Cards Reshuffled

It is amazing how many people will gladly be part of a mob. It probably has something to do with getting the opportunity to tear some chosen person to pieces, burn him at the stake, slowly dismember him or inflict some other appropriately slow and gruesome death upon him, while simultaneously convincing themselves that they are morally justified to do so. I’m not certain exactly what that says about humanity. Probably not something children ought to hear.

Excerpt from ‘Interview With An Assassin’

The scorch-marks on the fallen stones and toppled pillars were still evident, even now, in the purple twilight just after sunset. In places, the stone had cracked and melted, and whenever you walked nearby dust stirred in the air. Dekaras watched the ruined northern end of Waukeen’s Promenade, trying to visualize what had happened here. There had been a great magical battle, that much he had been able to gather from the people he had carefully questioned in the nearby shops and inns as he first came upon the site. A great and terrible magical battle, where several people had died. The assassin cocked his head to one side, narrowing his eyes a little as he watched the battlefield with a sense other than normal vision. Mage-sight was still his to use, and in such a place as this he had no problem summoning it. The magical residue was still extremely heavy in the air; he could practically feel his skin tingling from it. To a casual observer it would almost have looked as if he was sniffing the air, pacing back and forth in the shadows between the still standing pillars, like a hunting wolf about to pick up a track.

An Archmage…it has to be. Such power…yes, this is a rare one indeed. Though the magic residue had faded some, it was still so strong and intoxicating that he had to remind himself to keep his mind clear and not lose focus. It was difficult not to do so, part of him wanted to let go and simply enjoy the sensation. No. Can’t afford to do that. Have to concentrate, stay on guard. Many spells had been cast here, yes. Deadly spells, beyond a doubt, though he couldn’t say exactly which ones. There had been magic coming from several different sources too, but the strongest source came from just by the ruined colonnade, with other, weaker ones, around it. There was dried blood here and there, almost invisible shadows that had been trodden into the dusty ground. So. There was a battle, a great magical battle. One Archmage, challenged by several other, lesser wizards. And how did the battle finish, I wonder? It might have nothing to do with his own mission of course, but he still was determined to find out. Anything unusual was worth investigating, in case it had something to do with the people he was seeking. Those girls tend to attract trouble, after all. You’d think they’d never learnt the meaning of the word ‘caution’. No wonder Edwin seemed to get along well with them. Edwin…that was another concern. That feeling of wrongness was still with him, that certainty that the wizard was in some kind of trouble. Alive, yes. That he knew for certain. But…no. Something was certainly wrong. Hopefully Poppy would be able to find out something useful and send word soon, before he went quietly insane with worry.

With a final long look about the battlefield, Dekaras pondered where he might go next. It was still far too early to retire, and he was too restless anyway. What he really wanted was to keep up the hunt, but it was difficult to decide where to go next. Eventually he decided to try to gather some more information about this cataclysmic magic battle. Plenty of people in this area must have seen what happened, it wasn’t the sort of thing you could miss. Eventually he would certainly find somebody who was willing to talk about it.

As it happened, it took a couple of hours of questioning performed in the taverns around the Promenade, before he finally came upon something useful. In a fairly nice place called ‘The Den of the Seven Vales’, run by a large and very unpleasant woman who kept glaring at him as if she expected him to make off with the silver, he spotted a mage. He was a fairly skinny fellow wearing dark purple robes, and he seemed to be quite drunk. “Welcome, welcome all!” he exuberantly told the crowd. “Welcome to this night’s performance by…Alateto de Bonito!” He bowed extravagantly as if waiting for a thunderous applause, and then cleared his throat a little nervously as he was faced with disapproving silence, and a few jeers as well. “Er…just let me get on with the program, all right? Lovely crowd tonight, just lovely, not a single rotting vegetable thrown at me yet…all right then.” He struck a dramatic pose, and then started reciting a poem. At least Dekaras presumed it was a poem. It did rhyme…just barely.

