Baldur's gate II_ throne of Bhaal - Drew Karpyshyn [28]
"Fine," Abdel consented at last. "You can try and get us in. But at least wait until it gets dark."
* * * * *
"So the halfling says, 'That's not my sword!' Get it? 'That's not my sword!' Ha ha hah!"
Imoen could tell the soldier with the gruff voice was drunk-he spoke far too loudly for a man who was supposed to be on guard duty. Judging by the obnoxious braying laugh his companions gave in response to the vulgar joke, Imoen guessed the whole patrol was drunk. Typical.
It seemed as if the entire army was inebriated. Not that Imoen was complaining-it made her job that much easier. Under cover of darkness the young woman had slipped through the enemy lines without any difficulty at all, often passing close enough to the supposed lookouts to smell the reek of alcohol and hear their earthy banter.
The off-color jokes and the crude comments she heard as she picked her way cautiously between the fires of the night camp of the army besieging Saradush only confirmed her already low opinion of males. The stench from their unwashed bodies, the discolored stains on their garments, and the piles of filth they let accumulate with casual disregard only reinforced what Imoen already knew. Men were pigs. All of them.
They repulsed her, with their hairy, sweaty bodies and their loutish behavior. Abdel seemed different, of course, but she had grown up with him. He was her brother, and not just in blood. He didn't look at her with leering eyes or "accidentally" paw at her body when they passed in a crowd. Abdel was different. In his half sister's eyes he transcended the brutishness of his own manhood- despite his muscles and the lustful dalliances Imoen knew he had spent with many women over his life.
Imoen froze as a pair of lumbering oafs stumbled across her path less than a dozen feet away, leaning on each other for support. They paused, and Imoen felt a wave of fear swept over her. Could they see her?
Slowly, she dropped her hand to her belt. Tucked inside was a scroll she had been given as a gift from the monks at Candlekeep. At least, that was the story she would tell if anyone ever asked. In truth, she had borrowed the enchanted parchment from the massive Candlekeep library, certain no would miss this one insignificant scroll.
Imoen had displayed a certain aptitude for the arcane arts while at Candlekeep. Her quick and agile mind easily mastered the few minor cantrips she had been taught, but she lacked the disciplined and studious nature to truly develop her magical talents. Still, she had learned enough to be able to use this particular scroll if the situation should arise.
The incantation was a simple one, but useful. It would render her-and anyone standing within a few yards of her-invisible. Imoen could have read the parchment before venturing into the soldier's camp and walked right through the light of the brightest fire without fear, but she was loathe to waste the precious scroll. Once used, it was gone forever, and with the cover of darkness she had felt confident her natural abilities could keep her from being discovered.
Now, she realized, it was too late. Even if she did try to use the scroll, the men were close enough to grab her before she finished the incantation. Her hand silently slid from the scroll stashed in her belt to the dagger tucked in beside it.
But the shadowy figures made no move toward her. She heard one of them mumble something incoherent before doubling over and disgorging the contents of his stomach on the ground at his feet. The other laughed and slapped his friend on the back then they continued on, walking heedlessly through the steaming vomit in their path.
The young woman let her breath out in a long, silent sigh of relief. She hadn't even been aware she was holding it, but she knew the terrible consequences of being discovered. She was young, but not so naive that she wasn't aware