Vagaries and Vicissitudes (II)

"So we meet again..." The deranged wild mage proclaimed loudly, not seeming to notice Father and Khelben Arunsun staring in incredulity from mere meters behind him. Which had been the whole point of turning to face them in the first place, so that the revived man would have his back to them when the death-evading purpose of the Teddy Bear phylactery were achieved.

He did see Imoen though. "You seem to have grown more self-confident since Rhialto the Marvelous had his little accident, treacherous wench!" Then his eyes turned to Cyrus. "And you! It is just fitting that you, who caused his downfall by luring him into an ambush with your alluring spleen, brought Rhialto back to life!"

Because in reading the book and storing the spells in his memory had enacted a 'secret' spell of its own that activated the previously-cast reincarnation-by-Wish contingency embedded in the Teddy Bear.

It seemed his life truly could turn this bizarre, Cyrus thought darkly. Really darkly, since the Bhaaltaint was practically egging him on to rip/tear/kill/destroy the Teddy Bear right in front of the man's eyes. Never mind that said Teddy bear had just been consumed as a spell component.

Then again, no one had ever accused Bhaal of being sane.

Clearly, neither was Rhialto the Fabulous, or whatever he was calling himself this week. "But to do this, you had to read Rhialto's spellbook. Rhialto the Marvelous really doesn't like it when someone touches his things!"

"You are absolutely right," Cyrus said suddenly, ignoring the way magic gathered ominously in the background. Khelben and Gorion – the latter of whom hadn't even had a chance to replenish his spellcasting list but did not let that stop him from coming up with something – were supremely displeased with the threats against the young dwarf's person. Casually as if meeting an acquaintance, Cyrus grabbed the man's hand and shook it as if in greeting. "No one should touch the possessions of Rhialto the Marvelous. Which is why I've decided this should be yours." Then he turned the bemused mage's hand palm up, dropped the spiky magic stone on it, forced the man's fingers closed around it and squeezed.

Cyrus stepped away to give the Wild Mage space as he howled in pain at his hand being skewered all over, then screamed even harder as the unintended disintegration effect forced into it by overeager Bhaaltaint turned his hand to dust along with the prickled stone itself, only to work its way up all the way to the elbow before finally stopping.

It only lasted moments, but by the end of it the man had fallen to his knees right in front of a suspiciously silent member of the canine kingdom.

There was a moment of silence.

Then Arawn set upon his foe with a literally unparalleled degree of savagery.

…

Well.

That takes care of that. Now to repeat the earlier feat of reclaiming the spellbook by means of Prestidigitation. Father and teacher would not doubt find the contents fascinating.

"Oh for the love of…" Khelben muttered with his face in his palm, sounding every bit the part of the near-1000-year-old man who was completely done with this nonsense. "Magic, these days! Nothing but a race between wizards striving to build bigger and better idiot-proof spells, and the Universe trying to produce bigger and better idiots."

"Yes," Gorion said from beside him, nodding grimly. "Clearly, the Universe is winning."

Cyrus completely agreed. It was supremely improbable for a mage capable of casting 9th level spells to walk around with no contingencies or defences other than those just exhibited, to the point that a normal wolf could take them out unawares.

"Well don't you worry none!" Hope proclaimed grandly with a swoop of her pink cloak. "Imoen the Magnificent came here to save the day! Which she did!"

"Yes, you are here indeed," Gorion said with eyes narrowed. "When you were specifically told to stay at the keep. Repeatedly, I might add. By several different people. And here you are, sneaking out and jumping into trouble without any sort of forethought."

"I'll have you know that there was nothing lacking forethought about my timely arrival!" Little sister declared, the perfect picture of personal offense in progress.

Then she seemed to realise what she said. It did not help that the other two pairs of eyes belonging to thinking beings there also zeroed in on her.

It only made her scowl and cross her arms with a huff. "Well, there wasn't! I had everything under control!"

Which said nothing of anything that came previously.

Something Gorion picked up on as well, naturally. "Because clearly, the fact that you are here at all says nothing about the life-threatening methods you must have used to sneak out of the keep without being seen or stopped," Gorion challenged, approaching and looking down with stern eyes. "Or the fact that you knew when and where to emerge running and screaming. Or how you knew where Cyrus' animal companion had been stashed, or that he had been polymorphed and captured at all. Clearly, nothing occurred over the past 24 hours that would have sent me into heart-stopping worry had I been present or even aware of your doings."

