The young boy ran through the large corridors, puffing and huffing as he went. He tugged quickly at one of his slightly oversized robes in order to keep it from falling too low and tripping him as he ran, doing his very best to reach his destination in time. Master Val Hurst was awaiting the scrolls he carried, and it wouldn’t do to keep him waiting overly long, especially since he should have probably delivered them a half hour ago. It had just been so curious, the two armored half-elves, coming and speaking to Gorion of all people, in his private quarters, right after he had been sent to deliver the scrolls. How could he have been expected not to listen- although he doubted either Gorion or Val Hurst would approve of him eavesdropping.

It didn’t, he supposed as he rested by a large pillar to collect his breath, help that he hadn’t even heard anything interesting or remotely worth of gossiping to the inkeep Winthrop about. All he had heard was them talking about some girl, probably the latest sorceress in the magical community or something. He didn’t have a chance to hear much more, after bumping into that small set of chimes resting near the door. Who puts chimes next to a doorway? he thought to himself as he ran.

He had bolted right after, but not before wasting nearly fifteen minutes there. He grimaced as he thought about what would happen if they discovered he had been eavesdropping. The voice of Master Val Hurst rang in his mind, the deep bass tone resounding, I am very disappointed in you, young one. He especially didn’t want Gorion to be disappointed in him, not after he had been doing so well in his lessons lately. He hadn’t messed up too many cantrips; actually he had been quite well. Gorion was his father, and even though he knew his real father was someone else, he didn’t care. Gorion had raised him, trained him in what he knew of the magic arts, and taught him the values he held dear. Nobody could take his place and he would have done anything to please the older man. Even so… the boy sighed as he stopped briefly to take a quick breather.

He would have given much for someone… anyone to play with. Granted, he played hide and go seek with Winthrop every now and then, usually when he was being chased for some prank he had pulled, but he really wanted a playmate, someone his own age to be friends with, get into trouble with… that sort of thing. Every now and then a noble or knight or wizard would come to Candlekeep with a child near his age, but he was never given the chance to see or play with them. It was… depressing. But it was not his place to question this, he supposed. Gorion knew best, and would do everything necessary to raise him properly.

So, after resting next to a hall pillar for a few seconds, he took off down the hall once more, his footsteps thudding down the carpet as he rounded a corner at top speed… only to crash into another body, the papers he clutched flying through the air to land throughout the hall, atop the befuddled pair on the ground. He hurriedly jumped to his feet, snatching the papers as quick as possible, mumbling an apology for the person he had ran into, not even taking the time to look at who he had bumped into. He had never moved faster, so frightened he was of being late, he barely heard the irritated cry from behind him as he ran once more, “Hey! Watch where yer goin!”

He winced mentally, realizing just how rude he must have been as he kept moving, but his introspection was interrupted as he finally made his way into the grand library Master Val Hurst frequented so often. He looked around, scanning the numerous monks and other figures shuffling about the massive room, reading and studying as they went. Nothing was immediately forthcoming, so he stepped in, trying not to look rushed as he went, hoping to spy Master Val Hurst so as to appear with some semblance of courtesy. He scanned the robed figures, his keen eyes picking each face and discarding it as soon as he confirmed it was not the man he sought, looking harder and harder…

“Are you, perchance, searching for me, young wizard? Ye are somewhat late, I notice.”

He nearly dropped the stack of scrolls he held as he jumped, startled by the man behind him. He quickly turned and looked upward, to see the craggy face of the monk he sought looking down at him, eyes studying him, almost as though reading right into his mind and scrying the reason for his tardiness.

“I… I am truly sorry, master. I was delayed… It will not happen again.” the young lad said, bowing once as he handed the man the stack of spell scrolls he carried.

“Hmph.” Val Hurst grunted just slightly as he accepted the parchments, before looking to the boy again. “Perhaps you should tell me the reason for thy delay? Maybe not… Gorion has sent for thee, and thou wouldst do well not to keep him waiting in this matter. It sounded of utmost importance.”

“Yes, master.” he said, before doing a quick about face, fairly running out of the room, relieved that the monk had not pried further into why he had been so late. Of more interest though was the reason for Gorion wanting to see him so urgently. Perhaps a new spell for him to learn? That thought got him rather excited, seeing as Gorion had taught him only the most basic of cantrips so far, such as Fetch, Dazzling Lights, simple stuff that any mageling could manage. Gorion had told him more than once that his magical ability was great, and more focused than most wizards. Perhaps he would finally get to learn a real spell, like Magic Missile?

