Chapter Ten

Suspended high over the sprawling complex of House Baenre was a series of stalactites outlined in subtle violet faerie fire, linked to one another by intricately-carved stone walkways. Members of the Baenre guard took it in shifts to patrol these structures, for it afforded an advantageous position from which to keep a lookout for rival drow houses and other unwanted parties wandering a little too close for comfort to the ruling house of Menzoberranzan. It had even been suggested on multiple occasions that one of the eight stalactites that comprised the Baenre's prized aerial vantage points boasted the most breathtaking view of Qu'ellarz'orl in all of the city. It was here that Idris Baenre – formerly Mourntrin Auvryndar – entertained a private rendezvous with Vorryn Baenre, the new moniker that had been bestowed upon Lim Tal'eyve.

If he was being perfectly honest with himself, Mourn couldn't say he much enjoyed Lim's company since they had been adopted into House Baenre. Alone and against crippling odds Lim Tal'eyve was a force of nature, the very embodiment of tenacity and grit; in short he was the sort of man Mourn had always imagined the Anointed Blade of the Jaezred Chaulssin to be. But here, with the unconditional favor of Menzoberranzan's ruling house backing him, Lim Tal'eyve seemed to be nothing more than a pompous windbag. He was uncouth and loud to such a degree that Mourn had taken to avoiding him as often as possible, even going so far as to request assignments that took him outside the compound when he could manage it. He would never tell the other man this, but in the days since their successful kidnap of Soleil and Aveil he had grown to loathe Lim Tal'eyve and now considered his presence nigh unbearable.

He supposed that was the whole reason he had been summoned here, high above the compound and out of earshot of the rest of their "family". And so it was that Mourn approached Lim with a certain measure of trepidation in his steps, for he was certain a fierce reprimand was in his near future.

Lim greeted him cordially enough with a genuine smile and a clap on the back, though, leaving Mourn stymied as to why he had been summoned. Fortunately, Lim did not make him wonder for long. "Ah, hello my friend! So good of you to come." He swept one arm out theatrically, indicating the stunning view laid out before them. "Lovely, is it not? I confess – I never dreamed I would be welcomed back to Menzoberranzan with open arms. It still feels quite surreal, I must say!"

Already Mourn felt himself growing agitated, so in the interest of keeping the peace he attempted to move the conversation along – the sooner he could leave Lim's company, the better for them both. "Think nothing of it. What can I do to assist you? I have very little time, unfortunately – I do have duties to attend to elsewhere."

The smile Lim wore darkened somehow, and an unexplainable chill coursed down Mourn's spine when Lim murmured, "No you don't."

Mourn pasted on his most convincing bewildered expression. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said, no you don't," Lim repeated, rolling his eyes, and he dropped his arm back to his side looking bored. "You don't have duties to attend to – quite the contrary you have been taking on appointments that lead you beyond the compound." He fixed Mourn with a deadly serious stare, finishing, "Are you having second thoughts about standing by me, my friend?"

The assassin could feel the blood draining from his face. "No – of course not! You are the Anointed Blade of the Jaezred Chaulssin – it is my sworn duty, and my dearest wish to follow you! If ever I have given the impression that I desire otherwise – "

Lim took a step closer to the stammering Mourn and wound an arm around his shoulders, ignoring the last of the other man's incoherent apologies. "Be at ease – you needn't apologize, and there is no reason to explain any further. We are not used to resting on our laurels or watching our backs for hidden daggers, you and me. We have both been forced to make adjustments and play our parts over the past several months. That is precisely what I want to talk to you about, actually – it is a matter too sensitive for the ears of the other members of House Baenre. They may have taken us in, but that does not mean they are no longer watching our every move."

Mourn cocked his head to one side, frowning. "Are you saying you think there may be a plot to betray us, Exalted Blade?"

"That's enough with the formalities," snickered Lim derisively, and Mourn bowed his head quickly as though ashamed of his behavior. "We need to talk plainly to one another, for there isn't time to do otherwise. I suspect dear old Gromph will become suspicious if we are both out of his sight for too long." The drow-shade gazed out over the sweeping upper shelf of Qu'ellarz'orl and took a moment to collect his thoughts; the violet faerie fires dimly illuminating the stalactite platform on which they stood gave his face an oddly omniscient glow. "I do not think the Baenres will move against us unless we give them good reason to do so – we did deliver them the means to stave off further attacks from the Army of Shade, after all. My concern lies in what the Princes of Shade will do next. I do believe it is long past time for us to begin discussing our contingency plan."

Mourn ducked out from beneath the arm encircling his shoulders, looking puzzled. "A contingency plan? Against the Princes of Shade? Forgive me, Exalt – er, I mean, Lim – but what harm could they possibly do us now? They have withdrawn from the region, with the exception of Fifth Prince Clariburnus. It is likely their entire army has returned to Thultanthar by now to avoid further conflict with Menzoberranzan… they wouldn't want to risk the safety of House Baenre's valuable hostages, after all."

Lim cast his accomplice a withering look that imparted in not so many words just how disappointed he was with this close-minded assessment; seeing that Mourn still appeared positively baffled, though, he heaved a sigh and elaborated. "You don't really think we've seen the last of Telamont's brood, do you? You fool! I have been waiting for them to storm their way back here in force for days now; to be frank, every day that passes with no sign of them fills me more and more with a sense of impending doom. You and I both know that the terms of the proposed peace treaty Gromph put to Clariburnus are far too demanding. The High Prince will never accept them."

