Relikseekers: The Circle of Life

by maklelin highbain

The group of adventurers known as the Relikseekers go on yet another quest. This time followed by one who should not be there and in turn finds she loses that which was most precious to her. A Korst story.

The Relikseekers: The Circle of Life

A Korst Story by

Robert J. Morrison

14th Starmont, 6399kt, the Year of the Two Suns

The Black Spire, Celldonne, Drala-Frea, Korst

The shadows began to grow long as Korvarn Truesteel paced back and forward his hands opening and closing as he tried to will away the unbearable fear that was flowing through his entire body. He paused once and took a long look out of the study's lone window. There the human warrior watched as the lights of Celldonne began to illuminate the grandiose domes of the half-elven city. He attempted to take his mind off of his fears by watching the street vendors below packing away their stalls. But before he had even realised it his mind was back on to the same overriding fear. He felt the urge to smash his way through the wooden door; even its iron banding would not be able to stop the fearful fighter. In recent years he had faced such dangers and foes as an ancient dragon and he had walked away to tell of those experiences. The ancient battle-axe that sat comfortably across his back had at one time sliced the rotting skull of an arch-lich from its undead shoulders. He had seen cities under siege and fought wicked armies of evil from the high walls of the encircled city, but no emotion had been as fierce as the dread and excitement he felt now. He stumbled slightly; unsteady on his feet due to the countless flagons of ale he had recently partaken in, an attempt to fend off the fear that ran through his blood and nerves. He grabbed up the half empty flagon from a small sideboard against the tower's curving wall and downed its contents in one long pull.

"You want to try some of this to ease your nerves my big friend," the familiar voice startled the human as he slammed the now empty flagon against the table. "The finest pipe weed from Cal-Frea, it costs a pretty penny but it does help one relax." Narris Firebrand entered the room puffing on his clay pipe; the dark featured thief offered the smoking pipe to the warrior. His skin was as grey as ash and his eyes glowed with a crimson hue, Narris was a half-elf, but a far more exotic breed than was common here in Celldonne the largest collection of half-elves on the entire world. His father, who he had never known, was a dark elf. The drow-kin's hair hung to his shoulders, the silver streaks in his jet-black mane caught the soft light within the study and shined like mithril. His exquisite studded leather armour which was also black as pitch complimented his dark appearance and Korvarn could not help but notice the Firebrand hanging in its customary position on the rogue's belt, his hand resting on its scarlet hilt.

"My thanks," replied Korvarn, "but I prefer a good flagon of ale to that rank smelling stuff."

"Shit, why not have both, that's my plan anyway," Narris got his own flagon from the drinks cabinet to his left and preceded to fill the receptacle from the open cask of ale that the human fighter stood next to.

"I would rather face Clavengeversander and his draconic hordes than just wait around here like this. What the hell is taking so damned long?"

"I've heard tell my impatient friend, that things like this happen at their own speed," Narris said as he sat down in his favourite chair, with its view overlooking the stunning panorama.

"It feels like I'm waiting on a judgement from Kelladorn himself," he swiftly finished yet another flagon of smooth brown ale.

"If you keep chucking them back like that then you'll be flat on your back within the hour," the thief said, who then blew out a series of perfectly formed smoke rings that floated towards the human. The fighter wafted the smoke away; he had never been keen on Narris' smelly smoking habit and especially so on this most important of days.

"You know you're gonna have to cut that stuff out soon?"

"There really is no point telling me that," the thief replied after another toke on his pipe, "you know me, if there is rule out there I'm going to do my best to break it. I can't help it; rebellion is in my black blood."

"Well you won't be able to get to the damned thing if I shove up your arse," grumped the human who was still trying to clear the smoke that filled air around him, somehow the stuff always seemed to latch on to the only non-smoker in the room.

"My, aren't we a bundle of laughs today," chuckled Narris blowing yet more smoke at the human. The fighter just threw his arms up in a gesture of defeat and filled his flagon once more.

"You do know that stuff'll kill you, that is if I don't get there first," Korvarn warned with a smile on his face for the first time in hours. Narris stood, tapped out his pipe and joined the fighter at the window. The two friends stood watching the world go by; silence fell upon them, which was a rare event when the perpetually jolly Narris was around. Minutes passed then hours and still the pair hovered at the window. They watched the illusory sun sink down in the unreal sky. The city of Celldonne was located in cavern hundreds of feet beneath the surface of Korst. Centuries ago a founder of the half-elven metropolis expended his life force by creating a grand illusion that perfectly mimicked the sky and sun of the surface. It appeared as if the city's central cavern known as Celldonne Prime was actually positioned on the light filled surface rather than in the gloom of the Underworld. As the time slipped away, Narris returned to the comfort of his chair and was soon fast asleep, his excess of both weed and booze this day had caught up with him.

"Sleep my little friend, get the rest you deserve," Korvarn said quietly as placed a soft blanket, that usually covered Maklelin's chair, over the drow-kin. Only two people on the whole world truly knew the enigmatic thief that was Narris Firebrand. His ever-jocular manner was merely a shield that the thief kept up at all times. His short life had not been pleasant by anyone's standards, his mother dying in childbirth, a pregnancy brought about by a vicious rape. She had lived in the outer reaches of the city, in a warren of tunnels known as the Spider Trails, protection from the guards of Celldonne Prime were rarely seen in the far out tunnels and as a result the winding passes were filled with all manner of disreputable characters. In those dark days it was not unheard of for groups of young dark elves to raid the Spider Trails; one such raiding party had come across the small home of his mother. After a vicious assault the raiding drow had slipped off back into the darkness of the Underworld, leaving the poor woman alone and with child.

After his birth Narris' life had become no less grim, taken in by a state orphanage, Narris had a terrible existence among the others in the shelter due to his dark heritage. At the young age of seven he had slipped free of the violent children's home where he had been dumped as an infant. For years, alone and frightened, Narris had lived on the streets of Celldonne, surviving each day as it came by stealing what he needed. The area of the city where he raised himself was known as the Ring Yard, its most prominent building being the estate of Kyrov Highcliff. But soon his world would shift once again, the fateful day when he met a young half-elven lad by the name of Maklelin Highcliff. Narris now had something he had never known before, a friend. In the years between now and then the two half elves had been inseparable.

Korvarn left the thief to his slumber and walked as softly as he could to the window. His head was clearing of the alcohol he had consumed earlier in the evening and being replaced by a pounding headache. But still the fighter found himself unable of even think of going to bed, the alcohol may have worn off but the adrenaline still rushed through his muscular six foot two inch frame.

When the room's door did swing open again, its well-oiled hinges making barely a sound, the third member of the closely-knit trio entered, a small bundle cradled in his delicate hands. "I think I have someone here that wants to meet her father," Maklelin Highbain announced with a smile on his gaunt, yet handsome face.

"Did you say her?"

"Indeed I did! Korvarn I would like you to meet your first born daughter," the necromancer handed the wriggling bundle over to the excited warrior. Korvarn took the child and held it with more care than he had ever held anything before now. Happiness filled his face as he took his first look at his tiny daughter.

"Are they always so small? My god look at her ears," gasped the human, his voice full of pride. He ran his callous fingertip around the slightly pointed ears, a sign of her mother's half elven heritage.

"Is that him?" the question came from the other side of Narris' favourite chair by the window.

The light sleeping drow-kin rose from beneath the blanket, Korvarn walked towards him. "Not him, her," Korvarn announced proudly his gaze still stuck on the newborn, he turned to the side to show the child to the thief.

"Lucky little thing," he cooed as he wiggled one of his fingers at the tiny girl, "she has her mother's looks. How is Marrisan?"

"I am not very good at this sort of thing," the wizard started, glancing away from the proud father, "so I will just come out and say it, she's dead." The blunt statement hit the fighter like a poleaxe.

"Dead?"

"I am afraid so Korvarn," Maklelin replied, "she was just too weak after the labour there was nothing I could do to save her. So I focused my attention on the little one. I am truly sorry!"

"I won't accept an apology from you Maklelin," the fighter said calmly still staring at his daughter, "I know that if there was anything you could do you would have done it. There is nothing to be sorry about, it is as my grandmother always said, 'people come and go in the circle of life'. That's it! That shall be her name, behold my brothers, Varanee Truesteel, after my father's mother."

The babe reached out with a tiny hand and grasped hold of the thief's still wiggling finger. "She may have her mother's looks but she seems to have your strength. I think our little Varanee will be taking up the family axe in the years to come." The pulled his finger gently out of her grasp and filled three flagons from the still open keg of ale, passing one to Maklelin he placed another on the table next to the glowing father. "We should drink a toast to the newest member of our misbegotten family."

They all raised a flagon in unison, "The family!"

4th Alethim

The Black Spire

It had been nearly a month since Varanee's arrival and Maklelin was only now returning to the necromantic work he had been working on before the birth. He was securing the heavy door that sealed his deepest dungeon level securely, preventing any escape attempts from the inhabitants of the cluster of stone cells. Most of those inhabitants had long since perished when the necromancer grew tired with their experiments. The stench of rotting corpses filled the air, but Maklelin cared not, for in his mind the vile stench was as sweet as that of most fragrant rose. The young mage was totally obsessed with life, death and undeath and had been all his life, ever since his beloved mother was slain at his hated father's hands. Since that fateful day he had yearned for the power to control life and death, at first eager for the power to restore his lost mother and to destroy Kyrov Highcliff, the man that may have been biologically been his father but never was he that in the young half-elf's cold heart.

The necromancer's black robes dragged across the cold stone floor and his hard heeled boots cracked against the ground with each step. He walked past dozens of empty cells until he reached the one he was here for today. It was the only cell in the level whose door was not locked or bolted, for the small room contained nothing but an aging stallion. The horse, Necresys, had been the mage's trusted mount for more years than Maklelin could remember. There were few places on this world that the horse had not travelled at his master's side. But lately the wizard had seen the signs that the horse was reaching its last days. But Maklelin had already thought of a way of saving his trusted mount, all there was left to do was try.

The grey and black mottled horse greeted him with an enthusiastic whinny and scraped the ground with an eager hoof. The wizard patted the animal's flank with an open hand and then proceeded to give it a rough scratching under its chin. It tossed its head to the side, his thick mane flicking the wizard in the face. Maklelin just smiled and pulled a lump of sugar from one of the many pockets on his dark robe. Necresys took the treat from his fingers before could even extend his hand.

"I am ready Necresys," he said softly to the stallion, "soon things will be different for you, I promise. Let's just pray to Kkrassk that I have got this right." From various pockets his hands were soon full with a collection of talismans and candles. These were the material components he would need to use in the casting of his newly created enchantment. He had name the spell Maklelin's Necromantic Steed; he just hoped that it worked as he had planned. New and untested magicks could be deadly; more than one of his colleagues in the dark arts had fallen prey to a miscast spell. But even now as he placed the candles and talismans carefully around the old stallion he held no fear for failure, Maklelin found the idea of him failing laughable. With a whispered word and a snap of his fingers the wicks on the four red candles began to flicker with flame. He then sat down, cross-legged on the floor, removing a bundle from within the folds of his robes. Wrapped in red silk the bundle was nearly spherical, the wizard slowly, carefully pealed back each layer of expensive fabric. At last he reached the delicate object; he removed the fanged skull and placed it in front of Necresys. The horse seemed to have realised that its master was about to fall into the depths of a spell and stood totally still as the wizard had trained him to.

Soon Maklelin was chanting an arcane phrase over and over again as his arms circled and span through the air, his nimble fingers flashing from one awkward position to another in rapid succession. His words began to flow into one another becoming what seemed to be one long drawn out noise. All of a sudden the young mage's body was wracked by seizures, but still the wizard continued to chant, never missing a single syllable. The fits began to subside and his attention became focused upon the rare and powerful skull of the arch-lich. He threw the mystical chants at the skull; his will surged at the skeletal object. The central component, the arch-lich head, began to rise from the floor slowly turning in a clockwise direction. As he forged all his mental might into a final magical release the spinning skull began to shudder. Then with a sound as loud as a clap of thunder the component shattered into thousands of tiny shards. The remnants flew violently through the dank air, but before they could reach either Maklelin or the mount they hissed like a nest of vipers and dissipated into a grey fog. The foggy cloud began to spiral around the still rigid form of Necresys, tendrils reached out from the central mass, gently gathering around the face of the aging stallion. In the blink of the mage's eye the cloud slithered into the mouth and nose of the startled horse. Necresys crashed his fore legs forward; they slammed fearfully at the stone floor.

"Calm," whispered the wizard as he got to his feet and approached the frightened horse. "It will all be over soon." He stroked the stallion in a comforting manner before slipping another lump of sugar from his pocket, which Necresys took without even a pause. The sweet seemed to wash the fear away from the animal; Maklelin knew there was not much on this world that could draw Necresys' attention away from a good lump of sugar. But before it could finish the treat the horse lowered its head, its eyes growing cloudy. In a few more seconds the stallion collapsed to the ground and Maklelin winced at the sight.

"Sleep, trusted mount, when you wake all will be well," Maklelin slipped from the cell, this time bolting and then locking the sturdy door. The necromancer had supreme confidence that his new spell would work as planned but one could never be too careful.

"Is it done?" hissed a harsh scratchy voice from the entrance to the deep dungeon. Maklelin did not need to look up to see his abyssal familiar crouched in the doorway. Flamekloud, the fire mephit, appeared much like a child's skeleton with a thin layer of crimson skin pulled taut over the bones. His face was hideous; a slit like mouth was filled with row after row of jagged uneven black teeth. His dark eyes bulged in their sockets and his long pointed ears stretched almost a foot in length. But most prominent was his long quivering nose; it stabbed out from his face like the blade of a scythe. The fire mephit was a breed of imp from the hellish plane of the Abyss. His body permanently smouldered and smoked; it hissed forth steam that stank of sulphur.

"Yes, my freakish familiar, it is done," he blew out a sigh of exhaustion; his casting had tired him more than he had expected. "Now we have but to wait for forty eight hours and the transformation process should be complete."

"You still have not told me exactly what the spell does master," Flamekloud asked as the mage reached the stairwell that led to the other levels of the tower known as the Black Spire.

"Necresys has nearly reached the end of his natural life," the necromancer explained as they made their way back up to the fourth floor, the level that contained his luxurious study. "But as you well know I have little respect for the concept of a natural lifetime. So I have crafted a new dweomer that will unnaturally extend Necresys life or more accurately extend his unlife by a great deal. Where are the others?"

"Narris is asleep in his room and that fleshy moron, Korvarn is feeding the little one in the study. Do you want me to awaken the rogue?"

"No I do not believe that will be necessary, what do you make of the child? You seem unlike your normal self in her presence?"

"Well master, I can scarce believe that the little Varanee shares blood with that thick skulled warrior! I sense a potential within her that exceeds any her father may have had," the mephit spoke as he scampered after a hand-sized spider. His bony claws snatching the fat arachnid up and without a pause he shoved the still squirming creature into fanged maw. With a few sharp bites the creature was consumed. "But I sense a magical potential in her!"

"Then my senses did not lie," the young wizard mused as the pair reached the well-crafted iron bound door to the study, the portal swung open with a gesture from the necromancer. "I felt much the same thing as I delivered her." Lowering his voice so as Korvarn who sat by the window cradling his daughter in his massive arms, could not hear. "From this day forward I want you to keep one eye on the little one at all times. Always! Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly my master." With that Maklelin crossed the room to spend the remaining hours of the afternoon with Korvarn and the child he thought of as his niece. The whole time the fire mephit skulked in the background his eyes never leaving the sleeping child.

23rd Jaelthim, 6411kt, the Year of Undying Flame

The Black Spire

"That is not the point," Korvarn stated firmly to his young daughter, "I was fourteen when my father first allowed me to accompany him into the danger of the outside world."

"But Uncle Mak was only eleven when he killed his own father," Varanee slammed her foot to the ground in way of a demonstration of her commitment to her point of view. Her long blonde hair was loose and flew wildly in reaction to the movement and how it reminded the aging warrior of her late mother Marrisan Greensilk. "And Narris was running around on the streets when he was far younger than me."

"Where did you hear all these stories? It's that damned imp again, ain't it?"

"Yeah, Kloud told me, but they are not just stories," she replied angrily her hands on her hips, "they are history!" Korvarn swore under his breath angered once more by the deceitful mephit taking so much interest in his beloved daughter. "And you will have to swear quieter than that if you don't want me to hear." She made the statement as she flicked the hair that was covering one of her slightly pointed ear away with her hand. The fighter tried to calm himself by walking to the window and taking in the evening scene that unfolded below on the streets. This scenario replayed itself every time that the trio that called themselves the Relikseekers left the city in search of some artefact or another. For more than a year now they had been through this time and again.

"Ah family bliss," came the distinctive voice of Narris Firebrand from the study's entrance. The drow-kin was dressed in his usual attire of black studded leather armour, his waistline cluttered with pouches and the Firebrand itself. The blade sat comfortably in its scabbard, attached to his leather belt and strapped to his leg to prevent the weapon from slapping against his thigh. "Four days until we leave, you have left it a bit late this time haven't you lass? You will barely have time to rush around and try and persuade Mak and me to see it from your perspective."