As he smiled at the thought, allowing his ego to swell just a bit, he suddenly remembered why he wasn’t talking with Gorion already. He winced, thinking of the eavesdropping incident. His blood froze as he mulled it over in his brain, the odds of learning a full wizard spell rather than getting into trouble for snooping running through his mind. With his luck, he had little doubt why Gorion had wanted to speak with him. With his excitement severely deflated, he trudged into Gorion’s room hesitantly, trying to look semi-cheerful, running over different apologies in his head and trying to decide which one sounded the most sincere and likely to get him out of trouble.

“I am glad to see you, my child.” Gorion’s fatherly tone immediately sent a wave of relief into Greywulf; at least he didn’t sound stern. Perhaps he wasn’t too upset.

“Yes, father?” the lad stood before Gorion, the older man walking over to sit on a large chair, motioning for him to come and speak with him.

He approached Gorion and sat at the foot of his chair, while the mage stroked his beard, peering down at his young ward. Privately, if only to himself, Gorion wondered if this was the right decision. He deserved something akin to a normal childhood, and he had taken all measures to ensure he received the love and care he needed, raising him in the ways of righteousness, hoping to counter the tainted blood that ran through his veins. Even so, Gorion saw the ache in the child’s heart, the desire all children had for someone to relate to; a role he could not fill, at least not completely. However, this was… different. One Bhaalspawn was dangerous enough… bringing a second one to Candlekeep, even as unlikely as the girl seemed?

Gorion shook his head just briefly, banishing any more fear or doubt. He had made the decision to ask for help the first time- in the end, it had been more trouble than it was worth. He had disregarded the advice of many of his Harper kin in bringing the boy here. He'd be damned if he asked them about her, only to get their condemnation. He would live… or die with his decision, and his alone. He noticed the boy’s expression, picking up on Gorion’s hesitation and the expression on his face grew concerned.

“Is… is all well, father? Have I done something wrong?” he asked hesitantly, once again awaiting a rebuke.

“Nay, I was merely thinking.” Gorion answered with a smile. “Actually, I have some exciting news, or what I hope will be exciting for you. We have a… new addition to the fortress here.”

He sat silent for a moment, not sure he understood what Gorion was saying, then frowned and answered, “Do you mean… someone else has come to Candlekeep? Another student?”

“Sort of.” Gorion said with a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “A child, just about your age recently was brought to my attention, a child very similar to you in respects. She also does not know her parents and I have agreed to take her in here, at Candlekeep.”

“Another child? Here to stay?” he asked, scarce believing.

“I presume by your expression you are pleased.” Gorion laughed. “Here. Perhaps you two should meet. Master Val Hurst, please bring young Imoen in.”

The older monk walked in, a young girl at his side. She was a little shorter than he, dressed in a brown and yellow tunic. Her hair was straight and a little longer than shoulder length, a brownish red color. Her face bore a bright smile, betraying no fear, but the smile was one of innocence and cheer. Just being in the room seemed to uplift his spirits as he looked at her.

“Imoen, this is the boy we spoke to you of.”

“So… yer the famous Galmarath, huh?” the girl said, cocking her head to one side as she walked up to Galmarath, the boy standing as she approached. “Well, I’m Imoen. Pleased to meetcha!”

She thrust out her hand to him, who slowly but gratefully took it and shook. “I suppose you two have much to talk about and discuss, so you are excused from your studies for the rest of the day, Galmarath.”

“Thank you, father!” he cried happily as he raced with Imoen towards the door.

“However,” Gorion cleared his throat, causing the two to pause briefly, “That does not mean I have forgotten your eavesdropping earlier today. Tomorrow we will discuss the details of that particular punishment.”

“And I will be expecting the Magic Missile spell scroll back as well, young one.” Val Hurst added. “While you two are visiting, retrieve it from wherever you stashed it on the way here and bring it to me some time tomorrow.”

“But I-” Galmarath began, but he was quickly shooed out by the monk, closing the door behind him.

“Wow. You sure got nailed, huh?” Imoen smirked, looking at his downcast expression. “Maybe if ya watched where you were goin better, you wouldn’t have this problem.”

“That’s just it, I-” Galmarath was about to continue, to point out that he hadn’t taken the scroll, when her words clicked. “Wait… you were the one I bumped into back in the hall!”

“Right as rain.” Imoen laughed. “If you had taken the time to even look at me, you might also have noticed when I palmed this.”

She slipped the scroll out from her sleeve and held it out for Galmarath to take. “Like I said, Imoen, Master Thief, at yer service!”

He laughed and reached out to take it, but Imoen abruptly pulled the scroll back, a critical tone in her eyes. “What’s with the laughing? You don’t believe me or something?”

“No, I do, really.” he said, “It’s just… you’re kind of young to be a thief, right? I’m already ten, and I still don’t know any real magic spells, just a few cantrips… so I doubt you’re a ‘Master Thief’ already!”

