In The Cards

Always try to understand what motivates the people around you, be it gold, honor, power or prestige. Whatever their most powerful drive is, that will be your key to getting them exactly where you want them, preferably without them noticing it. Make the bait sweet enough and they won't ever notice the hook until it's far too late.

Excerpt from 'Interview With An Assassin'

Cythandria was feeling very pleased with herself. The blonde mage had decided to take the opportunity while Sarevok was away to further strengthen her already considerable allure. A slow bath with rose oil to seep into her soft and silky white skin, followed by a relaxing massage. A careful manicure and pedicure. Generous dollops of strongly seductive perfume behind each ear, in the hollow of her throat and in some other, more…intimate…places. Then some attention paid to her hair, now carefully piled on top of her head like a golden crown, except for a few artful ringlets tumbling down towards her rounded shoulders. Then the makeup.

Cythandria admired herself in her full-length mirror with a satisfied smile, showing pearly white teeth between red lips, soft and full and plump. Her baby-blue eyes took in the radiant vision in front of her beneath lashes currently carefully darkened. Just a little more powder on her nose and she would be perfect. Yes. There. The deep red dress she was wearing pushed in and pushed out in all the right the places, the rubies at her throat were the perfect compliment to it. I'm a goddess. Perfect, lovely, enchanting and divine. Sarevok will never be able to resist me. The wizardess' red lips twisted into a cold and unpleasant smile. I almost wish that bitch Tamoko could be present to watch us couple. To watch him reach out for me, as hot and eager as can be. Maybe that would be enough to make her slink back to her dirty little shit-hole of a country with her tail between her legs. Sarevok will be mine. I always get my man.

Yes. Sarevok. Cythandria considered the man she wanted. Strong, stronger than any man she'd ever met. Incredibly powerful. You could feel his presence as soon as he entered a room, like power was seeping out through his very skin. You could see that power burning in those strange eyes of his, you could hear it in every word he spoke in that deep and rumbling voice, a voice like approaching thunder. The mage took a deep breath and fanned herself. She couldn't allow herself to get distracted. That Sarevok was very much an attractive man was pleasant, but it was by no means the important thing. She would have sought him out if he'd been an old and withered husk or if he'd had the looks of a pig. What mattered was power. Sarevok had power like no other man she knew.

But a man may be as powerful as a god, and it matters little. What matters is which woman is clever enough to capture his fancy and use that power through him. Oh, he is like a powerful lion, big and dangerous. But already I am tying my leash around his neck, oh so gently, oh so carefully. Soon he will go where I want him to go, and kill at my command. And somehow I think Tamoko will be first on my list.

Tamoko. Cythandria frowned angrily as she thought of her rival. She couldn't comprehend what Sarevok saw in the other woman, and that annoyed her very much. Tamoko never seemed to pay much attention to her appearance. She certainly never bothered with the fine silks and velvets that Cythandria so adored. She almost always wore armor, same as any male warrior. And she never seemed to do anything to ingratiate herself to Sarevok either. She didn't flatter him, like Cythandria did, and tell him what a strong and wonderful man he was, and how worthy he was of becoming a ruler. She didn't tell him how weak and foolish she was in comparison to such a wonderful man, a tactic that Cythandria had often employed to great success in her various romantic endeavors. She didn't tell him how much she was in need of his strength to protect her either, and that was plain foolishness. In Cythandria's experience there was no man who could resist a woman smiling sweetly at him and telling him how much she needed him.

Sarevok should have tired of Tamoko long since, Cythandria thought. And yet he kept going back to her. The other woman had owned him first, it was true. But it was still annoying that this seduction was taking her so long. She was getting impatient. True, she'd had Sarevok in her bed a few times, and experienced some of that raging power for herself. She was certain he had appreciated it. After all, she was very skilled in the arts of love. But he wouldn't leave Tamoko entirely. The one time Cythandria had dared to carefully bring it up he'd looked as if he were about to strike her, and for a moment she'd thought he would. Then he'd told her plainly that she would never mention that subject again. And she hadn't, she'd just had to resort to more subtle tactics. Carefully drawing attention to every time Tamoko didn't seem as enthusiastic as she ought to be about Sarevok's plans, implicating that the other woman might not be entirely loyal.