Mourn balked. "But he has no choice! The princess is one of House Baenre's hostages! If the High Prince refuses – "

At this Lim threw his head back and laughed; though they were quite high up the sound of his manic laughter reverberated off the stalactite next to them and rolled down throughout the spacious cavern, prompting a handful of soldiers standing guard outside House Baenre's gates to look all around confusedly with their weapons at the ready. Lim squared up to face his ally and seized him by the shoulders in a non-threatening manner, but his face was unmistakably stern. "My dear friend, I'm not suggesting the High Prince will abandon his new daughter-in-law to whatever fate our lovely Matron Mother Quenthel might design for her – nothing could be further from the truth! I'm certain there isn't a force in all this world that could keep the lovelorn First Prince Escanor separated from his beloved for much longer; he is undoubtedly biding his time, scraping together his resources and gathering his allies, and while the whole of Menzoberranzan is relaxing behind House Baenre's façade of assumed victory the Princes of Shade will strike back suddenly and mercilessly. It may be true that the Baenre patrols haven't sensed anything out of the ordinary in the tunnels, but I cannot imagine the Army of Shade withdrew all the way back to Thultanthar – they are out there somewhere, and at a single word from the Princes of Shade they will storm back into Menzoberranzan with all the fury of the Nine Hells at their heels. And not the least of our concerns should be Fourth Prince Aglarel."

"The one Illyria and I accosted in the palace dungeons just before we aided in your escape?" Mourn asked dubiously, his fuchsia eyes dancing with skepticism and amusement at the memory. "We have heard not a single word from him since you slipped out of Thultanthar, and there has been no mention of his passing. What have we to fear from him?"

But for some reason Mourn couldn't explain Lim Tal'eyve's face had gone perfectly blank, his expression growing increasingly more vacant; in his eyes there blossomed a haunted quality that raised the miniscule hairs along Mourn's arms and sent a second tremor of nervousness bolting down his spine, and Lim lifted one hand from Mourn's shoulder and settled it upon his own breast as though cradling a long-forgotten wound. His words were so soft, so saturated with fear, that the assassin almost didn't hear him when he whispered, "There is nothing more dangerous in this world than a man who has only just realized the true depths of his feelings for a woman, and has nothing at all to lose in the pursuit of rescuing her. There is something about Aveil Arthien that has always compelled men to act in her defense… I have seen it before, many times. He will come."

Mourn couldn't believe what he was hearing, and did not hesitate to voice his disbelief aloud. "Then… are you saying that House Baenre doesn't stand a chance? That… that Menzoberranzan doesn't stand a chance?!"

Lim shook his head gravely. "Unless we allow Soleil and Aveil to go free, no, I do not see how the inevitable conflict might be avoided. In all things the Princes of Shade are just and fair, but they are ruthless and vengeful when they feel they have been wronged. Surely they consider this business with House Baenre to be one of those times."

"Then you want us to turn our backs on House Baenre," concluded Mourn flatly, his tone one of deepening dread. "You want us to forsake them after they granted us asylum and gifted us new identities. You will repay their kindness with further betrayal?"

At the mention of the word betrayal Lim Tal'eyve's amber eyes flashed angrily, and seizing the slightly smaller drow by the collar he dragged Mourn to his eye level and hissed, "So you view their so-called gifts as kindness, do you? Well allow me to remind you, Idris, that before we showed up at House Baenre and threw them the lifeline they were so desperate to cling to that you were the lackey of Matron Mother Quenthel's dearly departed niece Quartana and I was a fugitive! Had we not arrived with such valuable captives at such a critical moment it would likely be you and I occupying those cells right now! Have you forgotten all this wretched city stands for? Menzoberranzan does not recognize principles such as kindness or fairness or decency – it is a city built upon a foundation of greed and jealousy, ambition and manipulation, chaos and betrayal! We had something the Baenres wanted – no more, no less! And when things go sour for them and our usefulness has run its course, you will see just how deep their so-called kindness runs!"

Every instinct Mourn possessed compelled him to break Lim's hold on him, but he managed to sublimate that urge using his considerable discipline. Like it or not Lim was still the Anointed Blade of the Jaezred Chaulssin, and as the Keeper of the Blade Mourn was beholden to his authority until his ultimate mission had been fulfilled. Still, he couldn't quite keep the confrontational sneer out of his voice when he asked, "Then how do you suggest we proceed, Exalted Blade?"

Realizing his error Lim hastily released his accomplice and put space between them at once. It wasn't that Lim felt threatened by Mourn – far from it, in fact – but he was always aware that the sole survivor of the extinct house of Auvryndar was his last remaining ally. He needed to keep his patience and rein in his anger in order to ensure that Mourn did not abandon him, for the assassin was now the last living member of the Jaezred Chaulssin and also possessed some rather powerful friends. He still knew practically nothing of the gloaming who had borne Mourn through Thultanthar's magical enchantments – Illyria, he recalled she was named – but had the feeling he did not want to find himself on the receiving end of that capricious little creature's ire. Not to mention that if Mourn forsook him, Lim would very quickly find himself friendless in hostile surroundings with a nigh-impossible task still to complete. He had long left many circumstances entirely to chance, but those odds did not sit well with him.

Lim cleared his throat at last, measuring his next words carefully. "I think it is in our best interests to remain in the Baenre's good graces for now, but to be always ready to turn our backs on them at a moment's notice. The Princes of Shade will retaliate, there can be no doubt – and when they do we must make sure we are far away from here."

Mourn was nodding along in agreement; Lim breathed an internal sigh of relief. "I know how to reach the nearest secret outpost of the Jaezred Chaulssin – that is where we should go. It is well concealed, and highly defensible against both prying eyes and the Underdark's predators. We will be safe there."

"Then that is where we will go when the time comes," Lim agreed, and he ran a hand down his face as though in exhaustion. "This business with the Imaskarcana has distracted us from our true objective for long enough, in my opinion; once we are away from Menzoberranzan and safely entrenched in this Jaezred Chaulssin stronghold, we must redouble our efforts."

"To recover the Anointed Blade," Mourn finished, and Lim nodded assent. "I know where it is, but reclaiming it will be quite difficult. It is still within Deep Imaskar, but I haven't the faintest clue how to get there. I was only there before as a captive, and only escaped thanks to Illyria's intervention."

