Gambit

by Fatality

(Kings and Pawns Book II, sequel to The Rook) In the hallowed halls of the Shadow Mages College, a disgraced loremaster risks everything in a desperate attempt to return to his sovereign's favor. In the tumultuous recesses of a doppelganger's mind, a shadow sorcerer who longed for death now struggles to come to grips with the cursed half-life he cannot escape.

4. Chapter Four - The Lie Eternal

Voltain Darkydle entered the Emerald Atrium feeling strangely buoyant, the same way he had felt since declaring himself Lord Artificer and sharing with the people of Deep Imaskar his plans to harness the ancient volumes of the Imaskarcana and lead their triumphant return back to the surface world. For the most part his self-appointment had been met with great enthusiasm and support; the people of Deep Imaskar, it seemed, shared his dream of returning from the lands their ancestors had been driven from centuries before, and the hardy and determined people were not about to shy away from the hardships they would inevitably endure while striving to realize that dream. The only real opposition he had met thus far was from the usurped Illis Khendarhine, whom Voltain had known from the start would be most unwilling to accept that he had been so suddenly supplanted with grace and dignity – those who enjoyed power as much as Illis did seldom surrendered it without a fight. Even Illis' reluctance had been easy enough to deal with, though; Ebrul and Furyma were fully on board with the drastic political upheaval Voltain had proposed for their people, and through their joint efforts they had little difficulty keeping the High Lord Planner cowed.

His optimism was dashed that evening, fully a week after he had seized the title of Lord Artificer for himself, when he arrived in the council chamber to find Illyria Linovahle among those waiting for him.

"Ah, good evening, Lord Artificer," Furyma greeted him warmly, the serenity reflected in her olive eyes completed unjustified in Voltain's opinion. There was a meddlesome girl-child seated at their council table wearing an expression of eerie innocence that made the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, one who was very obviously not of the Imaskari race, and no one had batted an eye?

Voltain studied Illyria's cherubic little face for the barest hint of an explanation, but her oddly composed expression gave nothing away. What could she possibly be thinking, revealing herself to them? He needed the support of this ruling body in order to enact his plans – surely she realized that? "Explain this."

"Explain?" squeaked Illyria, her too-blue eyes bright with hurt. "You don't remember? You asked me to meet you here. I've already explained everything to your advisors."

For a horrible moment Voltain felt certain that his credibility was about to be suddenly and unceremoniously destroyed, thus abruptly ending his campaign to recover the other volumes of the Imaskarcana, but surprisingly Illis spoke up then. "I must admit, Voltain, that at first I sincerely doubted your ability to bring about any kind of substantial change, but the impressive strides you have already taken makes me wonder if I was wrong to question your judgment. To think that you had made such powerful allies on your sojourn into the Underdark's tunnels… It is truly fortunate that you have brought Illyria into our midst. There is no questioning her usefulness to us."

"Yes," Voltain agreed reluctantly, his eyes never leaving Illyria's while he pondered what this might mean. The young gloaming was unpredictable and prone to rash, often volatile mood swings – often he equated her ever-changing temperament to that of a powder keg, and as a result he was often placating her in order to avoid the resulting explosion. She looked serious enough now, her emotions perfectly under control, but what guarantee did he have that he could count on her to remain this even-tempered now that the ruling body was aware of her involvement? "Very fortunate."

"Now Illyria," began Ebrul – Voltain could tell that the Lord Apprehender remained skeptical of Illyria's intentions simply by reading his expression. "You were quite vague as to how you came about your information. If what you say is true, and one of the volumes of the Imaskarcana now resides within Thultanthar, it is only natural that we ask you to supply proof of this claim before we act. The Princes of Shade are powerful, and would make for dangerous adversaries if we wrongfully accused them."

It occurred to Voltain then that he was still standing awkwardly in the doorway leading into the council chamber and he took his seat gratefully, his head spinning unpleasantly. He hadn't taken issue when Illyria had disclosed the location of the Imaskarcana to him a week ago – though the information had brought to rise at least a dozen burning questions he had swallowed them down and simply accepted her counsel, knowing that the more questions he asked the more unwanted, inconsequential details she would likely supply. He had rather hoped to keep this information from Illis, at least – who knew what the High Lord Planner would do if they were able to pinpoint one of the ancient texts? Would he incite the other advisors to mutiny? Would Voltain have a revolt on his hands? Was he yet powerful enough, armed with the Fifth Imaskarcana as he was, to dispatch all three of them and lead the city on his own? He could feel the ageless arcane potential flowing through his veins now as though the magic was just anther part of his genetic makeup, but his study of the book was still incomplete – Illis Khendarhine had been in possession of the Third Imaskarcana since he had taken up the mantle of High Lord Planner, and Voltain had no doubt that he had long since memorized every single dweomer penned upon its fabled pages. If through Illyria's counsel Illis could apprehend a second volume for himself…

"Of course," Illyria was saying agreeably, effectively derailing Voltain's potentially disastrous train of thought; she scooted her chair a little closer to the round table around which the five of them were gathered and laced her fingers together on the smooth wooden surface, appearing far more businesslike than Voltain had ever witnessed. "The drow that Voltain brought back into the city with him when he recovered the Fifth Imaskarcana weren't alone – they were part of a larger scouting party, and when their friends didn't come back they went looking for them. They found another of the books in the same ruins that Voltain did, but there were too many of them so I couldn't try to take it from them by force. They're friends with some drow that's pals with the High Prince now, and for whatever reason they gave it to him – I tracked them to Anauroch, but I couldn't get any further because well, the city flies and all that."

Voltain blinked but made no moves to point out how many lies the little gloaming had told in just thirty seconds. There was a reason behind everything Illyria did – he just had to trust that he would become privy to her motivations in due time. He braced himself for the follow-up questions, certain that someone would test the validity of Illyria's claims.

Predictably, it was Illis. "You tracked them to Anauroch, the once-fertile plain that the Netherese and their life-draining mythallars reduced to a barren wasteland?"

Illyria didn't bat an eyelash, unfazed by the High Lord Planner's scrutiny. "That's the one."

"You… a gloaming? You seem in remarkably good health, considering you followed a group of dark elves from the lightless tunnels of the Underdark where your kind are most comfortable and out into the baking sun that perpetually scorches the surface world." There was a smirk of superiority playing about the corners of Illis' mouth that stoked Voltain's anxiety; if Illyria's story wasn't completely airtight, her ploy would destroy any credibility he had formed with the ruling body of Deep Imaskar. "How could you have survived such an ordeal?"

Illyria leaned back in her chair comfortably and crossed one skinny leg over the other, flexing her luxurious black wings lazily, her expression one of boredom. "That's a funny question. And here I thought you people were supposed to be great wizards or something. You think you're the only ones who know how to cast spells? How do you think I survived out there?" For a moment she allowed her mask of innocence to slip and revealed a true glimpse of the unadulterated, demented purpose she had done so well to hide, and smiling darkly she finished, "The same way I survive down here."

"Indeed," rumbled Ebrul, interceding on Illis' behalf – for the best, Voltain knew, for judging by the High Lord Planner's incensed expression he was hardly maintaining his composure. The Lord Apprehender gazed down at Illyria evenly, cupping his chin with one hand as he considered how best to proceed. "And the drow? I have difficulty believing that Lord Shadow simply invited the lot of them into the last city of the Netherese Imperium."

They were well informed, Voltain admitted begrudgingly, far more informed of the outside world than he could claim to be, but if they had thought that they would stump Illyria with their questions so easily they had severely underestimated her. "Remember how I mentioned that one of the drow is already up there, schmoozing the High Prince?" said Illyria with a sigh of inconvenience, twirling a lock of her dark auburn hair around one finger. "I assume he's the one who let them in – and anyways, he only let one of them in and it was only for a little while. He's a shade who used to be a drow, which I guess means that somehow he got the High Prince to trust him… It'd be easy for him to make a portal for his drow buddy to get in and out of the city, wouldn't it?"

"I suppose it would," Ebrul conceded unhappily, but now the gloaming was staring back at Voltain pointedly and he gathered that she was waiting for him to steer the conversation in a direction more favorable to them.

"Illyria," he began coolly, his mind racing – was there some wild degree of truth to her tale after all? "Who is this drow? The one who is now a shade, advising the High Prince?"

"Oh that's the good part," answered Illyria excitedly, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. "It's Lim Tal'eyve – even you guys must have heard of him, right?"

The name brought a stunned, uneasy silence down upon them all – even Voltain, relatively new to the politics of the world beyond the Great Seal, was familiar with the tale of Lim Tal'eyve. He had rallied a faction of the ancient order called the Jaezred Chaulssin in a failed attempt to overthrow the drow matriarchy and had risen as a lich of unspeakable power to carve for himself a place in the bloody annals of Vaasan history. Their knowledge of him ended there – from all that they knew of him, he had died within Castle Perilous at the hands of a small group of vengeful travelers from Silverymoon.

"Lim Tal'eyve?" echoed Furyma, her forehead creased with concern. "But how can that be? A drow, now in the service of Lord Shadow? Of this development we knew nothing. What could he possibly be planning, to seek an allegiance with the Princes of Shade?"

