Chaos and Entropy

Author’s Note: Complete at last! Sorry this last chapter took so long but I had to scrap my crappy first draft and start from scratch. I hope you’ve enjoyed my little tale, Dear Reader. I would love to hear your reaction.


Chapter 11…The Inevitable End


I wasn’t exactly sure where to find the Warden and his gate, so I headed back towards his office. Hearing shouting up ahead, I moved softly, ready to pull Mekrath’s invisibility potion out of my pocket. There were few straight walls in this prison; everything curved. When I turned the undulating corner I saw a guard surrounded by six unarmed male prisoners. The guard pointed his control rod at one of the men even though it was obvious they all knew it didn’t work.

“Get back in your cell at once! Or it will go hard on you when the Master of Thralls repairs your collars.”

I should have walked on by but I couldn’t resist.

“The Master of Thralls is dead,” I said. “I destroyed the Mastery Orb myself.”

“Impossible! The demon will shred your heart for that lie!” The guard’s voice jumped to a frightened pitch. I grinned.

“Your Master is a greasy spot on the floor back there and I’ve got the goo on my boots to prove it. Go look if you don’t believe me.”

“You lie!”

But he took an uneasy step backward. One of the prisoners growled, actually growled, like an enraged dog. Guess these guys weren’t as human as they looked. The sound made the hairs stand up on my arms. The guard turned and fled. Two of the prisoners sprinted after him but the others gave me curious looks. One of them fingered his dead collar.

“This is true? You—you killed the demon?”

“Well, not by myself…”

I jumped back when he lunged for me. Luckily, I realized he was attempting a hug, not an attack, before I pulled my blade. The other men crowded around me. Their expressions were strange, as if freedom was a concept they were trying to grasp. Well, good luck to that but I had things to do.

“I need to find the Warden’s gate,” I said.

“The gate! Yes, the gate—we should all go to the gate!”

Our little group picked up members, including a group of nervous gnomes, until we were practically a crowd. Three people ran on ahead, pushing to be first through the gate, I supposed. Jerks. I was trying to decide if travelling with so many was a brilliant ruse or idiocy when those three returned, moving faster than when they’d left. They skidded to a stop before us. One fellow bent over, his chest heaving as he worked to catch his breath.

“The Warden’s blocked the gate,” he gasped. “He’s really torqued off and he’s drawn his cursed blade. We’re all in deep blek.”

Deep blek, huh? What else was new? Sometimes I think the bottom of the privy is my natural environment.

“Maybe we could rush him,” I suggested. The three sprinters gave me an almost identical look of incredulity. Several of the prisoners beside me made unpleasant muttering noises.

“Maybe we should send in a champion,” one of the gnomes said. He was a wizened little fellow with yellow teeth and a dark straggly beard. He put his hands on his hips.

“You volunteering?” I asked. A couple of the others gave me the eye as well. The group shuffled about uncertainly.

“You’re the demon slayer, aren’t you?” the gnome said. Was that sarcasm? He had no call to be so loud and belligerent. I began to feel very conspicuous.

“Who, me?” My laugh sounded nervous even to my own ears. “Really, I think we should mob him. He can’t take on all of us at once.”

“You think? Looking for cannon fodder, are you?”

“Cannon fodder?”

“You know what I mean.” He tilted his head back to meet my gaze. His long nose pointed straight at me. “Ever see him fight? I have. The cambion would mow through us like a sickle through dry grass.”

“Not if we work together.”

“Oh, yeah? You’re the one with a sword. What do you think I can do—bite him on the kneecap?”

Everyone hates a smart-alecky gnome. Come to think of it, have I ever met a gnome I hadn’t immediately wanted to drop down a well?

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Taggett.”

“Well, tell you what, Taggett. Why don’t you head back to your cell and lock yourself in? Maybe when the Warden summons another demon to be your new master, he won’t be too pissed at you. Sound good?”

“Sounds better than having the Warden spill my guts and step in them,” he replied. But before the argument got any further, five women came running from the corridor behind us. Their eyes were stretched wide in panic.

“Get out of the way,” one shouted. “The Warden’s called his pets.”

People stampeded for one of the side corridors. The good news was that if the Warden was calling for help, then he needed it. He hadn’t yet subdued Haer’Dalis and his friends. But when his reinforcements arrived, that could change. Assuming they arrived, that is. Could I stop them? My feet slowed.

“What kind of pets?” I yelled.

“Bugs!”

