In The Cards

Who, indeed, can you trust? Sometimes there is a fine line between prudence and paranoia. Trust nobody, and you risk losing your humanity. Trust the wrong people, and you risk losing your life. Keeping the balance is like walking along the edge of a knife, where a single misstep may doom you. For instance, putting your trust in dead gods of murder, friendly strangers who want you to transport a small and harmless-looking package across the border, or horse-traders named 'Honest Harry' is generally a bad move. You may safely trust me on this - as on all other matters.

Excerpt from 'Interview With An Assassin'

There were tiny claws pressing into his bare chest. Sarevok's golden eyes flew open and stared into a pair of tiny red ones. They belonged to a small and wrinkled gray face, complete with large and flapping ears and a pair of sharp little horns. The face was currently twisted into an unpleasant grin. "Wheee!" the imp gleefully shouted. "Wakey, wakey! Muchly important things to do, Spiky-One! Much troubles!" It started bouncing up and down on his chest. "Cythandria go splat!" it sang in a shrill voice. "Cythandria go splat, Cythandria go splat! Make Cythandria really flat, flat as a mat! Splat, splat, SPLAT!" It started doing a little merry dance, wiggling its pointed tail about.

Semaj's damned imp again, Sarevok thought. This time it dies. The imp was called Flopsy, and was the familiar of Semaj, one of Sarevok's personal hirelings. The young man was a good mage, and a valuable asset, since Winski obviously couldn't be expected to deal with every single magical aspect of the Plan himself. Semaj's imp, however, was a complete pest. Only the knowledge that strangling the annoying creature would make the wizard leave his position had kept Sarevok from doing it so far. But now he'd had enough. There were many things he was prepared to face early in the morning, but a dancing Flopsy wasn't one of them.

"Die, imp!" the warrior snarled, one massive hand sweeping out towards the imp. He really wished he'd had his sword. Unfortunately the creature was quick enough to leap into the air on bat-like wings, giggling in an infuriating manner.

"Ooooh!" the imp mocked him. "Spiky-One mad now! Spiky-One even madder soon! Go downstairs, he'll soon see, yes he will!" Sticking its tongue out at the enraged Sarevok who had leapt out of bed and was reaching for his sword, the imp made a loop in the air and whizzed out the window, still giggling. Once I ascend to my Father's Throne, my first divine act will be to exterminate all imps, Sarevok thought. Preferably in a painful way.

"Sarevok?" Tamoko said as she sat up in bed. "What is going on?"

"Just Semaj's accursed pet again," Sarevok growled, starting to pull on his trousers. "I'll make sure to speak with him about letting the thing bother us." He cracked his knuckles. "In no uncertain terms." Then he paused. What had the imp said anyway, amidst all that pointless chatter? Cythandria? Something about Cythandria.

"Something has happened," Tamoko stated, her voice sharper now. "I can see it in your face." She slipped out of bed, graceful as a hunting cat, sleek and alert, reaching for her katana before she even touched her clothes, making certain it was close at hand.

"Yes," Sarevok said, trying not to lose himself in the sight of her olive-skinned beauty, her proud bearing and fierce eyes. He needed to be focused. "It seems something has happened to Cythandria."

Tamoko didn't smile, but there was a faint sparkle in her eyes all the same. "I see," she simply said. "Will it badly upset your plans, do you think?"

Our plans. They should have been our plans. Why can you not see that, Tamoko? You, the only worthy consort to the future Lord of Murder? They should be our plans.

SHE CANNOT BE TRUSTED, SON. SHE MUST DIE, YOU KNOW THAT. AS MUST ALL THOSE THAT WOULD STAND IN YOUR WAY.

No! Not her, Father! Never her. She is loyal. I…I love her.

OH? SHE NEVER LIKED CYTHANDRIA, YOU KNOW. CYTHANDRIA WARNED YOU ABOUT HOW TAMOKO COULD NOT BE TRUSTED. AND NOW CYHTANDRIA IS DEAD. CURIOUS COINCIDENCE. AND LOVE IS A WEAKNESS, A MORTAL FLAW, LEAVING YOU OPEN TO BETRAYAL.

NO! She would never betray me! She wouldn't! And I don't even know what happened to Cythandria yet.

THEN PERHAPS YOU SHOULD GO FIND OUT. AND REMEMBER, YOU ARE MY HEIR. NONE MUST BE ALLOWED TO HINDER YOU.

"I'm going to find out what happened to Cythandria," Sarevok told his lover, his voice much harder than he had meant it to be. "And if somebody is undermining my plans I mean to deal with it. Any way I have to."

Tamoko's black eyes were enigmatic, her face unreadable. "Yes," she simply said. "I know you will. We all do what we must."

Sarevok was in an even worse mood than before as he went downstairs. What had just transpired between him and Tamoko hadn't been a quarrel, exactly. But there were undercurrents in their relationship, strange eddies and whirlpools that were making him confused and angry. When had things started to change between them? It used to be so simple. But now…there was a distance between them, and he didn't know how to cross that distance, or even how it had come to be. The frustration made him want to lash out and kill something, but he didn't know what.