"I would be far more interested in learning what he promised them in exchange for their cooperation," said Ebrul darkly. "The Princes of Shade form few alliances – after Karsus' Folly wiped out the rest of their race, they learned well enough not to trust just anyone."

It struck Voltain like a bolt of lightning then – what Illyria had been attempting to steer him toward all this time, the information that would form the foundation of his unshakeable credibility in the months to come. He nodded at her once, a silent reassurance that he understood what he was meant to say, and cleared his throat pointedly to regain their attentions. "He promised them that he would annihilate a goddess in their honor, for as we know Lim Tal'eyve was the Anointed Blade and that relic now resides within our city's walls. I took it off one of the drow we apprehended and interrogated."

There was a beat of breathless silence, broken only when Illis managed to say, "What?"

"I can only assume that their initial aim was to deliver the sword to Lim Tal'eyve," Voltain concluded broodingly, "and that they took the Imaskarcana to him so as not to appear as though they had failed in their mission. To gift a person with something so obviously powerful is far more preferable than facing him empty-handed."

"Someone as manipulative and deceitful as Lim Tal'eyve would know better than to barter a deity in exchange for something as flawed and baseless as the essence of shadow," pointed out Illis Khendarhine, his words resonating with great wisdom. "So now we must ask ourselves… If the Princes of Shade are to be presented with Lolth in ethereal chains, what does the drow anticipate in return?"

Voltain rose from his seat, pleased when that action drew all eyes in the room to him; he smoothed the front of his robes and beckoned to Illyria as an afterthought, who slid smoothly from her chair and hastened obediently to his side. "I intend to find out," he assured them, "and I will do so soon. Illyria and I will recover the Imaskarcana from Thultanthar – I appointed myself Lord Artificer to serve the people in whatever way required, and to that I hold. To the three of you I will leave the everyday affairs that typically arise on a case-by-case basis – I must focus all of my efforts on this. Continue operating the city in the usual way and we will have no problems."

"Lord Artificer, wait," called Furyma, an unwilling tremor in her voice, and Voltain looked back curiously to find that the Lady Enactor had abandoned her seat and fixed him with a pleading gaze, her hands clasped beseechingly before her. "You must take care – the Netherese archwizards are not so long-lived as the wizard-kings of ancient Imaskar, that much is true, but they command great sway over the Shadow Weave and Thultanthar is now one of the mightiest empires in Faerun. If the Princes of Shade learn how to decipher the Imaskarcana – "

It wasn't her show of caution that incited him into a round of uncharacteristically raucous laughter, but the mere notion that the descendants of Netheril could have any hope whatsoever of wielding one of the fabled volumes of the Imaskarcana; Voltain couldn't help the smirk that spread across his face when he turned back to face her, saying, "And how do you suppose they might manage that? Do not misunderstand me – this city will not be misled by my personal prejudices, for I can assure you that I have none. The simple fact of the matter is that it is impossible for one who has no knowledge of our ancestors' way of magic to even begin to comprehend the focus, the will, and the arcane aptitude necessary to wield one of these books. The Princes of Shade could never hope to unravel even one of the enchantments that protect the books' secrets from the prying eyes of the rest of the world, and even if they somehow managed to accomplish that feat… Well, do you know what happens to those who misuse the Imaskarcana?"

The High Prince was gazing into the world window when First Prince Escanor happened upon him, a silent, unmoving sentinel as he watched Clariburnus and Rapha give instructions to their separate factions of the Army of Shade. It was heartening to see how harmoniously the two princes were getting on lately – Clariburnus was quite likeable but Rapha was capricious in all things, and Escanor knew well enough how crucial the continued cooperation of the High Prince's sons would be during this operation. The Army of Shade was comprised of men who were strong of arm and spirit, but they would need unwavering leadership in order to succeed. Escanor might have questioned his sovereign's decision to include Rapha in the war against Menzoberranzan, but his confidence in Rapha's involvement was now growing daily.

"Everything is ready?" asked Telamont broodingly, after several long minutes of thoughtful silence.

"Yes, Most High. We are well versed in our roles in the upcoming siege, and the battalions we command know their place at our sides. Our preparations are complete – we are ready to march at a single word from you."

They watched side-by-side as within the world window Clariburnus spoke to the crowd of entranced warriors, stoking their battle lust with what was undoubtedly an impassioned speech detailing how the drow race had disrespected them; before he had even finished it seemed that the army raised their voices in exultation, hefting spears in the air and banging swords upon shields as they howled their agreement. Telamont watched it all with a combination of satisfaction and melancholy upon his face, and it took Escanor several moments of deliberation before he could guess why.

"You have my deepest sympathies, Most High One. I know that Hadrhune was dear to you, despite his transgressions in the recent past. I confess that I was never fond of him, but there is no denying how useful he was to you. He served you well in the years he lived among us, and the loss has affected us all. It is my hope that with each black elf that falls to my blade I will continue to honor his memory."

Telamont turned away from the world window and offered his eldest son a smile that was mostly a grimace, dropping one hand appreciatively down upon Escanor's shoulder – no easy feat, as the First Prince stood taller than he. "Well said, my son," he congratulated solemnly. "All that you say is true – Hadrhune did serve us well, far better than could be expected from someone of non-Netherese ancestry. His loss pains me greatly, but I cannot help but feel grateful to him in the end – through his courageous act of selfless sacrifice he saved Soleil from meeting such an awful end. I am certain in his last moments that he weighed the choice carefully and found dying in her place was far preferable." They put the world window at their backs and meandered companionably in the direction of the High Prince's throne, but the mention of his daughter-in-law seemed to have brought another troubling issue to the forefront of his mind. "I have arranged for the Sceptrana to keep watch over Soleil while you are away – Aglarel has assured me that she will serve the princess diligently. I promise you – she will be well cared for in your absence."

"I do not doubt it," agreed Escanor with a fond smile. "I am at a loss to say what spawned the friendship between them, but Soleil delights in Aveil's presence here – I think her place in our primarily patriarchal society was lonely for her at times, and she has longed for a female companion." Escanor paused for a moment, weighing his own words carefully before adding, "It seems that the Sceptrana has become something of a permanent fixture in our city."

"Are you opposed to her presence here?" inquired the High Prince, his platinum eyes coolly assessing, but Escanor shook his head at once.

"I was at one time, but no longer – the obvious advantages we entertain by keeping her in our midst would far outweigh my reservations, if I still harbored any. No one can question that she is devoted to the advancement of Thultanthar, and she was instrumental in staving off the assassination attempts; from what I understand she interfered on Aglarel's behalf, and Rivalen is adamant that were it not for her timely intervention he would never have found the strength to save those who had fallen to the daylight spell on the night of the bridal masquerade. We are fortunate to count the Sceptrana as one of our allies."

The High Prince seemed to be mulling over some related matter in his mind – perhaps deciding whether or not to share it? – before confessing reluctantly, "I can't help but feel that one day soon she will no longer be merely an ally of the Princes of Shade, but a part of our family."

Escanor stopped in his tracks, his copper eyes shining from within the protective veil of shadows that engulfed his entire body wide with surprise. "Truly?"

"By her own birthright she is nobility already," Telamont reminded with an indulgent little chuckle. "She may have abandoned her crown when she fled the Spine of the World, but she has only to return and lay claim to it to be named Princess of the Frostfell. Once she does – and I have no doubt that she is even now considering such a move – she will be an ideal candidate for one of your younger brothers to marry. We would do well to cultivate such a union - Thultanthar is feared by many, and hated by many more. The more women of noble birth from foreign nations we can sway to our cause, the better for us all – we will need all the alliances we can muster if our dreams of conquest are ever to become a reality."

"The Sceptrana's hand would fall to Rivalen," Escanor reminded, a hint of skepticism in his tone. "Though he is next in the line of succession behind Soleil and me, I am not certain theirs would be a strong match… Their faiths are conflicting, and I fear the marriage would be fraught with discord."

"We will see how events play out," said Telamont enigmatically, "but I am not certain Rivalen will be the Sceptrana's only suitor, in the end."

Escanor opened his mouth to reply, his expression one of utter perplexity, but whatever his inquiry he didn't get the opportunity to voice it; one of the many shadows that formed a perimeter about the High Prince's audience hall was solidifying and taking a definite shape, and as they watched Third Prince Lamorak materialized in their midst and stumbled toward them. One look at his stricken face was all it took for them to understand that he brought with him grave news; his face was ashen with fright and his eyes were impossibly wide, as though he had glimpsed horrors he now wished he could forget. The High Prince moved to meet him with outstretched arms and Lamorak all but flew to him, letting their sovereign envelope him in his nurturing embrace as the Determinist Prime trembled in his arms and cried.

"Tell me what has happened that has caused you such distress," Telamont bade him earnestly, pushing his son back to arms' length when he could no longer bear such unexplained silence. "This emotional outburst is most unlike you, Lamorak, and I confess it has me quite unsettled."

