So the end is nigh! After this installment there's just one chapter plus an epilogue to go 0_0
Thank you for the reviews - they are always most welcome ;)


Guilt, horror, fear, grief and anger. Did such words truly even begin to represent the confusion in his heart? Should he not hate her for all she had put him through? Yet no, he could not, and that realisation did nothing to lighten Sand's burden. There was a numb stillness in the newly emptied main hall of the keep, the clamour of battle outside its gigantic reinforced gates ever louder. Daeghun had caught his eye before the wizard left to find Aldanon, and Sand knew he should have agreed with the look in his old friend's eyes; a look that said I warned you of the plight of loving her. It brought him no comfort, and he had turned away in irrational anger.

Aldanon was his usual cheerfully bumbling self when Sand had come upon him, cloistered away in the library for all of the battle, arranging spell ingredients and drawing diagrams from dusty tomes as he had been. There had been no solace in that encounter either while the memory of Grobnar's small form lying upon the bloodied snow was still so clear in his mind's eye. Instead he had ushered the scholar to the agreed meeting point, and had watched with growing understanding as Aldanon set about organising the spell ingredients around him, sketching a large chalk symbol on the centre of the floor without any explanation. Had Isaviel expected to keep her planned jaunt secret from him until it was too late? Even without Nasher's forewarning, Sand was an experienced wizard, almost as old as Aldanon although his half-Elvish blood did not betray such a fact. He recognised the components for a teleportation spell better than most. How many times had he done the same for himself, Esmerelle, Daeghun and the others? The memory almost choked him with tears.

The rest of Isaviel's unlikely band, or what remained of it, had begun to gather together nearby, watching with mixed levels of understanding while Aldanon went about his work. Ammon Jerro's determined stare was most telling of all; the warlock had clearly been the only other person in the keep who had been told of Isaviel's reckless plan. Another wave of guilt washed over Sand when he thought of all he had been told the night before…and he almost managed to stave it aside with all that had happened since. Almost.

It was a sobering sight to see all who remained of their previous group. Casavir, Khelgar, Zhjaeve, Qara and Ammon Jerro. The fiery sorceress alone of the reckless innocents remained; Elanee, Shandra and Grobnar were gone. All dead. Gods knew where Neeshka was, but Sand had seen the gleam of her dagger in Bishop's hand as he fought with Isaviel. He had little hope for the Tiefling given the evidence available to him.

As for Isaviel herself, the wizard knew in his rational conscience that she was no more deserving of the title of 'innocent' than Bishop. But his heart rebelled at the thought, his eyes turning to regard her, sitting alone on the sill of one of the raised alcoves at the far side of the hall. There were tears staining her face, one cheek bruised and swelling, and her swords lay discarded at her feet. When she winced and lifted the side of her tunic to reveal her colourfully bruised ribs, Sand could not help flinching as well. He had seen how hard Bishop had thrown her against the barricades, and he could not remember the last time he had seen Isaviel so easily caught and tossed aside in a fight. Not like Arvahn. In Arvahn she had been blazing like a star.

He wished he could hate her; it would have allowed him to avoid his coming confession altogether. Instead he looked at her and he saw a battered woman, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees, staring at the ground ahead of her as if a part of her wished already to be buried beneath it. For all her foolhardy confidence in battle, her sour disposition to those who yet held a say in Sand's very life and her tendency towards callous disregard, he could only see her sadness, even beyond his own. What a fool I have become the wizard berated himself even as he made his way towards the Moon Elf.

"You mean to have Aldanon send you to the very heart of the King of Shadows' power," Sand noted as he took a seat on the sill beside her. Isaviel did not look around.

"There's no choice left. We should have done this sooner," her voice was hollow, barely raised above a whisper, her hands clasped so tightly in front of her that the knuckles had turned white.

"I suspect there are many good reasons why this choice is a last resort," the wizard reminded her gently, and his heart flipped at the double meaning behind his words. Would that Nasher had never told him! It was a test, he knew. One he was rapidly failing.