Despite Mekrath’s frequently expounded opinion, I’m not a total imbecile. So I wasn’t expecting a trivial cloud of blood flies. In fact, I was pretty sure I knew what was coming. And I wasn’t wrong, hells take me. A group of umber hulks lumbered forward. Each one of these ‘bugs’ stood half again my height. There was a good dozen of them. Their shells are hard and tough, yet with enough flexibility to resist a blade. Their four-eyed gaze can make your head whirl.

I had one Web spell left of the ones I’d prepared for my as-yet-unscheduled raid on Draug Fea and his band. One night I’m going to glue those rude thugs to their beds and do something nefarious to them. With Tymora’s grace, I might yet live to pay back their insults but at any rate, I had the spells ready. Just goes to show that vengeful thoughts and plans can be unexpectedly useful, despite what the followers of Ilmater want you to believe.

I webbed the corridor before me and the bugs ran right into it. Since I didn’t have anything to protect me from their gaze, I screwed my eyes shut and covered them with one hand. I drew the fire wand with the other. With a short but ardent prayer to Mystra that Mekrath had given me a fully charged wand, I fired it, blind, again and again and again. I fired it until it heated in my hand, until I smelled scorched bug, until I could no longer hear the chitter-chatter of their mandibles and claws.

I cautiously uncovered one eye. There was nothing alive in my web.

For a moment there was silence, broken only by the popping of overheated bug carapaces. And then prisoners boiled out from the side corridor, yelling and cheering. The sounds of congratulations were broken by one high-pitched shriek.

Something huge swooshed over my head. It was the biggest wyvern I’d ever seen. The beast’s wings scraped against the sides of the wide corridor. Why it didn’t stop to kill me, I don’t know. The wyvern streaked down the corridor and took the right turn before I had the wits to send a fireball after it.

The crowd broke and ran back down the side corridor. I could hardly blame them but I trotted off after the wyvern. Mekrath was right, damn him. I really was an idiot.

I heard the wyvern’s hisses and growls up ahead, and slowed to a walk. I pulled Mekrath’s invisibility potion from my pocket and downed it. The corridor opened up into a room, although ‘room’ seemed the wrong word for a space large enough to have its own weather. I half expected to see clouds overhead, where the wyvern flapped its leathery wings and circled above a lone man, who stood watchful and poised. A knot of people behind him drew further back, leaving him to face the beast unaided.

The best way to kill wyverns, according to my friend Coran, is to shoot them full of poisoned arrows from a protected blind. If, through accident or stupidity, melee range couldn’t be avoided, a spear was his weapon of choice. I could almost see the admiring headshake and hear the scornful words he’d have for any fool standing off against a wyvern while armed only with a pair of short swords.

The wyvern’s wings brushed the ceiling as it arced into a tight turn. The beast was neither as graceful nor as agile as a hawk, yet it managed a creditable swoop upon its prey. Haer’Dalis leapt like an acrobat but the wyvern’s talons closed around one of his knees and swept him off the ground.

Out in the open, the beast would probably fly to a back-breaking height and drop him. Instead, the wyvern bent its head and opened its great beak. But before it could snap, Haer’Dalis twisted and drove one of his swords into the beast’s lower jaw.

The wyvern shook its head, trying to dislodge the blade. Already laboring under the tiefling’s weight, the wyvern needed a few frantic wing flaps to pull up before it crashed. Its talons opened like it was trying to shake Haer’Dalis loose. The tiefling didn’t cooperate. He let go of the sword in the beast’s jaw and hooked his free hand between two scales. He twined his legs around the wyvern’s thigh.

As I watched, Haer’Dalis thrust his remaining sword up into the junction between the wyvern’s belly and leg, where the scales are thin and flexible. The wyvern arched its back in agony and tried to strike its rider with its barbed, poisonous tail. I couldn’t tell if it hit Haer’Dalis or struck its own body.

I don’t know if the tiefling thrust his blade deeper or just changed the angle but blood began to spurt out, hitting the ground like hot rain. The wyvern hissed, faltered—and then it fell. Even with its wings spread wide to break its fall, it landed with a heavy thud that I could feel through my boot soles. The height wasn’t great but a wyvern weighs enough to crush a man. I couldn’t see Haer’Dalis. He was buried under the wyvern’s wings.

Only when the Warden ran forward did I realize that I, like the handful of others near him, had been staring mesmerized by Haer’Dalis’s fight. I could have slaughtered myself for wasting such a perfect opportunity. Even from across the huge room I could sense the Warden’s fury. He was unarmored but I could see the shimmer of spell protections around him. He had a sword in his hand.

The wyvern wasn’t dead yet. It twitched. But the Warden’s concern was not for his ‘pet’. He grabbed the end of one wing and ripped it up with brutality. He reached down and yanked Haer’Dalis out by the foot. I couldn’t tell if the tiefling was dead or merely stunned. The Warden didn’t seem sure himself.

