In The Cards

There isn’t necessarily anything wrong with being able to empathize with your opponent. It can even be an advantage at times, since it will help you understand him better. However, if it happens you need to pause and think for a while. And the question you need to ask yourself is where your loyalty really lies. That ought to tell you what you need to do.

Excerpt from ‘Interview With An Assassin’

It would have been such a simple thing to push the Iron Throne’s Head Butler out a window. Or stab, hang or poison him. Feeding him to a horde of hungry umberhulks would have been a little more challenging, but not impossible. Dropping an anvil on his head from a great height was the method Dekaras was currently favoring however. Assuming he could get his hands on an anvil. And assuming he could drag it up the stairs without anybody noticing and asking awkward questions. Still, it was a pleasant mental exercise.

I haven’t been this bored in a very long time, the assassin thought. Edwin had best hurry up and drag himself over here before I go totally out of my mind. I can’t believe I’m actually trying to entertain myself by planning an imaginary assassination of this sorry old soul.

Dekaras thought himself reasonably patient, and he was, for the most part. However, despite what he liked to think, when he got bored enough his frustrated brain would eventually seek an outlet. Any outlet would do, really, but preferably something complicated and destructive. When such was the case he also tended to unconsciously ignore certain trifling little details, such as personal safety, assuming he could make a semi-logical excuse for himself to do so. And right now he was extremely bored. If nothing happened soon things were almost bound to get dangerous.

After his ‘recovery’ of Sarevok’s private diary he really hadn’t been making much progress at all. This was due to the fact that the warrior had been absent a lot this past week, busying himself with attending various social functions among the nobility of Baldur’s Gate. Winski was always with him, presumably in order to prevent Sarevok from starting to chop off heads in his frustration at being forced to put up with such nonsense. Dekaras couldn’t blame either of them. But these circumstances did create a problem for him. He had a few ideas about how to get to Sarevok, but he needed to verify his theory somehow before progressing. Except with both Winski and Sarevok absent he was prevented from doing so, and had to settle for spending time in his current disguise.

It was an unfortunate fact that this disguise, named ‘Jacen Bron’ was that of a highly efficient butler. Serving drinks, fetching things and dusting was getting very old. Not to mention being forced to take orders from the Head Butler, a fussy and nervous man. Come to think of it, he seemed to get more nervous with every day. By now he twitched every time he instructed the assassin to do something. I really can’t imagine why. It’s not as if I’ve ever been anything but courteous towards him. I just wish he wouldn’t look quite so much like a twitching rabbit when he speaks to me; it’s extremely annoying. The man looks as if he thinks I’m about to eat him. And I do wish he’d stop apologizing every time he gives me an order.

Dekaras quietly contemplated a scenario where he skewered the Head Butler on his feather duster. As he did so his lips curled into a faint smile, even as his black eyes focused on a spot right over the Head Butler’s carotid artery. The poor man started stammering even worse than before. “A-and one of the Gentlemen r-requested for some refreshments to be s-sent to his private quarters,” he squeaked, pointing at an elegant black bottle standing on a silver tray along with a pair of crystal glasses. “That is if you d-d-don’t mind?”

The assassin raised an eyebrow in faint surprise. “Me, sir?” he said. “Not at all. I live to serve, as they say. I hope you have no objections to make regarding my performance thus far?”

“N-no! Not at a-all!”

“Good. I am glad to hear it. Now, sir, where did you wish me to deliver these ‘refreshments’?”

The Head Butler wiped his brow with relief. “Top floor,” he said. “There’s a h-hidden door behind the tapestry of the d-dragon. You can’t m-miss it.”

Then it can’t be a very expertly hidden door, now can it?

“Very good, sir,” Dekaras said smoothly. “Anything else?”

“Just p-please try to keep him h-happy, Bron. He’s been acting very s-strange lately.”

Is that so? Dekaras thought, making sure none of the triumph he was feeling showed on his face. Could it be that my luck has turned and that Sarevok is home at last? He made no comment however, but simply bowed and picked up the tray. It would be too suspicious to ask questions.

The assassin made his way upstairs, settling into that noiseless walk so treasured by professional killers as well as by servants everywhere. Finding the tapestry was no difficult task. It depicted a large Red Dragon breathing fire on a troop of armored knights, frying them alive. Edwin would undoubtedly love that one. Not very tasteful, but it does make a certain impression.

