Coran's Cycle

These stories are based on Coran's character, created and developped by BioWARE and added to by BG1NPC mod.

To Lady Caetlyn. Thank you for the inspiration, my friend

The Three Sighing Elves

I gazed after the slight figure, who went into the night. By the Golden Heart, she is a pretty one!

Kivan sighed. Xan sighed in return, unable to pass up the challenge. Now, if I was told a month before that three male elves sitting at a campfire on a gorgeous summer night like this would spend their time trying to outsigh each-other... But hey, whatever keeps them going. I took a sip of rather cheap and sour wine from my flask, and gave a try to bonding with my comrades.

Alas, I lost the competition hands down both on the length and emotionality of the sigh. I am a pathetic sigher. I cannot compete on the professional level.

Kivan?s sighs were delicate and heart-breaking, while Xan?s would have made a dancing xvart appear a tragic hero in the doomed world, should it managed to imitate one exactly.

You would not believe how many woman appreciate a good sigh in the right moment. Alas. Whenever I see a beautiful maiden I cannot help myself, but smile, and if she is not exactly a maiden, I grin. Since our jolly party was headed by the maiden with golden curls and lips that would make a white rose turn red, the smile rarely left my lips. Just thinking about her, walking the perimeter of the camp alone in the moonlight, gracious and...

A sudden idea came into my head. If I am stuck with the two best sighers on Faerun, and the source of my smiles has continently departed, I might as well gain some experience.

Kivan started the second round, and I studied his features carefully, putting particular attention at the way he managed to appear both present and far away. I knew a girl in Waterdeep, who would run away from her palace and would follow him forever if he let her, just for that expression. Well, I saw her do that for a much worst performance in the same style. As I expected, immediately thereafter Xan produced a masterful trailing off sigh, guaranteed to put anyone in the ?we are going to die tomorrow anyway...? mood. Very useful with virgins.

I closed my eyes, let my eyelashes tremble until the tears glistened in my eyes and slowly let the air out at the same speed Kivan did.

?Coran , I would not want to intervene, but do not you think that Minuwiel is...Would not you think that you should not attempt to seduce a poor orphan, barely out of swaddling clothes, who is chased by a monstrous foe by a reason unknown? She is such a sweet, innocent...?

I choked on the reserved air stored in my throat and opened my eyes. ?What??

Kivan sighed impatiently (good one...for widows). ?You were looking at Minuwiel when she left to guard our camp...and now you are sitting there, sighing like your breast is about to burst. My heart goes out to you if that is true love you finally encountered... If you indeed do love her... ?

The tear I conjured during my exercise finally loosened its grip on my eyelashes and ran down my cheek.

?Coran?? Kivan sounded troubled. ? I understand that you are hurting, but do not you have enough noblesse in you to love her from afar for a while? At least until the troubles she is going through are settled?? From any other man this sort of nonsense would have meant that he is training his eyes on the girl himself and wants to remove a competitor. But Kivan...Kivan meant every word of it. Besides, he is Sylvan, and they are seriously into the dark-heads.

?Leave him,? Xan said in a voice which would make a zombie?s wail seem lively, ?maybe he had finally recognized the futility of love in the face of mortality.?

?Love,? Kivan replied gently, ?is not futile.? Right. His own example proved the opposite.

Xan tilted his head to his shoulder and looked at Kivan sadly. ?We are all doomed...?he said and I realized that I whispered the words with him.. Well, he was saying the same thing over and over...so I took to chorusing him, since hearing his voice was the worst part of it. From my mouth it almost sounded as a joke.

Kivan opened the third round, Xan caught up before he even finished, and I did my best not to fall too far behind.

Kivan shook his head. ?My friends, I do not understand why do you surrender to gloom with such ease.?

My hand went for the flask.

?It must be my forbidden love...? I said, meaning to be sarcastic, but the seeds of doubts were planted in my mind. I started thinking of Minuwiel, and indeed her life in the past few months did not seem like a walk in the park. She was a fugitive, just lost her father and did her very first steps outside some stuffy library she grew in...that?s aside form the bounty placed on her head for Seldarine knows what. And she was gorgeous.

To my surprise a sigh escaped my lips. Was that a regret or true love, I could not say, but at least my reliable fellows followed me with the sighs of their own.

?I took the first watch not to guard the three sighing elves! Either you all go and reverie immediately, or we will march. NOW!?Minuwiel stepped into the circle of light made by the fire from the darkness and now stood, hands on her hips, and a no-nonsense expression on her face. I would not have been all together surprised if she whistled at us or gave us a countdown. Unfortunate orphan or not, Minuwiel was good at giving orders. I was half-way into my bed-roll, when she announced to the night: ?But if one of you aren?t sleepy, I would not mind some help.?

?Are the hordes of goblins and orcs closing on us?? Xan asked melancholically, jumped up and slid Moonblade from its sheath.

Kivan appeared by Minuwiel?s side, seemingly out of the thin air like a summoned creature. ?I would gladly assist you, My Lady?.

Minuwiel probed me with the toe of her boot.

?Oh, yes...? I exclaimed, ?I am very much awake and will gladly...?

?Good,? Minuwiel replied, and I noticed two charming dimples on her cheeks. She definitely knew how to put on a brave face, our little Minuwiel.

Kivan shrugged and sighed. ?Good night, my friend,? she told softly and gave him a light kiss on his cheek. It screamed ?brother?. ?There are no orcs around, Xan,? she continued, watching him intently until he crawled back into his bedroll. Xan sighed doubtfully.

?I found a bird entangled in the torn-bush, and I need someone of a nimble-fingered sort to help it without hurting it.? I nodded. I could do it, I supposed, though it would have never crossed my mind to try it before. I followed Minuwiel thinking that she retained gentle heart, despite all the sufferings she went through recently. I wondered if I ever robbed a girl of just the sort of innocence and sweetness Minuwiel displayed. Forbidden love. Love from afar. That might be an interesting experience, after all. I sighed, amazed at the ease with which the sigh came to my lips.

Minuwiel turned, her face silvery in the moonlight, and smiled widely.

?Coran, no! Not you too! Kivan and Xan make me feel terribly shallow. I can never do anything but smile when I see a handsome man. And with you around that means...?

?...that you smile continuously...? I finished astounded. ?Just like me, my dear Minuwierl, exactly like me.?

?Oh, I am SO glad that at least someone understands me!? Minuwiel exclaimed. ?I hoped from the very moment I laid my eyes on you that you are not the sort who walks in circles for years, mumbling about adoring from afar... Sometimes I think that I am the only person in the world who where NOT tutored on the ways of love by the monks of Candlekeep.?

I could not help, but grin and kiss her laughing mouth with all passion it asked for.

The Whisperer
******************************

Drizzt?s wine cup steamed and smelled of spices from the lands Cattie-Brie never heard of before coming to Waterdeep. The small, red beans dried under the hot sun and ground to thin powder born within wild spirits of Chult, which danced on the lips long after drinking. She eyed her own strong ale with boring yet comforting aroma. It reminded her of Bruenor. She smiled remembering her dwarven adopted father, but almost immediately furrowed her brow. If ale reminded her of Bruenor, what or whom did Drizzt thought about sipping slowly his fiery drink?