"But it isn't fair," she stamped her foot once more against the floor, the thick black carpeting muting the sound of the action.

"No one ever said like was fair," replied the thief as he pulled his clay pipe from his pocket and stuffed in with a pinch of his favourite smoking weed. "Is it fair that neither Mak, I or you ever knew our mothers? Is it fair that I was born with this ash grey skin? Is it fair that you were gifted with such beauty and your father having a face that would be better suited on the backside of a wyvern?"

"Hey," Korvarn responded to the rogue, he turned to his twelve-year-old daughter; "there isn't anything wrong with my face? Is there Vara?"

"That is not going to work this time," she said firmly, "I'm not going to let you change the subject on me. Please father let me come! Narris has shown me how to pick locks, talk in the Cant and Mak taught me all sorts of things arcane."

"Pick locks!" spluttered the fighter his face turning red as anger started to get the better of him. "What have you been teaching her you little sneak?"

"Don't get yourself all worked up, Korvarn. I just been showing her a few things that you need to know in life," Narris said calmly as he lit his pipe from a nearby candle.

"Picking locks ain't what I would call a needed life skill. I don't want the girl to grow up to be a burglar like you, my father and his father and so on would turn in their graves."

"You two are at it again, I am not as dumb as you think I am," the girl interrupted the two before their argument could gather any momentum. "Please!"

"No! And that is that," Korvarn said, his tone harsh, ending the conversation in no uncertain terms. With a squeal of anger the girl charged from the room, her arms across her face as she tried to hide her tears, she did not need her eyes to navigate the Black Spire, she knew the whole place like the back of her hand. She ran up the spiral staircase that led to every level of the tower. At the seventh floor she threw open the door and rushed to her chambers where she ran to her bed. Thrusting her face into the down filled pillows she let the sobs take full hold of her.

"Worked like a dream," Narris stated as he blew a lungful of smoke at the grey haired warrior. Korvarn coughed and tried to waft the smoke away, getting a smile of satisfaction from the drow-kin. "I think you are getting better at playing your part my big friend." The thief looked up at the fighter but saw no smile there.

"You taught her to pick locks? What the hell did you think you were doing?"

"She was bored; I thought it was a practical lesson in survival. You should see her fingers move, but I can't claim all the glory for that. Mak's magical lessons have really limbered up her hands," Narris was about to blow another cloud of smoke at the human, but thought it would not be best as he saw the rage building in the fighter's eyes. "Ah I guess you didn't know about that either."

"It seems that I can not leave you alone with her for five minutes before you start filling her head with nonsense," the aging human stormed over to the cask of ale that always sat ready at the side of the room. Pulling his flagon from the drinks cabinet next to the keg, he filled it to the brim before taking a deep swallow of the drink. "Thievery and magic lessons, you two are corrupting the girl! And I find it so unsavoury that every time I see her, that disgusting stench-rat is always near by."

"She does seem very attached to Flamekloud doesn't she?"

"You aren't helping to calm me Narris," growled Korvarn before he emptied his tankard with one more long pull. "I must demand you refrain from teaching her such things. She will grow to be a lady and there is no place on the battle field for a woman."

"What about your family trade? Who will you pass that great thing off to if not Varanee?" The rogue questioned as he pointed to the great ancestral axe strapped to the fighter's back, the axe that the Truesteels had wielded for more generations than anyone could remember.

"My son will take it," Korvarn announced confidently.

"There is a slight flaw in your plan, you haven't got a son," Narris felt the need to point the error out to the human.

"Not yet, but one day I am sure I will," he filled his flagon again and returned to the window. "Every first-born Truesteel for a thousand years has fathered a son and so shall I."

"I hate to be the one to tell you this Korvarn, but you aren't getting any younger," Narris tapped out his pipe and replaced it in its customary pouch. "You must be what, fifty winters old?"

"I make it forty eight," said the melodic voice of Maklelin Highbain who had just entered the study. His auburn hair pulled back into a long ponytail that was woven tightly into a thin braid. The tail swept down his back almost reaching the dark floor. His face was gaunt, yet still attractive, but the feature that attracted the most attention was the solid black orb that filled his left eye socket. It was called the Dralo-Orb an ancient magical artefact that the group had long ago liberated from a temple of Salasthal, the elven goddess of evil. Neither Narris nor Korvarn knew the full extent of the Orb's powers; only Maklelin knew that well kept secret. "Did I hear crying as I made my way down here, have you told Vara that she can not join us?"

"Yes, but no thanks to you two," grumbled the fighter, most of his anger washed away by ale. "Why in the name of Kkrassk have you been teaching her magic?"

"I have told you many times in the last ten years that I sense a deep well of power growing within Varanee. I know you refuse to believe it but it is still true," Maklelin said calmly as he sat down in his favoured chair. "I have merely been showing her a few cantrips; they are the most trivial of all spells. Do not fear I will not endanger her well being."

"I know you would never hurt her, either of you, but she seems to be growing up so quickly. And the years have not been kind to me; you two have a couple of centuries of life in you, thanks to that elven blood of yours but my time could be running short."

"I have offered in the past to extend your existence with my necromantic skill, much in the way I have kept Necresys alive all these years," replied the young mage from his seat.

"As ever I give you my thanks for the offer but no I must decline," Korvarn looked out of the window, shivering inside at the thought of an eternity in the state of unlife.

"Cease this dreary talk," said Narris his words cutting through the heavy atmosphere. "We are here to discus this next endeavour whatever that may be."

"Gather close my friends and let me tell you a tale," the two pulled their chairs nearer the wizard and sat in silence heeding the mage's words.

"They just won't listen to me," the twelve year old said between a few sniffs of her nose, her eyes red from crying, "no one around here listens to me, except for you of course."

"That is what friends are for," hissed the mephit from the foot of her luxurious four-post bed. "I know all that you want to do is spend time with your father. But I do not believe he cares for you as much as he says; why else would he leave you behind every time they go out in the world."

"That's just not true Kloud," she retorted, "I know you and father don't see eye to eye but I do wish you would stop trying to poison me against him."

"You know me too well," he hissed, his tone amused, "I feed on chaos and strife I can't help but cause trouble."

"I know, sometimes I find it hard to remember that you are wicked and evil," Varanee said with a sigh, "why do you spend so much time with me?"

"That is what friends do."

"Don't keep feeding me the same line Kloud. I know that you are only around for a reason I just don't know what that reason is." She got up off the bed and moved to well-crafted oak dresser, where she kept her brush. Within moments she was grooming her hair an act that always helped calm her mood.

"Truly? You wish to know the real reason?"

"Aye, I wish to know," she answered firmly. She paused brushing her golden curls and watched Flamekloud's reflection in the mirror upon her dresser.

"Well it began in the time that you were born," he started in a quiet voice, worried that his master would over hear him telling the girl what Maklelin did not believe she was ready for. "Those who are naturally talented in the ways arcane release a Pulse of power each time their heart beats and those trained in magic can often hear that tell-tale sign in others. The more potential the person has the louder that Pulse will sound to those who are sensitive to it." He stopped talking and tiptoed to the door, he took a quick glance in the adjoining room before pushing the door tightly closed.

"The potential wizard's Pulse can not usually be heard by others at an early age, the norm is the Pulse will begin to sound at around the age of five. But others, people with truly powerful potential can often be heard younger."

"I have this potential?" the idea came as quite a shock to the young girl she had always seen herself wielding the ancestral axe that her father cherished so. But wizardry, she was stunned. "That's why Uncle Mak has been showing me those cantrips. Wait a minute you said at the time I was born, you mean he could hear my Pulse when I was that young? I don't believe you, my father would have told me about something this important."

"He does not know," Flamekloud calmly announced.

"What?"

"He has never been told the full extent of it," the mephit growled softly as he hopped back up on to the soft bed, "why should he need to know? He would not understand what it meant, so the Master never told him."

"But I still do not know why exactly spends so much time with me? Is it just because I have a loud Pulse?"

"Partly," Flamekloud replied as he stretched out of the down filled duvet. "The Master wished you to be protected; he is not the only person in the city that can hear the Pulse. There are others who would seek you out for your potential power and use you to further their own ends."

"You mean like Uncle Mak is doing?"

"No!" Flamekloud snapped as he hopped up to his bony feet. "The Master will not use you, ever! You are family and that means everything to Maklelin Highbain. He merely covers your Pulse by keeping you so close to him, via me."

"How far away can my Pulse be heard?" Varanee felt the need to know more about this new discovery, her interest burning brighter than the sun and the stars. The whole thought that she had the power within her to cast spells like her much loved Uncle Mak was possibly the most monumental event of her short life so far.

"It differs depending on the power of those listening. Time and space are transcended by magic; magic follows its own rules. But the Master's Pulse I felt when he called for a familiar and I felt it from another plane of existence. As a wielder of magic becomes more experienced they can control their Pulse, so that others do not sense their presence and likewise they can reach out with their will listening at vast distances to hear the Pulse of others."

"Was Uncle Mak's Pulse really that loud?"

"I have never in all my years heard a Pulse to challenge it, which is why he can cloak your Pulse with his. You must promise that you will not tell a soul about this." The girl put her brush down and returned to her bed taking a seat next to the mephit.

"Don't worry Kloud your, or more accurately my secret is safe with me," with that she threw her arms around the spindly creature and engulfed him in a great hug. Flamekloud, so unused to such acts tried his best to wriggle free. But unfortunately Varanee possessed her father's strength. The imp was trapped so he resigned himself to his fate and returned the friendly embrace.

27th Jaelthim

Forest of Nyradon, Isle of Garafac, Drala-Frea

"I don't think I am ever going to get used to that," Korvarn groaned as he shook his head, trying his hardest to throw away his dizziness. The magic of translocation had a strange effect upon a person. "People just weren't meant to travel in such a manner." He looked up around him to see the ancient forest spread thick all about him. The scene filled his heart with joy for the human truly loved forests. They took him back to happy youthful days of innocence when he would walk with his late father in such surroundings. And for just a moment he wished he had brought Varanee with him. But that thought was soon crushed beneath the weight of the dangers that she may have faced out here in the wilds. No it was best she remained at home, the fighter just wished it were not Flamekloud that looked after her while the Relikseekers were out on a job.

"Oi, come on fathead, look alive," Narris said as he poked the human in the ribs, "Hello, Korvarn is anybody there?"

"What? Hey stop poking me it's annoying," the fighter replied after a few more jabs from the thief, "I was just taking in the view."

"Well here is an idea for you, try taking it in from horse back," the drow-kin said as he pulled himself into his horse's saddle. "Come on Shadow let's go." The thief clicked his tongue and the horse set off after Maklelin who was trotting off, now in the distance.

"You called another one Shadow, very creative," grumbled the human, who was now mounted on his own horse, he moved passed the thief trying to make up ground on the wizard.

"It makes it easier to call them all Shadow, I only have one name to remember then," Narris replied as he kicked his heels into the mount's flanks spurring the horse into a burst of speed.

"Why don't you just find one you like and get Maklelin to do what he did to Necresys?" The fighter asked.

"Flesh eating horse, sounds a bit dodgy to me. Last thing I need is to be eaten in the night by my own damn steed. The bites I get from this thing hurt enough already, just think what she would do with fangs like Necresys'. And my horses never seem to last long enough for me to get too attached."

"Ah you two have decided to join me after all," said Maklelin Highbain as the pair finally caught up with him. He sat astride a fearsome looking beast, what once was a stallion was now something different, Necresys was no longer a creature of this world. His face was permanently contorted in an expression of rage, drool continuously dripping from his fang filled mouth. And those fangs were deadly, some as sharp and long as daggers. His eyes burned with a crimson light a fiery nimbus hung around them. Unlike all other horses Necresys did not have hooves, instead his legs ended in powerful claws, claws that could tear through chain mail armour as easily as bare flesh.

"I was just thinking," mused the rogue, "do you think you could put Necresys to stud? Think how much gold we could make selling off his foals."

"He is dead Narris, you would have more luck trying to breed with a stone," Maklelin calmly explained in a patronising manner.

"Yeah but that wouldn't be nearly as much fun for him," quipped the thief, his ever ready smile wide.

"Anyway, what mare in her right mind would to wanna mate with him?" Asked Korvarn, who after all these years with Maklelin, was still wary when it came to the undead.

"Good point," Narris nodded.

"If you have both finished bad-mouthing Necresys shall we get back to the more pressing matters," asked the wizard as he patted the necromantic steed's strong neck.

"There is something I've wanted to ask," Said the human from Maklelin's right hand side. "Why didn't we just 'port into Greffen itself?"

"I can answer this one," said Narris from the wizard's left, "the reason we can't just teleport in to Greffen is obvious. The elves that founded the city needed a way to protect themselves from the Dragon Overlords they were fleeing from. So they gathered their greatest wizards together and cast a kind of shield over the whole place, blocking out intrusion, be it scrying or teleportation, from being able to penetrate it."

"Well done Narris that was a short but reasonably accurate explanation. I am glad some knowledge that does not involve profit still fits in your mind," replied the mage.

"Well that's not why I remember actually," The thief confessed, "I've been trying to think of a way to by-pass the shield. Now just imagine what you could sell that info for."

"Well you must let me know if you solve that little brainteaser," Maklelin said, his voice thick with sarcasm, "It is not like thousands of wizards have been trying to crack that one for more than a thousand years. And to think all they had to do was ask the nearest sneak-thief to show them the way."

"Korvarn, if you wanted to break in somewhere who would you ask for help, a wizard or a thief?"

"Narris has a fair point, maybe they would be more successful if a mage and a rogue worked on it together," the human answered.

"Ever the diplomat Korvarn," chuckled the necromancer. "Back to the point, Greffen has a few strict laws involving immigration. Our ashen companion will be run through with elven steel the second they see him. We shall have to do this at night and quietly."

"I've discovered the quickest route available to use from the maps and charts you showed me the other day," Narris said taking over the conversation. "This elf, what's his name?"

"Koratynn the Scholar," Maklelin reminded the thief.

"So this Koratynn lives on the east side of town fortunately, the barracks of the city guard are in the west. So it would be prudent for us to avoid that side of town," replied the mage turning his gaze on Korvarn. "And there is to be absolutely no combat until I give the say so, is that clear?"

"I suppose I can give it a try," he mumbled in response, "what exactly is this book we're looking for all about any how? I know I probably should've asked earlier but I got all excited about the thought of a nice bit of melee, but now Maklelin has bought my expectations tumbling I may as well find what this is all about."

"We went through this once already!" Narris sputtered, "I don't really want to go over it again."

"The Manual of Lifeless Existence is a one of a kind libram on the finer points of lich creation," started the wizard.

"Great here we go again," the thief moaned as they continued their journey to the south, growing ever closer to the thriving metropolis that is Greffen.

"The Manual was written in the 1392, the Year of the Shifting Hills, by a sylvan elf that was a great master of his time in the sphere of necromancy. It was his only true masterpiece; his other works were page after page of mindless gibberish. But the Manual, now that is a work of art." Maklelin continued to regale the human with an in depth history of the Manual and its previous owners, tracking the book through centuries long since passed.

"But more recently there has been word of the Manual's re-emergence," continued the mage, "I in fact attempt to purchase it from Koratynn at a mage fair last spring, but the tight old miser said, 'such work is far too great to be passed from one power hungry wizard to another!' I was this close to slitting his throat there and then."

"Stupid old bastard, had he not heard of your… How should I say…enthusiasm? For gaining whatever you wish for?" the drow-kin asked.

"What do scholars know about the present day?" Korvarn injected in to the conversation.

"Anyway, getting back to the point, it is rumoured that the Manual contains powerful rituals involving the process of undeath on dragon-kind. And it may bring me closer to my goal of creating undead servants from the fallen bones of drala-kin."

"This seems like quite lot of effort for a book that might contain something useful," the human looked sceptically at the necromancer.

"Ah Korvarn, the Manual of Lifeless Existence is one of the most sought after librams known in my field of expertise, it is worth more than the Black Spire and all its contents. The Manual is a relic of times that are no more. Written in the blood of a greater wyrm on pages crafted of elven skin, it is said to be a most breath taking item ever scribed." Maklelin watched as the sun began to sink behind the dense forest. His eye had a far away look in it as he thought of the valuable manuscript. His eye suddenly grew more focused on the horizon, there in the distance, shining in the darkening forest were pinpoints of flickering light.

"Looking at the distance, we should arrive just after midnight," Narris estimated, "when we get there you two stick close to me at all times, there can be no mistakes! Strangely enough I really don't find the idea of a long sword slipping between my ribs a very pleasant one."

"Rather your ribs than mine," Maklelin replied, smirking.

"If you're gonna be like that you can always try to slip your way through the ring of elven steel that surrounds the hidden city without me," the thief said indignantly, "I'd like to see you sneak this great big ironclad bruiser into this Koratynn's home without me!"

"Hey do not take me wrong Narris, I love you like the brother I never had. But I would not jump on a blade to save you as I know you would not take a death dealing blow for me, I am just being honest."

"Well you've a good point there so I guess I'll let you off and help you out in this the hour of your need."