“Hmph.” Imoen said, scowling as she folded her arms, the scroll still dangling from her hand. “It just so happens I’m ten years old too! And besides, I bet I know more about thieving than you do about magic!”

Galmarath opened his mouth, ready to toss out a counter, but he quickly shut it. She was probably right in all respects, and even though he wanted them to be friends, it wasn‘t quite going the way he had imagined. Perhaps if he changed the subject, they might get along better… or at least that’s what he told himself.

Imoen grinned triumphantly as he remained silent, then continued, “That’s what I thought. And besides, what kinda name is Galmarath, anyways? Don’t wizards have cool names like Elminster, or Khelben Blackstaff, or-”

The boy grew peeved enough at this remark that he unthinkingly interrupted with a retort, “Well, what kind of name is Imoen, huh? I think it’s silly!”

Imoen’s mouth shut at that, stepping back as she looked down, her expression going from happy to downcast instantly. Galmarath hesitated, then ran one hand down the back of his neck, wincing as a small tear began to glimmer in one of her eyes.

“Aw… Imoen, I was just making fun, that’s all, I didn’t mean it! I…uh, I don’t think it’s silly at all!” he sheepishly said, walking over to the girl, trying to cheer her as he watched all his dreams of a childhood companion slipping away.

“You don’t?” her voice, formerly bright and loud, was a soft whisper, tinged with that of a child on the verge of crying.

“No! No, I think it’s a great name! It’s much better than Galmarath!” he said, words spilling from his mouth in an attempt to keep her from crying. If Gorion looked and saw her crying in the first five minutes of their meeting, he might take her away, and then he’d be alone again after he‘d gotten his hopes up, and…

“Great! Now that we’ve got the matter of who’s got the better name down, we can get started!” Imoen bounded up, her face once again smiling and bright, no hint of sadness in her features.

Galmarath watched her leap away, jumping backwards as she motioned for him to follow. His mind couldn’t quite follow her and take in what had just happened, so all he could come up with was a “Huh?”

“Meh, it was just a joke!” she laughed, making a face mockingly similar to the one she had just worn, bottom lip trembling with sadness. “Yeesh, how are we gonna be best friends if you can’t take a simple joke?”

Any indignation or irritation that had entered the boy vanished when she spoke those last words; his eyes brightened, following her quickly. “You mean it?”

“Yeah, sure! Galmarath and Imoen, off on a set of whirlwind adventures!” she laughed, slowing long enough for him to catch up to her. “Although…”

“What?” he asked, Imoen rubbing her chin in thought.

“We still have to do something about the name. We’ve already decided I have the better one, so I get to decide your new name, okay?” Imoen said, nodding her head in approval of, presumably, her own idea.

“What’s wrong with my name?” he finally asked, still uncertain of her purpose to this.

“I told ya, if you’re gonna be the powerful and mysterious wizard to go with my charming and beautiful thief, you gotta have a name that sounds… magical.” Imoen punctuated the last word with a flourish, waving the scroll in her hand.

Galmarath took the opportunity to snatch the scroll and tuck it into his robes, but Imoen was back into thinking of a name for him, and having apparently grown bored with fighting over the scroll, made no attempt to reclaim it. “I rather like the name Galmarath.”

“Yeah, but that’s only because you’ve been called it all yer life.” Imoen countered. “How about… Gandalf!”

Resigned to the idea that Imoen would settle for nothing less than a new name, he sighed and considered her ideas. “Sounds too old.”

“Hmm… Jinn Kortana!”

“Eh… too long. A wizard’s title should be short enough he can announce it and begin spell casting quickly. ‘He who casts first usually casts best’.” Galmarath said, pleased with himself for remembering his lessons, and having someone to show off to by reciting them.

“Meh, fine. One word names.” Imoen waved her hand, then returned to thought. “How about…Halkeris!”

“No.” Galmarath shook his head, vehemently.

“Why not?” Imoen demanded.

“Because it’s my name, and you finally got me interested in this. So now we’re gonna get me a good name that I like. Besides, ‘Halkeris and Imoen,’ just doesn’t sound right.” Galmarath said, his arms folded as he argued his points.

“Point taken.” she shrugged. “Although few names can match the sheer beauty of ‘Imoen.’ Kinds just rolls off the tongue, don’t it? Imoen. Immmooooeeennnn.”

“Excuse me? Still nameless here.” Galmarath interrupted.

“Heh. You are, aren’tcha? Well, how about Gorion Jr.?”

“Imoen! Now you‘re just being silly!”

“All right, all right… what about Grayhand?”

“Actually…” Galmarath thought about it for a second, then nodded. “I kinda like it. Sounds dark and mysterious!”

“Too bad, cause I don’t like it now.” Imoen folded her arms, shaking her head.

