Chapter Fifty – Inferno
Durnan stood on the roof and stared at the flames playing across roofs and towers and spires. The sky above was fading into twilight, and the river was silver, curling through smoke-hazed buildings. He fancied he could hear screaming, but he wondered if it was his imagination foisting gruesome tricks on him. A wall of fire, he realized grimly. A few more hours, and we'll be cut off entirely.
The air was hot and thick with falling ash and trailing embers. On the street below, he heard his men running, carrying water, calling desperately for help. They had spread damp cloths over everything wooden, taken the hay bales from the stables and tossed them. Others piled barricades at the ends of the alleys, and in the streets behind the inn yard, high wooden cordons were draped with wet sheets.
Like that's even going to help, Durnan thought sourly.
From his vantage point, he could see shapes seething through the streets, tall creatures with massive swords pushing contingents of undead fighters before them. He still held out some hope that the undead would perish in flames, but he knew the devils would be little affected.
And the arch-devil himself? Well, maybe this is what he wants. His grand, flaming farewell to Waterdeep before he takes himself off somewhere else.
Durnan shook his head, frustrated. Not if I have anything to do with it, he won't.
And how are you going to manage that, old man? With a handful of exhausted men and a bunch of underfed drow who can't stand bright light as it is?
Durnan spun away from the edge and strode back down inside. He stopped off at the armoury, and heaved on the chain and leathers he thought he might never again wear.
"When was the last time you put these on?" Mhaere asked behind him.
"To wear and plan to use properly? Must've been when Tamsil couldn't yet walk." He sighed and adjusted his sword-belt. "I don't mind admitting they're a little tight across the belly."
Mhaere laughed. "What do you need me to do?"
"Hold the fort," he answered wearily. "Keep the yard clear of embers. Keep the lads fed and watered. Keep Tamsil from panicking."
"I think she'd like to see you," Mhaere suggested gently.
Durnan squirmed. "I don't have time, love. You know that."
His wife nodded slowly. "I should be out there with you."
"Ten years, ago, woman. Maybe."
She clipped his shoulder lightly. "I could always lay you on your backside quicker than blinking."
"Only because you had to wear all that damn paladin armour. Gave you unholy muscles, it did." Durnan snapped the last clasp closed. "I need you in here, love."
"I know." She tugged his swordbelt round. "Don't you dare let this tavern burn down."
He grinned. "Think I would?"
"I did not marry you for your good looks." She leaned up, kissed his cheek. "Come back safe."
"No, you wily harpy. You only married me for my business prospects." Durnan laughed and wrapped his arms around her. "I'll be back later."
Not quite able to look her in the eyes, he ruffled his wife's hair, smirked at her half-hearted protest, and made his way out into the street. Where, their eyes shielded against the setting sun, he found Imloth and the Seer. They sat a little closer together than propriety demanded, and Imloth's gaze jumped longingly from the street to the Seer. And she in return traced her fingers over the back of his hand and wrist. Durnan found himself grinning. Who knew a pair of hundred-and-something darklings could act all soppy?
More drow lined the streets, helping Durnan's men line buckets in front of the inn, or else aid with the barricades. "Anything yet?"
Imloth shook his head. "Not a sign."
Durnan sighed and slouched against a crate beside them. "You ever seen a fire big as this?"
"Not as big as this," Imloth answered. "But, years ago, I scouted out ahead of a raiding party. I ended up stuck down a narrow tunnel looking for a wizard. The wizard apparently knew where my raiders were, and he sent fireball spells down the tunnel, six of them at least."
Durnan winced. "Where were you?"
"Stuck in an alcove, cowering as the fire went past." The drow shrugged. "Fire and water…good luck taming either."
"You'd prefer to do nothing?"
"No," he said, gentler. "But with the whole city going up around us, it's a losing battle."
"Are all drow this cheerful, or are you an exception?" Durnan leaned his chin on his hand. "And by the gods if I don't sound like your mother, but have you eaten?"
"You certainly do not sound like my mother, and yes, I have," Imloth replied lightly.
A fireball roared over the roof of the building opposite, came crashing down a few feet in front of one of the barricades. Sparks leaped up, and the air shimmered. Durnan lurched to his feet, motioned his men forward. "Get that out, now!"