"I would take a blade for either of you without hesitation," Korvarn stated proudly.

"What is the word that best describes that?" questioned the rogue.

"Idiot," the two half-elves replied in unison, they then proceeded to break into fits of laughter. Korvarn dismissed them with a wave of his hand, he knew in his heart of hearts that either of them wound leap to his defence in any given situation no matter how perilous. He understood about the darkness in both of his friend's souls they had grown up in loveless homes and it had warped both of the half-elves. Devoid of empathy both of them would kill and maim as quick as blink with as much thought given to either act. Though darkness ruled their souls Korvarn knew that they were as loyal friends as anyone could wish to have.

"Anyway, back to the point," Narris continued wiping tears of laughter away from his eyes, "the elves are particularly adept at patrolling their borders and streets at night. Mak and I have discussed this at length and we feel it would be best if we travelled through Greffen cloaked in invisibility."

"Do we have to?" Korvarn whined.

"It would be easiest," Maklelin explained, "we know your dislike of the spell and we have thought of a reasonable way of stopping you from getting lost again."

"You said we weren't gonna mention that again." Korvarn was flushing at the cheeks the last experience he had with the Invisibility spell had left him feeling truly foolish. He had lost his way while travelling through a dragon's lair some years back. He tried his best to follow his companions but somehow their ways got parted, Korvarn found himself face to face with an angry wyrm. Several minutes later when the other two finally found him it was at the side of the fallen red dragon, the same dragon that had recently hired the Relikseekers for that very mission. It was not one of the human's best days and he always felt an unreasonable fear of the spell ever since.

"What about the horses?"

"Don't you worry your ugly head about that," Narris said from his side, "the horses will be hidden before we enter the place, it'd be far too much of a challenge to get three mounts past the wary guards of Greffen."

"A little sooty like you have the gall to call me ugly," Korvarn laughed as he shook his head. "What is this plan, get it over with."

"Well it is simple really," Maklelin began to explain, "Take hold of this end of this cord." He pulled a ten foot length of elven rope from a pocket that seemed much too small to hold the long thin line. "And I will keep hold of this end; in fact I will tie it to my wrist in case I need both hands for any spellcasting. When I cast the Invisibility spell it will also cover the line. You will not be able to wander off this time my big friend."

"Sounds a bit too much like a dog lead to me but I guess it is better than being locked up in an elven prison," the fighter grumbled as he took his end of the line. "So where are we putting the horses?"

"Will we be leaving them in a clearing just a few minutes away. Mak can do his thing, you know the paralyzation and invisibility thing he does on them and we'll be off to roam around the city at our leisure." In no time at all they reached the specified clearing, an open patch of ground sheltered by a ring of tall evergreens. The ancient pines reached up to the sky appearing to the travellers as if they were trying to pull at the stars with their loftiest branches. A moment of silence and the three Relikseekers stood staring at the eternal heavens above. Within a few minutes the trio began to prepare themselves for the jaunt into the elven city. Korvarn and Narris stood watching the darkness around them as Maklelin weaved his wizardry upon the horses. Only Necresys of the mounts remained animated, the other two stood rigid, frozen in time.

"I shall cast Invisibility upon you all now," the necromancer explained to his monstrous mount, "stay, guard the others my trusted steed we shall be back soon."

"Does he really understand you Mak?"

"I believe so Narris, I feel a bond between Necresys and me. A bond that is not dissimilar to the one that I share with Flamekloud. There is an understanding between us for sure but I truly do not know if he understands my words. My voice seems to sooth him so I try to talk to him as often as I can."

"Are we ready?"

"Yes my roguish ally, lead on." The three adventurers crept out the clearing towards Greffen as silent as shadows. Soon the sounds and smells of the elven city reached their senses, with a silent motion Maklelin halted the group. They gathered close as the necromancer began to chant, his words soft but filled with power. Moments later the three treasure hunters invisibly slipped into Greffen, moving without a sound.

27th Jaelthim

The Black Spire

"Why don't you just tell me where we're going and why we're going there? Varanee asked as she followed the fire mephit up the winding stairs to the eleventh level of the tower. "Uncle Mak's library, surely we won't be able to get in there! It must be worded in some way."

"The word you are looking for is warded, not worded. And yes as a matter of fact it is warded but there is a catch," Flamekloud whispered back over his shoulder. "The Master feared much for your safety when you were but a toddler, you managed to get yourself into some pretty surprising places in those days. Anyway, so that you would not be incinerated by the first door you walked through the Master crafted them with your safety in mind. None of the wards in the Black Spire will harm you Varanee."

"You mean I could just walk right into Uncle Mak's lab and nothing would happen? But he has been telling me for as long as I can remember that these doors wouldn't allow me through and that they could harm or even kill me."

"Lies told for your own protection but the Master knew you would believe him enough so that you would never risk trying them. Turn the door handle, see if I speak falsely." The twelve year old cautiously reached for the door, hesitating for just a second she turned the handle and gave the door a gentle push. The portal swung smoothly open and she was hit by the not all together unpleasant smell of old books.

"By Kkrassk," she whispered as she saw the library for the first time. Dozens if not scores of bookshelves filled the vast room. All filled to bursting with countless books and scrolls. There must have been thousands and thousands of them. All that knowledge encased in one man's tower, she thought, there must be so little he doesn't know. "Has he read them all?"

"Aye everyone, cover to cover, top to tail," Flamekloud stated proudly basking in the light of his Master's enlightenment.

"But you still ain't told me why we're here?"

"Do not say 'ain't' little one, it makes you sound uneducated and that reflects upon your principle teacher, me."

"Sorry Kloud, I'm just a little excited by all this," she apologised as she closed the library door behind her. She walked around the library for a few minutes taking in the sight and smell of all the tomes gathered here, how one man could have the time to read all these books was beyond the young girl's imagination.

"Here girl," called the familiar from the other side of the cavernous library. "This is why we have come!" He clutched a scroll it his bony hand a wicked smile spread across his hideous face.

"What? What is Kloud?"

"It is the answer to your prayers," he carefully unrolled the parchment. Varanee could see that one side was covered in a lilted script that shimmered in the library's soft light. She gasped slightly at the beauty and craftsmanship that had gone in the scribing of the scroll it must have been priceless.

"What is it?"

"You tell me," replied the mephit.

"How am I supposed to know?" She huffed, hands on hips.

"Because the power is within you, just concentrate allow your mind to focus on the scroll. Then tell me what you believe it is." Varanee looked a bit sheepish as the familiar passed her the delicate scroll; she took hold of it carefully trying to make sure it was safe from accidental harm. She looked down at the script, it seemed to flow and shift beneath her gaze, but still she tried to concentrate on it, to see what was hidden there. Images flashed through her mind, a void, a powerful wind and the ground falling away beneath her feet. She pulled her eyes away from the delicate yet powerful words but found them returning to the scroll of what seemed like their own accord. Days, months, years, she lost track of the time, or more accurately time fell away from her.

"Varanee, Varanee." The voice, a voice she was sure she recognised called at her from seemed like an eternity away. "Varanee."

"Flamekloud?" she questioned. "Where are you?" her voice cracked with fear as she felt herself being pulled back towards the magical words scrawled on the parchment.

"I am here," he hissed in as gentle a voice as he could, still he sounded distant. "Look at me girl, I know you can do it, just look at me." The twelve year old screamed out silently in fury at the arcane words that had trapped her so. The soundless scream reverberated in the dark void where her mind seemed to be imprisoned, ricocheting off the gloom. Within seconds flickers of light began to sparkle in the wake of her scream, the once all encompassing gloom began to crumble away. With one final great mental push she tried to banish the words from her psyche. The light of the real world struck her like a hammer. She stumbled backwards, dropping the scroll to the carpeted floor, fear still evident on her young face.

"Wh-what happened?" she gasped, fear clutching at the words as she whispered them. "How long was I gone?"

"You never went anywhere, my child. You have been here the whole time."

"But in the darkness, it seemed like….forever," he mumbled as tears began to well up in her eyes. "How long did I stand there looking at that thing?"

"No more than few seconds," Flamekloud stated as he helped her unsteadily to her feet. "Now tell me girl, what is that scroll?"

"I don't kno…." Her words trailed off as a new thought entered her mind, a glimmer of light-like understanding after the darkness of ignorance. "It is a scroll that allows you to travel I think, I don't know how or why but I am sure that is what it is."

"I told you that you could do it," crowed the fire mephit as he hopped from foot to foot clapping his bony hands. "You have the sight my girl, a pure instinctive understanding of the art. Most would-be mages need to be taught how to read the twisted language of wizardry, but there are a few, very few, who are born with an affinity to magic. Magic is intertwined with you, body and soul, so you have a bond that will always be there."

"Does Uncle Mak have this sight?"

"Indeed he does. But you had best stop all this nonsense of comparing yourself with the Master; it will only leave you bitter for I have never even met another that rivals his understanding. You have power within you girl but it is a grain of sand in a desert compared to the might of the Master!"

"Why did you bring me here and show me this?"

"I believed you were ready," the mephit replied casually to the young girl, "and I must admit that I know it will wind your father up to find out what I have shown you, but this is just the beginning."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"You are going to read that scroll," he stated, "it will be your first true taste of the potential you carry."

"I don't know if I am ready for this Kloud."

"No one ever believes they are ready the first time they try casting a true spell. Only a fool would not fear the unknown, but you are not alone, I am here with you," the familiar pointed out, "but we are not ready for the casting just yet. First you must accompany me to the Summoning Chamber where we will use the Master's old crystal ball to seek him out. It should be simple I know his destination we need to hurry is all before they enter Greffen and are shielded by that damn elven spell-guard. The pair soon left the awe-inspiring library and was on their way to the ninth level of the Black Spire, Maklelin Highbain's powerful summoning and scrying chamber. The door swung open as easily as the library door before Varanee, so soon they were hovering over Maklelin's now little used crystal ball.

Midnight

Greffen

Three silver elves, the most common sub-species of the elves of Korst, walked slowly and cautiously through the night streets of the elven city. It was not unknown in recent days for spies and minions of the Dragon Overlords to attempt to slip into Greffen, the dragons still hungered greatly for the wealth and power that lay hidden within the spell-guard of the city. All three of the silver elves, or common elves as their race was more commonly called, scoured the shadows with their heat sensitive infra-vision searching for any sign of skulduggery. They were oblivious to the fact that their sensitive eyes had just raked across the trio of invisible raiders. The Relikseekers stood as still if frozen as they watched the patrolling common elves make their way slowly up the street. It was more than half an hour later that the Relikseekers finally continued their soundless trek through Greffen, growing ever closer to the home of Koratynn the Scholar.

"The guards seem awfully jumpy Mak," whispered the thief as they spotted another patrol moving parallel with them a few streets away.

"They always are, elves are very suspicious people," the wizard pointed out, "They virtually ruled this whole world once, but now look at them, a scattering of them remain here and another couple there. They area dying race so they need to protect what they have left with a great deal of fanaticism."

"Well we're here," Narris confirmed a few minutes later. "That's the house we're looking for." The house was a rather thin looking tower of the whitest marble, perhaps three stories tall. Crystal windows dotted the building's curved walls letting out rays of light into the dark streets of Greffen.

"Nice of him to give me plenty of windows to creep in through," Narris quipped as he studied the lofty building with an expert burglar's eye. "All I need to know now Mak is are there any wards dotted about the thing?"

"None that I can see," the mage replied confidently.

"I'll take that as a fact then, you've never got it wrong before," the thief flashed the wizard with a smile but almost instantly remembered the all enshrouding spell that still engulfed them. "I'll do a window, then slip to the front door and let you two in. Be at the door at the count of 125 after you see the window close."

"125 after the window closes, understood," confirmed Maklelin, "good luck."

"Hey, since when did I ever need luck?" With that Narris dashed across the road, his soft soled shoes not making the slightest sound as he ran over the gravel that covered all of Greffen's roads. With the wall crawling skills equal to that of a spider the drow-kin rogue virtually ran up the almost perfectly smooth marble walls. His only aids were his climbing gloves, black leather gloves with a series of three sharp spikes pointing out from the palms of the hand. These jagged teeth gripped the wall with ease; their well-crafted spikes of mithril steel clung unerringly to the smooth surface. In less than a minute the invisible thief had reached the lowest window, a crystal filled pane that was at least thirty feet from the ground. Narris grabbed hold of the window ledge with his left hand, digging in the spikes yet further as he removed the glove from his right hand with his teeth. Soon his uncovered hand was in his pouch pulling out his much loved thieve's tools. He delicately removed his longest thinnest pick from the rest of the tools of his craft. Carefully he slipped the long, thin rod of steel into the crack that ran along the edge of the window pane. It barely fit through the narrow space, but within seconds he had it positioned beneath the small hook that held the window secured from within. A flick of the pick was all that was needed to throw the hook out of the lock, with a gentle shove the window swung silently open. He pulled himself smoothly through the window landing in what appeared to be a dining room. His fiery short sword already in his hand, just in case, but fortunately the room was empty except for him. Removing his wall climbing paraphernalia he moved back to his point of entry and closed it up tight, even replacing the hook in the locked position. "125…124…" He began as he scampered through the door that lead downstairs and to his two waiting companions.

"…..15…14…" Maklelin counted down as he and the still invisible Korvarn crept up to the iron bound front door of Koratynn's home. "…9…8…" Maklelin's count was cut short as the door swung open from within.

"You are seven seconds early Narris," the mage said to the apparently empty doorway.

"What can I say but I'm getting better and better at this all the time," the invisible rouge replied quietly. "Now will you two get in here because you're letting all the warm air out?" The thief was soon joined by his two friends and they soundlessly closed the door behind them.

"Give me a few moments here will you," Maklelin said as the other two began to move further into the elven home. "I want to secure this door to be totally sure that we will not be interrupted while we work."

"If you warp that thing shut how the hell are we gonna get out?" questioned the human fighter as he pulled the ancestral Truesteel blade from his back.

"We are not going to be leaving using our feet Korvarn," the necromancer explained as he swiftly warped the wooden door with a touch from the palm of his hand as he muttered archaic phrases, a minor cantrip that twisted and stretched the stout wooden door.

"I knew it, more damned teleportation, what about that spell-guard thing? Won't that screw up your spell?" Asked the human, who was still attached to the mage by the length of elven rope?

"The spell-guard only affects spells entering the magical dome. Incantations work perfectly inside the city they are completely unaffected by the shield. I think we can do without the invisibility now." Maklelin concentrated on the enchantment he had cast on himself and his two colleagues, he dismissed the spell with but a thought, shattering the dweomer and returning the threesome's visible forms.

"Shit, doesn't this guy ever clean up? The place looked marvellous from outside but look at the state of it on here," Korvarn swore as he took in the entrance hall, seeing it clearly for the first time in the soft light that was now being generated by Maklelin's Kiss, the mage's trusty quarterstaff. The floor was just rough wooden planks that appeared stained and mud covered, gravel from the roads outside littered the messy floor. Mice scampered from one piece of dank and shabby furniture to another, scurrying away from the light. The air was filled with a musty smell that someone had tried to neutralise with burning incense.

"The elves have laws about the outward appearance of their cities," Maklelin said, "They always maintain the outside of their homes, so if visiting travellers see the place everything is looking perfect. They are still trying to maintain the illusion that they are a powerful thriving race here on Korst. But the truth of the matter is that more and more of the sylvan peoples are growing poorer year upon year as their people slowly weaken and wane."

"I imagine most of his rooms will be in this state, he never seemed a very well turned out fellow at the best of the times. I can not seem to recall a single occasion when I have met him and his robes have not been grimy," the wizard continued as he beckoned for Narris to head up the group on point, his ever busy eyes were needed to spot any sneaky little traps that Koratynn might have seen fit to install. Maklelin doubted the old scholar would have placed such devices in his home, but Narris' keen eyes had best be watching just in case.

The trio skulked up the staircase that lead up to the other levels of the tower, "His bedchamber is at the top," Narris informed them, "I had a quick look around before I let you in."

"You are getting better," the mage noted, "118 seconds to get a quick look around and letting us in. The Celldonne Guard do not stand a chance at catching you when we return home."

"Fingers crossed that's what I'm hoping. There might be a ward on the door to his chambers but for some reason it just didn't look right to me, so I thought I'd best leave it to you."

"Sound thinking," Maklelin agreed with a nod of his head. Before long they were all standing a few feet from the bound door, the wizard studying the glittering words that had been carefully positioned around the door's handle. "It is good to see you are gradually learning more about sorcery with time Narris, this is just some form of glittered paint on here, probably meant just to scare off ill-educated thieves, and there is no magic here."

"In that case let's get in there and get this elven twerp to give us the damned book, I ain't no good at this sneaking around lark." Korvarn moaned from behind the half-elves. Narris just shook his head and carefully, quietly turned the door handle, at a slight squeaking of the hinges all three clenched their teeth against what seemed to sound to them like the wail of a banshee. They heard gentle muttering from the bed that sat twenty or so feet away from them. Koratynn rolled over under his large duvet mumbled once more in a sleepy tone of voice before slumber fully grasped him again. The three Relikseekers made their way across the room, a room which was decorated much more carefully than the entrance hall had been. A red shag-pile carpet softened their already quiet steps as they closed in on the massive king-size bed and the sleeping scholar within it. Narris crept like death, silently on to the soft bed and placed himself right next to the head of the sleeping elf. The scholar's hair was of a golden hue and his skin was pale and dusted in its shadows by a slight golden tinge, he was a high elf, the rarest of the sylvan folk. Narris carefully placed his namesake, the Firebrand across the elf's throat.