Lim raised an eyebrow. "It is curious, don't you think, that she continuously shows up in your time of greatest need? First to lead you out of Deep Imaskar, then to help you infiltrate Thultanthar? What is her true aim? Whom does she serve?"

"I know not," Mourn confessed, turning to gaze out over the magnificent view of Qu'ellarz'orl as he considered, stroking his chin pensively with one hand. "But I am not foolish enough to believe that I have been the only recipient of her bounty."

"Do you have any means of contacting her?" asked Lim hopefully, never one to turn away a potential ally, but Mourn shook his head at once.

"She seems to come and go as she pleases, and her agenda is a mystery to me." Mourn's gaze was far away now. "Now that I consider all I have learned of her, it is very little – I know only her name, not where she came from or what drives her or even why she saw fit to aid me in the first place."

This seemed a suspicious set of circumstances to Lim, who had never known anyone to help others simply out of the goodness of their hearts – it wasn't the drow way to show others even a hint of kindness or compassion. He surveyed Mourn with crossed arms and a deeply skeptical expression, saying "She's after something… in time I suppose we might learn what it is, but we can't afford to think of that now. The Anointed Blade must remain our first priority."

"How much longer should we bide our time here?" asked Mourn, glancing around nervously; their meeting had lasted quite a while longer than he had anticipated, and he was growing increasingly anxious that someone would happen upon them. "How can you be certain the Princes of Shade won't just accept the terms?"

Lim considered, though only briefly. "Now that we know where we will go when things turn sour, we can potentially remain here until they are upon us. As for how I am certain…" Lim trailed off uncertainly, remembering a time months ago when he had been mercilessly tortured at the hands of High Prince Telamont's sons simply for providing the Imaskarcana to Twelfth Prince Brennus. Their grief over losing the loremaster to the spellbook's strange protective enchantments was rivaled only by the swiftness and severity of their retribution then, and he had suffered greatly for his hand in Brennus's imprisonment. Next he recalled a time a little further removed from that, the day he had attended Hadrhune's funeral at the Church of Shar – the sense of loss had been palpable, but the detail that had stood out most to him at the time was how inappropriate it seemed that everyone had worn red to celebrate the seneschal's passing. Eventually he had plucked up the courage to inquire after this strange tradition, telling Rapha as he asked that most surface races wore black to funerals. Rapha's response had chilled him to the bone, and he'd known then that the Tenth Prince's words would stay with him until the end of his days – he'd said the Princes of Shade wear red to funerals, for it was the color of vengeance.

"I am certain because vengeance is in their veins, as surely as blood courses through your own," Lim Tal'eyve answered at last, "and if we are unfortunate enough to still be in House Baenre when they bring their vengeance back to Menzoberranzan we will find ourselves wishing we had met some unfortunate end prior to their arrival… I can assure you that would be preferable."

Illyria was actually fishing when Aglarel came upon her, which was an amusing sight in itself; it seemed she had crafted a crude fishing pole out of a shaft of splintered bamboo and a long, scraggly white string. As he approached he noted that the hem of her pearly dress was frayed, and supposed that explained easily enough where the makeshift fishing line had come from. He opened his mouth to belittle her efforts but the words stuck in his throat when he noticed the long strand of phosphorescent seaweed looped around a rock near her feet, at the other end of which seemed to be a rather fat fish with sleek black scales and baleful yellow eyes, and thought better of it. Instead he took a seat on the rocks just behind and to the right of her, saying, "I hadn't taken you for the resourceful type, little psychic."

The little gloaming hardly glanced up from her task; her soulful blue eyes were fixed upon the point where the thin white string from her pole entered the water, watching dutifully for even the barest hint of a ripple. "You don't survive long in the Underdark on just charisma and good looks!" she chirped with a simpering smile, and Aglarel found himself subconsciously rolling his eyes – the fake, sickeningly sweet voice she adopted most days annoyed him to no end, and it seemed that was the façade she had chosen to employ today. "And while I've got both those in spades, it doesn't hurt to know a few survival tricks."

"For when there aren't any unsuspecting males around for you to prey upon?" Aglarel supplied with a smirk.

"Pretty much!" Illyria replied cheerfully without missing a beat, and she turned her head a fraction just to toss a playful wink his way. Aglarel had to hand it to her, she had long since mastered the art of staying upbeat in less-than-ideal situations – he'd never seen anyone so outwardly thrilled to be skulking through the Underdark before. "Listen, make yourself useful and get a fire going. When I catch another one we'll get started on breakfast."

Aglarel lifted one hand up before him and lazily snapped his fingers, instantly summoning a crackle of flame upon his fingertips. "Done."

Now it was Illyria who rolled her eyes, though Aglarel noticed the hint of a grin lingering at the corners of her poorly-painted lips. "Do you think I won't cook these fish in your bare hand? Cuz I'll do it."

The Fourth Prince took his time scraping together the bare necessities for a small campfire; there wasn't much wood to be found throughout the bowels of the Underdark, so they'd had to make do over the past week with mushrooms mostly. This had been a bit of a guessing game in the beginning, for they'd both learned the hard way that some fungi were highly flammable, some shriveled up into dust when exposed to even the barest hint of flame, and still others emitted an unbearable stench akin to rotten eggs when burned. After much trial and error they had come across a skinny sort of mushroom with a long, thin stalk and a sickly white cap dotted with dark olive splotches that smoldered slowly and gave off a faint smell like dead leaves when exposed to flame, and since this seemed to be their most promising prospect for starting fires and keeping them going for longer than a handful of seconds they'd taken to storing these within their traveling gear whenever they came across them. Aglarel was fortunate enough to come across a patch of them clustered along the opposite bank of the subterranean pool Illyria was fishing from and picked them all; they seemed to prefer dank places near fresh water, which coincidentally enough were the types of places they had been seeking out for food.

