In The Cards

When faced with unfavorable odds and dangerous enemies, always make a point of seeking out what allies you can. Even the ones whose motives do not entirely coincide with your own may help you greatly, as long as you walk the same road.

Excerpt from ‘Ruminations Of A Master Bard’

After the excitement and terror of slaying a ta’nari, the rest of Ulgoth’s Beard quite frankly seemed rather dull, Zaerini thought. There were a few useful magical scrolls and items to be bought at the inn, and she also made sure that she and her friends got all the potions they could carry. Healing, strength, speed, antidote, fireball, and many others. She intended to be fully prepared for her brother.

There was a very insistent old wizard named Shandalar who kept wandering about the village, nagging her to go fetch his cloak for him. He seemed unable to take ‘no’ for an answer, and eventually the bard lost patience, telling the man that she certainly wasn’t about to let herself get teleported to some unknown location on the other side of Faerun simply in order to pick up a lazy old wizard’s dirty laundry. That finally made him back off, though she also managed to empty his pockets of a great number of very interesting spell scrolls that she shared with Edwin. Her magical abilities had certainly increased, she thought. Though she couldn’t match the Red Wizard in the number of spells she could memorize, some of the ones she had cast often she could actually make more powerful than he could. Rini smiled at the memory of how Edwin had sulked for two days after learning that she could cast a bigger Fireball than he could.

Then there had been that other man, Mendas, the one with the odd accent. He had looked a little strange as well, with extremely bushy eyebrows and shaggy long hair. His job offering had been more promising than Shandalar’s. Just go to Baldur’s Gate, retrieve a few sea charts from some merchants, then go on a brief expedition to find out about the fate of the legendary Balduran himself. Now that was a journey most bards would cheerfully kill to go on, knowing what tales might be spun from it, and she might do it yet. But it would have to wait. She didn’t plan to be sidetracked again. Her brother was waiting for her.

Zaerini paused in her tracks, looking up at the tall walls of Baldur’s Gate before her. “We must be extremely careful,” she said. “The story of Reiltar’s death will have reached the city by now. The Fist will likely be hunting for us, or at least for me.”

Jaheira put a supporting hand on her shoulder. “Do not fear, child. We have come this far. We will not be turned back now.”

“Maybe we could hide out at the Thieves Guild?” Imoen suggested. “The Fist won’t find us there.” Then she paused and blushed slightly. “Only…we’d better save it for a last resort. Adahn warned me not to trust Ravenscar too closely.” She sighed briefly. “I really miss him…I hope he’s all right. Adahn I mean, not Ravenscar.”

Edwin shivered briefly in the chill night air. “This is getting us nowhere,” he said, his voice tense. “We need some sort of goal before heading in there, we cannot wander the streets randomly.”

Rini nodded. “You’re right. And I do have a goal. It’s just getting there that may be a little tricky. But I have a plan…”

A short while later the two gate guards keeping watch at the city entrance caught sight of a strange bunch of people. Two armored half-elves, the man smiling nervously and the woman glaring at them like she was waiting for them to shrivel up like dried leaves. Then there was a dwarf who carried a hammer across his shoulder, one that was almost as tall as he was. A Red Wizard sneered contemptuously at them, while a young girl with vividly pink hair smiled in a friendly fashion. They were led by an unusually short Flaming Fist soldier. The armor was unmistakable, and the face was vaguely familiar. “Salutations!” the young man called out. “I bring important prisoners, dangerous murderers brought here from Candlekeep for trial.”

“You?” one of the gate guards asked. “Alone?”

The strange soldier shrugged. There was something odd about his face, but the gate guard couldn’t think of what it was. “I’m good in a fight. They came along peacefully. And why wouldn’t they?” He puffed his chest out proudly. “After all, I am the Law!”

At this there was a muffled snicker from the pink-haired girl, quickly checked, and the wizard also seemed vaguely amused. “Very well,” one of the gate guards slowly said. Everything seemed to be in order. “You may pass.” Only until an hour later did he realize what had been odd about the other soldier. For a moment, his face had rippled slightly, like an image in a distorted mirror.

“Whew!” Rini said, as she and her companions hurried through the dark alleys of Baldur’s Gate, taking care not to encounter any more soldiers. “That was close. I almost wasn’t able to keep it up. A few more minutes and I’d have blown it.”

“How did ye change yer clothes?” Yeslick asked. “Where did the platemail come from?”

The red-haired half-elf frowned. “I’m not sure. I think it’s some sort of illusion. Useful, but it’s not real. I could feel my own clothes when I touched myself. And I won’t be able to repeat it again tonight, it’s really draining.”

“Then we will have to do without it,” Jaheira said. “We have done so before.”

“Y-yes,” Khalid said. “What about your p-plan though? Where are we g-g-going?”

Zaerini smiled. “Oh, I thought we might go to see a friend…after that business with Eldoth I’m sure Skie will be happy to help us out.”

The adventurers made their way through the city, unaware of the shadowy figure that followed them at a distance. Eventually they reached their goal, the large and impressive mansion of Duke Entar Silvershield. “Finally!” Rini sighed. “Now we will…”

Then the half-elf interrupted herself at the sight of the woman who came walking towards them, stopping at a respectful distance. She was clearly a trained warrior, armed and dangerous, and the narrow and slightly curved sword at her hip looked both old and beautiful. The woman herself was also attractive, with her slanted dark eyes and regally composed olive-skinned face, and the thick black braid that swayed with every step she took. “I must request to speak with you,” she said, her musical voice speaking in an accent that Zaerini had never heard in anybody else. She knew this woman though, both from reality and from her dreams and foretelling.