"Koratynn," he whispered sweetly into the large pointed ear of the sleeping elf. "Wakey, wakey."

"Not yet," he started to mumble before his sleep addled mind realised that it felt a keen blade against his throat. "What? What's going on?" He squealed as he tried to squirm away from the deadly Firebrand.

"All will be explained shortly Koratynn," Maklelin said in a cold voice from the side of the bed, a wicked smile on his gaunt face. "But I would suggest keeping very still and very quiet, the blade will cut."

"By the balls of Ellesstari," he swore, "Master Maklelin Highbain, you half breed scum. You dare enter the realm of King Lorinar and even worse bring this black bastard with you?"

"We have some unfinished business you and I," Maklelin replied ignoring the scholar's verbal assault. "The Manual, where is it?"

"If you think I would tell a piece of filth like you where to find it you are more foolish than you appear, keep dreaming," his eyes defiant Koratynn refused to be cowed in his own home, his centre of power.

"Things will go a lot smoother if you just hand it over, but if you continue abuse my fellows in such a manner I will let my…what did you call him? That was it 'my black bastard', here free on your old throat."

"You wouldn't dare! I am an adviser to the King himself!"

"I'd like to see you try and advise him with a slit throat," hissed Narris in to the old elf's pointed ear, pushing the blade of the Firebrand more firmly against Koratynn's neck, a bead of blood dripped on to the white bed linen. "Oops, it looks like I cut you. Now isn't that a shame."

"You can't frighten me you foul freak," The gold elf spat defiantly at Narris, who just shuffled slightly to the side avoid the saliva.

"If even a spot of your spit touches my tunic then we'll see who dares hurt the adviser of the King," growled the drow-kin, his red eyes flickering with an inner rage.

"Torture me all you like, I won't tell you where the Manual of Lifeless Existence is Highbain," Koratynn growled back.

"Who said anything about torture," asked the necromancer in a hurt tone of voice, "you should know that is not my style. I will just have Narris here slit you from ear to ear and find out all I need to know from you worthless spirit. Look in my eye Koratynn, tell me if I am lying." A cold look of fear finally washed over the aging high elf's face.

"I don't have it," he blurted out, "I never did have it."

"He's lying," Korvarn growled patting the flat of his huge axe with his open hand. "Do him and let's get out of here."

"I'm not lying," the elf was almost whining now at the thought of the dark hearted Maklelin Highbain tampering with his eternal soul. "I never had it, it was all bluster! But I know where it is, I swear I will tell you the truth if you just leave me be. I promise I will not even report this….incident!"

"Where is it?" Maklelin asked coldly, the Dralo-Orb pulsing with an inner power, "and I will know if you lie!"

"A hag has it! A green hag in the south of the forest, no more than ten days travel away from here," the fight had totally left the old scholar now, fear for his life overwhelmed all else. "If you do not believe me go check my diary, I have a map it is drawn in there. I swear I tell you the truth!"

"I know you do Koratynn," Maklelin confirmed for the others, "Korvarn get the diary. Narris I think we are finished here." With a small nod of his head the thief acknowledged his friend's unspoken command. In the blink of an eye he sliced deeply into the gold elf, his magical Firebrand cauterised the deep cut even as it opened his throat, just as Maklelin had described earlier, from ear to ear. The old elf fell back in bed thrashing mutely in his last few moments of life.

"Got it Maklelin," Korvarn called, all need for stealth now vanished. The human threw the book across to the wizard who caught it with his empty right hand. Tucking the book into yet another hidden pocket on his robe, he span to a cross legged position on the shag-pile. "Gather my friends it is time to leave."

Within the hour Necresys led the re-animated horses through the deep dark forest. Maklelin hoped to put as much distance as they could between them and Greffen by dawn. The necromancer knew that their act of murder would not be without consequences, he reckoned those consequences would come charging on horseback out of the gates of Greffen after them sometime after sun rise. But the trio were not particularly worried about the soon approaching situation; it was a common enough practice for the Relikseekers.

At sunrise Maklelin called a halt to the trio, "We need to rest your mounts," he stated as he swung out of Necresys' saddle. Patting the monstrous creature fondly he turned to look at its fire filled eyes. "Go, hunt, but return within the hour." Necresys reared up on its thick back legs, flailing its fore claws in excitement. With three great bounds he had disappeared from the temporary rest site and was engulfed by the surrounding forest.

"We should eat too, for we may have to keep going all d….." A look of confusion crossed Maklelin's face and he stumbled slightly to his left. His eye going wide with shock the other two Seekers gasped, it was a sight they had never seen before in all their years with the necromancer.

"Mak?" Narris was at his side in a second supporting the necromancer, the fighter had likewise come to his friends other side.

"Maklelin? Are you alright?"

"Yes, thank you both but I will be fine," he gently pulled himself away from his friends grasping hands. The necromancer hated feeling weak, it reminded him of many horrible days as a child, weak, almost dying of the dreaded Blood Rot, the most feared plague on Korst. For month he lay bed ridden a prisoner of the same disease that stole his left eye. He had sworn to himself that he would never need the support of anyone else ever again. This still held true all these years later and even with his two closest friends.

"What happened?" Korvarn asked as he stepped back from the wizard allowing the half-elf more personal space.

"I do not know," it was a phrase that Maklelin barely ever had to use.

"You don't know?" gasped Narris in a theatrical manner.

"Don't make light of it Narris," Korvarn said bluntly, "Was it some form of attack from the elves? What?" Maklelin thought about the sensation, for a few seconds, mulling it over in his nimble mind. He mentally replayed the experience over again and again studying every clue he could remember. He was sure it was not the elves but he feared to tell Korvarn about his true suspicions. It had been a brief connection between him, Flamekloud and Varanee. Something was dreadfully amiss but he had not the time to ponder it all now. He would get back to it when Necresys returned and he was once again on the road.

"Yes," he lied, "it could have been the elves trying to find us, but I am sure we are safe from the time being. As soon as Necresys returns we will be off, prepare yourselves for some heavy riding because we might be in the saddle for quite some time."

"By Kkrassk," Varanee gasped as he stumbled to the side, where she promptly emptied the contents of her stomach on to the needle covered forest floor. After a few more heaves she regained her composure a bit. "You could have warned me Kloud!"

"Warn you of what?" he looked around in feigned ignorance but he could keep the charade up as he clapped his hands and let out his cackling laugh. "I could not help myself Varanee; I love to see the look on first time 'porters faces." He fell to the ground and continued his fit of giggles. Varanee tried to look stern at him but that fell away as she scrambled to the side again wracked with more heaving. "Don't worry girl, you'll be back on your feet in a few minutes."

"This idea seems to look more and more foolish to me with every step," she complained once she got her breath back. "Dad and Uncle Mak are gonna go mad when they found out what we've done."

"It's too late for thoughts like that now. But you handled that scroll like a third year apprentice; your might as a spellcaster will be immense!"

"You really think so? You're not just saying that are you? Because when I used that scroll it felt right! The feeling of magic tingling through my blood was amazing! What other scrolls did we bring?"

"Just two, Magic Missile and Invisibility, we shall only use them in the case of an emergency," Flamekloud stood back up and looked at the rising sun. "The Master and your father are to the south not too far away, I felt his presence when you 'ported us in here. If we are quick we might catch up to them by the end of the day. All we need to do is get into Greffen and buy a horse. I have all the money we will need here." He said patting a bulging sack of coins that hung on a thin belt around his skinny waist.

"How much is in there?" Varanee said her eyes wide looking at the sack she now knew to be filled with glistening coin.

"We have about sixty platinum pieces, which is more than enough to get you a steed. Come on girl hurry we have not got all day." Varanee picked herself up and rushed to catch up with the mephit.

"Kloud, won't you look kind of out of place in a city full of god-fearing elves?"

"I would indeed," he agreed, "but I am not going to look like me." He stopped walking and with a flash of mystic light and a stink of sulphur Flamekloud stood transformed in front of her. Where a wicked looking imp had been standing there was now a thin pale creature with child-like features, a pair of glistening fairy wings hummed on its back. "But no one in there is going to think twice about just another sprite."

"I didn't know you could do that," she gasped, "you look so…."

"Disgusting?" he suggested.

"I was gonna say beautiful. Why don't you just stay like that all the time? It really is much more becoming." Flamekloud swore quietly under his breathin the grating language of the outer planes as the pair made their way into the elven city.

The gravel covered roads were clogged with merchants preparing their wares for the day. Varanee had never seen so many elves in one place before; their beauty took her breath away. "Aren't they so pretty?"

"Pah," spat Flamekloud in his sprite disguise, he like all mephits had at least one means of concealing themselves. Flamekloud was of a particularly cowardly breed of mephit and they actually had two levels of defence. They could alter their outward appearance to look like just about anything their size, in this case a sprite. But when given less time he could release his natural heat, creating a shield of warm air that could obscure him from all but the keenest of eyes.

"Kloud, where are we actually going? Do you know?"

"Of course I know," he grumbled back, this was the part of the journey he knew would be the worst. Being surrounded by so many alert and deadly elves was a distasteful experience for the wicked mephit. But it would all be worth it when he saw the look of horror on Korvarn's ugly face when they caught up with the Relikseekers. Flamekloud had felt put out by being left behind with Varanee for the past decade, he wished to be at his Master's side as the necromancer levelled foes and tore the earth asunder with his magicks. And once the Relikseekers saw that it was time for them to bring Varanee with them, then by default Flamekloud would be returned to the fold too.

"Then where?"

"The name of the place is Forstar's Equine Emporium. It is a stable that sells some of the finest horses on Drala-Frea. We will get us a fast horse and in no time we will be with the others."

"I do hope so, as pretty as this place and the people are I feel kind of alone here," she looked around at the crowds that filled the city streets. "I have never bought anything in a shop before, Father or Narris has always done it for me."

"Let me do the talking and we will be fine," he replied calmly in his rough bark of a voice.

"I ain't never heard or seen a sprite before Kloud but I am pretty sure that they don't sound like you," she pointed out as they weaved through the throng of sylvan folk growing ever closer to Forstar's Equine Emporium.

"No problem there," his voice this time was soft and melodic; his tone was jaunty, almost as if he were singing, "is this more to your liking?"

"How marvellous," she squealed in almost a laugh, "if I had known you could do that all the time I would have had you singing me to sleep at nights. Your voice has got to be more soothing than father's."

"Hush now my child," he sang softly at her, now fully in to the character of the sprite, Flamekloud approached the silver elf that was tending to a roan, in the first of three stables. "Cousin," he called a common greeting from pixie-folk to elves, "we seek your aid."

"Greetings sprite and to you young madam," he said with a flourish as he bowed to his two guests, "how may I aid thee today?"

"We are guests to your fair city," Flamekloud said as he took hold of Varanee's right hand and pulled her close to him. But before he could continue a fanfare of trumpet calls rent through the still early morning drone of Greffen.

"Hear ye, hear ye," came a soft but powerful voice, the sound was amplified to a high degree, the crisp voice spoke for the entire city to hear. "His Majesty King Lorinar of Greffen does hereby place a call for aid. His Royal Highness Prince Tarassar is gathering a militia to aid him in a task of national importance. All who wish to show their faith in the throne should gather before the palace before noon. Their Royal Highnesses thank you for your attention."

"Huh, I guess that's all about that murder thing this morning," Jiravail Forstar said to his two customers, "foul business murder, I doubt they will get too many eager recruits the way I hear it there was magic involved, had to be if the tales I have heard this morning are true."

"Murder," gasped Varanee, in feigned horror, "I didn't think elves did that sort of thing?"

"You would have been right there lassie once, but now there are more than just elves roaming the streets of Greffen," he shock his head in irritation, "but since they let humans and others in things have taken a turn for the worse. No offence is meant to you young lady."

"None taken sir," Varanee said sweetly, while her mind cursed the racist elf, "who was killed? Anyone important?"

"By the gods, what a cold question young lady," the horse salesman shot back, "all elven lives are always important no matter the rank of the individual. Now shall we see what we can do for you? What is it you are after?"

"We seek a strong mount that can carry both me and the girl," Flamekloud replied as sweetly as he could, "She has plenty of coin. I hope we do not bump into those killers when we leave town. Do you know which way they are thought to have left? I hardly think killers would be suitable role-models for the young one here."

"Rumour has it that strange tracks have been found heading south, but who knows how much truth there is to it," Jiravail said as he lead the pair to a mare tied to post at the back of his shop. "This here is Bramblejumper, a steadier mount can not be found in Greffen." He stated rather proudly as he beckoned them towards the horse. To the twelve year old girl the horse seemed huge, dwarfing her petite form with its vast bulk.

"How much?" Flamekloud was never one who enjoyed the art of haggling he got straight down to business.

"Well you will be requiring a saddle and bridal," he mused rubbing his chin in thought, "For you and the girl I would say…120…no, 115 gold pieces?"

"115!" choked the young girl, she had never handled even a single gold piece so that total seemed outrageous to her.

"Deal." Snapped Flamekloud, he instantly started digging around in his money belt. "I will give another platinum piece if you prepare the horse for us now."

"Indeed good sprite, we have a deal," the elf said enthusiastically, a single platinum coin was worth five gold pieces, the sprite's tip was extremely generous. "I will be but a few minutes." Jiravail Forstar jogged off to his shed to fetch the needed gear for Bramblejumper. Flamekloud began counting out the two dozen platinum pieces they owed the vendor.

Within ten minutes the sprite and child were astride the big mare and trotting southward away from the elven metropolis. Varanee confident in the saddle due to the extensive lessons the Relikseekers had taught her from the tender age of seven in the skills of riding.

"Kloud," Varanee started, "it was father and the others that killed that elf wasn't it?"

Flamekloud who was now returned to his natural form sat behind her on the saddle, the large seat was big enough to accommodate the pair comfortably. "I would imagine so, why?"

"I just…I don't know," she mused, "If they did kill him it would be for a good reason, right?"

"Of course," Flamekloud responded, "the Master never kills unless there is a reason for it. Or at least there is a reason that he can see at any rate. If you mean to travel with the Seekers you had best toughen yourself up girl. Bloodshed is part of the business, be it monster's blood, elf's blood or human."

"I know I will," she replied weakly, "it was just a shock hearing it like that."

"Rest now girl, I will guide the horse. Sleep and let slumber wash your apprehension away, when you wake all will be better." The mephit returned his voice to that of the sing song sound of the wood sprite and gently sang the tired young girl asleep.

28th Jaelthim, Noon

Palace Grounds, Greffen

"Tis thin pickings my lord," said the deep voiced Captain Miros of the Royal Guard. The prince stood at his side looking at the two citizens who had turned up for the emergency militia.

"We are in sad times when this is all the response we get from a royal announcement," the prince sighed to the professional warrior. Prince Tarassar was ready for the road, he wore his finest shirt of elfin chain, and strapped to his waist was a thin bladed long sword, and his enchanted long bow was strapped to the quiver he bore on his back. Both armour and weapons were crafted by the finest smiths and craftsmen in the city; each was worth a king's ransom. His long golden hair was unbound and fluttered wildly in the strong breeze that blew across the palace courtyard. His features were fine and by human standards he would have been considered highly attractive. His almond shape eyes were exotic, drawing one's eyes to their steady gaze. The Prince was not a fop like most of his brothers be they elder or younger. Tarassar was the fourth of nine brothers, leaving a great deal of his time open rather than it being filled with hour upon hour of royal preparations for the throne. It was highly unlikely that the Prince would ever take the throne and as such he and his younger brothers had a greater degree of freedom than the older sons of King Lorinar.

"There is much fear in the city at the moment," Miros replied, "Many believe this is another act of sabotage by the dragons. And any wise elf fears to combat the minions of the Dragon Overlords."

"Who are these two then Miros?"

"The elven lady is Mirilisindara Silverwands," he stated as his gaze fell on the robed figure, her golden hair revealed her race as that of the high-born gold elves. Her features looked like they had been crafted by the finest sculptures of the age, it was perfection. Her figure was hidden beneath the deep folds of her flowing silver silk robes. Daggers were strapped across her full-bosom, three of the finely made silver weapons were visible, but the Prince was sure there were more hidden about her person. "She is a wizard of some repute, your majesty. She was said to be close, to Koratynn. If you know what I mean sire?"

"Indeed," the gold elf prince replied, "how does a grumpy old toad like Koratynn, god rest his soul, get such a pearl of beauty?"

"I know not sire," Miros replied stiffly.

"That is beside the point Captain; forget that I asked it was improper of me. Who then is he?"

"That your majesty is Barin of the Forest," captain Miros continued. "He is a druid sire, a brother of the woodland and one of the greatest trackers in the region."