Escanor watched as wordlessly Lamorak produced a single sheaf of ordinary parchment and offered it to their sovereign to read; Telamont took it without hesitation, his eyes flying across the page as he sought his answers. When he had finished he lowered the page a fraction, his eyes full of unanswered questions locking with Lamorak's over its topmost edge. "Explain this," he begged, his voice possessed of a similar fear that set Escanor's nerves on edge, and from within a fold of his robes Lamorak produced what appeared to be a book.

"I am not sure…" He stammered, his voice always in danger of breaking as he neared the point of hysteria. "I cannot be certain, but… I think that…"

Escanor looked to the High Prince with a raised eyebrow, wondering if their sovereign had made any sense of Lamorak's distressed ramblings, and felt a horror such as he had never known seize his shadow orb in its merciless clutches.

The Most High's eyes were upon the book, wide and vacant as though he had seen a ghost, and as the First Prince watched the plentiful shadows surrounding his body dissolved into clear vapor; he made no move to take the tome out of Lamorak's hands, though it was clear by Lamorak's expression that he would have given anything to be rid of it.

"How did you come by this abomination?" asked Telamont at last, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"I can assure you," Lamorak choked out, "that I am in no way responsible for its arrival into our midst." He lurched another step forward, effectively forcing the book into their sovereign's arms, and Escanor was prepared to berate him for his audacity when Lamorak added fervently, "The last page, Most High One - please, I beg of you, look at the last page!"

"What are you about?" Escanor demanded hotly, but his brother ignored him in favor of watching fearfully as the High Prince obediently rifled through the book's contents – odd symbols and unknown characters chiseled upon pages of vellum and paper-thin crystal – to the final entry; there followed an awful moment that was frozen in time as they all three gazed down upon the image of Twelfth Prince Brennus, perfectly preserved and staring sorrowfully up at them from within the page, shattered only when Most High Telamont clutched the tome to his chest and wailed in despair as he sank down to his knees upon the floor.

"My son!" he cried, his voice magically resonating throughout the spacious confines of the audience hall and tearing their delicate eardrums with its volume. "What have I done?! Through my long-lived anger I drove him to this point of desperation! By rescinding my love I forced him to pursue this ill-advised course! My son is lost to me… MY SON!"

"The fault is not yours," Lamorak insisted brokenly, and shifting his gaze Escanor watched as for the first time his brother shed tears of black shadowblood from his blazing silver eyes. "Brennus loved you, Most High One. He would have done anything to remind you."

"And in my blindness I would never have taken notice," Telamont lamented, his own dark tears dripping onto the book's cover and running in rivulets to drop to the floor. "May the Night Mother forgive me… I have all but killed my own child. For as long as I live I will never forgive myself this atrocity." Then from where he lay collapsed upon the ground he looked up at Lamorak, an inconsolable rage burning in the depths of his eyes, and growled, "Summon the rest of your brothers, as well as Soleil and Aveil and Phendrana – I want them all present for this."

Lamorak blinked, the last of his tears running the length of his cheek as sadness gave way to confusion. "For what, Most High One?"

"Escanor," Telamont continued, and his voice was now so constricted with anger that the words were barely distinguishable. "Apprehend the drow and bring him to me. He has much to answer for."

Voltain closed the book reverently after approximately six hours of entranced study, the action immediately extinguishing the thousands of miniscule iridescent runes that had materialized in the air and taken to dancing about the room as he read. He had read too long; his eyes stung and watered when he blinked them, and his head swam as though filled to bursting with the knowledge he had just accrued. The arcane codex at his fingertips seemed limitless in its chronicles – it was difficult for him to fathom that this was but one of seven volumes, and that more of this incredible knowledge was still lost out there waiting to be found.

Abandoning his desk he stumbled unsteadily through his apartment, his shuffling feet uncertain in the near-darkness; the hour was quite late, and the only light emanated from the faerzress that lined the boundaries of the cavern or otherwise served as décor throughout city. He needed water, and he needed to think – but most of all there remained yet one question that had been nipping at the edges of his focus for hours, ever since the most recent council session had adjourned. Just as he suspected Illyria was still haunting the lounge, occupying her familiar perch on the windowsill, and rather than waste either of their time with empty salutations or small talk he simply stepped right up to her side and asked.

"You didn't follow the drow from the Underdark to Anauroch. You didn't witness these accounts firsthand. Someone told you of Lim Tal'eyve's arrival in Thultanthar, someone perhaps who was in Thultanthar when these events transpired. Illyria… who do you know that lives within the City of Shade?"

Illyria tossed her thick curtain of auburn hair playfully over her shoulder as she craned her slender neck to look him in the eye, and at first Voltain couldn't determine just what emotions were contained within the complexity of her expression. There was something thoughtful about the way her eyes reflected the cerulean faerzress just outside his open window and something melancholy lingering in the shape of her lips – for Voltain, who had always viewed the meddlesome little gloaming as little more than an annoying little girl, this was a surprise. Never had he know her to display any emotion that wasn't mischievousness or greed or spite, and had always assumed she was incapable of them. He opened his mouth at once to question her further, for certainly there was far more to his question than he had originally guessed there might be, but quick as a flash Illyria had mastered herself and molded her face into the mask of childish arrogance and superiority with which he was so familiar.

"Oh, Volt, honey… I've got friends in places you can't even imagine," she told him with a girlish little cackle, and he found himself so chilled by her answer that he resolved to ask her no more questions that night.

Lamorak refused to answer any of Aveil's questions, but one look at him was all she needed to understand that pressing him for information would be foolish indeed; he was so distraught that his breath hitched in places as he informed her of the High Prince's summons, breaking up his meager explanation into an odd, unsettling cadence. She knew she was pushing her luck, but Aveil couldn't help taking a brief detour before making her way to the palace – to Villa Hara, where Fourth Prince Aglarel resided when he wasn't skulking about the Assassin's Guild. She wasn't bold enough to shadow-walk directly into his private quarters – was anyone, she wondered offhandedly? – so she instead made her destination the foyer of his residence, where she was immediately hailed by a few members of his housekeeping staff; they were familiar enough with her presence, and gave her no trouble when she set off into the halls in search of him.

Aglarel answered the door to his bedchamber right away when she knocked; he was wrestling into the cloak and cowl the High Prince had gifted him with when he had been transformed into a shade long ago, and his face was harried and distracted when he greeted her. "The summons?" he asked in lieu of any niceties, and when she nodded once his face turned grave. "You might as well come along with me, then… Lamorak was here only a moment ago, and I'm sure he told me as little as he told you."

They entered the Shadow Realm together and moved swiftly, their every move synchronous with one another; Aglarel set a pace that was very near a run, and Aveil's robes billowed out behind her as she hastened to keep up. "I don't suppose you have any idea what this is about?"

"I haven't, but I can't help but fear the worst." Aveil wondered at the Fourth Prince's tone, which was more deeply troubled than she had ever heard it; his eyes were focused on the limitless black void ahead, scouring the interweaving shadows for their destination with unerring focus. "Among my brothers Lamorak is something of a prodigy when it comes to composure – it is one of the many reasons why the High Prince considered him the best candidate to head the Determinist's Guild, where a cool and collected head is paramount to making such life-altering decisions. Yet when he stood before me just now, he was a man undone… In all my years I have never seen him so perturbed."

"Do you think the other princes are being summoned?" Aveil asked tremulously – if it was so, the news must be dire indeed.

"Lamorak made it quite clear that my presence was expected immediately, with no exceptions. If you have also been summoned, the High Prince is likely declaring an emergency council session. My brothers will be abandoning their duties for this, something our sovereign does not command lightly. There can be no doubting the importance of this meeting." Aglarel stopped in his tracks then, his eyes fixed upon a barely-visible rift between the dimensions their kind could occupy at will, and finished, "We are here."

They passed through the tear in dimensional fabric side by side, and admitted themselves to a frightful sight.

Most of the Shadow Council had already gathered within the High Prince's audience hall – as they watched Lamorak stepped back into the Material Plane about five paces to their left, with a frantic Phendrana in tow – and those who had were beside themselves; twin princes Mattick and Vattick were sobbing into one another's shoulders, streaks of viscous black shadowblood tears streaming down their faces, as beside them a downtrodden Clariburnus hung his head and alternately patted them consolingly on their backs. For whatever reason Rivalen, Melegaunt, and Rapha were all screaming expletives at one another, a very rare occurrence in any given situation, but their voices were so harsh and garbled in their rage that Aveil couldn't make out a single word; Dethud was standing at Yder's side, one hand laid heavily upon the latter's shoulder in reassurance as he read something from a sheaf of plain parchment, and as Aveil looked on the Sixth Prince suddenly dissolved into bitter tears that no words from Dethud could possibly stem. The High Prince seemed not to notice the commotion around him; instead he stood a little apart from the rest, an open book pressed tightly to his chest and his lips moving rapidly as if in prayer.

"What in the Nine Hells?" murmured Aglarel incredulously beneath his breath, and though his voice was barely more than a whisper Aveil didn't miss the uneasiness in his tone.

Soleil appeared in their midst then, her face pink with emotion and her eyes red and swollen with unshed tears; she strode over to where the High Prince stood with her hands clenched into fists that trembled violently at her sides, and when he opened his eyes to gaze sadly down at her she mustered all of the fury contained within her slender body and cried, "Where is he?!"

