...it's the final battle! :O I can't believe there's just the Epilogue to go.
I hope you enjoy this penultimate installment - reviews welcomed and much appreciated, as always :)


The Guardian of Illefarn approached at long last, and for the first time Isaviel set eyes upon her nemesis. A sphere of dull blue light illuminated his steady approach and revealed him to be an impressively tall, broadly muscular man, no doubt a form which reflected the way he had been in life. But his skin was pure darkness, shifting like thick fog around him, lending his brilliant blue gaze an even more piercing glow as he took in the scene before him. A huge greatsword rested against his shoulder, held in an unwavering single-handed grasp. His steps were unhurried, his expression unknowable through the dark void of his face. He paused some distance away, watching…waiting.

Though Isaviel's stunt had felled all of the Reavers but Garius and many of the undead army within the hall besides, it had only halted a greater tide. Months of slaughter within the Mere had given the King of Shadows innumerable ranks of bodies to animate against his attackers. Casavir was only just pulling himself to his feet, though Khelgar had somehow already leapt against the walls of undead blocking him from the treacherous Qara, who continued to trade spells with Sand. Neither seemed to be tiring, and it was impossible to tell at a glance who might waver first. Zhjaeve had taken to sending blasts of blue-white light against the ranks of undead, and to look at her companions, Isaviel might have believed they had a chance. Only…Garius was beginning to back up towards his waiting lord, and beyond that ancient Guardian of Illefarn there swarmed a mass of seething darkness, full of twisted shapes and terrible magics hitherto held back from the attacking group. Meanwhile, Neeshka lay senseless behind her and Bishop…

Isaviel's realisation was all that saved her, ducking and spinning just in time to dodge the ranger's swing with the Tiefling's enchanted dagger and to meet the blade of his longsword with that of her own. The ring of steel momentarily deafened Isaviel as she met the fiery glare of her former lover.

"Well now, you're almost as quick as you used to be," Bishop taunted, taking in her battered figure even as he exerted more strength and pushed her back with a shove of his blade against hers, nodding behind her towards where the King of Shadows and Garius waited with their shadowy army, "We always promised each other it would come to this, Knight Captain. I'm just following through on my vow."

"Is that what all this is for?" Isaviel hissed, stalking around him, shifting the Sword of Gith threateningly in her grasp as he span to keep her in his sights, "Your pathetic ego won't let you get 'tied down'? I realised the world was bigger than you and me, and I declined your coward's way out? Making yourself hate me won't solve your problems or save your life."

"Oh, I'm counting on it," the ranger shrugged, his smile oddly bitter, easily parrying her first swing, each testing the other's resolve. It was a little unsettling to see the sadness in his eyes, "I did want to hate you, just like I hated Duncan. He tried to save me, and then he chained me to life with vows and blackmail. I should have hated you."

His next swing was hard, and he followed it through with a stab of his dagger. Isaviel had seen his tell-tale shift of weight and was ready to dive to the side, rolling away and sending a shuriken spinning for him as she whirled to meet his next swing. The blade of the projectile drew first blood, slicing through his calf deep enough to force him to falter, but not badly enough to cause serious damage. Behind him now, Garius and his master looked on with all the air of a pair of executioners. This has to end. She could hear Ammon Jerro's chanting rising and falling behind her. Almost time.

"…but I can't hate you, at all. And that's why it has to end like this. For every hero like you, there's a hundred more like me who take the other path," Bishop was snarling, and something in his tone, in the empty look in his eyes…it stirred an idea.

He almost looked taken aback when she laughed, lunging for him and spinning her swords in a blur, forcing him back. She remembered something Mae'rillar had told her months passed when they had yet been working in Neverwinter for the Thieves' Guild; Bishop was a good swordsman, but he was not as good as he thought he was, nor did he ever challenge himself against a foe he felt he could not dominate. In those days, she had been a stranger to such weaponry as these two longswords. But no longer. Soon he was parrying with a speed that belied this was a fight for his life. She was strong, stronger than he could have understood, full of the power of the souls she had devoured.

"It's too late for admissions of love now, Bishop. Maybe once I might have listened," Isaviel told him.

Taking her chance at his momentary distraction, she forced his longsword out wide and risked the swing of his dagger to twist around and cut at his exposed arm with her other blade as well. Just in time – he cried out and staggered back, his left arm falling uselessly by his side. Momentarily, rage and pain warred on his face, but he did not flinch away as the pommel of Never's sword slammed into his jaw and knocked him to his knees. He spat blood, and looked up at her once more. It reminded of her of her hunting days with Daeghun as a child, when once her father had shot a prowling wolf with his mighty bow, a grievous wound. They had approached the animal, and it had wined and pulled away from the offered mercy of a quick death, intense pained eyes looking up at them with wild distrust.