"A druid, very useful," Tarassar mumbled to himself as he gave the aging elf a good looking over. The druid was a sylvan elf, a backward sub-species of the elven folk. The sylvan elves rejected cities, preferring to live in small nomadic tribes that lived off of the wilderness. Barin looked like most of his kind, he wore a suit of tight fitting leather armour, on a hook on his waist hung a stout cudgel, stained with years of use. His skin was dark almost bronze and his plain brown hair was untidily shorn off quite shortly. His whole appearance was quite scruffy looking to the well turned out prince. But, he thought to himself, he had never seen a wood elf that wasn't scruffy looking.

"I am told that he is highly thought of in druidic circles," Miros continued, "I myself, have seen him take on the form of a wolf right before my very eyes."

"They both seem suitable to me Captain but we shall need others, these vagabonds we are chasing will be no easy catch. Father Candoris of the clergy spoke to Koratynn's spirit soon after his body was discovered by his servants. We have learned much about our quarry, but that can wait until we are all gathered for the road. Gather six volunteers from the palace guard and have a stable boy fetch us ten strong horses, including my own steed, Greystorme."

"Yes, your majesty," the Captain snapped back with military efficiency, "all will be ready within the hour." With that the Captain threw a salute at the prince and made his way to the royal mews and the guard barracks on the east side of the palace grounds.

"Thank you both for your prompt response to the royal summons," the Prince began in a firm but friendly tone of voice as he approached the only two volunteers. "It warms the heart to know that there are still some loyal subjects of my noble father."

"The pleasure will be mine, your majesty," Mirilisindara said in a warm tone.

"Please, we shall be travelling together I think we can do with out all the formalities, call me Tarassar."

"Yes your m… Tarassar," Mirilisindara replied. "It shall be an act of justice to hunt these killers down and the rumours would have it that a mage is involved and I would like to see them pay for the death of Koratynn so my services I humbly offer to you."

"You knew the deceased I am told," the prince said gently.

"Indeed, Tarassar, we were once close," the young royal could see pools gathering in the mage's eyes, he turned to the druid, allowing Mirilisindara to recover her emotions.

"And you Brother of the Forest, it is good to see that some of the sylvan folk still answer the call of the King," the prince gave the druid a brisk, friendly slap to his shoulder.

"When the scales of justice hang low I will work as hard as I am able to restore the balance," he replied in a cold clipped tone of voice. His green eyes held no passion as he spoke, his face was grim almost surly.

"A worthy philosophy good brother, it should not be long before Captain Miros returns with the six volunteers from the barracks. I will explain all I know to you then. Come sit; let us have a drink to toast our gathering." The prince led them to a stout marble bench, where a bottle of Orange Blossom wine awaited them next to a dozen crystal flutes.

The trio had had no more than three or four sips at the liquor before the stiff figure of Captain Miros re-emerged, accompanied by half a dozen young elven guards, each in the royal coat of arms. Their regimental chain mail and long swords glistened in the morning light. Each carried a quiver of green fletched arrows and willow long bows. Their long hair blew around in the morning's light winds, only Captain Miros kept his hair cropped short, a sign of his rank.

"All are here now, your majesty," Miros stated, "The horses will be here shortly."

"Good," Tarassar began, "our prey will be a wily foe, and before we depart I will tell you all I know of them. What we know we learned from the spirit of Koratynn the Scholar himself, before his essence passed on to the heavens."

"Our foes number three, one being a grey skinned drow elf/human hybrid," there were gasps of disgust from the listeners. Most elves thought of normal half-elves as living trash and the thought of their most hated foe breeding with a human was a truly monstrous thought. "He is a rogue we believe, it was he, Narris by name, which actually slew poor Koratynn."

"Then he shall pay," hissed the silver clad sorceress.

"The second and the one of three we know least about is a human warrior, he appears to be the strongman of the trio, for he was bulging with muscle and was larger by far than your average human," Prince Tarassar continued talking after taking another sip of his sweet Orange Blossom wine. "The final member of the group is the leader of the three and by far the most dangerous of all. Koratynn knew of his murderer, he is a half-elven necromancer by the name of Maklelin Highbain."

"I have heard of this Highbain before," Mirilisindara said, "he has been attempting to make a deal with Koratynn for some time, but Koratynn never trusted the black-souled hybrid. I can not remember what that item was though."

"Rest easy Mirilisindara, we know of what he was after and now where he is going. To the south dwells a green hag by the name of Grankaela, she is in the possession of a rare and priceless manual on the dark arts of necromancy. Koratynn told the priests that spoke to his soul that he himself had been attempting to make a deal with the hag about the Manual but Koratynn could never agree on terms with her."

"Yes, the Manual of Lifeless Existence!" Mirilisindara recalled suddenly, "That is what Highbain wanted." The young prince nodded in confirmation of her statement. "Then let us depart and prevent him from ever achieving his twisted goal. Who knows what black-hearted scheme he has in mind, but whatever it is, it will involve the undead." Her statement caused most of the assembled elves to make small gestures of supplication to the gods to ward off any thoughts of the much hated process of unlife. Elves venerated life above all other things, it was sacred and truly unique every time, and for anyone to tamper with the form of the dead, be it physical or spectral was an affront to everything they believed. The magical school of Necromancy had long been banned in the elven cities of Korst due to its perverse nature. Life and death was purely the realm of the clerics of Ellesstari, the Father God of the elves and was totally beyond reach of the wizards of the elven folk.

"That is what Koratynn confirmed when the clerics conferred with him," Tarassar agreed, "ah, here come the horses, we should press on now with all speed, we must get to Grankaela's grove before them or they may become beyond our reach." With the Prince Tarassar Lorinar of Greffen pulled himself into the saddle of his massive warhorse Greystorme, he appeared every inch the warrior prince on his steady steed. A flick of the reins and the charger was away, thundering down the busy gravel roads of the city. His path cleared before him as the common folk threw themselves out of his way. The other nine members of the elven posse trailed the royal, a steely determination on every face as they raced south, vengeance and justice on their minds.

28th Jaelthim, Sunset

Nyradon Forest, South of Greffen

"But Kloud I am really hungry," Varanee whined as the pair climbed down off of Bramblejumper. The pair had stopped for the night, not willing to risk harming the horse on the dark uneven forest floor.

"Stop pestering me," the mephit snapped, the girl had been complaining to him about food and the likes since just after noon and he was truly tired of it all by now.

"It's all well and good for you," she said stamping her foot, "you can eat bugs, but I need proper food. And it's your fault that we don't have any, I'm just a child and shouldn't have to be concerned with such things as buying my own food. Can you hunt?" Flamekloud grumbled angrily and scampered up the rough flank of nearby oak attempting to be rid of the ceaseless pestering. The barrage of irritating comments continued for what felt like forever to the mephit. Before much longer his resistance broke.

"Fine, fine, we will find you something to eat, but I tell you now, the next time you feel the call of nature you go alone!"

"But Kloud who knows what's lingering out there in the brambles," she moaned.

"I do not know where you want me to find you food from," he complained as he hopped down from the lofty boughs of the oak. "It isn't like we can just go to the local tavern and order up a bowl of stew."

"I don't like stew."

"Whatever," he crowed, "you know what I mean. So where would you like me to get your evening feast?" He paced back and forward in front of the girl, trying to release some of the building anger, he always hated when she did this to him, but she always knew exactly what to do to get the fire mephit to do exactly what she wanted.

"I saw some mushrooms a while ago growing ob the side of the road, what about them?"

"You would last all of two minutes out here on your own," he griped, "you are eating any mushrooms, understand? Most types of fungi will poison humans, maybe killing them but at the least causing them to become lost in a cloud of hallucinations. And I can not tell one of these fungi from another!"

"Doesn't anyone else travel down this road? Maybe we could find some other travellers and get something from them, who would turn down a harmless young girl all alone in a deep dark forest?"

"Those fluttering eyes may work on me and your father but I do not think a trained guard or unscrupulous adventurer would fall for your childish charms." The pair started off down the road, leading the huge horse down the road to the south eagerly seeking the light of a campsite.

"Do you remember about an hour ago that group of riders passed us on the road?" The twelve year old asked soon after they had set off in to the gloom of the Nyradon Forest. "They must have had to stop in the dark too. Maybe they can help us?"

"Not us little one, you. No elf would accept such a creature as I; I will wait out of sight for you."

"How do you know they were elves?" she squeried.

"As you may have noticed in Greffen, the elves are not all that keen on anyone that lacks elven blood, not an awful lot of other peoples travel these roads in bands like that."

"What about doing the sprite thing again?"

"That works well in cities, but it is not so effective in the country. The smells of the city overpower my own unique bouquet. Where as out here I stink like an outhouse in Starmont."

"Oh yeah," she agreed, "I had forgotten how used to your stench I have become, I barely smell you at all anymore." The two fell in to an easy and comfortable silence as the continued to weave their way through the ancient woods. But within the hour Flamekloud's huge ears pricked up and he stopped walking.

"I think we have found your riders," he whispered softly, barely loud enough for the girl to hear. Varanee looked around in confusion.

"What?" she asked her voice barely more than a whisper too, but her words received a hiss of irritation from the mephit.

"Not so loud," he replied quietly, "if I can hear them, then they will be able to hear us. You forget how keen a true elf's hearing is, my girl. Now I will scamper to those bushes," he said softly pointing to a patch of thick knotted brambles some forty feet further up the road. "I will be able to see and hear you in their camp, so fear not." Varanee just nodded in understanding, not willing to risk replying verbally for the noise it might cause. She took a firm hold of Bramblejumper's reins and pulled the horse onward down the road, ever closer to the gathered elven riders.

"We have made good time today," said a strong proud elven voice from the clearing she was steadily closing in on. "Conditions for travel have been fair."

"But not so on the morrow," said a harsh voice in a response, "I sense a gathering of power in the clouds. It is starting to smell a whole lot like snow." Varanee unconsciously shivered at the thought of snow, she had never seen the stuff but she knew much about it from her lessons of geography from Flamekloud. Varanee had in fact never seen any true weather, for this was the first time in her twelve years that she had ventured out of the cavern known as Celldonne Prime.

"That is not good news," a female voice put in, her soft voice was majestic, the young part-elven girl had never heard such a sweet sound in all her life. "Won't it cause you some difficulty in tracking Barin?"

"No," the rough voice answered, "their scent will be clear sun, rain or snow." He paused before speaking again. "Greetings traveller, how fare you on this fine night?" Varanee was shocked to realise the question had been put to her, even though she was still out of sight of the party of elves. She heard the shriek of steel being drawn and creak of bows being pulled.

"Um," she started nervously, "hello, I do not mean to be forward, but I was just wondering if you perhaps had a bit of spare bread or cheese." The sound of feet grew closer, and then a pair of grim looking elves in chain mail came into view. They both held long swords drawn and they were now looking around the ground nearest to Varanee in search of any possible dangers lurking in the darkness. After a few moments the two elves let down their guard and ushered the girl to the camp of their fellows. Eight other elves sat calmly on their saddles on the forest, except for a dishevelled bronze-skinned elf who sat in the curving boughs of a leafless cedar. She saw the female speaker for the first time and her mouth fell open in awe. She was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, a face to make even the gods jealous. Her long hair, looked like spun gold glistening in the soft starlight. "Greetings, my Lady" Varanee said as she tried her best at a curtsy, a very unsuccessful attempt, she thought as she stumbled slightly.

"Good evening to you young mistress," the angel-faced gold elf replied fondly. "My name is Mirilisindara, but you may call me Dara. What pray tell is your name little one? And why are you and this fine animal alone in such treacherous surroundings?" A flush of fear washed over Varanee, her tongue felt tied in knots as she attempted to reply to the stunning elf maiden.

"My name is Varanee," he mumbled, she was planning to give a false name, but the adrenaline coursing through her washed the plan away in a moment of panic. "We…we as in me and my horse," she quickly added hoping they had not picked up on her error, she wished Kloud was here by her side but he was safely ensconced out of view in the underbrush. "Me and Bramblejumper were trying to follow my father who we know to be just ahead of us." Again she had planned to concoct a wonderful tale that would have kept her audience enthralled during its recital, but alas it was not to be, she just muttered out what first sprang to mind.

"Of course we have food to spare young lady," a dashing looking elf in the finest suit of chain she had ever seen said graciously as he rose to his feet in one easy, fluid motion. "Mirilisindara here was just about to fix supper, sit yourself down lass and let Barin see to your horse." The rough looking Barin dropped down from his perch above and gathered Bramblejumper's reins from her grasp and led him towards ten other gathered mounts at the edge of the clearing.

"Thank you, my lord," she said quietly.

"No trouble at all, now here would you like some water?" Said the finely dressed warrior, the dashing high elf seemed to talk with confidence and she could tell from his tone that he was the leader of this band.

"Yes please," she replied in an eager manner, she had not realised how thirsty she was until she heard water being mentioned. She pulled a water skin from his hands almost before he had a chance to offer it to her. She gulped at the warm water, quenching her thirst was not an easy task but she tried her hardest to accomplish it. After drinking her fill she held the water over her head and let it flow down onto and through her blonde locks. The water pushed back her mane exposing her small slightly pointed ears.

"My god," hissed one of the guardsmen, pointing at her, "she's a damned half-breed." A few of the other guardsmen also rose to their feet to get a better view. A couple of other gasps echoed among the group, as she instinctively pulled her hair back over her ears.

"Silence, you knaves," growled the handsome young nobleman, "she is but a child, keep your prejudices to yourselves or you will have me to answer to, is that understood?"

"Yes, your majesty," they replied in a military fashion.

"I apologise for my men's lack of decorum young lady, no offence was intended, but we do not see many half-elves around these parts."

"Well I am not actually a whole half-elf," she began, "more of a half-half-elf; you see only my half-elven Mother had elven blood. I suppose that makes me a quarter-elf."

"There is no need to explain little one," the beautiful Mirilisindara said, "as a matter of fact my mother's mother had human blood in her." The comment seemed to ease the excitement that was running rampant over the young girl's mind, just to think that she had something in common with the glamorous elven lady was a wonderful thought. "Come, sit at my side." The elven maiden beckoned the girl towards her with a shapely hand, rings of diamond and gold sparkled on her fingers.

Barin returned from the horses, after a few moments he approached the young elf, which seemed to be some member of a royal family. Varanee was not all that impressed with titles usually but she had never met a king or even a prince before, it all seemed very romantic. She was starting to feel this little trip would not be too bad after all. The rough leather clad elf spoke quietly to the royal. But fear returned to her young heart as she noticed the nobleman scanning the underbrush with a steady eye, with a hand gesture two of the guardsmen rose to their feet. And the harsh sound of steel being drawn once more rang out through the night air.

"You said 'we' earlier Varanee, you were referring to you and your horse were you not?" The young royal put to her.

"Yep," she gulped.

"Your horse seems to have a different view on the situation," growled the rough Barin, his hand resting on the handle of his grisly looking club. "She feels you are not so alone. You can come out now, where ever you are imp." He called in a steady sure voice, the sound echoed back at them from the darkness.

"Imp?" she questioned trying to sound as surprised by the idea as possible, she tried to move away from the elven maiden, but the elf's hand shot out as fast as a striking serpent and grabbed her wrist, "let go!" Varanee squealed in anger, no one had ever tried grasping her hand without her permission before, any one of her strange extended family would have slowly and painfully murdered anyone who tried such a thing.

"Calm girl," Mirilisindara said. "Barin, what has the mare told you?"

"She is not alone; out there somewhere is some kind of wretched imp. It is her minder," he replied, not taking his gaze from the dark woods, scanning for any tell-tale sign of the malignant little creature he now knew to be hiding out there in the deep shadows.

"Run Kloud," Varanee screamed, "Get father, Uncle Mak and Narris, go quick!" Tears streamed down her face as she spoke the words, but she knew of no other way of getting out of the situation, a situation that was rapidly slipping away getting totally out of her control. Then, she was sure she heard the sound of snapping branches from where she knew Flamekloud was hidden, she just prayed that he would reach the much needed grown ups.

"Mak? Narris? Who are you girl," the soft voice of Mirilisindara turned harsh as she questioned the twelve year old, shaking the girl roughly by the arm.

"Ow," she screamed, "you're hurting me!" Her words were lost as sobbing wracked her form and she fell to her knees.

"Mirilisindara let her go," commanded the young royal, his arm out stretched towards the girl and elf. "Do not let anger cloud your mind, my lady, would you act as those who we hunt?"

"I…I am sorry," she muttered as she slackened her tight grip on Varanee's wrist. "I will not harm you child," stated coldly, no emotion remained in her soft voice. "But you will answer my questions. What do you know about Maklelin Highbain?"

"I know he is gonna blast you a brand new arsehole," she growled defiantly the mention of the powerful Uncle Mak restored some of her lost courage. "And that's only if Father hasn't sliced you in two first, bitch! And you don't even want to know what Narris will do when he gets the Firebrand within ten feet of your stinking corpse, you wretched elven whore!" Surprisingly a laugh cut through the tense atmosphere, Varanee turned, tears still streaming down her face, to see the elven nobleman resting his hands on his knees as his chuckling continued.

