[Aqua-chan]

Later, another maiden came to the priest and, clearly uncomfortable around the stranger, instructed him to follow. She led him through a labyrinth of musty and dark halls. Most of the oil lamps had been put out for the evening, and Anomen couldn’t help but notice how the servant kept a constant reaction distance from him at all times and looking at him every so often to keep him in check. Around one last corner, down two doors, and she stopped far in front of him. The woman, perhaps in her thirties, waved to a closed door. This is it. Have fun.

Anomen let himself into the small chamber, not waiting for the maid to move. Once inside he shut it gently behind him until the latch clicked secure. Moon light poured in from window, signaling that Anomen had been residing in this house without any sense of time for at least a full day. So detached was he with grief that he hadn’t even noticed that the world was still moving. Besides the lunar illumination there were candle arrangements about the room, and the only noises were that of the floor boards creaking beneath his weight and the occasional spatter of melted wax dripping to the floor. This was his world now, dark with the heavy smell of death in the air, and nothing outside of it concerned him. All that mattered was the woman before him, swaddled in cloth and wounded beyond even his healing. The handmaidens had done a lot of work to cover the slashed throat with fine stitches and powder make up.

Anomen kneeled next to the bed, not wanting to disturb Caprina in her rest. It was something so unreal to be sitting next to the body of one who seemed to be so invincible. This woman who couldn’t be killed by drow or dragons or mind flayers had been taken down by some cowardly, honor less assassins who used surprise to make their kills. They left a swatch of black cloth upon both of the bodies, likely to lay some claim to the killings in the underground. They were even such amateurs that the one who had ambushed Anomen couldn’t even cut a throat efficiently. After their targets had been taken down the murderers had whooped in celebration as they fled the scene of their crimes, completely unaware that they had done a pretty half-assed job.

Anomen, for the first time braving it, rested his hand over Caprina’s. It was cold, and the simple band on her finger that he had given to her upon engagement scratched against his calloused palm. What added to his anger was the fact that it had happened to quickly that Anomen couldn’t even think to take action before it was over. Forcefully dismounted from their horses, there was no chance to reach for their holstered weapons in the saddles. There was no chance, and Caprina must have known this just before it happened. The echoing memories of her scream when the bastards stabbed into her stomach - not so much because of pain, but rather because she had known that her baby was murdered. That scream haunted Anomen as he seethed. He wasn’t sure if he had spoken the words aloud or not, but he swore on her and the unborn child within her stabbed abdomen that he would make fools also feel haunted by her anguish before he was through with them.

Hours flew by like minutes and lagged on for an eternity all at once. When the house began to stir at dawn Anomen shamelessly requested steeds and an escort to Candlekeep. His mind was stirred with thoughts primarily of retribution and bringing the foul criminals to justice, but he did have the sense to set aside his drive for revenge. There were other things that needed to be done. He would stop and would consider all options before running off blindly into conflict, just as Caprina had taught him to.

Candlekeep had been the first home she had ever known. They had wanted their child to be born within the same walls in which she had spent her entire childhood. It seemed only fitting that they be buried there.

---

‘Torrential downpour’ was the only way to describe the weather when Imoen rode up to Candlekeep’s portal gate. Anomen had only been outdoors long enough to dash across the small complex to her and had already been drenched to the core. Overhead, thunder raged on, and the wind was enough to rip apart the flower gardens and send brightly colored petals flying aimlessly among the gloom.

He could have just waited for her to get to the Inn, but Anomen had felt a discerning knot form upon her arrival. It would have been better for him to tell her what had happened before anyone else gave her the entire scope of things. Given, he hadn’t really spoken much of what had happened to the residents of Candlekeep, but obviously had to let them know the basics. Even after a full day of recalling the core body of events he still felt suspicious eyes always on his back. It was their right, though: here he was, a practical stranger barely known to them by name, bringing the body of their hero who had been most brutally slaughtered. It was because of Anomen’s lack of merit among these people, among other reasons, did he suggest that some one be sent for his sister-in-law.

When he approached the portal gate Imoen had still hadn’t passed into the town. Anomen clutched the hem of his cloak in a balled fist in a vain attempt to shield himself from the rain; stupid, he realized, because it was so soaked that it just clung to his skin.

He hadn’t seen Imoen in nearly two years, but they had been in light contact with her, receiving or sending a letter every few months during Caprina’s pregnancy. Though she joked about it, Anomen had come to understand that the pink-haired rogue mainly operated her little “goods shipping” enterprise out of Baldur’s Gate. It was rumored that she and her Shadow Thieves had dealings in regions obscenely far north where it was much colder than any place a tropical-climate raised Amnian like Anomen would ever care to go, so he thought it would be a small chance that Imoen would actually be in the Gate. It seemed that small chance had proven to be enough: the messenger dispatched to find her brought her back after only a couple days’ time.

After a few moments he began to worry that Imoen may have forgotten the peculiar entrance fee to the library-town and would be denied entry, but that fear was quelled when the rippling portal to the outside came to an even more erratic life, giving way to a living force warping through. It was as though the surface of a pond was being broken by the protruding face of, first a horse, and then its body and the rider. It was the messenger who had been cast, and not long after he rode through did another. It was Imoen.

She must have recognized Anomen in the brief moment of eye contact they had, for she quickly shoved the reigns of her steed into the hands of the runner and dismounted. Even in the gray veil of rain she hadn’t changed from what Anomen had remembered her as: an energetic, very distinguished young woman with only slight age tagged on. A woman who could just read a person's aura to find out something was wrong. Anomen never could understand how Imoen managed to always see into him so easily in the past, but unless the messenger had said something then there was no way in hell she was going to get answers by just looking at him.

Hurriedly, she came up to Anomen and, before he had even the time to react, threw her arms about him a grieved hug. He had expected her to not barrage him with questions like most others did. Imoen was a rarity who was typically more concerned with people rather than events. Still, he hadn’t been ready for that sudden display of contact and felt quite helpless when he was unable to summon up the energy to return it.

She was just tall enough to wrap her arms around the priest’s neck, and her check rested against Anomen’s cold skin. He began to wonder if she saw his healing wound, but cast aside the thought upon feeling her hot tears on him. She knew.

“The messenger told you?” It really wasn’t a question. Who else would have known? She nodded, not thinking as deeply into the logic of the question.

“Gods. You’re alright, right?” She pulled away from him, not that hard of a task, and examined the Helmite with a once-over glance. As typical for Imoen, she plastered a false grin on her face at her own ranting. Despite trying to lighten the mood she wasn’t able to choke back a racking sob.

Anomen grinned about as convincingly as she and nodded. He was hardly “alright” either physically or mentally, but he felt that was his own problem to deal with. She was obviously dissatisfied with this, and he realized he would have to put up a little more to keep her from panicking.

“It’s been… trying.” It was weak, but it would have to do. The words even felt wrong as they were being said, but it was better that he evade the question rather than telling the truth.

“Caprina?”

The simple question hung heavily between them, making the conversation so uncomfortable that the rainstorm drenching the two was completely forgotten in their minds. Imoen looked at Anomen as though she was hoping that he would under some miracle say something different than what she had been told. Oh, her? She’s at the inn, downing an ale. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever tasted such watery beers than these you people drink here at the Gate.

All she got was, “We really should go inside.”



(Continued)