28. Enemy At Work

Sarevok's chambers at the Iron Throne never had a neglected look. The servants, having been frightened to death with his menacing demeanor during his previous visits, made sure of that. But he only used it as a temporary lodging, never staying for long. Now, however, he was holding a peculiar council of war in his rooms, a council Reiltar Anchev, his adoptive father, would have been very surprised to learn about.
The room was furnished with taste, and the cherry trees, blooming outside the window, added to its coziness. The delicate aroma also blocked less desirable smells of the city. It was quiet inside: the Iron Throne headquarters were based in one of the most respectable parts of Baldur's Gate, far from the noisy markets and the red lights' block.
A pretty, if somewhat exotic-looking woman with jet-black hair and face that gave away her Kara-Turan origin, was sitting on Sarevok's bed with her legs crossed. Her pleasant face was saddened, and she cast troubled looks at the direction of a cloaked figure by the window. A mage was standing there, and his face, too, was far from composed. He randomly crumpled cherry petals covering the windowsill, and paid no attention to his surroundings.
Sarevok was not wearing his spiky armor this time, but still his presence filled the room, affecting both the woman and the mage like an ominous shadow towering over their heads. He paced the room restlessly, collecting his thoughts, but that seemed only to infuriate him, for his face became more and more agitated. At last, he turned to the mage, fuming.
"I have specifically stated," the warrior growled, "that we do not stop the war preparations!"
The mage looked amused. "The war preparations? I think they are no longer necessary. My intelligence gatherers report that Nashkel mines are to be opened once again. One of the main reasons for the war has been removed."
"I don't care what your petty spies say, Winski!" Sarevok roared. "The war will begin! Let them produce their iron, I'll start the slaughter before a single slab leaves Nashkel!" He caught his breath and continued with a low threat in his voice, "And if not, the Chill and the Black Talon will devour every single caravan! You've hired them, Winski, you're responsible for them. I want every single path blocked by bandits! I want the forest to be swarming with my mercenaries! And I don't want them to fail, Winski. I shall hold you personally responsible for this."
"You behave like a spoiled child," his mentor noted with distaste. "Allow me to remind you that your mercenaries have not succeeded in bringing you the head of your sister yet, despite me providing them with means to do so," he pointed at Xan's moonblade on Sarevok's table. "They know exactly where she is, and still we have no results! She destroyed Mulahey, don't you think that she can find the bandit camp?"
The warrior hesitated. "No," he finally forced himself to speak. "I trust my mercenaries enough to come with her head sooner or later. Sometimes I think I trust them more than I trust you, my teacher. We've discussed your failure to kill her already." The threat in his voice became more pronounced. "And if she kills them, I shall come for her myself. We shall end this in a manner befitting our heritage."
"Very well," the mage shrugged. "I'll leave you to your devices." He strode to the door. As Winski crossed the threshold, he turned around. "You're not a god yet. Consider failing as a possibility, or sooner or later your luck will run out."
Sarevok shut the door with a snap and lowered himself into an armchair with a loud sigh. "It seems I cannot trust anyone here," he said, dropping his head and closing his eyes.
The woman stood up, walked up to him and settled on the chair arm. "He cares about you, though he does not admit it. As do I. But we do it in different fashion." The face became clouded. "Winski wants what is best for you, but I fear what is to come."
"My fearless Tamoko, afraid?" he laughed, drawing her near. "When my plans become to fruition, you will have nothing to be afraid of."
She shook her head. "We talked about this before. Your destiny will change you, it will destroy the Sarevok I know. Do you not remember the prophecy? Chaos shall be sown in their footsteps. Not only in the footsteps, but in the hearts and minds of those who lead and those who would follow. Both you and Winski are obsessed with the idea of your ascension, and it has twisted you beyond belief." The woman bit her lip and resolutely looked straight into his eyes. "I have been postponing this for too long, but I have to say it now: abandon Bhaal's heritage, or it will wipe you out."
Sarevok looked at her for a moment, confused. Then he burst into laughter again. "No, Tamoko. I shall wipe them out. I shall embrace my heritage, crush everybody who stands in my way, and the streets will run red with blood when my work is finished! You of all people should understand this, for your destiny is to be tied with mine! I am to become a new Lord of Murder!"