"I have rarely heard such foul language girl," he said between laughs, "you could put a dwarf to shame with a tongue as sharp and a vocabulary quite as colourful as yours."

"You might well laugh now, you high-born swine," she snarled, "but your soul will burn in eternal torment when Uncle Mak unleashes bloody hell upon you! He'll wipe that smile and everything else from your scrawny face! And that, your majesty, isn't a threat it is a promise."

"We shall see young lady," A grim expression was now clear on his handsome face. "We shall see!"

2nd Kraagmont

Southern Nyradon Forest

"No!" Maklelin Highbain lurched forward, his mind suddenly aware that things were getting worse and worse for his would-be progeny. He turned round to see Narris looking at him a worried look on his ashen features. The thief crawled silently across the campsite, his careful feet not making a sound as he crept to Maklelin's side.

"What's up Mak?" he asked his voice a mere whisper, both wizard and rogue and glancing in the direction of the snoring Korvarn Truesteel. "Something is up and I wanna know what it is!"

"Perceptive as ever Narris, you know it is getting hard to keep secrets from you," the necromancer replied with a smile.

"And I am getting better at spotting when you are trying to change the subject on me as well," he thought it best to point out the wizard's ploy before the mage had hardly begun. "Talk to me Mak."

"Alright," Maklelin sighed, when Narris got his teeth into something he wouldn't ever let go. "In the Cant," he said as he threw another glance in the direction of the sleeping human.

Okay, what is going on? The fingers of the nimble flashed from one position to the other as the pair of half-elves began their silent conversation in the sign language known as the Thieve's Cant. Most thieve's guilds all over Korst taught their members the secret hand language of the streets and Narris had in turn taught it to his closest friend, Maklelin Highbain. The drow-kin had taken a great risk in educating the mage in the Cant, others who had taught the Cant to people outside the guild had been painfully and publicly assassinated. But the necromancer proved to be as good a student as he was a master, his dexterous digits, honed from years of spell casting, had adapted to the Cant swiftly. So now when it was for the best to make no noise what so ever they fell back on the Cant. Narris had also tried to teach Korvarn the skill, but alas the human did not have the much success with it, soon his lessons faltered and then stopped. So in the rare occasion that they did not want to inform or worry their friend they slipped into the Cant.

I am not entirely sure, the wizard replied truthfully. But somehow I have a feeling it involves my mephit and Varanee.

You are going to have to elaborate for me; I do not see where this is going. Narris swift fingers flashed at an urgent pace, he had never been keen on mysteries and riddles. They are both safe in the Spire are they not?

I fear not, Maklelin replied, checking to make sure the fighter was still asleep, he was not sure why he looked because the fighter's snoring could have been heard from a mile away. I believe my little familiar has been instructing her in studies that she is definitely not ready for. I can not be certain of anything just yet, so not a word to Korvarn, understood?

Understood! Narris flashed. You had better get some rest, Mak. We are going to need you on the morrow, I watch for the rest of the night.

My thanks, brother, Maklelin pulled his blanket up under his chin to fend of the chill in the night air and slipped into slumber as the winter's first snow began to fall. The thief watched Maklelin for a moment or two before approaching their small fire, poking it a few times with the enchanted Firebrand, causing the embers to once more flare into flames. The drow-kin shivered, he was a creature of the Underworld and had little love for the natural turn of the seasons. He preferred the warmth of Celldonne to all of this unfathomable weather. Pulling his travelling cloak up, over his head, he turned away from the fire light and let his keen drow vision adjust to the darkness of Nyradon.

Until dawn Narris kept his sleepless vigil over the camp and the friends he thought of as family. In a world that had never been kind to the dark half-elf these two men were the greatest gift he had ever been given, he could not even begin to imagine a life that was bereft of the two very different men. The rogue chuckled to himself as he formed a fist sized ball of snow from the inches of the soft white layer that had blanketed the forest since the darkest hours of the night. He rounded the projectile perfectly, and then tossed it from one hand to the other trying better judge its weight. Once he was satisfied he took aim with the freezing ball of snow and unleashed it upon its oblivious target.

"What the fu…?" spluttered Korvarn as he snapped to his feet, his axe at the ready, "to arms to arms." His warning cries fell silent as he looked at what he thought was blood dripping from the side of his head, but it was clear, just water. Then the laughter began.

"By Kkrassk, you should have seen your face," Narris said breathlessly between fits of continued amusement. Maklelin rose up from behind the rogue as silent as a ghost; in his right hand he clutched his own snowball. Before the thief was even aware the mage was there he felt an icy chill run down his back, then the soft laugh of the wizard replaced the drow-kin's. Narris flailed about trying to get the melting snow out of his shirt of tight studded leather, wailing in irritation. Korvarn joined Maklelin in laughter as the pair watched the mischievous Narris doing all he could to get rid of the melting snow. "I hate bloody snow," grumbled the rogue as he finally got free of the icy lump. "That was cruel Mak and after I did your watch for you too."

"It is at times like this when I actually miss the stench-rat," Korvarn sighed. Both of his companions looked at him in surprise. Korvarn's hatred for stench-rat, the human's name for Flamekloud, was well known among the group. From the very first meeting the fighter and the mephit had not seen eye to eye. "I do enjoy peppering the crimson skunk with snowballs; it is all he's really good for."

"He does indeed hate snow a great deal," chuckled the necromancer, on more than one wintry occasion the trio had pelted the wicked little imp with a barrage of snowy projectiles.

"He must be glad him and Vara are safely at the Spire," Narris and Maklelin flashed each other a brief glance at each other as the human spoke.

"Indeed," the necromancer said, interrupting the musing Korvarn, "I think it would be best if he up stakes and left. I am pretty sure our friends from Greffen will be catching us up if we tarry here." He got nods of agreement from both of his companions, in no time at all they were mounted and heading to the south even as the snow continued to fall.

Their hard paced flight came crashing to a halt as the trees themselves seemed to rear up in their path, later that day. Hulking leafless figures more than ten feet in height filled the thin road that cut through the elven forest. They screeched in a blood-curdling roar that caused both Narris and Korvarn's mounts to come crashing to an abrupt halt, only the lifeless Necresys lashed out instinctively at the trio of tree-like monsters. They were young oaks in appearance, but twisted hatred filled faces could be made out in their rough bark skin. Eyes full of seething anger flamed from within what looked like knots of wood on the monster's trunks.

"Treants," Narris screamed as he leapt from the back of Shadow, sending the horse away from the path of danger, a few meters away the well trained horse came to a halt, patiently waiting for her master's next command.

"No," Maklelin replied, "these are not treants. I sense a dark evil within these creatures. Treants are relatively peaceful as long as you do not harm their flock of trees. These foul creatures are something different entirely." The wizard stated as calmly as he would have if the trio had been sitting in the comfortable study back at home in the Black Spire. He pulled hard on his mount's reins, steering the necromantic steed away from the claw-like branches that the strange creature was thrashing in its direction. One of those limbs barely missed the undead Necresys, but the mage himself was not so fortunate. He was sent spinning from the back of Necresys by the blow; the branch had crashed into his chest with a great deal of force. He both felt and heard his ribs breaking as the deadly tree-like beast struck him soundly. He hit the ground hard, blasting the air out of his lungs, causing a spike of pain shooting up through his wounded chest.

"Mak!" Narris called urgently as he launched himself towards his friend. He was at the wizard's side helping him unsteadily to his feet while the still mounted Korvarn held the three creatures at bay with wild swings of his deadly axe.

"Is he okay," called the warrior from the midst of the frantic melee. The sound of wood striking the steel plates of the human's enchanted armour rang out through the battle.

"I will be fine," Maklelin wheezed in a breathless voice, the pain in the voice pushed Korvarn on to a new level of ferocity. Branches flew through the air as the ancestral blade of the Truesteels made short work of the wooden limbs. Each severed branch brought forth a scream of pain from the beasts, a scream that brought a grim smile to the warrior's face. The smile was soon wiped from his face by a whip-like tendril of the largest monster; it sliced a deep and painful cut into Korvarn's cheek. He staggered as another blows struck him from the other creatures.

"Hold steady, my friend," Narris called as he threw himself into the chaos of combat. "Get that horse out of here, give Mak room to work," The rogue said in a commanding tone of voice. Korvarn wheeled his steed around, and then kicked hard on its flanks with his heels. The war horse bolted towards Shadow and the monstrous Necresys that now stood guard over the mare. Juggernaut, Korvarn's mount, came to a halt with the other steeds as the human dismounted and rushed back towards combat. He glanced over to see Maklelin lost in the process of casting, soon, the fighter believed they would have the benefit of weight of numbers. The human came skidding to a halt at the thief's side and unleashed a furious chop. His enchanted axe sliced deeply into the tree-like monster.

"At least you've got a weapon that works," grumbled Narris as the Firebrand barely nicked the bark-like armour of their foes. "By the way," he continued in a matter-of-fact tone, "duck!" Both human and drow-kin fell flat to the blood stained snow that was being churned up by the fight, as an ear-splitting crack erupted behind them. Then the bolt of lightning they were both expecting streaked over their prostrate forms and hammered into the central monster which just so happened to be the largest and the self same monster that had struck the vengeful half-elf. Wooden splinters and black sap showered all in the area as the fearsome beast exploded upon contact with the powerful magical lightning. Just a short smoking stump remained where the creature had been. The arcane assault caused the monsters to temporarily think about the new and deadly situation. But before they could contemplate flight, the hated touch of the axe hacked into the trunk of one even as the flaming Firebrand struck deep into the eye of the other. Twin screams echoed through out the snow blanketed forest and in the back ground the mumbling of long dead archaic words were being carefully mumbled. One of the now scared monsters lashed out wildly, its branch catching a firm hold of the axe-wielding human around his waist. Wrapping the branch round the human's midriff was soon followed by a great deal of pressure being added. The human bellowed in pain as the monster attempted to crush him to death with his boughs.

"Frisrai Domuni cobustiyartai!" The arcane words rang through the clearing as ten small bolts of magical energy streaked from Maklelin's thin fingers. The magical missiles struck Narris' foe straight in its remaining eye, with a spine-tingling cry of pure anguish the monster shuddered and collapsed like a felled tree.

Only Korvarn's still squeezing foe remained intent on crushing the life from its enemy, even at the cost of its only existence. But the human still had fight left within him, he shoved the pain to the side and thought of young Varanee, thinking her safe back in the Black Spire. The face of his beloved daughter banished any bleak thoughts about losing this fight. His strength returned tenfold, his child was all the motivation he needed. A fiery determination sparkled in his eyes as he lashed out with his axe again and again. Each blow struck deeply and after the fourth such strike he fell to the ground, the clutching flailing branch, severed on the ground next to him. He tried to catch his breath as Narris stood over his fallen form, fending off the lone treant-like beast. Shaking his head, Korvarn crawled out from under Narris heading towards the once more casting Maklelin. He watched as jet of deep red flame shoot from the half-elf's palms, the beam hit the monster in the side of its trunk. With a steady look of concentration the necromancer intensified the incendiary blast. First the bark of the enemy grew black, and then it peeled away as the flames tore into the softer flesh below. The dying monster attempted to flee, but Maklelin did not relent, he was lost in his magic, his powerful will urging the fire hotter and hotter. With another fear-filled squeal, the monster fell but still the half-elf continued his deadly assault.

"Mak!" Called Narris, "I think you can stop, I'm no gardener or anything but that looks like dead to me." The tree like creature was barely recognisable once Maklelin dismissed the Aganazzar's Scorcher spell. A misshapen pile of smoking embers was all that remained on the forest floor. "It's a good thing it was snowing or you might have burned the whole damned forest to the ground!"

"Korvarn, how are your wounds?" Maklelin asked as he approached the human who still sat breathlessly on the ground.

"I'll be fine," he said between heavy breaths, "bastard just knocked the wind out of me is all. You?"

"Broken ribs," the mage stated as his hands delicate investigated his own aching chest, "three perhaps or maybe four. I have had worse."

"Can you ride? These things may have lost us valuable time if we are being followed," Narris wanted to know; seeing as he did not think that either of his companions would fare too well in another bout of combat.

"I shall be need to drink a potion or two before we go anywhere," Maklelin said as he started shuffling through Necresys' saddle bags. "They are in here somewhere," he mumbled as he moved from one bag to another. "Ah ha, here we are." He pulled two small vials of glowing blue liquid from the fourth bag; both bottles were sealed with small corks. With a pop he removed the two stoppers and had soon downed the contents of both. "We still have another," the mage offered a third vial to Korvarn who was now gently brushing as much black sap from his armour as he could.

"Save it, my friend, like I said, I'll be fine." Maklelin replaced the final healing potion back into Necresys' bag, then walked over to the tree-monster's smoking stump and sat down. He was waiting patiently for the pain he would soon feel. His jaw clenched as he felt the magic of the potions begin to do its miraculous work. Unfortunately the pain of ribs being forced back into place was even more painful than receiving the wound had been in the fire place. He held in a scream of utter pain as agony wracked his wiry body. Narris, as ever, was soon at his side, supporting the mage. After a few more moments, the convulsions stopped and the necromancer let out a long sigh of relief.

"Better than ever," he said thumping his chest as he swung into the saddle of the ghastly Necresys. "Mount up you two, like you said Narris we'd best be off." The thief was soon in the saddle, but Korvarn took his time as he gingerly clambered on to the wide back of Juggernaut with a quiet groan of pain. He glanced quick in the direction of his two companions, hoping they had not heard the sign of pain. Each jolt in Juggernaut's saddle felt like a hammer blow to the fighter's chest, the pain from the crushing attack of the tree-beast still causing him a great deal of pain. I'll be fine in the morning, he thought as he spurred his mount on to catch up with his trusted companions.

Less than an hour later, Maklelin called to group to a halt, "You two continue onwards, I will catch up soon."

"Be careful," Korvarn said as he rushed off on the back of the massive charger. Narris glanced around the clearing; his keen eye noticed a few bleached white bones that were barely visible on the snow covered forest floor. With a nod of understanding Narris and Shadow rushed to catch up with the departing human. No more than ten minutes later the mage mounted on his necromantic steed caught up with the duo.

"What was all that about?" Questioned Korvarn as Maklelin rode at his side.

"I was just leaving a calling card for our following friends, I just thought I would let them know we are thinking about them," he said as he smiled, he pulled up the deep hooded of his black travelling cloak shielding himself from the now heavily falling snow.

"Damn, damn and thrice damn," spat Flamekloud as he hopped nimbly from branch to branch through the tall boughs of the Nyradon Forest. With the skill of a simian from the jungle lands of Frah-Zea he swung from tree to tree, making good time in his race to attempt to catch his Master. "Damn elves! I hate elves!" Fear and guilt both raged in the wicked creature's hate-filled mind. Fear; the fear he felt at having to tell his Master that he had somehow managed to lose the much loved Varanee to the very people that the mage himself was fleeing from. And guilt; a feeling that was truly rare to the malignant mephit, guilt that he had lost the one person in the entire multi-verse, other than his beloved Master, that meant anything to him. He stopped to catch his breath and with a look of disgust in his beady black eyes he hissed at the freezing snow that was falling all around him.

"Stupid creature," he growled at himself as he continued his frantic race to the south. "Damn stupid mephit."

"By Ellesstari," swore the royal guardsman that rode on point of the posse. "The bastards killed three treants." While the fellow elven guard, Tinitus Farlander that rode at his side mumbled prayers of mourning for the three lost tree-herders.

"Shed no tears for this scum," Barin said as he caught up with the point-men.

"How can a man of the forest say such a thing?" queried Fastalinar Greyleaf the second of the two guardsman.

"These are not treants," he stated matter-of-factly as the rest of the hunting party and their lone hostage arrived at the scene. "These are foul abominations called sylvan stalkers. Twisted creatures of pure evil, demonic flesh eating monsters. No one in my sphere of expertise truly knows where they came from; all we know is that the reproduce like tree, so gather any seeds, they will look like acorns. We must be sure to destroy all of their spawn, for a change our prey has done us a favour."

"Time is pressing Barin," Mirilisindara griped as she held the reins of Bramblejumper tightly in her right hand even as she held the reins of her mount with the left. "This is a waste of our time."

"Anything that protects our forest can never be called a waste of time lady mage," Tarassar interjected into the conversation as he swung out of his fine elven saddle. "And the more of us that search for acorns, the quicker we will be on our way. Get the girl down, she can help."

"Think again sod," Varanee spat venomously. "So you tree-loving, grass-hugging savage, are you scared of these things? Why else gather up all your bloody acorns?" Varanee called to the druid as he started gathering the fallen seeds. She was then roughly pulled from her seat on Bramblejumper by Fastalinar and Tinitus to aid them in the collection process. She struggled against their grasp at first, but then she got what she thought was a better idea. So she grudgingly went to work with the elves locating the monster's deadly offspring. After the best part of an hour Barin declared the area safe from future generations of sylvan stalkers. Varanee was lifted back into her saddle, but she carefully kept her clenched right hand out of view. Once the posse continued its frantic chase a smile crept on to Varanee's face. Opening her hand she looked at the three sylvan stalker acorns she had managed conceal during the gather.

