Cards Reshuffled

Lack of choice is something that might provoke very different reactions in people, depending on personality and circumstances. Apathy, acceptance, defiance, and many others. It is one of the things I hate the most, that sensation of being trapped, fenced in, with only one path in front of me, and that one likely to end in a bottomless chasm.

Excerpt from ‘Ruminations Of A Master Bard’

Yoshimo’s entire body tensed at the feeling of a long and silky smooth nail gliding along his cheek and jaw, downwards towards his throat. Normally he would never stand for anybody taking such liberties, but this was different. This was…not a matter of choice. The bounty hunter was standing in the middle of a luxurious underground chamber, and he could almost sense the earth pressing in from all around.

The room itself was…odd. Comfortable, yes. Even elegant. But still odd. It was more or less circular, and on the floor there was an old and intricate mosaic, depicting some sort of large-scale and very bloody human sacrifice to some ancient god, likely as dead by now as his past victims. Bodhi liked it. She said it reminded her of how little people really changed over time, and how they all had the seed of death and darkness in their hearts.

One separate part of the room held several large book-shelves, filled to overflowing with thick tomes, some newer, some so ancient that they crumbled if you touched them. Yoshimo had no idea what they might be about. It was very difficult to imagine Bodhi ever reading, her being such a physical creature, not much given to intellectual pursuits, but he knew that she did. She had once told him that she did it for the purpose of gaining information, ‘unlike my dear brother. He always had his nose stuck in a book, even for pleasure.’ Yoshimo just barely managed to keep himself from shivering. He did not like to think about the brother. No, not at all.

There was an armoire as well. It held silk and velvet gowns, mostly in dark colors, skimpy vests and revealing shirts, trousers that hugged the hips as tightly as a lover, and much more. Boshi enjoyed dressing up, in as provocative outfits as possible. Then she liked to parade herself before him, enjoying the physical reaction he could never suppress despite the growing revulsion he felt for the woman…no, the creature he had once thought that he loved. Fool. Such a fool I was. I lose face before her, every time, little by little until I will have no honor left at all. She knows it, and she loves it. She drinks my humiliation up like blood.

Finally, there was the one piece of furniture that really made the room look odd. The coffin stood on a low dais in the center of the room. It was a chill stone sarcophagus decorated with a relief of a bat, wings outspread above the image of a falling tree. The lid was so heavy that he couldn’t possibly have lifted it on his own, though of course Bodhi was able to shove it aside as if it were made of paper. Inside the coffin, there was a deep red satin pillow, thick and soft. He knew this very well. Once, Bodhi had dragged him into the coffin to…copulate. Not make love. What they did together could not be called that. Afterwards, she had held him down, pressing the pillow down over his face, pinning his arms and legs so he couldn’t move.

Do you feel it? She had whispered the words, her voice carrying the faint hint of laughter with it. Do you feel it, my pet? Pain, fear, the urge to keep on breathing? Anger? Fury? Hate? Lust? You must tell me all about it later…if I let you live.

She had let him live. Sometimes he almost wished that she had not, but then he would always remember the other one. The…brother. And what he had done. I have no choice left. I must do as they bid me, unless I wish to be destroyed, in more than body.

“So, my pet,” Bodhi said. She was sitting on top of her coffin, her legs crossed beneath her, and he was standing right before her, close enough to touch. Her dark eyes held a curious look, like a cruel child about to pull the wings off a fly to watch it twitch, and her red lips were pulled into a smile. Not a real smile though. The memory of a smile, an imitation made by somebody who had long since forgotten what real joy was. The fact that her teeth were entirely too white and sharp also served to make the smile very unnerving. “What news do you bring? And why are you no longer in that girl’s company? Do I need to remind you of what you were supposed to be doing?”

“I remember,” Yoshimo said in a stiff voice. “There were…complications.” He told the truth, knowing that she would certainly be able to recognize a lie and that she would be swift to punish it. He did try to portray events in as favorable a light as possible though.

When the bounty hunter had finished speaking, Bodhi was silent for a moment, watching him intently. “So that wingless elf outsmarted you, my pet?” she said. “Aw…you make me very disappointed.”

He waited silently, knowing that protests would do him no good at this point, indeed would only serve to amuse his tormentor.

“You must be punished of course,” Bodhi went on. “But I will not damage you permanently. I still have a use for you.”

“I live to serve,” Yoshimo said, bowing.

Bodhi giggled briefly. “Yes. Yes, you do, don’t you? As long as I want you to. Here’s what I want you to do. You will keep track of Zaerini, until given other orders. It may yet be possible for you to carry out your original mission somehow. But you will also keep a close eye on that elf, this…Aerie. She interests me.”