"Escanor is bringing him, dear one," the High Prince told her, exhaustion in his voice. "They will be here any moment now."

"I will kill him!" shrieked the princess in a voice so shrill that it brought a resounding silence down upon them all. "I will kill him with my bare hands for this!"

"It's alright." The High Prince's attempts to soothe his new daughter-in-law made Aveil want to weep; his voice was breaking, his eyes twin pools of ancient sadness. As she watched he extended an arm out toward her, saying, "Come stand here with me, child. I cannot bear to see you so distressed."

Soleil hesitated for a moment longer, seemingly unwilling to relinquish the anger that fueled her motivations, but gave in to the sorrow in their sovereign's eyes; she ran to him and embraced him around the middle, and it was there that her tears spilled over.

"What – " Aveil demanded, lurching a step forward in her desire for answers, but the shadows in the center of the room were stirring, heralding yet another arrival, and Aglarel seized her by the arm and wisely dragged her back to his side.

The shadows solidified into a pair of figures, that of Prince Escanor wearing an expression of unrepentant rage and Lim Tal'eyve barely standing at his side; at first glance it seemed as though his bottom lip was cut and bleeding, droplets of black shadowblood dribbling down his chin and staining the high collar of his tunic, but the moment their boots touched the floor Escanor lashed out with a punch to the back of his head that laid him low. Aveil flinched in surprise – she was no friend of Lim's, but she had never known the High Prince's eldest son to be prone to such acts of unprovoked violence – and even Aglarel's jaw dropped a little at the ferocity of his eldest brother's blow. Lim moaned softly from where he had fallen, his arms curled defensively around his head as though he anticipated more blows, but the High Prince barked a rebuke at Escanor and the First Prince wisely returned to his side, where he took his new bride into his arms and cradled her against his chest. The High Prince's eyes shifted to Aglarel and Aveil, who alone amongst the entire congregation were not wearing expressions of despair or anger, and when he beckoned them to come closer they did so obediently and without hesitation.

"Only you two have not been told, and for that I sincerely apologize," said the Most High grievously, and reluctantly he drew the book away from his chest and held it out for Aglarel to take. "Given the sacrifices you have both made in the name of this realm's safety and security, you should have been the first to know. You were right all along, and for my part allow me to say that I will never again question your judgment, or your instincts."

"I don't understand," Aveil admitted perplexedly, but the High Prince passed her the note that was written on the otherwise plain sheaf of parchment then and her questions all but evaporated.

"Trapped," said Aglarel after a moment's contemplation, his voice oddly constricted with emotion. "Within a single page of the book."

"Unfortunately, yes." For just a moment it seemed to Aveil's eyes that their sovereign looked every one of his three thousand years of age, so downtrodden and bleak was his facial expression. "Not dead, perhaps, but in as sorry a state as any Prince of Shade has ever found himself. The pages of the Imaskarcana are littered with the entombed souls of lesser wizards who overestimated their knowledge of the arcane and paid the ultimate price – it wasn't greed that drove Brennus to this fate, but desperation. In his search for a means to overcome his dishonor he fell prey to this book, and if there is a means of escape it is unknown even to me… As much as it grieves me to admit it, Brennus is lost to us."

Aglarel was gazing down at the perfect likeness of his youngest brother etched upon the final page of the book with a pinched quality lingering near his eyes; the urge to take his hand nearly overwhelmed Aveil then, but somehow she refrained from doing so. "He should have known better," said the Fourth Prince gruffly, "but I suppose he was too young to truly understand what he was dealing with."

Finally Aveil could contain her questions no longer. "You know what this is?"

"I know of it," Aglarel explained, closing the book with a very noticeable wince and running his hand the length of its cover almost reverently. "This is one of the volumes of the Imaskarcana, though apart from its name and its origin our civilization knows almost nothing. The texts are older than the Most High himself, and we had thought the wizard-kings who penned them to be long extinct."

"But how did Lim come into possession of such a thing?" asked Aveil, brandishing the parchment in front of her hotly. "And why would he have offered it to Brennus?"

The High Prince accepted the book back from Aglarel and immediately tucked it back into his chest, almost as a reflex action; the Fourth Prince gritted his teeth and worked hard to sublimate the sudden rush of emotions that the truth of the situation had swamped him with, and couldn't look Aveil in the eye when he replied. "I can only speculate, but I assume that he had no way to pinpoint the books' origin or exactly what it was capable of, and preyed upon Brennus' obvious desperation to get those answers in his stead. Brennus would have been more than willing to investigate the book on his own… I imagine he was entertaining visions of his own triumphant return after deciphering the book's secrets. There is no question that if he was able to do so, the High Prince would welcome him back into the fold with open arms."

"You speak the truth," agreed the High Prince readily, "but this is beyond poor Brennus, as you can see… It may be beyond us all. Even you, Sceptrana, the authority on the arcane arts here, would be hard pressed to contend with the magic contained within these pages."

Aveil could feel the foreign enchantments emanating from each page and couldn't help but agree; just being in close proximity to such obviously cataclysmic magic sent a shudder of dread coursing down her spine. "That does not explain how Lim came across it," she pointed out, hoping to distract her powerful masters from her moment of weakness, but it was Escanor who answered.

"We will have our answers shortly," the First Prince announced, tightening his arms reflexively around Soleil. "He is coming to."

Lim's arms came down from where they had been wrapped around his head and he pushed weakly against the ground, rolling over unceremoniously onto his back; his eyes rolled as though consciousness was threatening to claim him yet again, but with a few rapid blinks of his eyes and a vigorous shake or two of his head he managed to battle it back. It was clear in the vacancy of his expression that he wasn't quite sure where he was, and supporting himself on trembling arms he almost managed to push himself into a sitting position.

He would have made it were it not for Aglarel.

"Holy Father," muttered the Fourth Prince darkly, his normally piercing silver eyes tinged with flecks of livid crimson, "with your permission."

"Control, my son," Telamont cautioned in an undertone that perhaps he thought Aveil wouldn't hear, and then Aglarel sank into a predator's crouch and stalked into the center of the room; Lim had half a second to peer fearfully into the wrathful face of his doom before Aglarel completed his approach and planted one foot squarely in the center of the drow-shade's chest, in effect knocking the oxygen from his lungs and pinning him fast to the floor.

Up until that point Phendrana's eyes had been locked upon what little of the cover of the Imaskarcana that he could see, as obscured as it was by the High Prince's arms, but the unpleasant sound of Lim's head cracking against the marble underfoot jolted him back to the present; the awful crimson radiating from Aglarel's irises struck terror into the doppelganger's heart and reflexively he caught Lamorak, who had not left his side since their arrival, at the elbow with one hand.

"Courage, Phendrana," Lamorak reminded in a soft undertone, his words barely a whisper in the suddenly silent chamber. "Remember that Lim has committed an unforgivable crime, and now rightly deserves whatever punishment the High Prince might design."

Oddly, though the Third Prince was standing at his shoulder, Phendrana didn't hear a single word of his reassurance; for the first time in weeks he could hear his own voice resonating throughout every last crevice of his conscious mind, louder and more tormented than even the one that had slowly been whittling away at his sanity. And as his own voice lifted in a scream that no one else could hear miraculously that second voice abruptly cut off and seemed to tremble in fear of what was to come, for though he had known the pain of death Hadrhune knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he had never once experienced the kind of heart-shattering agony that Phendrana was now subject to. That may have been the first time that Hadrhune questioned whether part of him was still alive somehow, for though he no longer had a body he was still able to feel somehow and knew that the emotion he was now experiencing was one that was altogether foreign to him.

It was pity.

Why won't they stop?! Phendrana shrieked, and the suffocating shadows that plagued his mind like a disease rolled back to reveal Hadrhune, cowering in the center of the doppelganger's subconscious, desperate for the din to cease before it drove him insane. Why can't they see that the drow's punishment means NOTHING?! Brennus is GONE FOREVER, yet they waste their time with their petty designs of revenge and this meaningless display of force?! Who does this benefit?! HOW WILL THIS BRING HIM BACK?!

And against all logic or reason the psyche of the seneschal Hadrhune fled to a lightless, little-used corner of the doppelganger's unconscious mind and hid himself away there, praying that if he made himself as unassuming as possible he might escape the worst of Phendrana's desolation. For a brief moment Phendrana felt a tendril of panic threaten to overwhelm him, for he had nearly forgotten what it felt like to be in possession of a mind that he alone controlled, but then he clenched the hand not locked around Lamorak's elbow into a fist around the warm mithril band that adorned his ring finger and accepted into himself its quiet courage and serenity. Brennus had fought to give him this chance to live with his mind uninhibited by his body's feeble mortal limitations – he would be damned if he wasted that now.

Aglarel bent at the waist and seized Lim by the collar of his tunic, and dragging him back into a sitting position he laid him low again with a devastating punch to the face; Phendrana thought he heard the crack of bone – the drow's nose? – before he dropped to the floor again, his hands floating feebly in the air before him in a pitiful attempt to defend himself. Aglarel stood straight for a moment and threw back his head, breathing deeply through his nose, and it seemed to Phendrana that perhaps the manic crimson glint in his eyes dimmed somewhat.