As if sensing the wizard's disquiet, Isaviel turned accusing golden eyes his way. For a moment her pupils flashed red and she must have seen his instinctive flinch for she looked away just as quickly, a long sigh escaping her lips.

"I have no right to be angry with you," she told him softly, so close to an apology that his heart almost broke just to hear it. Would that you knew! "But if you've come to berate me then take your righteousness to someone who might care. Like Casavir. I'm here because I have to be, and whether you come with me or not I'm going with Jerro and Zhjaeve to kill the Guardian of Illefarn."

He could not help it; he reached out and covered her clasped hands with his, gripping harder when she tried to pull away from him. It was now or never, he realised. Was it really worth it?

"Isaviel, I have been told to ensure that Nasher will have you in chains the moment you return to this place…" his urgent whisper was broken by her incredulous words.

"You already knew of this plan and you said nothing? Nasher knew?"

"It was his idea," the wizard admitted solemnly, and tried his very best not to blanch away from the red blaze that erupted in her eyes. Her expression twisted to a snarl of rage when she understood what had passed in the hours before the enemy army advanced on the keep.

"You already knew he was planning on betraying me," she stated, and he could not deny it, "What more did you know before you slept with me? Did you know that the enemy was closer than Kana reported?"

"I was aware of Lord Nasher's ruse, yes. He knew of the approach of the enemy, and he stationed large contingents of soldiers along the eastern flank of the battlefield. Even now they will be descending upon our enemy," he could only look at her with shame-filled eyes, this time allowing her to wrench herself free.

"And I almost felt sorry for using you."

Her words were petulant, but they faded on the last few syllables. Hearing this, Sand was proud to be narcissistic for once in his life, because he knew she could not mean it. Still, he could not avoid the rush of frustration that stabbed through him, and did nothing to hide his disapproving frown.

"You forget that I am sworn to the service of Neverwinter. I am warning you now of Nasher's plans, and I am telling you to do what you can with this warning." If we survive what is coming.

There was something unsettling in the way that the anger smoothed out of Isaviel's face, the red light flickering away to nothing until Sand was staring once more into her golden eyes. Large, sad eyes, and her mouth set in a hard, determined line as she visibly forced herself to remember all that was needed of her and the responsibilities that she bore. She nodded once, sharply, and then stood just as the door to the north wing opened and Nasher stepped through with Nevalle at his side, both in spotless armour without a hint of even a ruffle in their hair. Looking at his patrons, one the lord of Neverwinter who had saved him from the dogs of Luskan, Sand wondered. He did not regret.

"You are leaving us in the midst of battle?" Nasher demanded, his voice ringing impressively in the large hall. He had always possessed a penchant for the theatrical; it was part of what made him a good leader. Sand smiled wryly and followed the Moon Elf to join Aldanon and the others at the centre of the room.

"I go to save you all, distasteful as that is," Isaviel countered, pausing to glance sidelong towards Sand.

For one terrible moment the wizard feared she might give their secret away and betray to Lord Nasher the warning he had given her. Instead, the Moon Elf simply turned away from both Sand and the leader of Neverwinter, nodding to Aldanon and taking a small marble playing piece from the cloth bag which the scholar offered to her; Ammon Jerro already held a black granite knight. These were the objects with which they could be recalled from an otherwise certain doom, but Sand had read the script for this plan and he knew it could not be so simple.

"And we shall go with you," Casavir vowed, much to Sand's relief. Khelgar grunted his approval and stepped up with the paladin as each took a playing piece of their own. Zhjaeve joined them wordlessly, while Sand did not miss the long look Qara shared with Ammon Jerro before mimicking the actions of the rest.

"I believe we're ready, Aldanon," Isaviel told the scholar pointedly, stepping onto the teleportation symbol with the others. She met Sand's look with a challenging one of her own, and he smiled disarmingly in return, holding her gaze as he took a playing piece of as well and joined the others. She had disregarded him, and he had almost betrayed her. They were not quite even, but it was a start.