I ran forward lightly on my toes. Could I get there before the Warden killed Haer’Dalis? Only if I could fly—but Tymora must have been looking out for the tiefling. The Warden raised his sword, which gleamed with something close to malevolence, but he turned at a shout behind him. Someone separated from the knot of people standing further back in the room and ran towards the Warden. By his dress, he was one of the duke’s men. He and the Warden began arguing and as I approached, I caught the gist of it. The duke wanted the actors brought to him alive and if the Warden killed this one, he (the duke’s man) would make certain the duke heard about it.

“Do you think I care about Darkwood’s displeasure?” the Warden asked haughtily.

I stopped and did my best to catch my breath before my panting gave me away.

“You’re a fool if you don’t,” the other said. “Would you pit yourself against Darkwood’s faction? Dare you face the Fated?”

“Dare you threaten me here?”

Was I going to get a better chance than this? I slugged down Mekrath’s strength potion. The moment it hit my tongue, before I could even swallow it down, I felt its magic course through me. It was potent, he had told me. Potent! I felt like a god.

Silently, I pulled my sword (since I’d broken my best dagger, damn it) and crept up behind the Warden. Had he been of normal height, I would have gone for the throat—quick, neat, and hardly ever fails. But he was so damned tall that the stroke was awkward. I didn’t think he’d hold still while I fetched a stepstool. So I went for the kidney stroke instead.

I stabbed him. He died instantly. Impressed by my prowess, all opposition fell away. Victory! And we all lived happily ever after.

Well, that would have been nice.

I stabbed him. But somehow he was warned—did he hear my breath or my pounding heart? Did he smell me? Did the mad god Cyric, my father’s nemesis, whisper in his ear? I don’t know, but he turned, and the blow that should have been fatal was not.

I hurt him bad though. I’d hit with all my strength (and Mekrath’s potion had made me stronger than a troll) and my blade bit deep. I think I broke a rib or two as well. The Warden staggered but caught himself before he fell. He whirled, saw through my fading invisibility, and parried my next stroke with his blade. His parry was weak but it was good enough to turn my sword.

Sorry, Mekrath, I guess I’m not that great an assassin after all.

“You!” he snarled. “I should have killed you when I had my hand on your throat.”

This probably wasn’t the time for a clever taunt, even if I could think of one, which I couldn’t. I feinted at his knee and then whipped my blade in an arc to slash his arm. My sword sliced his bicep. Wouldn’t it have been nice if I’d disarmed him? I didn’t even slow him down. I don’t know if his sword was cursed but there was definitely something nasty about it. He came after me with wide furious blows and kept me busy dodging. He looked mad enough to fall on me like a beast and tear me apart with his teeth.

Blood dripped from the sopping edge of his tunic. Given enough time, he would slow and falter but given enough time, my strength potion would wear off. Given enough time, one of us would make a fatal mistake. Probably me; he was the better swordsman. And who knew what hidden reserves of endurance his demon blood gave him?

From the corner of my eye, I saw the duke’s man circle around. My heart slammed against my chest. Now that’s just not fair, damn it. I couldn’t take on two of them. But instead of ambushing me, he warily approached the dying wyvern and crouched beside Haer’Dalis. I had to trust that he wanted the tiefling alive badly enough that he wouldn’t harm him further for there wasn’t much of anything I could do to help.

I was distracted by a ragged chorus of shrieks behind me. But the Warden didn’t take advantage of my lapse. He was distracted, too. His scowl deepened—and was that a touch of apprehension? A score or more of prisoners ran towards us. Had they rallied to help me? Had they rallied to help him?

They ran straight past us, heading for the unguarded gate.

Well, hells.

The Warden’s lip lifted in a smirk but he didn’t immediately press his attack.

“What brings you here, mortal?” he asked. “Surely you didn’t risk your life to liberate that scum? You can judge for yourself the depth of their appreciation.”

Was he actually curious or was he angling for a breather? I suspected the latter. I needed a breather too but I couldn’t risk having my potion wear off. Prisoners continued to arrive. Some of them formed a loose semicircle near us. The gnome Taggett waved his hands to catch my attention, damn him. Couldn’t he see I was more than a little busy?

“I came for the Sigil Troupe.”

“Indeed. Going after Darkwood’s bounty, are you? Aawill said you’d found them first. Did he poach them from you?”

“Something like that.”

“By your presence here now, I gather Aawill won’t be pressing me for his payment.” I raised my brows and gave him a faint smile. “Well, then. Perhaps you and I can reach an accommodation.”