What was that light, he wondered? A trick of the flames in the braziers near the High Prince's throne? Or something else?

"Now you will tell me everything," Aglarel growled, his voice barely distinguishable in its animalistic ferocity as he gripped the drow by the throat and hoisted him into a sitting position. "Everything."

Lim opened his eyes a fraction, twin slits of hard amber, and answered the Fourth Prince's demand with an ill-advised chuckle that was somehow devoid of all mirth. "I am not Zek Vandree," he reminded, and his blatant reference to the drow killer whose failed assassination attempt against Aglarel had landed him at the mercy of the prince's merciless interrogation tactics brought Aglarel's ceremonial fangs to bear. "You cannot manhandle me into giving you the answers you require. What proof do you have that I am guilty of what you accuse me of? The prince's letter, yes, but did your precious Brennus even write that? Could it not be a trick of the book meant to throw you off track?"

"Proof?" echoed Aglarel incredulously, and releasing Lim he threw his head back and laughed long and loud, the sound of his cold laughter raising a host of goosebumps up and down the doppelganger's arms. "You dare to come before us, an outsider and a traitor to the Princes of Shade, and demand that we present you with proof of your crimes?! Look around you, drow – you have no advocates for your interests here! You are surrounded by those most faithful to the High Prince of Thultanthar – Lord Shadow, oldest and strongest of our great race, whose son is now lost to him on account of your trickery! And you have the audacity to ask for PROOF?!" From within a hidden fold of his cloak Aglarel produced his favored assassin's dagger, one with a deadly life-stealing property that invigorated him with his adversary's own life energy, and held it before Lim's eyes long enough for him to recognize the price he would soon pay for his bold words. "There is no justice in this chamber for you, drow! This council is devoid now of fairness and democracy! We have only hatred for you, and for whatever fell plans you put into motion that stole Brennus from us –that hatred holds no room for proof!"

What followed was carnage that surely would have sickened Phendrana, but the Fourth Prince's movements were so quick and so precise that he never actually glimpsed a single blow – it was over in only a handful of confusing seconds, brought to a sudden halt when the High Prince bellowed Aglarel's name like a warning. Phendrana had to believe that it was only the sound of their sovereign's voice that brought Aglarel out of his bloodlust and back to his senses, for when he turned his back on the torn and bloody body that had moments ago been Lim Tal'eyve he was shaking head to foot with barely-sublimated rage.

Aveil passed him as she trod forward, her every footfall as soundless as a leaf falling from a tree, and paused briefly to squeeze his hand, saying, "You did well – his wounds will heal."

"You will do better," Phendrana thought he heard the Fourth Prince reply through gritted teeth, and then the diminutive Sceptrana was summoning her dreaded black staff, Stygian Invidia, into her petite hands as she stood at the feet of the shuddering drow.

Oddly Phendrana recalled then that Aveil was suddenly facing the man who had once torn her own unborn child from her womb and wondered at the High Prince's judgment in allowing her to face him.

"You are a shade," said Aveil bluntly, and when the azure stone set in the head of her scepter blazed white Phendrana watched, morbidly mesmerized, as the drow's awful half-healed injuries sprouted thick veins of ice that crept over his skin like dozens of silent killers. "I cannot speak for the Princes of Shade, whose wisdom far exceeds my own, but for my part I would much rather your wounds didn't heal so quickly. You have broken their hearts – now I will break your body, as much as they will allow." The ice in Lim's wounds thickened then, spearing the already-torn flesh with icicles sharp as knives, and beside him Phendrana thought he felt Lamorak flinch.

For a moment, it seemed, Lim's screams of agony were louder even than Phendrana's – the doppelganger wondered if he should be disturbed by the pride those cries incited in the depths of Aglarel's eyes.

Somehow Aveil seemed perfectly at ease as she knelt down beside Lim's thrashing head, tracing the fingertips of one hand almost soothingly the length of his cheek; her lips pursed together as she shushed him, and the magically-conjured ice daggers slowly began to melt and alleviate the pain of the drow's wounds. Gradually his cries softened into moans, and it was then that Aveil's voice could be heard – softer, gentler, more feminine than before. "You needn't suffer all this pain," she cooed, her hand lingering upon his cheek and gingerly wiping the unwilling tears he shed. "Your cooperation is all we ask – a few answers and you can rest. Does that sound so awful?" She waited the duration of three heartbeats, during which Lim said nothing in agreement or denial, so she chose to accept his silence as cooperation and started with her inquiries. "Tell me – how did you come by the book?"

Lim didn't answer right away – his chest still heaved with exertion, and his breath came in shallow, labored gasps. The last of the icicle daggers melted away.

"Who gave it to you?" Aveil pressed, a hint of impatience creeping into her once-motherly tone. "For what purpose?"

Slowly and painstakingly Lim turned his head, finding the strength to open his eyes as the last of his grievous wounds knitted itself seamlessly together, and gasped out, "High Prince, with all due respect… If you think that someone of my stature will answer to this common whore, you've got another thing coming."

Aveil leapt back to her feet and hefted her staff, retribution flashing in her stunning violet eyes; both Aglarel and Rivalen stalked a step forward with vengeance in their eyes, but it was Lamorak, the silent sentinel of strength standing vigilantly at Phendrana's side, who spoke up on the Sceptrana's behalf.

"Enough," said the Determinist Prime, and patting the doppelganger's hand reassuringly he stepped into the center of the loose circle they had formed around the fallen drow and gently steered the seething Aveil away from him. "It is clear that we cannot use brute force to loosen this one's tongue – he was once the prisoner of the Spider Queen, after all. Someone like him has learned well enough how to keep from breaking under physical torture by now, haven't you Lim? I commend you – the tactics that Aglarel uses are not easy to withstand, and the Sceptrana's punishment was inspired. But you aren't afraid of pain. It is something else that you fear."

While Lim was struggling to climb into a sitting position, his amber eyes dull with fatigue and his every movement sluggish with effort, Lamorak knelt down at his side and laid one hand with exacting pressure upon the drow-shade's chest; abruptly Lim's ministrations ceased as though his limbs had been petrified, though it was apparent in the way that panic crept back into his eyes that he had not stopped struggling of his own accord. The Determinist Prime muttered an incantation so soft in volume that even Phendrana could not hear, and as he watched with dawning realization the prince's hand dissolved into something far less corporeal than flesh – it appeared as vapor, though it seemed to have retained its overall shape. Lim's eyes widened in fearful anticipation of what was to come, but with his body magically frozen he could not even form a word of protest with his lips - he could only watch helplessly as Lamorak's vaporized fingertips sank an inch into his flesh, probing at what lay beneath his skin.

"You aren't afraid of pain," Lamorak said again, his voice taking on the clinical tone of voice he tended to use when he was presented with an experiment or an intellectual pursuit of some kind; oddly this tone, which suggested he viewed Lim as something less than a living being and more like a curious specimen, made Phendrana feel even more uneasy than before. "You've felt pain in your life – lives, rather, for this is your third attempt at mortality, isn't it? And someone with your determination doesn't feel pain like the average mortal by now – no, you're somewhat deadened to it, and you know your limits, and you know what you can endure perhaps better than any of us. So I won't waste your time by threatening you with pain, for I know that such a threat is a hollow one to you. I have no need to torture you – no offense to Aglarel, but the art of torture and its appeal is utterly lost on me. Then again, I can't say that I'm possessed of Aglarel's aptitude for patience. I don't want to savor your screams of agony – I only want to end your life for what you've done to my brother, to me and to my family. For I know that what you truly fear is death."

There was something in Lim's eyes that suggested perhaps he wasn't taking the Third Prince's words seriously but Lamorak, hardly bothered by this silent act of defiance, pressed his fingertips down another half-inch and effectively stole the skepticism from the drow's eyes. "I know what you're thinking – you believe I won't do what I have promised, that I wouldn't possibly defy my sovereign and end your miserable existence. But you can never know the agony you have caused him in bringing about Brennus' fate, and that is something that I am not prepared to abide. And look around you – have you heard a single word of protest against my actions? You think we will keep you alive, all on account of your audacious vow to somehow deliver us the Spider Queen? Allow me to remind you just how expendable you are." Lamorak's translucent hand dipped down into the drow's chest cavity – there followed a beat of silence during which Phendrana was certain he was about to be violently sick – and then with agonizing slowness he began to extract the appendage, his eyes always on Lim's, his expression perfectly neutral and utterly composed.

"The High Prince is nearer to divinity than any other pseudo-mortal creature that now walks this earth," Lamorak reminded tonelessly, painstakingly dragging his hand out of Lim's chest inch by excruciating inch. "Rest assured that if he truly desired the death of Lolth, he would have little difficulty accomplishing such a task on his own. I bid you farewell now, drow. I cannot say any of us will mourn your passing."