The short, sarcastic speech almost managed to make Imoen succumb to contrition – she never did like to upset Gorion or Winthrop, especially worry them even though she didn't care much about the reactions of most people – but she rallied admirably. "You can't prove anything!"

"Oh no?" Gorion challenged, eyebrow climbing. "So the fact that-"

"I did not sneak out of Candlekeep using the holds Cyrus carved in the wall facing the sea years ago!" Imoen cut him off with an insulted glare. "I did not then proceed to make my way to the wolf cave to see if the Big Bad Wolf was there, only to find he was not and go on my way. I also did not then proceed to mingle with the departing seekers only to sneak out and go into the woods the same way you did. For that matter, I did not get horribly lost and end up in the woods south of here without ever noticing when I crossed the road! Nor did I happen to climb a tree for orientation just in time for mister fashion victim to show up and run into large, angry and fanged over there only to turn him into a toad the moment woofy tried to jump him." Imoen sniffed, turned her head away in disgust and flicked her right hand at the two older men dismissively. "So you see, I could not have been in any position to then tail mister fashion victim the entire night until he finally spotted you and decided to cover the remaining 100 feet with a targeted teleportation spell in defiance of all common sense." The young woman put a hand on her hip and looked at the mess still in progress. "Honestly, why he didn't just do that from the start I have no idea."

Why did madmen do anything? They're madmen, that's why.

Crunch goes the wild mage.

"Wow," Imoen said, sounding rather astonished now, if not quite as green as before while staring at Arawn taking out his well-earned aggression. Again. "He must be really mad at being turned into a mini toad when he was just trying to take out a threat to you to spare you the danger." There was an awkward pause. It could not be called silence when flesh-ripping and bone-popping noises filled the immediate area. "And I will take this chance to reaffirm that my being here and successfully planning and executing Cyrus' rescue by means of angry puppy is nothing but a fortuitous coincidence!"

Gorion sighed. "Child-"

"That's my story and I'm sticking with it!"

"Oh, that is it!" Khelben grunted, striking Blackstaff against the ground to get everyone's attention. "Clearly, the best laid plans of 'relevant parties' have proven, as our Little Prince there would no doubt say, supremely suboptimal." Yes, that was exactly what Cyrus would say about them. "Therefore, clearly, the only logical thing to do is to do away with them entirely and start over from the beginning. Which means, before anything else, going back to Candlekeep and-"

"No."

The conjured rain poured violently twenty meters away and smoke still rose in the sky from scattered pockets here and there, mixing with the clouds.

Cyrus almost never said anything unless prompted.

Which made the rare times exponentially more effective.

"That…" Gorion said slowly, "is a total reversal of what you would have said yesterday."

"Yes." Rip/tear/kill/ tear them all because I said so-

Shut up.

He closed his eyes and focused his entire attention on Imoen's soul-star.

Bhaal didn't go flash-blind this time but the Vestige did simmer down. Not because of her but because Cyrus ability to summon faint echoes of the same light she shone with when he concentrated specifically enough.

"Explain," Khelben said.

Older half-brother. Chaosrend. Bhaaltaint reaction. Vestige. Aware. Proactive. Enchantment plan part turned into new fallback. Compulsion Cyrus was liable to fall under the closer he got back to Candlekeep where all the stored essence was.

Cyrus explained.

There were no words for the distress that coloured Gorion's emotional foundation, or the grim countenance that overcame Khelben as he listened. And both men were outraged on his behalf. Incensed even, though Gorion's feelings were naturally more intense given the special relationship between son and father. Or so Cyrus had been assured by Hull and others. Repeatedly.

Nor were there any words for a time after he finished. Even Arawn cut his righteous vengeance short and padded over to – prestidigitation to clean off the blood – rub his head against his upper arm.

"Well sod and bother," Imoen blurted, finally. "You're one of Bhaal's kids?"

Cyrus blinked owlishly at her as Gorion and Khelben jerked in place, startled externally and internally alike. "Wait, you don't know?" He asked. "How can you not know?"

Because it begged asking.