Galmarath slapped his face into his hand as she giggled uncontrollably. “Just kidding! But actually… it does need work. You need something that feels… scary, but not too scary! Something that’s semi-scary, mysterious, and cool! What animals do you like?”

“I’ve always liked wolves…”

“That’s it then! Graywolf!” Imoen shouted with glee, pulling a small piece of chalk from her pocket and writing the name out on the stone floor. As they both stared at it, Galmarath frowned and said, “Something’s wrong.”

“Aside from the fact you’re defacing the walls and floors of this fortress in your first fifteen minutes together?” Gorion’s voice caused both of them to jump, whirling to see the wizard standing there with arms folded, tapping one foot as he looked down at them, a wry smile across his bearded face.

“We had to think up a new name for Galmarath, and we couldn’t very well decide until we saw it written out, y’know?” Imoen blurted out quickly, flashing that innocent smile again, shrugging as she put the chalk away quickly and quietly, hoping it wouldn’t be noticed.

“Indeed.” Gorion shook his head and motioned for the chalk, to which a huffing Imoen handed it over, quite displeased with giving up the item.

“However…” Gorion bent down to the poorly written name and examined it for a moment before making some changes to the name, “The name isn’t so bad. It needs a few changes, a few select spelling augmentations… there. Greywulf.”

Galmarath looked down at the spelling of the new name, then beamed at Gorion. “I really like it! Can I keep it?”

“Yeah, can he?” Imoen joined in the pleading.

He laughed again, then noticed the seriousness on both Imoen and Galmarath’s faces. He looked up for a second, then met their gazes and said, “I shall think about it. However, my decision will be delayed indefinitely until you two get some water and brushes and clean up this chalk. Talk to me then and we’ll see.”

Imoen gave Galmarath a quick push and shouted as she ran off, “Race you to the buckets, Greywulf!”

He laughed and gave chase, staying on her heels as they ran. Gorion watched with a contented sigh. Perhaps things would work out after all. Sometimes Faerun, amidst all the madness and death he regularly saw and struggled against, could deal a kind hand of fate. Perhaps the two of them would complement each other quite well, Imoen and Galmarath, the two Bhaalsp- No. Not Imoen and Galmarath. Imoen… and Greywulf.

X X X X X X

Imoen’s name ran through his mind as he thought about his first meeting with her, so many years ago in Candlekeep. Things had been so simple then, no worries about Bhaalspawn and soul-stealing wizards… Greywulf smiled sadly as he stared into the room before him, his eyes randomly flitting across the books before him on the library wall. The memory was usually as clear as day to him, but as of late, it was growing harder and harder to hold onto such distant yet fond thoughts.

She had been the cause of so many laughs and happy memories, he couldn’t imagine what his life would have turned out like without her to stay with him. She had shaped his life in so many subtle, unconscious ways, even when she was doing something as ridiculous as demanding he have a new name for their playtime. The name had indeed stuck, and soon nobody except Gorion ever called him by Galmarath, and that only when the matter was very serious.

He owed so much to all of his companions, so many debts he could never repay. All of them had given their blood and sweat and time to him, guarding him and following him into dangers he had never dreamed of; perils of which he would have sent them away had he known what they were. Two of his friends had died for him… one leaving behind a wife, the other a confused guardian who blamed himself. There was nothing that could make up for their loss, nothing to fill the empty place that each one had taken in all their hearts. He could still hear Khalid’s kind and gentle voice, the mediator of the group when tempers hit a boiling point. He had always been able to slip in somehow with his endearing, stuttering voice and calm nerves, bringing the anger down and the peace back to the camp. He doubted that Jaheira and he could have ever learned to tolerate each other’s company without Khalid’s influence.

Dynaheir had meant so much as well… for the diplomat Khalid had been to the group’s inside, Dynaheir had been the diplomat to the outside. Her rich, Wychalarian accent had always been so full and powerful, she combined the sheer forcefulness of Jaheira and the gentle side of Khalid to demonstrate a charisma Greywulf could only dream of. She had been mistaken for the leader of the group several times, despite usually being the most reserved member of the team. Greywulf wished he could have said a final goodbye to the two of them… Keldorn and Aerie were both part of his ‘family,’ but nobody could take the place of Khalid and Dynaheir. Never. And yet... they were, all of them, slowly growing further and further from his thoughts. His heart. The anger and despair he had blasted both Keldorn and Jaheira with was fainter now, after so long a period of solace- but still the memory of it haunted him. Not so much what he had done or said, more that he could not find it in him to forgive them or himself. His mind told him exactly what Keldorn was saying, and everything Jaheira had said made sense. Why couldn't he simply listen, then?