Something that was not part of the prince's inconsistent, vapor-like appendage breached the surface of Lim's chest then, and Phendrana caught a brief glimpse of what Lamorak held in his hand – it was a roiling mass of rapidly-undulating shadow, black as night and dreadful as every one of Phendrana's darkest nightmares combined, barely the size of a baseball with the consistency of oil. Phendrana had never seen one and hoped he wouldn't again for as long as he lived, for he knew that what Lamorak was ripping out of the unfortunate drow-shade's chest could only be his shadow orb, the equivalent of a mortal's heart and the life organ that sustained the creatures of shadow.

An involuntary sound of utmost panic welled up from the back of Lim's throat at the sight of it and suddenly he regained movement from the neck up; vaguely Phendrana wondered if Lamorak had allowed him that much, though how he sustained the paralysis in the rest of the drow's body Phendrana could only guess. "Last words?" asked Lamorak idly, as though he doubted that Lim could possibly have anything interesting to say.

Two black shadowblood tears streaked from the corners of Lim's eyes, a sure sign that Lamorak's methods were beginning to affect him on some level; his lips parted as he panted for breath, and his pallor paled from rich black to an unhealthy gray. "I'll tell you," he gasped out, "just put it back!"

"You'll tell me, and I'll consider putting it back afterwards," Lamorak corrected with a soft smile, as though with this promise he was doing the drow an unprecedented kindness. "And if you continue to barter the terms of this arrangement of ours I'll tear it out now, and damn your unspoken words. Your life means nothing to me, and I have no qualms with killing you – but I love Brennus, and if your words might save him I would hear them." As if to accentuate his point Lamorak drew the rapidly-pulsating shadow orb a millimeter or two further away from the drow-shade's chest cavity and Lim cried out, his head thrashing wildly from side to side and his eyes growing wild and half-crazed with fear –

A small part of Phendrana's consciousness perceived the unnatural stillness in the audience chamber, one that suggested no one dared to so much as breathe.

"One of the drow brought it to me!" Lim shrieked at last, as though Lamorak was tearing the words from his throat as well as the life from his body. "An associate of mine from the Jaezred Chaulssin!"

"If you are insinuating that you knew of the coming of those drow and did nothing to prevent their arrival," Lamorak warned in a low, dangerous voice, "then I will kill you here and now, regardless of how important the rest of your explanation might be."

"I didn't know!" cried Lim hurriedly, for his shadow orb was pulsing erratically against Lamorak's vapor-fingers and it seemed that his death was swiftly approaching; could he speak quickly enough, or explain suitably enough, that his life might be spared? "I didn't know they were coming, and I didn't know that he was with the Jaezred Chaussin – not until he was here, explaining it all to me! He's been guarding the Anointed Blade for years, waiting for the opportunity to bring it to me!"

"You'll have to do better than that, I'm afraid." If Lamorak was at all intrigued by a word Lim had said, he was doing quite well in hiding it. "Your story is inconsistent – you don't have the sword, and if you do and you have not divulged as much to us I will kill you for withholding that information. Explain, and do so quickly – as I have already told you, I am not possessed of my brother's patience."

The words were pouring from Lim's lips now as though a dam had burst somewhere deep within him, dark tears still flowing freely from the corners of his eyes. "Years ago, during the course of my lichdom within Castle Perilous, Mourn – "

"Be more specific," Lamorak bade him, his tone that of a teacher berating a troublesome student.

"Mourntrin Auvryndar, my associate from the Jaezred Chaulssin, the Keeper of the Blade!"

"Very good," Lamorak congratulated, with a simpering smile that made Phendrana nauseous all over again.

"Mourn set out from the Underdark with the last few members of the Jaezred Chaulssin that had managed to survive persecution following the Time of Troubles; their goal was to deliver the Anointed Blade to me, but they happened upon a cabal of unknown spellcasters in the tunnels east of Menzoberranzan and were attacked. Two of them were killed, and the other two – Mourn and Xuntath Oblodra, one of the drow who infiltrated Thultanthar as part of the Spider Queen's advance guard, were captured on the road and imprisoned within the spellcaster's underground city." The act of speaking so much was beginning to take its toll on Lim, his shadow orb palpitating irregularly, but he hurried on. "They were interrogated for weeks, during which the Anointed Blade was stolen from Mourn, but somehow an opportunity arose that enabled them to escape. During the chaos they stole that book from one of their interrogators, and sensing the enormity of its power Mourn made it his mission to deliver it to me in place of the sword he had lost."

"Where is he now, this Mourntrin Auvryndar?" inquired Lamorak coldly, his eyes as hard as steel.

Lim swallowed, hesitant to divulge as much, but his shadow orb was now beating a most uneven pattern that Phendrana suspected was a herald for his swiftly approaching end; Lim seemed to have reached a similar conclusion, and this knowledge served to loosen his tongue. "He has returned to the Underdark," Lim confessed, his every word veritably saturated with dread. "After he turned the book over to me I aided in his escape."

"How in the name of the Night Mother could he ever have located you?" the Third Prince pressed. "Surely you were in contact with him all that time – your meeting can hardly be called random happenstance."

"No! I don't know how he found me! I only know that Brennus brought him to me, after Mourn killed Hadrhune!"

These words incited uproar amongst the Princes of Shade the likes of which Phendrana had not yet witnessed.

"Liar!" roared Clariburnus. "Brennus would never name himself the ally of a drow, and especially not the man who had killed the emissary of the Most High just moments before!"

"Kill him!" demanded Rapha. "He knowingly aided in the escape of a criminal against Thultanthar! He pledged support for Hadrhune's murderer – he cannot be allowed to live!"

Of this matter, though, Lamorak already knew the truth; turning his head he locked eyes with Aglarel, who crossed his arms over his chest and nodded once as though he already knew what his brother would say. "That much, at least, is true," Lamorak admitted begrudgingly, his eyes never leaving Aglarel's. "Aglarel and I, and Brennus and Aveil, came upon Phendrana and Soleil just after the drow had fled… Aglarel and I took up the pursuit, ordering Brennus to stay behind, but it seems he did not heed us. We found him in the chapel with the drow priestess, whom he told us had died by his own hand; when we questioned him of the assassin's whereabouts he said he had not seen him, and that Lim had gone to dress his wounds."

"The truth is that Brennus led Mourn to me," Lim explained in a raspy, faltering voice. "And that were it not for his involvement we would both have been slain. Brennus intervened at a pivotal moment when all seemed lost, giving Mourn the opportunity to put an end to the drow priestess. His intervention saved our lives."

"Then our youngest brother is just as much a traitor as you," Escanor observed in a pained tone, running a hand down his face in exasperation, "and his fate, though monstrous, may be a deserved one."

But one thing still didn't add up for Lamorak, whose face had deepened into a frown. "If what you say is true," he asked Lim, "then how did Brennus find you?"

Phendrana opened his mouth to confess, terrified of what the truth of his own involvement might cost him, but Aglarel saved him the trouble. "Isn't it obvious?" said the Fourth Prince broodingly, crooking a questioning eyebrow in the doppelganger's direction. "Brennus found Lim the same way you and I did – Phendrana told him."

Every eye in the audience chamber fell upon him then, and Phendrana couldn't help but lower his own gaze to the floor in shame. It was true – he had been tracking the drow's intentions and whereabouts over the course of several weeks using the fragmented, half-formed images derived from a series of prophetic dreams that had afflicted him since his untimely transformation into a shade. Once thought to be a horrible side-effect of an unsuccessful transformation Phendrana had slowly learned to embrace his visions and use them to the advantage of all, thus foiling a number of the drow's assassination attempts. A series of unforeseen circumstances had made Hadrhune the unintended target of the last killing, something that Phendrana had neither accounted for or been in any position to stop, but he had known where Lim would be as a result of yet another one of those dreams. Initially he had told only Aglarel, Lamorak, and Aveil, then his accomplices for spoiling the drow's murderous designs, but when Aglarel and Lamorak had rushed off in pursuit of Hadrhune's killer he had divulged Lim's whereabouts to Brennus as well. As for why Brennus had intervened on Lim's behalf, Phendrana knew the answer better than any of them.

"Lim had been alluding to the delivery of the Anointed Blade for quite some time, long enough for me to believe that eventually those events would come to pass and the sword would find its way into his hands," Phendrana told them guiltily. "When I inadvertently found myself facing Mourn and he was threatening to kill Soleil he asked me for one thing only – where he could find Lim. Initially I suspected he wanted to know so that he could kill him, but then he told me the truth – that he had come to Thultanthar to deliver something to Lim. I knew it couldn't possibly be a coincidence – Mourn had the thing that Lim had been waiting for, the thing that Lim had insisted he needed in order to put an end to the Spider Queen. So I told Mourn where he could find Lim, and then I told Brennus when all the others had gone. I knew that the drow priestess would be there, attempting to kill Lim herself – time was of the essence, and I knew that if Lim was ever to make good on his promise and displace the Spider Queen from the heavens he would need whatever it was Mourn had for him. I sent Brennus to intervene, to make sure that Mourn and Lim got the chance to interact. I hoped that if Lim's plan ever succeeded that Brennus' involvement would be recognized for what it was – instrumental to the Spider Queen's downfall. I hoped that if he was known to have a hand in the destruction of Shar's most hated rival the High Prince would lift his sentence, and Brennus might be invited back into his confidence with open arms."

