Sêlune's shadow bathed the battlements in its quiet glow, the reinforced fortifications gleaming silver in the light. It was quiet, still; the only sound the gentle sighs of the sleeping forest that surrounded the fort. A breeze whispered through the trees and brushed along the rolling undulations of the land to break upon the stone edifice that was Crossroad Keep.
A single Greycloak sentry stood guard at the base of the cobbled road leading up to the Keep, his eyes heavy with the temptation of sleep, yet kept awake by will alone. Sêlune's milky radiance touched him too, washing his chainmail, somewhat tarnished, in the same silver glow as everything else.
He shuffled his weight and stretched himself, rearing on the tips of his toes. It had been a long shift – a series of long shifts. They were stretched thin at the Keep, ever since the siege. So many men were gone. In his mind's eye, faces flashed. Good men, able men, they had joined when the Keep was rebuilt not too long ago. Some volunteers, some recruits, all lads inspired by the courage of their Captain and Sergeants, ready to lay down their lives in the defense of their homes. And now so many of them had been called to do just that. They were gone yes, but they would be remembered. The garrison of Crossroad Keep was unmatched and they had held their ground in face of the undead legions of Black Garius.
Such thoughts swirled in the mind of the sentry as he kept his lonely vigil. The man's name was Dobbson and he was one of the earliest recruits. He recalled with the fondness of a man devoted to his leader, his first interaction with his Knight-Captain, then a mere Captain, a rank and appointment conferred because of circumstance rather than service and the men were wary and suspicious of their new overlord. His anxiety was well-founded therefore, when Lt. Kana found his waiver of the Amn Tax improper and sought to punish him. He was brought before the Captain and told to explain himself. Words failed him and stumbled from his mouth before that iridescent pair of eyes.
He had never before beheld such a stare. Pupils so brilliantly green that it could have been pools of magical spirit essence and they seemed to bore through him like acid arrows. She was tall as any man and possessed a statuesque grand beauty. Her blood was plane-touched, of that much he was certain.
They had been told that the new Captain was a Harborman, so somehow what he expected was a country lass not what stood before him. There was a quiet authority about her and even though her years were few and there was not one silver hair on her head, instantly he knew she was more than capable of anything put before her.
"Captain, it was no bribe, I would never take a bribe. It's just an old law made centuries ago with no relevance today. It's accepted practice for toll to be waived. I did nothing wrong." He had stammered, it was the truth as he believed and knew it and though a part of him proposed other excuses more plausible, he found himself incapable of giving voice to them before her acid stare.
Somewhat mercurial, she could be generous and kind one instant and sharp the next. When the Neverwinter City Watch requested manpower, she spared the men even though the Keep needed all able hands. Yet when her men's arms and armour suffered through lack of funds, she felt no qualms choosing The Fated Winds. That day, she exonerated him despite Lt. Kana's indignation. It raised the morale of the troops. They realised that the Captain was not unreasonable; that she was approachable and they need not fear her wrath needlessly. Yet she demanded discipline and their training was much tougher than what the other Greycloak regiments underwent. Their weapons and armour too were keener and stouter than any other. The roads were patrolled regularly and the lands were cleared of unsavoury men and beasts alike all the way to Neverwinter. Peasants flocked to the lands around the Keep and within only a few seasons, a town charter was signed. Merchants returned to the High Road and thronged to the Keeps' Inn where ale flowed smoothly and Joy performed every evening. Life was good at the Keep, and everyone knew it was the Knight Captain who steered their ship with the wisdom and grace of a grizzled veteran.
And now she was gone.
All night they had battled the forces that besieged the Keep, and fought off the Shadow Army. So many men were lost. He himself had seen Sergeant Katriona brought down by a posse of elite vampires and ghasts. They had found her remains the next day, drained of blood. He felt a deep void in the pit of his stomach. Katriona was brave and noble and had fought valiantly for this land's freedom. He would always honour his superior and remember her firm determination but there was a greater loss still that fell upon the entire garrison like a Curse of Despair.
Dobbson glanced across to the empty room at the top of the Neverwinter Nine tower, that belonged to Nevalle, where a candle could often be sighted even deep into the night. It had lain empty for over a month. Sir Nevalle had yet to return from the Mere.
For a week after the shadow lifted and the Claimed Lands receded, Sir Nevalle had waited to welcome her Ladyship home. For a whole week, the emissaries of Lord Nasher had camped in the Courtyard to celebrate the victory with the Lady of Crossroad Keep, but the Knight never returned. Eventually they returned bearing the unhappy news to Nasher. Sir Nevalle could not be deterred and he took a large number of what remained of the garrison to bring the Lady back, but there was no word from them and Dobbson feared the worst.
He sighed and entered a silent plea to Sêlune as she faded behind clouds and disappeared into the night. He inhaled the sweet pre-dawn night air and even without an hourglass he knew the day would break soon and he would be relieved of his watch.
--
'Over here!' 'I think I found something!'
Nevalle looked up and squinted against the sun. Damp swamp air clung to him like a Dreadwrap, so heavy he could cut through it with his sword. His tunic was tattered, grimy and terribly stained with mud and his last good pair of boots had given up today. He had fastened sole and upper together with rope and though it made walking difficult, it was the best he could do. He wiped the sweat from his eyes and strained to see what the commotion was about.