"I made my own vows to you," the Moon Elf reminded him, calling forth her disappointment and her shame to hide from the waves of panic that threatened to engulf her hatred, "I always promised I would kill you if you betrayed me. I've been known to renege on my promises, it's true," she shrugged, forcing her expression to go blank as a clean slate when she looked back at Bishop, "But then you had to kill Grobnar and set his golem on my friends. Not only that, but you made me look weak for a whole army to see. I won't let that stand without punishment," she was suddenly aware of her words running away from her, pouring from the mind of another more vengeful force.

"Then all my debts are paid," Bishop murmured, his smile as cold as Isaviel's as he dropped his own remaining weapon.

For her part, she might have screamed in agony had she been able, but instead she could only watch as she plunged the blade of Gith through Bishop's heart, for in her desperation she had been forced to give herself over more completely to the needs of Akachi. And he wanted this man's soul. Bright golden light erupted all around Isaviel, and then she did scream, in agony and something almost like grief, as panic showed in Bishop's face, his eyes rolling before he went still beneath her and the glow of his soul poured through the sword and through the shard lodged in her chest. For a moment she knew all that he knew, and felt all of his fear. She saw a snowy field, and the departing shape of a wolf…and she saw a battered young man, lying amidst the smoking ruins of a small town, yelling for freedom which would never come. The world went blank.


Sand had never expected to see Isaviel's sword tear through Bishop's body, not really. The ranger had all but proffered his life, and in response the Moon Elf had lost herself to the Spirit Eater. She had stolen his soul, and possibly lost her own, to gain the power she needed to finish the destruction she had attempted earlier. This time the wave of power that rocked the temple was more concentrated, as if she had some kind of control over it, scattering the zombies which lingered and opening the way to Garius who had so evidently unwillingly been sent forth to deal with the Moon Elf while she was lost in the power of another devoured soul.

Sand cried out to her, for his enchantments were all but spent and there was no time to send forth a spell, not when Qara continued to rain fire upon him. How the sorceress had not tired after such a tirade he did not know, for he was able now only to maintain the shields protecting himself and Jerro. The warlock was lost in his chant, while Zhjaeve had taken the chance of a reprieve in fighting to run to Casavir and Khelgar, both of whom were swaying on their feet, faces ashen. The Dwarf was bleeding from many wounds, and the paladin had dropped his hammer at his feet, wincing with every breath in his twisted armour.

Everything seemed to happen at once, for as the shadowy army rushed out from behind the Guardian, Jerro's incantation reached its crescendo. The very air shuddered as a burst of light again tore through the room, scattering the first few ranks of the approaching enemies and sending the King of Shadows himself staggering back. This gave Isaviel time to recover herself…or at least for the one who possessed her to take his chance, for the way the Moon Elf twirled her longswords around her to meet the attack of Garius was entirely unfamiliar. As the entire building began to groan and bend around them, Sand realised two very important facts, both of which came into force simultaneously.

"Ha! You pathetic egotistical wizard. You always thought you could tell me what to do," Qara fairly cackled.

For a moment Sand truly believed she was talking to him, and that his doom was at hand…except the torrent of fire had ended, and Ammon Jerro was grinning towards the sorceress as she wheeled on Garius. It was hard to imagine the warlock smiling at all, but that look…explained everything.

"You planned this with her!" Sand gasped, and by the time Ammon Jerro had turned to give him a composed nod, Qara was pouring fire upon Garius.

Isaviel had scrambled away just in time, lingering for a moment as if drawn to the soul of another possible victim. However, it was only for a moment because another form appeared behind Garius, impervious to the fire Qara conjured, and a very familiar dagger cut through the remnants of his heart, sending his poorly attached soul guttering out with a flicker of blue light.

"You made me vow to kill Isaviel," Neeshka snarled to her dying master, "But you never made me vow to spare you." Her shoulders sagged as the weight of Garius's binding spell lifted and she collapsed, utterly spent.

The ring of swords meeting brought Sand's attention to the matter at hand; though the shadowy army was scattered for the moment, it was reforming behind the King of Shadows – who was otherwise engaged in a contest with Isaviel, newly aglow with the power of devoured souls and driven only by the desire to steal his essence as well.

"Great Mystra, let her not be lost," Sand prayed fervently as he rushed forward, determining that those few enchantments he had left to him could still prove of some use.

