Two on the Tower's Top

The sinking desert sun was about to touch the edge of the far dunes, marking the passage between the Great Sand Sea and the the Plain of Standing Stones, when the slender woman put aside her sword, visibly content with the edge her honing gave it. Smiling, she playfully wrestled the wineskin from her companion's hands and took a hearty draft.

"Torias, I think, we should call it a day now. Dashnaya is surely waiting for you. And I ...I will need some time to prepare for tomorrow, to regain some … balance," she explained then.

"Balance? Kesh, just look at me: I'm still able to stand my ground one-legged. Even after three mugs of brandy and a firkin full of dwarven brew!"

The woman laughed, when she watched the halfing masterly demonstrating his ability. No way – he really was good at that … Even after two skins of Ao Wine! Then she became serious. "That is not the kind of balance I'm talking about… Look, little fox: the sword at your side has two edges; the coin in your purse has two faces …"

---

Casavir restlessly tossed and turned in his bed. The day that lay behind him, had been as dark as the now moonless night, which cloaked the world beyond the keep's confining walls. Like twines of grey smoke, memories reached for him, again and again, rousing him from the security of a deep sleep.

Eventually, he sat up with a moan, shook his head, and rubbed his forehead, as if doing so would shoo away the gloomy thoughts. In vain! Maybe the cold night air would help …

The paladin opened up one of the heavy, stained glass windows to discover that sleep apparently had forsaken not only him tonight. The wind carried bits of a strange song to him. He recognized the voice of Master Tahvi - and on the other hand, almost did not recognize it. Could it be the spectre of his master returning from an unknown future, or just the distance between them??

The sound was restrained and hoarse, like that of an old flute, which has been played far too often. The words were alien to him and much more alien was the tune: trapped between two harmonies, it invoked mixed feelings. Though uplifting, it seemed to tell about loss and doubt.

---

He located the bard high upon the west tower. Torias, whom most inhabitants of the keep respectfully called 'Master Tahvi', sat on the steps of the staircase leading up to the parapet walkway. He was wearing a tunic and loose trousers made of light, buff goat's-wool - the garb of the merchants - whose caravans, for centuries, crossed the Great Desert on the Black Road. The faint glow of a single magical light was mirrored by the lenses of his eyeglasses. Looking over their rim, his friendly eyes blinked at the paladin. "Casavir - at this late hour? I hope I didn't wake you?"

"Don't worry, Master Tahvi!" Following the inviting gesture of the gray-haired man, the paladin took a seat next to him on a mantle that was spread over the cold stone. Through the dim light, he recognized the sophisticated embroidery of the Red Wizards of Thay. The stitchery covered the whole fabric, causing it to emanate unusual warmth.

Master Tahvi gave him an apologetic smile. "One of the few amenities I indulge in when I'm not forced to be the Keep's commander, but Torias, the merchant, or Master Tahvi, the storyteller," the halfling explained. Then, forestalling Casavir's next question, he once again looked down at the parchment in his lap. "Yes, it's from Illefarn, old Elvish, in fact?; a lament or a death watch… I still have to figure it out. The words aren't easy to translate."

Amazed, Casavir raised an eyebrow. "The scroll - it's from Balaur's library?"

Master Tahvi nodded. "I thank my lucky stars; I found it amidst the wards and banes. Did you know, that music for the elves and dwarfs of Illefarn wasn't …," he searched for an adequate word, "just … music? It often had a purpose. The chants were able to open hearts, eyes, and portals." He sighed wistfully. "Alas, I'd give my right arm to activate the song portal in the ruins we discovered lately!"

The magic light hovering above the halfling's shoulder was on the verge of dying. With just two words, whispered gently, that an unwary listener would have taken for rustling leaves, he emblazed it anew, bathing the top of the tower in soft light and banishing the nightly shadows. "What's robbing you of your sleep, my friend?" Master Tahvi took off his glasses and gave the tall fighter of Tyr a thoughtful look. "It's the Guardian, isn't it?"

