PROLOGUE

The dark-robed figure sat, hunched, in the shadowed corner of the inn. It was obvious that the shape was female, but any other features were hidden, either by the covering robe, or the deep cowl that shrouded her face in blackness. She sat, barely moving, her pale thin hands holding tightly to a metal flask. The serving wenches stayed clear of her. Nothing had she bought, in the week that she had stayed here. None had ever seen her eat, and none had seen her drink anything except whatever liquid was contained within her flask. She paid for her room daily, never speaking, just handing a gold coin soundlessly to the innkeeper.

Outside the Friendly Arm, on this night deep in the middle of winter, it was snowing heavily. Blasts of icy northern wind could be heard shrieking, but whilst most in the tavern common room were able to ignore it, continuing with their dancing, or conversations, this woman sat, occasionally shivering as if the shrieking of the wind brought back terrifying memories.

The door to the inn opened, and, as the wind slammed through the tavern, the woman lifted her gaze to look at the newcomer. It was a tall man, who wore robes as black as hers. If she was thin, then he was thinner, and he walked with a frailty that marked him as someone who was on his last legs. A patron moved to help him, but the figure snapped something, and the patron stepped back, face angered at the refusal of his help. But the customer did not say anything in response to the rudeness of the stranger, for there was a palpable chill about him, a sense of great power.

For a long time, the inn was quiet… silent, almost. One final blast of wind whipped around the room, and the cowl of the woman was thrown back from her face, revealing a surprisingly youthful face. Her hair was a faded red, with tiny traces of pink within it, and her eyes were a deep brown that, where they had once sparkled with joy, now seemed lifeless and dead. The frail figure stopped and gazed at her for a long time, and the woman finally raised her cowl again.

It was too late, however, for the stranger started walking towards her.

"Is this seat taken?" he asked quietly, his voice rasping. She opened her mouth to say that it was, but he was already sat there, his shadowed face turned in consideration of her. A long, bristling beard marked him as old, and it dripped, sodden from the fierce weather outside.

The woman spoke finally, softly, her voice youthful and gentle, "It is now." She left it at that, and she took a long sip of her flask, gazing at the man in front of her. Within her, she was starting to realise what this man was here for. Once, she would have had the energy to threaten him, but now she almost welcomed his presence. "When will you kill me then?"

She almost hated herself for the meek, defeated sound of her voice, but she could not stand it any longer. For three months, she had run, using her magic to fight each new assassin that cornered her. And now she wanted it to end. Let it be swift, was her only request…

There was a long silence, in which she was able to notice that the noise in the tavern had picked up. A bard on the stage was starting to sing a merry, slightly bawdy tune about a wench and Lathander. A frown of loss passed across her face. She remembered listening to that song before… so long ago…

The man in front of her asked, "Give me time, child… I want to know something first."

She looked up. This one was different. "What… what is it you want to know?"

He spoke quietly, but nevertheless his voice cut through any of her nostalgia. "How it happened… how many of the finest assassins have you killed, and why it is that you have so completely lost the spirit that made you so dangerous?"

For a long moment, she studied this black-robed man. There was something tantalisingly familiar about his tone… her mind worked through her acquaintances, but, she added bitterly, most were now dead. So who could he be? Perhaps just a stranger who she had exchanged words with at one time.

"I have killed seventeen. First, was a massive orc warrior… he wanted to be the one to kill the final Bhaalspawn, and no doubt the reward from the Four was an incentive as well. Him, I defeated easily."

She paused, and sighed. Down to the visible chin, tears trickled, glistening in the firelight that was so distant from the table. "The second was one I knew well, the bard Haer'Dalis…" A bitter laugh. "He offered to take me to Sigil, where he would forever guard his little raven. But I refused. Back then, duty still burned within me. So… my old comrade decided to collect the bounty."

Gazing past the man now, she spoke gently, her voice sorrowful, and fearful. As she recounted the long series of attackers, she felt a strange relief. It will be over, she told herself. Over. "Then, there were seven consecutive difficult, but otherwise forgettable assassins, employed by the Four to locate and destroy me." She paused. "The tenth was a vampire who craved a taste of divine blood."

Whispering, her voice echoing with a tiny sense of shame now, she said, "That was when I started to run." Her hands on the flask started to shake. "Anomen… he… he and Jaheira tried to reason with me. They told me that Faerun needed me." Tears ran freely now, and her throat seemed to clog up. "Dear Jaheira… she… she hugged me, and told me that it was going to be well again. She said… she said we could still beat the Four…"

The man spoke now, his rasping voice neutral, "But you had had enough. You thought if you fled far enough, you would not be found. Where did you go to, first?"

She sighed. "I teleported away, even as Jaheira had me in her arms, to distant Calimshan, where I was safe… for two weeks. The eleventh assassin came in the form of another wizard. It was perhaps the toughest spell battle I have ever fought in, but I beat him back, and killed him."

