He found her like that – kneeling in a cooling pool of the angel's blood, staring dully at her hands.

Alarmed, he crouched before her and touched her face gently. A moan, a low keening cry, parted her lips and echoed off the marble walls. Wordlessly, he wrapped his arms around her while she rocked. No tears formed in Brin's grey eyes as she stared, blind and lost, and her robes turned a muddy, rusty brown as they soaked up the blood.

Valen had no idea how long he held her there, but he knew he had to get her away, away from the blood that was dripping from her fingers. He picked her up from the floor and she buried her head in his shoulder, shaking from head to toe. He carried her to the temple's giant library and settled her on one of the soft, woven rugs. Grabbing a flask of water from his pack be began to wash her as best he could, wiping red stains from her hands and her face. The robes would have to be burned, there was no saving them.

When she began to calm – or at least looked like she was seeing him again – Valen lifted her to his lap again and held her close. "What happened, Brin? What in the name of the gods happened?"

Her body stiffened as she twisted to stare at him. Then she blinked and shuddered. "He … he was angry … because she was dead, because we killed her," she rasped, her eyes searching his face for something he didn't understand. "He said we murdered her."

"That's absurd!" Valen cried. "He attacked you? He congratulated you for ending her blasphemy. He was there beside us!"

"Yes, yes, I know," her breath was stronger now. "But … I guess we can do awful things for someone we love."

Valen blew out a disgusted breath. "He attacked you for a woman with whom he'd never exchanged two words! How could that be love? The whole concept is ridiculous anyway."

Brin gave a tiny gasp of laughter and leaned her head back against his chest. "Of course, of course, you're right… it's ridiculous." And then she did cry.

"Oh, Valen, he was so good. He was good!"

He held her. He always held her.

Brin remained thoughtful and haunted as they packed up and trudged to the Reaper's Hall. Valen was furious with himself for leaving her to face that alone, furious with that strange, self-righteous creature for upsetting the calm he and Brin had found. His tail lashed from side to side with each step.

The Reaper greeted them in his odd, sonorous voice that echoed down to Valen's bones.

"Hail the dead."

The very idea gave the tiefling the creeps.

Brin, her voice still shaking, pronounced the Reaper's true name.

"Hecugoth the Abandoned, you will release us from this plane."

Valen swore he could see the shadows under the grey hood smile.

"Yes, mistress, as you command, so I shall obey."

"Hecugoth the Abandoned, I command you to release the souls of the dead and allow them to pass."

"Yes, mistress."

"Hecugoth the Abandoned …" Her voice cracked. "… I command you to allow the Githzerai Pilgrims to return home."

"It shall be as you say."

Brin stopped, took a deep breath and another …

"Hecugoth the Abandoned…" She turned pleading eyes to Valen, but he couldn't comprehend what she was asking. "Hecugoth the Abandoned … you will command the soul Qeyifalia the Skyseeker to return here. You will call Nathyrra back."

"Brin! No…" Valen stood, shocked at what she had just commanded.

The Reaper hesitated only a moment. "Yes, mistress. I obey."

In the pale gleam of the Reaper's Hall, the tiny form of Nathyrra materialized. Valen was torn between the overwhelming joy of seeing his friend again and dismay at what Brin had done.

Nathyrra, however, had no such reservations. There was murder in her eyes as she launched herself at the sorceress. Valen moved to intervene, but there was no need. Of course, there was no need.

"Qeyifalia the Skyseeker, you will not harm me."

Nathyrra's body jerked as if she had struck a brick wall, all the breath leaving her body. "Traitor!" the drow spat. "Filthy, lying betrayer!"

"Yes, Nathyrra. All of those things. More, as well. So much more. You forgot 'coward,' 'thief and 'murderer.'" Brin's eyes were hard as she gazed upon her former friend. "Now, I'm afraid, you can call me 'tyrant'—or perhaps 'oppressor' will do?"