There was a decent campfire going by the time Illyria caught a second fish, and while Aglarel set to stripping the fish of their scales the gloaming helpfully reconstructed the spit she'd fashioned out of the bones of some unfortunate creature they'd stumbled across about five days previous. Aglarel was roasting the first fish when Illyria returned with yet another bone, this one wrapped with several tendrils of the faintly-glowing seaweed growing in the pool just behind them, and this she propped upright between a few loose stones to serve as a kind of dim torch.

"Not too dark!" Illyria whined, snatching the first fish off the spit, seemingly oblivious to the heat. "I like mine a little on the raw side."

Aglarel set the second fish on the spit, shaking his head disgustedly. "Don't expect me to carry your diseased body through the Underdark after you've ingested improperly-cooked fish – I've got a schedule to keep."

"Like you'd survive another day without me," scoffed the gloaming, tearing into her fish with startling voracity, further smearing her poorly-applied lipstick. She ate with such fervor that she had long since picked the last of the meat from the spindly fish bone by the time Aglarel was plucking his own from the spit, and he purposely ignored her as he ate in silence.

When their meal was finished and they were deconstructing their campsite – Illyria was washing the bones of the spit in the pool and Aglarel was stowing the mushrooms he'd gathered in his pack – the Fourth Prince asked, "How much more ground must we cover before we reach the tunnels outside Menzoberranzan?"

Illyria seemed vaguely familiar with the area, which was quite curious to Aglarel. She appeared quite young – too young to have such a vast knowledge of the Underdark, he'd decided early on – and seemed more the type to opt for luxury and finery than the thankless life of the traveler she was currently pretending to be. More than once he'd considered grilling her on the subject, but had ultimately decided to wait. Already she'd proven herself to be an adequate traveling companion, and her guidance thus far had cost him nothing; he wasn't about to squander her aid in pursuit of a few answers that pertained not at all to his current objective.

"It depends on how much trouble we encounter on our way north," the gloaming confessed, gathering the now-clean bones of the makeshift spit and stowing them in her traveling gear; she pointed across the cavern to where the pool thinned and became a tributary, leading distinctly northward and around a bend in the dark stone to a point out of sight. "I'm pretty sure this is one of the creeks that feeds into the Darklake – it's one of the largest bodies of water in the Middledark, and it's directly south of Menzoberranzan. If I'm right, we should make it to the Darklake in no more than a week, and Menzoberranzan is just an hour or so north of there."

She was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she finished, prompting Aglarel to question her further. "Why do I get the impression that the journey north won't be as simple as you are making it out to be?"

"Well…" Illyria was drawing nonsense symbols in the dust underfoot using the toe of one of her ballerina slippers; once pearly white like her dress, her footwear was now blackened and worn from the miles they had put behind them. "We need to follow the creek as closely as we can… if we go too far west, we might wind up in the vicinity of Ch'Chitl." Aglarel raised an eyebrow, looking unmistakably impatient, so Illyria heaved a sigh and continued, "It's an illithid settlement – you know, mind flayers? Big creepy guys with tentacles coming out of their faces?"

"I know what an illithid is," Aglarel interrupted disdainfully.

"Alright, fine, Mister High-and-Mighty," Illyria snapped, crossing her thin white arms defiantly. "Do whatever you want, but I don't think your little devil gimmick is going to have much effect on their crazy psychic powers. Personal opinion? We should steer clear, Flame Boy."

"Very well," the Fourth Prince conceded through clenched teeth. "Have you anything else to share concerning the road ahead?"

"Yeah… from here on we'll be going through the Labyrinth. It's exactly like it sounds." Illyria glanced up and noticed that Aglarel's eyes had taken on the barest hint of a red hue, a sure sign that her characteristic sarcasm was beginning to grate on his nerves, so she hurried to elaborate. "I've never been through there myself, but I've heard all kinds of rumors about what's in there – tunnels that lead to dead ends, minotaurs, an insane cult of dwarves that worship demons, portals that lead who-in-the-Nine-Hells-knows where, staircases that go right down into the Abyss – so, you know, that should be fun."

Aglarel ran a hand down his face, hardly pleased with the prospect of dealing with so many unknown factors. He had made it clear from the beginning that time was of the essence, and it sounded rather as though Illyria was about to lead him through a region that had the potential to lengthen their travel time considerably. "Is this really the wisest course, little psychic?"

Illyria scowled, then shrugged. "I mean, it's hyper-intelligent squid-faced wizards and their army of mindless thralls or a bunch of tunnels with questionable contents. Take your pick."

For a moment Aglarel simply glared down at her, wishing for all the world he had anyone else accompanying him. For her part Illyria stared right back, now rocking back and forth like a child playing a grand game, the sweetness of her growing smile infuriating him.

"Or Araumycos," the gloaming added brightly as an afterthought.

"Absolutely not," Aglarel overrode her, his voice barely more than a growl at this point, and beckoning to his traveling companion he set off with the winding creek on his right side. "I'll consider the illithids and I'll take my chances with demon-worshipping dwarves, but I draw the line at ancient sentient fungi."

The creek proved easy enough to follow, for the bioluminescent seaweed Illyria had found growing in the pool where she'd fished up their breakfast continued to crop up in patches where the tributary proved deep enough; Illyria had brought along the torch she made, for the seaweed continued to glow even when it was removed from the water. They did not require light to make their way, for the gloaming race was accustomed to darkness and Aglarel's half-erinye parentage allowed him to glimpse his surroundings in the thermal spectrum when needed, but Illyria seemed unwilling to leave the torch behind and Aglarel hadn't chastised her for bringing it along. They passed an uneventful half-day's journey in rather companionable silence, sticking close to one another and following the creek as often as was possible. It wasn't until they took a brief break for a light repast and a little water that anything of note transpired at all.