Tamoko gently released herself from his embrace and got up. "Deities are not known for sharing their power willingly, Sarevok," she said. "Especially the deity who had foreseen his own death." She quickly exited the room, whisking away a tear as she went.
Sarevok slammed his fist into the table. The ebony incrustation shattered, but that brought him little satisfaction. Kill! Gritting his teeth and picking up his sword, he went out.
It was midday, and the square in front of the Iron Throne was crammed with Flaming Fist soldiers, commoners and hawkers of both sexes. The offers of questionable nature were following the warrior along the way, and his head was close to splitting in two with racket they were making. I should have put on my armor. Then none would dare...
"Tiax moves. Make way!" a small figure jumped before his eyes, and a pair of fingers soundly smacked Sarevok on the nose.
"What? Who the hell are you?" The sword nearly fell from the warrior's hand.
"Thou would presume to speak to Tiax the great?" A gnomish face emerged out of the blue. His eyes glittered excitedly, but he eyed the weapon warily just the same. "Thy... er... bravery is oddly tempered with foolishness. Still, Cyric has decreed that I seek out the services of one such as thyself. Tiax himself... myself will aid in your quest! In return, when the time is right, your might will forge the way for my ascension to power. Do you accept this honor?"
"Ascension? You wretched creature, it is my ascension everybody shall witness!"
The gnome sighed in exasperation. "Is destiny to link Tiax with such a dullard? No, it does not matter. Tiax can make use of such fodder regardless of their belief or understanding! Join with me, and I shall compensate for your stupidity!"
"Stupidity? Die, you-"
"Yes, yes, the all-seeing Tiax thinks that his leaving would be best," the little man babbled breathlessly, slowly retreating. "He must finalize his stratagems and consult in secret with Cyric. You shall, of course, meet the Great Tiax again, at which point I will make my grand ascension and appoint you to your rightful place as whipper of the slaves and faithless!" he shouted from over the corner. "In time you will realize your place. Tiax will wait!"
The warrior considered following the offender, but the mad rage got the better of him. Unable to run or think straight, he buried his sword in a nearest food trolley, scattering the fruit and vegetables across the square. Then his vision cleared, and, throwing several coins to the woman in charge, he proceeded down the street, but there was no sign of the gnome around. Bah! That cripple was no match for me, in any case, he snorted. But still, I must kill something soon. My impatience grows...
"Did he not want to aid you in your ascension, my servant?" A man was pacing a beautiful studio back and forth. His lips were tightly closed, but his voice seemed to fill the room somehow just the same. "I cannot say it was a big surprise, no. Still, you should have stayed a little longer to let him demonstrate his talents. I would be interested."
"But, Great Cyric, then I would die, and there'd be nobody to rule all!"
"Ah, of course. Such a great tragedy it would be. But you see, Tiax, every Bhaalspawn has a portion of divine essence, and it grants them gifts of magnificent power. Certainly, it is nothing compared to what I can grant to my faithful, but that is a discussion for another time. You managed to show me one of Sarevok's gifts, and I am grateful to you, Tiax. Perhaps, who knows, some day you will rule."
"As it should be! Tiax was destined to lead! Soon Tiax rules!"
"Yes, yes, spare me the boasting, please. I am quite capable of producing some incomprehensible, insane yells myself. I am a god of madness, after all. As I said, I am grateful. You have shown me what this one fears the most. His essence grants him protection from magic, for he values so-called 'fair battle'. Fool! I would have thought Bhaal would produce more intelligent offspring. But no matter. This one will undoubtedly be killed by my favorite Bhaalspawn, I trust. Or did I want to sacrifice her? Hmmm... it is tempting. So many opportunities..."
"Do you want me to seek this one, too, Great Cyric?"
"No, Tiax, no. This one would require a more... subtle approach, as I have already witnessed. And she will get it. She calls upon the powers that allow her to be admired and loved--very naive, and very easy to manipulate. The time will come for another ace in my sleeve, and soon."