?What is it, my friend?? Drizzt asked softly. Cattie-Brie lifted her dark-blue eyes on Drizzt.

?What are ye thinking of?? she blurted out and watched him intently. The drow?s lips curled into a small smile, and Cattie-Brie half-expected to hear her own name, but instead Drizzt said thoughtfully:

?Robillard...I was thinking of Robillard. It?s probably time for me to find him. Otherwise the man is like to miss the sailing,? the drow glared in disapproval of the tight-lipped, grim wizard.

Indeed, Robillard should not have disappeared so completely after the last voyage of the ?Sea Sprite?, no matter who was right and who was wrong in his last quarrel with the Captain. Most often the sailors forgot what was said during the weeks at sea, but not Robillard. That man knew well how to hold a grudge.

?Will you come with me?? Drizzt asked hopefully, but Cattie-Brie shook her head negatively. Let him deal with the angry wizard alone. Drizzt raised lightly off his chair and pinned the vair-lined cloak under his chin. And then he asked if she will be alright on her own.

?Go,? she replied, ?I am quite capable of taking care of myself.?

It sounded...brusque. Cattie-Brie felt a small pang of guilt, but it dissolved in a grayer and stickier feeling. A very unpleasant feeling. She knew that she was sulking because it was Robillard who was on Drizzt?s mind when he drunk the spiced wine. She did not like it a single bit.

Gently, the woman touched a small locket that hanged around her neck. It was warm to her touch with magic, but cooling down with each step Drizzt took away from her. She smiled at her ale mug, and sighed when someone took the seat, that Drizzt just vacated. Alas, the tavern was crowded and she could not have kept the place for her companion. No matter. She will find an empty bench once the locket is warm again.

The man, who seated himself by her side, was a stranger to her and an elf, both rare occurrences in this particular tavern. Cattie-Brie gave him a sidelong glance and scowled. Just in case. In the deeps of Underdark only did she find respite from men with bold eyes and flapping tongues. As they said, it took all sorts to make Waterdeep.

Well, handling them was not difficult at least, just annoying. Luckily for him, the elf did not peer at her breasts. He was rather looking at her bow with a quizzical weighing expression. Now, that was insulting. She crossed her hands under her breasts and stared at the bow shaft, the elf held in his hands. Dark yew, she figured, a rare kind, and crafted with skill. Still, no match to Taulmaril with its singing silver string and the magic arrows appearing from nowhere.

The elf tapped his lips thoughtfully with his long fingers and mumbled something disproving to himself. And he was still ogling Taulmaril! Before checking herself, Cattie-Brie lashed out at the offender: ?What da ye have against me bow, elf??

The elf rose a brow, as if he did not provoke her. ?Oh, nothing, absolutely nothing. Forgive me for upsetting you so, m?lady. Perhaps I can buy you a drink for your distress.?

So, maybe he was of the sleazy ilk. She gruffly refused the offer and would have turned away, except for the fact that the elf again was not paying her any attention. He was fully consumed by comparing the two bows!

?I bet, you can outshoot this snooty thing, Whisperer,? he murmured softly and Cattie-Brie shifted on her stool. Elves can be crazy too. And possibly pitiful. Or maybe it was just that his eyes were brown and liquid?

?Listen,? Cattie-Brie said soothingly, ?ye do have a nice bow.?

The elf smiled widely and nodded eagerly, as if he was used to others talking him down. ?Yes, yes, Coran has a wonderful bow.? Leaning towards her, he whispered into her ear, as if revealing her some sort of a secret: ? It?s a long bow, ma?am, I call it Whisperer.?

?It?s a good name,? Cattie-Brie smiled, thinking that the quaint madman was somehow endearing.

?I can shoot very well,? Coran grinned. ?I bet, I can hit the mark better than you with your fancy bow.?

?No ye can?t!? Cattie-Brie shook her head, surprised at that boyish outburst, but the elf was already chanting:

?Yes I do, I so do!?

?No!?

?Yes!?

?NO!?

?YES!?

?How did I let him to drag me into it?? Cattie-Brie pondered, following the humming elf out of the inn?s doors and stringing Taulmaril. She decided to let the elf win or at least not to lose too badly.

There was an empty strip of beach by the docks, and to Cattie-Brie?s surprise, the empty-minded Coran managed to get a broken harpoon whilst they crossed the docks, which was a poor substitute for an archer?s butte. On the other hand, she foresaw Coran?s surprise when she would obliterate what?s left of the shaft with one of her lightning arrows. Maybe he, with his childish disposition, will grow excited enough to stop the silly competition?

?Fifty paces,? the elf announced happily, dancing with impatience and looking at her for confirmation. Cattie-Brie simply nodded. With that wind...he was a madman indeed. The elf started counting paces after bidding Cattie-Brie to stay firmly in place, lest he loses the count. She sat herself down and waited.

Coran came back running and started pulling the string on the Whisperer. The string was taut, and man?s hands were sure. Perhaps, he was an archer in the past, Cattie-Brie reasoned. The elf made an inviting gesture, and Catie-Brie drawn the string and let fly. The silver arrow plunged through the air, leaving the gleaming trail behind and cut clean the last inch of the harpoon, setting it on fire, like a candle. Coran chuckled approvingly and stood right by her, and lifted his bow. Yes, Cattie-Brie saw, he was an archer once. The arrow fetched with gray feathers flew and struck the end of the harpoon and throwing the burning splinters around.

She did not say anything, just stared at the elf. The string of his bow indeed whispered when he let the arrow loose.

?Hundred paces,? Coran yelled excitedly, and Cattie-Brie this time stood waiting for his return, tapping her foot impatiently.

Again, Taulmaril sang, and Wishperer after it. Another arrow fetched with gray feathers burned.

?Two hundred paces?? Coran asked.

?Yes, but-? Cattie-Brie started saying, thinking to offer him a tie, before the matter become ridiculous, but Coran interrupted her. ?We can change the butte! That shaft is too big. I can shoot a golden coin at three hundred paces!?

?It takes an elf to see a golden coin at three hundred paces,? Cattie-Brie mumbled, and Coran laughed happily. ?We will walk closer after I shoot and you shall see if I got it! Now, where did I put my money pouch??

It was impossible, but the elf looked even more sheepish, turning all five pockets of his jacket upside-down. ?I...I lost it...again...? he bleated.

Cattie-Brie dropped her hand onto her belt and felt the cut strings of her own purse. She muttered an oath. Thieves were prominent in the Docks and apparently quite shrewd.

?Well,? she started, trying to offer the flaming tie again, but Coran apparently had another idea on the subject. Unfortunately, the idea was rivaling the coin-at-three-hundred paces one in stupidity.

?No!? Cattie-Brie shrieked, when the man put his hands on his belt with obvious intent to use the belt buckle for the butte. Cattie-Brie?s own hand slapped across her own mouth, but then slipped down to her throat.