Behind the tapestry there was indeed a door. Dekaras carefully knocked on it, expertly balancing the tray on the fingers of his free hand. It had been tempting to pour a generous dollop of poison into the beverage, but he had decided against it. For one thing, Sarevok probably had an iron constitution, and it would be better to wait until he had a chance to augment the poison with something else, now that he had started formulating a plan. For another thing, he couldn’t be certain that it was in fact Sarevok waiting inside, and it would be extremely sloppy to kill the wrong person, not to mention distasteful.

Then the door was slowly pulled open, and the assassin calmly regarded the person standing on the other side. Not Sarevok, unfortunately. But it is not a complete loss, all the same. This could get very interesting. “Your refreshments, sir,” he said.

Winski Perorate nodded slowly, a faintly self-mocking smile on his lips. “Good,” he said. “Come inside, why don’t you? I could do with some company.”

As he busied himself with pouring wine into one of the glasses Dekaras’ surreptitiously studied his surroundings. Briefly he considered taking the wizard out. It would certainly deprive Sarevok of a valuable ally and create a big disruption in the ranks of the Iron Throne. I run the risk of getting interrupted though. There were two glasses on that tray, and I really don’t want Sarevok walking in on me. Besides, I don’t want to be hasty about this. He is dangerous, this one, and there may be a better way to take advantage of this situation.

The room was fairly small, but very comfortable. There was a dark green velvet couch, a small table in front of it, a writing desk and several tall bookcases overflowing with heavy tomes. No scrolls that I can see though, Dekaras thought. Now that is odd. The man is a wizard, after all. He would want to keep such tools close by, wouldn’t he? Ah, now I see. That painting – there will be a safe behind it. It would be worth a lot to get a closer look at that.

“Come, friend, why don’t you join me over a drink?” Winski said, and the slightly slurred quality of his speech told Dekaras that he’d likely had several already. “I’ve been drinking alone all afternoon. I feel the need for somebody to converse with – or at least listen to me rant.”

“I probably shouldn’t, sir. Not on duty. But if that is truly what you wish…”

“It is. Pour yourself a drink, man, and sit down. Having to look up at you like that is making me dizzy.”

Complying with the wizard’s wishes, the assassin served himself and then took a seat on one of the chairs on the opposite side of the table. The wary tension in his poise made a strange contrast to the weary and boneless way his companion slumped on the sofa. “What a day,” Winski said with a heavy sigh, sipping from his glass. His face was even gaunter than Dekaras remembered it, even if he’d never been this close to the wizard before. He almost makes even me look bulky by comparison. I wonder if he is ill? Winski’s eyes were deeply sunken into his skull, only a sharp glitter beneath his eyebrows hinting at their presence, and there were unhealthy-looking dark circles beneath them. His skin was almost gray in color, his clothes rumpled, and his coarse black hair was an unkempt mess. It all reminded Dekaras rather uncomfortably of what he would see in a mirror if he’d been on an assignment long enough and had forgotten about details like eating and sleeping. Though I hope I’ve never looked as if I’d drop dead if somebody poked me. No, it has to be more than an excess of work. Something is eating him from inside, I’d wager. And I have a feeling I can guess what it is. Poor devil. Edwin is one thing, but I don’t envy the one who tries to keep Sarevok in line.

“Tell me something, friend,” Winski said. “What is your name, by the way?”

“Bron, sir. Jacen Bron, at your service.”

“Right. Well then, Master Bron, a question for you. Do you by any chance have children?”

The question was such an unexpected and emotionally charged one that it actually managed to make the assassin flinch slightly, and he came very close to squeezing the foot of the glass he was holding right off. “I…do,” he said. “A…son.” Then he cursed himself inwardly for having admitted such a thing in front of what had to be considered an enemy. What are you doing? You can’t let anybody know that. For an instant he considered going for the wizard’s throat, but then the logical part of his brain won out over instinct. No. It was a stupid mistake to make, but it can do no real harm. He doesn’t know who I really am, after all. That one bit of information will do him no good.

“Ah,” Winski said, his voice a little sad as he drank from his glass. “And from your reaction just now I would venture to guess that your relationship is about as complicated as that of me and mine.”

“Reaction, sir?” Curse it; I must gather my thoughts better than this. He shouldn’t be able to read me that easily. Making a conscious effort of will, Dekaras smoothed his features into the emotionless mask he sometimes would adopt on purpose in order to unnerve people. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do. I hardly think you have anything to be ashamed of though. You couldn’t possibly have a more convoluted and nerve-wracking family life than I do.”

You might be surprised there. “Indeed, sir?” the assassin said out loud, narrowing his eyes. “What makes you say that?”