“Easily,” I said. “Release the Sigil Troupe to me and set us a portal back to the Prime.”

“That’s all you ask?” His sarcasm was clear but I wasn’t sure where it was directed. Was I asking too much or too little? His head tilted and I got the strong impression that he was listening for something. Was he expecting more reinforcements?

“Free us and I promise I won’t bother you again.”

Angry shouts came from the gate. I flicked my eyes towards the shouters but they were still milling about.

“They have just realized that the gate will not work without my key,” the cambion said casually, his words pitched for my ears alone.

“I expect they will be a bit upset,” I said, equally casual. Upset enough to mob him? That was the question, wasn’t it?

“Their fear is stronger than their desire for freedom,” the Warden said. He sounded confident but I thought he was bluffing. “So long as they have no focal point to incite them, they will not turn on me.” He gave me a considering look. “Do I have your word you will leave quietly?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll have your hand on it.”

Taggett crept closer and practically jumped up and down to catch my eye. I gave him a tiny shooing motion.

“My hand?”

“Is that not a custom upon the Prime, to seal a bargain with a handshake?”

“So…you pledge to let me and the actors go free? You won’t attempt to hinder or harm any of us?”

“You have my word.” He smiled. He held out his hand. I moved a half step closer. I’d been holding my sword in a two-handed grip. I’m left-handed so I slowly offered him my off-hand. He reached for it…

And I slammed my hand back on my sword and slashed it into his throat, hard and fast. Before the blood could spray, I pivoted, ready to strike again. But I didn’t need another stroke. His spell protections had run out. The Warden toppled to the floor. When he hit, his head bounced at a strange angle, half-severed from his neck. I’d have to congratulate Mekrath on the effectiveness of his strength potion, if I ever saw him again.

The room was very silent. Eyes gaped wide, mouths gaped open. Near the wyvern’s body, I saw Haer’Dalis struggle to his knees. Raelis and the other actors ran over to him. The duke’s man, still staring at me, did not interfere.

“I tried to warn you but you knew he’d double-cross you, didn’t you?” Taggett finally said. His stunned disbelief was far from flattering. “The cambion would have pulled your arm out of the socket. With our hero down, the rest of us would have surrendered.”

“I figured he had something like that in mind.” I must look pretty damned dumb, for everyone to assume I’d take a demon at his word. I do get tired of constantly being doubted and underestimated but I have to admit that it comes in handy.

I knelt by the body and emptied the Warden’s pockets. I came up with a handful of gems (some real beauties too) but one of them was not what it seemed. By the buzz of power, I guessed that this was his portal gem. I trotted over to Haer’Dalis, who was not only on his feet but had managed to recover both his blades. Chaos and Entropy, he called them. Fitting names, I supposed.

If Haer’Dalis felt shaky, he didn’t show it as he faced off against Darkwood’s soldier.

“I healed you,” the duke’s man said. “You owe me your life.”

“You have my sincere gratitude,” Haer’Dalis said smoothly. “But I owe my life to another.” They both turned to me as I approached. Haer’Dalis made me a small but graceful bow. The duke’s man gave me an uneasy look.

“I have no quarrel with you, outsider,” he told me. His voice was almost placating. Goodness. Kill a cambion and all kinds of people start showing you some respect. “I’ll just take my prisoners and go.”

“There are no prisoners here,” I said. I gestured at the mass of people pressing towards us. A struggle passed over his face as he assessed the odds. Then he spread his hands in acquiescence.

“Have it your way,” he said. “For now.” He turned and gave Raelis a look. “But do not expect my master to give up so easily. He never forgets an insult.”

“It was never our intention to insult the duke,” she said. “We did not know the play we performed had any basis in truth.”

“Save your lies for the stage, Raelis Shai,” he said. “The duke knows who wrote the Comedy of Terrors. You chose to make him look a fool, but he is no fool.” With a nod to me, he stalked off. Her face was blank as she watched him leave, but animation returned when I held the Warden’s gem out to her.

“Can you use this, Raelis?” I couldn’t help but return her relieved smile.

“I certainly can!”

At first glance, the gate was disappointing, nothing more than a darkened patch on the floor. But when Raelis held out the key, I felt a ripple of power run through me. A glittering tracery of glowing lines sprang into the air before us, intersecting at odd angles as if they’d been reflected from an array of prisms.

“It will take me a moment to sort out the possibilities,” Raelis said breathlessly. She then faced the crowd and pitched her voice to carry. “I shall open a portal to Sigil and we shall leave this terrible place. Be patient, my friends. This will take time and concentration.”

