Shadows of Amn

Chapter Five

Of course he was going to go back for them. What else could he do?

Abdel had found pity at the Copper Coronet—clothes, food, and a place to part ways with Minsc—but when he allowed himself the minutes it took to eat the chicken they gave him and drink some water, he could feel his mind clear. He came into the tavern exhausted, still reeling from what had been a long period of unconsciousness. He'd demanded to see Captain Orhotek, and though it seemed perfectly reasonable at the time, now he had to admit to himself that he didn't actually know the man, had heard of him but had never met him. Abdel looked mad and told stories that were difficult to believe at best. He knew he'd left Jaheira behind, and he wasn't even sure if she was alive or dead, but he wasn't so sure anymore that Imoen had been there too. It sounded like her, looked like her, but how could it be her?

Abdel put his head in his hands and felt the grease coating his fingers mingle with the dried sweat and grime that covered him. His head lolled, and he almost fell asleep. Knowing he couldn't possibly leave Jaheira to the Shadow Thieves—or whoever their captors were— for as long as he knew he'd sleep if he let himself, Abdel struggled to stand. His head spun, but when he got to his feet, he actually started to feel better. Minsc walked by, holding a tray full of empty flagons and dirty dishes. He caught Abdel's eye and smiled. The little hamster peered at the sellsword from a pocket in Minsc's already dirty apron.

Abdel tried to return the man's smile but couldn't. He turned and went through the door in the back wall of the barroom he'd seen several of the patrons pass through. It led into a space off the alley where two barrels of water stood open to the warm night. Abdel went to one of the barrels, and after splashing a handful of water over his face, he grew frustrated and simply dunked his head into the lukewarm water.

He scrubbed at his face and hair, scratching his itchy scalp, then pulled off the too-tight shirt he'd borrowed from the barkeep and let it drop onto the alley floor. Abdel washed himself aggressively, using the action to wake himself up. He had no plan and still wasn't thinking well enough to try to form one. All he knew was that he didn't want to fight with the light long sword he'd taken from the soldier. He had one of the swords, and so did Minsc. The red-haired man seemed to have found a place to settle, so Abdel figured the madman wouldn't be needing his sword. Maybe Abdel could trade the two blades for one decent broadsword, but he knew he'd have to wait at least until morning to do that.

His own weapon and armor might have been left in Baldur's Gate for all he knew, but they might also be down somewhere under that warehouse with Jaheira. Before he did anything else, he'd have to go back there. "You should sleep," a voice behind him said, and he didn't bother spinning. He turned slowly and saw Bodhi standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the doorframe.

"I have to go back there," he told her and turned back to the barrel.

"To find your wife?" she asked. He heard her light footsteps approaching him from behind.

"She's not my wife," Abdel told her simply. "I don't care if you don't believe me."

She came up next to him, and from the corner of his eye, he saw her smile. "In the morning I can take you to see someone from the militia or someone from the council, maybe."

He knew she was trying to humor him, and he only grunted. She smiled again in answer to that and stepped up to the barrel. She dunked her head into the water and came back up quickly, letting it cascade over her shoulders and onto the light fabric of her dress.

"That does feel good," she said quietly, running her fingers through her hair, her eyes closed.

The wet dress began to stick to her, outlining small details of her body that drew Abdel's eyes as they would any man's. She noticed him noticing her and glanced down. Abdel was too tired and too worried about Jaheira but most of all too disappointed in himself to blush.

"You can touch me," she said. "I want you to."

He sighed and took one step back. "I have to go."

"In the morning," she said, stepping toward him, stopping less than an inch away from his bare chest. "Please."

"I love her," he told her.

"She could be dead," Bodhi said too bluntly, and Abdel restrained himself from backhanding her across the alley.

"That's why I have to go," he said instead.

Bodhi didn't follow him when he took three steps away from her and bent to pick up his shirt.

"She must be very beautiful," she said.

Abdel didn't feel the need to answer.

"I can help you." He looked at her with a wrinkled brow, and she continued, "You need gold, don't you? Gaelan knows where she is. He knows things like that, but he's serious about the gold. You can kill him if you want to, but he won't tell you anything unless you pay him first. It's what he does."

"What are you asking me to do?" he asked her.

"Aran Linvail," she said, "have you heard of him?"

"No, should I have?"

"He deserves to die," she said, "and there is a price on his head."

"Am I an assassin now?"

She smiled, and Abdel looked away, so he wouldn't return the smile. "You can be a bounty hunter. Linvail is the assassin—a very prolific one."

Abdel figured he'd have to take her word for that. The shirt ripped again as he tried to put it on. It was too small for him, and now that he was wet, it didn't seem like he'd get it over his chest. He was only half listening to her.

"I know someone who will pay thirty thousand gold pieces for his head," she said. "They've got the coin, Abdel, and they will pay it."

He stopped, gave up on the shirt, and looked at her sternly. "You want me to kill for gold?"

She smiled again, and Abdel was struck by how pretty she was. Her dress was still wet, and she wasn't making any attempt to hide herself from him.

