on after an attempt to beat it into shape was made did fail miserably. Seeing it drop into Ulraunt’s soup at an official dinner certainly made many young monks very happy though.