After all if the silly elf wants to walk around without breaches it was his prerogative. Elves were not at all prickly about properties. This one, at least, gazed at her in obvious surprise. Cattie-Brie swallowed and clutched the locket hanging from its thin chain. Why should she be panicking because of an elf shooting a mark half-naked? Happens every day in Cormanthyr, no doubt. Except that she was not from Cormanthyr.

Coran beamed.

?Oh, yes! This would do even better! Thank you!?

There was nothing for her to do than to give the locket to Coran, and burrow a heavy gaze into his back, as he went counting the three hundred paces. ?If that idiot would lose it,? she thought grudgingly, ?I?ll skin him, be he a madman or no.?

Coran walked lightly on the sand, littered with the debris and flotsam. When he passed the harpoon, he turned and smiled to Cattie-Brie. She waved at him. Two hundred paces. Cattie-Brie chewed on her lip. Even if Coran hits the medallion, it will not be destroyed, she was sure of that. It was Alustriel, the great wizard and the chosen of Mystra, who had enchanted it after all. Such things have a tendency to last.

And then she saw Coran breaking into a run.

Such things have a tendency to cost a fortune. Brusquely, she lifted Taulmaril, let the arrow fly and cursed under her breath, as it fell behind the thieve?s heels. Only just out of range.

********************

?Allana!? Coran shouted, entering the antechamber. The wizard?s apprentice appeared in the doorway, gorgeous as ever in the red robes cut low and embroidered by golden thread. By the golden rose, he loved when women wore robes cut low.

?Oh! You...you got it, did not you?? Allana exclaimed.

?Yes, of course. I told you, my sweet, that I can get anything for you, even if it is not sold, did not I? Now, come, kiss me.? Coran grinned proudly.

Allana snatched the locket from his hands and stared at it in disbelieve.

?Yes, it must be it! And it is warm!? Without giving Coran another glance Allana rushed back into the bedroom.

?You are not going to study it right away, do you? Before thanking me?? Coran asked of his determined lover, half-hoping that retreating to the bedroom was an invitation of sorts.

But all his designs evaporated once he saw that the woman was wrapping herself into her cloak. Allana's cheeks were red-hot and her eyes shined with expectations.

?It works!? she babbled, ?It works! I can feel the warmth of the locket. Now Drizzt will not be able to hide from me!? and she brushed past Coran and out of the doors.

Coran sighed: ?Silly girl.? He knew he should have stolen Taulmaril.

*******THE GAME OF NO's and MAYBE's*************

The dark strand of run-away hair looked blacker than a raven's wing on Coran's pale skin. Minuwiel bit her lip and twisted her slender fingers into a semblance of a braid.

Coran chuckled: "Darling, do not fight it. No woman was born yet who could resist brushing away hair from a man's eyes. Please, do it, sweetling. Minu?"

Minuwiel's own eyes sparkled brightly in the starlight, as she lifted her head up. "That's only maternal instinct, Coran. Do you like to be mothered?"

Coran squinted at her from under the black fringe of still misplaced hair. "You, my Lady mother?" He sighed: "Alas, despite all the advantages, I must refuse. You see, then it would be entirely inappropriate for me to daydream of you, standing bare in the pool of moonlight."

Minuwiel raised gracefully from the log she was occupying and started unrolling her blankets. They did not light up the fire, for the night was sufficiently warm, and the fire will serve no purpose, but to be a beacon for the monsters. Coran liked how the maiden looked on the nights like that, when nothing in the whole forest shined hotter to his heat-sensitive elven eyes. In the whole world.

"Keep daydreaming," Minuwiel replied finally, gracing Coran with a quick glance over her narrow shoulder.

"She is determined to have you whole," Kivan murmured, watching Coran brush back the strand of hair irritably.

"She is playing the game of no's and maybe's," Coran said in his usual light tone, but he took care to elevate his voice. "A lovely game."

Kivan chuckled, nodding his agreement, and Coran wondered yet another time if the widower was truly as innocent of the knowledge of women, as his tales suggested. To listen to Kivan, he had met Deheriana on the battlefield, fell under her spell immediately, and had never recovered, even though that was a healing spell she casted. Thereafter, it seemed, that should Deheriana wished for a star, Kivan would have asked which one she wanted. How would he know of the game then?

"I shall go look for Xan," Kivan announced to no one in particular. "This one ever treats the forests like Evereska's gardens, striking wildly at every bush and stalking hedgehogs, because he thinks they make noises just like orcs. You will guard the lady Minuwiel, whom I have sworn to protect."

"With my blood shall I guard the woman you left in my care," Coran replied formally.

After Kivan dissolved into the dancing shadows, Coran took a sip from his wineskin and sighed. The woman's form was bright on the forest floor, even under the woolen coverlets. Kivan offered him a gift of privacy, but he also left Minuwiel under his protection. Tricky widower. Tricky customs etched into his bones.

"Minuwiel, " Coran called, and thought that if she would not look out from her blankets, then the game was over for tonight. She mumbled and sat up: "Coran?" That gentle voice must have had the command of his feet, because before he knew it, they carried him across the campsite and settled him on the ground by Minuwiel.

"What kind of an incompetent acolyte left you with that?" Minuwiel asked and her cool fingers touched his forehead and moved through his hair.

Coran felt dizzy and his thoughts floundered: "Two rose petals... How soft and fragrant her lips should be... the lady-rose bud."

"Or was it a kobold witch-doctor?" Minuwiel inquired mockingly, oblivious to the blizzard her touch had created in Coran's mind. "I do not think I can do anything for it now, but if it was I doing the healing, you would have never known yourself that you had it."

Coran took in a breath. A tiny one. Minuwiel must have watched him when he brushed his hair away from his face. Otherwise, she'd never noticed that old scar.

"I...I asked for it to be left unhealed. It is a reminder," he replied carefully. Keeping his voice steady was important. Minuwiel arched her brow impatiently: "A reminder of what?"

"I was then in my nineties..." Coran started, and almost chuckled at Minuwiel's condescending smile. He liked when Minu tried to play a lady wise in her years, when she was barely one hundred and twenty. "I left the elven lands in the Forest of Tethir and set out to see the world before my loving family decided that they spent enough centuries talking about going into Retreat and acted upon their decision."

"It turned out that I picked a bad moment to cross the Tethyr. The Human King Errilam managed to get himself into an accident during a hunting trip. Alas, he died as a result. Since he was accompanied by his friends of elven descent, and when the king dies someone ought to take the blame, his heir launched harsh repressions against elves. I tried to make it back to the Forest of Tethir, where my kin fought against the king's soldiers and their axes, but it proved impossible."

"Besides, any of your kin with a grain of sense, would have shipped you back to your parents on sight and you'd have been stuck in the backwater province for a few more decades," Minuwiel murmured, leaning against Coran's shoulder. Coran did not argue.

"So, sweetling, I ended up taking to the shadows. In the underworld they do not ask you to put down your hood before dealing with you, which suited me just fine."

Minuwiel sighed, but said nothing, for which Coran was quite grateful. Whether she welcomed his choice or regretted it, it was much too late to voice either.

"One night, when I deemed myself near best thief in Tethyr, I broke a lock on a window of a large merchant house in Darromar and made my way into the strong room. A couple of large chests attracted my attention immediately, and to my delight, the locks did not look formidable at all. Despite all awkwardness of youth, even then I was nimble-fingered, so the latch clicked, and I opened up the lid.