Casavir ran his fingers through his hair. In the light of the magic orb, the first gray strands shone like silver. "Yes, it's the Guardian. Moreover, the man he once was," he verified the halfling's guess. "To think about the inconceivable sacrifice he made - only to serve his empire …"

Master Tahvi sighed, shaking his head. "They … erased him, Casavir! His name, his very being, his love and his laughter - all, that made him what he was. They eternally tied his existence to only one single purpose: to protect a realm, that was built by men - and that finally was destroyed by men. Couldn't there have been a less cruel and less perilous way, than to fool around with magic like boisterous children?"

He winced when these words suddenly woke up a memory he thought lost forever in the battle of Westhaven: Undrentide like a wounded gull tumbling down towards the torrid desert. There had been a lurid blue wave of untamed magic, punching through Xanos' protective shield and washing over a number of winters younger Torias; waking dormant powers deep within him. Powers he never had asked for …

"How strong and unshakable he must have been in his belief, if he underwent this torture by choice," the paladin went on. The gaze of his unflinching blue eyes trailed away into the far distance… "…to do the only right thing for his people," he mused.

"The echo of his suffering still resounds within the ruins. Everywhere …," the bard cut him off in a low voice, straining to keep his composure. "Didn't you hear it? His cries full of pain, the helpless sobbing, and the beseeching pleas? The dry scraping of silvering fingernails on unforgiving rock and the mute begging for an end, when his voice finally refused to obey him?" He paused for a moment. "No, you really didn't hear it …," he whispered.

Casavir put a calming hand on his arm. "Not the way, you did, Torias - Not as clearly as you. More blurred and ephemeral like fragments of a dream. A dream of a perfect champion: fighting for law and justice …unwavering, invincible and unerring."

"Unerring, ha!" Master Tahvi's laughter held a sardonic touch. "…Until Karsus decided to commit his folly and tear apart Mystryl's weave. He not only laid waste to the flying cities of Netheril, but he destroyed the nation he was set to defend! I wonder, if he even knew that he was depriving his worst enemy's guardian of his life-force. That he forced him to decide between failing, for he had to die, or failing, for he - in order to accomplish his mission - had to abandon himself to the Shadow Empire's magic."

"And yet!" Casavir clenched his fists. "This question is torturing me to no end: What, if a part of the Guardian is still alive; hidden deep down at the bottom of what once used to be his soul? What if these doubts bar me from making the right choice at the critical moment? …What if the King of Shadows is not evil to the core?" he added more quietly.

"Not evil to the core … ," the bard murmured, like speaking to himself. The eyeglasses slipped from his hands, hit the stone floor, and shattered into sharp and shiny shards. "Not … evil … to … the … core?" he echoed, speaking up and carefully measuring every word. "Not?!" Then he jumped up, losing his temper. The cloak beneath his feet started to glow an unnatural red, the magic orb's light suddenly glittered - dazzling. Casavir knew about the power the halfling was capable of putting into his voice and he backed off, surprised by the fact that he, now, was using it against him.

"Not?!" This single word, barely more than a whisper, was rolling like thunder. Its energy swept the paladin off the stairs and dashed him painfully to the marble pavement.

"Not??!! Went in six - came out one!" Master Tahvi's voice seemed to have risen like a windstorm. He spread his arms and threw his head back. "Did you forget about them, champion of Tyr?!"

Torias lowering his eyes took Casavir's breath away - The face of the bard had changed. Sure, it still looked like him. But here and there, intangible, blurry, but yet frighteningly real, it became overlaid with the delicate features of a woman, characterized by the high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes of the eastern people. And even the halfling's hair seemed to change color: it looked darker with streaks of glowing crimson.

Desperately Casavir struggled against the force, which ruthlessly was pushing him back down on the floor and pressing the air out of his lungs. "Torias, please …," he groaned.
The wind's howling ceased. And so did the iron grip that was squeezing his chest. A burdensome silence spread over the two men. The bard dropped his arms and climbed down the stairs, gazing at the paladin with night black eyes. Casavir squinted. The shadow the halfling was casting in the magic twilight was … wrong. It was a woman's silhouette, sometimes … at least. And sometimes… he imagined, an animal - A lion, a tiger?