The man interrupted, "Why were you running? What happened, child? What happened to Reina?"

Looking at him again, she shuddered, "Yaga-Shura happened. Oh, how we all fought. Anomen, Jaheira, Minsc, myself and Nalia, alongside Reina… we fought through the giants to their stronghold, and there we destroyed the heart that was giving the fire giant his invincibility. But as it turned out…" She closed her eyes. "He did not need it. In the battle, we were sorely outnumbered. Minsc went first, in his berserk rage, trying to protect our rear. Then, Nalia was killed… a spear thrust through her heart in mid-spell. But… we could have fought on… Anomen was carving through the common soldiers towards Yaga-Shura, where Reina and Jaheira fought side by side."

She stopped, and found she could not speak. The memories brought with them the renewed pain of that dark day.

With a strange softness, the man whispered, "Go on."

"Reina tripped… I don't know how… I had never seen her stumble, ever. But she did. And it was all the distraction the giant needed. He slammed his club against Jaheira, who fell back. Free to attack Reina, he stamped down on her back, and broke her spine."

Glancing at the table, she saw the droplet-marks of several tears, and moved her hand to wipe her shadowed eyes. "But that is in the past. She is gone from us, now."

The strange sighed, "Yes, she is. Now… speak. The twelfth assassin?"

She shrugged, "I cannot really remember, the rest. My… my mind is not what it used to be." A chuckle, as bitter as almost every utterance she made, escaped her lips. "I remember the sixteenth, though. He was a yuan-ti wizard, along with his war party. I was nearly killed. I killed them all, but lay dying. Had a ranger not aided me then, perhaps I would have bled to death."

"It would have been easier for you, anyway. You seem to value the easier path. Reina died to help you and her live free, but you… you have lost your courage, and that is why you will not fight when I try to kill you." The man laughed, scornfully. "When you heard her spine snap, did all your strength snap with it?"

Her eyes flared, and she moved forward so swiftly that her cowl slipped down. "Speak not of what you do not know! You have not had your life hounded by those hunting you! What do you know of Reina? I would have given my life for her! I would again!"

The man was laughing, "You are a liar. You say you would give your life for her? But you seem to think that she is dead, and therefore safe. Do you know what happens to the Bhaalspawn when they die? They are dragged to the Nine Hells, and are doomed to wait there till this chaos is ended… when they are either free to go to their deities, or, if the one who controls them is…" He laughed again. "…unethical… then they will spend their lives in torment."

She paled, but the man continued. "So do not tell me you would give your life for her, when you are about to throw it away to a man who would ensure that she burns forevermore. You stupid, foolish, weak child."

But she had stood, now. Her hands were clenched at her side, and her eyes blazed with hatred. "Then try to kill me then, and see if I will rest easy why you do so! I am not weak!"

Silence had fallen over the tavern, now. The man asked, his voice faintly subdued, now, "Tell me, child… do you stand to fight because you want to prove that you are not stupid, foolish and weak… or to protect Reina?"

She snarled, "What does it matter?"

The stranger sighed, "It is, at the moment, the most important matter in the world."

Considering, she said, "If you must… It is to protect Reina."

With a nod, the figure sighed, "Then all is not lost." A wrinkled hand reached to his cowl, and lowered it. His eyes, a deep blue, watched the girl in front of him, who paled, her eyes wide and terrified. He saw her knees go weak, and saw her sit down, as if everything in her world had suddenly shattered. And then he moved to wrap her in a warm embrace, tears that echoed her own pouring down his cheeks. "My little Imoen… I will protect you now… and we will save Reina… I swear it!"

But the girl known as Imoen pushed him from her, and magic sparked at her fingertips. "Demon! It is not enough to try to kill me… but you must twist my mind as you do it? Cowards! Come to me… come to me as him?" Tears streamed down her face. "Gorion is dead!" she shrieked.

But the old man in front of her sighed, "I am dead no longer. Forgive me, Imoen… but my ruse was necessary. I had to awaken your courage again… I had to see if my little Imoen had been crushed completely. But I see that it is not true. You, Imoen," he spoke, his voice cracking with emotion. "You are stronger than you should ever have had to be."

The magic fizzled, and she croaked, "You are truly him?"

Gorion nodded. "I am, dear one… come back, to aid you in your time of peril."

And outside, a flare of lightning punctuated the very moment when Imoen cleared the distance between them, to hug him to herself, holding to him so tightly, lest he disappear from her again.

As he held her close, Gorion breathed in deeply, and he remembered his former life, so shrouded in mystery and mist, that at times, he wondered if any of it was true, and not just delusions of a broken man.

The tavern returned to life, as the two held to each other as if for life.