The sky did quake, the ground did break, as magic did its task
And out he came, the one to blame, the wizard in the mask!
The shadows stirred, the thieves they erred, in thinking they could win
He killed them here, he killed them there, before they could begin

Then came a child, so brave and wild, with hair of pink so fair!
Her magic flew, so straight and true, right at the wizard there!
Then portals gleamed, and in they beamed, Cowled Wizards did appear
With magic free, they don’t agree, they will not have it here

The wizard fought, but all for nought, for he was only one
He did give in, they took him in, yet even then he won
They took her too, and who can know, where now the pink one cries?
As Cowled Ones’ thrall, as are we all, in Amn where magic dies

The wizard rubbed at his eyes a little, then ducked as a throwing axe whistled over his face. “Shut your stupid face!” cried one of the onlookers, a large and burly man who looked to be a mercenary. “D’you want to bring the Cowlies down on us all, you stupid good-for-nothing spell-slinger?”

“I will speak the truth as I see it,” the mage said, with the absolute conviction of an idealist, and a drunk one at that. Dekaras estimated his current estimated lifespan to be about two minutes. Just long enough for him to speak another sentence in fact, and for the mercenary to comprehend the more complicated words. And that I won’t have. I need to talk to him. Pink hair…it has to be her.

“Magic is beautiful!” the wizard said in a loud voice, causing more than one member of the crowd to reach angrily for their weapons. “If people fear it, it is because they are too stupid to fully understand it! And the Cowled Wizards are tyrants, trying to gain power for themselves by controlling all mages in Amn! Join me, my friends! Let us run singing into the streets, for the iron fist of tyranny shall not strike down those who fight for justice!”

“Oh yeah?” the mercenary growled. “But the iron edge of my sword just might…” He drew said sword, lunging for the hapless mage who was far too drunk to manage as much as to conjure a bouquet of daisies, far less defend himself. Then he suddenly sagged forward, a very surprised look on his face, coughed up a sizable amount of blood, and died.

“Get down!” Dekaras hissed at Alateto de Bonito, pushing the man to safety behind the bar while he simultaneously pulled his dagger out of the back of the dead mercenary. Those other people in the crowd who had harbored violent thoughts towards the rhyming mage suddenly started considering other options as they found a crossbow pointing towards them.

“If we all charge him at once we can take him!” one man shouted, with the sort of courage common to people who have been enjoying one good ale too many.

“You might,” Dekaras coldly said, rapidly scanning the crowd in case somebody intended to go for it. “But the first one to do so will die. Now, which one of you would like to be the first one? Take your time, no rush.”

There were a few seconds of silence as the mob considered this. Then, having decided that nobody really felt that keen on being the first one, they drooped off and out the door, transforming remarkably quickly en route from mob to fine, upstanding citizens and pillars of the community. And in five more minutes they will probably have managed to convince themselves that they never really meant it, and that he certainly would have deserved it anyway. Sometimes I’m really happy not to be a pillar of the community.

“Is it over?” Alateto de Bonito whispered from behind the bar. “Can I come out now? Say, thanks a lot! Precious few people in Athkatla would leap to the defense of a wizard, you know!”

“Oh well,” Dekaras said, smiling slightly to himself. “I suppose I have grown pretty much used to that. Besides, I wanted to talk to you, and I thought that it would probably be easier to do so if you were still in possession of your head.”

“You did? You do? Oh my! Are you a patron of the arts, perhaps? Now, I know I’m not a proper bard, but I really do think my poetry has improved, and sometimes people even throw fresh vegetables at me now rather than rotting ones…you did like my poem, didn’t you?”

“I found it absolutely entrancing,” the assassin said with a straight face. “Why don’t we go somewhere else, so we can discuss it privately? I would really like to go over some of the finer points and deeper symbolisms with you.”

Here he was forced to dodge the sweep of a broom, as the fat innkeeper aimed a blow at his head, all of her chins wobbling with indignation. “Well, I NEVER!” she screeched. “Typical males! Causing a ruckus, leaving dead bodies lying about everywhere, and just how am I going to get the bloodstains out, I ask you? I’m sure you won’t be offering to help! That’s men for you, always messing things up and expecting us poor women to clean up after them! Get out of here, both of you, before I give you a thrashing.” She swung the broom wildly once again, but this time the assassin was able to catch it on the downward swoop.

