In The Cards

It is an amazing amount of havoc that can be caused by two people unknowingly approaching the same goal from completely different directions, without thinking about what will happen when they meet in the middle.

Excerpt from ‘Interview With An Assassin’

In the end the adventurers decided to return to the Elfsong with as much ale as they could carry, not wanting to tarry around the Blushing Mermaid in case Larze the Ogre came back with an angry Sarevok in tow. Once there, they proceeded to enjoy themselves. Imoen, who wasn’t particularly fond of ale, ordered six nauseatingly pink drinks with bits of fruit and berries in, and insisted that everybody drink up. Edwin shuddered at the sweet and sticky taste, it reminded him of a cough relief potion more than anything else.

The wizard had been feeling strangely out of sorts all day, irritable and restless. There was an indeterminate feeling of wrongness. Partly it was that he felt a growing sense of urgency about the Iron Throne. Soon it would be necessary to confront the organization directly, Scar had even given them official leave to do so after the business of the Ogre Mage had been cleared up. It was natural that he should feel some tension at the thought, he supposed. But that was not all.

It is strange that Teacher Dekaras hasn’t contacted me over the past few days. I would at least have expected him to get in touch once he finished up that business with Imoen. Edwin stared morosely into his drink as he pondered this. I know he wouldn’t want me to worry, and if he were here he’d tell me not to. But I just can’t help it.

He couldn’t even go check, since his mentor hadn’t let him know where he was currently staying, and the total inability to do anything was driving him up the walls.

“Edwin?” Zaerini suddenly said. “What’s wrong?”

“What? No. No, no, no. Nothing is wrong at all. Why would something be wrong?”

“Well…you haven’t said a word in the past five minutes. It isn’t like you.”

The bard was giving him a curious look, her golden eyes looking straight into his, and she had a little smile on her lips. I want to tell you, my Hellkitten. I would share everything with you. But I can’t. Not this. “It…is really nothing,” Edwin said, trying to sound sincere. “I just feel a little ill, that is all.”

Jaheira bent forward across the table to take a closer look at him. “You do look rather pale. Go and lie down and I will come and take a look at you in a moment.”

Edwin shook his head. “I will be all right. I think I am just tired, and some rest should make me feel better.”

“Very well,” the druid said. “But let me know if it gets worse.”

The wizard nodded briefly and headed upstairs. A short while later he was lying on his bed, staring at the roof. It probably was only tiredness that was the cause of the gnawing anxiety in his soul. It had been a tense past few days after all. I’m sure he’s all right. If he wasn’t, he’d let me know, wouldn’t he? Of course he would. Unless…unless for some reason he couldn’t. Edwin immediately tried to push the logical conclusion to that line of thought out of his mind and failed miserably. Suppose…suppose he is in bad trouble and needs my help? I haven’t any idea where to look for him! Why, oh why didn’t I become a Diviner instead? Then there wouldn’t have been a problem. Maybe I can find one somewhere…but if he is all right he won’t appreciate it. But what if he isn’t?

It is quite possible that the Red Wizard could have gone on like this for several hours if he hadn’t been interrupted. As it was, there was suddenly a quiet knock at the door. “Message for you, sir!” a childishly piping voice called out.

“Yes, yes,” Edwin snapped impatiently. “Hurry up and come on in.” It has to be from him. So he must be all right.

The door opened and a small and very grubby street urchin stepped inside, one of the innumerable beggar children of the city, with a wary little face peeking out of the torn clothes of somebody much larger than him. The effect resembled that of a wandering heap of rags. “Hey!” the boy said. “Mr Wizard! I got a message for you.”

“So hurry up and give it to me then!”

The child shrugged. “Isn’t a written one. Friend o’ yours sent me to fetch you is all. Tall fellow wearin’ black. You comin’ or what?”

“Yes, yes, yes, but didn’t he say anything else?”

“Nope. Just to get you there as soon as possible.” The child looked very solemn. “You may wanna hurry up about it too, Mister. He looked really bad. I think maybe he’ll be dead before mornin’.”

“What?” Edwin breathed, his voice sounding strangely distant to his own ears. And his vision had suddenly gone completely gray, and…

BONK.

“Hey! Hey, Mister! You dead too or something?”

