Baldur's Gate : The Sword Coast Chronicles : NWN2 Persistent World

I stepped out into the brightly lit courtyard of the Friendly Arm Inn, the warm glow of the lamps somehow offsetting the cool night air. I left behind me the room that had been my home—and my prison—for so many months now. I left it in what I hoped was a very typical condition after long-term tenancy; not so clean as to be suspicious, nor so messy as to raise Bentley’s ire. I had burned most sensitive items, and now carried the remainder in a satchel slung across my shoulder. I descended the stairs and crossed the open space to the gate, beneath the notice of the small collective of late-night lingerers.

Leaving the confines of the courtyard, I turned north toward Baldur’s Gate and the sierra of unfinished business that had accumulated there in my absence. The habits of a Thief never dulling, I left the road early and wandered instead in the parallel wilderness, beyond most people’s gaze. Though the traffic at this late hour was sparse, it nevertheless afforded me a peace of mind permitting my thoughts to wander and reflect. We had been to hell and back twice and, though we had by no means come through it unscathed, we were here all the same. First the Dreams and then the ghost Uuharel had taken everything from me, yet still I had found more to give at the end. To survive unforgivingly stacked odds and then triumph, even a muted triumph, it had awakened in me a deep reservoir of strength and will of which I was hitherto unawares. Where had that come from?

As I walked, I crossed the edge of the long shadow cast by the imposing Inn and was momentarily surprised by the bright silvery landscape illuminated by the heavenly bodies above. I paused in my stride and, with no one around, I unashamedly gazed upwards, allowing myself to be lost in childlike awe at the dotted ceiling of brilliant candles lighting my way. To this day I have nothing but distain for the embarrassing lights worn as armour by the many obnoxious magelings running around the Coast, but the stars held an entirely different magic for me. The night-time ubiquity of those impartial watchers was a potent symbol, and a perfect permanence. Our hopeful stars ascend the ether; the strings of weighty past they sever.

My indulging eyes drifted to heaven’s centre-stage where the moon rose with eclipsing prominence, and I eagerly drank in all that silver glory. My gaze traced the large smudge of light across the sky and, as I refocused, captured the plurality of the glittering Tears of Selune. Somewhere behind my eyes, a little girl watched and, with mute curiosity, wondered what pain had brought forth those crying lights. Did She weep for Her sister’s fall into darkness, as I had wept for mine? As I silently pursued my childish line of questioning, I felt a comforting presence; a reassuring invisible hand. I had survived. Shalinee, and Delphinn, and everyone else, had survived. The Guild, though stricken, limped on and, as everyone knew, wounded dogs fought fiercest. We would claw our way back. Everything would be okay now.

I closed my eyes, feeling moon and starlight wash over me in equal measures. I had always taken a recalcitrant pride in my Faithlessness, dismissing the piousness and zealotry of others as dumb superstition. But now, at this moment, in the wake of tragedy and triumph, under the gaze of heaven, I acquiesced to one further indulgence.

Unspoken and unacknowledged except within the depths of my heart, I prayed.

Amidst fresh timbers, recently dried paint and newly acquired furnishings, a subdued and cautious jubilation reigned. Not quite the former hub of hedonism burning as a bright spark of life in the grey waste of the docks, our sparkling new Guildhall was more akin to a modest sapling of hope. Certainly, the building itself easily rivalled the old; in fact it was larger and grander in every way, from kingly carpets and elaborate drapes to the fine silk cushions that now pampered us. The mood, however, was tempered and not wholly trusting of this upturn in fortunes. Still, we drank, we laughed, we cautiously toasted our success with only the best wines and liquors.

I reclined on a baroque sofa occupying a habitual corner of the new Common Room, resting my feet up on Gold’s lap and awkwardly sipping from my flask. Incidental brown droplets of Wyvern Whiskey—the last of the stock I liberated from Sshamath—messily ran down my cheeks, with a view to embedding themselves in the fabric of my hood. I didn’t care. I was home again, and the bitter-sweet taste of pyrrhic victory held nothing to the glorious afterburn of the potent spirit nursed in my hand.

On an adjacent sofa sat Soprano and Silhouette, the former none-too-subtly winding up the latter, the latter embarking on some grandiose and, no doubt, mostly fictional account of a recent misadventure. Her generally pervasive monologue was occasionally punctuated by Kage’s helpful commentary and subtitling—dripping with barely veiled sarcasm—and accompanied by the underlying baritones of Soot’s persistent pessimisms and general grumbling. His insufferable wet blanket, thrown over his sisters of shadow at every opportunity, more often provoked ruthless mocking than coddling sympathy. Off to one side, Star was characteristically pushing the boundaries with her back-talking of Diamond, visibly gleeful at ruffling the little one’s feathers.

All of these loving antagonisms filled me with a warmth and indomitable sense of belonging I had dearly missed. Notwithstanding the occasional gurgle and other forgivable mishaps arising from trying to drink whiskey while lying down, I remained quiet and detached from the homely dysfunction, letting the contending voices wash over me in a comfortable torrent. The shade of my hood hid a contented smile that only Gold could see, and his eyes mirrored it in a knowing glint. Home again at last.

For the second time in my life, I knew peace.

With trembling hands, I quietly closed the door of the Duchess’ office behind me, the catch clicking with what seemed like additional, prophetic weight. I exhaled a meditative breath and stood there in the hallway for a long moment, every hitting word of our conversation now ringing in my mind with comparable gravitas. Propelled by the concussive echo, my thoughts raced ahead to the decreed scenario in which my lost skills as an Assassin, abandoned along with the very life that had imparted them, were drafted kicking and screaming into service once more.

It had been unbelievably stupid of Diamond to accept the contract. The butterfingered way in which she had handled it was more than sufficient to draw anger from many of us; it made us look weak and unprofessional in front of the Zhentarim, a group we had culled in the past. But worse was the fact that we were simply in no condition to deliver the hit they so cheaply sought. Considering all that had happened, the Guild was in a fair state, but the Hand was in near-total ruin. We had lost most all of the Guild assassins except for Star, who was incumbent Master Hand, and she was in no way ready to return to work. But Diamond in her anti-wisdom had taken the contract anyway, and we could not renege. We had to follow through, or risk our reputation and compromise our otherwise enduring position of power on the Coast.

So in typical fashion, it would fall to me to pick up the shards.

I released the door handle and numbly went upstairs, through the common area to my bedroom. Therein, between the desk piled high with fresh reports and the voluminous shelf overflowing with intelligence files, stood a solitary armour rack resplendent in a ghostly shade of silver-grey. I removed the neglected armour from its modest perch, dispersing an accusing cloud of dust in the process, and laid it out on my bed. I shed my Whisperer robe and methodically donned Silver’s armour for the first time since the Markhold contract. It fit like an old friend, albeit one who remembered the many dark deeds we had committed together and awkwardly dwelt on such guilty associations. I ran my fingers down the pocketed torso, to the blackened belt bristling dangerously with throwing knives, and then along the feline climbing claws secured at my wrists. This oft modified armour was special, but it was a relatively simple feature that truly set it apart and betrayed its unique purpose: of the many sets I possessed, this one alone covered my face.