His eyes focused just briefly, but before he could do anything more, a loud rap at the side of the door sent him whirling to see the cause, only to find the very girl he had been thinking of leaning up against the door, a lopsided grin on her face.

“Imoen… I was just thinking of you.” he said, nodding for her to come in as he smiled. “Please, come in. Although I’m surprised you’re not with the others.”

“Nah, I’m not much for the planning stage of things. I prefer the actual action.” Imoen shrugged as she bounded into the room, hands tucked into her pockets. She unslung the bow that rested across her shoulders as she did, running one hand up and down the shaft.

“I see you're feeling better... I'm glad. I was pretty worried there for a while..." he offered, her presence calming him... completing him, in many ways. Greywulf and Imoen- no other bond in the group could match it. Not now, not ever. He let himself smile as he thought of it- Imoen noticed his grin and smiled back in confusion.

"Whatcha looking at? Don't go all mushy on me now... save that for Aerie." she laughed and Greywulf began to join her- the memory of his betrayal, his theft of her memory came unbidden back to his mind, and he nearly froze. No... why couldn't he simply be happy?! He shook the darkness from his head and focused on Imoen once again, slowly growing serious.

“Imoen? Do you remember when we first met?”

“Heh. How could I forget? I saw stars, you ran into me so hard.” Imoen grinned as she thought about it, plopping down on a table nearby as she let her legs dangle back and forth above the floor. “In fact, that’s probably the earliest thing I do remember. Not much before our meeting, really.”

“Really?” Greywulf asked, surprised. "Nothing at all?"

“Sure. There’s never really been a ‘me,’ without an ‘us.’ Greywulf and Imoen, all the way!” Imoen laughed. "And I wouldn't have it any other way, neither!"

“I guess that’s true… it has always been the two of us, getting into trouble, getting out of it… I wish I could have saved you from it this time.” Greywulf offered, swallowing hard. Was this the way things would be from now on, until he got his soul back? Would every good memory of his friends and family be replaced by a wound or betrayal that would consume his thoughts?

Imoen shifted uncomfortably as she watched his face slowly grow dark, his eyes betraying the pain he felt inside. "Hey... don't be so down on yourself. We both knew what the risk was when we headed out... not like we had much of a choice, y'know. Besides, I came here for a reason, not just to reminisce about old times."

“What do you mean?” Greywulf asked, meeting her renewed cheer with a slight smile of his own.

“Look. I know how you’re feeling, okay? Empty, emotionless, dead, blah blah blah… and not just because I listened in on you and Jaheira talking earlier.” Imoen said with a smirk, hopping off the table to kneel down beside his hunched form. “You’re not the only one lacking a certain essential bit of spirit to survive, you know.”

“I know-” Greywulf began with a sigh, but Imoen cut him off, shaking one finger. “Oh no. If you know, then what’s this whole business of ‘I’m alone,’ huh? Ya think I don’t feel everything you described? But d’ya see me moping around, starting needless arguments? Nope, I’m still the same lovable Imoen, ready to pull a prank on the unsuspecting paladin!”

Imoen struck an over exaggerated heroic pose, eliciting a short laugh from Greywulf, before she grinned and jumped onto one hand, doing an awkward but impressive handstand. “And do you know why I’m still the way I am?”

“No clue.” Greywulf said, reaching out as though to poke Imoen, the girl yelping and falling to the ground in an attempt to avoid the incoming jab. As she tumbled head over heels, she came up sitting and rubbing her head before shaking her hair and standing up. “I’m this way because, drum roll please…. It’s my job! Would you believe this is the second time I've had to explain this to someone since yesterday?”

“Huh?” Greywulf asked, confused.

“Sheesh, do I hafta explain everything?” Imoen rolled her eyes with a grin. “This is my job, being the cheery and lovable Imoen… although I’m thinking of adding strikingly beautiful to the list too. Anyways, this is what people expect of me, you know? Here, I’ll give you an example. Turn around real quick.”

Greywulf followed her directions, only to have a small book fly into the back of his head, flopping to the ground. He turned with a disbelieving laugh and asked, “What was that about?”

Imoen merely shrugged with a chuckle and said, “First, for messing up my perfect handstand earlier, and second, because I can! It’s what you expect of Imoen, right? Idiotic little gestures like flying books and morning wake-up calls consisting of ice-cold water.”

“I... I guess so." he acquiesced, still trying to keep the confusion from his features.

“So that’s what I do, right? It’s my job, and soulless or not dammit, I’m going to be chipper and cheery until I either die or get my soul back from Bodhi!" Imoen said, pounding one fist into her other palm. "Once that’s been done, I can be angry, mean, and crotchety. Now, you have to do your job as well, which happens to be the leader who keeps us all alive despite overwhelming odds. Understand me?”