"Good afternoon, Aglarel," murmured a voice the Fourth Prince would have known anywhere, and he was so shocked to hear it that he dropped his trail rations and leapt to his feet as though he'd been struck by a bolt of lightning. Illyria started violently and even brought her bow to bear with commendable reflexes, but became instantly annoyed when a quick glance around revealed no immediate threat.

"What's the matter with you?" she snapped, throwing herself theatrically back onto the ground beside her now-overturned waterskin. "You scared me half to death!"

But Aglarel paid her no mind; his eyes had taken on the unmistakable misty quality that Illyria associated with a person on the verge of tears, and his face was as awed as a man who had just glimpsed the gates of heaven. At his sides, his hands were shaking.

"Is… is that you?" the Fourth Prince whispered, his voice quaking with emotion. "Holy Father?"

"Who in the Nine Hells are you talking to?" Illyria demanded, but again she was ignored.

The voice wafting through Aglarel's mind was soft, as though the distance between them had diminished its volume considerably, but there wasn't a doubt in his mind – it was the voice of his beloved sovereign and father, High Prince Telamont of Thultanthar. A brief, heartfelt chuckle first answered Aglarel's inquiry, followed yet again by the Most High's voice. "Yes, my son, my voice is not a figment of your imagination. It brings me immeasurable comfort and joy to speak with you – having been deprived of your loyal companionship and sound counsel for these past weeks has been unbearable. Daily I have prayed for the Night Mother to bless me with some news of your journey or a hint as to your wellbeing, and at last she has rewarded me – here you are, your voice in my mind as clear as if you were standing at my side! I cannot say how long Dark Lady Shar will allow us to converse, so pray tell me how you do?"

Illyria watched, speechless, as Aglarel fell to his knees and wept openly with his face in his hands; the tears that oozed from between his fingertips were black as ink and disturbed her deeply. "My Lord!" he cried, his shoulders wracking with sobs. "I throw myself upon your mercy! Words cannot express how deep my sorrow runs! I will never forgive myself for leaving your side, for betraying your trust, for placing this personal affair of mine above even your agenda! My trespasses against you are monstrous and unforgivable! I beg of you, allow me to return to Thultanthar when I have completed my journey and I vow to spend the rest of my wretched days seeking your forgiveness!"

"My dear Aglarel, stop this," Telamont castigated him gently, and Aglarel visibly worked to calm himself. "There is nothing at all to forgive – I love you now just as I always have, and when you return to Thultanthar I will be ready to welcome you home with open arms. It may be now that your decision to embark on this sojourn to the Underdark was a blessing in disguise, for I foresee your brothers will be unceasingly grateful to find themselves in your company. Things go ill for us in the war against Menzoberranzan – just days ago Clariburnus sought me out with the terms we must fulfill in order to bring Soleil and Aveil back to us unharmed, and they are truly outrageous. In exchange for their safety the drow have demanded that we deliver forty nobles from the Upper Court, to be sacrificed to their damnable Spider Queen."

"An exchange you would never agree to," Aglarel reasoned at once. He had dropped his hands now; the tears on his face were swiftly drying, and the despair in his eyes was darkening to rage.

"Never," the High Prince agreed, and there was such anger in that single syllable that a shiver coursed down Aglarel's spine. "But neither will I abandon my beloved daughter-in-law and the Sceptrana to whatever fate the black elves have in store for them. The situation is delicate, my son, far too delicate for me to proceed without your hand in this. I need you to join your brothers and assist them in leading the charge back into Menzoberranzan. I have given them strict instructions to await my next command, but I am not a fool – Escanor would never stand idly by knowing that Soleil is a prisoner within House Baenre, and Clariburnus is possessed of the same rash impulsiveness and blatant disregard for authority that sealed Brennus's fate. I have no doubt that even now they are concocting some ill-advised plan to rescue Soleil and Aveil, and without your assistance I fear they may not succeed."

Aglarel was picking himself up off the ground with renewed purpose in his eyes; watching him, Illyria couldn't help but be moved by his unshakeable resolve. "Tell me where they are, Holy Father, and I will join them with all haste."

"Clariburnus has told me they are taking refuge in a cavern which houses the Darklake, a sizeable body of water just south of Menzoberranzan in the Middledark."

The Fourth Prince's eyes flitted at once in Illyria's direction to find her still staring at him, mystified. "That is my current destination. I will arrive in less than a week, barring some unforeseen difficulty on the road."

"Good," said the High Prince encouragingly. "A tenday now remains before Clariburnus is expected to return to House Baenre to complete our negotiations. Doubtless the drow expect we will stop at nothing to secure the safety of their hostages. Listen carefully, Aglarel – you must join your brothers and rescue Soleil and Aveil before that day arrives, do you understand? There is no room for error. I have no intention of sending forty Shadovar nobles to their deaths, and there are no lengths I would not go to in order to see the Princess and the Sceptrana safely returned to us."

"I will see that it is done," Aglarel promised solemnly. "I have only one last question, Holy Father – what shall be done about the drow?"

"If they prove foolish enough to stand in your way," Telamont answered remorselessly, "then kill them all. I refuse to negotiate with such deceptive, bottom-feeding creatures. Slaughter as many as you are able without placing yourself or the hostages in unnecessary danger, and tell your brothers the same. Raze their city to the ground. This has gone on long enough – my mind is made up."

Aglarel was nodding along, a sadistic smile spreading across his face. "As you command, My Lord." He meant to leave that as his parting note – the High Prince had insisted that the Night Mother would likely not allow them to commune for long, he recalled – but then he remembered a vital piece of information he was certain the High Prince would want to know. "There is one last thing I must tell you, Holy Father – I have it on good authority that Lamorak is alive, and even now is working to restore Brennus to life."