As Sarevok came outside he saw Winski and Semaj standing with their backs towards him, looking at something on the ground. The older mage was in black as usual, but Semaj was wearing a flamboyant yellow mage robe that clashed violently against his red hair and made Sarevok feel quite nauseous. "I am here," Sarevok said, his voice impassive. "Why have you seen fit to disturb my rest?" There was an unspoken threat in the last sentence, one that carried with it impressions of blood, death, and disconnected body-parts.

Winski turned around slowly, as usual showing no sign of being particularly impressed with Sarevok's bad temper. "It wasn't so much us," he said, "as Cythandria. It seems the poor girl has just entered into a highly dangerous liaison."

Sarevok blinked. He hadn't thought anybody knew. It was just that one time… It didn't mean anything, not really. Tamoko is the only woman I want. Cythandria was just…a bad mistake.

"A highly dangerous liaison with the pavement, that is," Winski added helpfully. "They apparently met last night. I thought you ought to know." He stepped aside, making a small flourish with his arm. Sarevok stared at the thing on the ground. Cythandria had been a beautiful woman in life. Though not half as beautiful as Tamoko, of course. Now she was mostly…flat. Just as that annoying imp had said. Yet another death in my wake. Nothing new about that. But…hold a moment. Cythandria. I was supposed to see her this morning, wasn't I? About…my…diary…

"MY DIARY!" Sarevok shouted, loud enough to make a flock of ravens lift from the top of the Iron Throne building, cawing with terror. Then he threw himself at the dead woman, ignoring the blood and gore as he searched furiously for the object that ought to have been there, but somehow…wasn't. She told me she'd keep it safe, she told me she'd watch it, she told me she'd carry it with her always, she told me I could trust her, she told me it would be safe! Betrayal. Anger. Murderous hot fury. They ignited his brain, making him see nothing but red. She betrayed me! She died and she lost it! She must PAY! His Father's voice was a faint cackling laughter at the back of his brain as he brought the Sword of Chaos up, then down again. Blood. Blood on his hands, on his face. It was sweet, it was real, it was his birthright.

"Sarevok." Winski's voice, sharp and worried, cutting through the red haze. "Sarevok! She is dead already."

Sarevok slowly came back to himself, the rage ebbing away. The corpse at his feet was even more mangled by now, and there was blood on his hands and arms, on his swordblade. Old, dark blood, not the sweet stuff of life. NOT WHAT WE WANT, his Father said. NOT WHAT WE NEED.

"I know she is," Sarevok said, his voice now frighteningly cold and collected after his outburst, inhumanly so. "Winski, I need to speak with you. Privately. And Semaj…" He turned to the younger mage, his golden eyes blazing dangerously. "If that imp of yours ever enters my bedchamber again, there will be less left of you than there is of her." He pointed with his sword at Cythandria's body. "You would do well to remember that." He ignored Semaj's frantic and pathetic excuses and pleadings and shouldered past the two wizards, back into the Iron Throne building. Winski would follow him, he knew. Him, at least, I can trust. He paused. I think. Yes…I think I can.

A short while later Sarevok stood on top of the Iron Throne building, watching as Winski performed a scrying spell. From time to time the mage kept shooting peculiar glances at Sarevok, his face tense and almost…worried. Nonsense. What does he have to worry about? It's my diary that's missing.

UNLESS PERHAPS HE IS THE ONE WHO TOOK IT, MY SON. CAN YOU REALLY TRUST HIM? ISN'T HE LIKE ALL THE OTHERS? HAPPY TO PARASITE OFF YOUR STRENGTH, YET QUICK TO ABANDON YOU IN TIMES OF TROUBLE. YOU ARE AS INTELLIGENT AS YOU ARE STRONG. SURELY YOU MUST KNOW, THAT THERE IS ONLY ONE ENTITY IN WHOM YOU CAN TRUST COMPLETELY. HAVE I EVER BETRAYED YOU? ABANDONED YOU? DENIED YOU WHAT YOU WANT, WHAT YOU DESERVE?

No. No, you have not.

THEN PUT YOUR TRUST IN ME AND ME ALONE. I WILL NOT STEER YOU WRONG. LEAVE THESE MORTAL CONCERNS AND 'FRIENDSHIPS' BEHIND, AND PREPARE TO MEET YOUR DESTINY. MY HEIR. MY PRINCE. MY SON.

Sarevok's face hardened a little. It was true, wasn't it? Anybody could be against him. They all had been, even from the beginning when he was a child, fighting to survive on the streets. Why should this be any different? The essence of Bhaal was calling to him more strongly day by day, his Father's voice drowning out those of all others. He looked upon his mentor and the man he had once thought of as his closest friend, his eyes hard. "Well?" he barked. "Have you found anything, or are you as useless as these other fools?"