“Could you kindly stop doing that?” Dekaras asked. “It is extremely distracting, not to mention irritating.”

“Talk back at me, will you, you big lout? Think that just because I’m a frail woman you can push me around, do you?”

Frail? That’s a strange definition of the word if I ever heard one. After a few moments Dekaras managed to twist the broom out of the woman’s grasp, while simultaneously blocking out her angry curses. The last bit wasn’t as much of a challenge as one might have thought. After all, he had plenty of experience at such things. “We’ll be going now,” he said, backing towards the door while pulling the wizard after him. “And remember, if I hadn’t intervened there would still have been bloodshed, and those people probably would have smashed every piece of furniture here as well.” He paused in the doorway, the broom across his shoulder. The innkeeper still looked livid, and unlikely to see reason. He had no intention of letting her get her hands on that broom again while he was in the immediate vicinity. Then he smiled briefly and tossed a few coins onto a nearby table. “For the kind hospitality,” he said, and just barely pulled the door shut behind him in order for the heavy porcelain jug that sailed through the air to break against the door instead of against his face. An admirable woman, actually. Very strong-willed.

Once they had found another suitable inn several streets away, where the city guards were unlikely to come asking awkward questions, Alateto de Bonito didn’t require much prompting to tell what he knew. He knew no names of the people involved, and knew nothing about the strange masked wizard who had started the whole mess, but the descriptions he gave of the other people he had seen were enough to make Dekaras certain of who they were. A pink-haired girl accompanied by a redhead with odd yellow eyes. That would be them all right. The other half-elf sounds like the druid, and the large man with the tattooed face can only be the ranger. No mention of the druid’s husband though…nor of the Wychlaran, thankfully. I can certainly do without one of those interfering. And all of them looking worse for wear…somebody has been treating them badly, I fear.

Apparently Zaerini and her other companions had escaped the battle unscathed, and Alateto had no idea where they had disappeared to, unfortunately. But if they are still in the city I am bound to find them eventually. Imoen though…that is really bad news. The pink-haired girl’s fate worried him a great deal. Whatever reason this strange wizard might have had for wanting her arrested along with him, it won’t be a good one. And what was she doing using magic, anyway? She might have started studying it since I last saw her, I suppose, but she never spoke of wanting to learn the Art. In a way he had to admit to himself that he rather hoped she hadn’t. Imoen had a lot of natural talent for being rogue, and he had very much enjoyed teaching her what he could. It would be very satisfying to see her advance even further. Though if magic is her destiny, then so be it. I just wish she hadn’t decided to use it in the streets of Athkatla, not with the Cowled Wizards on the prowl.

The Cowled Wizards…there was something very unpleasant to consider, and the very thought of them made him feel angry contempt. More of those who would enslave magic, chaining those who do not wish to submit to them. It seems that some things never change. And if asked, of course they will claim that they do it all ‘for the good of society’ or some such nonsense. Well, if they think they’re going to keep Imoen imprisoned, they’re about to be very disappointed. Terminally disappointed.

True, Alateto de Bonito didn’t know where the Cowled Wizards kept their prisoners, but somewhere in Athkatla there would be somebody who did know. With a large organization such as that, there will be tracks they haven’t covered. It may take some time, but there will be something to find. There was also the matter of the powerful Archmage taken along with Imoen, and just what he had to do with her and Zaerini. And then there was Bodhi…the vampire was the one who had originally taken the two girls, but there had been those references made to a ‘brother’. Could it be that wizard? There are many reasons for wanting to kidnap a Bhaalspawn, all of them unpleasant, but why Imoen? Yet there has to be a reason for it.

As he left the drunk wizard behind and exited into the night, Dekaras once again walked by the Promenade, pausing by the large heap of rubble to feel the tempting scent of magic in the air. The tracks were still confusing, and leading in many different directions, but they were clearer. The Cowled Wizards, Bodhi, this mysterous mage, Zaerini and her friends… All that remained to decide was which one to follow first. And if I can, I will make the Cowled Wizards deeply regret that they didn’t leave Imoen alone.