The silence that followed Phendrana's admittance was weighty and profound, broken only when Ninth Prince Vattick said, "Then you, too, allowed Hadrhune's killer to escape. You did nothing to stop him."

"At the time I did not know that by his actions he had killed Hadrhune," Phendrana corrected blandly, as though he hardly suspected this fact to matter much in the end, "only that he had failed to kill Soleil. But yes, Prince, it is as you say – I told Mourn where he could find Lim, and then I let him go."

"The doppelganger is as much as traitor as Lim and Brennus," Rivalen told them all gravely. "We would do well to put an end to him, as well as the drow, and then burn the book with Brennus inside it and put this hellish chain of treasonous events well behind us. There is the war with Menzoberranzan to consider, something we have already mustered a great force for – should that not be our priority now, brothers?"

A few voices cropped up to offer their consent at odd intervals, leaving Phendrana's thoughts reeling. They meant to let Brennus die, and to put an end to him simply for telling the truth? He had thought all this time, perhaps foolishly, that he had done something dishonest, but he had never once considered his actions treasonous; if the High Prince spoke up in accord with Rivalen's proposal, was he destined to be killed for his involvement with Mourn?

Only then did Phendrana notice that Lamorak had risen to his feet; his hand was no longer vapor but opaque and the shadow orb was nowhere to be seen, and Lim appeared to be resting in feverish unconsciousness upon the floor. The Determinist Prime's eyes were on his face, probing the doppelganger's eyes for the truth, and Phendrana allowed this invasion of his privacy in the hopes that Lamorak would somehow take his side. "High Prince, I have seen Phendrana's mind quite clearly in the months following his transformation; I feel that I am much more informed when it comes to his intentions, so allow me to tell you what I have seen. Phendrana's heart is just as pure now as it was the day that he came to our city; I feel that at times his judgment is suspect, as it is in this case, but I cannot agree with others who insist that he acts upon malicious designs. Like Brennus, Phendrana is prone to acting based primarily on how he feels – and in this instance he felt that he would be doing the most good in allowing Mourn to visit with Lim, and to deliver this book to him in the hopes that Brennus' standing would somehow improve. Perhaps all of this has happened for a reason, and that reason is so the book could fall into our hands. I despair at the thought of Brennus being trapped within its pages, and I agree that his outlook is grim, but I think it is unwise of us to assume there is nothing that can be done to improve his predicament. We should talk of the Imaskarcana, and the wizard-kings who penned it. We should consider every avenue, and then pass judgment. We should hold out hope that your youngest son, whose every thought I truly believe was bent on appeasing you when he set to poring over this book, might yet somehow return to us."

"You think he should not be punished?!" hissed Yder incredulously, as though the very notion was absurd.

"That decision does not rest with me," Lamorak answered easily, though Phendrana thought he glimpsed the hint of an encouraging smile upon the Third Prince's lips before he turned to face Yder. "For my part I can say only that I would not be so quick to condemn the man whose dreams saved the lives of five of our number."

"Well said, brother," spoke up Clariburnus, and Phendrana thought he felt a little of the mounting panic ease out of his chest. "I am in agreement." Then they all turned to receive the wisdom of their sovereign, who by now had ascended to his throne and was seated there comfortably with the book laid across his lap and his chin propped upon one hand as he brooded. His platinum eyes were scouring Phendrana's face for answers and the doppelganger could feel his influence probing his thoughts for the truth of his intentions, and for his part Phendrana did his best to allow the High Prince access to his every thought.

You know me, he dared to say, knowing the Most High would hear. You know that all I do, I do for the good of this realm.

The High Prince offered an infinitesimal nod, one that Phendrana was certain was meant for him and him alone, before shifting his eyes upon Aglarel, who snapped to attention immediately. "Aglarel, get the drow out of my sight – I tire of looking at him, for now I feel as though I am gazing upon Hadrhune's real killer when I do so. Lock him up in the dungeons for now, until I have decided if he can be of further use to me or if I should kill him outright and be done with it." The Fourth Prince bowed obediently and strode to where Lim lay prone and oblivious, and slinging the drow over one shoulder Aglarel dissolved into the Shadow Realm.

"Phendrana," said the High Prince sadly, "again I find myself inclined to show you leniency. I cannot say that I condone your decision to let Mourntrin Auvryndar go free, but I must admit that I understand your reasoning for doing so. There will be no punishment for you this time – a decree that I fully expect my sons to honor – but I ask that you consider very carefully in the days to come the notion that my mercy does have its limitations. Clemency will be your reward for the lives that you saved, but I cannot guarantee that it will not run its course eventually. Do not despair, for you have my eternal gratitude – just remember this warning when you are tempted to make ill-advised decisions in the future. You may be excused – at the present, I do not require your assistance."

And so the doppelganger left the audience chamber, knowing better than to question his sovereign's charity.

"The rest of you have already received your instructions, and this unfortunate series of events does nothing to change them," said Telamont. "In two days the barracks will empty, and Escanor, Clariburnus, Yder, and Rapha will lead the Army of Shade into the Underdark. That the drow are our enemies now there can be no question – the loss of Brennus will not dissuade my course to pursue vengeance upon them for the death of Hadrhune, as well as the other transgressions they have committed against us. Mattick, Vattick, and Aveil – converse amongst yourselves and divine a way that you might preside over Brennus' classes at the College until a more permanent solution presents itself; if you are questioned regarding his absence, say only that he is away performing a task of the utmost importance at my personal request. For now, you are all dismissed – for those of you who will not be journeying to Menzoberranzan, rest assured that I will call upon you if I have a need." The High Prince said nothing more, content to wait patiently as one by one the members of the Shadow Council exited to continue about their daily duties or personal pursuits, until the audience hall had almost completely emptied and he said, "Lamorak… stay a moment."

The Determinist Prime moved toward the short staircase leading up to the dais upon which the throne sat, his head bowed in obeisance and his hands clasped modestly before him. "Allow me to apologize, Most High. My methods were extreme and far too dangerous to be employed without your permission. I did not think there was time to explain, and I knew that Lim would respond favorably."

"I am not about to chastise you for getting the answers I required," the High Prince assured him with an indulgent little smile. "What you did was unorthodox and dangerous, as you say, but there is no denying that your little ploy got results and so for that allow me to commend you. You showed tremendous ingenuity, great restraint, and I believe I even glimpsed the budding hints of your growing compassion… I find you much changed, my son."

"Much has changed in the last half year," Lamorak replied broodingly, a slight crease forming between his eyebrows, and the High Prince worked to alleviate his mounting concerns.

"I feel compelled to reward you for your assistance today, though when I tell you what I intend for you to do it may not seem like a reward at first." Telamont lifted the Imaskarcana from his lap and held it aloft. "Tell me, what do you know of this book? In your defense of Phendrana you called it by name, so I can only assume you know a great deal – more, perhaps, than any of your brothers."

Lamorak nodded, the ghost of a somewhat wistful smile touching the corners of his lips ever so briefly. "Yes… Third Queen Maedra spoke of the wizard-kings of Imaskar often when I was very young. She had a special fondness for spinning the tale of their rise and downfall as if it was a work of fantasy; it wasn't until I was grown and she was no longer with us that I came to understand just how much truth her stories held to them. Brennus, of course, wouldn't know of such things…" The Determinist Prime bowed his head respectfully, murmuring, "Forgive me."

High Prince Telamont was nodding somewhat absentmindedly, his gaze somewhat distant as he considered Lamorak's explanation. The late Queens of Thultanthar were rarely mentioned even in passing – there had been five in all, and in their time they had assisted Lord Shadow in ruling the enclave with grace and poise, but their positions at the monarch's side had been sadly very temporary. Third Queen Maedra, Lamorak's mother, was to this day considered the High Prince's one great love – she had passed away due to childbirth complications while giving birth to Brennus, and the High Prince had mourned her death so grievously that many were convinced their great ruler would never in his lifetime take another bride. For political advantages he had pursued two other unions whilst married to Queen Maedra, but there was no denying that the Most High adored her above all others.

"And when you were grown," the Most High pressed, "did the Queen share with you the truth buried beneath the fantasy?"

"She did… she was fascinated by Imaskar, and by the sudden eradication of their civilization." Lamorak's eyes were somewhat glossy as he reminisced, dredging up memories from hundreds of years previous; Queen Maedra's death had occurred nearly thirteen hundred years ago, and the stories she had spun for her eldest son were easily from seven hundred years before that. "I have a fairly comprehensive understanding of their history, despite the fact that it pre-dates even the Netherese Imperium – the wizard-kings of Imaskar were diligent in the documentation of their empire, and recorded a great deal of the happenings within their kingdom. Of the Entry of the Gods I am well-versed – the many enslaved races who were made to serve the Imaskari artificers prayed night and day for their salvation and it was the god Ptah who answered them, blessing them with his mercy and raising them as divine minions. When they swept down the Godswatch Mountains and slew every artificer they came across the careful chronology of Imaskar history ends, so it was assumed that their entire race was lost in the massacre." His eyes were scouring the cover of the book the High Prince still held, his calculating expression belying a hint of the wonder he felt. "But if what the drow says is true, and one of the volumes of the Imaskarcana was recovered from the Underdark…"

"Few people yet live who recall the fall of the Empire of Imaskar," Telamont broke in, descending from his throne and holding the tome out for the Third Prince to take; Lamorak, baffled, fumbled and nearly dropped it to the ground, for the mystical energies it emanated produced a faint current that sent a surge of magical potential through his fingertips. "The Netherese Imperium was little more than a budding settlement then, and I was only a child and had not yet donned the moniker of Lord Shadow. One of our earliest historians chronicled the event in as much detail as he could, but Netherese eyes were not privy to the disaster so we can only speculate as to many of the particulars… I can tell you, though, that the Imaskar race did not perish on the day their rebellious slaves swept down the Godswatch Mountains."