The Seer raised her hands. Some white, crackling tangle of magic lifted from her spread fingers. It seethed up, and came enveloping down on the sputtering fire spell, snuffing it.
Durnan glared up at the inn roof. "Where the hells did that come from?"
One of his sentries leaned over. "Too far to tell," he called down. "Can't see anything moving. Just flames."
The innkeeper sighed. "Wonderful. So now we play dodge the fireball while the arch-devil sits there and laughs at us." He narrowed his eyes at the Seer. "How long can you keep that up?"
"For as long as I need to," she answered icily.
Durnan laughed, a short, barked-out sound. "Glad to hear it." He tilted his head, listening.
"There's another one," Imloth whispered.
"Where?"
"Same direction."
The Seer stood poised, another pale, hissing spell already trapped between her hands. The fireball arced out of the sky above, trailing flames. The spell roared up, met it halfway, and Durnan blinked as the fireball exploded into nothing. Embers fell, scattering across cobbles and crates. Three of Durnan's men leaped up with blankets, batted the flames out.
"Well." Durnan exhaled loudly. "Wonder how long they're going to entertain themselves with this?"
Above, the twilit air was suddenly filled with the roar of unleashed magic. Wishing he had kept his mouth shut, the innkeeper looked up and gaped as the sky above was streaked with flame. Plummeting down towards the inn, a dozen or more fire spells, arcing in terrifying unison.
White light cracked out from the Seer's hands. Watching, the innkeeper saw sweat spring across her temples. Her fingers shook as she braced for the strength of the spell as she loosed it. The light jagged up, smashing against the incoming fireballs and hissing on contact. Debris showered down, dropped smouldering against the ground. The spell curved up and round, and collapsed. A sharp, head-hurting whine filled the air, and the spell snapped into nothing.
"I've…never seen that before," Durnan said, dazedly. "Can you…make it rain, maybe?"
The Seer drew in a shaky breath. "I don't think so," she said. "I do not control elemental forces. Rather, I just bind and turn energy to my bidding."
"Shame. Whole lot of rain could do some good right now. Course, on any other day in Waterdeep, it'd be pouring buckets already."
On the roof, one of the sentries gestured wildly. "Durnan! Undead! Both ends of the street!"
"Oh, hells." The innkeeper drew his sword. "Form up, everyone."
He stared at the blade in his hand and hoped he remembered how to use it properly. Behind him, his men settled into lines, divided between both barricades, facing out into the street beyond. Sidelong, he noticed Imloth hovering beside the Seer before leaning in and quickly kissing her cheek.
The drow stepped into formation beside him, small and lithe and with a slightly awkward expression. "Whatever you're about to say, say it now."
Durnan grinned. "I'm saying nothing. Only, you didn't need to make it so formal, lad, you know?"
Imloth groaned. "And you wonder why we hate surfacers."
"Hah." Durnan peered through the gathering shadows, saw shapes moving, eeling forward. "Think she can keep us from getting our heads fried off?"
"Of course she can."
Durnan sucked in a quick breath, ruefully realized his heart was thumping. Good gods, man, how long has it been? Ten years, more, since you faced armed enemies like this? How long since you faced drow? Fifteen? More like twenty.
Slithering towards the barricades, undead drow in loose ranks, filling the street. Dark shadows shifting against the gloom behind, their wide, vacant eyes fixed on nothing.
More fire spells rained in, spitting sparks and screaming down towards the street. Durnan gritted his teeth and tried not to turn around, tried not to look. She can deal with it, he thought firmly. But he hated standing there, staring at the encroaching undead, and simply trusting that the spells plummeting down overhead would be taken care of.
He heard the shriek as the Seer's counterspell flung up and met the fireballs. Heat washed over his head, and he glanced up, saw flames twisting and twining.
She will deal with it. Shaking all over, Durnan wrenched his gaze away and towards the barricades, and the undead beyond.
Another knot of energy snapped up from behind him, and somewhere overhead, flames sputtered.
"Durnan," Imloth murmured beside him. "Focus on the enemy."
Yes. He's right. Focus on the enemy.
There was a ripple of movement among the approaching undead. Heads turning, swords rising, some unspoken agreement.
A volley of arrows scythed down from the roof, slammed into the front ranks. Already dead drow tumbled again, pushed underfoot by those behind. Durnan gripped his sword tighter, watched as another hail of arrows flashed down. Eight fell soundlessly, and those behind still marched on without speaking.