"One here," she whispered to herself as she flicked her wrist sending one of the three seeds spinning off into the elven woodland. "Grow strong," she snarled quietly, "grow strong and feed on as much elven flesh as your foul bellies can consume." Her smile grew even larger as minutes later she hurled her second acorn off into the thick underbrush. She was proud of her little act of vengeance; if these elves were going to try and harm her and her bizarre extended family then she felt she had to make them pay somehow. And this was the best way she could see to do that so she wallowed in her self satisfaction.

"I think I'll keep you," she said to the final acorn as she slipped into the inside pocket of her travelling cloak, well it was not exactly a real travelling cloak, just a thick brown dressing gown, but it was the closest thing she and Flamekloud could find for her before they set off on this disastrous adventure. Her gaze flicked back to the depths of the shadow-filled forest wondering if her friend was still nearby. The mere thought of him being there watching her protectively was enough to bolster her waning spirit. Little did she know that the mephit was far far away, scampering through the tree tops, swearing in the corrupt language of the Outer Planes.

The frenzied squeal of a frightened horse pulled her away from those thoughts. First she smiled thinking it was her father come to whisk her away to safety, but her smile faltered, somehow she knew that was not the case.

"By the gods," the scream sounded like it came from the young elven guard, Belfaeris Dalminian, Varanee grimaced at the thought. Of all her captures he was the only one who treated her with even a glimmer of respect and sympathy. His scream was cut short and replaced by an eerie quite.

"Onward," commanded the Prince as he kicked Greystorme into a run, leading the whole party forward at a frantic pace. When Varanee saw the situation, her feelings of guilt about Belfaeris' apparent death were washed away. More than a score of ghastly animated skeletons pressed the elves, raking with sharp fingers of bone and gnashing their filth covered teeth. Varanee knew the second she saw the monsters that this was an ambush orchestrated by her Uncle Mak and somehow she knew these lifeless manifestations of evil would do her no harm.

"He knows," she mumbled to herself as she for some reason suddenly knew that the necromancer Maklelin Highbain was aware of her peril. "How?" But she did not have time to ponder the question at the moment, as soon as she saw that the posse's attention was elsewhere she kicked her heels, almost viciously into Bramblejumper's flanks. The charger burst forward, barrelling through both elves and undead with a sense of urgency that matched its rider. She heard the elven voices rising in anger as her flight was spotted, but the speech was obscured by the crack of steel on bone.

"Go! Go," she ordered the horse as he continued to hammer himself south at all possible speed. And a high speed it was too, the meagre weight of the child was barely noticeable to the powerful horse. Glancing back over her shoulder her smile once again faltered, there right behind her was the beautiful but cruel Mirilisindara, keeping pace with Bramblejumper on her own piebald mare. A foul series of curses and profanities were lost in the sound of steel-shod hooves crashing into the frozen ground as the child began to despair with her situation.

"Get back here," the elven sorceress commanded, Varanee just kicked her mount even harder, trying to push him onto a new level of haste. But the horse was already pushing himself to the limit, Bramblejumper was powerful even by the standards of war horses but he had seen a few too many years to keep this pace up for long. As the minutes went by the distance between the fleeing girl and vengeful elf was closing. Varanee's curses continued as she finally realized the inevitable, but revolution still burned in her mind, she kicked at the charger time and again. As the minutes stretched on she could hear the elf's calls growing more and more frustrated as the half-breed refused to give up even though she was so obviously going to be recaptured. The air tingled with a familiar sensation and with it all her hopes fled. A high pitched whizzing noise streaked towards her from Mirilisindara, she felt Bramblejumper, tighten up, and then stumble before he crashed to the ground sending her sprawling through the air to crash in a heap on the frozen forest floor.

"I warned you," the elf calmly stated as she side sat upright in her own saddle as Varanee writhed on the floor. The young girl's right shoulder and hip ached with a pounding pain, where she had violently struck the earth. But her thoughts were not for herself, but for the proud Bramblejumper that still kicked out weakly only a few feet away from her, whinnied sounds of pain filled the air.

"What the hell have you done," Varanee wailed as she crawled up to the wounded horse. "Why kill him? I thought you people were meant to love everything?" Tears again ran down her face as she lay hugging the dying mount with all her strength, trying to comfort the horse in these last few moments of life.

It was ten minutes later when Barin, Tarassar, Miros and the three surviving guardsmen reached the site of Bramblejumper's fall. Varanee still lay next to her lifeless mount, her arms around his once strong neck, her small body shuddering with grief filled sobs.

"What happened," Barin asked as he jumped from his mount and fell next to Varanee, checking the heart beat of the charger. He looked at the upset girl and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder which she instantly shoved away, grim hate-filled expression on her face.

"You wanna know what happened," growled in a feral voice, "that bitch killed my Bramblejumper!" She thrust an accusatory finger at the elven wizard.

"You what?" he mumbled, looking at Mirilisindara for confirmation of the encounter.

"You heard me, look," Varanee pointed to the four pitted burns that lay clustered around the horses rear. A steely look of anger filled the druid's eyes, an anger that intimidated the young girl with but a brief glance.

"Is this your work? Or that of her imp companion?"

"It's mine," she stated with no sign of emotion one way or the other, "she was getting away and she is too valuable to our cause to lose her now." Barin growled in rage and rose to his feet, his fists clenched at his sides.

"You had best control your people Prince!" The druid snapped, his voice deep and throaty sounding similar the great jungle cats that dwelt in these very forests. "If there is another incident like this you will not only be looking for a new druid but a new mage as well!"

"You dare threaten Mirilisindara Silverwands? Listen druid, I will do anything in my power to see that I get justice for the death of Koratynn the Scholar! And I mean anything!"

"Aye, I dare, you forget your place woman," he retorted taking a step towards the mounted sorceress, "here in the heart of the Nyradon I can and will threaten who I wish! You stand alone wizard where as I have all the powers of nature at my call. Your words sound less and less like justice and more of hatred with each passing hour!"

"Cease this bickering," Prince Tarassar Lorinar of Greffen ordered in a commanding tone as he moved Greystorme to block the druid's path towards the gold elf mage. "Are we children? If not then desist from this quarrelling. As for your act here," he said turning to Mirilisindara, "it will not be forgotten, madam. Get a hold of your vengeance or so help me I will have you escorted back to Greffen."

Anger was still clear in her face and her eyes shot daggers of rage at both the girl and the sylvan elf. "As you command, your majesty."

"We have lost enough time. Come here Varanee," he said his voice still filled with dominance, "you shall ride with me, just so as we do not have any more of these little escape attempts." The girl looked down but made her way cautiously passed the seething wizard and the glaring druid. Tarassar reached down and gently lifted her with ease; she was surprised at the strength of the young royal. "This will all be over soon."

"I know," she replied, "so I'll give you one last chance, let me go and turn around and I promise I will keep my family away from you." There was no humour in her voice just a steady assurance in the offer she suggested. The prince was going to laugh the comment away, but the determination in the young girl's gaze was clear for him to see.

5th Kraagmont

North of Grankaela's Grove

"When is this bloody stuff ever going to stop?" The fire mephit was shivering uncontrollably, oh how he wished for the warmth of a roaring fire. It seemed like weeks since he had been able to feel anything with his frost bitten toes. He wiggled them all just to be sure they were all still working. A long burst of sneezes erupted unexpectedly causing the snow around him to sizzle in the steam of the nasal outburst. The fire mephit's mood was higher today than it had been since those damned elves had taken his little Varanee from him, for he knew that no more a few hundred feet away his Master and his associates crept through the forest's greenery approaching a badly constructed wooden shack. A shack that he knew contained both Grankaela the green hag and the much sought after Manual of Lifeless Existence.

Flamekloud could have approached the group at any time in the last few hours, but fear had kept him at bay. He did not know how his Master was going to react to the news of Varanee's capture. And even more frightening than that was the very real thought of Korvarn Truesteel and his deadly battle axe flying at him at full speed. No, he thought, it would be best to wait for a time when he could get to Maklelin without being spotted by the hated human. Once combat ensued, as he knew it would, he would then be able to approach the half-elf with a greater degree of freedom. So he sat down beneath an ancient oak and waited for the show to begin.

As the three Relikseekers dismounted, Korvarn released a hiss of pain. Both companions turned to look at him. "Got a damn stone in my boot," he lied; he knew that he would be needed in the up coming combat and fears for his health would, he worried, keep him from where he was meant to be. And he knew that there was only one potion of healing left between the three of them. I can take twice as many blows as both of them put together, he kept telling himself. They will need the healing more than I if things go badly, he reasoned, I have all this bulk, but they are no more than skin and bones.

"Narris," Maklelin commanded, "get over there, check it out. Korvarn and I will follow after you."

"Do you want me to do my thing?" he asked eagerly. He got the nod from the wizard and silently slipped off towards the ramshackle hut that stood no more than fifty feet away. Maklelin was lost in thought as Korvarn crunched passed him, he was trying to decide which spells to unleash into the fray. He was unsure about the use of his favourite repertoire of incendiary spells for fear of setting the hut aflame, with the priceless Manual within. He knew a great deal about hags in general, wicked spiteful creatures who have taken up residence in the Prime Material Plane from some corner of the Demi-Plane of Negative Energy, a plane of existence known for its deadly natives, creatures the likes of wraiths, wights, and some scholars even believed the much feared vampire. So they were not a foe to be taken lightly, most were magically gifted so before approaching the hut too closely he stopped and fell in to a spell. Within moments a glistening iridescent Globe of Invulnerability hung in the air around him. The arcane shield would protect him from lesser spells, but the necromancer still had her major dweomers to avoid and possibly thwart.

A booming voice shattered the silence, "Who dares approach the lair of Korsavterinakros the mightiest pit fiend of all?" The voice was vile and sent shivers of irrational fear running up the spines of all three Relikseekers. Korvarn paused in his steps. A burst of what looked like black flames erupted from the small windows of the shack and Korvarn threw a questioning look in the wizard's direction.

"Ignore her," he replied, no longer bothering to whisper for she obviously knew they were there already. "It is just a phantasm she has cast."

"What?"

"An illusion Korvarn, it is just an illusion."

"Oh right," he nodded back to Maklelin before he took a firm grip of his axe and charged roaring like a monster himself. As he reached the rotting wall of Grankaela's flimsy hut he unleashed a powerful swing with his weapon. The enchanted blade made short work of the decaying tree trunk wall shattering it into thousands of flying splinters. Soon though, within mere moments he came flying back out, writhing and jolting in the throws of a severe electrical burst, the lightning bolt that had struck the human continued on through him and crashed harmlessly against Maklelin's magical defences.

Narris watched Korvarn go flying from view as he circled up behind the shack, waiting for a good look at the hag's back to present itself. The strange consciousness that seemed to dwell within the flaming sword felt almost eager for the hag's blood and Narris had to control the urge to charge straight into the dangerous melee. "Not yet," he whispered gently to the weapon that was his name-sake, his voice seemed to sooth the malignant short sword and he continued his careful stalking of his intended prey. Searching for that one deadly strike he would need to end this fight swiftly.

Korvarn pulled himself to his feet, coughed once and felt wet warmth run down his chin. Wiping his face with the back of his hand he glanced down at a blood covered hand. Another cough wracked him with agony as he grabbed his axe from the ground and attempted to approach the hag, more blood gushed from his mouth. He shoved the awful pain aside staggering forward, and then he heard it, the sound of hoof on earth, their hunters approached.

"Korvarn, riders," Maklelin called, "get back here, I will take care of her."

"On my way," he gasped in reply, his friends needed him now more than ever, and there was no way he was going to let them down. He span around and charged in the direction of the fast approaching elven posse. He stumbled to the left, barely avoiding a shaft of silver lightning that screamed from Maklelin's out stretched arms. The magical strike was swiftly followed by a cry of pain from the direction of the damaged shack.

"Now!" Flamekloud said to himself as he scampered across the remaining twenty feet or so to his Master. The human fighter was too preoccupied, he thought, at this point with the elven hunters arriving Flamekloud was sure that he would not notice the heat-shrouded mephit as he scurried towards the necromancer. The familiar was at his Master's side in no time. "Master," he whined, "there is a problem."

"Foolish creature, what have you done?" Growled the mage as Flamekloud hopped into the safety of Maklelin's Globe, seconds later a roaring ball of fire shattered harmlessly against his arcane shield, another taste of the green hag's power.

"The hunters, they have Vara," he croaked out passed a lump of fear that had suddenly appeared in his throat.

Narris Firebrand slipped into the open door at the back of the dilapidated hut, his feet not making a sound on the leaf scattered floor. He could hear the grating gibbering that was the hag's spellcasting reaching another crescendo. The room was temporarily filled with light as the dweomer was unleashed.

"That's the way slag," he whispered to the hag, far too quietly for her to hear as he closed the distance between him and Grankaela, "just keep fighting Mak." Step by silent step he crept ever nearer to the hag. The Firebrand in his grasp yearned for the taste of the monstrous woman's blood. Another few steps and he was there, he let Firebrand loose, the fiery blade slashed out horizontally and moments later her grotesque head went spinning away from her collapsing body. He looked up from his perfectly executed back stab to see Maklelin spin around to face the north, he watched as Korvarn staggered forward to put himself in the path of the new arrivals, mounted elves.

"You will pay a price for this Flamekloud," Maklelin promised the mephit, the threat causing the familiar to cringe away from his powerful Master. "Now get out there and find her, contact me when you located her!" Flamekloud feared to even reply to his Master, the half-elf's voice could barely contain the anger that was building within him. The thought of those elves using her as a hostage disgusted him, how dare they involve a child in such a situation. As he watched Flamekloud race off into the woods he saw the elves charge in on horseback, three rushing directly at the staggering and stumbling Korvarn. The wizard was tempted to call to his human friend that these people had his child, but thought better of it. He had seen Korvarn lose himself in anger before and Maklelin would best describe those fights as messy. He made too many mistakes and here against three highly trained elven guardsmen one mistake could cost him his life.

Then a vision of beauty appeared in the battle scene, she charged in on her sturdy piebald mare, wands flashing in her hands and her silver silken robes billowing in her wake. Maklelin had rarely seen such beauty in all his years of extensive travelling. Her gold-kissed face though took the necromancer's breath away, not at the perfection of her but at the fiery rage that was clearly evident in her almond shaped eyes. He could feel her seething anger even as she roughly pulled her mount to a halt sixty feet away from him. Up came her wands, streaking from them came a hail of Minute Meteors, they popped and smashed against Maklelin' Globe as so many spells had this day.

Feeling safe in his magical Globe of Invulnerability he closed his eyes and fell into the inky blackness of the Dralo-Orb. Few knew the powers of the Orb, one of which allowed the user to communicate telepathically with others, with no more difficulty than talking as if face to face. Narris, he called with his focused mind, the elves have Varanee! Find her I need her safe before I can end this.

As he opened his eyes he was greeted by a storm of Magic Missiles striking his Globe, each one causing the Globe to flicker as its power began to wane. From the corner of his eye he saw the black clad form of Narris slipping silently through the bushes in search of the captured girl. He smiled grimly before falling deep into yet another powerful casting.

"Die," growled Korvarn as he struck out wickedly at the closet of the trio of mounted guardsmen. The blow was turned aside by the horseman's shield but the axe ricocheted from the small shield and slashed opened the side of the horse's neck. The mount screamed in pain and bucked, throwing Tinitus Farlander from his saddle. The elven guard crashed heavily to the ground, breathless he staggered to his feet, only to be greeted by the razor sharp blade of the Truesteel ancestral axe. The enchanted weapon stopped with a thud, buried deeply in the elf's face. Korvarn tore the weapon free, the body collapsing, but not quickly enough. One of the two remaining guardsmen's long swords opened a long and deep wound across the human's left shoulder. Korvarn grunted with pain but even wounded this grievously he continued to stand in his friend's defence, nothing short of death would stop the ever faithful warrior. He grunted and with a great deal of effort managed to get his weapon up in time to parry another long sword that came slicing through the air towards him. Sparks flew as the two blades crashed together, the impact sent shockwaves of pain through his wounded shoulder and chest.

"You will die, Maklelin Highbain," Mirilisindara screamed wildly after launching a series of Fireballs from her slim wands. "For Koratynn the Scholar I will end your twisted life and claim the Manual of Lifeless Existence in his name."

"I know not who you are, my lady," he replied calmly hiding the feelings of anger behind a stoic front, "but I should like to know who I am killing."

"You have met your match this day necromancer", she spat the word with a ring of pure hatred. "I am Mirilisindara Silverwands of the Golden Cabal of Greffen and I am your doom!"

"Bold words," he replied in a conversational tone, he was trying to draw as much attention to himself as he could, allowing Flamekloud and Narris to achieve their goal. "But many have claimed as much yet here I still stand, are you just another pretender to that title or can you actually do as you state?" The gold elf sputtered in rage, her anger growing more and more self consuming, her mind began to lose control of her pounding emotions. With a smile on his face Maklelin began the singsong chanting of another incendiary spell.

Barin of the Forest stood pacing back and forward in front of Varanee who was sat on the floor her feet entangled by a minor spell from the druid. She could stand but her feet were fastened tightly to the leaf shrouded forest floor.

