Blue, the shade of the still depths of Lake Elunara, pulsed from the stone Elian fitted into the waiting mithril prongs she'd formed into the amulet in her pale hands. The cerulean light illuminated the grove where she sat, perched lightly on a thick root. A smile flitted across her face as she whispered words of power over the newly-bound stone. Her voice was deep and low, and trembled as the last incantation sank into the amulet. The stone flared bright one last time, then sank into an expectant tumescence.
Elian traced one long, slender finger over the cool brilliance of its facets. Her eyes narrowed. "Keep him safe," she whispered. "Keep him whole."
With a brisk shake of her head, which sent the long fall of her moonlight hair fluttering, she slid the amulet into the soft leather pouch at her belt. Lifting her gaze to the stars, she breathed, "Elune's grace protect us all."
Then her eyes slid shut and her body shifted. The heady scents of the night forest strengthened. She could sense the spot by the stream's edge where a rabbit had stopped for a drink an hour past, the musk of a herd of deer over the next rise, and over it all, a strange rancid foreboding.
Opening her eyes, Elian bounded forward, her soft, broad paws conforming to the earth with each step as she raced through the night towards Astranaar.
/\
Even in the small hours of the night, the docks of Theramore were not still. Men milled about in the lantern light, shifting crates, sweeping away the detritus of the day's bustle, and a few intrepid fishermen stood huddled in their cloaks against the chill.
Elian's keen eyes picked out a familiar figure at the far end of the dock, sitting in the gentle mist, staring out over the water to where it faded into the blackness of the sky. His blue-black hair rustled in the slow breeze, but he wore no cloak or armor. Dark silk clung to his broad shoulders, damp and cold.
Shifting into her feline form, Elian sank into the shadows and stalked down the mist-slicked wood of the dock. Not a soul marked her passing, and she caught bits and pieces of unguarded conversation among the dock workers as she moved. They spoke of a growing menace, of creatures out of nightmare stalking among the living. Elian turned her thoughts away from their words, focusing on the lone man, now just ahead.
She paused, letting herself take in the beauty of him, the scent of cedar and spice that was so uniquely his. If she could have smiled, she would have, but sadly, this shape would not allow it.
"Are you going to stare at me all night, Elian," he asked, his back still towards her, "Or allow me the joy of your smile?"
In an instant, Elian resumed her elvish form and smoothed her hands down her leather armor. "How do you do that, Conlon? I know you can't see me."
She could hear the laughter in his voice as he replied, "I always know when you are near. Like a singing in my blood."
He glanced over his shoulder and smiled up at Elian, but she could see a telltale tightness to his brows. Something troubled him. Well, that should come as no surprise. Any rational person would be troubled in these times.
"Sit with me?"
As Elian moved to his side, Conlon reached into the pack at his feet and pulled out his cloak, laying it on the damp planks. Elian settled onto it gratefully, glancing over at Conlon who was once again staring out over the waves. Unwilling to intrude into his silent contemplation, Elian simply leaned close against him. Even through the heavy wool of her cloak, she could feel the chill of his body. Turning her gaze to follow his, she laid her head against his shoulder.
They sat thus in silence for many long minutes, her head moving up and down with the steady rise and fall of Conlon's breathing. At last, with a sigh, he reached an arm around Elian's shoulders and held her tight. "I'm glad you're back."
"As am I," Elian replied, running her fingers over the sodden silk shirt clinging to the muscles of his chest. "What's wrong, Con? What worries you so?"
His hand closed about hers, stilling her restless fingers. Somehow his hand was still warm, even after sitting so still in the darkness and the damp. The soft heat began to melt into her skin.
"You still intend to follow this course?" he asked.
Elian bowed her head. "I must. It is the will of the Archdruid."
Heat flared in Conlon's hand, and although he sat as still and calm as a great oak, she recognized the surge of bloodrage flooding through him. "It is not his right. He cannot ask this of you."
Elian closed her eyes and breathed in the salt tang of the air. "It is his right, Con. And my honor."
"It's too dangerous, Elian!"
The ferocity in Conlon's normally controlled voice startled Elian and her eyes flashed wide.
"I've been there," Conlon continued, his arm tightening around her to the point it hurt, but Elian made no sound. "I've seen them. Mutilated things – nightmares made flesh. Though parts drop off their bodies, they are strong - very strong." He turned then and stared down at her. "You are not ready for this."
A sharp clanging split the night air. Elian glanced down the dock and saw the prow of a ship lit by a single lantern nudge into the dock, men scurrying to lash its ropes to the pilings.
She pulled Conlon's fingers to her lips and pressed a kiss to them, then rose in one lithe motion to her feet. "It's time."
Deliberately, she walked away from him, knowing he would follow. She pulled in a slow breath, focusing on her core. It wouldn't do to let him sense her fear. For she would follow the course set before her, or Conlon would die. And he would follow her into the heart of hell, where there was a chance - the slightest breath of a chance - that he would live. That she could save him. Even if it cost her own soul.