"Gods above, why can't they just talk? Shout, scream, taunt, anything?" he growled. "Unsettles a man, it does."
Imloth smiled. "I think that's the idea."
"And they say drow have no sense of humour." More arrows rattled down. Durnan hefted his sword, called out to his men. "Now! I want this street cleared!"
The undead cleared the barricade, hauling themselves up and over. Some fell back, arrows lodged in flesh and leather. Durnan stepped forward, realized his palms were slick with sweat. Overhead, the air whined and cracked as a counterspell whipped out.
Imloth darted past him, all liquid grace, his sword flickering up to meet the first line of the undead. He drove his blade to the hilt in the other drow's chest, spun past the strike of another. Another turn, and he smashed past his enemy's flailing defense and sliced open his throat.
Surrounded by drow on all sides, Durnan swallowed. Damn darklings move like ghosts. With Imloth on one side of him, and Nathyrra on the other, he felt fairly certain he would not mistake them for undead. But gods above if they don't all look the same. How the hells do they fight each other and keep track of who's who in the damn Underdark?
Another fireball whirred overhead, sending light flaring against walls and upraised swords. Durnan squinted, raised his sword, and launched himself at an undead drow menacing Imloth's left flank. His blade connected roughly, and the impact stung his hands. Stop thinking, old man! You know how to do this. Made a life doing this.
He spun the sword around, batted the drow's weapon away. Followed up, and winced when the drow kicked out, slamming one booted foot against his thigh. Durnan swayed, spat out an obscenity. The drow's sword snapped in, and he dragged his own up half a second too late. His wrists trembled under the strain as he tried to push his opponent back.
A dark, lithe shape flitted in from his right, and he nearly leaped back before recognizing Imloth's face, familiar beneath the white braids at his temples. Imloth lunged, and his sword disappeared to the hilt in the undead drow's back.
"Thanks," Durnan grated.
Imloth melted away, turning elegantly to meet the next attacker. Durnan snorted and decided his attention would probably be better spent on fighting than watching drow. He stepped up beside Nathyrra, braced himself as another undead drow crashed into him. This one was stocky for his kind, clad in heavy armour. Now this I can deal with, the innkeeper thought.
He drew back his arm and punched the drow squarely in the mouth. He staggered, and his swords lowered. Durnan smashed the hilt of his own blade across the drow's head, flipped the sword around, and drove it into his throat. He looked up, and saw that the ranks of undead stretched far back, beyond the neck of the alleyway. Something bright and hissing exploded overhead, and he cringed as he saw the light flicker across dozens and dozens of raised swords. Still, he knew there was little else to do, except cut them down one by one, and pray they would outlast the night and the fire.
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Jaiyan paced across cold stone. Mist clung to her ankles, rippled across the polished floor beneath. Not far away, the Reaper seemed to watch her from beneath the folds of his cowl.
He had expressed only the barest hint of surprise when the three of them had stepped back into his gateway realm.
He clasped his hands over his robe, and tilted his head slightly to one side. "Sojourner," he said, quietly. "You have done well."
Jaiyan grinned. "You sound so pained when you say that. Did you expect us to fail miserably?"
"I hoped for your success, but let us be honest, Sojourner. Cania does not treat her travelers kindly."
"No, she doesn't."
"You may rest, if you wish," the Reaper said. "If you need weapons, I have a small armoury."
Jaiyan blinked. "You do? Why would you need an armoury?"
The Reaper shrugged. "One collects many things when one wanders between the worlds."
"Fine. Be mystical about it." She glanced across at Valen. "Can I…Can I talk to you?"
He smiled. "Beloved, do you need to ask?"
She twisted her hands together nervously. While Deekin curled up around his lute, she led the tiefling away from the pillars, to where the stone walls curved around a small alcove. She sat down and tugged him down beside her. "What the Knower said…about me. About us. Do you believe her?"
Valen brushed her hair away from her face. "Jaiyan, I don't need some arcane enchantress to tell me that I will never leave you, not as long as you will have me."
She smiled shakily. "I'm…very scared. Of going back to Waterdeep. Of Mephistopheles."
