********************************
Escape
“Well?” Aliyah asked the black-armored crossbowman. “How do you want to do this?” You can run, you can give up, or I can just f*cking kill you. Your choice asshole.
Aliyah was scouting ahead for the crew on their way to Candlekeep when she heard people in the rocks around them. One of those people stepped out in front of her, not realizing how close she was. He had his crossbow in hand but Aliyah was only two or three paces away, and she had her sword drawn. Did he really want to die?
For several long moments it was a stand-off; neither Aliyah nor the crossbowman moved. If he took the shot, he had to kill her or she would be on him with her blade. If she rushed, he would get a shot off before she could stab him.
Then, without a word, he brought his crossbow up and loosed the bolt. In the heat of the moment, he fired too early and the bolt went low, tearing through Aliyah’s thigh rather than her torso. Aliyah hopped forward and slashed, while the man tried to parry with his unloaded weapon. The prod of the crossbow deflected Aliyah’s strike, but the blade cut through the crossbow’s bridle; he wasn’t going to use that bow again. Aliyah pressed her attack and this time cut his arm but the man got his sword free. Bolts whizzed past, fired from other ambushers in the rocks and one ripped a long gash across her shoulder. She ignored it. Behind her bleeding shoulder, she could hear Rain yelling to the others, and Nisha’s voice too. Aliyah, however, was committed; the man came at her with his thick, heavy sword, slicing down on the diagonal. Aliyah backpedaled then surged forward after the blade passed, but he twisted away from her thrust. With a loud grunt, he back-handed his blade into Aliyah’s side. She felt bones crunch and knew her ribs were broken. The man raised his long-sword for a killing blow but Aliyah was quicker and meaner; she gutted him before he could strike.
As the disemboweled man fell, something slammed into Aliyah from behind and knocked the wind out of her. She fell to her knees. Gasping for breath, she reached around her back and felt the end of a crossbow bolt jutting from her leathers. She had been shot. Dark spots consumed her vision and she fell forward into the bloody mud. In the distance she heard Rain telling the others to run.
That’s good, she thought, at least Nisha will live. Then she slipped into unconsciousness.
*************************
“You have two choices.” Dawoud said to his son Ibrahim. “You can either kill your degenerate offspring, or you can accept this marriage I have arranged.” Dawoud’s face was red with anger, his voice even more cruel and demanding than usual. Layla had always been scared of her grand-father Dawoud. He was a dark-cloud of mystery and fear, an inscrutable patron who ruled over their little family with an iron-fist. She knew he was a wizard or sorcerer or some such thing; that he had held a high post in Almraiven for awhile, something like a Vizier perhaps, and that something terrible happened. Her uncle, Ibrahim’s older brother, had died. Dawoud had left the city with his surviving children, but leaving behind their mother and the family name. That was long before Layla was born, however.
“I paid the Fulan for their silence, and they are an honorable family. They will remain silent.” Ibrahim protested. Ibrahim, Layla’s father, was in his mid-40s. He was an accomplished explorer, navigator and pilot who had sailed as far as away as Kara-Tur in pursuit of his true craft; cartography. Sometimes Layla thought the real reason her father had sailed to the ends of the world was just to get away from Dawoud. She did not know it, but her supposition was correct.
“Don’t be stupid boy.” Dawoud replied. “Gold may keep elder tongues from wagging, but it does nothing to still the tongues of children. By now, the story of Layla kissing Noor is being passed from one child to the next in that house. And that is a very large house. Soon, the story will be on the streets of Taorahl, then Oussir, then Badjit and then out of Erare altogether.”
“No one cares if two little girls kissed while playing around.” Ibrahim said, though it was clear he did not believe his own words.
“It was more than just a playful kiss you fool, and Druzir Aban el Yedat will care! And he is currently considering your oldest daughter for marriage. Have you forgotten? Do you think that self-righteous, holy old man is going to take one of your daughters for a wife if he hears this story about Layla? That man spends a great deal of time and effort ensuring his reputation is spotless. He will not go near this family if we are shamed. This marriage is the key to my plans; Aban is not only our Druzir, he is First of the Sorceror’s Hand and has many allies in the Guild Arcane. Through him, I will be established again, and we can rise to where we should be. But none of this will come to pass if Layla shames our house. After all, if one apple is rotten, is not the whole barrel suspect?”