It was quiet for long enough that Aglarel was certain the conversation had come to an unfortunate and unceremonious end, but presently the Most High spoke. "By the grace of Shar… can this be true? Lamorak is alive? But how could you possibly know this?"

"I have found myself keeping company with a fatespinner of late," confessed the Fourth Prince, and cutting his gaze back to Illyria he found the gloaming was watching him with a withering look upon her cherubic face. "She has told me things she should not possibly know, and I am utterly convinced of the authenticity of her visions. It was she who told me of Lamorak."

"If this fatespinner is correct," murmured Telamont wondrously, "there is a chance that our family remains intact."

"Yes, Holy Father," affirmed Aglarel, wishing with all his heart he could be in his sovereign's presence in that moment, if only to embrace and comfort him. "One day soon, our family will be whole again."

"Then we must work toward that goal at all costs," Telamont bade him, his disembodied voice thick with emotion. "Make with all speed for the Darklake. Join your brothers, and bring the retribution of Thultanthar down upon those who would dare oppose us. Your great journey nears its end, my beloved son. I trust that you will not falter now."

Aglarel straightened to his full height, his eyes shining. "Now that I have heard your voice, Holy Father, there is not a force in this world that could stop me." And with that declaration he sensed his father's presence departing his mind, but the loss did not impart upon him a feeling of emptiness – rather Aglarel felt revitalized, as though all the hardships he had faced in the weeks since leaving the City of Shade hadn't occurred at all.

He gestured to Illyria, who leapt to her feet immediately and scrabbled to retrieve her makeshift seaweed torch. "We make with all speed for the Darklake now, little psychic, and stop to rest only when we must," he told her in a voice of absolute authority. "And I promise you this – if we succeed, I will bring you back to Thultanthar and reunite you with my brother Dethud myself."

Clariburnus had to admit that after only a tenday in Faeryl's company the overall outlook of the drow race seemed to have altered, for which he was exceedingly grateful – he doubted very much that he would have accomplished anything with the prejudices of his brothers haunting the girl's every step. Not that they had let their guard down completely, for of course they were still quite skeptical of her, but the Fifth Prince had noticed some heartening changes. Escanor, for example, had stopped directing all of his inquiries Clariburnus's way and had begun to take Faeryl's observations into account; it was fortunate the First Prince had swallowed enough of his pride to do so, for often Faeryl had a unique perspective on matters that the others could scarcely fathom. Yder had taken to questioning her of the High Priestesses of Lolth, for whom Faeryl seemed to share a similar animosity that Clariburnus had yet to fully explain; this proved to be quite useful, for the Divine Champions of Shar would need all the help they could get to best the Spider Queen's handmaidens and Faeryl possessed certain details that only a female drow would have. And though Clariburnus had tried his best to warn Faeryl to steer clear of the ever-capricious Tenth Prince Rapha that had not stopped her from tentatively asking him to show her a complex sword pattern he had employed one day whilst sparring with Escanor. He'd been willing enough to oblige her, and the pair of them had even swapped battle techniques on a few occasions since. All in all, Clariburnus found himself pleased with the camaraderie that was slowly developing between his brothers and the wayward drow female, and found himself exceedingly grateful on a day about two and a half weeks following her capture in the tunnels just beyond the Darklake.

"Drow," Rapha informed them sometime in the late afternoon; it had been his turn to patrol the tunnels nearest the cavern they had inhabited in the days since their withdrawal from Menzoberranzan, and he had come back early with the news. "In the tunnels to the east, and moving in this general direction."

Escanor had been sleeping at the time, but Clariburnus had roused him at once so that they could discuss the matter as a group. "Did they see you?" asked the First Prince immediately, and thankfully Rapha shook his head at once.

"No – I came upon them first and kept my distance, and only followed them long enough to confirm the trajectory of their movements. I did not linger for fear of giving myself away, and I did not want to risk them coming upon any of you at unawares."

"You did well to return to us in such a timely manner," Escanor praised. "Were you able to gauge their numbers?"

"Ten of them," Rapha confirmed without hesitation. "All male."

Clariburnus crossed his arms at this, his expression grave. "One of the scouting parties from Menzoberranzan?" he wondered aloud, glancing Faeryl's way as he spoke. "But what could they be doing out here, fully a two hours' march away from their city?"

Faeryl shrugged as though it hardly mattered, but the deep crease that had formed in her brow suggested she was more disturbed by this development than she was letting on. "I suppose it is possible they're not one of the scouting parties," she suggested, though she seemed skeptical of her own argument. "They could be part of a merchant caravan passing through this area en route to their next destination."

Rapha was shaking his head before she had even finished. "They were clothed in the garb of warriors and spies, not merchants and traders. They bore no wagon of wares in their wake, and each of them was armed."

"And you're certain they're heading this way?" questioned Sixth Prince Yder, and Rapha nodded emphatically. "Then we should decide how to proceed, and quickly. How much time do we have before they are upon us?"

"I made with all speed back to this cavern," Rapha assured them. "We have minutes only. Escanor?"

The First Prince was stroking his chin thoughtfully with one hand. "There are many questions we should ask ourselves before deciding how best to proceed, but unfortunately I do not think we have the time needed to consider this situation as carefully as we ought. Are they simply widening their boundaries as a precaution? If so, we might lay low in the back of our cave until they have passed us by and they will be none the wiser to our presence. Are they looking for us? If they are, it is in our best interests to eliminate them quickly and quietly – and if we do, we must ask ourselves how best to dispose of their corpses if that is the course of action we choose. If this scouting party does not return, more will follow, and the odds of our plan succeeding decrease significantly if the city is placed on high alert."