Until now, the thought of facing the arch-devil had been merely that; a far-off prospect. But now, with the trials of Cania behind them, the fear she had felt in the Valsharess' throne room loomed up again.
"I know." Valen cradled her face in his hands. "But he will fall, and we will survive."
She bit her lip. "You're so certain?"
"Yes." He kissed her slowly, and she let her eyes close. The inside of his mouth was hot, and his hands against her skin were comforting. "Yes, I am certain. My love?"
She twisted a hand through his hair, found his horns. "Mmm?"
"It will not be easy. I want you to stay behind me as much as you can."
"Hey, I killed the Valsharess, you know. I'm not completely helpless."
He laughed. "The Valsharess wasn't over fifteen feet tall."
"Point taken." She leaned against his chest. "I'm still scared, though."
"I know." He stroked her back, gently soothing. "I need to go to the armoury, and you need to prepare, and your kobold needs to pack his lute away, unless he was planning on serenading Mephistopheles to death."
Jaiyan giggled. "I think I'd pay to see that."
She snapped free of drifting thoughts and swore. She paced between the pillars again, and wondered why Valen was taking so long in the armoury.
Deekin nudged her leg. "Boss should sit down. Boss be wearing path into Reaper's floor soon."
"How the hells do we kill an arch-devil, Deeks?"
"Same way we kill other big things. By fighting dirty and sending Goat-man in first."
She laughed, a gulping, terrified kind of laugh. Footsteps rang between the pillars, and she turned, saw Valen. He had a shield between his hands, and a determined expression on his face.
"Don't even think about arguing," he said, as she opened her mouth. "I am not having you go up against an arch-devil with nothing between you and him apart from leathers and a single sword."
She clicked her teeth closed. "I…don't like shields."
"Tough."
"It's going to be too heavy."
"No, it isn't. It's wood, only banded with metal." He glared at her, daring her to disagree. "It's not huge. If this is the difference between your left side getting ripped open, then you'll wear it."
"I will, will I?" Jaiyan folded her arms and glowered right back at him. Then she sighed. "I will."
"Good." Smiling faintly, Valen lifted her arm, buckled the shield on. He yanked the straps tight and eyed her. "How does it feel?"
"Heavy," she muttered. "Valen?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Mmm?"
"Thanks." She shifted, balanced the new, unfamiliar weight of the shield. "I suppose it's not so heavy, after all."
"No." He smiled. "Are you ready?"
No. Not at all. Absolutely not. "Actually…" She took a deep breath. Is this the right thing to do? Can they really do what she said they could? "There was something I wanted to talk about."
He nodded briskly. "What?"
Does he even want this? Is it too arrogant to even think I should do this? Jaiyan stared up into his face, prayed she was making the right choice, and mumbled, "Oeskathine the Demon-wrestler…"
Valen stiffened. "What are you doing..?"
"I…" Do it now, or you'll cave and never do it. "I release you from your demonic taint."
"You…what?" He scowled, and the air around him changed. Something flickered, something Jaiyan could not quite see. A bone-deep tremor ran through him, and he staggered. His eyes closed, and his whole frame convulsed. He crashed down onto his knees, and Jaiyan nearly panicked.
"Valen?" She crouched down beside him, reached out with her free hand. Sweat beaded his forehead, and he was swallowing down air like a man just saved from drowning. "Valen, love? Can you hear me?"
He leaned against her heavily. "Next time," he said thickly, "Please warn me before you do something like that."
She wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "I'm sorry." Her throat felt suddenly too tight. "I'm sorry, I didn't think…I don't know what I thought. I just…hated seeing you loathe yourself."
He blinked slowly. "What does it even mean?"
"Well…your tail and horns haven't fallen off, so I assume you're still a tiefling." She shrugged guiltily. "When I thought about it, I just wanted that side of you…that other side…to stop plaguing you." She looked up into his very blue eyes. "I don't really know what it means. I don't want to go back to Cania to find out, though."
He laughed and crushed her against his chest. "You are the most insane, wonderful woman. I suppose we'll find out, in time."
"It means you are no longer a slave to the demon in your blood," the Reaper intoned helpfully. "You still carry your infernal heritage, but you will tame and control it. Not the other way around."
Valen nodded slowly. "You didn't really think my horns would fall off, did you?"