“She’s not rotten.”
“Of course she is. She’s a degenerate and even if she is not, she will be perceived as such. So, you must either throw the rotten apple out before it taints the lot, or you must deceive the world into believing the apple is not rotten. And the way to that deception is to marry her off. Immediately. I have found a suitable groom. One of the Thayans at the Thayvian embassy has a taste for girls of Layla’s age . . .”
“She’s twelve!” Ibrahim protested.
“Precisely.” Dawoud said. “Marry her to this man, and the rumors will cease to find purchase. The rotten apple will be out of the barrel, and once she is on Thayan soil inside the Thayvian embassy, I doubt we will hear from her again.”
“Are you insane?” Ibrahim growled.
A dark cloud passed over Dawoud’s face and Layla could see madness and murder in the old man’s eyes. She was terrified, not just for herself, but for her father Ibrahim as well. The old man raised and hand towards Ibrahim and began speaking in a tongue that Layla did not know. Ibrahim’s eyes went wide with fear and he tried to back away, but something stopped him. By the time Dawoud finished his incantation, Ibrahim’s eyes were devoid of fear . . . and everything else. Ibrahim stared straight ahead, as if in a trance.
“Do not presume to talk back to me, boy.” Dawoud said slowly and carefully. “Your ridiculous little maps will not save you or her from my wrath if you invoke it. Shall I make an example of your pretty wife? Have you forgotten what happened to your brother? You will do as I say. Now, apologize for your insolence.”
“My apologies father.” Ibrahim said flatly with a courteous bow.
“Now then, I will permit you to choose your daughter's fate. Marriage or death, which do you prefer, boy?”
“Marriage, father.” Ibrahim replied succinctly. “Better than death.”
Dawoud smiled under his long, graying beard and Layla was sure she’d never seen anything so frightening. “Death is not the worst of evils, boy.”
No, its not. Thought Layla as she looked upon her ensorcelled father. She was trapped now, little more than a slave of her own grand-father. What would Noor do? Layla wondered. Noor would do exactly what Noor wanted to do.
And what would that be?
She would want to escape.
If I am caught, Dawoud may kill me. Or worse.
Everyone dies. The question is, do you want to live? Then do what you want to do. Do what you need to do. Escape.
********************************************
Get up. Get your stupid ass up.
Aliyah did not know how long she had been lying on the road. It was still dark out, and by the grace of the gods, she was still alive.
She began to cough violently, spitting up a spray of blood, and her eyes fluttered open.
Roll. She thought. You’ve seen this before. Roll up on your side, with the punctured lung down. It will fill up with blood, but it is lost anyway. You need that other lung clear or you won’t be able to breathe. You’re going to drown in your own blood. Roll, you stupid bitch, roll.
She rolled and her broken ribs crunched under her leathers. The pain was excruciating, but somehow, also distant. She knew she was not feeling it as much as she should. That was a bad sign; she was dying.
She was on her side now. She could see the feet of a dead man nearby, the one she had killed. Everyone dies, she thought, you, me . . . everyone.
Get a healing potion. She thought. There is one in your satchel. Her right arm was pinned beneath her now that she had rolled onto her side, so she reached for her satchel with her left hand. Something was keeping her from opening the leather bag. Something was in her hand already. It was the potion. She already had it out.
What luck. She thought, and then she lost consciousness again.
*****************************************
“They found her outside the Veiled Lamia, in the Caravan Ward, trying to buy passage out of the city with her jewelry.” Shyk Hassan yn Jafar el Saffar reported to Dawoud and Ibrahim. The light skinned, green-eyed Shyk commanded the elite troops that protected the embassies in Erare. He took bribes, but spread the wealth to his men, so none reported him. He was just the sort of man Dawoud looked for; corrupt but competent. Dawoud had offered him a handsome reward to find Layla when she had run away.