Faeryl had the answer almost at once, and not for the first time Clariburnus was impressed by the conclusion she had drawn. "The most logical course of action is to eliminate them and leave their bodies out in the open for future scouting parties to find, in my opinion. It is not unheard of for entire merchant caravans, or even a contingent of troops caught at unawares, to be overwhelmed by any number of foul creatures lurking in the tunnels. I have read reports of scouts and spies operating in groups being overrun by a wide variety of beasts – hook horrors, kuo-toas, and troglodytes just to name a few, and those are just the most common examples. So we do away with them, and make it appear as if their deaths came at the hands of some common Underdark predators. That will hardly arouse any further suspicion, or implicate us as the guilty party."

"Your logic is unassailable," Escanor congratulated, surveying the drow girl with an expression that was almost a smile. "Are you willing to help us accomplish this? We will need your help to make the scene look convincing if we hope to fool any drow who might come looking for them later on."

"I can show you," Faeryl began nervously, "but… I will need my blade."

Escanor, Yder and Rapha all looked as one to Clariburnus, who had kept Faeryl's expertly-forged khopesh sheathed upon his belt of weapons since the day he had released her from captivity and first asked for her aid. Though they had all made an effort in recent days to treat Faeryl with a measure of civility, they had not yet returned her weapon to her – even in the few instances she had sparred with Rapha, the Tenth Prince had only outfitted her with his smallest dagger and their practice battles had been supervised. Escanor had insisted from the start that they leave nothing to chance.

"Escanor," the Fifth Prince began, looking to his eldest brother for guidance as he so often did, but Escanor held up one hand to stay his words.

"No, brother – I explicitly told you that you were in charge where she is concerned, did I not? That means you are responsible for making this decision."

Clariburnus actually fidgeted. "I really would prefer to hear your thoughts on the matter before reaching a decision."

"As you should – I am quite insightful." Escanor offered his brother a roguish wink and an encouraging smile, finishing, "You are the Supreme Commander of the Army of Shade, and we have agreed to trust your judgment in all matters related to your station. This is one such instance. Decide quickly – we have no time left to debate this."

The notion that this was a test of his loyalty sincerely inhabited Clariburnus for a moment, but he pushed it from his mind quickly enough. He couldn't afford to distrust his own brother – they were all striving to attain the same goals, weren't they? Escanor would never instigate such petty, childish schemes with Soleil's life at stake.

But… could Faeryl really be trusted? Clariburnus involuntarily found himself glancing her way to find the drow already watching him with rapt attention – awaiting his verdict with bated breath just like his brothers, he assumed. The soulful look in her unusual jade green eyes tugged at something deep within his chest in an unfamiliar and startling way, and an instinctual voice in the back of his mind prompted him to give her this chance. He wanted very much to be able to trust her, and while she'd given him no indication that she was untrustworthy he simply couldn't bring himself to do so. Clariburnus had always been fiercely protective of his brothers, and if he agreed there was a chance he'd be placing their lives in danger – and that was something he would not risk for anything.

Still, it pained him not to oblige her – trusting to her innate goodness of character was the sort of thing Brennus would have done, and in the days since the Twelfth Prince's fate had been sealed Clariburnus had made it a point to live his life in a manner akin to how he imagined Brennus would as a kind of tribute to his memory.

"Let us go and observe these drow," he decided at last, and though he was addressing the group as a whole his eyes were still locked with Faeryl's. Perhaps he imagined it, but he thought he glimpsed a flicker of disappointment cross her face before she restored her expression to something more neutral. "If they draw too close to our camp, we will engage them. If we do, we must kill them all – we cannot afford to let even one escape, for if we do we put not only ourselves but Soleil and Aveil in mortal danger. And if we must fight them… afterwards, Faeryl, you may show us how to make it appear as though they met their ends at the hands of some Underdark predator."

"I understand," Faeryl replied softly, and his brothers nodded their agreement.

"Rapha, take point," Clariburnus bade the hexblade. "Escanor, guard our rear. Faeryl, stay close to me."

The five of them fell into a tight cluster and Rapha led the way into the tunnel from which he had returned just a few minutes before, keeping his katana sheathed and drawing out his dagger instead. Privately Clariburnus hoped they didn't encounter the dark elves at all, or if they did the situation didn't escalate to blows for this exact reason – they were all heavily armored save Yder, who was still clad in his robes, and they all carried weapons that would leave them at a distinct disadvantage battling in the Underdark's cramped tunnels. Escanor's greatsword was a mammoth blade nearly as long as the First Prince was tall and as wide as his torso, but he would never be able to swing it in such close quarters. Rapha's katana was almost razor-thin but the blade was perhaps five feet in length, and the majority of his spells would prove as much a danger to his allies as his enemies if he attempted to cast them in such an enclosed space. Clariburnus's glaive was every bit as long as Escanor's greatsword, and would sooner strike the nearest wall than score a hit on one of their adversaries – fortunately they were all armed with knives more conducive to fighting in their current environment, but they knew they would not be fighting to the best of their abilities.

They did not cover much distance; once out of the cavern Rapha led them left, around the bend to the place where Clariburnus had once briefly crossed blades with Faeryl, down a narrow tunnel that Escanor and Clariburnus both had to stoop to get through, then the Tenth Prince held up one arm to stop them in their tracks. There was very little light to see by, just the pale peach illumination of a few patches of moss creeping across the ceiling of the intersecting tunnels, but it was just enough for them to mark the passing of several dark, stealthy shapes moving in their direction.

Clariburnus nudged Faeryl with his elbow and raised his hands, clumsily forming a sentence in the drow sign language – Faeryl had begun to teach him several useful phrases so that they could still communicate with one another even when circumstances demanded them to remain perfectly silent. A scouting party?

Faeryl crept around Clariburnus and padded noiselessly up to Rapha's side, peeking around the Tenth Prince's arm and studying their quarry with eyes perfectly suited to the thermal spectrum; she did not need to observe them for long before she turned back and nodded. Clariburnus immediately signaled to both Escanor and Yder, first pointing ahead to the point beyond Rapha where the small cluster of spies was moving slowly closer and then drawing his own dagger from the sheath strapped to his thigh, and then he was slinking along the close tunnel wall and readying his blade to strike.

