Birthright: Quiz 149

Birthright

I stepped into the great temple, looking openly around the space. This was where Sarevok – my brother -- had fled to, escaping the wrath of the Flaming Fists and the Grand Dukes.

“Ellie?” Imoen drifted up to me. There're a whole bunch of traps 'round here. Careful.”

“I know.” I nodded towards the huge symbol in the floor of the open hall; a stylized skull. “There're more there.” Ones that I couldn't disarm, right now. If not for the faint shimmers of magic, I wouldn't have seen them at all. Beyond that lay a series of steps, veiled in unnatural mists. That was where my brother would be. I knew.

“Be careful, child.” Jaheira said. I nodded.

Kivan's eyes met briefly, and he nocked an arrow to his bow. He simply gave me a nod. Khalid raised his sword, and gave me a slight smile. Minsc and Dynaheir glanced at me, Dynaheir simply gave me a nod, while Minsc moved to stand beside Jaheira, wearing a huge grin. I can do this . . . I thought. I can do this . . .

*Be careful, mistress.* Numel sent, and I nodded.

*I will.*

I stepped forward, into the mist, my feet avoiding the runes written onto the floor. Two creatures, all dark armour and flaming swords, came out of the alcoves, but Minsc and Khalid moved to intercept them. Dynaheir was chanting, and magical arrows from Kivan and Imoen found their marks. I still moved forward, drawing both my blades.

“So . . . you are indeed family. No other could have found me here. No other could have lived to oppose me in person.” The mist parted before me. He sat upon the dais, seeming almost at his ease, despite his bulk and the elaborate armour he wore. My companions still battled behind me. A part of me wanted to turn back, help them, but the greater part of me was drawn to the man in front of me. This was the man who had killed my father. He was here, right here. I could destroy his life with one thrown blade . . . and yet my hand was still. He had been simply a puppet, as my readings of his diary and the pleadings of Tamoko had shown me. A puppet on the strings of a dead god.

“You don't have to do this.” The words spilled out of me, unbidden, born of my sympathy for the small child I had read so much about. “You're only being used.” I held out little hope that he would actually take my words seriously. Behind me, the battle still raged. I heard the clatter of armour as it struck the ground, and could only hope that was not one of my companions. It seemed impossible to tear my gaze from the figure before me.

*They are all still fighting, mistress.* Numel sent. I wasn't sure exactly where he was, but it was good to know my friends still stood.

“Used?” He laughed at that, but it was a hollow sound. Any sense of true joy had long since vanished. “No, little sister, not used. I am using. I shall prove to our father that I am his most worthy successor . . . unlike you, who spent your years cloistered in some foolish library, too restricted and frightened to even pick up a blade.”

I found my teeth baring into a snarl, but forced myself to remain calm. Is that what he thinks of me? That I'm some pathetic weakling? “Successor?” I echoed, raising my brows. “Somehow, I don't think our 'dear' father will be willing to share his power.”

“Fool!” He snapped, rising from the dais and descending down the steps of the altar towards me. “I do not wish to restore his power . . I wish to claim it. I shall become Bhaal, just as Alaundo predicted.”

He must have seen the surprise on my face. “Silly little sister, did you think you were the only one of us who studied the prophecies? You must have seen the same thing . . . one will rise above the others, and the rivers and fields will run red with blood . . .” He pulled his blade, and it glinted dully in the light from the torches. “Face me, little sister, if you dare. Face me! Face the new Lord of Murder!” And he charged down the steps. I stepped backwards. Others came from the shadows behind him, running past me. For a moment, I didn't understand why they ignored me. Then I realized that it was to be a fight between the siblings; bound by some strange code of magic and prophecy that even I didn't understand, we had to fight alone.

I raised my own blades, and was surprised to feel tears falling down my cheeks. To think that I would cry for my father's murderer? But I was.



I blocked another blow. I had managed to get off a few magic missiles, but all it seemed to do was infuriate him. Now we fought, sword on sword. The battle was still raging around us, and arcs of magic energy leapt across the great hall. Arrows flew from both sides, and the clang of sword on sword and steel on steel filled my ears. I blocked again, trying to figure out how he could move so quickly. Encumbered as he was by his massive armour, he should not have been able to move the way he did. Yet quick he was, and he could match me, blow for blow, and he was proving to be stronger then me. My arms and legs were trembling, my hair was matted to my scalp with blood and sweat.

“Silly little sister . . . did you really think you could take my place? You are a great testament to our bloodline . . . but I will triumph in the end. You will see.” He lashed out with his blade, I threw out both my blades to block. I was not expecting him to lash out with his foot, tripping me. I rolled, keeping my blades away from my body, as his sword came down, striking the stone floor and sparking. Flipping to my feet, I took the chance and decided to go on the offensive, striking once, twice, three times. He blocked them all, but my fourth blow got through, the magic of my blade punching through the shoulder plate of his armour. Cursing, he swung out at me again, a blow that would have split me in two had I not managed to block. The strength of his blows caused my arms to shake.

“You do not know what true fury is, little sister,” he said. “Look at yourself. Here stands the person you have sworn revenge on . . . and yet you seek to spare his life.” He was taunting me! “Look at me . . . look at me and see the man who killed your precious Gorion.”

“Shut up.” I snarled. My pity had vanished. How dare he taunt me so, with the memory of my true father!

“No? Still too timid? Shall I tell you of that night, after you ran like a frightened rabbit?”

“SHUT UP!” I screamed. My self-restraint was almost gone. I was shaking.

“Yes, little sister. Bring your rage to bear. Try and take the vengeance that you think you so rightly deserve.” Though I could not see his features behind his helmet, I could hear the smirk on his face, the taunt in his voice.

I screamed, charging him. The battle began anew. Blood slicked the steps of the dais, both mine and his. My blades striking his armour. His sword, striking against my magical bracers. Blood and sweat ran down my face. Both our blades had blood on them. I fought harder, pushed to near insanity by the promise of vengeance for my father's death. Gone were the tears of sympathy and repentance, the tears that mingled with the blood on my face were tears of rage.

The others could have died that night, and I would not have known. That thought still pains me. In the stated I was in, I likely could have killed them myself and not known. I didn't even know Sarevok had fallen until I sat there, sprawled almost on top of him, my sword buried in his throat.

“Child?”

“Ellie?” I forced myself to raise my head, to loosen my grip upon my blades. Jaheira and Imoen were looking at me, both battered bruised and bleeding, but alive. I gasped for air, and discovered that even breathing was painful. It was quiet. Too quiet. The battle was over. Sarevok – my brother – lay dead. I had failed.

“I guess the prophecy wasn't true after all.” I said, as the world seemed to spin around my head. It wasn't true . . .