“Urrrrghhh…” Edwin groaned, forcing his eyes open to see the little boy looking curiously back at him. He was lying on the floor. Then the memory came rushing back and he felt as if a horse had kicked him violently in the stomach. “W-what was that you said? Dying! No! NO! You’re lying! You have to be!”

“Don’t blame me, Mister. I’m just the messenger. Are ya comin’ or what? He said he’d pay me more when I got back there with ya, but if he’s already dead I won’t get any…”

Not trusting himself to speak anymore without his voice giving out on him, Edwin silently followed the child down the back stairs and through the narrow alleys of the Baldurs’ Gate docks. As he did, one single line of thought kept running through his mind. Please don’t die. Please don’t die. Please don’t die…

He just wished that his teacher had somehow been able to hear him.

The boy led the way to a small and anonymous inn, past a surly bartender who gave Edwin a suspicious look but then went back to spreading dirt over the bar with a towel that had probably been clean a century ago, and up some narrow stairs. “Here it is,” the child said, stopping in front of one door. “Go on, he said to knock three times, then two, and then go straight in.”

Edwin hurriedly knocked once on the door, and then yanked it open to rush inside. “Yaaagh!” he cried out as a crossbow bolt whirred through the air and embedded itself in the door, a couple of inches from nailing his right ear to it.

“Do you ever…pay attention?” Dekaras’ voice said from somewhere inside the shadows of the dark room. “I said…to knock three times, and then two, so I’d know not…to try to kill you.” He coughed quietly and it was with an icy feeling in the pit of his stomach that Edwin noticed that his voice sounded hollow and terse, as if he had to make an effort even to speak. “You’re lucky I have…quick reflexes. Ferus…your pay.”

The little boy deftly caught the two coins as they sailed through the air, grinning widely. “Thank you, Mister, and good luck!” he said, and then disappeared out the door, which he closed behind him.

Edwin wasted no time, but immediately summoned a mage light and hung it in the air. The sight that met him shook his concentration badly enough that it almost went out again. Dekaras was reclining on a rather uncomfortable-looking bed on the other side of the room. He had propped himself up with some pillows, and supported the crossbow against his knees. It was still pointed in the direction of the door, though no longer at Edwin. Basically, the child Ferus hadn’t been far off in his guess. The assassin looked as if he were about ready to kick Death’s Door open. His face had a hollow, sunken look about it, and was an unhealthy gray color, his clothes were torn in places and the pillows he was leaning against had some very worrying dark and wet stains. He looked as if he had to fight to keep his eyes open.

The world stood still, immobile in time like a flower caught by the first autumn frost. It still had the same shape and form, but pale and lifeless. Then Edwin felt his heart start beating again, and before he knew it his feet were propelling him across the floor and he was throwing himself on his knees next to the bed. “Oh no…” he breathed. “Oh no, oh no, oh no…what happened? Can you talk? What happened? You…you aren’t going to die, aren’t you?” There were hot tears rising in his eyes now, almost blinding him, and he wiped them away with a violent gesture. “You…you can’t die! You mustn’t! I won’t let you. It was…it was Imoen’s fault wasn’t it? She somehow made this happen, I knew you shouldn’t have spent so much time with her and there was that vampire and…”

“Enough.” The assassin spoke quietly, but very firmly, and in the magelight his eyes glittered with red fire from within his angular face. “This…has nothing to do with her. And I am…not dying. Not quite.”

“Y-you’re not?” A sudden thought struck the panicky wizard. “Wait, I have a healing potion here, I’ll get it, don’t move…” Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why didn’t I bring any more? Yeslick has some, I could have got them, I could have explained it somehow…

“Better,” Dekaras said once he had finished off the potion. “Much better. I…have already gone through…my entire own supply today.” He was sitting a little more upright now, and just a little bit of color had returned to his face, though he still looked as if he would fall over if he tried to walk and there was a feverish glint to his eyes. He was smiling faintly though. “Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“But what has happened?” the still frantic Edwin asked. “Who has done this?”

Dekaras was silent for a moment. “A very interesting man,” he said. “I have…the highest regard for his…abilities. Fortunately…I struck a dangerous blow…against him as well.” The assassin went on to explain about his encounter with the Red Wizards, and his following infiltration of Winski Perorate’s chambers. Edwin listened with growing horror, not so much because of the price about to be put on his head, but because he realized just how close his mentor had come to getting himself killed.

“And then what happened?” he asked, his eyes wide like those of a child listening to an especially scary bedtime story.