I turned sharply toward the mirror and stared with self-satisfying terror at the fearsome visage reflected back at me. There I beheld the last thing my hapless target would see before he felt the piercing finality of my blades. Scarcely averting my eyes, I fastened the aforementioned steel instruments of deliverance to my belt, glancing down only to refine the last silk knot. As my eyes returned to the now-complete ensemble in the mirror, a thousand faceless corpses flashed tauntingly through my memory, projecting themselves in bloody, mocking spirals at my feet. Once an Assassin, long veered from that path, now thrust back into the black trade by a confluence of fate and stupidity. I would do it, too. Not for Diamond and her folly, nor even necessarily for the Guild, but to protect my sister. I would work so she didn’t have to. I only hoped that, in letting the monster free again, she would not reclaim her hold on my life and take over indefinitely.

Before heading downstairs to the training mat, I stole a final glance in the mirror, just to check that it was still my eyes looking back.

Drones simpered and bowed themselves out of my path as I walked with purpose-laden steps, down worn stairs to the great warehouse we half-jokingly called “the basement”. The few work-hands lingering there at this late hour quickly made themselves scarce as I marched to the clear space in the corner that served as our training area, demarcated in large part by the gritty, blood-stained mat on the floor. There, I found Kage leaning nonchalantly against the wall, his armour dull even in the near torchlight. I curtly looked him up and down. “Good.” I said. “You can finally read my mind, Swing-Miss.”

He pushed himself off the wall, his air of nonchalance maintained. “Been doing that for a long time now.” He replied. A smirk cracked across my face as I stepped onto the mat opposite him. “I’m sure you would like to think so.” I shot back. He rolled his shoulders, casual as hell. “And I’m sure you’d like to think otherwise.” He said. I looked at him, and his betraying eyes met mine. They lingered there, first surpassing the threshold of a look, and then that of a gaze. I averted my eyes and felt his casual demeanour falter. “I haven’t exactly done the best job of this, have I?” His question was rhetorical, but I answered anyway. “Not the best.” I said simply. I knew it was hard for him. He could barely remain in the same room as me without a fog of awkwardness descending eerily over it, but there was no one else in the Guild who could go toe-to-toe with me on the mat. I needed him.

“I have to assassinate someone.” I almost blurted it, if but to break the uncomfortable silence that imposed itself at every opportunity. Kage’s expression flickered almost imperceptibly, but I could sense his surprise, mixed with a slightly patronising concern. “You’re taking Star’s contract.” He stated plainly, confirming his thoughts aloud. I nodded slightly. “I’m…somewhat out of practice. The main difficulty will be getting a lethal blow through the target’s defences before he can start to heal.” I said. The dots connected for him in short order. “So it’s Tomar then. You should take a second.” He said. His tone was characteristically stoic and business-like, but those infuriating hints of concern were still leaking through, riding discreetly on the back of every other word. I endeavoured to conceal my rising frustration. “Our rule is, if the job requires two people, send three. We do not have that many people to spare right now. It’s going to be me, and I need your help to prepare.” I said. “So, apply any magic defences you can, and then we spar.”

His hesitation, while fleeting, was still way too much for my liking. “Hmm…I will simulate Tomar, as close as I can guess.” He drew a quartet of wands from holsters on his sides and began to ward himself. “Use everything you will be attacking with.” He said. A recent memory flashed through my mind, of Soprano falling paralysed to the floor on this very mat. I had not meant to do it; in fact I did not believe I still could. It had been five years since I had last performed that technique. Now it felt like a terrible secret, like I was infected with some shameful vampirism that, if discovered, would see me ostracised from the family. A ridiculous notion; almost half of them were trained assassins. Still, I couldn't deal with the stupid, obvious questions that would inevitably follow. “I…can’t do that right now.” I said apprehensively. “At least use what of it you can then. Attack from the shadows.” He replied. Ugh, he wasn’t going to let this go easily. “Let’s just…work on pure blade-play right now.” I offered with an undertone of firmness. He looked at me seriously, provocative concern returning. “It would be best if you practice as close to fighting him as you can.” He insisted. I snapped back at him. “I’ll prepare how I see fit, alright?” My frustration was now boiling to the surface, but he would not be deterred. He drew another wand and dispelled all his wards, looking at me flatly. “You need to be properly prepared. If you’re not ready, then you shouldn’t do the contract.”

I seethed with anger. “Put your wards back on.” I demanded coldly. He hesitated, but remained defiant. “…No.” My hands subconsciously tightened around the silk-wrapped hilts at my waist. “Put them back on!” I shouted. He stood his ground, unmoving, and said nothing. In a flash, he was on his back, an elongated red welt growing on his cheek. I had crossed the distance between us before he could react and knocked him down with the flat of my blade. He blinked up at me, taken aback. My rage undiluted, I kicked dust over him before storming back to my place on the mat opposite. “Are you going to help me or not?” I demanded. Kage uneasily got to his feet, lightly feeling the side of his face with his fingers. “I’ll help you, Silver.” He said neutrally. “But you’re not making this any easier.”

I sighed softly. I had vented a lot into that blow, and little of it was truly his fault. “I know.” I said. He avoided looking at me as he continued in a detached voice. “I’m sorry…I have been trying.” He said. “To make things less…awkward.” I shook my head quickly at that, eager to avoid the subject. “It’s not that.” I said, somewhat honestly. “It’s just…it’s been a long time since I have had to assassinate someone. I need your help.” Finally looking at me again, he nodded in apparent understanding. “Then do whatever you think you need to do. I know you know what you are doing. I trust you.” He said. I nodded in return. “Thank you.”

This is where he should make a lame effort to lighten the mood. “Yeah, I admitted I trust someone. Don’t let it go to your head.” He said on cue. I merely smirked in reply. Lifting my blades, I bounced lightly at my knees, assuming a basic fighting stance. Kage cracked his neck, ready this time. “Your move.” He said. I lunged across the mat, blades arcing in toward him. He stepped back, moving with my attack, parrying the blow. We danced across our modest arena; cut, parry dodge, counter, until he drew out my attack and I overextended. The crushing blow to my back collapsed my stance and sent me crashing to the floor.

I laughed bitterly, getting to my knees. He hovered with renewed awkwardness, unsure if he should offer me a hand up. Sparing both of us, I sprung nimbly back to my feet, dusting myself off and trying to ignore the throbbing welt I could feel forming under my armour. “Again.” I said. He nodded and assumed his position once more. I strode back to my place, trying to calm my breathing and my thoughts. I sunk into a lower stance this time, trying to still myself into a coiled spring that would smash through his defence. Choosing my moment, I leapt at him. Once more he was on the defensive, but he absorbed my initial strikes and counterattacked quickly. I shifted my weight too slowly and practically walked into his sword. Suddenly I was on my back, tasting blood in my mouth. Ow.