The thralls seemed to take that in stride. Some of them ran off, possibly to tell any remaining ex-prisoners of the plans to escape the demiplane. Or perhaps they were going to fit in a last spot of looting. Too bad I didn’t have time to do a spot of looting myself.

Before she started, she turned to me.

“My savior.” She took me in her arms and kissed my cheeks and my lips. “Will you walk the planes with us, my child?” She turned to give Haer’Dalis a conspiratorial wink. “We would be happy for your company. I feel certain you could make a name for yourself upon the larger stage that is Sigil.”

“I have other commitments,” I said with a small pang of regret. “Before you open the gate to Sigil, can you return me to Athkatla?”

“Yes,” she said, with a sigh of disappointment that seemed real enough. Of course, with an actress, who could tell? “Then we must bid you adieu.”

I turned to Haer’Dalis and held out my hands but he did not look at me. His eyes were on Raelis Shai.

“Miss Raelis,” he said. “I will not be coming with you. Not this time.”

She had shown no surprise at my refusal but she was shocked by his.

“But Haer’Dalis—my sweet sparrow—what is this? No more plays? No more theater? Oh, my sparrow, do not let this contretemps with Darkwood turn you away from the art.”

“If I turn away, it is not his reactions but your intentions that I fear.”

“I thought…I thought you understood what I was trying to accomplish with the Comedy of Terrors. My Doomguard, I thought you would approve.”

“And so did I, Miss Raelis.” He sighed. “But I was wrong. You attempt to play chaos like a young conduit, called to dance to your piping. Powers like Duke Darkwood will be torn down by entropy in time. That is good. But you wish to tear them down only to fill their void with new order. This is not my philosophy, Miss Raelis. I am sorry.”

“As am I. But what will you do, my sparrow? Darkwood is still your enemy, and will not regard your change of heart.”

“I mean to return to the Prime with Minette, if she will have me.”

“You wish to go to the Prime?” She stared at him with the horrified astonishment I’d have expected if he’d asked for a one-way gate to the hells. His eyes flicked to me but he stepped closer to Raelis.

“Please understand, Raelis.” He took her hand in both of his. “Can you not feel the swirls and eddies of chaos that cling to her? She bears the blood of a dead god who will tear the Prime apart if that leads to his rebirth. Bhaal seeks to overturn his own ending. Minette moves towards a destiny I can only imagine—can only dream—and I must see where it leads.”

“A dead god. Yes, I had heard the rumors that our savior was a child of Bhaal. What Doomguard could resist a new Time of Troubles?” Raelis murmured. “And yet…to trap yourself on the Prime—is that what you truly wish, Haer’Dalis? I had not thought you to be happy with your feet so firmly grounded.”

“I feel certain it shall prove fascinating.”

Raelis managed to follow the traces left by the gate that brought us to this prison and so, instead of some random location, Haer’Dalis and I found ourselves back in the playhouse. There was no sign of Mekrath. I can’t say I was all that surprised.

Haer’Dalis looked around and took a deep breath, as if inhaling the essence of the Prime. All I could smell was the musty curtains and a faint trace of floor wax. He gave me one of his fey, disturbing smiles.

“Despite what you claim to sense about me, I’m not exactly enamored of chaos and ruin,” I said. “Just to be clear, I avoid that as much as possible.”

“Wanton destruction is no goal of mine,” he murmured. “Nothing lasts forever, nor should it, but all will decay in its own time. A Doomguard supports the natural order.”

“I don’t understand your philosophy but it sounds…” Crazed? Fanatical? I hesitated but he read my face. He gave me an indulgent shake of his head.

“ ‘Tis simple enough. For every beginning, there is an ending. For every life, there comes a death. That is inevitable and logical, yes?”

“If even gods can die, then yes, we will too. Not that I’m looking forward to the event.”

“Ah, but you see, a good ending should be our one true goal. A good death gives meaning to your life. ‘Tis the only thing that does.”

As a philosophy, I supposed that was marginally more satisfying than Mekrath’s advice to preserve your own life at all costs. Maybe. At my expression, he gave a low laugh.

“But come, let us speak of life, not of death.” He moved in closer and put his hands on my shoulders. “I stand before you with naught but my swords, the clothes on my back, and the life that I owe you. Tell me, Minette. How may I serve you?”

I looked into his face. I smiled.

“I have an idea or two,” I said. I put my hands around his waist. The heat in his eyes warmed me down to my toes.

“So do I.”

I haven’t had much luck with men. My relationships start with kisses; end with tears. Perhaps, as Haer’Dalis said, all beginnings require endings. I was a child of Bhaal—living happily ever after was not in my prophecy. But maybe…maybe a good ending was not out of my reach.

I stood on my toes and kissed him.