Shyk Hassan pushed Layla forward. She was scuffed up, bleeding from a strong slap across the face, but otherwise unharmed. Dawoud paid Shyk Hassan and took charge of Layla.
“If you run again,” Dawoud whispered in a friendly tone, “then I will take your free-will, like I have done with your father.” The pleasant manner the old man used only made the threat all the creepier. “Do you understand?”
Layla looked across the room at her once proud father, Ibrahim the Pilot, who had once sailed to Kara-Tur. He stood motionless now, awaiting commands from Dawoud.
“I understand.” Layla said simply. I understand I am going escape this place or die trying.
********************************************
Another violent coughing fit brought Aliyah back to consciousness.
Move, bitch, move. If you don’t get off this road, they’re going to take your head.
She rolled over on to her knees and tried to stand, but she was too lightheaded and too weak. Can’t breathe. She passed out again.
She awoke a while later. It was still dark.
She began to crawl. Each move of an arm or a leg seemed to take her wind. She couldn’t get enough air. Everything hurt. Pain shot from her right side mostly, but the gash along her shoulder was burning too. She remembered the healing potion in her left hand. She fumbled with the stopper, trying to get it out. The coughing fits continued and blood ran from the corners of her mouth.
Do it. Get that potion in you are you are going to die.
Everyone dies.
Not you, not today. You’ve got things left to do. You have people to kill.
After what seemed an eternity, the stopper came out. She raised the potion up and rolled on to her back, pouring the potion down her throat as she did.
The effects were immediate. She was still in agony, but she could stand. There was still hope; she could still escape.
***********************************
Layla ran. She knew it would be only moments before Dawoud was alerted to her escape. She had a head start though; she had escaped from the women’s baths, where the men were not allowed, and it would take a few minutes for her chaperone to realize she was gone, get covered up, and then find her grand-father.
This time she did not run towards the Caravan Ward, nor did she run towards the city gates. She did not even try to leave the Erare sabban. Instead, she ran towards the wharf. She and Noor had been best friends for two years before the fateful kiss and in that time, Layla had learned a lot about the wharf from Noor, including how to tell if a ship was coming or going.
She slowed to a walk as she neared the wharf itself. Noor had also taught Layla that to fit in where you do not belong, you must pretend that you do belong there. The key was not looking like you were worried. When people belong somewhere, they look comfortable. Noor was very good at getting into places she should not be in, and she had brought Layla along with her for the past couple of years. Now Layla had to put her newly acquired knowledge to the test.
Layla walked deliberately but slowly down the wharf, examining the ships as she went. She knew she wanted one where the crew was walking onto the ship with their sea-bags. That was generally the sign that a ship was ready to go. Second best was cargo was being loaded; at least then you knew they were preparing to leave. Of course, the ship had to be big enough to stow away on – climbing aboard a dhaow would be pointless. Also, the ship should be foreign, so the crew would not feel compelled to immediately return her.
She almost didn’t see the amlakkar coming. There were four of them, moving hastily down the wharf. Layla recognized them as Shyk Hassan’s men. She ran. They pursued.
Layla sprinted down the wharf, knocking over anything she could to slow her pursuers down. She was fast and graceful, jumping barrels, dodging wagons and slipping through the crowd. The amlakkar lacked her grace, but they made up for it with long-legs and brutal force. Layla headed north, out of Erare sabban and into the Enqir drudach of the Oussir sabban; fortunately there was no gate between the two along the wharf. Despite her best efforts, the amlakkar were still gaining.
She turned right and ran down a narrow street deeper into Enqir. Her father had always warned her never to travel down here. The Erare sabban, with its embassies and pashas, was the safest sabban of all those that touched the wharf. The further north one got from Erare, however, the worse the neighborhoods were. Ibrahim had gone out of his way to emphasize the danger of Enqir drudrach, however, though he never elaborated on why. Layla hoped the amlakkar would be reluctant to pursue her down its dark, narrow alleys, but that hope was in vain.