For five weeks, he had toiled here in the sticky heat of the Mere of Dead Men moving the rubble by hand in the hope of finding her. At first, Nevalle hoped to rescue her alive but as the days turned to weeks and the weeks now spilled into months, that hope had waned. Now he hoped that the Saviour of Neverwinter may be given a proper burial and the City, all of Sword Coast could honour her sacrifice and courage.
Now once more, after a hundred false starts, his heart lifted momentarily and he trudged through the slime and debris of the Shadow Temple to where an equally weary Greycloak subaltern claimed to have 'found something'.
"What is it, soldier?" Nevalle asked rasping for breath.
He glanced at the only man among them who showed no sign of fatigue or discomfort. He looked as fresh and at home after five weeks of picking through the rubble of the Illefarn citadel as he might have looked after a casual stroll around the park. Though his stature was diminutive, his loss was not. His hair had begun to grey in these few short weeks and Nevalle could see silver streaks. The man had aged more in the last month than in the last century. His eyes were sad but he said nothing, and Nevalle could tell he still hoped to find his daughter alive.
"Sir, I think. I think it might be …a person."
Nevalle felt a constriction in his throat. Please don't let it be her, he silently begged the Gods. Even though he expected to, was determined to find her remains, the thought of confronting her corpse filled him with dread.
So many times, he had just been on the verge of telling her, finding words for the feelings that had taken root in his heart but the moment had never been right. Now she was gone, and the thought that he might never look into those brilliant green eyes again, or hear her voice across the courtyard, or steal a brush against her soft smooth skin crushed him as surely as these massive slabs of ancient stone before him had crushed the knight who had once been his squire, his squire. He repeated the thought to himself, she had been his once and he had hoped to make her his again.
He braced himself and held his despair in check as he dropped down on his knees in the mud and struggled to free the body trapped beneath.
"I think, sir…I think it's a man, sir."
Nevalle was able to exhale. A part of him was disappointed – the part that sought closure; the part that wanted to return to Neverwinter and clean clothes, but there was another part of him that was relieved – the part that still clung to the hope that she might yet be alive, the part that bound him to this horrid swamp and made him toil day after day in the wild hope of gathering her in his arms at last and telling her what he felt.
"Is…it… one of her…companions?" He found his voice, but it came out hoarse.
Daeghun had already begun a closer inspection, and in a few moments he announced his result.
"Some of this hair, it seems to be still intact and although maggots have not left much," Nevalle recoiled, the thought of her body desecrated by maggots and rotting in the peat struck him anew and he prayed again that he would not find her in that way, her graceful beauty sullied.
"I think the hair was brown, and judging from the build of this man. I think it was the ranger, my brother's acquaintance."
"Bishop!" A surly looking Greycloak, filthy with labour, spat out. "Bloody traitor! Bastard whorespawn!" He swore loudly and compounded his words by spitting on the rotting corpse.
"Easy, sergeant." Nevalle spoke up. "He lies dead before us now. I wager he suffers terribly in the hereafter for his crime."
Two men dragged the body out and laid it to rest in a makeshift shallow grave where the swamp would soon swallow it.
Some hours later, fed and watered the men prepared to turn in for the night with another hard day's worth of labour ahead of them. They were encouraged by the day's find and the hope that they would recover the Lady's remains and be able to return home soon comforted them.
Nevalle himself took little comfort in this and as he strolled through the campsite toward his tent, he spotted the old elf at the edge of the clearing, staring listlessly toward the forlorn outline of the ruined edifice.
"We'll find her, sir. There is a chance. The building seems to have held up toward the centre of the structure. It's possible there were air-pockets and there is no need to give up hope yet. I think her Ladyship, she had sufficient rations and it's…entirely possible…" He began reciting the same futile thread of logic he repeated to himself at night, so he could welcome sleep that otherwise would elude him.
"His skull was crushed, as was his spine. He must have been conscious for a few hours, slipping in and out of wakefulness; the weight of the stones crushing him ruptured his intestines…broke his limbs." Daeghun paused and both men mulled over the same thought.
"It is indeed, a most painful way to go." Nevalle whispered finally. His voice faltered as he struggled to shut his mind off, too afraid that it might wander and begin imagining what her last moments were like. "I think we should sleep now." he ventured finally.
The elf did not stir. After a long awkward pause, Daeghun spoke again, "He was barely a hundred yards from the exit…just a few more moments…"
Ten days later, Nevalle himself found what had eluded him for six weeks. The discovery did nothing to cheer him, and the thought of returning home to Neverwinter and clean clothes and pleasant weather did little to comfort him. That night as he sat alone with his thoughts in his tent and ran his fingers over the tattered, faded material he felt his eyes prick and before he could raise his hand to wipe it off, a single tear escaped and fell down his cheek. It had been her cloak. It was nothing but a rag now, even the colour had faded. Only the fearsome eye that symbolised her Knighthood remained, cruelly squeezing out any last vestiges of hope he might have harboured.
They recovered another body as well. Small in stature, and from the build and the ears, they concluded it was an elf, but whether man or woman they could not identify.