Something...some sort of a whip lashed out at me from the opened chest, a living whip with a sting at its end. I fell back, but the second whip got me, and I lost control of my body, twitching violently and trashing about the room. I could hear voices in the house and I saw the light approaching through the crack under the door, but I could do nothing but convulsing and trying not to think that I stand to lose my head, rather than my hand, as soon as the guards will be brought in.

Two women entered the room, one armed with a dagger and a candle, and the second - with a heavy pestle they use to grind spices in the kitchens.

Despite my attempts to be civil, just at that moment I was bended near in half, and started frothing in my mouth.

"Hells fire!" the woman with a candle exclaimed, "I knew that Danor is going to kill someone! Locking whipstings* in chests! What a barbaric custom! Katrina, stop staring at the poor boy and help me lock the beast away!" The maid yelled and waved her hands at the whips and after some hesitation and twitching they withdrew back into the chest. It even hissed, disappointed at the lack of praise. Katrina aptly dropped the lid down and then, with the help of her mistress, piled a bigger chest on top of the unlocked one.

By that time the effects of the poison started to weaken and I crawled towards the window, in, as I hoped, an inconspicious manner. But a heavy hand, I recognized as Katrina's, caught me by my shoulder. "M'lady Belena, it's an elf! I say Master Danor did a good thing there, leaving the whipsting. If you forgive me for saying so, Helm knows what would have befallen us, if that murderous bastard was not paralyzed -"

"He is but a boy," Belena said studying me, and I blurted out that I am more than hundred years of age, which made her laugh, and me - cough out all the fluids the accursed poison lifted from my stomach.

"Shh," she immediately commanded, "do not you be talking now. Katrina, we will carry him upstairs. He needs to be washed and..." she squeezed my chin firmly between her fingers and turned my head from side to side - "and fed."

Minuwiel burst out into her merry laughter, like a chime of silver bells: "I never thought that you were scrawny as a youth, but now I can imagine it quite vividly."

"I was not scrawny," Coran objected with dignity, "Mistress Belena had never seen an elf before, her husband was a stout man and her sons were taking after him. Herself, she was a shade more slender than a gazelle."
This time Minuwiel frowned a little: "I take it that even in that tender age you were not impartial to the beauty of Mistress Belena? Is that what the scar about? Your first lover?"

"No, sweetling," Coran replied quickly, hoping that he will be spared the question of his first love, "She had never gave in to my passionate advances. Despite her husband being a rude and loud man, by all accounts, and absent for the most part of the year, despite the fact that her eyes clouded and grew hot by turns, when she looked at me, she remained faithful. And that is why I left this scar - to remind me that there are some things that women treasure above passion."

After a pause, Minuwiel whispered into his ear: "Perhaps men do too."

"Perhaps," Coran replied, watching her profile in the moonlight. He was glad that he had caught his tongue in time.

They were, after all, playing the game of no's and maybe's.

_____________________________________

* - whipsting - a poisonous beast, which is often locked in chests by the merchants of Amn and Tethyr to ward off thieves

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ELFSONG~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A fresh shirt clung pleasantly to Minuwiel?s scrubbed skin. She leaned back on her chair smiling happily at the serving maid, who was loading the table with a bowl of steaming meat in rich sauce and a tray of bread. The steam raising from the mugs of mulled wine was full of the summer fragrances. All and all, she had almost forgotten a day and a half they spent in the frozen caves of an island in the middle of the nowhere. A cloak, it seemed to her, was a small compensation for three lives, but the wizard who sent them on the quest, had absolved them from the blood debt for his daughters. Minuwiel suspected that he had resurrected his children long before demanding this ridiculous compensation, but be that as it may, the re-payment seemed to settle Kivan?s conscience somewhat, and, she had to concede, hers as well. She loaded a bread trencher with meat and bit into it. It was hot, spicy and so good, that she closed her eyes in delight.

Xan coughed and muttered: ?Grim will be the last days of elven race if our women will start taking such feral delight in the rough foods of humans.? Minuwiel whipped off gravy from her chin and chewed the meat.

?It?s not that rough, Xan. Want a bite?? she offered, waving her meat-loaded bread in Xan?s general direction. The sorcerer flinched as if it were a sword or a Wand of Fire. ?Thank you,? he said dryly and sunk his teeth into a pale cabbage leaf.

?Xan,? Coran said thoughtfully, ?can I dare you to try the red cabbage? I understand how dangerous it looks with all those bring purple colors, but in truth - ?

Minuwiel was not destined to learn the truth about the red cabbage.

A minstrel, who was looking for a best possible corner to give his performance, decided that the one where the elven company settled itself was just what he needed. He was a tall, wide shouldered fellow, who seemed build for the sword-play rather than music, but he was tuning his harp quite aptly, and his voice that interrupted Coran?s musings was clear, low and of a sort that makes a woman?s heart tremble. When he turned to face them, Minuwiel suddenly knew him. ?Garrick,? she gasped.

?I see that the Elven Four company honored the ?Elfsong? tonight,? the scald announced to the tavern goers, ?so it seems to me that a song about brave Elves that destroyed the bandits who plagued the roads and returned the iron to our smithies will be the most fitting tonight. Let us drink for this brave, if small company, friends!?

The audience indicated its agreement with Garrick, by shouting for the song and pounding at the table tops with their mugs. ?Great,? Minuwiel whimpered, smiling sheepishly, as all gazes turned to them ?Just great.? Perhaps, she should have taken Garrick along that day she?d met him in Beregost. Then, at least she could have commanded him to shut up.

Kivan raised, both his food and wine untouched and slipped away from the table and out of the tavern. Minuwiel helplessly stared after the man, saying a small prayer to Corellion, for the ranger to find food and shelter tonight, instead of returning in the small hours of the morning, with dark shadows around his eyes.

Garrick started the dreaded song.

The golden haired Minuwiel,
A human?s name is her father?s name
And the ranger all alone
His heart turned from fire to stone


Minuwiel wondered if Kivan knew that particular verse and fled because of it. She twisted a lock of her pale-yellow hair about her finger and raised to leave. Coran took her hand and made her look down at him: ?What?s the matter, melamin?? Furious, Minuwiel plumped down on her chair. Some of them might know Elven and she had no desire to hear a Ballad of Coran and Minuwiel in the next inn she stopped. So, she deliberately ignored the gentle squeeze Coran gave to her fingers, turned to Xan and gulped her wine. The sorcerer?s sour face almost turned the fragrant sweet liquid from Cormyr into vinegar of local descent.

A rogue with wit as quick
As steps, shooting an arrow or a quip
And a wizard whose smiles
Take enemies down by surprise.

She heard Coran pushing his chair back and standing up. Alarmed, Minuwiel turned to her troublesome lover. The rueful grin she loved so much appeared on his lips.

?Bard, have you taken a look outside?? Coran asked loudly interrupting the song and catching Garrick?s arm. People?s eyes went wide with astonishment. It was considered a bad fortune to interrupt a minstrel.

?What?? Garrick asked faintly.

