In The Cards

No matter how good the mask you hide behind is, the truth still rests beneath it. And occasionally that mask may slip, for good or for ill. Pray that the truth is something you are prepared to deal with.

Excerpt from ‘Ruminations Of A Master Bard’

The catacombs beneath Candlekeep were dark, cold, and littered with traps. That was only to be expected. What Zaerini hadn’t expected was for the doppelgangers to have guessed that she and her friends would try to escape this way. And so, when familiar faces appeared before her, she was momentarily fooled. Dear old Phlydia, screaming for her blood. Dreppin the stable boy, one of the few friends of her childhood, his face a twisted mask of hate. Winthrop the innkeeper, licking his lips as he came after her, hands outstretched. For a moment she had been fooled.

Then, she had rallied.

And then, she had killed them all.

Killing was getting easier; she had noticed that. Whether she used magic or blade, she was getting better and better at striking at the right time, in the right spot. My sire’s instinct. But if it will help keep me alive I have to use it. But only when I want to.

The rage was strong, and trying to grow stronger. Reiltar’s death had helped her a little…she could still recall the pain and humiliation, but when she did, she made herself see his bloody death, and then the fear died down and was replaced by fierce contentment. Nobody will treat me like that again. And if they try, they will die, just as he did.

The bard smiled quietly to herself. She certainly didn’t intend to go on some killing-spree; she didn’t want to become another Sarevok. But to some extent, she could understand the temptation. Killing Reiltar…that felt so good. If I had been able to resurrect him I might have, so I could repeat it over and over again. I have never hated anybody as much as I did him, and I don’t want to. If I did that sort of thing again…I might not be able to withstand my sire any longer. I could feel the pull of the blood increasing, even as Reiltar’s blood was spilt. No. I must be careful. Very careful.

The adventurers were passing through a large hall now, marble pillars disappearing into the darkness high above. She was nearing the other side now, hoping that the catacombs would soon come to an end. Then…she saw.

Three men were standing at the end of the hall, waiting. Tethoril, looking sad and weary. Elminster, still in that ridiculous pointy hat, his face grim above his long beard. And there…an old mage, wearing a long gray cloak to match the color of his beard, and when his familiar eyes met hers they were filled with love. Gorion? No…it can’t be!

“Zaerini!” Elminster called out. “Stop this madness, child, I beg of thee! Thou hast soaked these halls with the blood of innocents and I cannot permit it to go further.”

Before the bard had the time to answer, Jaheira spoke up. “How dare you!” the druid hissed. “You are not Elminster. The one beside you…wears the face of my departed friend, wears it like a mask. Abominations!”

Gorion simply smiled, looking kindly at his ward. “It is all right, Zaerini, my child. I didn't die that night, nor have I yet. The blade that you thought slew me had been treated with a magical poison. It left me, a living soul and a lively mind, imprisoned in a body that gave all appearance of death. Please, child, I have loved you too much to lose you now.”

Gorion…I love you too. The words did not pass her lips though.

“Please, child,” Elminster said. “Sheathe those weapons and sheathe thy madness, too. Come with us and we shall see thee, at last, to safety.”

“Safety?” Edwin sneered. “Somehow, I doubt that. (To a shallow grave, more likely.) And if you were really the Old Coot, then you would assuredly be able to recall the manner of our last encounter, yes? (Utter humiliation for the pointy-hatted one – I think I could manage to think up a few thousand interesting ways to achieve that. I might even make it my new hobby.)”

Rini nodded. “He’s right. You should remember that…Elminster. Tell us, why don’t you? Because if you’re Elminster, I’m Drizzt the Dork, and that would be too terrible a fate to live with.”

Gorion’s face was horrified now, his voice pained. “By all that is good, Zaerini, what have they done to your mind to haunt it so? Your old friend Dreppin lies tangled in his own entrails and foolish Phlydia, she ran down here to offer a mother's shoulder and you have butchered her like the monster you perceived her to be... The gods have no mercy on we ragged mortals, it appears.”

Elminster sighed. “I am a dottering and elderly fool for having let it come to this! There stood I, Elminster the Arrogant, nudging and prodding but never taking action... The most powerful mage in the Realms reduced to a meager puppeteer... Listen close, Zaerini: With the help of doppelgangers and some powerful magics, Sarevok has encased thee within a vast and frightening illusion. I was unsure whether I could even penetrate it to reach thee. The time has come for a leap of faith, child. Thou must fling aside this foul illusion and let us lead thee back to reality where Sarevok is fightable.”

Boy. They must really think I’m stupid. “Many things might be said about Sarevok,” Zaerini said in a cold voice, loosening her sword in its scabbard. “But he is certainly no mage. No more than the Elminster I’ve met would ever apologize for his attempting to manipulate me.” Then she turned her head around, her eyes blazing. “And you. You are not my father, and you will not pretend to be. No more!”

‘Gorion’ hissed, and bared his teeth. “Thsss, then, fleshling! Go mad, if you will, and feel the rasp of our claws against your mind!” He raised his arms in preparation to cast a spell, then screamed as an arrow hit him in the chest.

“You’re not Gorion!” Imoen screamed. “And you will give his face back!”

Then there was chaos, as the fight began in earnest.

As Khalid and Jaheira rushed the doppelgangers, Edwin cast a spell to make the party move with the speed of lightning, even as Yeslick called upon his own power to remove the increased speed of the creatures. The result was spectacular, with various disgusting body parts and bits of innards flying everywhere. Out of the corner of her eye, Rini could see Edwin heaping magical flames on the fake Elminster, whose beard was burning merrily. As for herself, she fired off a few Magic Missiles at the false Gorion, supported by Imoen’s arrows. As he went down, she ran over, raising her sword.