"Well…not really. But I'd would've preferred you lose the horns over the tail. Just a…personal preference."
He flushed wine-red. "Don't we have an arch-devil to kill?"
The Reaper inclined his head. "Sojourner, would you care to see Waterdeep?"
"You can do that?"
Cloth rustled as the Reaper lifted his hand. Between two columns, a pale curtain of light shimmered and twisted. Colour rushed across the fluttering surface, narrowing down into a recognizable spread of buildings and roofs, and the curve of the river.
"Oh, gods," Jaiyan muttered, hushed. "It's on fire."
And it was; flame rippled between buildings, engulfed roofs and spires. Black smoke boiled above the shell of what had been a huge temple. Clouds of embers swept up as the outside wall of a warehouse toppled and fell. She could see small figures, scattered and running. Some falling beneath great gouts of smoke and flame. Others still fleeing, while the fire lit the night sky above.
"Oh, hells." She felt Valen's arm, winding around her waist, and leaned into him. "Reaper, do you know where Mephistopheles is?"
The Reaper said nothing, but the images swirled and changed. Resolving into a street swarming with fighting drow, and buildings on fire at both ends. At the far end of the street, where the buildings opened out onto a square, stood the arch-devil himself.
He's smiling, Jaiyan thought, chilled. He's enjoying himself.
She dragged her gaze away from the arch-devil. Rank upon rank of drow pushed down the street, only halted by swaying barricades and a flagging line of human defenders. Arrows sheeted down from above. A fireball whipped down from somewhere overhead, and she winced as she saw it plough through the drow.
"That's The Yawning Portal," she blurted.
"Boss be sure?"
"What?" Valen stared. "The tavern?"
"Yes. Look." She pointed wildly. Maybe Durnan's alive, she thought. Maybe he's alright. "Look. I know that building. See? You can see the doors. And the shape of the roof. That's my tavern that's about to be burned down."
"Sojourner," the Reaper said carefully. "Are you ready?"
Am I? "Yes," she answered, unsteadily. "Yes. I think so. I'm not sure."
"Sojourner," the Reaper muttered. "Just decide."
"Yes. I'm ready."
"Very well." The Reaper motioned, and the images flicked out. The shimmering curtain remained, trembling between the pillars. "Sojourner, we shall not meet again."
"You almost sound like you're going to miss me," Jaiyan remarked lightly.
"Step through the portal, and meet your destiny." The Reaper clasped his hands together again. "And, Sojourner?"
"Yes?"
"Good luck."
She paused, and gazed at the Reaper's unmoving, unreadable cowl. "Thank you."
Valen squeezed her hand. "Ready?"
She looked at him, and then at Deekin, and then back to the tiefling. She wanted to tell him how much she loved him, and adored Deekin, and was petrified that either one of them might die. But Waterdeep is burning, and will be ash if you stand around moping.
"Yes," she said again. "I'm ready."
With Valen's hand wrapped tight around hers, and Deekin holding onto her belt, she stepped through the portal, into whatever lay beyond.
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Imloth threw himself out of the path of an axe, and swore when he landed awkwardly. Nathyrra dived in ahead of him, plunged her daggers to the hilt in the attacking drow's chest. She steadied him as he stumbled. "Go back," she shouted. "Take a moment." When he hesitated, she pushed him, and snapped, "We're fine. Get out of here."
He picked his way back through the defenders, noticed Durnan crashing a fist into a drow's temple before beheading her. Every breath he took was sour with the taste of ash, and his throat hurt. Too much smoke in the air. He tried not to flinch when a huge fireball roared past and thumped into the inn roof. He heard the roof sentries calling for help. He forced tired muscles to move and ran, pushing past the Forlyth Kallen's guards, and towards the door.
Flames already licked across the gables, and smoke twined up. Oh, gods. If the roof goes, the whole building's gone.
He saw the Seer, still braced in front of the door. She glanced up, saw the fire. Her arms lifted, and he felt the cold wash from her as the spell built. White light speared up, cloaking over the flames. Ice crackled the length of the gables, and the whole tavern shook and groaned.
"Nice timing," Imloth called.
The Seer turned, and smiled. "A little too close, though, I fear."
He paused a step or so away from her. He wanted to stand closer, to wrap his arms around her and check that she was still breathing.
"You're hurt," she said, softly.
