Chapter 58: Going Home
The offices of Duke Eltan looked completely different in the late afternoon. The light from the windows was now faint and cold, letting the flickering candles dominate, and the meeting room, the same one they'd been in only a couple days ago, seemed almost too small to hold them all.
Ember and her friends weren't alone with the duke this time; Emissary Tar sat in a large chair in a corner, and the duke's private physician, Rashad, moved slowly around the room, administering a potion here and checking a poultice there. Duke Eltan had summoned him the moment Ember's group arrived, bloodied and bruised, and he had spent the evening tending their wounds. The physician was a quiet and gentle man, with a mop of white hair and a warm smile on his wrinkled, tanned face; it was almost as if a beloved grandfather had come to nurse them back to health.
The duke himself sat in the chair at the head of the table, resting his chin on his folded hands in a comtemplative fashion. "To sum up," he said, "Sarevok's lackeys attempted to murder my emissary, and they more than likely intended to replace her with a doppelganger. We also have a letter from the selfsame Sarevok to his foster father, Rieltar. In this letter, he proclaims that he has killed you, claims that you are Zhentarim agents, and mentions dealings with the bandits in Cloakwood. All in all, I believe we have enough to have him brought in; I will task Scar and Angelo with the matter immediately."
"I think Sarevok put the bounty on Ember," Imoen said. "I mean, we already knew he was Tazok's boss and that Tazok was hiring bounty hunters, and now it sounds like Rieltar doesn't really know why the Throne wants her dead, or they wouldn't be calling us Zhentarims."
"I agree," Kivan said.
"Now, as for Rieltar," the duke said, "we still have no direct evidence against him. What we do know is that he and Brunos are meeting with the heads of some other organization, and that they have chosen Candlekeep for their meeting."
"I don't remember any merchants ever meeting at Candlekeep," Ember said. "It's a place for study, not for business."
"It would be an ideal place for a secret meeting, far from prying eyes," Edwin pointed out. "(Especially with the prohibitively costly entrance fee. Wasting all those books on monks...)"
"Precisely. Whatever the nature of this meeting, I feel it can't bode well for the fortunes of this city," Duke Eltan said.
"I think Thaldorn knows more than nothing about these things," Imoen said, "but I don't suppose these letters are enough to have him questioned, are they?"
"Of course not." The duke sighed heavily. "His name is not on them, and you told me he denied all knowledge of anything, including the trap set by Sarevok's acolytes. The word of a respected merchant against the word of six brutal villains - Thaldorn will, of course, describe you as such - would mean nothing in court. Besides, we still need him. The Seven Suns and the Merchant's League can deliver enough iron to cover the city's basic needs, but if it comes to war with Amn, it will be far from enough. We will still need to be supplied by the Iron Throne."
"I refuse to return to that dreadful place!" Emissary Tar declared.
"I will make arrangements for the negotiations to take place here instead, Emissary. Considering the circumstances of your visit, I am sure Thaldorn will understand." The emissary settled back in her chair in a manner that suggested she was mollified by Duke Eltan's solution, but only slightly so.
"And what about Rieltar?" Kivan asked.
"Boo wonders also!" Minsc said. "Because even if he is not hunting for Minsc's witch, he is still an evil man!"
"I have not forgotten about him, my friends," the duke said. "I think the best course of action would be to follow him and Brunos to Candlekeep and learn what they're doing there. Will you do this? With two natives of Candlekeep amongst you, there are none better suited for such a task."
"When do you want us to go?" Ember asked. Duke Eltan's request was just what she'd been hoping for ever since Imoen found the letter about the meeting.
"As soon as possible; I fear there is no time to waste. Tomorrow morning, preferably."
"I am afraid I must object," Rashad said. "Do you not see how weary they are, mylord? They should all have at least a day or two of rest before embarking upon such a mission, in order to recover properly."
"I never said I'd send them on foot, Rashad."
"It is also strenuous to travel on a horse's back, mylord."
"I cannot ride. The horses, too big they are!" Alora said quietly.
"Other travel arrangements can be made," the duke said. "Will a carriage suffice?"
"It will do," Ember said. "We'll be ready to leave in the morning."
---
That night, Ember lay awake, mulling over the events of the day. Imoen was fast asleep in the other bed; she and Edwin had spent the evening scrutinizing the tome the duke had given them for their entrance fee, and Imoen had nodded off moments of resting her head on her pillow. Ember wished she could have done the same as easily. They would set out for Candlekeep shortly after dawn, riding as passengers on a heavily guarded caravan until they reached the crossroads where the Lion's Way met the Sword Coast Road, and they'd only walk on that last stretch. It'd be a long and tiring trip, even in a carriage, and Ember knew she needed as much rest as she could get.