It was working, if slowly. Her latest achievement was proof of that. When Sarevok went away on whatever errand had taken him away from the City this time Cythandria had made sure that she, not Tamoko, was the last female face he saw. He was starting to trust her more and more. And so when she'd suggested, oh so helpfully, oh so deferentially, that Tamoko's various duties kept her too busy to take on another important task, Sarevok had done exactly what she wanted him to do. The blonde mage smiled again and carefully touched the object tucked into her generous cleavage. She kept it on her at all times. While she didn't care particularly about the contents of Sarevok's diary, having possession of it had scored her quite a few points in the game she was playing against Tamoko. Besides, it was locked anyway, with an intricate lock that had resisted what opening spells she knew. And she knew she would have to give it back anyway, now that he'd returned.

Cythandria's smile slowly widened. It was time. Time to launch her next attack, now that Sarevok was back. He sent for me. Not her. Me.

The mage took out the note she'd received earlier that evening and read it triumphantly, not for the first time.

Cythandria,

I have missed you sorely during my absence. My mind is enflamed with thoughts of you, of the time we have spent together and the time ahead of us. And there will be much time ahead of us. Once my goals are realized, I shall need a worthy consort. I now realize there can be none more worthy than you. Only those who are truly loyal to me deserve my favor, and those who are not will be made to pay. It is my wish that you be there to watch as I mete out that payment in blood.

Meet me on the roof terrace on the stroke of midnight. We have much to discuss, and I wish to thank you in person and privately for what you have done for me. I expect the thanking will take some time, so I hope you will be well rested as you go to meet me.

Impatiently,
Sarevok

She could almost hear his voice as he spoke those words, so commanding, so penetrating. His consort… He goal was within her reach at last. Those who are not will be made to pay. So he'd finally decided to rid himself of the bitch. And he wanted to thank her privately. Cythandria smirked as she placed the letter next to her heart, along with the diary. If he wanted his diary back, she intended for him to have to retrieve it with his own hands. That ought to stir him.

The mage made her way to the top of the Iron Throne tower, using a spell of invisibility in order not to be spotted by anybody. The last thing she needed was Tamoko interfering. As she stepped onto the Roof Terrace she allowed the spell to wink out. The night air was cool, and she shivered slightly, despite the cloak she'd put on. "Sarevok?" she asked. There was no reply. I must be early. Or maybe he is late. I should make him pay for that. It would be fun to see him beg a little.

The moon was close to full, probably only a few days away from it. But it was only visible now and then behind the thick clouds that chased across the sky, and the roof terrace was covered with pools of shadow, dark as Shar's tresses, bits of pure night. What am I, a child? I'm a mage, I shouldn't be jumping at shadows.

Cythandria walked over to the iron railing, leaning on it, and gazed out over the city of Baldur's Gate. It glowed beneath her like a living creature, shimmering with a thousand lights, humming and stirring in a thousand voices, even at night. The merchants and nobles, children and workers of the day might be sleeping. But this was the time of courtesans and their clients, of burglars and robbers, of necromancers and assassins. The city had a dark side as well as a light one, and there was power to be had from both. One day, Cythandria thought triumphantly. One day soon, this will all be Sarevok's. And through him, it will all be mine. Grand Duchess Cythandria. I like the sound of that. Queen Cythandria might be even better. Yes. I think I shall definitely have him make me a queen.

Another cloud drifted across the moon, this time covering it entirely, making the shadows gather closer, black and silent. Where is Sarevok? He must be taught that nobody crosses me.

And then there was a strong arm around her shoulders from behind, and for a moment she thought it was her belated lover, but then another arm slipped around her neck, swift as a striking snake, intimate as a lover's caress. No! Cythandria just had time to think. He sent for me! I was to be his consort… Then there was pain, and an audible cracking sound, and Cythandria knew no more as the shadows rushed in to greet her.