Her words were overly exaggerated, far too silly, and extremely confusing. They made sense only because she was his sister and he'd been around her long enough to decipher the rants of hidden wisdom she'd give every now and then, and this was no exception. Yet... he believed her. It was his job. Being the leader, playing the hero... it was not a role he relished, nor one he sought. And yet, it was still his. And unless he wanted them all to die, he had a responsibility to it. Things were still... wrong. Not just the taint- more than that was troubling him. More than the loss of his soul- but there wasn't the time. They needed every second to survive the onslaught he'd pushed them into, and he'd wasted more than enough of his own energy and that of the group.

Greywulf exhaled deeply, then chuckled and began nodding slowly, “I think you got your point across. Come on. We’ve got some planning to get done.”

She grinned, helping pull him to his feet. He glanced down at the book she had thrown at him, kneeling to pick it up off the floor and at least place it on the wooden table- the name caught his eye, and he stopped, frowning as he scooped up the book. He began flipping through the pages, scanning each one as his memory caught on things he'd learned once but forgotten for so long...

“What’s up?” Imoen said curiously as Greywulf's hands began shaking as he paused on a particular page, his eyes widening.

“This… gods, no.” Greywulf whispered in disbelief. “I think… I know what happened to you. What affected you with such intense fear.”

“You do? What is it then?” Imoen asked, looking at his worried expression as she took on her own sense of dread. "Something tells me I'm not going to like this..."

“It's something bad, believe me.” Greywulf said gravely, slamming the book shut as he started for the door, heading to find the others and warn them.

“Exactly how bad are we talking here?” Imoen asked cautiously, jogging slightly to catch up with him.

“Bad enough that if I’m right, it won’t make one bit of difference if the orc horde is repelled.” He tossed behind him. "The Keep is doomed, and so are we if something isn't done."

X X X X X X

Yachmoto nodded once to Arkanis as the thief left his fellow assassin behind and entered the long corridor leading to Aran Linvail’s private quarters. The walk was long and hazardous, unless of course one had been there before. He took great care to avoid all the traps located in the hall, slipping past the trip wires and pressure blocks, activating the disable switches when necessary. Linvail could be considered paranoid for such a strong defense, but it was a necessity when the enemy was gaining on so many fronts.

Despite the constant victories he brought back, Bodhi’s forces were still advancing. When he had come back, the tactician had told him the bad news: the Graveyard District was once again solidly in enemy hands, as were the Slums. The Temple District had the Radiant Heart and the clerics of Lathander and Helm to defend it, and Waukeen’s Promenade was under enough watch by the city guard that neither guild could mount a good offensive there, but their forces in the Government District were growing slim, and required reinforcing soon. The Bridge District was under constant pressure and almost at the breaking point. If it fell, the last major defense before the Docks themselves would be gone, and the vampires could fortify the only route to the upper portion of Athkatla. The Docks were really the only secure part of the city, but unless this war ended soon, the Shadow Thieves would lose it all.

Still, what he had recovered in the field just might be enough to provide the information for their last counteroffensive. Arkanis nodded to the two door guards, then took a deep breath as he entered Aran Linvail’s quarters. Despite the air of nobility the man exuded, he was still ruthless when necessary and his whims could be fickle at times. He had learned that treading with caution was the only way to deal with his superior- if one valued their life, that is. The Shadow Thief master was standing by a small mahogany counter, pouring himself a glass of brandy as the man entered. He did not acknowledge Arkanis’ presence immediately, instead he swirled the alcohol in the glass for a moment, then brought it to his lips and swallowed a taste of it slowly, savoring the taste as it burned his throat on the way down. He finally set the drink down, then turned to Arkanis and graced him with a smile, motioning for the thief to sit. He declined, so Linvail shrugged and sat himself, folding his arms before speaking.

“Arkanis… I was told you had something to report to me; something of great interest, I might add.” Aran Linvail’s voice contained trace amounts of curiosity, but Arkanis did not mistake it for lenience… he had better not disappoint.

“Yes, sir. Tonight, we encountered over four groups of vampires hunting near the Graveyard district, circling the same areas we had cleared before. We suffered minor casualties, but I believe it to be more than mere coincidence.”

“I have several people working on discovering the location of Bodhi’s new base. Unless there were severe miscalculations on their part, there are no more crypts in the Graveyard District deep enough to house the number of vampires we have been faced with.” Linvail pointed out. “I trust you have more than this to tell me?”

“Yes, of course.” Arkanis bowed, unfolding the cloth he had put in his belt pouch, handing it to the Shadowmaster. "This was found on one of the vampires I staked. I’m sure you recognize the pattern…”

Aran studied it for a moment, then laughed, shaking his head. “Incredible. The most obvious of places… and we could not see it. Of course, the burial shroud of the Kensai clans could hardly be found elsewhere than their own crypts.”