"Well how should I?" She asked defensively. "It's not like you scream 'creepy godspawn here, think happy thoughts' is it?" She stopped and reviewed what she said, then gave him a more thorough look as she thought back. "Actually, you kind of do now that I think about it. Huh." A beat. "But that doesn't mean I was supposed to automatically think you're one of what those chanters harp about at least once a day!" Another beat. "Although the way you matured by the age of 20 instead of 50 is kind of weird in hindsight. And the way you just know things by looking at people. And everyone knows at least some rumours about what went on in the Tower of Exaltation…" She trailed off. "You know… now I'm feeling kind of dumb for not thinking about it, at least in passing."

"Indeed," Gorion said tiredly. "You certainly came up with every other outlandish explanation if history is anything to go by."

"Exactly!" Imoen agreed readily. "It's all your fault!" She pointed at Gorion with all the relief of someone who'd learned she could shove the blame on someone else. "You and everyone else did everything you could to keep it a secret too! Even in your personal letters! There was barely a hint even in the scroll on your desk that I snuck in to read last night!" Imoen froze at the slip, and the way everyone stared at her. Gorion's mouth had even slipped open. Slightly, but it was no small thing. "Oh, did I just say that? No, of course I didn't. Nope, no sneaking to be had here, move on move on."

"Oh Mystra, give me wisdom and patience," Khelben Blackstaff Arunsun despaired openly. "For I will surely be forced into exile from the shame of traveling alongside such a large ham of a student."

"I resent that remark!" Imoen cried out. "… And I'm not your student."

"As of now, you are," the man declared with total finality before turning away and dismissing her entirely.

Which, naturally, was the wrong thing to do. Or the right one, if you wanted her to pay you attention, which Cyrus could well see was the case here. "Wait what!?" Imoen yelled. "Don't turn your back on me, mister! I've only just begun to talk!"

The four of them left soon after, once Khelben had checked the two of them over one more time and created some new clothes for Cyrus to put on since his old ones had been cut, torn or burned almost everywhere. Imoen tried to bark, chatter, natter, wheedle and otherwise squeeze Khelben for an answer about what he was talking about, because she was just fine thank you very much and she wanted nothing to learn from him unless he intended to teach her cool magic spells that Gorion refused to share, in which case she could perhaps be persuaded to allow such a peace offering and could she start with something cooler than Snilloc's Snowball this time, pleeeeaaase?

Cyrus did not have it in him to tell her that the man probably only intended to keep her distracted from Cyrus in case something she said or did set him off. Not that he wouldn't live up to his word but teaching her to get by on the road would qualify as much as anything else could and then his word would bind him no longer. After a while, Khelben pretended to fold under Imoen's constant nagging and begun teaching her "all things relevant when traveling" starting with how to go about without drawing attention. Which revolved around exercising discretion, to start with. Easy to do when you had a cloak covering most of you and had access to cantrips that could leave you looking drab and unremarkable whenever you wanted. Khelben even demonstrated that on himself, and did it with just the right amount of condescension that Imoen was outraged at being talked down to and proceeded to demonstrate her mastery of such skills because she was the one who'd written the book on Prestidigitation, thank you very much! She'll show'im!

She kept showing him until they reached the crossroad between the North and South Roads, then got bored and proceeded to drag Cyrus ahead because 'the old guys were boring' and looked like they had stuff to talk about that the two of them would be better off eavesdropping on. A plan that failed soon after, since they reached a road curve which briefly had the groups of two out of sight of each other.

It was unfortunate chance (though not for them) that an old passerby chose that precise moment to approach them. Dressed in a red but otherwise drab robe the old man had a weathered face, a long grey beard, a hawk-like nose and alert dancing blue-grey eyes. He was also smoking a meerschaum pipe that was giving off a blue-green, vile-smelling smoke. The man's nondescript-looking clothes were enchanted to unreasonable levels but ultimately just as vulnerable to the stillness of death as every other spell and ward Cyrus had ever run into and stilled into ineffectuality when there was nothing else to distract him. Ineffectuality like the one he'd just imposed on the lower half of the man's robes and trousers.

"Ho there, young one. Stay thy course a moment to indulge an old man."

Cyrus Anwar looked in the eyes of Elminster Aumar. The man who had sent Gorion the message that ultimately compelled him to leave as soon as possible rather than as soon as prudently possible, only to run into death that same night and nearly not make it out at all.

Then he kicked him in the shin.