I sat up carefully, searching my teeth with my tongue and feeling grateful that none of them were loose, or missing. Kage loomed apologetically. “You did better that time.” He offered. “Shush.” I replied curtly, once more getting to my feet and dusting myself off. I stalked back to my side amidst a mixed cloud of fury and mild embarrassment at my sloppy performance. How did I used to do this? I had become unfocused by a cacophony of recent distractions: Shal’s residual condition; Diamond’s unfailing ineptitude; the ripe hope of my relationship with Del; Kage’s insufferable crush. With so much inane drama competing for my attention, the simplicity of killing had eluded me.

I exhaled a long, meditative breath, shedding these pestering thoughts one by one. It took concentrated effort to realise their departure. Stillness filled me as they flaked away on the breeze like leaves slain by the turn of seasons. My knees bent loosely as I relaxed into a low fighting stance, my blades sweeping slowly to my sides, edges forward and hungry. Memory loaded my muscles and fuelled my attack as I lunged, all power and fury. As my opponent prepared to absorb the blow, my boot skidded on the mat, turning my lunge into a feint. I ducked easily under his blade as he brought it around and, pivoting once more on skidding boots, was now striking at him from behind. Suddenly he seemed slow and cumbersome to my swiftness and sleekness. His movements were sluggish and dead. Mine were full and alive. I swept one sword under his legs, catching him off balance as the other came crashing hilt-first into his chest. As he hit the ground I was already standing over him, my blades both pressed edgewards against his neck in a poised scissor.

I grinned stupidly down at him as he blinked confusedly back up. “What…was that?” He asked between hoarse coughs in the dust. I simply shrugged mutely and continued to grin. “Whatever it was, it worked better than the hack-job I taught myself.” He said. I stepped away, offering him a gentlewomanly hand. He took it, climbing uneasily back to his feet, and let go quickly. “I want three out of five. You’re not leaving here until I think you can pull it off.” He said, protectiveness edging back into his voice. He really needed to drop that. I spoke kindly, but firmly. “We are not done here, Kage. But that is enough for now.” I said. His gaze lingered hesitantly, faint protests swirling behind those eyes. His mouth opened slightly, yearning to vocalise the thought. Swing. However, after an evident internal struggle, he simply nodded and replied with cool acceptance. “Okay.”

Miss.

I gave him a nod of sincere gratitude before sheathing my blades and stepping off the mat. We’ll be okay, I silently told myself.

Gentle waves rolled on from beneath the obscuring horizon of fog, lapping sycophantically at my feet while they scavenged sand from beneath them. The icy water seeping into my boots did not detract from my focus as I strained my eyes through mist and shadow. Like the rearing boundary of my imagination, the white haze was as much a mental device of the dream as it was an illustrative weather event, demarcating the arena in play. Directly above and in condescending spite of the fog, a domineering full moon reigned and set my tiny world alight. Her tears were curiously absent tonight; like me, her mood was set in defiance. Adorned in Silver's armour and reflecting the unfettered glory of the luminescent sphere above, I stood as a belligerent flame in the night, awaiting my fate.

Across the small stretch of beach, my opposing combatants entered the ring. To my left, a woman in black stepped through the fog, the shadows clinging to her like viscous cobwebs. She was, in almost every way, my perverse mirror image, but set apart by her long, shadowy blade, and the twisted mask through which her eyes burned like dying coals. To my right, through the wall of fog, stepped another woman shrouded in a ghostly blue aura, her distinctive twin blades emitting similar dark maelstroms. She wore a deeply set, paradoxical expression that sampled both rage and elation.

The pair approached on either side with slow, deliberate, synchronised steps. I drew out my blades with comparable dalliance, taking a few calculated steps forward, inching further from the water's edge. At the apex of the third step I turned sharply toward the Nightbringer, one blade raised at her in a challenge. The other blade waited at my side, dipping low, ready to turn and face Uuharel’s attack should she strike first. The agents of Shar paused for a fleeting moment at my sudden motion—the slightest of hesitations—but soon resumed their synchronous advance with arrant confidence. I tried to focus on my Sharran incarnation in front of me while listening for Uuharel’s steps behind; of the two, she was either the less light-footed or the more brazen. However, as they closed flawlessly it became clear that I would have to make the first move or perish in their trap. Exhaling a half-breath, I let both moonlight and shadow steel me.

I threw myself at the Nightbringer with as much capriciousness as I could conjure, my blades arcing wide as I aimed a horizontal slash across her torso. Her furious, burning eyes locked on mine as I struck—my blades finding nothing but air as she disappeared in a puff of shadow. I let the momentum of my misaimed attack carry me around, sinking to one knee and lifting my blades to block above my head. The manoeuvre proved timely as Uuharel’s weapons came crashing down on the steel I had placed between us. With all my strength, I pushed her arrested attack to the side, throwing her off balance and then swinging my off-hand sword around in another horizontal cut. Uuharel, however, flew up into the air with a delighted cackle, avoiding my stroke with ease. Suspended above the beach, she seemed to draw in dark lightning from the unnatural clouds of shadow surging around her, and then fire them back down at me. I rolled to avoid the ebony missiles that crackled and scorched the sand in my wake and, as I clambered to my feet, found myself sparring desperately with the Nightbringer. Her attacks seemed to shudder and warp, sometimes materialising only as she was already reaching the killing stretch of her cut. My parries felt almost supernatural, keeping such blows at bay. But each was, in truth, a miraculous escape.

Our duel heated up as Uuharel swooped back down and rejoined the assault. Together, they forced me into an unmeasured retreat back across the beach. The light of the moon cast long shadows across the sand, and we began to dance in and out of them as I struggled to stave off defeat. I was barely keeping up, their three blades overwhelming my two, increasingly attacking at angles I was hard-pressed to defend. I had no answer to their combined assault even as I felt the water through my boots once more and knew I could retreat no further. With every ounce of residual strength, every last measure of focus I could bring to bear, I stood my ground, blades whirling. I blocked, parried and ducked, but my last stand spanned only a few seconds. They went for the kill simultaneously; fell blades streaking in from opposite angles, impossible to divert. I felt the imminent curtain of blackness draw near.

Suddenly, the moon at my back flared bright and bathed the beach with blinding light. The agents of Shar recoiled mid-stroke, their attacks faltering. With a desperate cry, I cut a full arc in front of me. The blow was such that I felt no resistance on the blade, and for a brief moment I wondered if I had missed again. That notion was dispelled, however, as the pair fell dead at my feet, their ruin dissolving into a shadowy mist that pooled around me. It swirled in a tight spiral, and I felt its power being drawn into me. The coolness of it—not wholly comfortable, but not unpleasant either—swept eerily through my limbs. The shadows seemed to retreat from gaze and then return at my whim. I turned and glanced upwards to see the black face of the moon looming far closer than it had been previously. Its inexplicable light made my armour glow bright.

Closing my eyes, I stood there upon the shore; a dark-aura’d, silver warrior beneath a paradoxically black moon. In that moment, even as the scene began to skew and the waking world began intruding on my consciousness, I felt strangely content.

I raced up the stairs in energised leaps and bounds—sometimes three or four at a time—deftly keeping my feet and gaining distance from my pursuers. I had to silently remind myself not to get too far ahead or risk losing them completely. Between measured breaths, I instinctively counted the footfalls landing hungrily in my wake; six pairs of heavy boots belonged to the guards. One pair of bare feet, slapping against cold stone, belonged to the recently roused target. I had studied him carefully, internalising his character and habits. I knew his pride would compel him to give pursuit personally.