The Queen of Swords. Sarevok’s companion.

“I know you,” she said in a carefully measured voice. “You were there the night Gorion was slain, at Sarevok’s side. How is it that you wish to speak with me?” Beside her she could notice Imoen stiffening with anger.

The woman nodded. “You are angry,” she said. “It is understandable, of course. Still, we should talk. I apologize for not being more open, but these are troubled times. If I could be permitted to speak for a moment, I believe I have something you would want to hear. Perhaps we could help each other?”

“How about telling me who you are first of all?” Rini said. “Then we’ll see.” She was treading on dangerous ground, she knew. This woman was close to Sarevok. And yet…in her foretelling she had seen him distancing himself from her.

“It is reasonable,” the woman said, her face still unruffled. “You may call me Tamoko. I am not your friend, nor do you have any reason to trust me, but as I said I have information if you wish it. “

Oh, what’s the harm? The worst that can happen is that she lies. “Go ahead,” Rini said, her eyes never leaving the other woman’s face. “And I really hope you’re not simply wasting my time with the preliminaries to another outrageously silly assassination attempt. That would seriously annoy me.”

There was the minutest hint of a smile at corner of the woman’s mouth. “I believe you,” she said. “You…are like him in many ways.”

There could be only person she meant. “Sarevok,” Rini said, almost in a whisper. “You…think I am like Sarevok?”

Tamoko paused. “In some ways, yes,” she said. “You have met him, I know. You must have felt it…blood calling to blood. There are three things that are strength incarnate: there is love of life, there is fear of death, and there is family. A family that loves death would have a strong pull indeed. Can you...feel it? Can you feel him? He hates you, you know.”

“I know. The fact that he’s been trying to kill me for quite some time sort of tipped me off to that.”

Again that almost-smile. “Yes. Yet Sarevok is…complex. There is more than hate there, I know. But this is not the place or time to speak of such things. I offered you information. For now, know that Eltan, the commander of the Flaming Fist, is gravely ill. He lies on his deathbed in the Flaming Fist headquarters, and the very same who claims to heal him is the cause. You have the means to save him, and that will aid your cause. Once you have done so, I will seek you out again, and we will speak further.” She bowed briefly, and started walking away.

“Wait!” Imoen called out. “What is Sarevok to you?”

Tamoko slowed her steps and turned around. “He…is everything,” she said, and this time there was the hint of pain in her voice. “Know that. To me, he is everything.”

Skie proved perfectly willing to take the adventurers in, just as Rini had hoped. What the half-elf hadn’t counted on was the fact that the noblewoman was in mourning, her father having recently been brutally murdered.

“You could not have known,” Skie said as the bard apologized for intruding at such a time. “I am happy to be able to help you, and so would…so would my father have been, had he been alive.”

From Skie, Zaerini and her friends learnt that so far nobody had been arrested for Duke Entar’s murder, indeed there were not even any suspects. “And there aren’t likely to be any either,” Skie said, her face stony. “Not with the Flaming Fist being run by that…that Angelo person.”

“Angelo?” Jaheira asked. “What of Scar?”

Skie looked surprised. “Oh…I suppose you wouldn’t know. Scar…is dead. Murdered. Just like…just like my father.” She wiped at her eyes with a handkerchief, and then composed herself again. “This…this Angelo leads the Fist now, but I do not trust him at all. Nor did Father. There are more soldiers about in the streets than ever…and they come down hard on everybody even close to breaking the law…but there still seems to be more unrest than ever. People keep talking about war, you know. War with Amn.”

“I see,” Rini said, tapping her finger thoughtfully against her lower lip. “Tell me, Skie, have you heard any rumors about the Iron Throne?”

“Oh yes!” the dark-haired noblewoman said, nodding. “Everybody talks about how their iron will save us, how they will make us able to protect ourselves against the Amnians. Most people seem to think we should attack first, since the Amnians will certainly do so soon anyway. And…there is Sarevok of course.”

“Sarevok?”

“Yes, the new leader of the Iron Throne. He took over after his father was…” Skie flushed slightly. “I’m sorry…I have heard about you being wanted for his death, but I will not believe the things being said. You helped me, and I consider you my friend. That is what matters. But I was speaking of Sarevok. He is a brilliant war-leader it seems, a strong warrior and a clever tactician. They say…” She looked down for a moment and cleared her throat. “They say that he is the strongest candidate for being a new Grand Duke…after my…after my Father.” She swallowed heavily.

“I’m very, very sorry about your Father, Skie,” Zaerini said, taking the other woman’s hand. “I know how if feels.” Above Skie’s bent head she met the eyes of her friends, and on their faces she read the same thought that was first in her mind. Sarevok. He did this.

“We w-will do what we can to f-f-find your father’s slayer and bring him to j-justice,” Khalid said, looking unusually decisive.

“Yes,” Jaheira agreed. “Though being hunted as we are, we can make no promises.”

“I would not expect that,” Skie said with a small smile through her tears. “Just…if you happen to learn something…please let me know?”

“Of course we will,” Rini promised. Sarevok…brother…is the power really worth this? I suppose you think so. I…I am not a bounty hunter. I will not promise her your death. But I can at least let her have the truth. And you too, if I can pull it off.