Calling to Qara and Ammon Jerro, leaving Zhjaeve to tend to Casavir and Khelgar, the wizard made to help Isaviel. As he did so, his hand closed around the playing piece he had secured in his belt…and felt it bend unexpectedly in his grasp. Looking down at the only means of escape from this worryingly unstable building, Sand realised the little figurine was broken in half, and its magic had been lost.


All about there was greyness. The air was cold and still, and though Isaviel had the memory of a battle, the sounds which had so recently rung in her ears were distant. She had the sense that the struggle continued, but she was not a part of it – Akachi was. And Bishop was dead – at her hand no less. She had promised him many times in the past that any betrayal would lead her to kill him, but somehow she had never really believed it would happen. Faced with that reality, she had found herself powerless to avoid it – he would have killed her, she had seen that much in his eyes – but that look he had given her before Akachi took control and drove the sword through his heart…Bishop had intended this.

She had realised the only way to gain the upper hand in the battle and get to the King of Shadows himself was to use her one advantage; the curse which may well have just stranded her in this nothing-place, somewhere between the Planes. But the only way to strengthen the Spirit Eater within her had been to devour a soul; not one so broken and faded as those of the five Reavers she had slain…and there had been Bishop, betraying her, trying to kill her. At the last he had let his arms fall, the moment he saw the Spirit Eater take over her body. It was as if he had wanted to die: all my debts are paid.

Not for the first time, Isaviel was bitterly reminded that vengeance would bring no real peace – especially if she remained wandering around in circles in this cold, formless world of greyness. The twin kukris at her belt felt strange, for she had begun to grow accustomed to her dual longswords, mighty as they were. Her kukris had been familiar, and much improved after they absorbed the magic of a dying Githyanki mage, but they did not have the…flare of Halueth Never's blade or the Sword of Gith. Weapons with histories and names, and power to match. Nor could she imagine enduring the memories brought on by the soft robes she wore in this place; the cloth tunic and trousers of a monk. The memories of Merring and how much of a constant disappointment she had been to him were particularly painful because only when she had seen him dead in the Mere had she truly understood her regret. Yet she could not change her personality; the calm, gentle manner of the goodly monks had been utterly alien to her, though she had taken to the physical training much more readily. The men at the Temple of Tyr in Neverwinter had seen as much when Daeghun sent her to meet them, and everything she had done since had only served to prove them right. She had been Nasher's rabid dog, and she would be his prisoner to the end of her days if she ever returned to Crossroad Keep or his city.

The brush of feathers against her bare arms pulled the Moon Elf from her fevered memories and she jumped in surprise, twisting around before she remembered that they were her feathers and that in this realm she had wings just as her grandfather did. Where was he, anyway? In the past they had always both been in this place, and she had the sense that when she was away from it he remained. Was there no way out for the weaker soul?

Concentrate. Stay calm. Find focus and peace. Merring's words came back to her unexpectedly; and at once she understood. Breathing deeply, Isaviel closed her eyes and let her arms fall by her sides, trying to quiet the babbling of her disorientated mind. One breath, two, three…six…stillness washed over her, a darkness more total than sleep, and for a moment her body drifted, dislocated from two realities. Then she felt the aches of many wounds, the weariness of long exertion, the prickling of power in her right hand where she held the Sword of Gith, the trickle of sweat over her skin and smell of death all around her. The roar of a spell showering around her came in sudden dizzying wave of sound, along with the ring of steel close at hand. Last of all, the darkness receded and for a moment she saw everything without holding any control over her movements.

Akachi had taken her straight to the towering man of shadows who had been the Guardian of Illefarn, the Spirit Eater predictably intent upon the powerful life force this creature possessed. The Sword of Gith had held out admirably against the swings of their enemy's enormous greatsword, giving her body the strength to deflect those hefty swipes. All around there swarmed the forces of the Shadow Weave, creatures of black smoke, twisting and amorphous before sending out grasping claws which Akachi narrowly avoided with a combination of dexterity and the keen edge of Halueth Never's blade.

Beside Isaviel stood Sand, Jerro and Qara, doing their best to hold the multiple foes at bay. Casavir, Khelgar and Zhjaeve had just joined the fray if the ring of battle behind her was anything to go by, and at least Garius had fallen. The objective in this battle was clear, but Akachi's movements were clumsy in this body he did not know…and Isaviel had very much had enough.

The Guardian of Illefarn's next graceless swing of his greatsword sparked with blue light, crashing against the Sword of Gith and sending Akachi staggering back, a movement that allowed the rending claws of the shadows around him to cut a gash in the back of the body which he possessed. Reeling, he could not possibly have time to get away from the descending blade before him…but Isaviel could. With but a second or two to spare, she exerted her will and forced her consciousness past Akachi's, instantly finding refuge in the shadows around her, allowing her body to become momentarily insubstantial, reforming several feet away, grinning wickedly when her foe floundered.