As I turned at the top of the stair, I slapped the small package on the wall and it obediently stuck in place. I took ten deliberate steps down the corridor and then about-faced, just as the pursuant band emerged panting behind me. I stood my ground as they closed, the guards professionally covering any angle to their master, as I suspected they would. With a flick of my wrist, the flaming dart sailed through the air and over the shoulder of the lead guard. For a fleeting moment, he thought I had missed, before the dart struck the package and ignited the charge within. A smile spread beneath my hood as they were all consumed by alchemist’s fire.

The smoke cleared in my mind and the high-ceilinged corridors of the Frost Keep materialised before my eyes, abruptly returning me to the moment. I shook the memory away as I edged down one side of the long passage, moving in short dashes between welcoming shadows cast by the pillars. Though I did not look back, the occasional friendly pat told me Apex was still watching it. We moved sleekly and silently toward the junction from where the commotion emanated, and where Tomar Goodmannen unknowingly waited for the swift death we would deal him. We approached the corner just as the noise reached a crescendo and then was suddenly silenced. I peeked around ice-clad stone and surveyed the scene.

I could see clearly through the iron-rimmed window into a finely furnished office. Perched on the roof opposite, I lay perfectly in the shadow of a chimney overhang, watching with the patience of a practiced night stalker. The target sat at an opulent wooden desk, opening sealed mail by candlelight. I habitually swirled the vial of poison as I watched. Hard to detect and even harder to trace, delivery of this toxin was difficult. It needed to get into the blood stream but, slow-acting as it was, a conspicuous method like a dart would raise the alarm and prompt the application of antidotes. He needed to overlook it.

My attention sharpened as he got to my special letter. He cut the wax seal with a flick of his knife then—as he moved to open the envelope with his thumb—winced sharply. I smiled silently as he sucked on the cut with a look of mild annoyance, before reading and discarding the letter and moving on. Content that he would be dead in a few hours, I slipped away into the night.

The giant with whom Tomar had been doing battle collapsed to the ground with a tumultuous crash, akin to the last gasp of a felled tree. As the dust settled, he turned away from my corner and gazed further down the corridor, perhaps searching for his next foe. His back presented an ideal target, nigh gift-wrapped with a pretty bow on it. Taking a short breath, I determinedly staved off all emotion as I gave a rushed signal for Apex to be ready, and then skirted the corner and glided into the attack. Swift feet yielded barely a sound even as I leapt toward him, blades arcing wide as I had so rigorously drilled, preparing to strike him down.

Their heavy eyes matched the weight of their expectation as they placed the sword in my hands. My arms dipped beneath the bulk of steel, so much heavier than the wood with which they had trained me, hardened me. The man knelt before me, a good cutting height for a practiced twelve-year-old, the bag over his head obscuring his features. My small hands struggled with the bulky silk wrappings, but I persevered, lifting the long blade above my head with some effort. The shadows watched expectantly and dispassionately. And I had to do what they expected.

The heavy blade fell and landed with a sickening squelch. I lifted it, and it fell again, and again and, several strokes later, I was awash in deep crimson. As the man slumped sideways, lifeless with clumsy cuts down his torso, the sliced bag fell away and revealed blank nothingness. No eyes, no mouth, nothing. Even then, I knew what it meant. He was a target, not a person. He was faceless. Every single one.

Faceless.

Tomar lay slumped, dead at my feet. His blood dripped generously from the blades hanging limp at my sides. My conscious self retreated, letting the Plan take over and automate my actions. Unthinking and unfeeling, I packed his wounds with ice so I could move the body without leaving a trail. I ordered Apex to lure another giant to this spot and slaughter it to cover the kill-site. I half-carried and half-dragged the corpse outside and to the road, where it would be discovered. I remained unflinching as I carved the letters into his torso as instructed by the client; a measure to evoke the distinct work of our agreed scapegoats. The previous night, we had checked into a nearby inn using the names of known Bhaalists and left additional material evidence there. Given recent events, I knew any of the target’s allies with pretensions of investigation would uncritically accept the conclusions we had engineered for them.

When I was safely back home, my weapons and gear meticulously cleaned and any residual material burned, I sat on my bed, waiting for it to hit me. I waited for the wave of emotion, for the tears, for the flashes of his twisted expression as he died. It never came.

Dreams, thoughts, memories, skills; they are all coming back to me now. And just like that, I am an Assassin once more.

They gathered at the hastily constructed gallows in the farmlands before the Gate. Although it was the middle of the day, the overcast sky drew a gloomy shadow over the assembled mob, foretelling the grim deed that would soon unite these fools in bloody murder. All the usual suspects were congregated; devout hypocrites and pious cannibals, queuing for their pound of flesh. They had called him “the Beast”, but they were the animals. All of them crude, primitive and bloodthirsty.

Pulling the rim of my hat down to better shade my face, I moved unnoticed through the crowd. An archetypical picture of a rich merchant’s wife or unlanded noble, I drew no stares or cursory glances. The collective attention of the mob was fixed firmly upon the tall shackled figure emerging from the line of guards behind the erected platform.

The condemned was led up rickety wooden stairs to the waiting noose. Despite his muscular form standing a head taller than any of his escort, he made no effort to resist, nor even pull against the restraints. His prominent beard—even more ragged and unruly now for time spent behind bars—obscured his features and disguised his expression. It could not hide his eyes though. Dark and resigned, they swept detachedly over the bleating crowd with apparent apathy. While the cries of the mob calling out for the Beast’s blood steadily pitched toward a crescendo, it seemed that I alone could see the fire died down in those eyes. What had remained of his passion had been extinguished with the last breath of his wife.

I tilted my head up slightly and caught his eye for a moment. I wondered what he felt when he saw me there. Perhaps some residual anger for my past deeds. Perhaps some small comfort merely to see an old face. Perhaps nothing at all. In any case, I silently mouthed words that he could not possibly mistake: You’ll be with her soon. Perhaps I imagined it, but I could swear that provoked a tiny flicker of life in those deadpan eyes.

I turned by back on the scene as the lever was pulled and the crowd roared. I pulled the rim of my hat down tight to cover my eyes as I slipped away unnoticed. I hadn’t known why I went, and it left a far more bitter taste in my mouth than I had anticipated. Pity was not in my repertoire of emotions, and I had no reason now to feel sorry for this man. It was only as I walked away and left the mob behind me that I realised the cause of the dull ache in my chest.

It was not because I pitied the Beast. It was because Randall Armstrong was my friend.

The elf was now pacing back and forth with an air of quietly festering annoyance, the light from the courtyard lamps paling his otherwise tanned skin. From the deep shadow of the inn’s jutting stone foundations, I watched, amused. As the minutes passed, that amusement gave way to a rising sense of opportunity. I played the scene through my head again.