Winski's head snapped around, and for once there was some life and emotion animating his usually calm face and dead eyes. Cold anger. "Have you decided to become a mage as well, then, since you obviously know such a great deal about scrying spells?" he asked, his tone biting. "Pardon me, I must have missed it. Do let me know when you want to go out and buy your first robe and wand, I can probably help you get a good deal without you having to chop somebody's head off." He sighed, and suddenly Sarevok noticed how tired he looked, like a man half-dead. "I've been trying to scry for what happened here, as well as for your precious diary. And I'd certainly like to know whatever possessed you to leave it with that stupid woman in the first place, but that's going to have to wait or I'll fall asleep where I stand."

"And?"

"And the results are meager, to say the least. The diary still exists, that much I could tell, but beyond that nothing. I cannot even say if somebody stole it or if Cythandria hid it somewhere herself. And as for her death…" Winski pointed at the broken railing. "That may or may not have been an accident. The only thing I can pick up is an impression of shadows. Nothing else."

"And that means?"

"Nothing whatsoever. Some people are difficult to locate through scrying. And I don't know who I'm looking for, or even if there is anybody to look for." The wizard frowned. "I shall continue to do so, of course, and for your diary as well. But I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you. We shall simply have to be especially careful. You wrote nothing too dangerous in that diary, I trust?"

Sarevok was trying to recall exactly what he had written. Many things. Many things that he didn't want anybody to know, and most particularly not Reiltar. "Well…" he said, and his voice sounded a little feeble even to his own ears. "It had a very good lock. Unpickable, or so the vendor said."

Winski simply looked at him. "I'll just go back to scrying then, shall I?" he said. He shook his head, murmuring something about 'unthinking children'.

Sarevok wandered back downstairs, feeling very much put out. He had a strong feeling that he'd somehow managed to make a terrific fool of himself, and he didn't like it one bit. As he stalked into one of the small sitting-rooms on the third floor every merchant who saw his darkly scowling face rapidly vacated the premises. Gritting his teeth he slumped in a comfortable chair, glaring after the fleeing men. He wanted to kill somebody, and soon. That would surely make him feel better. If only he'd known who he should go after. He sighed deeply. Give him a fight to the death any day, rather than this swiping at shadows.

"Anything I can get you, sir?" The low voice speaking right into his ear came as a complete surprise, and it was only through exercising all of his self-control that Sarevok, the would-be Lord of Murder, managed to avoid jumping. Slowly, so as not to appear startled, he turned his head around. Then he had to blink. For a moment he'd thought he was seeing Winski. But no, it was only one of the servants who'd somehow managed to materialize inside what Sarevok had been certain was an empty room. Still, there was something about the man that reminded him a little of Winski, perhaps the focused look on his sharp face. "A drink perhaps?" the servant smoothly went on, seemingly unconcerned about the blazing golden eyes watching him. "Some coffee?"

Sarevok frowned. "How did you get in here?" he asked. "Why didn't I hear you?"

The servant looked politely puzzled by the question. "I was here all along, sir," he said. "I was merely being discreet, so as not to disturb you. You did seem a trifle agitated however, and so I thought I should ask if there was anything I could do. I hope I have not overstepped."

"No," the warrior said. "No, that is all right." At least somebody is being properly respectful.

"Shall I get you that drink then, sir? I do make an excellent 'Dragon's Breath', even if I do say so myself."

Sarevok shook his head. "No," he said. "No, I am not in the mood."

The servant bowed briefly, his face expression-less. "Very good, sir. Shall I leave you to your musings, then?"

"In a moment," Sarevok said. He'd just had an idea. Winski's scryings might very well fail, and a backup-plan might be just the thing. Besides, he still wasn't sure whether he could trust Winski completely. He was certain somebody must have stolen his diary. Suppose it was even Winski himself? It could be anybody. And this man did seem like a discreet and intelligent fellow, and able to follow instructions. "I…have lost something," Sarevok carefully explained. "A leather-bound book, about so big. Carefully locked. It contains some personal notes that I am eager to have back. You must go everywhere in this place, you could very well happen to come across it. Perhaps even in somebody's quarters. If you do, bring it to me. I will see that you are rewarded for your trouble."

The servant's black eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "I…see," he said. "Most generous of you, sir. Yes, if I should happen to come across this book I will certainly remember that you want it back. I shall make certain to keep an eye out for it."

"One more thing," Sarevok added, his voice carrying with it the building threat of approaching thunder. "Do not attempt to keep this book in your possession, and make certain to let me know with whom you find it. Those who serve me well will always be rewarded, but those who would oppose me will face my wrath."

The servant nodded. "A wise policy, sir. I would have expected no less of you, and I shall bear that in mind." He bowed again, and then drifted out of the room like a wisp of smoke.

Sarevok frowned to himself. It was a good plan, and it just might work. Yes. Surely it would. So why did he suddenly feel a vague sense of unease?