The hum of magical energies surging into Lamorak's fingertips gave off a pleasant warmth; vaguely he wondered if Brennus had been as taken with the book as he was starting to feel. "Why have we not seen or heard about them?" he asked curiously, doing his best to focus on the task at hand. "If such powerful wizards still dwelt upon the surface then surely…" Lamorak abandoned his thought mid-sentence as a new piece of the puzzle fell into place. "They fled to the Underdark."

"The city of Deep Imaskar was founded a few decades later, under the watchful guidance of an artificer called Ilphemon," said the High Prince informatively, leading the Determinist Prime in the direction of the darkened and still world window. "He led a group of refugees away from the site of the slaughter and delved deep underground, in the hopes that in the most lightless annals of our world their vengeful slaves would never find them. Myself, I have never had an inkling to search for the precise location of their new city." They stood together near the edge of the world window's basin, gazing into the eerily still depths of the pool and wondering what the darkness might yield, and the High Prince said, "Show me Deep Imaskar."

The surface of the pool brightened but the picture was muddled; Lamorak squinted at the image reflected therein, but whatever the enchanted device meant to show them did not come through clearly. There were obscure shadows and vivid, beautifully-intermingling colors, angular lines of architecture and graceful curves of stone, but the details were vague and murky – it was rather like trying to glimpse the bottom of a lake that was riddled with impurities. The Third Prince glanced uneasily at his sovereign, wondering how this would affect the High Prince's outlook on the situation, but was surprised to find that Telamont seemed hardly put off at all.

"I had expected as much… To be perfectly honest I would have been disappointed if Ilphemon's descendants hadn't thought to safeguard the city's location from prying eyes using magical means." Telemont lifted one hand to stroke his chin thoughtfully, his eyes scouring the murky, inconclusive picture reflected off the surface of the world window. "This is a curious development indeed… If the Deep Imaskari are aware of the book's disappearance and know for certain that it was Lim's associate who stole it from them, they will be using every means known to them to pinpoint the book's location. And if they trace it back to us, they will likely conclude that we are allies of the drow and retaliate in kind."

Lamorak wasn't concerned by this turn of events at first. "The might of Thultanthar is something to be feared… even the Deep Imaskari, armed as they are with their ancient knowledge of the arcane, must know as much. Surely if they threaten us we can combat them."

Telamont turned a decidedly grave eye upon the Third Prince then, the corners of his mouth turned down in severe displeasure, and said, "Remember what happened to the last Prince of Shade who did not fully respect the great wisdom written within the Imaskarcana – Brennus is a brilliant man with a keen mind, but he is not possessed of your patience for such delicate matters as these. Had he exercised caution – and perhaps reached out for assistance from those older and more learned – he would likely still be with us now… but he is not."

The palms of Lamorak's hands were almost uncomfortably warm now; glancing down he allowed his eyes to roam the cover of the Imaskarcana yet again, trying his best to gaze beyond what its writers had labored long and hard for non-Imaskari to see. There was no denying that the tome's protective enchantments had been unraveled by his youngest brother – that much, at least, the Determinist Prime could sense at a glance – but the truly ominous dweomers, subtler magics that the sharpest minds of the Empire of Imaskar had toiled for centuries to perfect, were still woven into the unorthodox pages of the book as though they were just another part of its construction. These spells, the warming sensation it elicited at the slightest touch and the appealing shimmer radiating from the thin crystalline pages and the pleasing smoothness of the durable vellum sheaves were most dangerous of all, and it saddened Lamorak to think that in his desperation Brennus had all but ignored them in favor of delving into the secrets chiseled upon its pages. It was as his sovereign said – caution would have proved Brennus's savior, but he had underestimated the know-how of the Imaskari artificers and now it was quite possible he was lost to them.

He thought he understood just why the High Prince had called upon him to consider the binding of the Imaskarcana, as well as to partake in the retelling of the rise and fall of Imaskar. "You want me to study it," Lamorak observed, his words not a question but a statement of fact. "You want me to learn the secrets of a civilization far older than ours."

"I want you to seek Brennus out within those pages, to divine if there is indeed a way that he might earn a reprieve and return to us," Telamont corrected enigmatically. "And if you happen to scrape together an understanding of the oldest and most powerful cabal of arcane masters who have ever walked this earth… Well, I will have every reason to praise your efforts, and your successes."

"My understanding of Roushoum is quite limited," Lamorak protested numbly, referring to the ancient language known only to the wizard-kings of Imaskar and their most trusted retainers. "Only a handful of the most wizened scholars across Faerun can say they know even a handful of key words and phrases of the language. Even in my years of listening to Queen Maedra's stories she only taught me the most basic speech – nothing more complex than Imaskari children would know."

A hint of the wistful, somewhat saddened smile that Lamorak himself had worn earlier appeared briefly upon the High Prince's face as he said, "Then perhaps it is to your mother's texts that you should look before you begin delving into the book's contents. Her musings encompass several journals – they are in my possession, and I can assure you that they have been perfectly preserved over the years. I have no doubt that she managed to chronicle a more thorough understanding of Roushoum."

Lamorak tucked the Imaskarcana under one arm and offered the High Prince a single nod of finality, his agreement to enlist in the task he had been presented with. "Then in the name of Queen Maedra and Brennus I will make this my life's great undertaking, Most High, and I give you my word that I will not rest until I have exhausted every possibility. If there is a way that Brennus might be restored to flesh and blood, I vow that I will find it."

Illyria prided herself on her ability to fake sleep – some people overdid it, but she knew that the trick was to look peaceful and innocent and she'd had a knack for that since before she could walk. So when she knew that Voltain was almost through with his study of the Imaskarcana for the evening she curled up on the simple couch near the front of his apartment, tucked her wings around her like a blanket, and relaxed her face as she pretended to doze lightly with her cheek pressed against the arm of the couch cushion. She must have timed it just right because only ten minutes later she heard his familiar footfalls upon the carpet in the hall before he paused, likely just outside his bedchamber while presumably his eyes scoured her face for any sign of foul play. Illyria simply focused on keeping her breathing pattern relaxed and even, and after a minute or two she heard Voltain's footsteps retreat back into his private quarters. The moment the bedroom door quietly clicked shut behind him she sat up and stretched her wings luxuriously, and then she was on her feet and rummaging through the cabinet at the other end of the room where Voltain tended to stash various spellcasting components.

It took some effort – the gloaming's specialties were the arts of manipulation and deception, and the world of the arcane was mostly just loud noises and flashing lights where she was concerned – but she knew what she needed to scrape together to cast a limited scry spell and Voltain was just intrusive enough to always be trusted to keep the required materials on hand. When she was certain she had collected everything she needed she scooped it all into her frail arms and fluttered out the window to the tiny balcony, and there she crouched beneath the windowsill to cast her spell.

The lateness of the hour did not dissuade her from her course. Somehow he always seemed to be awake when she called – she loved that about him.

"Illyria," he said, a bite of impatience to his tone, "I told you the last time we spoke that if there was anything I required from you, I would be in touch. There are pressing matters that I must – "

"I know, I know," she overrode him, employing her most sugary-sweet voice to address him, for from all that she remembered he had always gotten some measure of perverse enjoyment from the little girl gig. Inwardly she was thrilled when he allowed her interruption without protest – the need to please him filled every ounce of her being, acute to the point of agony. "You know I wouldn't bother you unless it was something really, really important, don't you?"

He sighed – her heart plummeted in her chest – but then he conceded the point. "I will say that your definition of 'important' is often off-base," he observed reluctantly, "but I'm also aware that you know better than to disturb me with petty requests by now. What is it that you have to tell me?"

Illyria peeked over the windowsill to ensure that Voltain hadn't come back out into the sitting room looking for her, her wings folded in tightly against her shoulder blades – if he ever caught wind of where her true allegiance lay he would likely kill her in an instant, and she needed time to convey an adequate warning before her intentions became public knowledge. "Listen, I can't tell you right now… it's not safe where I am. I know what you're gonna say, it's too dangerous, but – "

"The answer is no, Illyria. I already told you – I run a great risk in entertaining your company here and my reputation is not something I am willing to gamble. If you aren't safe there then I strongly advise that you – "

"Don't tell me to call again!" Hot tears pricked the backs of her eyelids, the thought of rejection threatening to bury her like a tidal wave. "You have to make me a portal! I'm begging you, Prince – I need to come back to Thultanthar!"