I had been spying from one of my favourite spots near the campfire when I witnessed an exchange between Aearion and Rai. While that insipid witch had been, as usual, wholly absorbed by her own self-aggrandising and gloating about whispering to people from the shadows, Aearion had rather generously suggested that she was a “whisperer worth knowing”. He then departed, dropping a rather conspicuous hint that Rai should meet him in the courtyard of the Friendly Arm Inn. The apparent implication was a mutually beneficial business arrangement. Despite the obviousness of his overtures, Rai had missed the hint completely, and now Aearion paced in vain. I could quite literally step into her place, but I had only a few moments to assemble the pieces in my head and carefully choose my words.

I stepped out of the shadow of the inn, in full view. Aearion abruptly paused in his pacing, his eyes first going wide at my appearance, and then narrowing. "Good evening." He said with forced cordiality. A less discerning eye would not have caught the tensing of his arm and the slight loosening of his bow across his shoulders. I smirked knowingly.
"Is it? I see only the gathering darkness, made gloomier by the frustration of missed appointments." I replied.
"I suppose you enjoy listening to people's private conversations."
"My dear, that festering social hub is to privacy as your intended date is to competence. Words offered in public are owned by no one, and can belong to anyone.” I smiled, my eyes delivering the meaning omitted in my words. “I am an avid collector of such throwaway conversations, and the opportunities they afford."

He looked at me curiously, his attention caught. He relaxed, opting to draw the encounter out a little further. "My intended date? Now that you mention it, it does seem that I have been stood up. Unfortunate."
"The hint passed cleanly over her head without so much as ruffling her hood. Not so unfortunate though, as employing her would have proved a horrible mistake."
"And this is where you say you have a better offer, I suppose? I am not sure what you think is going on here…"
"Well now that you mention it…” I interjected gleefully. “This little rendezvous attempt is curious.” I mirrored his pacing, peering out from under my hood. “Could it have something to do with certain rumours blowing on the northerly breeze? Perhaps, following the smoke rising from a certain border town?” I glanced at him, and was instantly vindicated by the subtle crease in his forehead. I continued unabashed: “You clearly don’t buy that the Fist was responsible for the massacre; rather convenient that they remembered to guard against tracking and scrying, but forgot to remove their uniforms or kill the witnesses, don’t you think?
"Your attempts at delicate enquiries in the Palace District have certainly gotten you nowhere so far, and your courtly ally, who has the subtlety of a solid gold battering ram, has proven to be naught but the Dukes' neutered lapdog.”
He narrowed his eyes further, but remained silent.
“So, failed by your friends in high places, you rather desperately turn to your acquaintances in low ones. Enter Rai, able to creep around in the shadows and hear the conversations from which you are barred. ‘A whisperer worth knowing’, as it were. Of course, you have none-too-soon discovered that she is a talentless wench, and yet another dead end in a long sequence of the same.”

I turned back to Aearion, noting his set jaw and clenched fists. I looked at him seriously, shedding the theatrical edge from my tone. “You spoke of an offer, and I have one for you. When you are ready to hear it. For now, let me but humbly suggest that you know the wrong Whisperer.”

A long silence followed, during which he stared at me with what seemed like something between resentment and respect. “You are an avid collector.” He breathed. “But with such talk, I expect results. Your parlour tricks of appearing out of the shadows may impress some, but not me.”
“Would it make a greater impression if we were in a dark alley rather than a friendly, well-lit courtyard? Think on it next time you walk down one.” I smiled ambiguously, and he ventured a nervous chuckle.

And with that, my most important alliance was struck.

It was a perfect night on the Sword Coast. Not ‘Thieves’ perfect’ as my sisters and brothers of shadow would describe it, overcast with no moonlight, an obscuring fog and perhaps a light drizzle to keep the watchmen’s heads down. Rather, it was perfect for its warmth, comfort and sheer aesthetic beauty. The sky was mostly clear, alive with innumerable stars, those potent little lights that had for me become imbued with such incomparable meaning. The summer breeze was light and soothingly cool, the air quiet but for the gentle lapping of waves on the shore and the shrill instrumentals of nocturnal insects. The fresh scent of the ocean mingled pleasantly with the perfume of night-blooming flowers. Directly above, Selûne unobtrusively shone her approval.

I lay back in Delphinn’s arms, soaking in the calming magic. Our cliff-top vantage afforded us a view of the beach from the jutting peninsula of Candlekeep in the north to the lighthouse in the south. The horizon seemed as vast as all possibility and, for now, I felt like I could claim all of it.
“I’m serious.” Del said after a lingering silence. “We don’t talk about what you want often. We talk about what you’re dealing with, but not what you want. I want to know your dreams, Aik.”
I sighed softly, relaxed, a hint of a smile on my face. “I guess I have not had much time to think about what I want until now. There has always been something else in the way, something that needed my attention right now.”

I felt him nod, but he remained quiet, letting me take my time. In truth, I had thought about it, a bit. But I was afraid to vocalise my thoughts when it came to such wishful notions as hopes for the future. Another old habit I had yet to fully break, it seemed. But right now, in this place…where was the risk, really? Another small sigh escaped my lips. “I suppose…I want it to end how you want it to end.”
I glanced up at him and caught a glimpse of his smile.
“You know, the Code has been revised recently…” He said.
“So what?” I replied, knowing full well where this going but unwilling to help him along too much.
“So…it means I could propose to you, and we could have that ending.”
Despite myself, my breath momentarily caught in my throat. Composure, Aik. “Will you?” I asked with as much neutrality as I could manage.
He smiled, his tone light, but I could sense his undercurrent of nervousness. “Perhaps. I’d have to ask permission from the Guildmasters you know. Should I wait until you’re the Duchess? Or should I go to Diamond for permission? This all sounds like a lot of work…”
I rolled my eyes and hit him lightly in the shoulder. “Just ask me you coward.”

He chuckled, rubbing his shoulder with an exaggerated grimace. “Alright, stand up.” He said. I complied, brushing a couple of leaves off of my dress in the process. He got down on one knee, taking my hand in his.
“Aikura, Silver, as you know I did not have the most noble of intentions when we first met. But with each passing day my heart belonged more and more to you.” The lightness was gone from his voice, replaced with a weight of sincerity. “You now fill my heart and my thoughts. I love you. All of you, every part. My heart is yours. Will you make me the happiest man on Toril, and marry me?”
A broad smirk played across my face as I let several heartbeats pass.

“Of course.”

He beamed up at me, and suddenly I was beaming too. The gravity of it hit me as he stood and pulled me to him. We kissed, lengthily and passionately, and I felt lightheaded with happiness and a sense of rightness. I belonged to him, and he to me. He broke the kiss, still beaming.
“I didn’t plan to do this tonight, and I don’t have a ring. But I promise to steal you the very best ring in all the Gate.”
I grinned back at him.
“What more could a Thief girl ask for?”

And that perfect night had a perfect end.

The aged stairs creaked with each footfall as I descended to the secret warehouse – “the basement", we called it – looking for the Master Arm. He was easy enough to find. He stood at the far end near the Mat, wearing his dark armour and leaning against the wall with characteristic nonchalance. I crossed the space between in long strides, easily dismissing the warehouse drones with a look. Kage casually pushed himself off the wall as I approached.
“You wanted to see me?” He asked, adjusting his scabbards as he stepped onto the Mat.
“Yes but…I’m not here for sparring today. Let’s talk in your office for this.” He cocked one eyebrow and gave me a curious look.
“Alright.”