How many nights had she lain awake like this while Imoen slept?
She felt foolish for being so surprised when the bloodlust had come over her again during the fight in the Iron Throne tower. She should have known it'd happen sooner or later; she was still essentially the same person as she was before she'd taken druidic vows. Nothing had been removed from her. It's not about altering things, it's about understanding things so I can alter them myself. Just like I did today, she told herself. I didn't let it guide me. That was what she would do, then; she could recognize the bloodlust when it came, and she knew it for what it was. She would learn how to rein it in. Balance the inner world as well as the outer, she thought with a small smile.
Her smile faded as her thoughts turned to Sarevok's acolytes. Their words before the fight, and the looks on their faces, had deeply disturbed her. According to Imoen and Alora, the regular Iron Throne guards were scared of Sarevok's little group of mercenaries, and it had been easy to see why; there had been a fanatical gleam in their eyes, and they had acted almost like some kind of cultists. What kind of man could invoke such a response from his men? The image of a large man in spiked armor appeared in her mind, and she shivered.
The one bright point in all this was that it at least implied that a single man wanted her dead, not an entire organization.
What would it be like to return to Candlekeep? So much had changed since she and Imoen left; had that place changed as well? Or would it still be full of quiet scholars and sleepy guards? Winthrop would be pleased to see Imoen again, at least. Ember wondered if her friend had even said goodbye to the old innkeeper. Dreppin would be happy to see them too, as would Tethtoril. Phlydia would probably not even have noticed they'd been away; Ember could hear her now, asking them if they'd seen any of her misplaced books lately. Karan and Parda would be proud of them, though; at least, so she hoped. And just wait till they all found out that Immy had become a mage!
With her mind filled with pleasant thoughts of her old home, Ember finally dozed off.
As she drifted into sleep, the thoughts became images, and a vision of Candlekeep came into view before her. She found herself moving towards the keep, and soon, she was passing through the gates, which reached to the heavens and were the largest doors she'd ever seen. Someone was walking beside her, holding her hand; Ember looked up and saw Gorion's familiar grizzled face. It was then that Ember realized she was a child again, only a few seasons old.
Gorion was walking so fast! She had to run to keep up with him. Or was that because of her short legs? And how old must Gorion have been to have aged as little as he had in her lifetime?
They were inside the keep now, and heading for the library. "Wait here, and be good. I won't be long," Gorion told her, and helped her sit on the broad stone rim of a shallow fountain. Then he went into the library to go to an important meeting with Ulraunt, the Keeper of the Tomes; an important meeting about her. She couldn't remember why it was so important, though, and she settled for drawing patterns in the water with her fingers. Soon, she could hear shouting from inside, just like there had been at their previous stops. She did her best not to listen to any of the words that were being said.
Something dark was reflected in the water. Ember stopped touching the water, and when the surface was still, she saw the reflection of a large raven that was perched on top of a stone wall. It was staring straight at her with huge, black eyes. She stared back at the bird in the mirror of the water; for some reason, she was afraid of raising her head and looking directly at the bird. Its feet were so ugly, she noticed; almost like little skeletal claws. "Look at me," the raven cawed. She shook her head, and focused her attention on the grass and flowers that grew around the fountain instead.
The doors of the library suddenly swung open, and Ulraunt stormed out. He glanced at Ember for a moment, but looked away as he spoke. "You both can stay," he sneered, "but mark my words. That child will be the death of you."
Gorion came out of the library doors. He looked exactly like he had the last time Ember had seen him: dead. She couldn't bear to look at him, and dropped her gaze. Her eyes found the surface of the water; to her relief, the raven was gone. All she saw was her own reflection.
Her eyes were black, just like those of the bird.
"Like father, like child," her reflection said. "You cannot escape."
With a half-choked sob, she woke up. It was still dark outside, Imoen was fast asleep, and Ember was freezing. She sat up in bed and hugged herself, rocking back and forth to try to get some warmth, some life, into her cold body. I am not like that... it is not me, she told herself, over and over. She badly wanted to wake Imoen up, but decided not to; it was better that her friend got some rest. The terror of the dream would let go soon, and if it didn't, then she could wake Imoen.
Soon, the chilled feeling left Ember's limbs, and she relaxed back onto her pillow. She might not get any more sleep, but she'd manage. "I am not my ancestry," she whispered to herself once again, and looked out the window, where faint traces of crimson were appearing in the sky.
She could not shake the horrible feeling that somehow, part of her knew exactly what that raven was talking about.