?The stars are out, and the night is clear. The roses are in full bloom. And you sing us of slaughtering yapping khobolds in the dirty mines. Trust me, minstrel, I have scoured the mines in Nashkel and Cloakwood and found nothing worth singing about there. Give me a love song, bard...?

Garrick squinted at the tall elf funnily. ?Hey you, nobody tells minstrel what to sing. Besides, the ballads of the heroic deeds are much more bestirring than some love song...?

Coran took a money pouch out of his pocket. Minuwiel could have swore that she had never seen that particular pouch before.

?If you won?t be persuaded to sing for these coins, mayhap you can surrender your harp for a few minutes and let someone else to sing what you consider below your...erm talent.?

Garrick?s eyes flipped from the pouch to Coran?s face.

?You will sing?? he asked incredulously.

Coran?s shrug was non-committal. ?You may yet regret it. Mine voice is not the best in Tethyr.?

The crowd grew thicker. A singing elf was a rare attraction. They seemed to forget completely of Minuwiel and Xan.

Garrick licked his lips. ?How about a duet?? He suggested.

?Deal!? Coran exclaimed, ?Do you know the ?Lady Across the Sea??? Without expecting an answer, Coran picked up a lute that laid on the bench by Garrick and quickly run his finger across the strings, listening to the sound. His concentration made the common room go quiet. He started playing the tune, waiting for Garrick to join in. They played a verse wordlessly, adjusting to each other and correcting the instruments, and then Coran started:

?I crossed the sea because I knew
A maiden from another shore
Her eyes were green and blue
She taught me laugh and sing and mo-ore...?

Garrick joined in, and the song reached the farthest corners of the room.


?I walked the beach and I saw naught
but flotsam and rotting kelp
I fancied that the shore was wrong
And so further and further I went...

?An elf singing for the humans...? Xan grumbled and snorted down his wine cup.

Minuwiel shook her head negatively and replied quietly: ?Take heart, Xan. Coran sings for an Elf.?

Xan sighed deeply, and turn his gaze from Coran to Minuwiel and back to Coran. Then he asked of Minuwiel: ?Why does everyone fancy so much the songs of hopeless ventures??

?You can slip away if you want now, Xan,? Minuwiel suggested. ?Everyone?s eyes are on Coran.?

But Xan continued his musings: ? Even better, why do they think that happiness is in participating in the doomed enterprises??

?All causes are doomed to fail...sooner or later, Xan...? Minuwiel said and smiled at seeing Xan?s eyes open wide with surprise. He did not expect such an easy victory in the endless argument he had with the whole world. ?But one can find happiness in selecting those, that bring joy to one?s heart and ignoring fear of the end.?

?Until the wind would fill the sails
I will raise to fight the waves anew
My life is naught until I regain
My maiden with eyes of green and blue.

The last notes still lingered under the ceiling, when Minuwiel shouldered her way toward Coran and planted a kiss on his lips. ?Melamin,? he said and smiled.

THE EYES OF A BASILISK

?Let us go,? Coran said, touching the hood of Minuwiel?s cloak. No, he was dragging her upright actually. How long was she crouching, her fingers wedged into the cold stone? Minuwiel licked her dried lips laboriously and looked up at the sky. The sun was low and taking on an orange tint...last time she saw it at the high noon. The priestess allowed Coran to make her stand and even managed a weak smile as he kissed her ear lightly. Then her gaze fell back at the white statue of a running girl. The movement of short, pumping legs was perfectly preserved in marble, those plump lips were stretched in a terrified cry for all eternity and her eyes were opened wide...so wide...

Minuwiel knew exactly what was the last thing the girl saw. It was a slow lizard, thrice bigger than herself, the heavy footfalls of its clawed feet, the wag of its spiked tail, the raising skin on its spine and finally - the green glow of its multifaceted eyes. Perhaps, they just killed the very basilisk, whose gaze turned the girl to stone. That was not enough for Minuwiel, but her delving failed to find a single spark of life in the marble child.

She sighed and stepped away from the comforting ring of Coran?s hands...and had to prop herself against the statue.

?We will set the camp now,? Kivan suggested matter-of-factly to Coran, and shouted: ?Xan!? at the sorcerer who sat on the ground, turning his head wildly from one of basilisk?s victims to the next. He obviously found the doom he would fear the most for the next fortnight. ?Xan, there is a stream nearby. Can you hear it? Let us carry the packs there and make a fire, while Coran takes care of Minuwiel.?

Minuwiel did not protest, when Coran gladly dropped his pack on the ground and lightly lifted her up. On the opposite, she sighed and let her head drop sleepily on Coran?s shoulder, cuddling herself against his chest. ?Kivan,? Coran started quietly, but the ranger was already flanking them, a bared sword in hand and one eye on Xan who tried clumsily to unstring the Wishperer. At the sight of it, Coran cringed as in great pain and gave Kivan a pleading look. The ranger shrugged, but did nothing else. The rogue?s arms wrapped tighter around his precious cargo, and he whimpered.

?Oh, what?s the point?? Xan muttered under his nose, ?we will no doubt have to fight thrice more today, that if we won?t get killed the very first time.? Suddenly, the string snapped through the air, and the mighty bow straightened in his hands with the sound that gave it the namesake. Xan?s hands flew to the Moonblade?s hilt, dropping the staff. Coran growled. Very quietly. Minuwiel?s breath was touching his cheek at even intervals, and her eyes were closed. He would not let Xan?s antiques to wake her up. Xan searched the ground for a while, before finally retrieving the string from the basilisk corps. It must have got entangle on one of the creature?s horns, because the sorcerer spent an ungainly amount of time kneeling by the lizard's dead body.

?Defender of Elvendom, by the Golden Rose!? Coran thought irritably, but Kivan stood silent, as if he was one of the statues himself, until Xan finally got up, and strapped both the shaft and the string to his pack.

The ranger finally started moving, with encumbered Coran and silent Xan in tow. The forest was all pines and fir-trees, so Coran moved slowly, pushing at the branches before they?d claw at Minuwiel with its needles. He was so engrossed in his task, that he payed little mind to the patch of white in the dark greenery. Surprisingly, so did Kivan.

It was Xan who attracted their attention by gasping:

?By Seldarine, it?s a white doe!?

Indeed, she was white, and she stepped on the trail right in front of them, watching the four elves with its moist red eyes.

Coran touched Minuwiel?s shoulder, waking up the maiden. It was a rare sight even for a wood elf, and Minuwiel had grown among the humans, whose best efforts at raising her true to her heritage resulted in the girl?s capability of reciting the historical manuscripts of the events no Elf cared any longer by heart, while worshiping a human god. Minuwiel slid out from his hands without a murmur of displeasure. She was born an elf after all, even if a snooty Golden. Though, he did hope for at least a tiny sigh.

The doe turned around, wiggled its short tail at them and started walking away. ?Charming...? Coran commented, and then the doe stopped and turned its head back toward them.

?We...we should follow her,? Xan suddenly suggested in a strained voice.

?We need to camp,? Kivan replied, ?Minuwiel needs rest. I can stalk it for you till morning.?