How swiftly love could turn to hate. It was a terrible force powering every movement Isaviel made, intertwining ever more closely with Akachi's own feelings and memories of rage. When next she saw Bishop, she would be anything but merciful. It would be more than vengeance; it would be more than he expected. She would show to him, to his downfall, that she was every bit as cold at heart as he was. It was clear to her that their meeting would be soon, for his actions had not been those of one who was fleeing; he had taken the golem and vanished among the ranks of undead on a linear path to a predetermined goal.

To add to her wrath, she had learned of Sand's almost-betrayal of her person to the whims of Neverwinter justice with little surprise, if some disappointment. Still, it made his sudden choice to bed her easier to understand; he had feared she would not forgive him when she learned of all he had kept from her. His dithering over giving her to Nasher was oddly understandable; he knew she was evasive even at her worst moments, after all, and she would probably not need his help to escape. But allowing her to be surprised by the enemy? That was certainly harder to deal with. Still, Isaviel knew she had her own flaws to face up to and a few points to prove. Not least that she could still win this war for the Sword Coast, because even with Nasher's surprise forces out in the fields beyond the keep, there was still the tricky matter of the undead who could walk in the sun…and the source of that magical abomination; the Guardian of Illefarn.

"Gods, this place is dark," Qara's contemptuous tone rang out brashly throughout the stone chamber within which the group found themselves after the implementation of Aldanon's spell.

"It is always the way with great evil," Casavir agreed, raising his gleaming hammer over his head even as Qara shook out her hands until conjured fire blaze around them.

Isaviel smiled wryly at the paladin's words and turned away from the others, who remained clustered against the far wall in this very familiar room, still attempting to orientate themselves. Before them lay the broken remains of the Statue of Purification, and beyond that the broken doors leading to the stairs up, out into the Mere. Though this place was dark, it was by no means evil; Aldanon did not have the power to push them truly into the heart of the Claimed Lands, but rather he had taken advantage of neutral ground.

"Ah. I see," Sand sounded amused once his conjured light filled the room, rendering Qara's fires and Casavir's hammer insignificant with its impressive glow.

Sparing a moment to look back at Casavir's rather embarrassed visage, Isaviel found it within her to grin at his moment of chagrin. Had he forgotten that the darkness was her ally as well? With the promise of vengeance, and the culmination of all she had previously feared to face, the Moon Elf felt almost exultant. When she felt the presence of the Spirit Eater twist within her heart, she unsheathed her mighty blades and stepped ahead before Ammon Jerro could voice the impatience which was evident on his face.

"Your lack of subtly is astounding," the warlock noted behind her, but Isaviel was hardly listening as she pushed her way through the half-shattered wooden door at the top of the short stairway.

"We are a bastion of light in a great darkness," Casavir was quick to counter, and Qara snickered.

"Right. Because wherever there is no light, 'there is evil'. Try telling that to whoever built this place."

While the others lingered, still gaining their bearings, the Moon Elf moved on ahead, out into the choking gloom of Meredelain upon silent, practiced feet. She was waiting patiently, staring thoughtfully into the foul-smelling mists of the impenetrably dark marshland by the time the others caught up with her. The Sword of Gith glittered almost blindingly in her right hand, rendering the soft blue glow of Lord Halueth Never's blade redundant. She knew her eyes were aglow with fearsome red light when Sand reached her side and she turned to meet his curious glance.

"The stillness out here is no ruse," the Moon Elf told him softly.

"You seem very certain of the direction which we must take," Ammon Jerro noted gruffly from her other side.

Isaviel nodded, tapping the spot over her heart wherein the shard was lodged, holding in the worst of Akachi's curse…and a conduit linking that curse to the Sword of Gith. When that blade was in her hand, she could even feel every one of the souls of her companions, each one an unattainable whisper of hunger to torment the Spirit Eater. But more importantly, she could feel a greater pull on her soul: that of the life force of the King of Shadows, once known as the Guardian of Illefarn. Her bitter smile twisted wickedly as she remembered what she had been told: Pierce the heart of the Guardian of Illefarn once the Ritual of Purification is complete and you will at last kill him.