It isn’t really Gorion. Just a doppelganger. All the same, bringing the sword down did take more than a little effort, since the false face still remained.

“Child…” the doppelganger whispered. “Do you no longer love your father?”

“Yes,” the half-elf said, her face pale. “I will always love Gorion. And that is why I must do this.” With that, the sword stabbed down. And now I know at least a little of what Durlag must have felt. I had no idea it would be so difficult, despite…despite knowing what that thing really was.

Once the doppelganger stopped twitching Zaerini turned to her friends. “There,” she said. “Now let’s get out of here. Wouldn’t want to keep Sarevok waiting for too long.”

Edwin sighed as he stepped over the corpse of the fake Elminster. “Such a pity,” he said. “For a second there, I was almost able to make myself believe it was the real thing. (One day though. Yes. One day.)”

At about the same time that these events were taking place, Sarevok’s party were settling down for the night, halfway between Candlekeep and Baldur’s Gate. The warrior himself was standing on the top of a tall hill, creating a highly dramatic figure against the blood red sky behind him. Another person might have been wary about being so visible in the wilderness, but as far as Sarevok was concerned, nothing in its right mind would dare attack him, and if something not in its right mind did, it would have only itself to blame. At any rate, the dark silhouette of the large warrior in his grotesque armor outlined against the sky was very impressive, particularly with the way his golden eyes had narrowed into intimidating slits inside the darkness of his helmet. At the moment he was staring back towards Candlekeep, or at least in its general direction, since the fortress itself wasn’t visible any longer.

Soon, little sister, he thought. Soon. Sarevok wasn’t exactly certain what to think about the events that had recently transpired, and he was still trying to figure it out. Reiltar dead. The ogre of my early years, the monster beneath the stairs, the bane of my existence…dead. It is difficult to fathom.

It had been his sister’s work too, and he didn’t quite know what to think about that either. The manner of it was certainly fitting, with his foul body literally torn to pieces like that. I wonder how she achieved that? She isn’t that large, she shouldn’t have been able to do it with her bare hands, and yet that was exactly what it looked like. And her companions were not involved. There were witnesses who saw them in the library at the time the murder took place, so they could not have aided her directly. No, she was the only one of them not accounted for. She must have done it. But how? Magic? Can she truly be that powerful already?

Sarevok smiled. However she had done it, it was an impressive deed. As he thought of his sibling he felt strangely pleased. Proud? Can that be it? Am I…proud of her? Yes, I am. She is growing stronger, coming into her inheritance. Not as strong as I, obviously, and she will not take the Throne while I yet live. But it is pleasant to watch, all the same. She is doing very well.

True, he had wanted to slay Reiltar himself, and had even planned to do so during the stay at Candlekeep. The doppelgangers were supposed to aid with that, one of them taking the form of Zaerini to lure Reiltar into a trap. Then, when Reiltar thought he would be able to continue what he had started, he would find Sarevok waiting for him. Alas, it was not to be. But they will at least be able to create some havoc in Candlekeep, as per the other part of my plan. The death and terror they spread will certainly aid my Ascension.

“Sarevok?” Tamoko came walking silently up from behind, a slender shape moving like a shadow. Her black braid swayed as she move, and as she approached her lover he thought he could see a hint of worry in her dark eyes, though her face was as calm as always. “What are you doing?”

“I was thinking,” Sarevok said. “Of Reiltar. And of my sister.” He gave Tamoko a curious look. “Tell me, what is your opinion of her?”

Tamoko was silent for a moment. “She seems to be a capable woman. She has gained much fighting experience since we first encountered her, and she is certainly intelligent. I would not have minded having her for a friend – had things been different, of course.”

“Of course.” Sarevok smiled as he put his arm about his lover’s waist. “But it pleases me that you approve of her, anyway. There is a…certain connection between us, a bond.”

“You do not resent her then? For taking the vengeance against Reiltar that you had been reserving for yourself?”

Sarevok shook his head. “Briefly, perhaps. But no longer. She…had the right. I would have slain him myself but…she had the right as well. And she performed admirably.” He sighed contentedly. “Before she dies, I must ask her to describe it all, down to the smallest detail. Siblings should share this sort of thing.”

“It is to be soon, then?”

“Yes. Once we return to Candlekeep, the final stages of the plan will be set into motion. Soon, the city will be in my hands. And then…the Throne.” He smiled down at the woman beside him. “Tamoko, it will be glorious. And you will be right there, at my side, as my consort. Imagine it, the two of us together forever, with all the power of Murder at our disposal. My Father has shown me, you know. Once enough blood is spilt, I will ascend, and he will fully infuse me with the essence. No longer will mortal frailties or emotions hinder me or hold me back.”

There was a slight stiffening of Tamoko’s posture, almost imperceptible. Sarevok was trained in reading her expressions however.

“Tamoko? Is something the matter?”

“No,” Tamoko said, her voice carefully guarded. “Nothing at all.” Then she craned her neck backwards to look him straight in the face, her beautiful eyes sincere and determined. “I love you, my Sarevok. I love you, and I am always on your side. Whatever may happen, I want you to always know that.”

And for a brief moment, as he smiled and bent down to kiss her, the mask of Bhaal slipped away. For a moment, Sarevok was once again the mortal man whom she had fallen in love with, and the man who had loved her more than any throne in the world.