And I hope you two will tear each other apart, Yoshimo thought even as he nodded.

“Come here, my pet,” Bodhi said, catching hold of the Kozakuran’s collar and irresistibly pulling him closer, towards her face. “You made a nasty mess of things, and you must pay for that. And then…you will serve me a snack. It is only fair that I have somebody to amuse me, seeing that my dear brother will soon reacquire a little pet of his own.”

The loss of face hurt more than the loss of blood.

Imoen huddled on the cot in her cell, trying to think. It was a bit easier now that he wasn’t close by, but he was still around, somewhere in this place. She didn’t know where exactly, but sometimes she could almost sense him. Last night she had dreamed of him, and of his knives, and woken up screaming. And alone. That’s even worse. It wouldn’t be so bad if at least one of my friends were here. Not that I really want them to be here of course, I wouldn’t want them to be trapped like I am, but I’d sure like to have some company. Especially at night.

The young thief gnawed on one already well-chewed fingernail, staring at the smooth stonewalls of her cell. At least the place was clean, and there weren’t any rats or anything, but it was so boring she just wanted to scream. And they say this is a place to help insane people? How could anybody not go insane in this place?

Spellhold. That was what it was called, this ‘asylum’ for those that the Cowled Wizards deemed ‘magically deviant’, those people who were somehow in the way. When they had teleported her she had tried to explain, that she hadn’t done anything wrong, that she wasn’t even really a wizard. None of the wizards had wanted to listen though, and all the while she pleaded he had been watching her with a small and satisfied smirk on his face, the expression clearly visible despite his leather mask, as if he was very pleased with what was happening. She hadn’t seen him since, she was in the low security ward, and he was shut in one of the security cells. But will they be able to keep him there? He’s very strong.

She still didn’t understand what exactly it was she had done either. The magic had simply been there, ready for her use. No spells studied, no scrolls read, no wand. Just magic, like her fear and anger had been transformed into pure energy. What’s happening to me? I’m different somehow, I can feel it. But I’m still me. Aren’t I? I never had any choice about that magic thing, any more than about coming here. I don’t even know what happened. I wish Rini were here. She would help me figure it all out somehow. She’s so clever, and she knows a lot about this sort of thing.

She missed her best friend so much it hurt. Her other friends too of course, those who were still alive. Don’t think about Khalid. Just don’t. But she missed her almost-sister most of all. They had hardly ever been apart since they were very young, doing everything together, knowing each other inside and out. She knew that Zaerini would never abandon her if she could help it, anymore than she would if their positions were reversed. If I can’t get out of here on my own, Rini will find me and rescue me. I know she will. If…if she’s still alive. I don’t even know what happened to her after I was taken. No! She’s alive. I know it. I just know it. And she will get me out of here. I just have to keep sane until then. The warder said I might get to meet the other inmates soon. That could be nice. I wonder what Rini would say about that?

Meeting crazy people? Her best friend’s clear voice sounded very amused as she imagined it inside her head. Nothing new about that, it seems we always do. Remember that fellow back in Baldur’s Gate who thought he was a paladin and tried to kill Eddie because he was ‘glowing red’? Or Bassilus and his undead family? Or that crazy gnome, whatever his name was, the one who kept pet basilisks? Not to mention the Aec’Le’Tec fanclub, or Tiax.

Imoen nodded to herself. Yeah. I remember you used to call the Sword Coast ‘The Hatching Grounds Of The Insane Wackos’.

Exactly. And if they weren’t insane, they were plain annoying. No matter who the Cowlies have in there, they can’t be as irritating as Elminster. Or Drizzt.

That’s true, I guess, Imoen thought. Thanks, Rini. I know it isn’t really you, but me, but thanks all the same. As soon as I can I’ll talk to the other folks in here. They might be really nice, you never know.

Lying down on her back, the pink-haired girl gave the door a dark glare. The wizards had let her keep her lock picks, but that didn’t help when the door was barred as well as locked. I don’t think even Adahn could get past that. But on the other hand, I don’t think he would ever let himself get trapped like this. Imoen sighed, smiling a little despite her plight as she closed her eyes and visualized the face of the other rogue. Dark and mysterious. Yum. True, she had got over the worst of her crush after she had learnt that there was some other woman he cared about. But a little daydream never hurt anybody, and it’s not as if he’ll ever know. She added body to the face, her smile widening. Very nice. Shame he kept that picture I drew of him…but I guess Mr Psycho would have stolen it anyway. Well, at least I remember what it looked like. Hey, maybe I could ask for some paper and crayons, for therapy, and I could draw a new one! Or some clay, and make it a sculpture. She giggled, the walls of the cell almost forgotten. Better not let him see it if I did though. He got pretty annoyed the last time. Anyway, what would he say if he were in this place?

