“Are...are we really going to camp here? It's so dark...all that stone pressing down on us...being underground is just not for the avariel...”
Keldorn could almost hear the leader of their party counting to ten before answering. “I know, Aerie,” Sionel told the other elven woman, “But we don't have a lot of choice. We're all hurt, and we need rest—and I don't want to take even this half of the rod out of here until we've destroyed that...thing.”
“I don't see how we're helping the less fortunate, trudging around in here,” grumbled Nalia de'Arnise.
Sionel turned to glare at her, eyes shining redly in the darkness. “Perhaps it escaped your notice that most of the poor folk who were tricked into following this abomination were what you would call the 'less fortunate.' Think of this as more...direct action than simply distributing coins and old clothing among the peasantry.”
Nalia started to retort, but Valygar put a hand on her shoulder and drew her away. Keldorn began to go about the business of setting up camp in the small alcove, glancing every now and then at the strange woman whose fate now intersected with his own.
He looked at her again and shivered. Had he not been told what to look for, he might have attacked her and her party on sight, believing her to be one of the hated, treacherous drow. As it was, there was something about her, a vague tingling of his skin when he drew too near, that made him extremely uncomfortable. Yet, when I look at her with the Sight that my Lord Torm has granted me, she does not appear to be evil, and if her dark heritage has tainted her, she shows no signs of it. It is a puzzle.
With a clanking of plate mail, Anomen Delryn walked past Keldorn without acknowledging the older man. Keldorn stifled an exasperated laugh. One day, he may be a true asset to the Order, if he can manage not to get his fool self killed beyond anyone's ability to raise. Keldorn had just groaned and shaken his head when he had read the line in the Prelate's note containing his orders that said, “Be advised that Squire Anomen Delryn has joined the company of the Bhaalspawn. Regardless of her parentage, she is a young, attractive female, and it would not do for the lad to be distracted by her presence.” No fear of that, Wessalen. They hiss and growl at each other like a panther and a wolf. Then again, it is often the two that seem to despise each other that end up madly in love. Perhaps I should keep a closer eye on them.
At the moment, however, that possibility seemed remote. Hearing Anomen stalk by, Sionel snapped, “Where in the Hells do you think you going?”
The squire stopped and glared back at her. “I must pray, and I cannot think amidst all this chattering.”
Keldorn couldn't help it. He snickered. I have yet to see any evidence that you think much at all, boy. Had he not known that it was impossible, he would have sworn the somber ranger Valygar was grinning.
Sionel was not amused. She strode up to Anomen, her silent footsteps a quiet rebuke to his noisy passage, and held out her hand.
“What?” Anomen demanded.
“The Rod of Resurrection. Give it to me, please, so that we won't have to search your corpse for it after you go off and get killed. Again.”
Even without infravision, Keldorn could almost see Anomen's face redden as the young squire fought to control his fury. Sionel stood calmly, the slight trembling of her fingers almost unnoticeable. Anomen pulled the silvery rod from his pack and slammed it into the elven woman's small hand.
“Take it,” he snarled, “And much good may it do you—Bhaalspawn.” He turned on his heel and strode off into the darkness, lantern held high.
There was a long silence, as thick and oppressive as the dank air of the cavern, finally broken by Sionel. “Sir Keldorn. Take this, if you would. I fear I may go after him and break it over that collection of rocks he calls a head.”
Keldorn blinked, but took the rod. “Certainly, m'lady.”
“Just Sionel, please. Tell me...you seem to have known him for some time...is he always this...this...”
“Obnoxious? Pigheaded? Arrogant?” suggested Nalia.
Keldorn smiled. “Young Anomen has always been somewhat...difficult, I admit. And while Torm has granted me many gifts, excessive patience is, I fear, not one of them.”
Sionel grinned for an instant; then her face fell abruptly and she turned away and busied herself with setting up her bedroll. Keldorn looked at Nalia, Aerie, and Valygar.
“Did you know?” he asked them. Aerie finally nodded, as did the other two.
“But she's not...she doesn't seem to be evil, really,” ventured Aerie. “I wouldn't have known, if I hadn't heard her talking with Yoshimo.” She frowned a little. “I wonder if that's why she made him leave—because he kept asking her questions about...about Bhaal.”
“Did he.” Keldorn was silent for a moment, thinking, then he bowed slightly to the others. “Excuse me...” He went over to the corner where Sionel was perched on top of her pack, staring at the earthen floor. She glanced up as he approached.
“Is my life forfeit, then, Sir Keldorn?” she said, almost succeeding in her attempt to sound disinterested.
Keldorn sat on the ground beside her. “What makes you think that it would be?”
“You heard what he called me. It's true. I'm a Child of Bhaal. Surely, in the eyes of your Order, that would damn me, would it not?”
That is what I am here to determine, thought Keldorn. Aloud, he said, “The mandate of the Order is to fight evil wherever it may be found. I have seen no signs of such in you, m'lady.”
Sionel gave him a tiny smile. “Not yet, anyway. Most people would say that blood will tell, in the end.”
“We cannot help what we are, but we can help what we become.”
She blinked at him. “Yes...Gorion said almost the same thing to me once...I didn't know, then, about...about Bhaal, but enough people had called me a drow that I thought my mysterious father had been one. I thought that meant I would have to move to the Underdark and become a priestess of the Spider Queen, and I went to Gorion in tears...I was only nine...”
However many years she has seen, she is still little more than a child as her people reckon things. So young to bear such a burden. “I am old,” he told her, “But in what time I have left to me, I shall do all in my power to maintain the sanctity of your soul. Alone, I am no match for the essence of a dark god, but that is where faith comes in, is it not?”
“Faith...I have never been able to bring myself to worship any human god—they all seem rather distant and alien to me...and as for the Seldarine...” Sionel swallowed hard. “There is only one thing I want from Corellon Larethian: to know why he permitted one of his children—my mother—to be ravished by Bhaal. Why was I ever born at all?”
The naked pain in her voice made Keldorn want to take her in his arms as he would one of his own daughters. He contented himself with touching her hand lightly with his own. “Then I shall endeavor to have faith enough for both of us, m'lady.” I fear we will need it.
Tales from the Copper Coronet