“I had thought they were sealed deep beneath the Graveyard District, as well as warded against undead in order to protect them from grave robbers and the powers of necromancers.” Arkanis frowned.

“They were indeed… which is why we discounted them from our search. However, wards can be brought low by a spellcaster of greater power, or if they have been in place without restoration for a length of time… or a combination of both. We all know this Irenicus is powerful enough to perform such a feat if they were weakened sufficiently by time. No wonder their forces have been so skilled as of late. The spirits of the Kensai clans subject to Bodhi's bidding- it is a wonder we have done this well against them.”

“Indeed. Shall we prepare a strike force immediately, before they can prepare their defenses?”

“No… we’ve just completed our job, thanks to you.” Linvail smirked. “We will provide reinforcements, but the real strike team being sent in is Greywulf and his companions.”

“Are you certain?” Arkanis asked cautiously. “They only number seven… we could send in so many more Shadow Thieves, and if my elite team accompanies me-”

“Do not fear, your chance for final vengeance will come soon enough. I did agree to send you and your team in, but only that. I want Greywulf to take the brunt of the attacks from Bodhi… your role is more supporting than not. If Greywulf fails, you need to be prepared to finish the job. I cannot risk letting Bodhi escape once more. I will send scouts to try and ascertain the validity of our theory. If they prove true, I will send spies to find Greywulf and inform him of this new development. Once he is here, you will meet him in the Graveyard District, but again- let him engage Bodhi first. His life is… expendable.”

“Of course. I will let my team know.” Arkanis bowed, then left, his palms sweating just slightly. Despite Aran’s words, he knew that if it came down to it, his life was expendable as well, and that failure would not be an option in this mission. He only hoped Greywulf and his troop were as good as they had been in the past.

X X X X X X

“I see you have finally decided to join us. I had hoped you would be finished with your research earlier, but your presence will be most appreciated now, I should think. So far, our forces have been prepared for several contingencies, although-” Captain Arat’s briefing was cut short as Greywulf waved his hand for silence, he and Imoen stalking into the room together, the sorcerer shaking his head.

“Right now, the orc horde is the least of our problems.” Greywulf stated firmly, leaning on his weapon before the surprised group, everyone in the room immediately turning with surprise.

“What are you talking about? They will arrive within the week-” Nalia argued in confusion before Imoen cut her off, rolling her eyes with an impish grin. “Oh, trust me. When Greywulf says it’s bad, it’s bad. Go ahead, Greywulf. Tell ‘em.”

“As you all know,” Greywulf said with a grimace, sitting at the table with the others, “I was doing some research on the magics used against Imoen a number of hours ago. We all discussed what might have happened, but all we can know for certain is what Imoen told us.”

“Aye. And the gate will not be betrayed if the traitor had any more accomplices.” Captain Arat acknowledged. “I have put four of my most trusted men to guard it during the battle ahead. In regards to any other unknown treachery that this enemy might have lurking in our ranks, we considered the idea of launching a number of pre-emptive assaults on the orcs. Simple hit-and-runs with three dozen or so riders-”

“No, save your men, and their strength.” Greywulf shook his head “You’ll need them if you are to hold on long enough.”

“Long enough for what?” Nalia asked, standing to her feet, quite confused by now. “What are you talking about?”

Imoen sighed, running one hand through her reddish pink hair. “Y’know, maybe you should start over, Greywulf.”

“The point is…” Greywulf said loudly, quieting any peripheral conversation that had broken out, “That I know what caused Imoen’s magical fear… and it bodes ill for all of us, if we do not take action. Initially it sounded like a standard Horror spell, but it wasn’t. Horror spells cause the victim to experience a dark foreboding, the feeling of an unseen threat, something of nightmares and dreams to overwhelm you. Those with sufficient courage can withstand the feeling, but a nameless fear is more than enough against most people. This was different… focused. It took the things Imoen feared most and made them real… to her, at least.”

“What does this mean for us?” Solaufein queried.

“I couldn’t find anything in the library about such a spell… because it isn't a spell to begin with. It's an ability- and the only magical force I could find that would cause such a reaction. Dragon Fear.”

“Dragon Fear? I’ve never heard of it…” Captain Arat frowned, before Aerie, quaking, cut in, “I… I have. It’s an innate ability all dragons have…”

“Indeed. So… what dragon do we know of who resides in this area, has enough money and power to hire hundreds of orcs and say… trolls, to do his work for him, makes a habit of stealing lands from their rightful owner and could send thousands of orc troops from the direction of the Windspear Hills without batting an eye if they die?” Greywulf said with a hint of sarcasm, though Keldorn’s face was stony, devoid of emotion as the sorcerer spoke.

