In The Cards

He that would pull the tail of a tiger, bite a Dire Wolf or kick a dragon on the nose should not complain when he gets bitten, burnt and devoured. The same principle may be applied the Children of Bhaal. In other words – don’t mess with them.

Excerpt from ‘Ruminations Of A Master Bard’

The long and tapering neck of the glass bottle was slick between her fingers, cold and soothing. Zaerini stroked it absent-mindedly, letting the sensation calm her nerves. This was it. Once she went through with it there would be no turning back. She would have deliberately killed somebody, coldly, calmly, and well planned in advance.

And I don’t care. Maybe it will bring me closer to my sire, maybe it will give him more leverage against me…but this time I don’t care. I won’t let this go. Not after what Reiltar did to me, and…and what he almost did. I will have my revenge.

The half-elf listened inward, almost expecting the mocking voice of Bhaal to chime in, but it was silent. Expectant? Satisfied? She could not tell. Finally she shrugged. It made no difference. Let her sire watch, if that was what he wanted. People keep calling me Child of Murder. Perhaps it’s time I made good use of what talent I may have inherited.

With a small and predatory smile, the redheaded half-elf once again cast the spell to make herself invisible. Just before she disappeared from sight, an observer might have been able to see her golden eyes flaring up brightly, burning like hungry fires.

It would have been useful to have Imoen’s skill in making herself inconspicuous, but for this mission the spell would work excellently. After all, she had no intention of outright attacking Reiltar and breaking the spell. No, what she was planning was far more insidious than that.

The door was before her now, the door to the small dining room where she had learnt that Reiltar would be having dinner this evening. Alone, just as she wanted him to be. The fate she intended for him she wouldn’t wish on anybody else, including Sarevok.

No, certainly not on my brother. Despite everything…despite even Gorion. The voice of our sire has seduced him utterly, and it is Bhaal who pulls his strings and guides his steps, though he knows it not. And yet…even as filled with the essence of Bhaal as he is, he would never have acted as Reiltar did.

Rini bit her lower lip thoughtfully as she considered her brother. Perhaps…perhaps I could somehow reach him? Make him see the truth? I want to try. Not just because of that dream I had, the one that said that one day I would need him by my side if I would live. But for his sake as well. He has lost his way, and he can’t find his way back on his own. But…there is a connection between us, and it’s getting stronger, I can feel it. If I could guide him…bring him back…then maybe I could know my brother as he could be, without the madness.

Reiltar would have to come first though, before she could even consider Sarevok. The continued existence of the Iron Throne leader was a blight on her soul, a dark cloud covering the sun, a sticky fingerprint on her very essence. He must die.

Steady, Kitten, Softpaws warned. The black cat was silently gliding along her invisible mistress, partially invisible herself in the deep shadows of the corridor. You must keep your head cool for the hunt to succeed. This is the cat way. Softly and silently, and then the quick leap and the sharp teeth and claws, before the prey even guesses you’re there.

I know, Softy. Don’t worry. I won’t do anything rash. But I won’t stain my claws with this one’s blood. I’ll do it just a little bit differently.

The dining hall was fairly small, meant for no more than ten people at the most. As Rini quietly slipped through the doorway she noticed that the sun had set outside. Already the lingering red traces on the sky were being swept away by the deep blue twilight.

There were bookcases in here as well of course, as in every room in Candlekeep, tall ones filled with thick leather-bound volumes, all of which seemed to be detailing the history of the Drow.

I think Viconia would appreciate my plan, Zaerini thought. She would know about vengeance. I hope she is all right, wherever she may be.

The table had already been set. Fine porcelain and silver cutlery, lit candelabras and fresh flowers. The food hadn’t arrived yet of course, but the wine had. A bottle of fine Amnian red, as yet uncorked. Too bad, Reiltar. I still know people in the kitchens, and they told me about your habits, your precautions. So cautious, careful not to let an assassin slip poison into your drink. Always uncorking it yourself, and then staying in the same room as it airs. It won’t help you, you know. Not this time. Nor will any antidote you may have prepared yourself with.

Zaerini quietly walked over to the table, picking up the wine bottle and sliding it into her pack. Then she put her own bottle down on the table, in exactly the same place. She was quite proud of the forgery she had done on the cork, making it appear as if it had never been removed.

Now, Kitten, Softpaws said. He comes. Are you prepared?

Yes. I am ready. Now, the hunt is on.

The invisible woman strolled over to a secluded spot by the wall and leant against it, arms crossed, watching. When Reiltar entered the room she felt her breathing grow a little heavier, a little more labored. The Devil comes. The Devil, The Devil, The Devil.

The man looked a bit tired, but pleased with himself just the same. Yawning, he closed the door and crossed the floor, his footsteps echoing like thunder in the half-elf’s sensitive ears, his cold eyes staring blankly through her, unaware of her presence.