Dekaras let the mage's corpse slide silently to the ground even as she exhaled her last breath. The diary was just where he'd thought it would be, seeing that he'd searched every inch of her room previously without finding it, and he managed to draw it out without touching too much of her flesh. What is that revolting perfume she's wearing? he thought. She smells like she poured half a bottle over herself. I'll have to take a bath as soon as I'm done here or I'll stink for days. The things I do for that boy never cease to amaze me…

The diary was locked and would have to wait for later. The important thing was gaining hold of it, and Sarevok's private thoughts and plans along with it. It was a pity Cythandria had been so obsessive about keeping it on her person at all times or he might have been able to steal and copy it without killing her. Not that he cared particularly about whether she lived or died, but he had no wish to blow his cover just yet. Thus this little subterfuge. The assassin hauled out the letter along with the diary. He'd been correct in assuming she'd carry it with her, but he'd made certain to make a back-up plan, just in case. The letter was written in a special type of ink, one that would disappear in a few hours, leaving no trace of the message.

Almost a pity that. I made such a nice imitation of Sarevok's handwriting too. Nothing a professional forger couldn't see through, but enough for the likes of her. I'm almost tempted to sign his name on a bill or two as well, just to keep in practice. But I suppose that would be too risky. Oh well. Back to business it is.

Once he'd made certain Cythandria was carrying no other items of interest, the assassin lifted her dead body, once again wincing at the penetrating smell of her perfume, and threw her over the railing. The corpse bounced against walls and outcroppings a couple of times, before landing on the cobbled pavement with a loud * splat * that could be heard even from the top of the Tower. That should do it. Perfectly reasonable for her to be found with a snapped neck after a fall like that. No reason for anybody to suspect foul play. And now for the final touch.

Dekaras pulled out a small glass bottle and poured a generous dollop of green fluid over the iron railing, just where it met the wall. The iron immediately began to rust and corrode, and before long it crumbled, making it easy for him to tear it loose. Now it would seem that Cythandria had leant against the faulty railing, and that her weight had caused it to break, hurling her to her death. The assassin's black eyes scanned the roof terrace, making sure that everything was in order. It certainly seemed as neat and tidy as he could wish for. Now for that bath, before she chokes me in return. And then I think I have some reading to catch up with…

Sarevok wasn't sure exactly what it was that woke him up. It didn't make any sense. As soon as he'd returned from his failed attempt to catch his little sister, he'd gone to Tamoko, seeking comfort and release in her arms. Their love-making had been passionate, more so than it had been for weeks. Perhaps it had been his frustration at his failure that had driven him. He didn't know, and it hardly mattered. What did matter was that he ought to have been deep in sleep next to his lover, dead to the world for what remained of the night. And yet something had woken him up, a chill feeling at the nape of his neck, as if somebody had just walked across his grave. A flicker of movement at the corner of his eye as he sat up, still half asleep. Had that been something passing by the window? It was gone now. For some reason that made him think of another night, a few months ago, when he'd caught up with another of his siblings. Choking the life out of the little worm with his bare hands, then throwing him off the roof had been very pleasurable. Seeing the dark blood seep onto the wet cobblestones equally so.

One less who carries the blood, Sarevok thought. One less rival for my Father's power. Yes, that was a very satisfying death. But why did I suddenly remember it?

"Sarevok?" Tamoko said, stroking her lover's powerfully muscled back. "What is it?"

"It is nothing," the warrior responded. "Nothing of importance." He lay down again, stroking Tamoko's coal-black hair as he tried to determine what was worrying him. On the surface everything was right, apart from the fact that his annoying little sister had eluded him once again. And yet he couldn't quite shake the feeling that something was wrong, that something was rotten deep within the Iron Throne. I'll have to remember to retrieve my diary from Cythandria tomorrow morning. Perhaps putting my thoughts to paper will help me clear my mind. Yes. That's what I will do. First thing tomorrow morning.