"Went in six - came out one. Six blades, by black fire's might hammered into one," Torias whispered in a chant, which made the paladin freeze in horror. Like the Silken Sisters from Arvahn's ruins, whose fate the bard was evoking, he now spoke with many voices: considerate and firm - his own, perhaps a bit younger and brighter than usual; warm and womanly - the second, but choked by tears of rage. The third voice was lost to humanity. Sounding like a tiger's snarl, it resonated - growling within each spoken word.
"The Silken Sisters, six of Illefarn's best warriors: they were the first ones, they sent against him. And he killed them all! - Without hesitation. Do you remember? But he wasn't content with that - No. He wrenched their souls from their bodies. But even that didn't satisfy him. He took them, all six of them … and crushed them into a single one. Six souls into one. Into a single one! Eternal. Do you know, what that means? Can you comprehend it, Champion of Tyr?"

Tears ran from Master Tahvi's eyes. He took another step towards the warrior, who - still bound to the ground - grimly fought against the force that made his limbs feel like a lead weight. "And even this wasn't enough for him - No. Three of them he robbed of voice, eyes and ears. Do you know how it feels to suffer in the dark, to not be able to foresee an end, to not hear a word of comfort or to be unable to cry to ease the pain?" Slowly Master Tahvi reached out to Casavir. Magic was dancing between his fingertips; tiny blue-white sparks, surrounded by a halo of gloomy violet - Death Magic.

Crawling on all fours the paladin backed off, until his heels touched the tower's outer wall, until there was no escape left. "Torias, for the sake of all things that are near and dear to you here and now! Come to yourself," he made a last, desperate effort to pull the halfling out of the fatal maelstrom of memories - Without avail.

"Can you bring to mind the agony of six souls touching each other, even if only for a blink of an eye? Then, Paladin of Tyr, can you finally see what hells the hammering of them into one would be?" Master Tahvi's fury was now at hand.

"No!!!!" In despair Casavir covered his face with both arms, when only the width of a sword was left between him and the bard's hand.

---

Later he wasn't able to recall, which of the spells he'd been casting first. In the place, where their energy collided with the bard's magic, the air seemed to ignite and a ghostly, soundless explosion inundated the world around them first in blinding light, then in stygian darkness. Dust and silence settled over the tower's top.

A sustained moaning, followed by a restrained but hearty curse and a gentle healing chant woke the paladin from his dizziness. "Torias?" Casavir lifted himself off the litter strewn floor. "Are you hurt?"

"Damn, yes - there's almost no bone left unbroken, I think." The rumble of stones falling to the ground came from the dark beyond the slowly settling cloud of dust. A pale magic light glimmered. "And the remaining bones Master Veedle is going to crush for sure, once he discovers the permanent impression I left in his wall." Master Tahvi's laughter turned into a tortured cough.

"This is not funny, Torias!" Casavir dusted off his clothes and took a few shaky steps towards the dim glow.

"No, you're right," he heard the bard's answer. "Excuse me! But now - are you still in doubt about making the right decision at the right time?"

Casavir froze. "This has been a test?" he asked puzzled. "All this …," in a somewhat helpless gesture he pointed at the fully devastated stonework, "only to resolve my doubts? Torias, you're barking-at-the-moon mad!"

"Well, let's say," the halfling struggled to get back onto his feet, but finally gave up. With his face contorted with pain he sank back down to the floor. "It seems I fought above my weight. Lend me your hand, please!"

When they later - Master Tahvi was heavily leaning on Casavir's arm - hobbled towards the stair landing, the paladin sensed that the bard still was trembling - With cold, with faintness, with fright?

Exhausted, they dropped on the stairs. Torias examined the devastation with narrowed eyes. "For all the gods' sake! I've been greatly overestimating myself. I didn't have it under control, did I?"

Shivering, he wrapped his arms around his chest. Casavir grumbled in agreement and reached for the red cloak, which still was in place, covering their seats. "Couldn't there have been a less cruel and less perilous way to test me, than this one?" he asked, carefully covering Master Tahvi's shoulders with the cape.

"Such as?"

"You would ask me to jump from the pinnacle of this tower; I would have a look at the long way down and would declare you insane. The result would be the same, but we wouldn't have to be on the run from Master Veedle …"

"Casavir …," the halfling's shoulders were shaking again - this time with cautious laughter. "Can this be true: you were … joking?"

---

"… the point is to let the coin dance on the very tip of the blade."

"Aha … and - can you do so?"

"Torias, do I look like Master Ginadh?!"

"White hair, wrinkled face, walking stick? Nope, Kesh. Fortunately not!"