A cacophony of voices shouted battle cries, echoing around her and shattering the quiet of the late
afternoon.
They were surprised, to say the least.
It was well planned, and orchestrated; an ambush, just within site of the wall to the city of
Athkatla, when weary travelers would let their guard down.
"To arms," Keldorn bellowed unsheathing his sword in one swift motion, turning to face his own
armed assailant.
Time moved slowly, Arrabon as pulled her own pale bladed avenger from its scabbard on her back.
"We should have expected this," she berated cursing her own folly in not being prepared.
The inquisitor had stressed the need to camp out one more night in the Windspear woods, that this
was a possibility, his worst fear coming to fruition.
But no, she had wanted to return to the city just as bad as Jaheria and Nalia, now they were
submersed in a battle, unprepared and ill-equipped; she wasn't even wearing plate only a surcoat
of chain, her plate in her pack in need of repair.
"By Torm you will fall," she cried ready to face the first bandit in front of her brandishing his own
deadly weapon.
Anomen, warrior priest of Helm, was to her right, chanting a familiar prayer to the Great Guard for
his blessing.
The group was already exhausted, returning from the dungeon of the red dragon, after rescuing
Garran's son; so fighting a back alley skirmish was the last thought to enter their minds.
The cutthroat smiled at the paladin, he had done this before and knew that he had the advantage
Arrabon noted from the missing teeth and long scar trailing down his cheek, that she would have to
be very vigilant; the group had already lost the element of surprise.
His grinned evilly at her, a knowing glint shone in his beady eyes, as he leveled a crossbow at her.
A simple thought fleeted through her mind in that instant, almost a whisper; at this range he would
not miss and her chain mail would offer no chance of protection.
Thwang!
She felt the bolt pierce her chain-mail entering her chest, as she took a step back, the paladin
looked down, the bolt's fletching stood out from her chest.
"Funny it didn't hurt," she thought, as crimson blossomed out like a rose opening for the first time.
She grasped with her right hand to touch the fletching, feeling her heart beating franticly through
the bolt.
The paladin turned her hand feeling the warm wetness against her fingers.
It was blood, her own blood. "No," she reasoned, "it could not be," but the darkness that cowered
in the deep recesses of her mind over took her body.
Oh crap! She looked back up in to the assailant's face, the smile faded from his toothless mouth.
The paladin became an onlooker as the evil automated her body, using the holy sword to
decapitate her foe. Her strength fled her as her lifeblood, flowed from her wound.
"Arrabon!' The watcher's voice cut through the throng of battle, as her knees buckled, she heard
carsomyr clatter to the stones at her feet.
A blackness filled her vision obscuring anomen's gentle face. She tried to speak only to cough, it
was becoming hard to take a breath.
"Hang on my love." He lowered her body gently to the cold stone.
She felt the need to tell him that it was all right; it would all be all right. But no sound emerged.
"No Arrabon," he wept, "hold on," tears falling down his cheeks to land on her face.
Was it raining? The paladin thought as she closed her eyes feeling warm drops land on her face.
"Hang on," the priest spoke gently to her goading her to stay awake, "Jaheria hurry." The druid
knelt beside chanting a healing prayer to Sylvanias.
The paladin felt the pain pulling her down with every beat of her heart, into the tide as waves
crashed against rocks.
"So like home," she thought closing her eyes, "I miss Candlekeep."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A soft cloth was laid gently on her forehead from someone close, she felt so hot, and the cloth was
cool against her skin, causing her to shiver involuntarily.
"There, there little one," a soft feminine voiced soothed her fears, at least she was alive and safe.
"Is she going to be all right?" A shrill young voice asked worriedly.
So familiar.
Imoen?
Arrabon tried to open her eyes, "that wasn't right we haven't reached Spellhold yet."
"Anomen," she whispered hoarsely attempting to roll on to her side. She had to find out what
happened. Find out if every one was alright.
"Shh Arrabon," still another voice that was familiar, from her past, but couldn't be. Was it possible
lady Phlydia?
NO!
She was dead killed by doppelgangers that were sent by the Iron Throne.
Wasn't she?
Suddenly things didn't make sense, not that they ever did.
"Anomen!!?" She cried hoarsely straining to sit up, a strong but gently hand restrained her.
"Relax Arrabon it's all right."
Oh dear Torm that sounded just like Gorion!
Now she knew something was wrong very wrong, Gorion was dead.
"Arrabon, your all right," the woman's soothing voice again, "you took a hard fall off of your horse."
Fall off of my horse?
But, that was years ago.
Wasn't it?
"Arrabon," The old sage sat down on the side of her bed, her cheek was badly bruised that
extended down her neck, as he swept her hair from her fevered face.
"Bay Boy is fine."
My horse, she thought afraid to open her eyes.
Afraid of what she might see.
"You've broken some ribs," the old mage continued softly, "so stay still or you might puncture a
lung."
"Father," she whispered cracking her eyes open slowly, to see Gorion sitting on the edge of her
bed, he looked aged and very worried, Imoen peeked over his shoulder.
"You will be fine," the sage softly caressed her cheek, she winced but smiled in spite of it, "now go
back to sleep," Gorion whispered gruffly, "I'll be here when you wake."
"but father," she weakly tried to sit up again, "how?"
Gorion raised a brow at her question "mistral's blessing that we found you in time" he pressed a
mug of a foul smelling concoction to her lips, "drink," he ordered gently.
In spite of her protests, of wanting to speak to her father again to warn him about her half-brother,
she did as she was told and fell into a healing sleep.
!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"We can make it to Athkatla," Nalia whined irritatingly, fussing with her robes, grating Keldorn's
frayed nerves, "by early evening, it's not that far."
The old paladin raised an eyebrow to her protests, wondering if the argument was worth the effort.
"Torm I'd travel back to town if I thought it was safe just to stop her sniveling," the old paladin
thought cupping his head in his hand.
"besides, I need a bath," the mage began blubbering again.
Jaheria opted to give her two coppers worth, leaning on her staff, glaring at the mage, "a hot bath,
soft bed would be nice."
Keldorn's frown deepened, as he turned next to the young squire.
Anomen stood quietly, watching the exchange with a detached amusement.
The last spell that had been cast had wiped his reserves, all he wanted to do was say his prayers
and rest.
The watcher looked tiredly at the mage, and just shrugged, "sir Keldorn, I would just as soon rest
here."
The inquisitor turned to the younger paladin, whose gaze seemed to be a million leagues away,
"Arrabon?"
Anomen tapped her lightly on her shoulder, drawing her back to the here and now, "My lady."
Arrabon didn't answer right away which worried the watcher.
"My lady, are you all right?" the priest's voice was laced with concern.
The paladin shook her head blinking hard, "what?"
She looked around at the group, as if seeing their faces for the first time.
"Child are you all right?" Jaheria questioned.
"what," she asked again, smiling sheepishly for getting caught off guard, her cheeks growing hot
under her embarrassment, "I'm sorry, say again please."
Keldorn shifted his weight with a heavy sigh, wondering if he should even bother with the
discussion, "should we rest here, or go on to athkatla?"
She looked over at the paladin, a sense of déjà vu washed over her sending chills down her spine,
she had been her before.
Hadn't she?
Been asked these same questions, yet with a different out come.
A second chance?
NO, only relativity, a soothing feeling warmed through her heart.
Thank you, my lord Torm!
Without a second thought, she flashed a smile at the old inquisitor.
"I think," she peered up through the trees, shading her eyes with her hand, to the position of the
sun, "I'd just as soon rest here for the evening."