"The Sword guides her," Zhjaeve explained in an awed tone.

"Just follow me," Isaviel commanded, not bothering to hide her disapproval of such sentiment, "And don't bother about subtlety; we're expected."

"A final confrontation. I might have known," Ammon Jerro sounded almost respectful, and had he not been who he was, Isaviel might have shared a smile with him for it. As it was, the Moon Elf simply strode ahead into the thick fog, weaving a light-footed path over the slippery, uneven marshland. The others would struggle to keep up, not used to this terrain as she was, but she felt the urgency of the Spirit Eater's hunger as if it were her own, and could not slow her step.

Just when Isaviel was beginning to doubt her conviction, a set of crumbling stone steps became visible through the slowly parting fog, the twisted roots of long dead plants marring its once smoothly graven ascent up the steep, muddy incline ahead. She took the steps two at a time, somehow sensing that which awaited them.

The Moon Elf could only agree with Khelgar's impressed whistle at the sight of the gigantic building before them. It truly was a feat of engineering, a towering monument of glittering black stone, catching the rays of a moon that was visible nowhere else in the Mere, formed of numerous majestically arching constructions of stone into the shape of an opening flower bud. The pyramid-shaped roof connecting these curving walls was made of black glass, gleaming like a jewel up above.

"Well by all the gods and Hells…and the Abyss for good measure," Sand breathed, "Don't tell me you Mere folk have been frolicking amidst such a temple for all these decades. I can feel the cold press of the Shadow Weave from here."

"I have hunted with Daeghun many times in this area," Isaviel agreed, staring up at the construction before them and shaking her head in bemusement, "I can promise you that this place was not here before."

"The Guardian of Illefarn's powers have grown since last we were here," Zhjaeve explained softly, "This dark temple is a conduit for his power, just as your silver sword amplifies your own attributes. And just as your will alone holds together the shards, so too does his keep this place standing."

"A good thing we've got Aldanon's playin' pieces then!" Khelgar noted, "I'm not one fer winnin' a battle only t' have his masonry land on me skull."

"Delicately observed, as ever," Sand sighed, putting a tentative hand on Isaviel's elbow. When she turned to look at him, his expression was distant, lacking the warmth she was used to from him, but it was determined. After all that had passed between them, could she expect much more? "We are with you, Isaviel."

"Then let us see this finished," Ammon Jerro cut in, "Once we are within there will be no time for idle chatter. You may be a 'dragonslayer', Elf, but you cannot comprehend the foe you will face. Wait for the completion of the Ritual of Purification, and once it is done you must strike without hesitation. Our enemy will not be vulnerable for long."

The Moon Elf could only give a sharp nod of agreement as she moved to follow the warlock up the broken stone path beyond. She battled back a wave of sadness – Shandra, Elanee and Grobnar had all fallen for her to reach this point, and the gods knew what fate had found Neeshka. She had never been one for sentiment, but it seemed only fitting that she could not fail after all that had happened, and all that had been lost.


With every step Isaviel took, the pain in her chest blazed just a little more fiercely. An open archway had yawned before them within the wall of the Shadow Temple at the end of their path, and from within that inky blackness Isaviel could feel the agonising pull of the Guardian of Illefarn's mighty life force.

As she and her companions had stepped within the confines of that enormous building, Casavir's armoured feet clanging loudly upon the obsidian floor with an echo that went on and on, Isaviel could actually sympathise with the paladin's earlier comment. The light which their group emanated cut a great globe of clarity out of the otherwise impenetrable blackness – her night vision could show her little more than the vague outline of the smooth stone walls arcing high above them. Without her blades, Casavir's hammer, Sand's conjured light and Qara's fires their impending last stand would have been a mockery of battle, conducted blind.