Xan shook his head negatively: ?We should follow her.? And to Coran?s surprise, the sorcerer put two fingers on the hilt of the Moonblade, touching the pale blue stone with his long fingernails.

Kivan bowed his head and acknowledge the command with a formal: ?You lead and I will follow, my Lord.?

Coran threw a doubtful look at exhausted Minuwiel, and for a split moment he wanted to ask Xan if he was sure that following the doe right now was really necessary, but when a Moonblade wielder calls upon you, you do not second-guess his decisions. You obey. So the rogue echoed the ranger, and after him - Minuwiel, who was watching them with shiny, excited eyes. It was turning into a much more profound lesson in elvenhood, than Coran initially thought.

As on a cue, the doe walked again, not pausing for another look. She led them directly to a clearing in the forest - a flood plane of the stream that Kivan heard earlier. Coran was about to comment on the redundancy of the white doe, when Kivan froze in his tracks. A few voices could now be heard from the distance and air smelled of smoke and cooking meat. ?A hunting company?? the rogue suggested. The doe looked at him, with almost hurt expression and decisively walked into the underbrush away from the trail. ?I am sorry...? Coran said sheepishly to the wiggling branches and doe?s behind, ?did not mean... uhm... to scare you.?

Minuwiel giggled: ?Stop courting wildlife!? and then added seriously: ?Let us see who our neighbors are.?

Quietly (or as quietly as Xan?s flowing robes tangling on every branch would allow them), the four elves started for the camp. Through th e overhanging branches they saw three conical tents and a few makeshift covers done from blankets tied to the bushes and rocks, a couple of cooking fires... But Minuwiel barely saw it, her eyes drawn to the tall bulky figures pacing the camp or sitting around fires. Greenish skin, tusks and flat noses on human-like faces gave them out as half-orcs. Right by the fire, back to back sat five elven women, hands tied behind their backs and faces grey with fear, exhaustion and sorrow.

Kivan went pale. Minuwiel half-expected him to rush forward. She, herself, had to slap a hand against her own mouth to suppress an angry yell. But Kivan backpedaled, gave Coran a quick glance and notched an arrow. Coran followed his example and a split moment later two half-orcs fell to the ground, screaming and breaking off the long shafts. Dark blood splattered the ground.

The camp became a bee-hive, full of angry and ready to sting half-orcs. They jumped up and would have rushed to the archers and into the forest. ?I will lead them on the chase,? Kivan started, ?and you - ?

?Stop ye, scatter-brained idiots!? roared a voice and a huge horned figure emerged from the biggest tent. ?Get behind the bloody wenches!? However fast the archers were, they only had time to loose two more arrows, before the orcs obeyed the command.

?What now?? Coran asked.

Kivan unsheathed his sword.

?Get outta there,? the horned figure commanded. ?Or I will kill one of the whores.?

?Try it, and I will be on your heels until I kill you,? Kivan replied calmly. ?Let the women go and you will keep your measly life.?

The half-orc guffawed: ?Now, now, you think me stupid? You squawk like all them, heroes, and that means you?d eat your guts out yerself if I finish off the wench.?

?Darn,? Minuwiel thought, ?why did we have to run into the only intelligent orc on Faerun??

?But,? the commander continued, ?if you really want to free the stupid cows, I have a proposal. I figure by know you know that we are not some stupid mountain orcs. We fought with humans against Tunigians, and trust me, I have a full command of my unit. So you will not be able to sneak upon us, or cause panic or what else you hoped to do. So - let us do business.?

?Ye see, I am driving them wenches to Calimport, but so do many others. Was a good business once, but now the prices are collapsing... for women. But elven males, that?s another story -they grew in price recently and are a rare find unspoiled and unharmed. So, let me take a look at you and I see if I?d agree to trade the women for you, my brave fellows.?

?You hold five women,? Xan interfered calmly. ?We are three men and a woman. Will you let six women go free if you get three men?? Minuwiel, Kivan and Coran turned toward Xan and stared. The sorcerer shrugged: ?Have better ideas??

?First I need to take a good look at ya, ? the half-orc said. ?One wrong move, and that one -? he pointed at a dark-haired girl, ?gets it.? He motioned to one of his soldiers and he lifted the woman roughly on her feet, grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head down, exposing a throbbing throat. A long curvy dagger made a cruel teasing move across it leaving a dark line. ?Just give me a shout, Urk,? the soldier said grinning. The woman shivered.

Urk walked slowly towards the forest edge, his bulky figure teasing the marksmen. Minuwiel saw Kivan lifting a bow and lowering it again, mouthing a curse.

?Steady, Kivan,? Xan said quietly, ?she is not Deheriana.? Surprisingly, his wife?s name sobered the ranger up, instead of throwing him into a frenzy. He nodded to the sorcerer. Minuwiel noticed Coran fingering knives tacked into his sleeves.

Urk stopped a few paces away from them and commanded to exit from the forest. One by one, with their hands up...

They obeyed.

Xan was first to come out. He was a rather pitiful sight, Minuwiel thought, slender, bejeweled arms up in the air, wide sleeves covering his shoulders in puffy layers of fabric, his face pensive and gloomy. Urk rolled his eyes at the sight of him, but he watched Coran and Kivan wearily; he had a good eye for fighters, that half-orc. ?Weapons,? he barked out shortly. Meekly Coran and Kivan placed their longbows on the ground, the two-handed sword from Coran?s back followed, and finally Kivan?s spear.

?Urk,? Xan said, ?It is not that I mistrust you, but I wish to see that we are getting a fare deal. I am a mage and not a man of battle. If I start casting the spell, your men will cut me asunder before I get half-way through the enchantment. Allow me to walk towards women, untie them and they will walk here , where they will be under Minuwiel?s protection, while you walk Kivan and Coran to your camp.?

?A great warrior, your Minuwiel, ei?? Urk snorted giving her a condescending look. ?But no tricks from you two,? he addressed Kivan and Coran thoughtfully. ?Undress,? he commanded to the fighters briefly.

A grin went off Coran?s face... Kivan licked his upper lip. ?Undress,? Xan repeated softly.

?Oh, undress?? in a flash the good mood returned to Coran, ?for you - any time, ei, Kivan??

?Yes... ? Kivan managed what a half-orc could take for a smile, ?any time at all, ? and to Minuwiel?s horror made a enticing move with his hip. Coran started pulling a boot off, smiling from ear to ear, and ogling Kivan, who undid a fistula with a silver eagle and dropped his cloak onto the ground with a showy gesture.

?Imagine, Kivan,? Coran spoke up, ?we are going to be bed-slaves. It?s like a dream come true for me... ? Knives spilled from his sleeves on the ground. Kivan pulled his shirt over his head, his voice muted somewhat by the leather, and agreed: ?Yes, a good deed and the life-changing experience to boot. How grand.?

Minuwiel for a second forgot about everything else, but Urk?s voice broke her reverie.

?My clients are women mostly,? Urk said, ?ye won?t be per chance spoiled goods??

?Oh,? Coran laughed, jumping on one foot, to pull the second of his high boots off, ?No-no. Women, men, oak trees... Anything that moves. We are elves, you know, the prancy pointy-eared sort.?

