Richard Baker: Easy Betrayals

"Who cares? It's long dead," said Jacob. "Faerun is choked with ruins such as these."

Belgin scratched at the two-day stubble on his round jaw, narrowing his eyes against the dust and sand. "A temple, I think," he said, ignoring Jacob. "The portal we came through opened when the tomb was disturbed. Guarding the places of the dead is traditionally a role for priests or those who might serve them."

"They haven't been very attentive of late, have they?" Jacob laughed.

"Don't be so sure, Jacob. A thousand years is a long time to wait, but some guardians might have the patience for the vigil." Belgin turned in a slow circle, studying the maze of rubble around them. Perhaps it was only the melancholy sighing of the wind in the old stone that unsettled him… or maybe something else, something more sentient and aware. He knew enough about places such as this to feel a distinct chill at the wind's soulless moaning.

"Miltiades comes," announced Rings. The dwarf's brass and gold piercings gleamed in the fading sunlight. From the swirling murk that marked the temple's ancient gate the paladin wearily strode, a tall shape gleaming with silver.

"See Eidola?" Miltiades asked without preamble.

"No," said Jacob. "I take it you didn't, either. What happened to you?"

"She was only a few steps ahead when we emerged from the portal, but she outran me, and I lost sight of her," Miltiades admitted. "She's hiding somewhere in the ruins. Come on, let's get moving. We can't let her get too far ahead of us." He turned away and set out toward the gate, hammer resting over his shoulder.

"Miltiades, wait," Belgin called. "We have to talk." He glanced at Rings standing beside him.

The paladin paused, looking back over his shoulder. "We don't have time to talk, pirate. Keep up or turn back, but don't stay the course of Tyr's justice."

"Justice?" Belgin asked. "Look at yourself, man. You left your reason at the door when we set off on this little expedition. What were you thinking, running off alone after a creature like Eidola? What if she'd doubled back on you? She could have killed you alone in the ruins, while we stood here wondering where you'd gone."

"For that matter, how do we know that you're not Eidola in Miltiades's shape?" Rings asked suspiciously. He leaped down the stone pile, rock skittering under his feet. "Eh? Can you prove that you're not? You've been out of sight of all of us for a good ten minutes now."

"I'm not a doppelganger," Miltiades growled. "Now, come on! We don't have time for this. I need your help to find her."

"Make the time," Rings stated flatly. He slowly drew his axe from his belt. "I've had all I can stomach of shapechangers."

"How in Tyr's name can I prove that I'm not a doppelganger?" Miltiades roared. "Stand here and not change my shape?"

"Work a magic of Tyr," Jacob suggested. The lean fighter circled wide, moving to leave himself plenty of room to wield his man-high great sword. Belgin noticed that the fighter had his eyes on the rogues as well as the paladin. "What of you two? Can you show that you're not shapeshifters?"

"Good," Belgin said. "Don't trust any of us. I'll make a point of not trusting any of you, and we'll all get on famously." He turned back to Miltiades. "I don't think we'll need you to work a miracle, Miltiades. Just answer me this question: Where did we first meet?"

"Doegan, of course," the paladin answered.

"Better than that, Miltiades. Exactly where and when?"

With an annoyed look, Miltiades deliberately said, "We met in battle in the court of the fountain, two days ago. I fought Entreri until Noph interfered, lassoing us with his magical lariat."

"Good enough for me," Belgin replied slowly. He took his hand from the hilt of his sword. "I don't think Eidola could have known that. Now, what do you want to do, paladin?"

"Wait a minute," Rings said. "So we believe Miltiades is Miltiades. How does he know he can trust us?"

"Tyr guides me," the paladin answered bluntly. One by one, he studied Rings, Belgin, then Jacob. To his surprise, Belgin felt uneasy beneath Miltiades's unblinking gaze, as if his darkest secrets were laid bare for the paladin to see. The tall warrior allowed his eyes to rest on

Jacob a moment longer and then stated, "I see no evil in your hearts. You're all who you say you are."

"Fine, fine, so everyone's what they seem," Jacob said. "Now what?"

"We search the city for Eidola, house by house if we have to," Miltiades replied. He sighed and leaned his warhammer against one wall, sitting on a windswept stone. "But first, I think we need to rest a short time. I thank you, Belgin-I've allowed anger to rule me for too long."

"Think nothing of it." Belgin shrugged his satchel from his hip and collapsed to the ground, while his companions followed suit. He allowed himself a sparse drink of water and gnawed at a piece of dried sausage from his stores. Exhausted, he leaned his head against the cold stone. I hope she's as tired as I am, he thought. Tyr knows it would only be fair. He laughed weakly at the unspoken prayer to a god he didn't venerate, but the cloying sand caught in his throat. The vicious coughing fit left him helpless for several minutes, his chest aching abominably. Gasping for breath, Belgin tried to pretend he couldn't feel the rasp in his lungs.

"Are you I’ll?" Miltiades asked, studying him closely.

"He's from Edenvale," Rings answered for him.

"What's that mean?"

"It means that I'm dying," Belgin said weakly. "It's the damned bloodforges. Doegan has its fish scales… and lately the black malaise that incapacitated the warriors of the city. In Konigheim, it's a weakness of the will or the mind… everyone knows a Konigheimer who's snapped."

"Including Kurthe," Rings muttered.

Belgin nodded. "Some say Konigheimers have been known to grow a third eye. I don't know about that, though."

"Edenvale's curse is simple," Belgin continued. "We just die young. That's it. My father died at thirty three, my mother at thirty one. My grandsire, he lived to be forty-one. He was accounted lucky. Everyone pays the price for our kings' toys."

Miltiades and Jacob stared at him in silence for a long moment. "How old are you now?" the paladin asked.

"Thirty four. I guess all the time I spent at sea's been good for my health. I'd probably be dead by now if I'd stayed at home."

"Tyr has the power to heal-" the paladin began.

"Not this," Belgin interrupted. "It's a curse, a magical curse. Believe me, plenty of our priests have tried to undo the bloodforge's effects. I don't know of any who have succeeded."

"Tyr grant that Kern destroys that infernal device. And any others that remain in the Utter East, for that matter. Nothing could be worth that cost." Miltiades stood, his face set in a stonelike expression. "Can you continue?"

"I'll live. For now, anyway," Belgin said with a grimace of false bravado. Although his hands trembled with the palsy of an old man, the sharper pushed himself to his feet and retrieved his satchel. "Don't worry, Miltiades-I mean to make sure the doppelganger doesn't outlive me. Lead the way."

Moving slowly now, the two warriors and the two pirates sallied from the old temple into the stone city. As Belgin feared, the howling wind erased tracks almost as soon as they were made; Eidola's trail was nonexistent. They circled the ancient shrine, searching the buildings nearby to no effect. Again Belgin felt a cold tone in the wind, a hint of malice and solidity that plucked at his cloak like a living thing, but it vanished before he could even say a word of warning to the others. What kind of guardians watched the crypt we disturbed? he thought. Could they still be here?

The outer buildings seemed more intact than the central temple. Smaller and sturdier, some even retained their roofs. Beyond the ring of buildings there was a large open space and a crumbling wall that seemed to circle the whole set of ruins. Broken and buried in drifting sand, nothing but desolate sand and flat sheets of rock stretched out beyond the walls. After one deliberate circuit, they paused in the lee of the outer wall, considering their next move. "This place isn't a city," Rings observed. "There aren't enough dwellings or private buildings."