“I lost consciousness. Lucky that wing of the Iron Throne…faces out towards the harbor, not…the street. Also lucky that the water…woke me up. Somehow got to shore without…sinking, spent some hours hiding half-conscious…in an old boat. Good thing…I’m difficult to pick up by scrying.”

“Scrying? Do you mean that…”

“Been on the move…since then. Perorate is…searching for me. I can block him out though…most of the time.”

”Most of the…”

Dekaras shrugged, and then gave a slight wince. “Not magic…you use your willpower. But…can’t keep it up constantly and he’s very…persistent. He…sent some people. Probably…would have come himself…but the poison I used…should inconvenience him still. It’s resistant to magical healing. Not deadly though. Pity, that…”

“Sent some people? Hirelings of his?”

“Yes. Mercenaries.”

“You…killed them?”

“Well, think about it!” the assassin snapped, some of the normal bite temporarily back in his voice. “Would I…be here otherwise?”

He can’t keep it up forever though, Edwin thought with icy certainty. If he doesn’t get some rest and proper healing…they will just keep coming, and all it takes is for one of them to get lucky.

“Kept mostly…to the sewers,” Dekaras said, sounding calm again. “More difficult to spot there.”

Sewers? No wonder he’s looking bad with that on top of several wounds…I can practically feel him burning up with fever just from sitting this close to him! “You need a cleric,” Edwin blurted out. “You look awful!”

“Oh, thank you so much…and the answer is no. Can’t risk…going to any temple. Perorate will…be watching for that.”

“How do you know that?”

Again the assassin sounded strangely pleased. “Because that…is what I would do.”

“Fine. I’ll bring a priest here then.”

“You won’t. Too risky. I simply…need to rest a bit before I move on.”

“But…”

“I said no.”

Edwin sighed with defeat. “Where will you be going? Amn? Tethyr? Sembia maybe?”

Dekaras looked at him as if he had suddenly sprouted an extra head. “Are you quite…insane?” he said. “I’m not going anywhere. Do you suggest I abandon you alone here? Preposterous. Besides…if he focuses on me, that will make your work easier.”

“But…”

“It is…simple,” the assassin said, still with that strangely excited look on his face as he handed Edwin a few scrolls. “Make Sarevok weak to magic. Use magic on Sarevok, and he will fall. Then…convince the girl to cooperate, and before the deadline…preferably. And…try your best. I would really prefer…not to have to kill her. But either way…we will be safe.”

He meant exactly what he was saying, Edwin knew that much. For a few wild seconds all he wanted to do was to crack and blurt out every single thing he had withheld about exactly why he had been so reluctant to move against Zaerini. Then he thought better of it. I can’t. He wouldn’t understand, and I don’t blame him. I hardly understand myself. But…what am I to do? What can I do? I can’t convert her…I can’t let her die…and I must somehow keep him alive as well. They will catch up with him won’t they? Again and again, and all it takes is for him to make one mistake when he’s tired enough. And he’s too stubborn to pull back now… “Please,” Edwin tried again, “please, won’t you reconsider about getting out of town? Staying here is not safe.”

“That…will do,” Dekaras snarled. As he looked straight at the wizard his eyes once again seemed to glow a bright red in the flickering magelight, almost making him take on the appearance of a vampire, or perhaps some dangerous animal. “As I said…I’m not going anywhere. And my safety is not my…first priority.”

No, Edwin thought. It isn’t, is it? It never was. But in that case…perhaps I should make it mine.

Dream images were floating to the forefront of his mind now, filling him with unnamed dread. The cat with the coat like fire, and the great black wolf, baring teeth at each other, and him trying to keep them apart. Then the vision of them both watching him accusingly as he lashed out, driving them off. No. Keeping them safe. And now the images from the second dream, the great black wolf in the swirling snow, bleeding. Horns in the distance. The hunters. He could remember the end of the dream as well, though he had tried very hard not to think about it since then, and a vague idea was already beginning to form in his mind.

“Well, at least get some rest while I keep guard,” Edwin said. “You need it.”

“Yes,” the assassin said, nodding. “Yes, I believe I will. Thank you. Remember…wake me at the first…sign of trouble.” With an almost inaudible sigh he lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. Before long his breathing got slower and more regular and his face relaxed. Edwin kept watch, thinking. Before his watch was over he had decided what he must do.