"Isaviel!" Sand cried in relief, and she tipped her head to him in salute just before ducking the Guardian's next swing and crackling magic that came in its wake, rolling away between his wide-set feet and scoring several cuts on her way past.

"The Ritual's power will not last!" Jerro grunted as she came to her feet beside him, "Look for the silver cord!"

Ah, yes. The silver cord of an astral traveller which a Githyanki blade alone could sever. It would certainly weaken her enemy, who even at that moment was turning to face her again, apparently unbothered by the damage she had dealt him. It would not kill him, however – knowledge for which she was grateful to the souls of his former people. Still, it would be a start.

The warlock shoved Isaviel away from him when the King of Shadows began to advance towards her again and they dived away from each other just in time for one of Qara's fireballs to soar between them, washing over the face of the shadowy man and sending him staggering back again. Wisps of darkness were trailing like blood from his ankles where Isaviel had cut him, and the fire momentarily crackling around him induced a supernaturally loud roar of pain and rage. It was when he wheeled towards the sorceress that Isaviel saw the silver cord, faint as a mote of light through drifting dust, illuminated by a glance of light from the Sword of Gith's glittering blade.

Dodging the grasping hands of the shadows around her, Isaviel sent a pair of shuriken careering for the broad form of the Guardian of Illefarn and watched with some satisfaction as the blades sank deep between his shoulder blades, one either side of the cord which was her goal. But Akachi had not been subdued, not properly; she could feel the twist of his soul over her heart, the desperate hunger when she saw the traces of her enemy's life force drifting from his wounds. Yes, there was only one way left to her. She charged.

Seeing her movement, Sand, Jerro and Qara all turned to her aid, leaving Zhjaeve and the warriors to hold back the shadowy attackers who continued to harry them into an ever narrowing circle of light with the King of Shadows at the centre. As fire, conjured acid and all manner of colourful magical energy which Isaviel could not name rained down all around the King of Shadows, the Moon Elf found herself just as blinded as her enemy, but she ran on, barely arcing away from the broad swing of his greatsword, feeling its blade bite through the tunic she wore and draw blood in her side. A shallow cut, but the effort to avoid a worse fate almost threw her off her feet and from her course. Stubbornly she continued, twisting around the back of the Guardian of Illefarn, dropping Lord Halueth Never's blade into its sheath as she leapt up, taking hold of one of the shuriken in his back. The King of Shadows screamed and arched backward, clawing at her with powerful hands that sparked with stinging blue magic. But Isaviel did not let go, and instead swiped out and across with the Sword of Gith.

The moment his silver cord was cut, the King of Shadows stumbled, as one who has been straining against a rope with all their strength only to find the rope cut unexpectedly. Isaviel managed to drive her blade some way into the base of his neck and past his collar bone before he flipped her from his back with a roar. The Moon Elf's impact with the ground was hard and as she skittered across the stone she was barely conscious enough to recognise the cheers of her companions. Red eyes flashed in her mind's eye and she almost collapsed back to the ground form the pain in her chest before she could drag herself to her hands and knees.

"We must hurry, my Lady," Casavir's voice sounded beside her, his strong hand hooking under her arm and helping her to her feet. She almost queried him, but as she gained her footing again, she could feel the ground shaking beneath them. Still, she had to blink in confusion to see the Guardian of Illefarn on his knees, shuddering not far from them, bleeding darkness in a torrent now, with his shadowy army nowhere to be seen.

When a chunk of rock fell from the ceiling, splashing in to the water around the throne, Isaviel nodded to Casavir. They had to reach the surface – Aldanon's spell of recovery would be no good to them if they had already been crushed beneath the temple. As she turned to run with the others, noting with some satisfaction that Neeshka was already gone, Isaviel did not bother to state the obvious, or to point out that the King of Shadows had started to grasp his sword and drag himself to his feet. Let them have their moment of relief; their enemy's power was all but spent.

Pausing by Bishop's body, Isaviel was glad she could not see his face. Strange as it felt to her, she realised that she did hope he had found the peace he sought at last. Something told her that the souls Akachi devoured would not find themselves in the Fugue Plain to await a judgement for or against the Wall of the Faithless. With a sigh, she bent and plucked the ranger's magical bow from the ground beside him, slinging it over her shoulder as Sand passed her, urging her to follow.