The old fear leapt into her heart again as she met that gaze, but it was quickly subdued. Rage was much stronger, rage having been kept bottled up in order to be able to act, to speak, to think. Now it wanted out. But there was another emotion as well. A slow, dark thrill. Yes. The prey. He is mine. All mine. Pleasure, cold anticipation bubbling slowly through her veins. Not like the heady rush of battle this. This was death guided by her mind and her hands, like she was riding a huge black horse that responded instantly to her every touch and movement. There were only three things that mattered. Herself, the prey, and the plan.

Now, Reiltar was lifting the bottle, studying the label, smiling to himself. Yes. Smile, Devil. It is a good year. A very good year.

Now, Reiltar took a corkscrew, and started pulling at the cork. It was clearly causing him some effort, he was grunting a little. He…he sounded like that when he…when he…

Hands. There had been hands all over her, touching, fondling, nails scratching. Lips kissing, sucking, slobbering tongue licking. Teeth, biting. Harsh voice, speaking in short grunts. Obscenities. Taunts.

Little bitch. Whore. Half-breed slut. Not so haughty now, are you? Are you? Are you? Areyouareyouareyouareyou? Looks like we found you a proper place. This is all you’re good for, you know. A good…a really good….really good…

NO! With an effort of will she forced her breathing to calm before it grew so loud that the Devil could hear it. She could feel the cold sweat running in rivulets down her back, across her forehead, stinging her eyes. Or was that tears?

No. I have wept enough for his sake. I will do it no more.

And indeed, the tears, if such they were, dried up. Now, I hunt. Now…I kill. Watch what I am good for then, Devil. Watch the Child of Murder.

The cork came out of the bottle with a soft, popping noise. Reiltar moved to set it down – and then he stopped, mid-movement. A dark red cloud of smoke was rapidly pouring out of the bottle with a loud hiss, growing, swelling, finally coalescing into a humanoid shape. It looked almost like a man, a bare-chested and dark-skinned man wearing baggy trousers and a red turban. His smile was wide and malicious, and his eyes glowed a deep and sullen red as he watched the human who had released him.

“You!” he said. “You have released the mighty Kahrk, and I have made a sacred oath about what will happen to he who does so. The time has come for me to keep it, and then I will be free!”

“B-but…” Reiltar stammered. “No!” Kahrk chuckled darkly, lifting the Iron Throne leader easily with one hand. “No! Please…PLEEEEAAAASSSSEEE!” The plea for mercy got about as much response as he would have given himself in a similar situation, and before long it was choked off by a stream of blood as the genie wrenched his jaws open and reached inside. A soft, wet object hit the wall with a squelching noise.

Reiltar was still screaming, or so it seemed, but only muted bubbling sounds emerged. It went on for quite some time, but the stonewalls were thick. Nobody outside the room heard him.

The final thing Reiltar saw in his life he saw as he was lying on the floor. All over the floor, in fact, by this time, and being slowly spread ever thinner. There was a small black cat sitting on the floor under the table, watching him with unblinking green eyes. She steadfastly avoided stepping in him, and she bared her sharp little teeth in what might have been a smile, or a hiss, or possibly both. Then the genie’s rock-hard thumbs neared, there were the sounds of grapes being crushed, and he saw no more.

However, the final thing Reiltar heard was quiet laughter. Not the deep bass laughter of the genie. This laughter was dark, low, and utterly female. Somehow, that humiliation hurt almost as badly as the physical pain.

Then he died.

And then he realized that the pain had only just started, and that it would go on for a very long time.

Kahrk bowed briefly. “I have kept my word, as agreed,” he said. “When you swore that I would be let out of the bottle you trapped me in, we agreed that I would be free after I slew the one who released me.”

“That is true,” Zaerini said in a quiet voice. “And the other? Do not forget.”

The Dao djinn’s dark face clouded over with sullen anger. “Very well. I will seek no vengeance against you or any of your company for this, nor will I ask any of my kin or anybody else to do so. With this, our contract is concluded.”

“It is. You may go.”

The Dao dissolved into red smoke once again, and then he was gone, escaped to his own plane.

Good thing I picked that bottle up after the Firewine Bridge, Rini thought, smiling to herself. I knew it would come in handy some day.

Are you satisfied with your hunt, kitten? Softpaws asked.

The bard looked around the room. Reiltar was all over the floor. And the walls. And the ceiling. Not to mention the bits and pieces on the table, and the very unsightly and personal parts that had been stuffed into the wine bottle and that she’d rather not look at too closely. Under other circumstances she was certain she would have felt sick, but as it was, that dark fire was still burning.

Yes, she said. Now I am satisfied.

In the still corners of her soul she could feel the spirit of Bhaal coiled, watching. Waiting. Know this, ‘Father’. This is the fate I intend for anybody meaning to use or abuse me as he did. And that goes for you too.