He turned away, moving to the door, as she said, "Can you afford not to? You've got a pair of my brother's old pants and a stolen sword, Abdel, and that's all. By your own account, you're not even from here. I like you, but not everyone will."

He sighed and turned away. If he hadn't been so tired, and didn't have somewhere to go, he might have hit her after all.

Jaheira had a vague memory of the sound of water, and there was the motion that made her think she'd been on a boat. She was outside—or had been—and it had been night, but she couldn't see any stars.

It took her three tries before she actually regained consciousness. Her eyelids opened only with great difficulty, and one side of her face was awash in a dull, throbbing ache.

"She's alive," a voice said. It was a young woman's voice, tired and unenthusiastic.

Jaheira turned toward the voice, and something hurt her neck. She winced, and that made her face hurt. She closed her eyes, which filled with tears, but tried to keep her breathing steady.

"Where am I?" Jaheira asked, her voice scratchy and uneven.

"A cave," the voice replied.

This time Jaheira opened her eyes and saw the girl who had been dragged with her through the storm drain by the vampire woman. The girl was chained to the wall by a wide leather collar fastened tightly around her neck. The pain in Jaheira's own neck came from an identical strap. The half-elf tugged at her bonds, but they held fast, anchored firmly into the wall.

There was a torch hanging in a crude wall sconce guttering out a smoky orange light from maybe twenty feet above Jaheira's head. The ground she was sitting on was smooth, uneven stone. Above her hung stalactites of varying yellow, gray, and dull brown. It was a natural cavern, probably carved by an underground stream. The ceiling was high, but the walls were close on two sides. The cavern went off into the thick darkness on either side as if they were in a tunnel or natural corridor.

"My name is Jaheira," she said to her fellow prisoner, looking up to catch the young woman's surprisingly steady gaze.

The girl was dirty, disheveled, and tired, but still undeniably pretty. Shoulder-length auburn hair framed a smooth-skinned face with a high forehead and full lips. Her dark eyes sparkled with intelligence even as red with exhaustion as they were. Her body was slender and tightly well-proportioned. Her tattered blouse covered modest breasts and narrow hips. There was something about her that looked fast, like a gazelle, but somehow more dangerous.

"Imoen," the girl answered. "Nice that you came around. I'm happy for someone to talk to."

"How long have we been here?" Jaheira asked, determined to settle some facts of her situation, so she could have some chance of escaping it. The question seemed to upset Imoen.

"I have no idea," she answered. "Hard to tell in a cave, actually. I fell asleep for a while, I think. Maybe a couple of days."

"Since the storm drain?" Jaheira asked.

"Storm drain?"

"We need to get out of here," Jaheira said simply, not entirely surprised that the girl hadn't been conscious of that part of their journey.

Imoen smiled pleasantly and said, "Gee, think?"

The girl's tone made the fine hairs behind Jaheira's gently pointed ears stand on end.

"I am your friend," she whispered in a voice as solid as bedrock. "We can help each other."

Abdel tried to think of Jaheira, but this woman's presence was overpowering. He closed his eyes and turned his head sharply to one side. She seemed sad but confident at the same time, hopeful and consumed with sorrow. He wanted to reach out to her, but he took two steps backward instead.

She took two steps toward him, keeping the distance between them constant. Her eyes were a pale gray that Abdel couldn't possibly ignore.

"I can get you weapons," she said quietly, "armor maybe, too, but you'll have to kill him. You just have no choice."

Abdel's brow knitted, and he sighed.

"You've killed for gold before, Abdel," she said, even quieter now. "I can see that on your face, in the lines of your arms, on the backs of your hands. You can do this. You can get the gold you need to pay Gaelan to tell you where your—"

"That's enough," he said, turning away.

She stepped closer still and touched his shoulder. Her fingers were cold, but soft. He wanted to flinch away from her touch, but he didn't.

"He's a Shadow Thief," she said. "Aran Linvail. He's an assassin for the Shadow Thieves. He kills for gold every day. Shouldn't he die that way too?"

"I don't do that anymore," Abdel said, not turning around. "I've changed."

"You can change back," Bodhi whispered, "if you love her enough."

Abdel knew what Jaheira would say if she were there. She would remind him of how far he'd come since he watched Gorion die. He wasn't a hired thug anymore. He didn't kill out of anger anymore.

But Jaheira wasn't there.

She was being held prisoner, was being tortured maybe, or worse. Abdel didn't know what was happening to her. If it was the Shadow Thieves who'd taken them in Baldur's Gate—and that seemed easy enough to believe—then maybe killing this Aran Linvail was a form of justice after all.

Abdel knew he was fooling himself, but he had no choice. He could beat the information out of Gaelan Bayle, but would that be better than killing a Shadow Thief assassin? If he knew where Jaheira was, wouldn't he gladly kill any number of Shadow Thieves to rescue her? So, Aran Linvail would be one of those.

"I'll need a broadsword," he said quietly to Bodhi, "and chain mail, but nothing fancy."

She smiled. "You're doing the right thing, Abdel," she said reassuringly. "You don't seem to believe it, but when this is all done, you'll know you did what you had to do to save her and left the world a better place-without Aran Linvail—in the process."

"A broadsword," he repeated, "as heavy as you can find."