She imagined the smooth, somewhat sarcastic voice of the other rogue. For one thing, I wouldn’t be there, not being a mage.

Yeah, yeah, but what if you were?

Then I would probably advice you to watch, listen and learn. All prisons have some kind of weakness, though it may take time to find it. Talk to the other prisoners; learn what you can of your captors. Anything might help. I’ll talk to you later. And one more thing.

Yes?

Don’t even think about taking up sculpture.

Imoen surprised herself by actually laughing out loud, feeling better than she had in quite some time. I can do this. I’ll beat Mr Psycho, I’ll get out of here, I’ll find the others somehow and everything will be all right. I know it will.

“How about it?” Dekaras pleasantly inquired of the man in front of him. “Is your memory improving yet?”

“Ah…yes,” the man said. “I…I think so.” He was the innkeeper of a rather small inn situated south of Baldur’s Gate, but north of Beregost. It was a little off the main road, which was why most travelers would prefer the Friendly Arm Inn, but that also meant if was a good spot for somebody who was trying to remain unobserved. There were two other things to recommended it as well. It was situated a comfortable distance away from Baldur’s Gate, a day’s march for somebody not that fond of traveling on foot. Like Edwin. And then there was that other detail that he happened to know about, and knew that the wizard did as well. By this time he ought to be homesick. He wouldn’t be able to resist.

“Well?” the assassin asked. “I’ve heard a great deal about your cook, the one who is said to know about Eastern cuisine. It just so happens that I have this sudden craving for Thayvian spices, but I’d really prefer to know that it will be worth my while.”

“My dear sir, I assure you that it will!” The innkeeper was a rotund man, red-faced and freckled. A few tufts of still red hair stuck up around his ears like seaweed clinging to a rock. “Why, we even had a genuine Red Wizard stop by here a couple of months back! Very pleased he was, especially with the meat course, and he tipped well too.”

“Indeed,” Dekaras said, smiling faintly. For some reason this seemed to make the innkeeper very nervous. The man must be stressed out. “You know, I’m actually an Easterner myself. I should very much like to meet this wizard, chat about home, that sort of thing. You don’t by any chance happen to recall what he looked like, do you?”

“Well…he kept his hood up most of the time. I…I couldn’t s-say much, except that he was fairly young.”

“Hm,” the assassin said, frowning. “A shame. But surely there is something you remember? Perhaps I could help you?” He felt a little irritated, and his mood wasn’t improved by the fact that the innkeeper paled visibly as he met his eyes. What in the world is wrong with him? He’s practically trembling.

“Aaahhh! I…I remember his name now!”

“Yes?”

“It was ‘Alexander Antravian’. I remember, because at first he hesitated when I asked him for his name, and then he looked very embarrassed.”

As well he should, Dekaras thought. Using his own middle name and his mother’s birth name for an alias isn’t exactly what I would call a cunning alias. The bard wouldn’t have recognized it, but I certainly would. Really, he ought to know better, but I suppose he was in a hurry to think of something. Or maybe…maybe part of him wants me to find him. “Thank you,” he said. “And now, I would like to try these culinary delights out for myself.”

“You…you aren’t going to…”

“I’m going to have dinner, unless you have a problem with that. And then I’ll be on my way.” After the still nervous innkeeper had shown him to a seat and taken his order, Dekaras leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers together as he thought about what he had learnt. Clearly he was still on the right trail. I’ll find you yet, boy. Trust me on that. Edwin might have lied to him and deceived him, and the thought of that still hurt a great deal, but he couldn’t allow that to interfere with what he needed to do. I will learn his reasons for what he did, and I will see to it that he’s safe, no matter what. Then…if he really wants me out of his life I suppose I’ll have to comply.

The very thought of that was enough to once again bring back the blackness, the sensation of icy needles pricking his heart. But he couldn’t afford to give in to the doubt and the self-loathing once again. Not if he wanted to find the child before it was too late. Time enough for that later, if it comes to that. Have to focus on the mission at hand, not on emotions, that won’t help at all. The way I might feel is secondary, if that. All that matters is finding him and making sure that he’s well. And I will, no matter how many corpses I have to leave behind to do so. There is no other possible choice.