"What? No, not really." He shifted his weight, realized the long gash he had sustained on the back of one calf was throbbing. "Superficial scrapes."
"How is it, out there?"
"Chaotic," he answered wearily. "There's undead by the hundreds, it seems. And the arch-devil appears, looks at us, smirks, and vanishes again."
"He's playing with us."
"I know." He opened his mouth to say more, but a hail of fire arrows sliced through the darkness above and arced down towards the tavern.
On the tavern roof, the sentries screamed. The familiar, wet sound of men falling reached Imloth's ears first, followed by the hiss and crackle as the flames leaped along the roof. Other shafts sailed down into the alley, cracked against the cobbles. Waiting with buckets, Durnan's men hurtled out from near the door, doused the arrowheads.
"Oh, gods. I can't see," the Seer snapped. For the first time, he heard open panic thread through her voice. She glanced past him, saw the men at the barricades falling back as the undead drow pushed on. "Imloth, I need you to give me enough space, yes?"
"Yes." Even as she raised her arms again, and the undead spilled past the barricade, he spun. He saw the guards dive in and block the attackers, but three eeled past.
Behind him, he heard the Seer murmur her incantation. He briefly wondered how long it would take the inn to crumble before the three drow were on him. They were agile, and unsettlingly fast, as they dodged around him. He whirled, swung out at the first. His sword was met and blocked, and the tendons in his wrists sprang up as he forced his opponent back. He wrenched sideways, slammed his elbow into the drow's mouth. When his enemy stumbled, he lunged forward, gutted him. Still moving, he used the impetus to pivot again, and crash into the second.
The third, behind him, launched at him. He jumped away, dragging the second drow with him. The point of a sword raked along his chain shirt. He drove a knee into the second drow's chest and sliced his throat open while he swayed.
Pale light erupted from the Seer's hands, and the whine of unleashed magic was deafening. Bone-deep cold gripped the air as the spell exploded upwards.
Imloth turned, met the last drow's onrushing attack. Twin swords flickered, sweeping in from both sides. Imloth dropped to his knees, ducking one and blocking the second. He rolled away, winced as the swords snapped down onto the cobbles inches behind him. On his feet again, he avoided two more lunges, swept the swords aside. The drow stumbled back, tried to recover. Imloth kicked his ankles out from under him, pinned him to the ground with a blade through the ribs.
He straightened up, saw the remaining sentries peering over the roof. "How's the fire?"
"Out," the man shouted back. "But we're…we've lost four of us."
Imloth nodded. "I'll send you some help."
At the barricade, Durnan's men seethed across the gap, met the attacking undead. Spears flew, and two men fell, pinned through the chest.
Trembling fingers touched Imloth's wrist, turned him. "Is the fire…?"
The Seer, shaking, ribboned with sweat. "It's out," he said. "You have to go and rest. You're about to fall over."
"No." She shook her head, clutched harder at his hands. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine." Behind, he heard screams. "Your clerics can do this."
"No." Another shake of her head, but her eyes were glazing with exhaustion. "I have to…"
She slumped against him, and he caught her. "I'm taking you inside."
"No, wait…"
He heard men shouting warnings. A spear whined past his head, thudded against the cobbles and skidded. On the roof, one of the sentries called out, yelled that he needed to be careful. He took a single step, and gasped as another spear thumped into the Seer's back. The impact drove her against him, and he staggered.
"Oh, no, no. No, no." No. This is not happening. Can't be happening.
Arrows flooded down from the roof, cutting across the undead. Imloth held the Seer as her knees buckled, and she collapsed against him.
"No, don't do this. Please don't. Come on." Mumbling now, and not quite able to see through stinging eyes, Imloth tipped her head up. "Come on. Look at me. Please look at me."
She smiled. Her eyes were half-open, and she gazed at some indistinct point past his shoulder. "Look, Imloth."
"What?"
"Look," she said again.
He twisted round, stared up. Above the rooftops, above the smoke haze and the flare from the fires, the night sky was clear. And there, floating against the blackness, the moon, full and round. Silver and beautiful, just like she said, he thought. He saw the trailing specks of the Tears of Selune, glittering against the sweep of sky behind.
"What does it mean?" he heard himself say.
She smiled again. Her mouth moved, and she said, "Hope."