She knocked over baskets and barrels and anything else she could as she sprinted down the street. She turned a sharp corner, slid under a cart, and then sprinted around another corner. She ran down alleys and passages, the narrower and darker the better. Her lungs were burning, and her feet were bloody. She collapsed to her knees gasping.
“You’re running in circles you know.” Said a cloaked and hooded woman standing in a shadowy arch. Layla tried to stand, and keep running, but her legs were too weak and she could not breath. “Wait.” Said the woman. “If you keep running, you’ll find the amlakkar eventually. You don’t know your way around here.”
“I .. I ..” Layla stammered.
“You have to get away, yes, I gathered as much since you’ve run past here twice, and each time, amlakkar followed. I daresay you must have done more than pinched an orange from the market, yes?”
Layla looked the woman over, still gasping for breath. She was slender, but other than that, hidden by her cloak and hood.
“Come.” The woman said. “I will hide you.”
“Why?” Layla managed to spit out between gulps for air.
“Because I am no friend of the amlakkar. Besides, you’ve nothing to lose. If you keep running about aimlessly even those fools in the amlakkar will eventually catch you.”
Layla looked up and down the narrow alley. In the distance, she could hear men yelling, and they were getting closer. The cloaked woman held open a door, leading into darkness.
“Make a choice girl,” the woman said, “because I am not going to be standing here when they come through again.”
*******************************************
Aliyah staggered off the road and into the rocks. There was a clear trail; they would find her in seconds if they came back. She had to keep going. She had to get clear of this place before the Zhents returned to loot her body and check on their dead comrade.
Carefully and quietly she made her way through the rocks, moving parallel to the Way of the Lion. Where the rocks thinned out, she crouched and walked slowly through the high-grass. She watched the road for signs of the others, but there was nothing. It seemed Rain, Nisha and Raheem, were long gone.
The black-armored Zhents, however, were still on the road. They were talking loudly and excitedly about losing their quarry in the dark. Though still in terrible pain, that pleased Aliyah to no end.
She kept creeping. It was a long night - one of the longest of her life. She circumvented the Zhents on the road and kept heading east towards the Trade Way. She was wracked with pain and could not seem to catch her breath, but she moved silently, her form concealed by her elvish cloak. If they spotted her, she was dead. If she stopped, she was dead.
But they did not spot her and she did not stop. She walked on, finally coming to the Trade Way that ran north-south. She had no idea which way the others had gone, so she turned north, back towards Baldur’s Gate. She did not know the others had headed south, to Beregost. And so she walked on, alone, paralleling the road but staying off of it wherever she could. She steered clear of locals and travelers alike. It was a long journey, and perilous, but she had made perilous journeys before.
********************************************
“What is this place?” Layla asked the cloaked woman. Layla was leaning up against a wall, inside an more or less empty room, sucking on a sweet, juicy orange to sooth her burning throat.
“Some call it a temple, others call it a shrine, but it is really a passageway.” The cloaked woman responded.
“To where?”
“The Muzad.”
“The Muzad?” Layla asked with surprise. “The underground? Isn’t it full of monsters? Why would you want a passageway to that? Shouldn’t you block it up?”
“This passageway leads to a very old part of the Muzad. Perhaps the oldest. And its safe enough, for the right people.”
“What this old part? Who are the right people?”
The cloaked woman did not answer immediately. Instead, she studied Layla’s face carefully.
“You are Layla yr Ibrahim yn Dawoud el Taorahl, yes?” The woman finally said.
Layla dropped her orange. “How did you know that?”
The cloaked woman pulled her hood back, revealing a stunningly beautiful face. “I know many things. People often reveal their secrets to me, or one my folk.” There was a tense silence, but then the woman laughed as if it were all a big joke. “Its really not a big mystery you know. Everyone has heard what you did with that Fulan girl. Quite naughty of you. The story is passing through the Ward like wild-fire. Honestly, the people around here love it when scandal hits the rich. You are Ibrahim the Pilot’s daughter, and the girl you, um, kissed, is the daughter of that Fulan naval captain. Pretty juicy scandal.”
Layla’s mouth dropped open, and she tried to run but the woman caught her; for such a slender thing, the woman was unbelievably fast and strong. “Sit!” The woman commanded, and Layla did.