Kivan emerged from his shirt and nodded his full agreement: ?Absolutely.?

Urk frowned at the wide scars covering Kivan?s torso, but Coran?s far smoother body put him at ease. Urk?s beady eyes lightened as he glanced from Kivan to Coran and back. ?Counting coins,? Minuwiel thought with disgust and anger, at the same time relieved that the half-orc barely noticed her. Female beauty was cheap. As the fighters got rid off their breeches, Minuwiel took a sip of water out of her waterskin, watching the slavers intently from under her golden tresses. All twenty of them.

And Xan waddling his way towards the tied up women, like a huge purple and grey butterfly. The half-orcs towered over him, like column of some wicked temple, making no effort to move out of his way, watching the two undressing elves. One of them however found time to trip Xan over his boot. Xan?s blade showed from under his clothes... Minuwiel stopped breathing. ?This one has a sword!? One of the orcs cried out, ?Good thing that Urk made a bargain! I am so scared!? The comment prompted even more mirth than the sight of Xan lifting himself off the ground, his cheeks red with embarrassment. But seeing the Moonblade made the women lift their head up and their eyes glued to Xan.

He remained silent and pulled out a small dagger - creating a new wave of rude comments regarding his supposed low value as a slave if his masculinity was to be judged from the size of his weapons. The sorcerer ignored it all, cutting the ropes. One by one, women ran toward Minuwiel.

Never she had seen an elf more lonely and clumsy than Xan standing amidst half-orcs in his bright robes.

?Nuut eleelle!? Xan cried out frantically, throwing his hands up. Minuwiel shut her eyes, following the command, unsure of what folly came over Xan. She knew that he had not a single spell left to cast at the moment.

Heavy thumps followed Xan?s announcement and curses and then the sound of fighting.

?Ele!? Xan muttered, and Minuwiel opened her eyes to see a dozen of stone orcs and a half-dozen of living orcs. Naked Kivan dived under Urk?s huge hands and caught the Moonblade. A huge fist connected on Xan?s face, throwing him back... caving his face in. He fell, his palms opening and dropping something glistening into the tall grass. Coran rolled and managed to get hold of one of his knives. A huge blade crashed down onto him. It ought to have separated his head from his body...

Minuwiel opened herself to gods... Not to Lathander, but to any god that would listen. She never knew who answered her call, but she thought it was Corellion himself. Warm waves of magic flooded her, but she pushed it aside, towards her three companions.

There was no time for a proper prayer. ?Give us victory,? she cried to the far away heavens, ?give us victory!?

?Did you know that Xan had basilisk?s eyes?? Minuwiel asked Coran the next morning examining the healing gash on his neck critically.

Coran shook his head weakly and moaned out of pain. She felt guilty for having slept this night, and hurriedly placed her hands on the wound, soothing the pain, and channeling the healing flows. The red angry colors receded and a thin layer of pale skin grew under her fingers, contrasting oddly with the tanned and bruised skin around it. Bruises could wait. She checked the lump on his head... no worst than Xan?s really. But he was taken care of by all five saved ladies. A very tender care.

?So you just rushed ahead at the four to one odds?? she asked Coran finally satisfied with the wound?s condition.

?They are just like basilisks,? Coran replied lightly, ?they look at you and see but a stone.? He hugged Minuwiel tightly by the waist and pulled the kneeling maid onto his cloak. ?I really liked the set-up last night, my sweet healer.?

Minuwiel sighed and stretched carefully by Coran?s side. There was no escaping his arms, and frankly, she was a willing captive. ?Life is adventure, or nothing, ? she thought, smiling and ran her fingers through the ringlets of Coran?s hair, gently breaking apart the tangles, dried blood crumbling under her touch. She puzzled over the fact that the deep peaceful breaths and the bravura escaped the same soft lips. She kissed his brow then and he smiled in his sleep.

Kivan wrapped himself tighter into his cloak and pulled the hood lower. Not a scratch on that one, who knows how.

?You should undress for us more often, Kivan? Minuwiel grinned. Kivan rolled his eyes and looked at the marble statues scattered throughout the camp. Very life-like statues.

DISCLAIMER: It's mushy and there is no helping it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The VIRGA~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Minsc - human ranger who carries a hamster called Boo and serves a witch, Dynaheir, who is imprisoned in Gnoll?s Stronghold
Coran - an elven rogue of happy disposition
Xan - an elven sorcerer of pessimistic disposition
Kivan - an elven range, whose true love is dead
Minuwiel - an elven cleric, who due to her upbringing venerates a human god, Lathander.
A group of pissed off gnolls guarding their Keep

The clouds lingered above, gray and wispy; the warm and soggy air clung to Minuwiel?s bare skin. By all rights it should have rained, but it did not. Minuwiel pushed the clammy blanket off her with a sigh and cringed at curly smoke blackened on its edges. Coran tried to prove to their miserable camp fire that life was worth living. Sleepily, Minuwiel picked up the discarded coverlet and wrapped the gray wool around her shoulders. Then she crouched by Coran. The rogue did not miss the opportunity to touch her hand, which was sticking at an awkward angle from under the thick fabric.

?Do you know how we call rain that starts high above, but never reaches the ground?? he asked quietly, and his sensual voice thickened by the tepid fog turned the simple question into a veiled caress. It was so vague, that Minuwiel might have imagined it.

The human ranger who came among them a few days ago, and who was leading the elven group to save his country woman from gnolls, had a strange effect on all of them. They were all speaking Common now, laughing uncomfortably when a Quenya word slipped from their lips. Coran never teased Xan any more and did not court her with single-minded bravura. Xan never complained any more, and to think on that he rarely even spoke, perhaps at a loss of what he can talk about to a robust and loud man with a heavy and plain sword. Kivan on the opposite was as long-winded as she ever heard him, thinking perhaps that his custom brevity would offend their human companion. Or, maybe since human were generally regarded as an outspoken nation he tried to be the same with Minsc? Be it as it may, she learned more about Kivan in these three days than in the past three months, listening to his exchanges with Minsc.

Minuwiel pulled her blanket tighter. ?No, I do not know, Coran. What is the name??

?Virga,? Coran replied softly.

Minuwiel nodded. Coran had a childish like for beautiful things, even if they were mere words. ?I wish,? Minuwiel looked up at the sky, ?I wish for a downpour. I cannot stand this feeling of being on an eve of something... ? ?You are not alone in that, sweetling.? Coran never made his desires a secret, but it surprised Minuwiel, that he would wish her so intently. If that what was he meant. She noticed that the rogue still eyed women in taverns, but her pride did not allow her to find out if that was all that happened when they turned in for the night. Indeed, she did not even know what she was waiting for. Refusing Coran?s advances simply became a part of her nature, and she did as automatically as she lifted a shield when a weapon was swung at her in combat.

But an adventurer who stops his quest when uneasiness descents upon him is bound to end up a drunk in a tavern?s corner telling an incoherent and endless story of forgotten or unaccomplished deeds. The large Rashemi?s witch had to be delivered, despite Minuwiel?s heartaches and the rain that had never fallen.