He led the way through the corridor of stacks to his office door, opening it for me and then closing it behind us both. I took a deep breath, turning to face him.
“You asked me to tell you if…things happened. So as not to hear them from other people first.” I said, treating each word with the same care due a treacherous razor. “Well, I’m getting married.” He swallowed and looked at the floor, and there was an agonisingly awkward silence before he spoke again.
“I…figured.” He said, forcibly maintaining a casual demeanour. “I guess…I knew it would happen. After the Code was changed.” I nodded slightly.
“We have not yet sought permission from the Duchess. I wanted to tell you first.”
“I guess…I owe you an apology. Or several. And…an explanation.”
“You owe me no such thi-”
“No, I do.” He said quickly. “I’m sorry…for letting things get to this point. And being jealous, I guess is what it was.” I opened my mouth to protest but he pre-empted me with a wave of his hand. “No…that was the easy part. I know what you’re going to say to that.” He avoided looking at me as he continued, his forehead visibly creased beneath the shade of his hood. “I’m also sorry for…letting my guard down, with Vicala, while I was still in love with you. That was the source of my guilt. The worst of it, anyway.”

Another long silence fell between us and he continued his fascination with my boots.
“Okay. Are you done?” I asked, somewhat forcefully. He managed a slight nod. “Alright then. Kage, you have never done anything wrong by me. By yourself perhaps, but not by me. I have made unfair demands of you, not least that you continued the Vicala assignment when I knew it wasn’t good for you. The point is, you have been there for me completely, even though it was difficult for you to even be around me.” I placed one hand on his shoulder, and he finally looked up. “I could ask nothing more of a Guildmaster, or a friend. That’s all there is to say.”

He took a moment to digest my words and then nodded again, this time with what seemed like a hint of gratitude. We’ll be okay. I withdrew my hand and stepped past him to leave.
“Silver.” He said, prompting me to pause. “If…if the Duchess needs any convincing, you can tell her I approve.”
I smiled slightly, turning back to him. I placed one hand on the side of face, and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
“Thank you, Kage.” I said. And with that, I left.

I felt him watch me as I walked back out into the basement, then I heard the door close.

The Duchess’ office resembled the private library of an aspiring lesser noble, desperately assuming the pretense of latent intellectualism. The north and east walls were floor-to-ceiling shelves, bursting with voluminous tomes on every subject from the histories of the Cormyrian Houses, to recipes for kobold soup. A thick layer of dust betrayed the neglect shown this collection by the office’s incumbent, save for a gaping hole on the eastern shelf from which the Guild’s intelligence files had been habitually and progressively pilfered by the Whisperer.

The centre of the room was dominated by an overbearing mahogany desk, littered with a few dregs of paperwork. An ornate, high chair elevated the Duchess to a level at which she could comfortably rest her petite elbows on its surface, her fingers poised together in imminent judgement. Delphinn and I faced her in the simple chairs opposite; him, relaxed and confident; I, tapping my foot nervously out of sight. At last, Diamond finally spoke.

“No.”
“What?” Del and I bawked in unison. Diamond let out a heavy sigh.
“Silver has already failed to prove she can keep work and play separate.” She said. “And how long has this been a question? You have this thing about doing things without telling me till the last minute.”
“I don-…” I began, before Diamond cut me off.
“Like this Aearion contract of yours that you took without even bringing it up to any of the other Guildmasters first. You forget about that already? And I have yet to approve that, by the way.” I felt my face grow red, anger rising to the surface.

Del looked aghast. I tried to steady my now trembling hands; an act to still my rage before I lost my temper completely. I breathed out deliberately, and forced calm into my voice.
“I am prepared to discuss that with you, Diamond." I said slowly. "But what bearing does it have on this? What is your problem, really?”
“And is that why you wanted the Code changed?" She continued, apparently oblivious to my efforts. "Just so you could get married? Ya know, you are supposed to bring up ideas to help the Guild, not just yourself!”
“That’s not fair, Duchess.” Said Del quickly, shooting a wary look in my direction. My hands now clenched into fists, and my teeth ground together as I struggled to keep under control.
“Everything I do is for the Guild.” I said coldly.
“And yet this one looks like something you only did for yourself. And who knows what else you failed to say at the time, just like you failed to bring up the contract before you took it. You can’t just wait till the last minute to say something. And how long has this been a question? You have yet to answer that.” Anger burned inside me. How dare she?

Del, increasingly conscious of my deteriorating self-control, made a last-ditch effort to save the situation.
“Duchess, please.” He said. “We came here right away. There is nothing that breaks protocol. We’re not married yet, so the Code is honoured. If you have some other beef with Silver, please don’t use my proposal to work it out.” Diamond sighed heavily.
“Hmm, fine. We’ll discuss it with the other Guildmasters.”
“Thank you, Duchess.” Del said amidst his own sigh of relief. My fists continued to shake uncontrollably at my sides with barely contained rage.
“Thanks, but no thanks, Duchess.” I said through grinding teeth, venom dripping readily from every word.
“What?” Said Diamond incredulously. Del cocked an eyebrow in surprise.
“I came here seeking your permission, and your blessing.” I said, rising from my chair. “But now I want neither. Don’t expect an invitation.” With that, I turned my back on her and stormed from the office.

I headed upstairs to my room, true to tantrum form. Del managed to catch up to me there and push his way through the door before I slammed it. I collapsed against the wall, sobbing into my hands. He knelt beside me, putting a firm hand on my shoulder.
“Are you alright?”
“Should have known. Spiteful little two-faced bitch.” I muttered in between sobs. He slid down beside me, nodding in agreement and placing a comforting arm around my shoulders.
“Duchess or not, she was way out of line. I don’t give a damn what she says, I intend to marry you, Aik.” I managed a slight smile as I wiped the tears from my face. Resting my head on his shoulder, I could feel my temples still throbbing with anger. She only sits there because of me... I thought to myself. I saved this Guild. I got this Hall back. Every Footpad, Arm and Finger in these four walls was trained by my own hand. I have rebuked more than one attempt to dethrone her. And this is how she repays me? Lords her tenuous sliver of power around and uses my own marriage to spite me…

I stood up suddenly and paced to my desk, buried beneath messily piled letters and intelligence reports. Del simply watched as I leaned heavily on the desk, thinking through the variables and moving pieces around in my head.
“I need…to talk to the other Guildmasters.” I said after a time, business-like resolve returning.
“About us? Or something else?”
“Both. Diamond will have two days. That’s how long it will take me to make sure everyone is on board...” Riffling through the stacks, I found an unblemished sheet of vellum, dipped a fresh quill and began hastily scribing.
“What is it?” Del asked, getting to his feet. “Talk to me, Aik. Don’t shut me out.”
“I’m not shutting you out.” I said, stamping my seal on the short note and turning back to him. “I’m shutting her out.” With that vengeful fire in my eyes, the sobbing girl was but a memory. Del grinned devilishly at me, the same he employed whenever he knew a plot was afoot.
“She has two days to change my mind.” I said, and he nodded, both of us looking down at the seeds of treason delicately clutched in my hands.
“I hope she changes my mind…”

