"Thus you'd use your skills to save a hundred lives," said Demok with finality.
"That doesn't make it any less wrong."
"Doesn't make it any less right," said Demok. He shrugged. "I don't have the answer. Only mine. You find yours."
"Fine," said Kehrsyn, a leaden tone to her voice.
Demok studied her.
"Something still bothers you," he observed.
Kehrsyn looked at him, then looked away, then tried to look at him again but failed.
Demok waited.
"I'm…" Kehrsyn said. "I know it's wrong and stuff, but I just can't help it. Especially these last few times. It's… I don't know, it's, like, exciting or something, breaking in and stuff," she confessed. "I think I'm starting to really enjoy it."
Demok smiled, a grim motion that didn't touch his eyes.
"I know what you mean," he said. "Like an addiction."
The two sat in silence for a long time, lost in their own thoughts as darkness once more descended upon the city.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The waiting was over. In contrast, the bitter winter weather was far from finished. A fresh, gusty wind blew in from the north, whipping people's cloaks and bringing repeated hard showers to rake the land.
It was a miserable day. For most people, it was a miserable night. Massedar, however, was happy to be out. The storms suited his mood, the dark temper that roiled beneath his calm and disciplined demeanor. It was time for revenge.
Massedar rode in a wagon, thoroughly furled in his great, warm cloak. A trusted servant drove the unwilling horses through the darkened streets, quietly and calmly. Midnight was approaching on its own time; best not to attract attention with reckless speed.
The only other passengers in the wagon were a pair of corpses in the rear, each carefully swaddled in oilskin tarpaulins. Rain drummed on the hard fabric, a pleasing sound to the aging merchant prince. He matched the sound and rhythm, drumming his fingers impatiently on the inner folds of his heavy cloak. The lower lid of one eye twitched in barely contained fury.
After all those years, he brooded, all those long years. After I took him in, made him an advisor, a confidante, even a friend, Ekur betrayed me. Sacrilege! He sold himself unto a foreign god and used me, used my house, used my wealth. How many years had it taken for me to recover the Alabaster Staff? And for how much of that time hath he, the traitor, been working behind the scenes, playing upon my faith, my trust, my mistaken impressions of the man?
Massedar worked his jaw back and forth. If he truly were to have his way, he would storm the gathering of Bane-worshiping heathen Zhents with every guard at his disposal, as well as a platoon of Chessentan mercenaries. That way he could ensure that no one left the area alive (or, at the least, that no one survived the painful interrogations).
Unfortunately, he did not have that luxury. The Zhents held the Alabaster Staff, and he had to recover it. That was crucial. He would not let the Zhentarim and their backstabbing servant wrest the staff away from him, not after all that time. But, more significantly, Ekur had been working for Bane, and therefore it was quite possible that one or more other people in Wing's Reach were also Zhent agents. The way the Zhentarim worked, Ekur might not even have known. Thus, Massedar could not trust his own people. Even if he could hire any mercenaries in the midst of the war, it would attract attention. In the end, Massedar was forced to work with Demok and Kehrsyn, the only people in on the secret of Ekur's adopted identity. They would have to be enough. They… and his other friend.
Ahead, he saw that the wagon was approaching the Chariot Memorial. His eyes narrowed. If Demok and Kehrsyn kept him waiting, he would be quite upset.
"Time," said Demok, as he leaned in the front door of the former Furifaxian quarters.
Kehrsyn stopped her pacing, blew out her breath, and said, "Right, let's go."
"Got everything?" Demok asked.
"Yeah, I think so. I don't really need much, do I? I have my rapier and dagger, I'm wearing my armor… and," she added with a smile, "I've got this."
She pulled out a slender, bone-colored wand and twirled it expertly. For the first time, she saw Demok startled.
"What's that?" he asked, genuinely curious.
"It's a replica of the staff," she answered. "I thought I'd better bring it along, so if I get a chance to… reclaim the original, I can leave a double in its place, and maybe we can just sneak out of there without getting into a fight."
"Worth a shot," he said. "Where'd you get it?"
"You probably don't really want to know," said Kehrsyn with an uncomfortable smile.
Demok nodded and led the way outside to where his horse waited. The two mounted up, Kehrsyn sitting behind Demok, and the grim guard reined the horse around to head back to the Chariot Memorial.
As they approached the great statue, they saw a wagon waiting in the lee of the huge pedestal. Demok steered the horse for it.
"Art thou ready?" came a familiar voice.
"Always," Demok replied. He halted the horse next to the wagon. "More bodies for the Zhents?" he asked.
"It seemeth to me that none should question one bearing more fodder," Massedar explained. "Ensure thou that such a fate befalleth not me."
"Lead on," said Demok.
The wagon lurched forward in the rain, the horses eager to finish their task and return home. Demok and Kehrsyn fell in behind.
Kehrsyn leaned close to Demok's ear and said, "Good thing you like to kill."
"1 don't," said Demok.
"But-"
"It's what I do, and I'm good at it, but killing I do not enjoy," he said over his shoulder. "Killing is wasteful. Combat I love. Pitting my skill and wits against another with the ultimate stakes. There is no purer test." He turned his head to face forward again, nodding to himself. "I'd wager that's what you find addictive about theft," he added. "Not stealing, but testing your skills in dangerous situations."
Kehrsyn cocked her head and furrowed her eyes as she considered that.
"Got incredible skills," Demok continued after a moment, interrupting her thoughts. "Good heart, too. Question is, can you find a way to use those skills that doesn't break your heart? If you can, you've got it made."
A gust of wind ripped through the street, whipping their cloaks. Kehrsyn pulled hers back around her and tried to huddle down as small as possible behind the shield of Demok's shoulders.
"You did that," said Kehrsyn, finally understanding the source of Demok's quiet self-assurance. "So how did you answer the question?" she asked.
"Killing is a by-product. Didn't want it to be a waste, so I dedicated my life to the destruction of the Zhentarim and the church of Bane. If I found someone else who needed killing in the meantime, I didn't have a problem with that, either." He reached for something beneath his cloak, and after a moment's fumbling reached over his shoulder to hand something to his companion. "Know what this is?" he asked.
Kehrsyn took the item and studied it, holding it very close to her eyes in the dim light.
"It looks like a pin in the shape of a harp," she answered. "What does it mean?"
"I'm a Harper."
"So what does that mean?"
Demok paused a moment, then explained, "We protect civilization. Fight the tyrant gods and their followers, strike down those who need it. I came here when I heard Bane was moving on Messemprar. Wing's Reach seemed a likely target. Other Harpers are elsewhere in the city."
"What, right now?"
Demok nodded and said, "We need them. Dark times are coming."