Everything moved very quickly then.

With a speed and grace that made him appear as one of the shadows along the corridor wall, Rapha flitted out of the gloom of the tunnel they occupied and lunged forward with his dagger leading the way; the dark elf at the head of the scouting party perceived movement ahead of him but did not react quickly enough to stave off the Tenth Prince's opening attack, a devastatingly accurate stab that pierced through his victim's jugular and killed him instantly. The other dark elves reacted at once, though, bringing all manner of rapiers and short swords and dirks to bear in their defense, and Rapha waded in with the beginnings of a spell crackling upon his upraised fingertips –

"Don't you dare cast that in here, you fool," Clariburnus growled from just behind him, and he purposely knocked Rapha's spellcasting arm as he passed him by; predictably the spell fizzled and died, and though Rapha cursed him as he pushed past he at least did not attempt to evoke another spell. Two drow attacked Clariburnus simultaneously, one with a short thrust of a rapier aiming for his midsection and another with a flourishing sweep of a long sword on track to cut across his chest – the Fifth Prince parried aside the rapier with his dagger and turned the long sword away with a swipe of his non-dominant hand. The blade glanced off the black glass bracer of his armor with a shriek, but the bracer served its purpose and he was unharmed.

Rapha slipped past him and intercepted a third weapon, a dirk wielded by an uncharacteristically large male drow who was swinging the blade wildly, and Rapha batted the weapon aside lazily with a laugh; it seemed the wild sweep was only intended to lower the Tenth Prince's guard though, for in the next instant its wielder changed tactics and walked the blade through a series of complex maneuvers that Rapha appeared ill prepared to counter. A second dark elf, emboldened by his companion's apparent success, waded in and pressed the advantage –

As Escanor was attempting to squeeze past Faeryl into the cramped tunnel to offer Rapha his aid, Clariburnus watched in horror as the two dark elves bringing up the rear of the scouting party turned and fled back the way they had come.

"We can't let them get away!" Clariburnus bellowed. "Yder, stay here and help dispatch the others! Faeryl, come with me!" And then he dashed off after the pair of retreating drow with Faeryl close at his heels and the sounds of steel clashing against ensorcelled glass ringing in his ears.

He traversed the narrow, winding tunnels as quickly as he dared, aware that the sound of his armor made him all too easy to track; Clariburnus prayed that Faeryl had hearkened to his wishes and followed him, but he didn't dare waste time glancing back to look for her. He was certain he could hear the two drow sprinting along not far ahead of him, and for several tense seconds he had only the perceived sound of their footfalls to guide his way forward. Just as he was beginning to worry that he wouldn't be able to catch up to them the tunnel spilled out into the Darklake cavern, but Clariburnus had barely processed the blessed familiarity of his surroundings before both drow were lunging at him from either side of the tunnel opening. The one on his left lashed out with a mace, and when he failed to raise his dagger in time to defend against the strike the glass breastplate Clariburnus wore shattered beneath the heavy blow; he staggered to one side, caught completely at unawares, and the dark elf on his right lifted his rapier for a deadly thrust –

Vaguely Clariburnus felt a tug at his belt of weapons, but didn't realize Faeryl had snatched her prized khopesh from its sheath until she had leapt past him and expertly parried the rapier; her appearance startled both drow enough for them to lose the advantage, and Clariburnus managed to get his feet under him and draw his glaive easily in the spacious Darklake cavern. The drow wielding the rapier spat at Faeryl's feet and lunged in but with a truly breathtaking display of footwork she managed to duck right beneath it, plant her leading foot to trip up her enemy, and then use the unnatural curve of the khopesh blade to sweep his feet out from under him. He landed flat on his back with his sword arm out wide, and Faeryl crouched over him and remorselessly slit his throat.

Wielding his preferred weapon, Clariburnus had little difficulty dashing the mace from his enemy's hand and spearing him through the chest with a single well-placed thrust.

"Well," the Fifth Prince began with a soft chuckle of dark amusement, wrenching the ornate head of the glaive from his victim's chest, "I think that went as well as could be expected, don't – "

He turned as he was addressing Faeryl, expecting to find her looking as relieved and triumphant as he himself felt, but his words were completely derailed by the sight that met him instead; the dark elf girl had flung herself to the ground and was cowering at his feet, her khopesh laid upon the ground between them, her head bowed as she groveled and her shoulders trembling as she fought to hold back sobs.

"Please, my Lord!" she wailed in a hysterical, deranged voice. "Don't hurt me! I'm sorry! On my word as a Sword Dancer of Eilistraee, I vow never to disobey you again – I just beg that you don't punish me!"

"Punish you?" Clariburnus reiterated confusedly, cocking his head to one side and gazing down at her quaking form wearing a perfectly dumbfounded expression. "Why in the name of the Night Mother would I punish you? Raise your head, Faeryl – I am in your debt."

But the girl collapsed before him seemed not to have heard a single word he'd said in his attempt to console her – she was now folding in on herself, rocking gently back and forth as a child might, her head still bowed in a continued effort to avoid his eyes. "Please," she whispered hoarsely. "Please…"

"Faeryl," called Clariburnus gently, and this time he crouched right down on the ground beside her. "You saved my life." And he reached out one hand toward her – he meant only to grasp her chin, to lift her head and meet her eyes.

The moment his fingertips brushed her skin, though, Faeryl shrieked as though he'd struck her and prostrated herself flat out on the ground; Clariburnus snatched his hand back, stunned by her extreme reaction, and watched in alarm as she lay there and cried.

Out of the corner of one eye Clariburnus detected movement, and turning his head he locked gazes with his brother Yder; the Divine Champion of Shar was alternating questioning glances between Clariburnus and Faeryl with wide eyes, but in that moment Clariburnus couldn't think of a single explanation to give.