When she heard the grinding of stone behind them, Isaviel closed her eyes in heavy-hearted understanding. Sand's cursing proved her suspicion correct: the archway through which they had entered this dismal hall had sealed up behind them. Distracted, the Moon Elf almost stumbled down the shallow steps which materialised before her in the darkness, but righted herself just in time, tilting her head to listen. Yes, there it was; the lapping of water up ahead, but still not the slightest whisper of real danger. From the way that Casavir's unsubtle clanking grew ever more muffled as they descended these steps to some unseen lower level of the temple, she could tell their confines were becoming at least a little less expansive.

"I hope we're all clear on the roles we will be playing today," Isaviel murmured once the others joined her at the foot of the stairs, trying to keep her tone dry even against the pounding of her heart as blue lights erupted not too far away.

"The Guardian's sanctum," Zhjaeve gasped softly as those lights illuminated what their own conjurations had failed to reach so far.

A large raised throne stood empty upon a stone pier, bordered on three sides by softly lapping pools of unfathomable water, wherein glowed eerie illumination. As her eyes accustomed to the light, Isaviel realised she could make out a figure crouched before the seat. A very familiar figure, pale and frightened, her tail coiled listlessly around one arm…but alive all the same. When the Spirit Eater chose this moment to lurch painfully within her, she had to bite her lip to avoid crying out.

"Neeshka!" she called, reflexively moving forward, stopped only by the vicelike grip of Ammon Jerro.

Isaviel wheeled on him, the curse within her roaring with angry fire, and for a moment she had the overwhelming urge to see his head parted from his shoulders. With a derisive grunt he let go of her, holding her fiery gaze until she turned back and headed to her friend's side. Only once Isaviel stood a few metres from her did Neeshka look up sharply, the blue light around her casting strange shadows across her terrified features. With a gasp, she scrambled away from the Moon Elf, both hands closing tightly around the arm of the throne beside which she crouched.

"D-don't come any closer," the Tiefling gasped, her eyes momentarily moving to take in the rest of the group who had approached more cautiously, "I…don't want to have to do it."

"What are you talking about? What don't you want to have to do?" Sand's suspicious tone suggested that he already had an inkling of what was going on, even as Isaviel raised her eyes in surprise, looking around the dark hall in confusion.

"I'm…sorry," the Tiefling shook her head, momentarily revealing bruises on one side of her face, a jagged cut just visible at her neckline, running over her shoulder and staining her tunic with red – blood trickled from a cut in her hand as well, glistening almost black as it trailed down the smooth armrest of the throne.

"Sorry about what? They've hurt you…" Isaviel's voice was just a snarl, the grinding in her soul forewarning her of another, darker presence in the room and giving her the chance to look around. She was already staring deep into the shadows before the blue-eye Reaver who had once been Black Garius drifted into view, flanked by two more slightly smaller members of his kind, "And they will pay with their lives, what is left of them."

"Your half-Demon friend has been most petulant," the Guardian's lieutenant observed coldly, moving past the other side of throne, towards Isaviel and her friends, forcing the Moon Elf to back up warily back onto the main floor of the cavernous chamber. His deep voice resonated powerfully in the dark hall and he held out his hands in mocking supplication as his lackeys moved to flank the throne behind Neeshka with still, silent obedience, "But in time, she learned to obey," his voice sounded cruelly amused when he shrugged his dark-clad shoulders nonchalantly, "She had just the right blood to allow certain ancient binding spells to…take root."

"A geas," Sand muttered in disgust, and a shudder of horror ran through Isaviel at that dreaded word; a curse that could not be retracted…until such time as the caster's command was fulfilled.

"Please don't do this," Neeshka's voice was even higher than usual, and she looked from Garius to Isaviel with misery evident in her expression, "I'm so sorry, Isaviel. You've been the best friend I've ever had…you were the only one who ever looked out for me or stuck with me…"

"As touching as this reunion is," Garius interrupted acidly, "There are others who would greet their old friend before this day is done."

"Bishop," Casavir snarled, even before Isaviel saw the familiar form of her treacherous lover stalking into the globe of blue light. The Moon Elf noted the bruises on his cheek from her earlier attack with some satisfaction.