The whole temple was shuddering and twisting around the group by the time they reached the enormous entry hall. Though it was light outside, the sun's power hardly permeated the black glass above at all, but this darkness was natural, not brought on by the influence of the King of Shadows, and Isaviel could see clearly enough. Her friends were, each and every one of them, gasping for breath and covered in varying cuts and bruises, blood and dirt and sweat. Qara's dress was torn up to her knees, her hair sticking up around her head and her fingers blackened with soot at the tips. Casavir looked particularly pained as he reached for his allocated playing piece, an action undertaken by each member of the group – except for Sand and Isaviel. When the wizard caught her looking, he began to turn away, but Isaviel only needed a moment to see the broken figurine of marble clasped tightly in his shaking hand.

The Moon Elf could sense the tainted soul of the King of Shadows approaching behind her through the darkness as Zhjaeve and Casavir disappeared in a flash of white light. Aldanon had sensed the weakening of the King of Shadows and duly enacted his spell to spirit them from harm. Isaviel spared a nod for Khelgar as the Dwarf was summoned from the scene – he shouted something about the beer she had promised him before he vanished, innocent of her intent.

"I am sorry Isaviel…give me the sword and I will…" Sand stopped abruptly when Isaviel laughed sadly, stepping up to him and prying his hand open, forcing him to drop his broken figurine and pressing her own into his palm.

"No," she smiled, stepping away before he could give it back to her, "I should ask you to forgive me. And there are things here I can't leave unfinished." She had to wait only a moment, seeing the horror on his face as he cried out her name only once before Aldanon's spell plucked Sand from her sight as well.

Taking a deep breath, Isaviel unsheathed both of her blades once more and began to turn, nodding to herself in fierce resolve as she saw the form of the Guardian of Illefarn looming not far ahead of her. His astral cord was cut and his power weakened, but Ammon Jerro had done the same in the past only for this enemy to come back even stronger years later. She would not make that mistake.

"For all your bluster, and all the warnings I gave to you, you are remarkably naïve, Isaviel Farlong," the warlock's voice, harsh and gloating, sent her gaze snapping to the side to meet his, just as he stepped closer, a dagger drawn, and plunged the blade into her stomach. Pain erupted in a wave of blackness and the Moon Elf staggered back in surprise, clutching at the gilded hilt protruding from her abdomen.

"Betrayer!" she gasped impotently, and Jerro just laughed.

"I am merely tying up loose ends, little girl," he sighed as Qara joined his side, her expression more curious than hateful…or pitying. With a shrug, Jerro took the young sorceress by the arm and spoke a simple arcane phrase. The pair vanished in a pillar of red light, leaving their allocated playing pieces behind to clatter to the stone ground.

Groaning, her hands slippery with blood, Isaviel dropped to her knees at last, swaying in pain as the King of Shadows approached her, hefting his greatsword. She was alone, and she was dying. What did it matter now? With a scream she tore the dagger free from her stomach…and plunged it into her own chest. Instantly, the curse of the Spirit Eater responded in a burst of red light, writhing agonisingly within her, sending ripples of magical energy outwards, powerful enough to slow the Guardian's advance. Allowing the dagger to fall to the floor beside her, Isaviel trained her wavering gaze upon the King of Shadows, to the wound she had inflicted upon his neck. As he raised his blade above her, she felt the soul of her grandfather twist fiercely within her, and in a gush of red light he poured from her wound into the open air, intent upon the mighty soul of the King of Shadows.

Isaviel slumped down almost onto her side, her eyelids almost falling closed, but she forced herself to watch as the King of Shadows stumbled back, momentarily uncertain about the red mist forming up before him. When Akachi's ghostly form leapt for him, the Guardian was not expecting it and the ground shook more violently beneath them, great chunks of stone falling from the walls all about as he fell to his knees, shuddering, darkness pulsing from his wound and into the Spirit Eater.

Though the pain was great, Isaviel knew there was one thing left to do, and she dragged herself to her knees once more, taking the hilt of the Sword of Gith in both hands, and plunged its glittering blade through Akachi's back and into the heart of the King of Shadows. She may have been free of her grandfather's usurping soul, but she was still his descendant and she still possessed some small measure of his curse. The power of two warring souls poured up the blade, and into the shard still lodged in her chest. All was bright white light, even as stone rained down all around, the glass roof shattering above her as she fell back, free at last. For a moment she truly believed she had cheated her doom; by using Akachi's last moments of life, still partially connected to her, she had devoured the Guardian of Illefarn's soul and healed her otherwise surely fatal wounds. A moment passed before Akachi's red form spiralled backwards towards her, and she did not even have time to scream before his cruel laughter rang in her ears as he dragged her soul into the void with him.