I burst through the door to the Duchess’ office, not bothering to knock, and stood before her with my arms folded. Diamond looked up from her desk, meeting the cold glare with which I fixed her.
“And what’s your problem? Sit.” She said.
“No.”
“Aikura, sit down.”
“Go to hell. And don’t call me that!”
“What the hell is wrong with you?!”
“You know, I’ve put up with a lot from you.” I moved to stand over her desk. “Your systematic absences, your lapses in attention, the constant power-tripping, the complete lack of recognition. I run this Guild for you. I hold it together. You only sit at that desk because of me. And you throw it back in my face!” I drew in a long breath, closing my eyes. “And then, you accuse me of putting myself before the Guild.”
“What? You take contracts out of nowhere, don’t tell me things, and then you want praise? You keep trying to do everything. I’m not going to encourage that.” I opened my eyes and glared again. This was going nowhere.
“You’re still not getting it!” I said, raising my voice. “You, my Duchess, my mentor, my friend, whom I respect and protect, used my marriage as a cheap shot to punish me, your Whisperer, your student, your friend. If you don’t get what’s wrong with that…”
“Alright! Look, I’m sorry okay! I am.” Diamond sighed heavily, lowering her eyes. “I was wrong. At the time it just seemed that way and I was mad because of everything else.” I tilted my head, watching her expectantly. She looked up, meeting my eyes with a sheepish expression. “Okay, I was a bitch.” She said. I smirked.
“Warmer.”
“Ugh…I was lower than the fungus on Soot’s boot.” I gave her a long, thoughtful look, and then finally nodded, deciding the analogy was apt enough. “I need you, I really do.” She said. My expression softened by the slightest degree, and I nodded again - as close to an 'apology accepted' as I would give. I turned and walked to the door, pausing with my hand on the latch.
“You require of me to keep my relationship separate from business.” I said slowly. “I require of you the same. If you use it in that way again, you will not be my friend. You will not be my mentor.” I turned my head slightly to look back at her, the warning firm in my eyes. “And you will not be my Duchess.”

I left her alone in the office that would, for now, remain hers. But in my heart, I knew she was now on borrowed time.

I dropped onto the wooden planks with a soft squelch, dark slime yielding beneath my boots, a shadow coiled in the darkness. I paused for a moment, pulling the silver mask over my mouth and nose, leaving only my eyes bared against the black. The cave was dark, though intermittently lit by wall-mounted torches. Slime covered the walls wherever these were too sparse to burn it away, and accumulated moisture persistently dripped from the ceiling. More decay clung to the old timber, rotten but firm even after many years of neglect. Beneath them could be heard the invisible flow of fast-moving water.

Rising from a crouch, I advanced down the passageway into the torchlight, my gait measured for silence but making little further effort to conceal my presence. Wrapped in silver armour, my clawed hands rested on the dark hilts at my waist, my belt bristling with matte-finished throwing knives. As I moved through the flickering spheres of light, the dark circles crowning my bloodshot eyes were illuminated in sporadic flashes. Muscles fatigued by tension and sleep deprivation obeyed the fierceness in my heart, and persisted with conjured strength. It’s not too late. I will find him. Reaching the end of the underground pier, I knelt next to the mooring of the lone canoe and began working on the rope. Not too late.

I didn’t so much hear my pursuer as sense him. I spun in place, hand on hilt, ready to draw. The figure stood at the edge of a circle of light, clad in black and unflinching. I relaxed, recognising the blunt cut of the armour. No words passed between us, but the dark resolve in his eyes banished any thoughts of protest from my mind. Fine. We’ll search together. He took over the mooring as I manoeuvred the canoe into place and climbed in the front. The tiny vessel bucked as Kage took position behind me. I braced my oar against the slime-covered pier and launched us into the subterranean stream.

With alternating strokes, we paddled into the black in complete silence. This would be the third safehouse in my search, and I knew the likelihood of finding him there was not high. I had half the Guild out searching waypoints, waiting at arranged check-in points, or canvassing social circles for rumours. Meanwhile, the dockrats were sweeping the city from gate to gate. I couldn’t lose him, not now when everything was finally clicking into place. I tried to focus on the stroke of my oar, and force the multiplicity of feared scenarios from my head.

Nevertheless, the bump of the canoe finally hitting the safehouse dock abruptly woke me from dark dreams. I numbly disembarked from the canoe onto the wet wooden structure, careful to keep my feet as I advanced down the corridor in a low stance. I slowly drew out my blades, keeping to the shadow and remaining alert for any disturbance. I knew Kage would follow close behind though, at this point, I didn’t much care either way. My thoughts were wholly consumed, myopically focused on the tunnel ahead. Nothing would slow me down, no one would get in my way. I would find Delphinn, no matter what.

I stopped in my tracks, exposed in the light and forgetting all stealth at the sight confronting me. The safehouse door remnants were laid asunder amidst burst hinges and splintered flotsam. The still-burning torches cast a flickering light on this ruin, just adequate to the task of highlighting the smears of blood within.
“No!” I ran forward through the gaping splinters, Kage rushing to my side with his own weapons drawn. I saw him immediately, his crumpled form lying amongst broken crates and other paraphernalia of our abandoned hideout, trailing blood to the entrance. Too late. My grip failed and my blades clattered against the stone floor, echoing in the silence. I rushed forward and knelt at his side, sliding one hand under to support his head. His hair felt damp and matted with coagulating blood.

Kage knelt opposite me, his eyes hard, checking for signs of life with his fingers. Tears soaked into my cloth mask as I looked over Del’s broken body. His skin, usually the tan brown of his Calimshan heritage, was frighteningly pale and cold to the touch. His clothes were slashed in several places; blood from those wounds that now pooled around my knees.
“I will kill them all!” I shouted to no one. I loved him so much. I felt like something had torn inside of me, leaving only a few bare threads of agony and anger.
“Silver, he’s breathing.” Said Kage. Breaking free from the cyclone of my despair, I looked back at Del’s lips. They had a sickly blue hue, but Kage was right; their slight quiver betrayed a weak breath.
“Silver, he’s lost a lot of blood. We need to patch him up and get him out of here.”
I could only nod mutely through my tears as I positioned my arms to help Kage move him. We were just in time.

We saved him, but it was too close. I could not suffer such a risk to him anymore. I could not suffer the risks to any of them. We needed to do things differently. Only I can protect the Guild.

A solitary lamp fought feebly against the oncoming darkness. Though it was not yet dusk, the gathering storm clouds were dutifully set about hastening the arrival of night. A gentle, but rising wind rode across choppy waves and whipped the top-sail sheets of ships at anchor; the harbinger of the great tempest following in its wake. I stood on the end of the pier under the greying sky, watching it approach, listening to the water wrap around the wooden columns below. I sighed heavily and cast regretful eyes over the idle ships, heaving in the bay amidst flotsam and storm debris. The locals would tell you this floating detritus was the residue of plundered ships, scuppered rather than taken a prize by the resident pirate lords. More likely, it was the result of rum-addled helmsmen in a bad state, steering ships in worse.