“Firkraag… so you think he is behind these attacks?” Jaheira murmured, gripping her spear tighter. “It would make sense… all the pieces fall into place.”

“I have heard of this Firkraag, though I was under the assumption he was a noble lording over the Windspear Hills.” Nalia responded. "Rumors of his dark rule have spread, but he has never turned any attention toward our land before."

“He is the ruler of the Windspear Hills, but only through treachery. He is much more than a simple noble- his rule began with the theft of Garren Windspear‘s rightful land, and he now desires to steal your keep as well. He is a red dragon, ancient and powerful. He cares nothing for the lives of those who serve him, and thus five thousand orcs are meaningless. If you achieve victory here, it will only delay the inevitable. He will raise another army and you will be in the exact same situation.” Jaheira spoke, even as the evident chill from her words seeped into the bones of all present.

“What can we do, then?” Nalia asked, her eyes betraying the first sign of fear. “We… we must do something! I still refuse to hand this Keep over without a fight! Not to a dragon, not to the orcs!"

“Nor should you.” Greywulf nodded. “I finally have a plan… but it will require much sacrifice. Many of your men will die defending this place… and if my friends and I fail in our task, we all will perish. However, it is the only answer I can see.”

“We took that risk when we swore to defend this land.” Captain Arat intoned grimly. “We will do our part if it means defeating this menace.”

“What do you intend for us then?” Aerie asked, calmed slightly after her initial burst of fear at the revelation of Firkraag’s involvement.

“Orcs are cowardly creatures- alone at least. They follow Firkraag out of fear, because he is a power they cannot hope to match. To break the ranks of the orcs attacking the Keep, we must demoralize them, show that they cannot match our power either.” Greywulf said. “The only thing that could possibly scare them more than Firkraag…”

“Is the wrath of those who could kill Firkraag.” Solaufein finished, seeing Greywulf’s purpose. “You mean to go on the offensive. To bring the battle to the tagnik'zur himself.”

“It is the only way.” Greywulf said evenly. “We prevent any further attacks on the Keep, repel the imminent threat of the orcs…”

Greywulf did not finish, but everyone in the party knew what had been left unsaid. And avenge the death of Keldorn’s family.

The group remained silent for a time, the only sound the crackling of the torches on the walls resounding through the room. Finally, Imoen fidgeted and waved her hands, saying, “Well? Ya heard the master plan, so what’s it gonna be? I for one don’t hear any better ideas, so it’s a go for me. Besides, Greywulf promised me a dragon to fight since I missed the plane-hopping adventure.”

“What will you need my men to do?” Arat finally responded, swallowing heavily.

“Defend the Keep as long as you can.” Greywulf turned his head to answer. “If you can provide horses for us, it will be a near day’s ride to the Windspear Hills, and a day back. Add some small time for rest, battle and preparation… it will be a three day journey, assuming we are victorious.”

“The orcs are closing quicker than we had first hoped… you might return in the midst of battle. How will you prove the death of Firkraag to their mob?” Arat questioned.

“We will bring back proof with us.” Greywulf took a deep breath, before turning to the rest of his comrades. “This is all we have left. I know the danger is grave, more so than ever before to face a red wyrm. But if your answer is yes, then we must depart now.”

“Minsc and Boo welcome another chance to fight the dragon! This will be the essence of epic heroing!” Minsc boomed, his eyes flaring with certainty. “Dead dragons should litter our path wherever we go, and this shall be the first!”

“You know you have my support in this matter.” Jaheira said simply, nodding to Greywulf, squeezing his hand briefly, unnoticed by any but them.

“If… if you’re sure.” Aerie stuttered, still afraid, but unwilling to back down.

"I shall follow wherever you lead." Solaufein folded his arms. "If this be our end, I will meet it without hesitation."

All eyes turned to Keldorn, who sat with his gaze firmly fixed on the stone floor of the Keep beneath him. Memories were flashing through his mind: the face of his wife Maria, so vibrant and joyous at the day of their wedding. The birth of his children. The times he had so wanted to be at home with them to be their father, yet called away by the demands of the Church. The day he left to lead the task force that would ultimately be the undoing of his family. The sight of their dead bodies as he returned home. The mocking tone of Jierdan Firkraag as he freely admitted to the slaughter.

Keldorn’s eyes shut tightly, and tears glimmered from beneath his eyelids as he stood in silence. Greywulf’s voice broke the silence, slowly but firmly, “Keldorn…”

His head snapped up- a blazing, righteous fervor in his face and a nobility and purpose in his eyes that they had never seen from him before. “In Torm’s name, we will see justice done. By all that is good on the face of Fae'run, I swear that his evil will die this day.”