"Let me go Barin," she said, calm and precisely without a touch of warmth, "save yourself fool, run, they will not hunt you down. This is your last chance."

"I admire your loyalty to your friends and family, girl, but I think you over rate their chances."

"You've never met them; I wonder which of us is under- or over estimating people. They've never met their match and I don't believe they ever will. You're not a bad fellow, I would not like to see you killed if I didn't have to," Barin almost shivered, her words were cold and passionless, she must have had a dreadful life, he thought to himself, for her to be so cold and calculating at such a young age. Maybe it would be for the best that she lost these evil influences and was raised by a state orphanage in Greffen or perhaps he could even persuade a local druid to take her on as a acolyte, for Barin could feel the power within this young hybrid. Lost in thought he did notice her eyes widen slightly as she looked in to the darkness of the forest in the direction of her family. There squatting in the bushes was Flamekloud, he was reading from a scroll and within moments he shimmered and disappeared from view. Varanee had seen Maklelin disappear in such a fashion hundreds of times in her life and she recognised the Invisibility spell for what it was. She glared back up at the druid and removing every last trace of the smile from her face, she did not know what the mephit was up to but whatever is was she definitely did not want Barin catching on.

"It has started," Barin said as he stared off in the direction of the cacophony of battle. Magic unleashed, the ring of blade on blade and the screams of death and anguish. He closed his eyes and said a short prayer to the Mother Forest apologising for the blood that was being spilt beneath her sacred boughs.

As soon as Flamekloud saw the druid close his eyes he swung from branch to branch like a monkey, silently and swiftly he crossed the clearing. When above the entangled Varanee he dropped a rolled up scroll on her and within moments was once more swinging into the depths of the bushes and relative safety. The girl had the scroll now; hopefully she would be able to solve this situation without anymore aid. He crouched down less than ten feet away from the druid still hidden beneath the veil of Invisibility.

A double handed strike from the mighty Korvarn met resistance in the form of an elven long sword, but its thin slightly curved blade was made for speed not strength. Where as the ancestral axe of the Truesteels was one of the mightiest weapons in this part of the world. As the two weapons collided, steel shattered and the double bladed axe continued on, catching the elf holding nothing but a hilt, square in the chest. The blow blasted through the thin elfin chain mail and took the elf right out of his saddle, crashing lifelessly to the damp blood covered ground. The odds were now one-to-one, Korvarn began to relax these were odds he liked. The elf continued to wheel his mount around the human, his long sword flashing in from a multitude of angles, but each was caught by the great axe. Before Korvarn could take advantage of the situation another rider burst into the grove from the left and another to the right of the clearing, Captain Miros and Prince Tarassar had joined the fray. Captain Miros broke through on the left flank nearest Korvarn as Prince Tarassar neared Maklelin on the right flank.

"Attack now your majesty!" Captain Miros screamed as he kicked his steed launching himself and his horse at the human warrior, who was still locked in combat with Arrisea Threewing the last remaining guardsman. The air was temporarily filled with a blazing light as Mirilisindara hurled a Fire Lance spell at Maklelin. The Lance shattered the necromancer's weakened shield, the force knocking the half elf back a few steps, as his own hands began to flash in a mystical rhythm once more.

"For the king," Prince Tarassar screamed as he nudged Greystorme into the thick of the action. If I could get close enough to hinder the necromancer, he thought, I could take him out with but a single swing. The prince could clearly see that Maklelin was totally unprotected as he stood there locked fast into his wizardry. "But where is the damn thief?" He asked aloud just before he felt someone land behind him on Greystorme. Narris dropped comfortably into position right behind Tarassar from the shadow filled branches above.

"Greetings your majesty," he hissed coldly as his left hand grabbed Tarasssar's hair as he pulled back his right, holding the Firebrand. "You might like to know you're my first prince." With that the Firebrand went to work, the flaming blade slicing the prince's throat with the ease of a warm knife through butter. Tarassar gurgled before clutching at his torn neck and falling from the back of Greystorme, to spend his last few moments bleeding out his life's blood on to the forest floor.

"Nice horse your majesty, do you mind if I take him?" Tarassar just thrashed mutely on the floor before death finally took a hold of him. "I'll take that as a yes." He spurred the mount on, crashing through the undergrowth away from combat, continuing his search for his stolen niece.

Maklelin just manage to create another abjuration spell, which would throw any magic cast at him back on their caster. He glanced over in time to see Korvarn pull a guardsman from his horse and proceed to open the elf up from groin to neck with a single powerful strike. The human was showered in his foes blood, the crimson fluid obscuring his vision. And in that one moment of confusion he felt a hot pain strike his chest. The final mounted elf, Captain Miros of Royal Guardsmen of Greffen, had attacked with a veteran's skill, the enchanted elven long sword sliced through platemail, his chain shirt and lastly his flesh. The fine elven sword erupted from his back with a torrent of blood; Korvarn stood motionless staring at the blade buried in his chest and straight through his heart. Maklelin watched in what seemed like slow motion as his friend, nay his brother slipped from the extended long sword.

"Nooo!" Uncle Mak's voice brought tears to Varanee's eyes; the pain in the scream was intense. Barin once more turned his back on the girl, wishing to be in the midst of combat, defending his precious forest from the likes of Maklelin Highbain and Mirilisindara Silverwands. His attention was elsewhere as Varanee unrolled the scroll and instantly began croaking out the nonsensical words that were shimmering on the enchanted paper. Barin began to spin around to see what she was doing, but before he could get that far he felt the painful sting of ten bolts of magical energy explode against his back and left side. He grasped at the wounded area, surprise clear on his face.

"You little bitch," he growled, to Varanee he seemed suddenly more savage than she had ever seen him, his eyes flared with a fury that directed towards her.

"Oops," she said in way of an apology as the druid charged right at her, his hand going for his gnarled club. As his hand grasped for the weapon he felt movement from behind him, seconds later he was hit by a bog-like stench. Flamekloud launched himself; probably the bravest act of his whole sorry existence, grasping hold of the right arm of the druid, the hand that was reaching for its club was hindered by the weight of the mephit. The fire mephit growled climbing the elf's back, his nails tearing small holes in the brown leather shirt that protected Barin.

"Get him Kloud," Varanee squealed trying to bolster the cowardly mephit's courage. "Bite him Kloud, bite him!" The logic seemed sound to Flamekloud as he saw the perfect spot on the side of the thrashing Barin's neck, the blood pumping jugular. His wicked, jagged teeth dug deep into the elf's neck, Barin tried to scream but no sound came out as Flamekloud snapped out again and again, each time tearing away another great gobbet of flesh. Then it was over, Varanee could see Flamekloud still munching away at the druids neck, but the elf lay there lifeless.

"Stop Kloud," she said softly to the mephit, "he's dead Kloud, and you can stop now." Flamekloud stood up; blood covered his face, the girl could still see strings of the druid's flesh hanging, stuck between the mephit's sharp black teeth. "Thanks Kloud, I knew you wouldn't let me down."

Both fire mephit and hybrid child span to their right as they saw a mounted shadow appear above them. As loud as he had ever moved Narris Firebrand entered the clearing his short sword in hand, sat in the saddle of Prince Tarassar's charger Greystorme. The thief dropped down out of the plush saddle, landing softly beside Varanee.

"I am sorry my child," he whispered once he had finished cutting away the vines that still entangled her feet. "On the horse…."

"His name's Greystorme and sorry about what?," she asked him as he helped her up into the saddle.

"Maybe, it's Shadow now. But this is not the time for happy camaraderie, you are in serious trouble young lady," he replied as he hopped up in the saddle behind her. "We had better get clear of here, Mak has barely started yet."

We have her Master, came Flamekloud's telepathic call. Finally Maklelin let loose his rage. Only once in his long life Maklelin had felt this kind of fury, which was the day when he had finally slain his Master and Father, Kyrov Highcliff in vengeance for his murdered mother. That had been the day when he had truly become Maklelin Highbain. He tried to slow his thoughts but anger was in control now reason was pushed aside by the all consuming rage. He could see his hands whirling as he realized he was chanted the verses to yet another arcane attack. Spells launched out one after another. The first, the deadliest attack Maklelin knew was thrown at the guardsman that was even now flicking Korvarn's blood from his blade. Both elf and horse were caught in the apex of the spell, an evil enchantment of the school of necromancy that drained the all the moisture from the area. Which included the water within the very bodies of the elf and horse, both wailed in pain and fear as the intense pressure ripped the vital fluids from their bodies, their screams ended quickly as both collapsed.

"That is just one more life that you are going to have to pay for you half-breed cur," Mirilisindara snarled as her wands flashed and a Cone of Cold, a freezing shower of hail and wind was discharged in his direction. But the elven sorceress was unaware of the Spell Turning barrier that Maklelin had raised and the frigid blast of icy wind was hurled back squarely at her, the caster. She tumbled from her horse at the impact; she clutched at her frozen left hand and pulled herself to her feet.

Maklelin wanted to say something to the elven mage but rage choked him and instead he began his next dweomer. A Lightning Bolt was followed by a Fireball then finally by yet another evocation spell, Flame Arrow. One, two three, the spells slammed into Mirilisindara, she was staggered and blown right across the clearing, her own mystical shields barely holding after the barrage.

"You will die," Maklelin Highbain stated firmly when he finally took a brief break from the series of frantic casting.

"Never!"

"Now," he screamed at her, dropping his staff to the ground he made a motion like he was grasping at the air, balling his fists then violently tearing them to either side. The clearing began to shudder and Mirilisindara once more fell to the ground. She looked down to see a smoking crack appearing across the earth, she looked up in fear at the necromancer as she recognised the spell.

"Split," he commanded, his teeth clenched in effort, this particular spell was difficult to cast under the best of circumstances, but Maklelin's reason was not in control. The unbridled rage ruled now, it reached into the reservoirs of power that lay untouched in his inner being, plumbing them and taking his casting to new heights. The shuddering of the ground intensified as the seconds passed by, the elf now unable to even attempt to stand as she was thrown around by the magically ensorcelled Earth Quake. Again her gaze went down to the earth itself, the crack grew wider, quickly. She tried her best to throw herself out of its way but the crack followed her unerringly. She screamed out in fear as the ground began to fall away beneath her. Within seconds she was slipping further and further in to the fissure, her finger clutching at the earth, but it crumbled away at her touch, slipping faster and faster she disappeared into the magical chasm. She slid from sight but Maklelin could still hear her screaming as he brought his hands back together in front of him with a loud clap. At that gesture the earth rumbled again and in the blink of an eye slammed shut ending Mirilisindara's screams forever. Totally drained, Maklelin scanned the clearing for any more enemies, finding none he walked to Korvarn's side and fell to his knees next to the body, tears flowing down his cheeks.

Maklelin knew not how long it was before he heard Varanee's gentle steps walked up behind him; she was sniffing as she sat down next to him and wrapped his right hand in her left. "H-e he's dead ain't he."

"Yes," was all he could say, he knew not how to comfort the girl. He knew not what love truly was, he had no idea how she felt at this most tragic of moments. He had never had a family or a man that he thought of as a father, all he knew was that he hurt inside, a pain he had never felt before and a pain he hoped he would never feel again.

"He is gone," Narris walked to her side and sat down, his eyes locked on the bloody hole over Korvarn's heart. Varanee's other hand took Narris' as they as one lowered their heads and wept. They knew not how long they had sat at their vigil at Korvarn's side, but when they finally lifted their gaze the moon had sunken into the elven forest.

"Good riddance," Flamekloud whispered after the three grieving half-elves wrapped Korvarn up in his blanket, his axe lay on his chest. He was grabbed savagely from behind, the strong fingers of Maklelin Highbain dug into the mephit's bony shoulders. The wizard spun his familiar around to look him in the eyes.

"If Varanee had heard your words I would have killed you," he growled at the cringing mephit, "if I hear but one stray word from your lips about Korvarn I will make you wish you were never spawned!" Flamekloud could both see and hear the rage in Maklelin's usually calm manner and for his own personal safety he decided he had best heed the words of his Master. All fell silent once more in the clearing as all three thought of how much they had lost on this fateful day.

12th Kraagmont, 6399kt

Celldonne

"It's not much of a Lifeday is it Mak?" the thief said as the pair sat quietly in their chairs of choice in the Black Spire's luxurious study. As he spoke he glanced over at the large empty chair that was still pulled up close to the room's lone window.

"Thirty one years and still I can not protect those that I love the most, if I asked for one gift on this my thirty first year of life then I would have that vacant seat once more filled with a Truesteel."

"I agree, but not all is lost," Narris said as he pulled his pipe out and filled it from his weed-pouch, filling it with his most exotic and potent weed. After two deep draws on the pipe the drow-kin continued. "She's twelve now you know?"

"Too young!"

"Why cause she's a woman? Look what we had achieved by her age. You said you wished his seat was filled with a Truesteel and we have one with us in this very tower."

"Still, she is too young."

"Now you sound like Korvarn," the thief replied. "I'm not saying we take her out in the field today and have her join us on the road in the next season but I think she should begin real training."

"Her training has already begun," Maklelin said, "Her father has already taught her the basics of axe-play. We shall need to work with her a great deal on that but it is outside our spheres of expertise."

"Who says she has to be a fighter? You've seen her hands move; she could be my apprentice in the art of filching without a great deal of work."

"She will wield the axe!" Maklelin said his statement left no room for argument.

"Alright," the rogue conceded, but Narris quick mind was already working on another plan of attack. Another two deep tokes on his pipe he blew a cloud of smoke at the fire mephit that stood a few feet away. Flamekloud had been keeping a low profile since their return to Celldonne; Maklelin's anger was still burning bright in his lone eye every time he looked at his familiar. The fire mephit quietly cleared his voice and broke his silence with tentatively put forth the idea that had been spinning through his mind since the lumbering human had fallen.

"Master I have been thinking."

Varanee walked into the study early the next morning, her heart and mind laid low with grief. Her beloved uncles had sent Flamekloud to get her no more than twenty minutes ago. She feared that her remaining family would discard her now that her father was no longer around. It was an irrational thought but never the less the thought would not let her go. Flamekloud had spent much of the passed twenty minutes trying to get the fear out of her head, he had tried his hardest but still it persisted.

"Good morn, little one," the unmistakable voice of Narris Firebrand said as he sat shrouded in a cloud of smoke from his small clay pipe.

"Morning Narris," she said, her voice clearly expressing the fear she was feeling inside.

"Good you are here," Maklelin had entered behind the girl, dressed in his customary black robes, his feet lost out of sight due to the floor length robes gave him the appearance of hovering across the room rather than walking. "We have much to discuss this day, please Varanee take a seat. Narris pull Korvarn's chair over here."

"But that's father's chair."

"No longer," the necromancer said, "it is the Truesteel chair, so sit. Since our return from the Nyradon we have debated your future…"

"You don't need to say it Uncle Mak, I know what's coming," she interrupted before the wizard could finish train of thought. "Where am I being sent?"

"Sent?" the drow-kin questioned as he exhaled a lungful of smoke.

"Yeah, sent. I know you do not want me around now father has…." Her voice started to break and tears filled her eyes. "…gone, I will have my stuff ready tonight to go."

"Some times she is just like him, always jumping to stupid conclusions," Narris said. "Here is a plan girl, shut up long enough for Mak to speak."

"Thank you Narris, now as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, your future and our futures," Maklelin began again. "Your father always wanted his heir to bear the ancestral axe of your forefathers and as his closest friends we will see that wish fulfilled."

"But what about my Pulse? I thought I was going to be a great wizard?"

"Pesky mephit, what have you been telling her?" the necromancer asked Flamekloud in a cold voice.

"Very little my Master I swear it," the familiar squirmed under the gaze of the necromancer. Maklelin slowly turned his attention back to the girl.

"This will take a lot less time if you cease interrupting me," he said, "We have promised your father in days long passed that we would place his axe in the hands of his heir. But we have talked about this long and hard since our return but could not find common ground, until Flamekloud came up with a solution we could all agree upon."

"We have decided upon a course of action that will place a great deal of pressure upon you, testing you to your limits," the wizard continued. "You do indeed have a powerful Pulse as Flamekloud has told you and I would not be happy allowing one with potential such as your go to waste. So you will wield the axe, but you will also be apprenticed in the art of wizardry."

"As Mak said you'll be tested but that isn't the end of things," Narris took over from the mage. "I have already begun my training with you, your hands and quick mind are the qualities needed in some one in my sphere of expertise and like Mak I'd hate for one as clearly gifted as you to be left at the way side."

"So to summarise," Varanee said after thinking about the situation as it had unfolded before her. She was staggered by what she had heard. On her way down here she had thought that soon she would be packing her things and being alone and friendless on the dangerous streets of Celldonne. But what had just happened knocked her for six, "you want me to train in three different fields?"

"Exactly," the wizard said. "You will be a mage, a warrior."

"As well as a thief," Narris put in between two tugs on his pipe.

"I don't have to go?" She gasped in joy, tears freely running down her cheeks.

"Of course not," Maklelin said with a smile, "you shall always be family!"

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