They packed the camp and walked across a flimsy bridge, which swung lazily in resonance with their steps. In the ravine underneath them, once a small creek was now raging swelled with recent rains. It tore into the shores, undercutting roots of dark fir-trees and washing away sands and pebbles from the red stone of the valley bottom. Minuwiel can see layering in the glistening rock with narrow strips of grey or brown, angled oddly just like the gnarled trees on the slopes. The opposite shore was higher than the one they started at; a well-trodden road curved upward from the bluff climbing to a fortress made of the native red stone, its low turrets and wall cut out and shaped in the hill itself. It was a primitive keep, with no bulwark, ramparts, crenelation or other adornments, military or eye-pleasing. But Minuwiel doubted that it was made by yapping, quarrelsome gnolls. Someone who had patience and persistence far greater than the present occupants must have created the fortress... and they had done it in the centuries long past. Minuwiel could not say why she was so sure that the fortress was ancient; she just knew it.

The elves grew somber, standing by the bridge and viewing it from a distance, except for Coran who was still in the middle of the flimsy structure, jumping and throwing himself at the sides, to produce the most quivering. The human ranger was not disheartened by the rogues antiques, advancing steadily, clutching to the hemp ropes and rusted chains. He squinted at the hold up on the hill with his untroubled blue eyes. Minuwiel guessed that be it Castle Neverwinter that stood in front of them or elegant towers of Evereska, Minsc?s mind would not have wandered from his purpose, from his witch. In fact, she saw a strange similarity between him and the hold that he was about to assail. Both were sturdy, single-minded and radiated a dignified strength. Either that finally occurred to Coran as well, or he simply got bored, but he ran after Minsc and the whole company now was assembled. Kivan strung his bow, and Xan shufled his bundle from his left shoulder to his right. Minuwiel tightened the laces of her tall boots.

?Boo wants to know what little Minuwiel is waiting for?? Minsc asked, puzzled by the passivity of his elven companions.

A first heavy drop of rain fell on Minuwiel?s cheek. The elf smiled at Minsc: ?The rain. Now we are ready to go.? She started walking uphill, confident that the rest would follow.

They made a slow circle around the fortress, and offended Minsc by a refusal to storm the front gate. Instead, Coran scaled the slick wall, carrying a coil of rope on his back. His ascent looked almost effortless off the ground, but Minuwiel?s keen eyes saw whiteness where skin tightened against his finger and toe bones, when he gripped to near invisible cavities left by the wind on the red stone. First time he fell, he was almost half-way, and almost run up the wall, embarrassed... only to loose his hold once again, when he was no more than two meters above the ground. This time he sat in silence for long minutes, his eyes closed and when he restarted, his lips where stubbornly pinched. This time his open palm hit the top of the wall, and he pulled himself up and sat there for a moment pretending that he enjoyed the view. But his feet and hands trembled from the relieved strain.

It took their joint effort to pull the huge human up, but there was no need to lower him. With a crazed and long repressed fury he dove off the wall and engaged the closest gnoll. The yells, the bunging of weapons and the sound of warhorns filled the air. Coran and Kivan loosed arrows from their vantage point on the wall, keeping the ravaging gnolls at bay to allow Xan and Minuwiel to descend in a less dramatic manner than Minsc.

Cursing his luck, Xan wriggled free of his cloak, which had already soaked through and was now so heavy that it was obstructing the movements of his slender arms. In his silken robe alone and a score of amulets the wet mage leaned against the wall and prepared to chant.
?Do not sneeze!? Coran cried sliding down the rope. Xan sighed and closed his eyes.

?Oh, Nine Hells!? Minuwiel parried a halberd?s blow and called for Coran desperately. She could not hold her own against three tall muscular creatures with canine heads, and her mace had too short of a reach. Coran popped up by her side and pushed his long blade into a gnoll?s gut. It took him a significant effort to pull it back, now that he was not aided by the momentum. He jerked his head to get rid off the wet hood, echoing Xan?s curses, moved his palms on the handle of his sword, to get a better grip and swung dangerously again. Thin glowing purplish streak appeared in the air connecting Xan and one of the attackers around Minsc; the gnoll wailed stupidly, turned around and thrust his halberd into his kinsman.
Kivan?s arrows fell from above as persistent and near as thick as the raindrops.

Then arrows stopped and a bulky form slummed into the muddy puddle on the ground, showering the elves with red water. Minuwiel looked upward and yelled on top of her lungs: ?Jump, Kivan! JUMP!?

Despite the lack of discipline, the gnolls apparently did patrol the outer wall. Now they come upon the ranger five strong and he was hacking at the cruel half-moon blades of halberds with with sword frantically. Couple more corpses landed in the mud before Minuwiel finally saw Kivan.

?He did not jump,? Coran muttered through clenched teeth. ?Too proud.? And then shouted: ?Xan! There is no time for spells. Min needs cover!?

Minuwiel slipped in the mud, half-falling half-jumping the distance that separated her from Kivan. She stayed kneeled, while Coran and Xan shielded her and Kivan. ?Get up if he is dead,? Coran commanded curtly.

?I will. Give me a minute.?

The halberd that ripped the archer?s boiled leather jacket and wrecked his abdomen fell with him, and the rain was washing the blood off it making the mud to take a richer red shade. In contrast, the color went out of Kivan?s tanned face; only his hair was still as black as Minuwiel remembered it. The wound was mortal. It was beyond her power to recall the dead to the Material plane, so she had to keep him alive and bring him back one breath at a time. Minuwiel slipped into a trance as hastily as she dared and the world seized to exist.

When the bloodless, pale face came into her view again, Minuwiel had expanded the grace bestowed on her by Lathander. She trembled, and leaned over Kivan, expecting her cheek to be more sensitive than her blood covered palms. Warm air touched her skin coming from the fallen. Relieved, Minuwiel allowed herself another moment looking at the man whose spirit was turning back... and for a brief moment, just before it realized that it was bound to the Material Plane, just after it settled again in the unyielding sorrow for the lost love, the man?s lips curved in an unshaded smile.

?At least his dreams were good,? Minuwiel got up from her aching knees and extended her hand to the now fully aware grim man. He gripped to it and got up. He swayed, and put one hand on the cleric?s shoulder; and in another second he was walking on his own, with uneven steps of a dizzy man. Not trusting himself with the weight of a spear, he took a short sword of his hip and went to relieve Minsc. Minuwiel joined Coran and a couple of other gnolls that Xan managed to put under his spell and turn against their own kind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The world was wet after the rain, but cleansed and glad as well. The humans set their fire few meters apart from theirs; tomorrow Minsc and Dynaheir would be on their way. Tomorrow the four of them will again speak Quenya; Coran will court her and tease Xan, the sorcerer will complain at every turn of the road, and Kivan will be quiet. Minuwiel wondered if there was something that her companions would think she?d resume doing after they will be alone again. She sighed and for a moment she did not want the humans to leave. Who knows, maybe their openness would have rubbed off on the elves after a while?

?Do you know how we call love that is born in one?s heart but never reaches another?? Minuwiel asked thoughtfully of Coran. ?We call it love, sweetling,? Coran responded with certainty.