The woman smiled again. “Its not an accident that you are here you know, daughter of Ibrahim the Pilot, son of Dawoud the Black. Oh yes, I know who your grand-father is. Relax child, I have no plan to return you to him.”
“Why not?” Layla asked suspiciously.
“Because it would be such a waste.” The woman looked over Layla’s body, her gaze hovering over Layla’s legs. “You’re fast. I saw you run. Agile too, yes?”
Layla nodded. “I guess so.”
“I know so.” The woman smiled. “I saw you slip under a wagon and run atop a narrow stone wall. You’re good on your feet. You’d be a perfect student, though you are starting a little late.”
“Student of what?”
The woman smiled. “Dance.”
“You’re a dancer?”
“Of sorts, yes.” The woman replied. “Some call me the Dancer Before Dawn.”
Layla shrugged. “I’ve never heard of you.”
The woman laughed again, holding her hands to her heart. “Oh how cruel are the words of babes!” She regarded Layla with her beautiful dark eyes. “I would not have expected you to, child.”
The woman kneeled before Layla. “I will make you a deal, Layla yr Ibrahim. I will help you escape the city and avoid your impending marriage, if, when you return, you come find me here and listen to what I have to say.”
“If I escape, I am not returning.” Layla said defiantly.
Smiling softly the woman sat back on her haunches. “Oh yes you are. You may not want to, but you will return to Calimport. Three times shall you return. You will come see me the first time.”
“How do you know what I will do?” Layla asked angrily.
“Because I have visions. The same visions that told me a smart little girl with remarkable agility would be fleeing from the law down these streets today. A little girl with nowhere to go and no one to turn to. A little gem that will soon be wasted if I do not do something about it.”
“If I am such a little gem, why don’t you just keep me here with you?”
“Because your grand-father is a powerful wizard, and he will use his powers to look for you. If you stay in the city, those powers might lead him to me, and I do not want that kind of attention. You must escape. In time, it will be safe for you to return. So, if you agree to my terms, I will see you onto a ship that takes you far from here, for long enough that when you return, your grand-father will no longer be hunting you.”
Layla thought it over for awhile. She picked up her orange, and finished it while she considered the deal.
“I will agree, and I will return, on one condition.” Layla said.
“A condition? Well, look who is learning how to haggle. Tell me your condition then.” The woman said, obviously amused. “What do you want?”
“I want to kill my grand-father, and Shyk Hassan.”
Instead of reacting with shock, horror or anger at Layla’s murderous desires, the cloaked woman just laughed, and for just a moment, Layla thought she saw a darkness in the woman’s eyes that eclipsed even Dawoud’s evil.
*******************************************
Aliyah lay on a bench in the temple of Carl Glittergold at the Friendly Amn Inn. She told the priest she was a follower of Tymora and given them what gold she had. In return, they had extracted the crossbow bolt from her back and given her enough healing to keep her from dying. She was, however, thoroughly exhausted. She did not even have the energy to get up and wash off the dried splatters of blood and mud that caked her leathers.
It was a good ambush, she thought to herself. Surrounded us, had us outnumbered, in a narrow passage from which there were only two exits. Nicely done.
But you made a mistake. You left me alive. You left all of us alive. And now I am going to come back and kill every single last one of you.
The soldiers at the ambush were not her real enemy though. They were just swords, hired to do a job. It was not personal. No, Aliyah’s wrath was reserved for the mole within her employer’s ranks that sold them out. No ambush like that happens accidentally. The Zhents knew we were coming. They were prepared. They knew who we were.
Someone talked. Aliyah mentally added “the mole” to her growing list. A list that she had locked away until Rain and Ali’Hussein awoke the darkness in Aliyah’s heart again. A list that started with her grand-father Dawoud, and Shyk Hassan. A list of all the people Aliyah needed to kill before she died. A list of souls she would sacrifice to pave her way to oblivion. And day by day, night by night, that list was growing. So much work to do before I die. She thought. But unless I die first, not one of you is going to escape my blade.