Behold the glory of Roaringshore. The great fortress of rotten, grime covered wood, where drunken buccaneers rule from puddles of their own vomit. Free from the oppressive shackles of the the Dukes’ peace. Free from the tyranny of clean streets, maintained docks, rich trade or a working sewer system. ‘Free port’ indeed. The cutthroats here styled themselves Thieves of the sea, but they didn’t know about stealing, not really. They couldn’t run a game, or work the angles, or put the right people on the take. They were just disorganised bruiser gangs with ships. Now the superstitious cowards wouldn’t even ferry me back to my own docks because of a few clouds and a crusty old trident. Courtesy of those brave souls, I would be stranded here as long as the storm endured.

At least it had been a productive trip. I took heart in the leaf of parchment, valuable beyond measure, now tucked safely away beneath my armour. And to think, I had demanded payment in mere gold in exchange for granting Gareut – or Captain Kalma Hellstorm as he was now going by – a longer leash for his activities on the Trade Way. Truthfully, his robbing the occasional hapless traveler posed little threat to our ilk. I could not call it competition as the Thieves of the Guild were no highwaymen; that sort of work was for men with short attention spans and shorter lives. But at the shore’s edge, the pirates’ domain ended and mine began. If the good Captain was going to work on my turf, he had to show deference. And to show deference, he had to pay me.

That made sense enough, but I had other reasons to deal. My influence did not yet reach as far as Roaringshore and having an ally there might prove useful. A mutual business arrangement could open up the possibility of smuggling routes by sea. And, Gareut had been a friend of mine, after a fashion. With Randall dead, Tamara missing and Shalinee abroad, Gareut and I were among the last of the old band; the free swords who fought in the siege of the Bhaal Temple. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I felt it meant something. He had changed a lot in that time, become wilder, more unpredictable, in the manner of his nom de guerre. All the more reason to rein him in now.

I had demanded gold in return for leaving well enough alone, but Gareut had offered something far more valuable, something I had desired a long time: a list of Harper agents operating in the local cell. Their names, their standing orders, how they communicate with other cells. Everything. It was not a fair deal and Gareut knew it, but he understood this one thing about me, this one way to my heart. The Harpers were a hard nut to crack, maybe the hardest, and he just handed me the key. Flatterer.

A light pattering sound signaled the arrival of the rain. I pulled my cloak tight around me and, with a final forlorn glance at empty masts that refused my deliverance, turned to walk back along the pier and trudge up the muddy incline. At the very least I could find a half-decent room at the inn, and perhaps find something else worth stealing to offset my misery until the skies cleared.

A typically augural mood lay oppressively over a modest crowd of patrons, gracing the bar and lobby of the Sword Arm Inn with their relatively unobtrusive business. Subdued figures congregated here and there in small huddles, exchanging conspiratorial whispers and haunted looks. The sombre atmosphere was a stark contrast to the nigh unrestrained riotousness of the Broken Goblet and, while the latter was generally more interesting to disengaged watchers such as myself, I was intent on not becoming too familiar with the Hellstorms infesting the place. Not in plain sight anyway. Besides, pay attention long enough amidst this nest of whispers and some more valuable tid-bits will start trickling to your ears.

I reclined in an ill-lit corner of the lobby, my face mostly concealed in the shade of my hood, nursing an untouched mug of Berduskan dark. Untouched, not because I was trying to keep my wits about me, but because the proprietor had watered it down to an unpleasantly weak vapidity. I stared into the pallid liquid with unfocused eyes, as though lost in deep thought. Neither belonging nor exactly out of place, the other patrons gave me no regard whatsoever; just another silent watcher in their midst. It’s amazing how quickly folks abandon caution once they become comfortable with your presence, and conversations resume unguardedly. As long as I was stranded here I was going to make the most of it, and the prattle of fungible conversations was as melodic to my ears as the sound of the resulting coin would be, streaming into my pockets.

No one but me looked up when the door creaked open and a new figure entered, together with a brief, wet breath of the storm that still raged outside. She was of like stature to me, and wearing a similar—albeit wetter—black hooded cloak. She was immediately interesting. The newcomer stood just inside the doorway for a few moments, dripping on the floorboards as she surveyed the lobby-dwellers. Did her eyes linger on me, just for an instant? Not bothering to remove her saturated cloak, she walked through the lobby, past the kitchens to an alcove door I knew led to a small cellar. As she passed, I glimpsed a familiar metallic sheen—obsidian scales with a hint of crimson—beneath her shifting cloak. Very interesting.

As soon as the cloaked figure disappeared from view, I abandoned my drink as a lost cause and made to follow her. My sudden movement drew only a few momentary glances, as though at something forgotten. Pulling my cloak around me and pausing only to ensure I was not myself being followed, I gave silent pursuit down the short stair and into the relative darkness below. I slipped into the shadows, moving stealthily between the stacks and a few large wooden casks; presumably where the proprietor cellared his water. Peering out from behind a crate, I spied her walking brazenly in the torchlight, back toward the stair. She gave a start as I stepped from the shadows and blocked her path.

“It seems your habits have dulled of late, Creeping.” I said with a smirk. Her lip curled into a contemptuous sneer of recognition.
“Well, if it isn’t the pretender to Toybox’s throne.”
“Funny. You know, I’ve come to realise that Toy’s ‘throne’ may not have been all it was made out to be.” I cocked my head slightly to one side, watching her. “That house of cards sure toppled fast enough when the Shadow Thieves blew on it.”
“Your failure then. Yours and Diamond’s. You’ll never know the power that we knew.” The venom in her voice was unmistakeable. She was resentful. Defensive.
“I know that it takes more than a hand of half-baked assassins to run the Baldurian underworld. Your past associates are forgotten now, erased in my footprint.”
“You were but a stumbling child when I found you. You would be nothing without me.”
“True enough. And would you know it, I’ve never repaid you in kind for that first courtesy. Perhaps now is my chance?” I let one half of my ebony cloak fall away, revealing my hand gripping a silk-wrapped hilt. I loosened the blade slightly in its scabbard, and Creeping tensed, shifting her posture sideways by a subtle degree.
“You turn against your own kind, even after you already turned me out!” She spat. “So much for the Code!”
“Don’t invoke the Code like some incantation to protect you. It is my charge, and I know it better than you. You broke it when you left, and further blew your chance upon your return. My own kind…” I looked her over with scornful eyes. “I see none. There are only enemies before me.”
“You should mind them also at your back, lest they stick a knife there. As mine have done to me.” I did naught to cover my triumphant smirk at that.
“I’ll be watching you, Creeping.” I said, turning away from her and walking toward the stair. “Drown here with the rats as you please, but come near the Gate and that knife you speak of will get some less metaphorical company.”

I left her alone there in the dark, hateful eyes burning holes in my back. I smiled. That hate would keep me warm for a while yet, no matter the weather.