Winski didn’t answer immediately. His eyes were a little unfocused, Dekaras noticed, hinting that he was much drunker than had been apparent at first. “True,” he said, sounding rather bitter, “he may not be officially my son, but it is how you feel privately that matters, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely, sir,” the assassin agreed with great emphasis. “I couldn’t agree more.”

“He’s not really Reiltar’s either, you know,” Winski said with a whimsical smile on his face. “I dare say anybody with eyes and a brain could guess that much. That bastard would be hard pressed to father a goat, much less a wonder like Sarevok.” He paused. “In case you were thinking about blackmailing me in order to keep quiet about that remark, don’t bother. Reiltar already knows exactly how I feel about him. I stay for Sarevok’s sake, and he keeps me around because I’m powerful enough a mage to be useful to him. We’re both aware that we hate each other.”

“I…see.”

“I always knew Sarevok had great potential,” Winski continued, pouring himself another glass. “Ever since Reiltar adopted him, when he was just a boy starving on the streets. Not how great exactly, but still. Would you know, at first I thought I might somehow gain greater power through helping him develop his own. And then…I started to care for him. Love him, even.” His face twisted briefly with pain. “I never had much use for love before. And then once…but it makes no difference and I cannot speak of it. You have a child of your own, you said, Bron. Then you must know what it is like. You want nothing but the best for him, you would tear the world apart for his sake, though sometimes you think he’ll be the death of you.”

“Of course,” Dekaras murmured in a low voice, speaking only partly to the wizard in front of him. “And rip out the throat of anybody threatening him, no matter who.”

“Yes, exactly! And suffer just about any pain for his sake.”

“Certainly. Die for him, even.”

“Absolutely. And you constantly worry about his safety, particularly when he insists that he’s old enough to handle everything on his own.”

“Which of course he isn’t. And which makes you lie awake at night, dreading what new disastrous scheme he might have got himself involved in.”

Winski nodded vigorously. “I can see you are a man after my own heart, Bron,” he said. “You obviously know how it is. Here, have another drink.”

“I haven’t finished the first one.”

“Makes no difference. With worries like these, we need to get drunk. I wonder if yours is as cocky and stubborn as mine?”

Dekaras thought about that for a moment. “I’d certainly say so,” he said. “More inclined towards verbal aggression than physical, perhaps.”

Winski sighed. “And more well-balanced, I don’t doubt.” He leaned his head into his hands. “It’s all gone wrong, Bron,” he said, and now his voice was dead and leaden. “We had this plan, you see. I can’t tell you the details of course, but it was an excellent plan, or so I thought. We’ll probably succeed too. But now…the changes in him are becoming more and more rapid, and they are not what I had hoped they would be. He’s slipping away from me, Bron. I…worry that soon I won’t be able to reach him at all. That he will…discard me, not allowing me to give him the help he needs.”

At least I don’t have that particular problem. Which is fortunate, or I’d probably be just as miserable as he is. “Perhaps it need not happen that way, sir.”

“Perhaps. But I have more or less resigned myself to my fate, Bron.” Winski’s face was set and drawn. “It will all be over soon. One way or another. As long as this is really what will benefit him the most, then I won’t mind. It’s just that I have a feeling that…” He interrupted himself, as there was a loud and impatient knock at the door, the knock of a large and mailed fist.

Sarevok strode into the room, somehow managing to fill it both bodily and vocally. “Winski,” he said. “I am sorry about what I said before, but I still order you to…” Then he broke off as he spotted the other occupant of the room. “What is he doing here?”

Not a particularly warm welcome, but of course assassins don’t usually get that. I suppose I should be grateful that he actually asked and didn’t simply attempt to behead me.

“Master Bron was good enough to bring me some refreshments and keep me company,” Winski said. “Do try to show some respect or I’ll share the story of your first dancing lessons with him.”

Dekaras was then treated to the sight of seeing the huge armored man in front of him look acutely embarrassed. Winski’s tone of voice had sounded remarkably familiar. So that’s how it sounds from the outside. Interesting. “I was about to leave anyway, sir,” he said. “Duty calls. Simply allow me to say that I understand your concerns, more so than you may realize. I don’t doubt that if there is anything at all you can do to achieve your goals, then you will.”

“Yes.” Winski raised his hand in a gesture of farewell. “Anything for the sake of the children, after all. Right, Master Bron?”

“Quite so,” the assassin said, bowing to his opposite before he deftly slipped past the large and threatening shape of Sarevok and into the shadowy corridor outside. “Anything for the sake of the children. Anything at all.”