In The Cards

Knight Of Swords - may represent conflict, adversity, rage, as well as the skilled warrior and strength of purpose. A dangerous card when set in opposition to the subject of the foretelling.

Excerpt from The Chaltar Deck of Cards - An Introduction

Her feet were hurting a little, unused as they were to walking this long a distance through darkened woods. She was starting to get rather hungry as well. Briefly Zaerini studied the gray-cloaked back of her foster father in front of her, and wondered whether he might be persuaded to rest soon. Probably not. Gorion had been keeping a hard pace ever since they had set out from Candlekeep some hours earlier, as if he intended to walk the entire way to Baldur's Gate without stopping once.

It was really late now, probably past midnight. The sky was mostly invisible behind the black canopy of the dense treetops, so Zaerini couldn't tell for sure, but it felt late. She had no idea where they were, not being much of a wilderness person she had long since lost all sense of direction in the darkness. Now and then there were sounds in the shadows. Twigs snapping. Rustling noises. Howls. Not the sort of sounds that made you feel relaxed and at ease. Zaerini had her bow ready as she walked. Not that she thought she'd be very likely to hit anything, even with the aid of the infra-vision that came from the elven part of her heritage. She was exhausted and thought it much more likely that she'd shoot herself in the foot. Still, holding the bow was comfort of a sort. Comfort that Gorion was far too preoccupied to offer at this particular moment. As she watched his broad back and silvery white hair in front of her Zaerini wondered what he was thinking about.

Gorion had listened to her earlier when she had blurted out her tale of the assassins that had come after her and exactly how she had dealt with them. He had held her, and comforted her, and told her that she'd been very brave. He'd also healed a superficial cut that she'd barely noticed herself. And that was all well and good, but there had been one thing missing. He had displayed no trace of surprise.

Even if for some reason he expected assassins to hunt for me, Zaerini thought, surely he ought to have been a little surprised at my being able to kill them instead? And particularly in that fashion. It's not as if I violently slaughter people on a regular basis. Gorion seemed worried, but not surprised. No, not surprised. He is keeping something from me, I am sure of it. She had been prepared to confront her foster father about the matter then and there, but Gorion had been in such a hurry to leave that she thought it better to wait. He had paused only to tell her that in case they ever got separated she should head for the Friendly Arm Inn, an old temple-turned-inn to the north, and seek out two of his old friends, Khalid and Jaheira.

Not that that's very likely to happen, Zaerini thought, trying to ignore her aching legs. Gorion is far too experienced a traveler to misplace me. While her father was now an old man, she knew that he had gone on extensive adventures in his youth, and so she felt perfectly safe, despite the sounds of the night. As for her many unanswered questions, they would have to wait until they stopped to rest. Plenty of time to question Gorion then.

And then, as if he had been reading her thoughts, the old mage spoke, his voice terse with worry. "Let's hurry child! The night can only get worse so we must find shelter soon. Don't worry, I will explain everything as soon as there is time." Suddenly he stiffened and paused. His lined face had gone very grim, and he reached for his pouches of spell components. "Wait!" he said, raising his hand. "There is something wrong. We are in an ambush. Prepare yourself!"

Out of the ebony black shadows beneath the tall trees four figures confidently strode, heading towards the old mage and his foster child. Zaerini felt an icy shiver run down her back. Her fingers felt stiff and numb as she struggled to draw her bow and her heart was pounding wildly like the hooves of a galloping horse.

Those are ogres! Zaerini thought as she stared at two hulking shapes. Actual ogres! And they're huge!

The two creatures were indeed both taller and broader than even the most powerful warriors that had ever set foot within the walls of Candlekeep. Their small eyes glinted in the darkness as they lifted a heavy club and an equally monstrous hammer. Then there was a woman, a slim armored shape who mostly kept to the shadows so that it was hard to get a good look at her. To the half-elf's eyes she glowed, her body-heat the only hint to her stealthy and graceful movements. And then there was the fourth one. Zaerini couldn't look away from the large man who moved towards her, with a proud and menacing gait that reminded her of a lion. He was easily as tall as the Ogres, and almost as broad across the shoulders, she could tell that much despite the armor that covered him head to toe. Armor that, Zaerini thought, looked just a little bit unconventional.

Never trust a strange man with huge spikes all over his armor, she thought wildly. People who decorate themselves with large, pointy spikes are not out to create a friendly impression! She couldn't see much of the stranger's face, almost entirely hidden as it was by his horned helmet. Just the eyes. Eerie, golden eyes, that seemed to be glowing in the dark. Eyes with a color resembling her own. She tried to look away from them and found it impossible, feeling transfixed by them. They were cold those eyes, despite their fiery color. Cold and measuring, studying her carefully. And there was even a trace of…recognition? And glowing eyes too, Zaerini thought, feeling as if she were about to giggle hysterically at any moment. Spiky armor and glowing eyes. Not a good sign.

As if on cue, the armored man spoke, addressing Gorion. "You're perceptive for an old man," he said, his deep bass voice calm. "You know why I'm here. Hand over your ward and no one will be hurt. If you resist it shall be a waste of your life."

"You're a fool if you believe I would trust your benevolence," Gorion responded, drawing himself up to his full height. "Step aside and you and your lackeys will be unhurt." His voice was firm, his hands steady, and Zaerini suddenly felt immensely proud of her father.

But when the large man spoke again he sounded not the least disturbed. "I'm sorry that you feel that way old man," he said, his voice dripping with mock sincerity.

A burning pain lanced Zaerini's shoulder even as she heard the chanted words of magic from the slender woman in she shadows. Her breath hissed from between her teeth as she clutched at the wound, doubled over with pain and nauseous from the smell of smoking flesh. Dimly she could hear Gorion's voice, raised in a shout.

"Run child! Get out of here!"

'No' she wanted to say, 'no Father, don't make me go. Please Father, let me help you.' But the words wouldn't come, and she could only stare mutely at the giant with the golden eyes who moved towards her, raising an enormous two-handed sword, almost as tall as herself. The Knight of Swords! Zaerini thought, very close to panic now. The Knight of Swords from my foretelling. He's real!

And then the armored figure snarled in sudden surprise as glowing balls of energy struck him with a flash and a hiss.

"I said RUN, child!" Gorion roared, now sounding nothing like the scholarly old mage Zaerini knew. "NOW!" She ran then, without thinking, without reflecting, instinctively obeying her father's voice. Her shoulder still hurt, but run she could, and run she did. As she ran she could hear sounds rising out of the darkness behind her. Ogres growling in sudden pain. The musical rhythms and words of magic, accompanied by sudden brief flashes of light. Sounds of huge feet moving about, of armor clanking. Sounds of combat.

When she had reached partial cover behind a large oak tree Zaerini turned around. She had to see what happened. She had to know. And so it was that she saw Gorion draw his small dagger, his final spell exhausted. A pitiful weapon it seemed against the formidable sword of his opponent. The large warrior nodded once in seeming recognition of the futile bravery of the gesture. Then he raised his sword one final time and drove it home. And Zaerini ran once more, ran until her legs would bear her no longer. Then she huddled hidden by some thick bushes, hugging her own legs to keep from screaming, silent tears streaming down her face until at last she fell into uneasy sleep.