A cold smile spread across Isaviel's face as she watched the ranger approaching. He was in her reach, and soon would be at her mercy. The smug way he hefted his bow, eyeing each member of her group before glancing down at Neeshka's cowering form beside him made a wave of cold hatred pour like a tide into her heart. She was vaguely aware of Sand's grip tightening around her wrist, warning her against any rash actions – for they could all feel the change in the air, chilling them like the winds of the Frozen North never had. Around their globe of light the shadows darkened, and Isaviel watched the moving shapes flitting within. They were silent…and legion.

"Ah, you sense it," Garius nodded his hideous head, "And you cannot deny that in some way the darkness calls to you, Isaviel 'Farlong', daughter of the mighty Esmerelle of Evereska. Do you think we are unaware of the fractures in your precious group?" he gestured towards Ammon Jerro, glowering by the Moon Elf's side, "Can you really bring yourself to take sides with one who so betrayed your mother? What is there to hold you to this pathetic humanity? You are a child of something altogether more…complicated."

"You bastard!" Isaviel spat towards Bishop, who just laughed at her, "Was it not enough to betray the whole keep?"

"Not my problem," the ranger shrugged, ignoring Garius's sharp gesture for silence, "I do what I want…don't you remember?"

"We are willing to be merciful," Garius all but snapped, a strangely human twitch of annoyance twisting his ghastly, robed form, "For those of you who would join us, welcome. And you, Isaviel, would be a boon for us. Would you ever be happy lingering in the world you fight for? Would you not prefer to be as you once were with those you cared for?" he nodded over his shoulder, to Bishop's gloating presence, and Neeshka's tear-streaked visage.

"Do not do this," Zhjaeve's voice sounded behind Isaviel and for a moment the Moon Elf believed the priestess was warning her – a glance at the Githzerai showed her gaze was trained on Bishop.

"You can't order me, Gith," the ranger drawled, not even bothering to look her way and preferring to hold Isaviel's stare, "My 'debt' to you is over, Knight-Captain," he paused to glare at Neeshka when the Tiefling let out a sob, hooking his arm under hers and dragging her roughly to her feet before continuing, "I told you all along I wouldn't get tied down to your bowing and boot-kissing farce. If you can't see that there's no hope with your pathetic friends, then I'll be happy to show you the error of your ways," his expression flickered, though his tone was hard. Beside him, Neeshka pulled away sharply, giving a momentary view of the strange cut in her hand – Jerro saw it too, and let out a grunt of surprise.

Another wave of dark power swept through the room and Isaviel retreated a step, hissing, gripping her blade tightly. The prickling of apprehension began through her limbs as she observed the gathering forms of more Shadow Reavers drifting into the light and Garius folded his arms, his laughter gloating. At least Bishop had the sense to look disgusted by those companions he had chosen. When he looked back at Isaviel, she recognised fear as it crept across his features. She knew him too well. For all his bluster and his lies, he could not hide his heart. She would make sure he regretted his choices…

"You never were a true leader," Garius was saying, though she could barely hear him over the roaring in her ears or past the pain in her chest, "A poorly forged sword for a poorly forged hero, one who has already proven herself less than wise in choosing loyal companions."

"Agh, enough o' this nonsense!" Khelgar grunted, and his oblivious impatience almost made Isaviel smile for real – except for the fear Garius's words instilled in her. Why did he sound so smug? Elanee and Grobnar had both died under the influence of his elusive master, whose approaching presence was a constant and painful assault on Isaviel's senses.

"Did you think that all those who followed you would follow you unto death?"

"Know that you will be fighting us all, no matter your threats," Zhjaeve denied the Reaver when his blue gaze settled upon her.

"We're with ye as we ever were, lass," Khelgar agreed together with a loud affirmation from Casavir.

The silence that followed was telling as Garius looked to Qara, standing further back than the others. Her wrists were wreathed in flame, her eyes flashing brightly in the dim light and the power that emanated from her was almost enough for Akachi's soul to send Isaviel lunging for the sorcerer. Gods, when had she become so powerful? It was evident that Qara had been hiding her true capabilities, and Ammon Jerro's snide laugh by Isaviel's side sounded strangely impressed rather than disappointed as the sorcerer stepped forward without a second glance at any of her companions.

"Ah, Qara. You are willing to hold to your part of our agreement?" Garius questioned, a hint of evident menace creeping into his voice.

"I'm more than willing," the girl agreed, sneering derisively towards Khelgar as the Dwarf roared in rage when she stepped past her companions entirely. For just a split second her eyes met Ammon Jerro's and then she looked away again.

"And as for Neeshka," the Reaver looked to the battered Tiefling, "Your friend holds some interesting truths…beneath the skin. You should be proud to have found one whose blood is so rare as to allow certain…unique Illefarn binding spells to take root." Ammon Jerro's sound of startled understanding was drowned out by the eruption of movement around them; all at once, the tense stand-off was broken.

"Ye'll pay for her suffering a thousand times over, ye scum!" Kheglar roared.

The Dwarf threw himself forward as Qara called forth a blinding globe of flame to shield her from the beginning fray. Meanwhile, the other Reavers arrayed around the throne broke into the unhurried gestures of complex spellcasting.

The dark forms that rushed for the small group from the shadows had been expected, for Sand's long silence had kept his preparations for this inevitability hidden. With a cry of one spellword and the twist of an enchanted ring, he threw out a wave of force, throwing the first wave of gruesome attackers back.

"And what of your master, Reaver?" Isaviel cried, throwing herself into a roll away from one of Qara's hurled balls of fire. For a moment, she truly envied the spellcasters who had flanked her; Jerro shrugged the fire aside, a ward on his strange robes flaring white, while Sand's many enchanted possessions forced the flames to sputter and die several feet away from him.

"Oh, he comes. He would not miss your death."

Isaviel was about to throw herself at Garius when Jerro grasped her shoulder tightly, forcing her to look back at him.

"The binding on your friend is no geas, Elf," he told her, "Kill the caster, and you break her compulsion. Until that time…watch your back."

When she looked back to the enemies by the throne, a wall of flickering conjured darkness greeted Isaviel. Cursing, she almost staggered to her knees as a mighty grinding sound tore through the cries of exertion and ring of battle. She could taste rage on her tongue, and her vision blurred with a veil of red. A feral snarl tore through her throat and she felt blood trickle from the twisting scar on her chest, spinning on reflex to meet the swings of the zombies grasping for her with the glittering Sword of Gith and the keen edge of Halueth Never's blade.

"Gods save me," the Moon Elf gasped, understanding at last.

Around her she could see her friends were already hard pressed; Zhjaeve stood at the centre of their sphere of light, eyes closed and hands pressed together, in the process of calling forth divine protection spells. Nearby, Jerro was calling forth a whirlwind of vitriolic green energy and sending it to pour forth upon the shambling foes coming his way. His power could easily cover that flank of the group for a time, but he needed a reprieve to begin the Ritual of Purification. Sand had realised the same thing, already barely visible within his own multi-layered warding spells, shimmering and blurred in form within several shifting globes of power. His next few spells surrounded Jerro with similar layers of temporary invulnerability.

Casavir and Khelgar made an impressively destructive pairing at the other side of the group, battering energetically through ranks of the undead; the Dwarf's goal was evidently the fiery form of Qara, whose own attentions were focussed upon sending pillars of flame down upon Sand, intent upon breaking through his wards. This could not last. The enemy had the greater numbers and the greater energy. Isaviel's eyes turned to the wall of darkness between her and the throne. The Reavers. Garius had never overtly mentioned her curse; did he not know the truth? It was worth a risk.

Taking a deep breath, Isaviel closed her eyes and instantly felt the pull of the darkness around her, allowing her form to become insubstantial just in time, before her grasping foes could reach her. Like a feather drifting in a stream she allowed herself to be pulled into the shadows and felt a surge of triumph as she passed effortlessly through the dark barrier and onto the walkway among the Shadow Reavers.

"The Shard Bearer steps to meet her doom!" Garius sounded incredulously amused, though he pointedly began to back up, putting his kin between himself and his enemy as she met his scorn with a steady smile and eyes which glowed brightest crimson.

As the Reavers leapt for her, Isaviel called upon the twisted wrath of Akachi, spinning to meet her first foe with a warning swipe of her longsword, ducking below the blow she had fully expected behind her and sending the many pieces of the Sword of Gith spiralling around her. Her laughter was manic as she wheeled upon the closest Reaver, raising the hilt of her blade with its one remaining shard over her heard and throwing herself at him. He had hardly expected this and reeled back in surprise – only the ravenous power of Akachi's curse threw the Moon Elf forward far quicker than should have been possible.

The Reaver shrieked in agony as the shard cut into his chest, the rest of the glittering pieces lashing out at the others around Isaviel as the same time. Such a minor wound should hardly have slowed any of them, and she could hear Garius's incredulous shrieks for his lackeys to continue their attack. Instead, they stood frozen in agony as Isaviel flung back her head and dared to call forth all of her power, tendrils of red magic reaching out from her heart as she tore from them their souls.

Dimly she was aware of the Reavers around her screaming, of their bodies collapsing to rags and bones, of a sharp pain in her back and the sudden taste of blood, of someone calling her name as the power she had torn free surged back for her, throwing her from her feet. Through a grey fog she saw a wave of blue light rippling out from her own body, tearing the wall of darkness sheltering Garius to shreds and momentarily filling the whole hall with bright light. She saw hundreds of undead surging for her friends knocked down never to rise and might have laughed, had she not seen Casavir throwing himself on Khelgar to shelter the Dwarf, his armour denting and twisting against his back in the weight of the magical wave. Sand, Jerro, Zhjaeve and – less happily – Qara all remained untouched.

Hunger. It would never be sated. A memory assaulted her as she lay in the temporary stillness, her mind's eye drifting to the grey land which she shared with Akachi. She saw her grandfather's recollection of his own son, her father, being dragged from the Fugue Plain in chains. Akachi had been forced to watch as his son, who he thought of fondly as the better man was interred in an enormous barrow, screaming with the agonising hunger of the newly created Spirit Eater curse as he was trapped within a ring of unbreakable wards. He would never leave that place, and the hunger drove him mad as it also destroyed Akachi's sense of being.

"I didn't…I can't…fight this. I'm sorry, Isaviel…" Neeshka's voice tore the Moon Elf back to more complete consciousness. The pain in her chest had dulled, and the sharp reality before her was the sting of a dagger pressed to her throat.

The greyness cleared in time for Isaviel to make out her Tiefling friend's tear-streaked face staring down at her, for Neeshka was crouching over the Moon Elf's prone form. She could not have been unconscious for even a matter of seconds, but it had been enough. Her compelled friend clearly believed her to be more immobilised than she truly was, and seeing Garius was otherwise engaged in conjuring wards to defend against Jerro's fiery onslaught, while Sand and Qara had begun to fling spells from one to the other, Isaviel took her chance. She had not expected to be grateful that Bishop had stolen Neeshka's vicious enchanted blade, but she certainly was as she grabbed hold of the Tiefling's collar. Flinging herself forward, utilising a less-than-refined head-butt to send her friend rolling away, Isaviel had been forced to press the sharp blade of the dagger against her own throat. Twisting away into a crouch, snatching up her dropped swords as she went, she could feel the sting of split skin. She must have looked a gruesome sight, spattered in the gore of the zombies she had fought, with blazing red eyes in a bruised face – courtesy of Bishop – and blood staining her tunic from her scar even as it trickled down her neck from a fresh cut.

When a great shadow spread across the globe of light at the centre of the hall and Neeshka looked past Isaviel in terror at the form she saw beyond, the Moon Elf did not dare consider the implications of this reaction. Instead, she used it to her advantage, however fleeting that might be, and swung the pommel of one sword into her friend's temple. Neeshka flopped to the ground, senseless.

"Master! You have come!" Garius cried in exultation, and Isaviel dragged herself to her feet, forcing herself to look around and witness her true foe.